Read Online Dangerous Dreams: A Novel by Mike Rhynard - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Mike Rhynard
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. . same people, three times, never happens . . . like a movie, not a dream . . . that girl’s really pretty.
She yawned, rolled out of bed, walked to the bathroom, and drank a glass of water, yawned again. Birthmark’s itchy . . . wonder how Erik’s doing. Miss him. Nice work, O’Shay! She looked at herself in the mirror. Gotta sleep, busy day. Wonder what he’s doing right now. Probably asleep; it’s one thirty in the frickin’ morning. She walked clumsily back to the bed, slid under the comforter, then resumed watching the fan. Its motion quickly mesmerized her, relaxed her, helped her think and channel questions into the analytical software of her mind; but the questions remained unanswered, begot still more questions.
At two thirty, Allie realized she was still awake, wide awake, far from sleep. She got out of bed, returned to the bathroom, and searched the top drawer for her Melatonin. “Damn it! Where is it? Know it’s here.” She checked two other drawers, slammed them closed. On the way out of the bathroom she remembered it was in her makeup kit. She found it, washed-down three pills, then returned to the bed. Forty-five minutes later, she still watched the fan, her mind seemingly spinning in sync with its rotation. “I’ll
make
them work!” She returned to the bathroom, downed three more Melatonin, crawled back into bed. Twenty minutes later, she slipped gracefully off the precipice of sleep, her thoughts trailing to oblivion behind her. Dreams . . . dreams . . . why . . .
Two hundred miles to the northwest of the colonists, four Savages untied their travois from their waists, set about gathering firewood for the approaching night. One pulled a stick the length of his forearm from a deer-hide bag, then a flat chip of wood half the length of the stick and the width of a man’s hand. Next he removed a flat rock with a hole in it as wide as the fire stick diameter, then some tinder, which he laid around and inside a notch in the chip, adjacent to a hole that was also the diameter of the stick. Last came a short, bow-shaped stick with a loose piece of sinew attached to the ends. He looped the sinew around the fire stick and fitted the bottom into the friction hole in the chip, the top into the hole in the rock. He pressed heavily on the rock with his left hand while rapidly rotating the stick back and forth with his right hand until the friction generated smoke, then a glowing ember in the hole. He quickly laid the tinder on the ember, blew gently until it flamed, and placed it on the ground, adding several twigs, then some larger sticks, but not enough to generate a smoke column that might be seen by an enemy. Though their campsite was in a rocky, wooded, mountainous area that offered excellent concealment, they listened carefully and remained alert for any sound that might signal approaching danger.
The cool mountain air was refreshing after a complete moon cycle of days in the low, hot river country; and they savored it as they sat around their modest fire, sipping water from their large animal-stomach bags and chewing pieces of dried venison. The climb up the mountains had been strenuous, as the large, furry robes they carried were twelve hands long and ten hands wide, and weighed as much as a rock that took both hands to lift and throw. Each man carried six such robes, a heavy load, but their expected reward would more than repay their effort. The coastal tribes prized the large hides for their winter warmth and summer softness, paid dearly for them with beautiful shells and jewelry crafted from the red stones found inland from the sea, as well as with an occasional pearl. The four would use their bounty for gifts and to trade for more wealth with others of their own tribe, far to the north in their land of many big waters.
They had made good time paddling their canoes south down the Mother-of-All-Rivers, each man with his own canoe and load of robes, staying in themiddle of the river to avoid
She yawned, rolled out of bed, walked to the bathroom, and drank a glass of water, yawned again. Birthmark’s itchy . . . wonder how Erik’s doing. Miss him. Nice work, O’Shay! She looked at herself in the mirror. Gotta sleep, busy day. Wonder what he’s doing right now. Probably asleep; it’s one thirty in the frickin’ morning. She walked clumsily back to the bed, slid under the comforter, then resumed watching the fan. Its motion quickly mesmerized her, relaxed her, helped her think and channel questions into the analytical software of her mind; but the questions remained unanswered, begot still more questions.
At two thirty, Allie realized she was still awake, wide awake, far from sleep. She got out of bed, returned to the bathroom, and searched the top drawer for her Melatonin. “Damn it! Where is it? Know it’s here.” She checked two other drawers, slammed them closed. On the way out of the bathroom she remembered it was in her makeup kit. She found it, washed-down three pills, then returned to the bed. Forty-five minutes later, she still watched the fan, her mind seemingly spinning in sync with its rotation. “I’ll
make
them work!” She returned to the bathroom, downed three more Melatonin, crawled back into bed. Twenty minutes later, she slipped gracefully off the precipice of sleep, her thoughts trailing to oblivion behind her. Dreams . . . dreams . . . why . . .
Two hundred miles to the northwest of the colonists, four Savages untied their travois from their waists, set about gathering firewood for the approaching night. One pulled a stick the length of his forearm from a deer-hide bag, then a flat chip of wood half the length of the stick and the width of a man’s hand. Next he removed a flat rock with a hole in it as wide as the fire stick diameter, then some tinder, which he laid around and inside a notch in the chip, adjacent to a hole that was also the diameter of the stick. Last came a short, bow-shaped stick with a loose piece of sinew attached to the ends. He looped the sinew around the fire stick and fitted the bottom into the friction hole in the chip, the top into the hole in the rock. He pressed heavily on the rock with his left hand while rapidly rotating the stick back and forth with his right hand until the friction generated smoke, then a glowing ember in the hole. He quickly laid the tinder on the ember, blew gently until it flamed, and placed it on the ground, adding several twigs, then some larger sticks, but not enough to generate a smoke column that might be seen by an enemy. Though their campsite was in a rocky, wooded, mountainous area that offered excellent concealment, they listened carefully and remained alert for any sound that might signal approaching danger.
The cool mountain air was refreshing after a complete moon cycle of days in the low, hot river country; and they savored it as they sat around their modest fire, sipping water from their large animal-stomach bags and chewing pieces of dried venison. The climb up the mountains had been strenuous, as the large, furry robes they carried were twelve hands long and ten hands wide, and weighed as much as a rock that took both hands to lift and throw. Each man carried six such robes, a heavy load, but their expected reward would more than repay their effort. The coastal tribes prized the large hides for their winter warmth and summer softness, paid dearly for them with beautiful shells and jewelry crafted from the red stones found inland from the sea, as well as with an occasional pearl. The four would use their bounty for gifts and to trade for more wealth with others of their own tribe, far to the north in their land of many big waters.
They had made good time paddling their canoes south down the Mother-of-All-Rivers, each man with his own canoe and load of robes, staying in themiddle of the river to avoid
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