As if from a great distance, Craig wondered if the storm would ever subside. It was making his stomach churn and he thought he might have groaned. In his dream, he tried to hang on to the sides of the ship but his fingers kept slipping and he rolled across the deck. Opening his mouth to scream for help, nothing came out. Something hard slapped him in the face and jolted him into wakefulness. The sea faded and instead he found himself looking at grubby white walls and rope. “What...?” Craig didn't finish the question. A sudden lurch took him and he turned and vomited, feeling waves of nausea thudding in his head. The floor beneath him was tracked with mud and dust; it shimmered out of focus before coming back solid again. He groaned. Sat up, leaning against the wall behind. He realized he was still moving, and could smell diesel, hear the roar of an engine. A car. He was in a car. Blinking, he stared around. No, it was bigger than that. A van. Okay, a van. And one traveling somewhere.
