Sleeping World Page 4

  Then Leah finds something.

  “Hey, guys! Listen to this: ‘We have started preparations on the Clinic, but it has been difficult to gather enough beds.’”

  Stewart frowns. “The Clinic?”

  I fixate on something else she read. “Gathering beds? Do you think they could be talking about this place?”

  Leah gives me a look that clearly says duh, and keeps reading. “‘The number of infected is so great, the Counsel has stopped keeping records of reported cases, and there has been talk of doing the same for fatalities.’” Her voice fades and we share an uneasy glance.

  “Fatalities?” Stewart repeats, looking confused.

  I clear my throat quietly. “Um, a fatality is a death.” I’m trying not to think about the word myself. Are the people in the other room dying? Is Ellie dying?

  Rick shifts, pulling a thick book onto his lap. “Leah, is there a date on that entry?”

  Leah frowns and flips back a few pages, then shakes her head. “No, there’s not a date anywhere in here.”

  “Keep looking.” Rick flips through his own book urgently.

  I’m not sure why he cares when the entry was written, since we have no way of knowing how long ago it was from today, but I grab another book from the pile and flip through the pages in search of a date, too.

  Stewart follows my lead and for a few minutes all of us are searching for a date in any of the books. But before anyone finds something useful, we’re interrupted.

  “Jonas?”

  Abby’s shout is surprisingly distant, and though she sounds scared, there’s more unease in her voice than actual terror.

  The others look up from their books to watch me—well, Rick and Stewart are watching me, but I’m pretty sure Leah’s glaring.

  I rise hesitantly. “I should make sure she’s okay.”

  I feel like I’m abandoning my friends as I leave them in that room, searching for answers. But I’m going to help another friend, so doesn’t that make up for it?

  I make my way through the rows of sleeping bodies, more creeped out now that I know they might be dying. The room is more eerie and threatening now, and I’m glad when I get to Abby’s side and see another conscious person.

  I manage a smile. “Hey, Abby. How are you holding up?”

  She grimaces when she looks down at her twisted ankle. Then she groans and drops her head back onto the pillow. “Ouch.”

  I wince in sympathy and glance at her ankle, too. “It’s still broken.”

  She closes her eyes and laughs weakly. “Yeah, I think you’re right.”

  “I told you this was real.” I try to keep the vindication from my voice, but it’s hard. “The doctors may be able to help you back home, but I don’t know if your leg will ever heal until it gets fixed here.”

  Abby breathes deeply for a moment and then opens her eyes. “Can someone here help me, then?”

  I frown and shake my head, hating that I have to tell her this. “I don’t think so. I already asked Rick if he could do anything, but he didn’t want to cause more damage.”

  Abby looks up at the high ceiling and sighs. “I guess I should thank him for that.”

  “Don’t worry. We’re trying to figure out what happened here, why all these people are asleep. Maybe when we understand that, we might be able to fix things. Then maybe we can get someone to help you.”

  She grimaces. “That’s a few too many maybes to be reassuring.”

  I don’t know what else to say. I stand uncertainly, my eyes drifting over the sleepers surrounding us.

  When Abby reaches down and grabs my hand, I’m surprised. I find myself thinking about last night when she held my hand to her cheek when she thought she was dreaming. Part of me wonders how much of her behavior was from delirium and how much was just her.

  “Thanks, Jonas.” She squeezes my fingers before letting go. “If I have to be stuck in this nightmare, at least I’m stuck here with you.”

  I’m not sure what to say, but I am sure I’m blushing.

  I’m anxious to get back to the room and search the books with everyone else, but I don’t want to leave Abby all alone out here.

  She surprises me with a tired smile. “Go find some answers, Dreamy Boy. Find something that will help these people—and me.”

  I nod and silently promise I will find a way to help her. Then I turn around and head back to the room.

  When I step back inside, Rick and Stewart look up; Leah ignores me.

  “How is she?” Rick asks as I sink to the floor where I’d left my book before.

