From the open door of the Airstream, Westerly Reed Hager watched Ronan walk among the stunned Moderators, kicking the guns from their hands, his clouds shifting and ebbing around him. The irascible storm from the eyedropper didn’t bother him; he was just another piece of it.

Hennessy also stalked among the not-quite-awake, not-quite-asleep bodies. Kneeling swiftly, she picked up one of the abandoned guns.

Then, just as quick, she put the weapon to its fallen owner’s temple.

The Moderator didn’t react; he was dazzled by dreams. She put it to his cheek instead. Pressed the barrel into his skin hard enough to pull his mouth up in a weird smile. The man’s eyes were misted, confused.

Ronan looked at the gun, and then he looked at Hennessy. It seemed obvious she was about to blow the man’s brains out.

It was unclear whether or not the man was one of the Moderators who had killed her entire family. It was clear, however, that this nuance didn’t matter to her.

“Hennessy.”

This voice came from the third Zed who’d arrived in the strange car. He was a dapper blond with close-set, hawkish eyes and an expression that suggested he knew what the world was thinking and didn’t care for it.

Bryde.

“Hennessy,” he said again.

The gun seemed to get larger in her hand the longer it was pressed to the man’s head. This was no dream magic. This was just the magic of violence. It was a sustainable form of energy, violence. It powered itself.

Hennessy’s hand shook with fury. “I get to do this. I already paid the admission for this ride.”

“Hennessy,” Bryde said a third time.

Hennessy’s words were flippant, although her voice was electric. “You’re not my real dad.”

“There are better ways to do that. Ways to make it matter more. Do you think I don’t know what you want?”

A ripple of tension.

Then Hennessy put the gun down.

“Let’s finish this,” Bryde said.

The Moderators watched them, dazed, motionless, ill with longing and dread, as the Zeds made their way to Lock. Bryde nodded a confirmation to Ronan and Hennessy. The two of them crouched before slipping on small black fabric sleeping masks.

For the briefest of moments they were blind bandits, and then, a second later, they both slumped to the ground in fast sleep.

The Zed in the Airstream trailer, watching with wide, shocked eyes, shouted, “Who are you?”

Bryde put his fingers to his lips.

Hennessy and Ronan dreamt.