Free Nod by Adrian Barnes Page A

for the grownups. The non-Sleepers, child and adult alike, were straightforward in their blossoming psychoses. But there was clearly a difference between the way child and adult Sleepers were handling things.
    I, for example, was at least somewhat disturbed by the murder and mayhem I was seeing. And I was more than a little put out by the thought, for example, of Tanya’s swelling madness and seemingly inevitable demise. But Zoe didn’t appear to notice what was going on. She was young, but not so young that she shouldn’t be scared. In fact, her normalcy was starting to freak me out.
    Of course, I wasn’t completely right in my own head. First off, there was the Dream. Sheepishly, I dub it ‘the Dream’: ‘The Dream of the Golden Light’ sounds like something cheesy from the annals of Chinese folklore or the ramblings of some wake-and-bake New Age guru. Granted, ‘The Dream’ sounds a little pretentious, but what other options do I have? And you can’t say, given the circumstances, that it doesn’t warrant capitalization. Just count yourself lucky that I don’t call it THE DREAM in hysterical all caps. What can I say? Sometimes language just lets us down.
    In the Dream, nothing bothered me, like nothing seemed to bother Zoe when she was awake. Did that perhaps mean that she and the other children like her were living in the Dream full time? It was a thought to keep in mind.
    Earlier, I’d found a pad of legal paper shoved under a cushion on the couch. Tanya’s TV notes, transcribed straight from the mouths of the Brazen Heads:
    Night 6
    Symptoms of depersonalization occur and a clear sense of identity is lost. This is called sleep deprivation psychosis. The effects of sleep deprivation are more psychological than physical. Reflexes are impaired but heart rate, respiration, blood pressure and body temperature show very little change. The main physical consequences seem to be hand tremors, droopy eyelids, problems in focusing the eyes and a heightened sensitivity to pain.
    So. Something to look forward to.
    ‘Paul!’
    Inside, Tanya was rocking back and forth on the couch, oblivious Zoe pressed tight to her hip.
    ‘We haven’t got any milk, Paul. This child needs milk.’
    ‘The power’s out. The milk will have all gone sour.’
    She sneered as she mimicked me. ‘
The milk will all be sour
’. Jesus Christ, Paul, use that big fucking brain you’re so proud of. There’s going to be shelf milk in the stores.’
    ‘But the stores are all…’
    ‘So, what? We’re just going to sit here and let Zoe die of thirst? Is that your big plan, Paul?’
    Instead of replying, I gazed into the calm sky of Zoe’s face. There’s something holy about the face of a child weathering adult storms; I remember this from my own youth. Squabbles over bills and vacation plans; the uptight soccer dads and chain-smoking moms to whom my peers and I somehow belonged. Up to a certain age, kids can’t engage the grown up madness around them even if they try. They don’t have the chops yet; all they can do is watch and wait.
    While we bickered, Zoe turned her head toward the door, perhaps thinking about making a run for it. Tanya looked at me then triangulated her way down to Zoe. Then she looked back up at me, and her rheumy eyes were filled with tears. She blinked them away and held the child tight, stroking her hair. I can’t say if the stroking persuaded Zoe to stay with us and not flee our mom and pop Bedlam for the Big Box Bedlam outside, but Tanya’s affectionate arm appeared to play at least a small part in Zoe’s willingness to remain.
    Sensing this, Tanya quickly swampwatered her way into the role of the meek and mild hausfrau.
    ‘I don’t want to fight. We just need something for Zoe to drink.’
    ‘Okay. I’ll see what I can do.’
    I went into the kitchen and grabbed the scariest-looking knife on the premises—the same one Tanya had used last night. Concealing it beneath my shirt, I went into the front hall