  “She’s doing better. Her ankle’s still broken—”

  Leah interrupts lowly. “Well, duh.”

  I ignore her. “—And she’s still a little shaken. But I think she’ll be okay.”

  “That’s good.” Rick flips a page and glances at me. “Hopefully she’ll be able to help us soon. Maybe she’s a fast reader.”

  I return his smile gratefully. After Leah’s hostility, it’s nice to have someone be civil about the situation.

  “What did I miss?” I pick up my book and thumb through its pages.

  Rick offers a half shrug without looking away from his book. “Not much. We found a few more mentions of the Clinic, and some kind of plague, but so far that’s it. We’re putting the useful books on the desk.”

  I notice there aren’t a lot of books up there, but I try not to let it worry me. There are still a lot of books to go through.

  Before I can get back to my book, Stewart huffs in irritation.

  I look at him in surprise when he tosses his book down in frustration. “What’s wrong, Stew?” I’ve never seen him lose his temper before.

  “There’re too many words I don’t know.”

  My lips twitch, though I understand his frustration.

  “It’s not that I can’t read them,” he says quickly. “I am almost thirteen. I just don’t know what they mean.”

  I set my book aside to reach for his. “Maybe I can help.” I smooth out the pages, running my eyes over the penned calligraphy. “What words do you not know?” I turn the book so he can see it too.

  Stew looks more closely at the book and then jabs a victorious finger at the page. “That one. What’s an . . . ‘am-bu-lance’?”

  He looks at me curiously, and a frown tugs at my mouth.

  But though I feel a faint tickle in the back of my mind, I do not know the word. I read the sentence, but that doesn’t help at all. Now I’m curious, so I turn to Rick and Leah who are watching us.

  “Do you guys know what a . . .” I glance down at the foreign word, “an ‘am-bu-lance’ is?”

  Leah frowns, and Rick shakes his head. “What’s it supposed to be? A verb? A noun?”

  I shrug. I never got that stuff anyway. “The sentence says: ‘We don’t have enough am-bu-lances to carry the infected.’”

  Rick shakes his head. “I dunno.”

  Leah huffs, apparently still irritated with me. “What does it matter?”

  I look apologetically at Stewart. “Sorry, buddy. I don’t know that word, either. Do you want me to look at another?”

  Stewart frowns and takes the book back. “Um . . . Do you know what a . . . ‘pen-i-cil-in’ is?”

  Our silence is answer enough, but he doesn’t seem too bothered by our ignorance.

  “What about a . . . ‘pan-dem-ic’? Or a . . . ‘tech-no-lo-gi-cal’?”

  I don’t know any of the words he says, but that strange tingle pulses with each new word, almost like my brain is straining to understand them or remember. But there’s no relief from the sensation, since I don’t know what they mean.

  We stay in that room, sifting through old journals and trying to piece together the information we find, but honestly, I think we’re more confused by the time we start waking up than we were when we started.

  But though the language is confusing and there are thousands of pages to sort through, I can’t help feeling a little hopeful—at least now we’ve foun
d something that might help us understand the Clinic and what happened to the world.

  Chapter 5

  My hope carried over into the morning, and when I woke up and remembered I didn’t have school today, my spirits rose even more.

  No school, no counseling sessions—just a free day to spend however I wanted.

  In the kitchen, Mom and Dad were taking the day as easily as I was. They were both wrapped in their robes and Mom’s long brown hair was tangled from sleeping. They sat at the table, talking quietly while a pot on the stove bubbled with breakfast.

  Mom smiled when I walked in, and she pulled me in for a quick kiss before letting Dad ruffle my hair.

  “How did you sleep, honey?” Mom asked while I settled into one of the chairs at the table.

  I’d avoided mentioning the Reality Dreams to Mom ever since she’d met Leah and blown up about me cutting school, and now didn’t seem like the time to bring it up.

  I set my elbows on the tabletop and balanced my chin on my hands. “Fine.”

  Dad went to the stove to stir the bubbling pot. “So, what are your plans for the day, kiddo?”

