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Chapter 4: A Dream of Memories

The moment my eyes close, I fall into it—a dream that feels more like a memory. The kind that grips me and refuses to let go, pulling me back into a past I wish I could forget.

It starts with the sky. That strange, twisting sky that hung over us for days before everything went to hell. I remember standing in my backyard, staring up as the clouds moved in unnatural spirals. My mom’s voice calling from the kitchen, telling me to come inside. The news had been warning people to stay indoors, but no one really knew what was coming—we just knew that something was wrong.

The days that followed were surreal—news anchors with pale faces reporting anomalies in the Earth’s magnetic field, the Northern Lights visible as far south as California, animals acting like they knew something we didn’t. I remember the neighborhood dogs barking endlessly, cats slinking away, disappearing. My dad tried to stay calm, but I could see the worry in his eyes, the way his hands shook when he thought no one was looking.

And then the day came. The day the sky went dark and the ships appeared—massive, blocking out the sun. I remember the sound—a hissing, crackling noise that filled the air, vibrating through the ground beneath my feet. My mom grabbed my hand, her grip so tight it hurt, and she pulled me inside, her eyes wide with fear.

We hid in the cellar beneath the plant nursery—my parents' pride and joy. My dad barred the door, his face set with grim determination. “We’ll be safe here,” he said, his voice steady, but I could hear the lie in it. The walls of the cellar were lined with shelves of seeds and gardening tools, the air thick with the scent of soil and fertilizer. My mom held me close, whispering that everything would be okay, that we’d get through this together.

But everything wasn’t okay. The explosions started—deafening, shaking the ground, making the shelves rattle and the lights flicker. I remember the sound of the house collapsing above us, the ceiling cracking, the weight of it all coming down. My dad threw himself over us, shielding me and my mom as the cellar caved in. I remember my mom’s scream, the pain in her voice, and then—nothing. Just darkness.

When I woke up, it was quiet. Too quiet. I was buried under rubble, my body aching, my head pounding. I managed to crawl out, my hands scraping against the debris, my throat raw from the dust. My parents were gone—their bodies crushed beneath the wreckage. There was nothing left of them, nothing I could do. I was alone.

The dream shifts, blurs around the edges, and I’m running. Running through the streets, hiding from the hissers. Their hissing voices echo in my mind, that awful sound that makes my skin crawl. I spent weeks hiding, scavenging what I could, staying out of sight. I remember the fear—the constant, gnawing fear that they would find me, that I’d end up like everyone else. Dead. Forgotten.

And then I found Marcus. Or maybe he found me. He was hiding in the ruins of a house down the street from where I used to live. He looked just as scared as I felt, but seeing him was like a lifeline—a reminder that I wasn’t the only one left. We stuck together after that, moving from place to place, trying to stay one step ahead of the hissers. It was weeks later that we met Claire—a science teacher from a neighborhood we used to drive past on our way to school. She was tough, wary, but she let us join her, and we’ve been together ever since.

I know I’m dreaming, but it’s like I can’t wake up. The memories keep coming, playing out like a movie I can’t pause. I see my mom’s face, the way she smiled at me when I brought her flowers from the garden. I see my dad, his hands covered in dirt as he worked in the soil, his eyes crinkling at the corners when he laughed. I see the way they looked at each other, the love in their eyes. It hurts—it hurts so much I can barely breathe.

I feel myself drifting, the memories fading, and suddenly I’m somewhere else. I’m floating—weightless, suspended in a dark void. Stars surround me, pinpricks of light in the blackness. It’s almost peaceful, but there’s something wrong. The stars are moving, shifting, coming together. They form a shape—a figure made of light. I squint, trying to make it out, and then I see it—a being of pure radiance, tall and imposing. My heart lurches in my chest as I realize what it is.

A hisser.

The light shifts, solidifies, becoming the gleaming silver armor that haunts my nightmares. The being reaches for me, its black talons stretching out across the darkness. The hissing grows louder, filling my ears, echoing in my mind, and I can’t move, can’t breathe. The stars around me dim, swallowed by the darkness, and the hisser’s hand gets closer, closer—

I wake up with a gasp, my heart pounding, my body drenched in sweat. I sit up, my breath coming in ragged gulps, my eyes darting around the darkened library. It takes a moment for reality to settle in, for me to remember where I am. Marcus is at the watch post, his silhouette barely visible in the dim light. Claire is asleep nearby, her form still, her breathing even.

That's when I realize that even though I'm awake, I can still hear hissing. It's faint, barely a whisper, but unmistakable. My pulse quickens, and for a moment, I wonder if I'm still caught in the dream's grip, if my mind is playing tricks on me. Maybe I'm still half asleep? The sound is so soft, so distant, that it feels almost unreal. But as I sit there, straining my ears, I realize it's getting louder. Not fading like a memory—it’s growing, creeping closer. The hairs on the back of my neck stand up, and I know this isn't just in my head.

Panic flares in my chest. They're close. Too close. I swallow hard, my throat dry as sandpaper. I glance toward Marcus, still at the watch post. He hears it too—his head snaps up, and I see the tension ripple through his shoulders. He moves swiftly through the shadows, his footsteps silent but deliberate. My heart pounds as he reaches Claire, his hand gently nudging her shoulder. She wakes instantly, her eyes wide and alert, her instincts kicking in before she's even fully conscious. Within seconds, she's on her feet, scooping up her bow and arrow with practiced precision.

My fingers fumble as I gather my belongings, my mind racing. The hissing is louder now, echoing off the library’s crumbling walls, and my chest tightens with fear. There’s no time to think, only to move. Marcus crouches by the fire, using his hands to quickly smother the remaining embers, covering them with dirt. The orange glow fades, swallowed by darkness, leaving us with nothing but the faint light filtering through the broken ceiling.

Claire gestures toward the back of the library, her face set, her eyes cold and focused. We move in silence, our footsteps careful as we make our way to the back exit. I clutch my makeshift weapon, my fingers trembling. The feeling in my gut twists, a deep sense of dread settling in the pit of my stomach. Something feels wrong—more wrong than usual. The hissers are close, too close, and the fear is like a weight pressing down on my chest. I take a deep breath, trying to steady myself, trying to ignore the nagging thought that maybe this time, we won't get away.

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