How can I hurt like this in a dream? If this were a normal dream, the pain would have woken me. The problem is, I can’t wake up while I’m frozen. Knowing this is all a dream, my mind keeps creating situations designed to wake me up. In essence, my mind has created a new reality, an Omega reality that can’t be turned off, which means—like phantom pain—I feel everything as if it were real.

“Thanks a lot, Uncle David!”

Searching the raft’s compartments, I pocketed the flares, then removed the first-aid kit. I opened the antibacterial ointment, only to find it had hardened like cement. Next, I tore open a pack of gauze, which crumbled into fibers of dust.

“What the hell? Vanilla sway! Send me a beautiful nurse, Jason!”

A green lizard glide-landed twenty feet away. Hunched on its hind legs, it cocked its head to one side as if observing me.

“Not exactly what I had in mind.” I reached for a flare, tearing off its igniter … and dust poured from the shredded tube.

“Great.” Searching for a rock to toss at the lizard, I found a fish, its scarlet fins flapping in the sand. Locating the steak knife I had stowed in one of the jumpsuit’s zippered pockets, I stabbed the eighteen-inch creature, then tossed it at the kite runner.

The lizard caught it in midair, gobbling it down its pelican-like gullet without biting. Satisfied, it took off running down the beach.

Wiping the blade clean, I used the knife to cut off the sleeves from my jumpsuit. Shredding the material into strips, I did my best to tie off each puncture wound, applying pressure to stop the bleeding, all the while the pain so great that it nearly caused me to pass out.

Feverish, I jumped as the tide surged past me again, the water calf-deep and alarmingly powerful. Retrieving the raft, I ran with the sea and far beyond, my feet assaulting another stretch of dry beach.

How far inland could the ocean chase me? Using the binoculars, I scanned the horizon, focusing again on the distant rise and the promising greenery perched atop the rocky summit … a long, brutal trek.

My feet were sore, caked with sand and blood. Using the steak knife, I fashioned socks from the vinyl pockets and a hood to keep the sun off my head.

Before the next surge could reach me I started off, limping across a barren white plain littered with decaying fish and empty crustacean shells.

*   *   *

Hours passed, the pounding ocean fading to a distant thunder. The fear of the advancing tide was replaced by annoying swarms of flies and a growing fishy stench.