  I smiled a little. “I don’t have plans. That’s the great thing about the weekend.”

  Dad chuckled. “I guess that’s true. So what do you want to do today?”

  “I dunno. Something fun.”

  Mom squeezed my shoulder. “Just so long as you don’t make yourself a stranger around here, I guess that will work.” She turned to Dad. “I’m going to get dressed. Can you watch breakfast while I’m gone?”

  He gave her a three-fingered salute and a grin in answer. Mom rolled her eyes, but she was smiling when she disappeared back down the hall.

  Dad leaned back against the counter and folded his arms casually. “How’s school going? Mom says you’ve got a new friend.”

  I straightened eagerly. “Yeah. Abby Lane. She’s in my Practical Literature class.”

  Dad frowned like he was trying to remember something. “Lane . . . Lane . . .” He snapped his fingers and his face cleared. “They live on the far side of town, don’t they?”

  I was surprised, but I nodded. “Yeah.”

  “I work with Mr. Lane. Well, I don’t exactly work with him—he’s one of the managers above me. He seems like a good man. Honest, hard-working.”

  “I’ve never met Abby’s dad, but as long as he’s not like her mom I’m sure I’ll like him.”

  “Why?” Dad looked amused, glancing up from his stirring. “What’s her mom like?”

  I told him about her too-neat house and traditional manners, and Dad laughed.

  He was still laughing when Mom came back out, wearing a simple blue sun dress. She wanted to know what was so funny, so I repeated the story. Of course, just when I’d finished, Ellie stumbled into the kitchen, bleary-eyed and nightgown-clad, and I had to tell the story all over again.

  We ate our oatmeal haltingly, taking bites between stories and laughs, and it was probably one of the best mornings of my life.

  I couldn’t help thinking, while I enjoyed the morning with my family, that maybe it wasn’t too important to figure out what had happened in the Reality Dreams. My life here was pretty good. Did I really want that other life? The world was so messed up, with Entities and the sleeping people in the Clinic. Was there even a way to fix what was wrong there? Should we even be wasting our time?

  But though the thoughts swirled around my head, I wouldn’t let them ruin my morning. I forced them into a corner of my mind and left them there.

  When the meal was finally over and the kitchen cleaned, Ellie and Dad went to get dressed and Mom invited me outside with her. She led me to the flower bed and began tugging at the few weeds that sprang from the soil.

  Mom loved and nurtured her flower garden and, though it wasn’t as perfect as Mrs. Lane’s flowerbeds, I thought Mom’s was prettier.

  “How have you been, Jonas?”

  I glanced down in surprise, but she was tending her flowers and didn’t look up.

  I hesitated and then knelt beside her. “Alright.”

  Mom looked at me with raised eyebrows. “What’s brought it down from wonderful?”

  The corner of my mouth quirked with a smile, and I tossed a weed onto Mom’s small pile. “It’s not a big deal. I’m just having some trouble with a friend.” I hadn’t planned to say anything about Leah, but Mom had a way of worming things out of you without either of you realizing she was doing it.

  “What kind of problem?”

  I frowned and tried to form an answer. How could I explain it to Mom when even I didn’t understand it?

  “I guess it started when I met Abby.”

  My answer surprised her. “I thought you said you and Abby were getting along great.”

  I shook my head. “It’s not Abby. It’s Leah.”

  I tried to gauge her reaction. Ever since Leah had convinced me to cut school, Mom had been disapproving of her—almost hostile. But though she pressed her lips into a thin line, she didn’t say anything.

  I tried to put my thoughts into a comprehendible sentence. “I think something’s going on with her dad.”

  Mom pulled up a thin weed. “What kind of thing?”

  “I don’t really know. She mentioned some meeting at the Town Building a few days ago, and ever since then she’s been short-tempered and kind of . . . closed off.”

  Mom didn’t answer right away, but I didn’t push her. Finally she sat back and looked at me. “Have you tried talking to her about it?”

  I nodded glumly. “She just ignores me or gets mad.”

