Dream Chasers (Dystopian Scifi Series Book 1) (7 page)

It was a lot warmer in the
green Subaru car. A famous Japanese boy band was singing on the radio, shouting
words of love in their mother tongue:
“Ai wa anata ga hitsuyō to suru
subetedesu!”
(Love is all you need). Peter was at the back of the car. His
mouth and hands were tied with rope. The way you would lead a cow to the
farmhouse, Peter had thought when they’d tied him up. And when he’d climbed
into the green Subaru car, he laughed at the thought. It was funny to him, not
as funny as his dead mother outside the basketball gymnasium, but funny.

‘You and I,’ Midori said from
the front passenger seat, turning up the radio and looking over his shoulder,
‘we’re going to be rich. You believe me, right?’ Midori patted Peter’s knees.
‘Hey, you okay?’

The engine roared, and off the
wheels went. Peter looked to his side as they slowly drove past the gymnasium.
He saw Spotless and the red bucket on the pavement, Spotless throwing his
weight forward as he scraped with the mop. Then the view disappeared. Midori
tapped his knees and told him the same thing again:
we’re going be rich
.

Peter smiled, and nodded.
‘Yeah, we are.’ He looked away and at the window next to him. He was guarded by
two men on either side. He wasn’t going to get away, he thought, not with his
hands and mouth tied, but it didn’t really matter, because all he wanted to do
was stare at the early morning sky. He didn’t want to think. Thinking would
make him remember what’d happened.

They drove around the corner,
the radio blasting. Peter could see tall city buildings in the distance, the
lights on them a thousand yellow stars. With his eyes fixated on the window, he
smiled. ‘Can’t wait,’ he said.

Midori glanced over his seat.
He studied Peter. ‘What’s that?’

‘I said, I can’t wait.’

Midori wasn’t smiling anymore.
‘For what?’

Peter slowly turned his head.
‘We’re going to be rich, right?’

‘Don’t you turn crazy on me,’
Midori said, reaching for his pocket and pulling out his cell. And that’s when
the crash happened, just as Midori pressed his cell, as the screen flashed on. It
sounded like a train derailing from its tracks at high speed, as if the din had
come from inside the car and not outside, but it clearly came from outside.
Peter knew this, because as the glass spat in every direction, he saw a Humvee
outside with someone standing on top of it. That someone was pointing a gun with
a red laser, and by the sound of it, it had to be a powerful gun, maybe a
sniper rifle. Thunder struck again, this bullet going into the man next to
Peter. Blood and glass spat onto his face. People screamed. The car swerved as
another shot was fired, this one hitting the driver in the neck. Tires
screeched, and then metal slammed against a brick wall, knocking over
trashcans. Luck was on Peter’s side – he fell, head first, against the seat in
front. The driver, however, was not lucky. He took a bullet in the neck and
spat through the windshield.

Everything around Peter was a
black haze. Gunfire rattled on as he tried getting out of the car, but there
was no point. He couldn’t move his legs. Someone was on top of him, a body, a
bleeding body. The black haze thickened around him. He tried breathing for air,
but it was hard. ‘H-help,’ he whispered. Amid constant gunfire, which to
Peter’s ears sounded far away, he heard someone he hated with every fiber of
his heart. Midori winced. Glass spat onto the car’s steel roof, sounding like
hail on a stormy afternoon. Midori winced again, and then Peter heard some kind
of smacking. Peter had enough energy to lift his chin. In his black, hazy
vision, he saw Midori slither from the front seat and out into the night.

Midori was there, but he was
not there. Did it make sense? No, it didn’t. But Peter had enough wits to know
that his mind must’ve been playing an old recording over and over. The image
was of Midori’s legs slithering from the front seat. Constant gunfire. He heard
voices, and felt hot glass on his neck. Glass cracked. Someone was pulling him
from the wreckage, a man, maybe two, maybe three? They all had masks covering
their faces. At least he could see their eyes.

Then he couldn’t breathe. The
air in his lungs was diminishing. He needed air, fresh air. In the far
background, someone screamed for mercy. Mercy was met with a bullet, a firework
bang. 

Peter stared at the heavens,
his body unable to move. He saw masked faces appearing over his vision, and he thought:
am I still Dream Chasing?

Logan
Stark currently lives in England, where he works as a chef in a five star
restaurant. He’s not only excellent at burning food, but he’s also great at
getting the orders mixed up (people never get their food on time). He lives
with Timpy, his black cat, and loves drinking coffee while writing stories.

Thank
you for reading

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The
next book is now out, check it out!

Out on Amazon: Dream Disaster

There
are a few gangs in Lower City Tokyo, but they are nothing compared to the
Yaramati, who murders without leaving a trace and then uses sophisticated
software to cover its tracks. One of the men entrusted with the IC software,
Mark Hambeldon – a man who has been with the gang for over ten years – is about
to have his world turned upside down.

The
leader of the Yaramati, Rida Yamaliti, wants his sister dead because of family
complications and pressure from rival gangs. Rida calls in Mark Hambeldon,
someone whom he knows is loyal to the gang, and gives him the mission.

Mark
takes the assassination contract with a confused heart. He has always liked Millie,
who is just a pretty woman minding her own business. Mark has a difficult
choice to make: does he kill her? Or does he question Rida’s decision?

To make
things worse, Vase – an eighteen-year-old and the gang leader’s daughter – has
a crush on Mark, and she’ll do anything to make Mark hers
.