Cut out of Book Six, Phebe's Nightmare Sequence.
The wretched face of an infected man. He charged at Phebe. She swung the machete, cutting off his head at the neck. Another man raced at her. He wore torn-up fatigues and a helmet – he was the big zom from the marina who nearly killed her.
She ran into a forest to escape him. The ends of branches lashed her face and arms. Trees grew densely packed until she could not push through.
The branches turned into hands, clawing at her, ripping at her skin, pulling out her hair. She threw punches and kicks, but the hands only multiplied, clutching at her.
“Peter, help me!”
Phebe stood in a very long hallway. So long, she couldn’t see the ends of it. Identical wooden doors lined both sides – dozens of them.
“Shit.”
She gripped the machete tighter and ran, hoping to find an end or stairs or anything. The hallway only grew longer the more she ran.
“You’re gonna have to choose, sugar.”
Phebe whirled around to find the source of the voice.
“Syanna?”
Syanna Lynn walked through a closed door. She wore a slinky, long yellow dress. Her hair and makeup were perfect.
“I’m sorry, Sye.”
“Sorry for what, sugar?”
“It’s because of me you died.”
“Nonsense,” Syanna Lynn replied. “They are coming. You need to get outta there.”
“We trying to get out.”
“Tick tock. Tick tock.” Syanna faded back into the door. “Tick tock. Tick tock.”
“No, Sye, come back.”
Dock Cat groomed on the floor of the eternally long hallway.
“Oh, God!” Phebe wailed. “Dock, I am so sorry.”
She fell to her knees beside the cat.
“I am so sorry!”
She wept.
“I am so sorry.”
“Phebe,” a distant male voice said.
“I killed you, Dock. I am so sorry.”
“Phebe, wake up.”
“It’s my fault. It’s all my fault!”
Dock Cat stopped grooming. Her yellow eyes looked up. She turned into the infected animal Phebe threw into the water.
“It’s Jayce. Wake up!”
Phebe screamed.
“Wake the hell up!”
Phebe jumped into a sitting position on the bed. She panted – heart racing. Her skin soaked with sweat. “What? What? What?” she repeated. Her eyes, wide and intense, scanned the room. “What happened?”
“You were having a really bad nightmare,” said Jayce. He stood two yards away from the bed.
“Can I come closer?”
“Come here,” Phebe responded.
As soon as Jayce was close enough, she seized him into a hug. Her hands roamed him, searching for wounds.
“I’m okay,” Jayce said. He wriggled out of her hold.
“Tyler,” she commanded. The kid lingered at the doorway. “Come here. Any injuries?”
He reluctantly came to her bedside. “I don’t think I can get hurt for real,” he said. “Not from your having a nightmare.” He looked at Jayce and chuckled.
Phebe searched him anyway. “Any bites?”
“It was a dream,” he stated. “I get nightmares all the time.”
“He really does,” said Jayce.
“So do you, dude,” Tyler retorted. “You’re always calling out for your mom and sister.”
Phebe interrupted, “Where’s Peter?”
“In the kitchen,” Jayce answered. “He had to put ice on his face.”
“Ice? Why?”
“I think you punched him.”
“Oh, my God.”
Phebe whipped the damp sheet off of her and charged off the bed. She rushed passed the boys.
Only once in the hallway did she realize how chilly she felt wearing only a t-shirt and men’s boxer shorts. “Shit.” She rubbed her goose bump arms. “Peter?”
“In here,” his voice called.
She found him in the kitchen. He held ice wrapped in a towel to his jaw.
“Did I do that?” she asked, pointing to his face.
“Sleeping next to you is like sleeping next to a Vietnam vet.” Peter adjusted his injured jaw. “I’m
empathizing with their wives.”
Tyler asked, “Why didn’t you block, dude?”
Peter leveled him a look. “Really? When you find the martial art that teaches how to block a strike while asleep, you tell me. I blocked the second strike.” He shook his head. “I was wide awake by then.” He pointed to the living room section. “From now on, I’m sleeping on the couch.”
“No,” said Phebe. “I’m the one with the problem. It should be me who sleeps on the couch.”
“Noble of you. Very feminist. But the kung fu tornado you are, you’d twist yourself right off and bang down on the floor. Safer for me to sleep there. We can’t sedate your ass for bedtime. I can be sedated.”
Phebe hugged herself and rubbed her upper arms.
“Babe, you’re cold. Go put something on, huh?”
“Okay,” Phebe meekly responded. “Can you make some coffee? Make it strong, please.” She walked passed the boys, head bowed in shame.
Jayce said, “I guess sleeping is over for tonight.”
“Shit,” said Peter. “I thought my nightmares were bad. I don’t even wanna know what happens in hers.”
Phebe returned wearing her sweatpants and Peter’s hoody. “I really, really wish I could drink alcohol.” She rubbed the baby bump that prevented the numbing substances she desperately desired.
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