#10 thousand

He wakes with a jolt, gasping a breath that smells and tastes of danger. There's one here. The Z crawls towards him, reaching out to grab. Its face comes into view, rotten flesh peeling from the dislocated jaw.

“Tommy...”

He kicks, reaching for his gun, flailing in the darkness. But he's rooted to the ground.

“You didn't do it...” It- he- is close enough now to spray specks of blood from his gaping mouth as he rasps. “You promised... Tommy...” A filthy clawed hand smothers his face, he can't breathe.

“Dad!”

He wakes for real this time, the hand covering his mouth his own. 10K shudders and sits upright, feeling cold sweat.

“Hey.” A torch light shines in his direction. “It's me”

Doc.

10K steadies his breath as he looks around; they're in a barn which is part of a commune-turned-survivor camp. The residents, mostly children and elderly, had been happy to provide food and supplies in exchange for a couple days' manual labour.

“Same dream?” Doc asks quietly. “That's at least four nights in a row now.”

10K can't remember the last time he managed to get real rest, and he's been volunteering for night watch as a distraction,  but his aim has begun to suffer. Tonight though, Doc is on duty, and the radio is quietly serenading him.

“I can't make it stop,” he mumbles, looking at the crescent moon nail marks on his palms. “Its stupid. But it won't go away.”

Doc drapes an arm over his shoulder. “Nothing stupid about it kid, we've experienced some pretty messed up shit.”

Glancing around the barn, 10K breathes a sigh of relief that he didn't wake everyone else up by yelling this time. Whatever Doc says, its still embarrassing.

“You need to relax a bit, get some proper shut-eye.” Doc pulls something from his shirt pocket. “How 'bout it?”

10K squints at the joint. His Dad always said that drugs were for rockstars and communists. But if he can't sleep then he can't shoot.

“I guess so.” He sighs.

Doc lights the joint, takes a puff, and then passes it over. “It's not too different to a cig. You wanna take a breath first, and then sort of suck in, so it goes down into your lungs.”

10K gingerly takes the joint and breathes in, then sucks- and splutters.

“Not like that!”

“Argh, its up my nose.” He steels himself then tries again, and this time he inhales properly. It tastes like burned cheese.

“Give it a minute before you take another, this isn't beginner strength.” Doc takes back the joint and hits a few times in quick succession as he studies 10K's face.

Oh. There it is.

A wave of calm descends on him like a gentle trickle of hot water, his muscles unclenching.

“I think its working,” he mumbles, and is surprised by how his voice sounds.

“Sounds like it.” Doc hands him the joint and brings the radio closer, turning it up just slightly. “Our good pal Citizen Z is running through the best of Dire Straits. Best band to come out of Britain. The Beatles are overrated.”

10K inhales another mouthful of weed, feeling the endorphin rush. “Beetles are quite tasty actually.”

He's actually heard Doc mention the band before, but it doesn't matter because he just made a joke and its really, really funny.

He's trying so hard not to laugh too loud that he drops ash onto his lap. “Ow!”

“Careful!” Doc quickly takes back the joint and flicks off the ash. “Oh yeah, that reminds me. Don't ever smoke this stuff naked. Easy to drop off with it in your hand, then next thing y'know you're roasting your chestnuts.”

10K winces and crosses his legs.

“Man, that nudist commune was one of the best places I ever lived. Had to leave for the winter though.”

Everything's fuzzy now, but in a pleasant way. 10K leans back against the corrugated metal wall and lets his eyes close, listening to the music.

“You wanna talk about it, kid?”

“What, being naked?”

“The nightmares I mean.” The light is dim but it looks like Doc's blowing smoke rings.

10K remembers how it starts differently each time, but always ends up with the corpse that used to be his Father coming for him, hungry and accusational. The lurching twist in the pit of his stomach comes as usual but its definitely less pronounced.

“I don't think it matters right now.” He takes one more hit, and starts to feel like he's floating on a cushion of air. Citizen Z's smooth voice emanating from the radio is a gentle breeze, softly nudging his cloud across the sky.

“Whatever time zone you're in, I want to wish you a safe and calm evening. Especially to my good friends Operation Bitemark. Here's one more record to see you off.”

Even though he doesn't recognise the music, 10K is comforted by it. Doc's singing along very quietly next to him as he takes the last toke. Faint sounds of the others breathing slowly and deeply in their sleep. Safe and calm indeed.

A joke occurs to him and its gone again before he can articulate it but its so hilarious that he has to shove his fist in his mouth again, this time to suppress hysteria rather than screams.

“What's so funny?” asks Doc.

“I...” 10K wheezes as he hold in the laughter. “I can't remember.”

“Okay. That's about where you want to be.” Doc picks up 10K's blanket and drapes it over him. “Feelin' sleepy now?”

10K becomes aware that while the rest of him feels feather-light, his eyelids are incredibly heavy. He nods and lets himself slip sideways to lie down.

“Thanks Doc.” He murmurs. Maybe it doesn't actually come out, because he's asleep the moment his cheek rests on his arm. But he's sure that Doc knows he means it.

The only thing he dreams of is being a cloud floating in the warm blue sky.