  “Teenage girls are confusing.” A small smile twisted Mom’s lips and her blue eyes twinkled. “Maybe she’s not ready to talk about it yet. As long as you’re there for her, she’ll open up when she’s ready.”

  I wasn’t sure if that’s how it would happen, but I nodded all the same.

  I helped Mom weed some more and tried to decide how I wanted to spend my day. It wasn’t until I was sitting on my bed, reading a book by Thomas Moche that I finally knew what I wanted to do.

  Mom and Dad gave easy permission for me to visit Abby for an hour or two, and next thing I knew I was being ushered into the Lane’s home by Mrs. Lane.

  Abby was lounging in the back sitting room again, and she smiled when I walked in.

  I sat on the plush chair next to her sofa once her mom had left. “How are you doing?”

  Surprising me, she smiled even more widely. “A lot better here than there.”

  It took me a second to realize she meant the Reality Dreams. That made sense though—there her ankle was still broken, and at least here it was set.

  I winced sympathetically. “Sorry.”

  Abby’s expression softened and she gripped my arm briefly. “You’re so nice, Jonas.”

  That made me blush.

  She grinned at my self-conscious reaction, and then pushed herself into a straighter position. “You know, that dream isn’t nearly as bad now that I’m in the creepy place.”

  I smiled a little at her word choice. “We think it’s called the Clinic.”

  “You mean you found some answers?” Her brown eyes were bright with excitement.

  “Not to everything. But we found this room that’s got a bunch of books and things, and we’re hoping they might be able to tell us what happened and how to fix things.”

  “Why didn’t you tell me?” Her mouth slid into a pout, but she didn’t really sound mad. “I got so bored just lying there all night with those people sleeping all around me.”

  I suddenly felt like a jerk. I mean, she’d told me to go help the others find answers, but after that I’d kind of forgotten about her.

  I remembered what Rick had said, and I had an idea. “How would you feel about helping us sort through all those books?”

  Her face brightened. “That would be great! It’d be so much easier to get through the night if I had something to do.”

  “Count on it for tonight.”

&n
bsp; Abby sat forward in excitement. “What have you found so far?”

  I spent the next half hour telling her everything we had found in the books last night. I asked her about the strange words (the ones I could remember, at least), but she didn’t know their meanings either.

  When I’d finished and the excitement had faded a bit, I sat back in my chair and looked over at her. “How long will you be out of school?”

  She shrugged. “Until I can walk again, which will be at least a couple weeks.”

  I nodded silently. I was worried about our presentation, but felt weird bringing it up with everything else that was going on.

  Abby tilted her head, studying me. “I should be able to give the presentation in Practical Literature, even in the worst case.”

  My shoulders relaxed as relief settled on me. “That’s good.”

  Her mouth twisted into a smile, her eyes twinkling. “Isn’t that why you brought that with you?” She nodded toward my lap.

  I glanced down and realized with a little surprise I’d brought the book by Thomas Moche with me.

  I grinned despite myself and offered her the well-worn book. I slid to the edge of my chair eagerly. “Have you ever read one of Thomas Moche’s books?”

  The corner of her mouth lifted, amusement flashing in her eyes; but she shook her head and opened the book and began to flip through its well-loved pages. “I’m not really a fan of biographies and things—I prefer to keep that kind of thing at school.”

  “But this isn’t like a schoolbook. You would never catch me reading a book for History of the World. But give me a concept book by Thomas Moche or Sera Oralis and I’ll be happy for an entire day.”

  Abby laughed lightly at my confession, but her eyes were kind, not mocking. “I see.” She closed the book and held it mindfully. “Is that my homework for the weekend, then? To read this book, so Monday after school we can start planning our presentation?”

  “Are you sure you want to meet after school? Or do you want more time to rest?” I tried to keep my eagerness from bleeding through, but there was no way I could completely mask it. The idea of planning a presentation on Thomas Moche with Abby was so appealing to me I could hardly wait until the weekend was over. I wanted to start right then.