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and make sure Mr Greene gives you a bottle of water.’
    Abandoning my bag I slid shakily into the aisle. My chin and cheeks were wet. I had to wash my face, but had nothing I could use until I got off the bus and faced everyone.
    I raised my head so I could see where I was going and the scene through the slewed front window struck me like a fist in the gut. We had stopped directly in front of the hill-hemmed barley field.
    A sharp ache pulsed behind my right eye and my belly crampedagain. I rushed off the bus and threw up at Mr Greene’s feet.
    Loud exclamations and girlish shrieks greeted this display and my face burned even as the blood tried to flee my cheeks.
    Finally my stomach was empty and I nudged tacky strands of hair out of my face. Mr Greene gestured with a bottle of Evian and I held out my hands.
    I cleaned myself up as best I could and swilled water around my mouth until the taste of regurgitated meat faded. Then I moved further from the bus to wipe my spattered legs.
    When I was done I gathered my courage and turned to face the field.
    My knees trembled and I rubbed my eyes, reasoning desperately.
    We’re less than an hour out of Hopfingen. In my dream Zillah drives for two hours – it can’t be the same place.
    But . . . those trucks wouldn’t have travelled very fast.
    I had to face it. This was the place Zillah had died. My class-mates and I were standing at the site of a horrifying massacre.
    ‘Cassie?’
    A hand on my shoulder made me jump. It was Nicola.
    ‘What do you want?’ My voice was colder than I’d meant it to be.
    The other girl stepped back, fumbled in her pocket and came out with an Airwaves. ‘Here.’ She dropped the pellet in my hand.
    ‘Thanks.’ I stared at her as I slid the gum into my mouth. Her phone was poking out of her jeans. ‘Your phone . . .’
    Nicola’s fingers hovered protectively over her precious iPhone. ‘What about it?’
    ‘It has GPS, right?’
    Suspicion tightened her features. ‘Why?’
    My mind raced. ‘I-I just want to know how long we’ve got before we get to Bayreuth.’ Nicola glanced back at her mates and I looked away. ‘Never mind . . . if you don’t know how to use it.’
    ‘Don’t be stupid.’ Nicola tugged the phone free and I kept my face blank as her fingers danced across the screen. ‘Here.’ She waved it in front of me. ‘It says we have another forty-five minutes.’
    ‘So that’s where we are . . . those coordinates?’
    ‘Yes.’ She whipped the phone away, but the information still danced in front of my eyes. I now knew exactly where we were.
    Nicola huffed as she put her phone back in her pocket. ‘I bet the bus stinks now.’
    She loped back to her friends and I returned my gaze to the field. The sounds of my classmates faded away and I imagined the air filled with screams and the crackle of gunfire.
    As I dropped my bag on my new seat I spotted my Meg Cabot jammed into the top of it and ran my fingers over the rumpled pages.
When Lightning Strikes
was about a girl able to find people through psychic visions.
    What if this is something similar? If I’m some sort of . . . medium, then maybe there’s a way I can end the dreams.
    My hands tightened on the book.
    These visions could be haunting me because Zillah’s spirit wants the world to know what happened. My nightmares might go away if someone finds her body.
    I stopped breathing, terrified of derailing my train of thought.
    I could leave a tip with the police. I’ve got the coordinates of the field and I don’t have to give my name. I’ve got nothing to lose.
    My breath trembled as I made up my mind: I’d do anything to end the nightmares. When we got back to Hopfingen I’d find a payphone and first chance I got I’d leave a tip with the
Landespolizei
.
    I fixed my eyes steadfastly on the field as the bus pulled away and said a silent farewell to the little Jewish girl I knew was buried there.
    If this worked, I’d never have to see her again.

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