The Ravaged World (Book 2 of the Exiles Series)

Eight: Talia

That night I had a nightmare. It was one of those recurring ones that you have many times before you wake up again--the worst kind. My line of sight was blocked off, leaving me behind a shield of blackness. I could hear voices, but I couldn't find the sources. One of the voices was me. I was screaming.

"Where is she?!" dreamscape-me shrieked. "My sister. Where is she?"

There were voices screaming all around me. A gruff one in particular was telling me to stop. "Quit it or I'm calling the police!" someone warned. I heard myself struggling against something, sobbing.

"Where is my sister?" I cried. "What have you done to her? WHERE IS SHE?!"

There was a rough noise, and even though I couldn't see it I felt myself begin to fall. But instead of falling down on to the ground I seemed to fall for miles and miles and miles, down a dark, cold abyss. "Where is she?!" I continued to yell. "Where is Nicole?"

Suddenly I could see again. I looked around wildly, searching for the person who had pushed me. It took me a moment to realize that I was in my own room, that I was safe.

I was in a cold sweat, shaking like crazy. I touched my clammy hands and feet slowly and carefully, making sure I was real. And I was. I breathed a sigh of relief and lay back down, snuggled up in a quilt, my back drenched in sweat even with the early morning breeze cooling the room through the tarp.

"Talia." Nicole peeked over the side of her bunk, staring at me with worried eyes. The sun was out, I could tell, and I could hear movement outside, but I didn't hear Mom up yet. "Talia, are you alright?" Her amber eyes were wide, although she must've just woken up.

I rolled around to my side and stared at Nicole, nodding my head. "Yeah, it was just a nightmare," I assured her in a whisper. "It might have been a memory, but I can't be sure."

The mattress above me gave a prolonged squeak, and I heard the sound of Nicole's bare feet shuffling across the carpeted floor. "Talia," she said, peering at my bed, "can I sit next to you?"

I nodded and sat up, careful not to hit my head on the ceiling, and scooted over to make room.

"What were your charges?" Nicole whispered, tucking a stray hair of hers behind her ear. "Did they tell you?"

It took me a moment to realize what she meant, but when I did I nodded. "Yes."

"What were they?" Nicole repeated, almost looking anxious.

"Acting erratically in public," I recited, never breaking my gaze. "What were yours?"

"Armed robbery," she told me.

I gasped.

"That was my reaction, too," Nicole told me, "when they told me, when I was getting examined. Apparently I stole a piece of bread from a market. When they caught me, the police found a knife in my pocket. The victim claimed I had used it in the robbery. But I don't think so." Suddenly my dream made sense. My dream must have been a memory, because that hysterical screaming and crying that I had been doing surely qualified as erratic behavior. I must have missed Nic so much that I had basically gone crazy, especially after the sudden death of our father.

"Is that how you knew," I asked, "that this place sucked? That we were poor? Because you wouldn't have had to steal or carried that knife around if our situation was better."

Nic's eyes widened. "It was my thinking, too," she remarked, standing up from my bed. I stood up, too, and followed her as she walked easily through the curtain and walked over to the front door. She grabbed her island boots from the doormat and tied them on.