I was on a bus that fleeing a city on fire. The bus itself seemed to be on fire, with sparks flying out from underneath. I kept trying to get the driver to stop because I thought that the bus would set fire to the surrounding countryside. The sparks seemed to diminish as we progressed—but where were we going? And who were we?
At last we arrived at a destination somewhere, and I handed someone a cup or tin that was on fire to set in water, someone we all thought trustworthy. At the very last moment, I caught him trying to set it down on a flammable wooden table and snatched it from him, barely in time.
We found that one of our friends, a woman, had no head. Someone who seemed to be a leader said that, to get it back, she must pilot a certain craft whose engine had never been started. Until this craft was ready, we had to guard it very carefully against use. Meanwhile, there was something disturbing about the headless woman beyond the obvious.
Finally, it was the night before the craft's maiden voyage. We were stressed and strained from the close watch we'd kept on it for so long. In the wee hours, though, there was a commotion where the craft was housed, and, to our horror, we thought we heard the engine starting—condemning the woman to an existence bereft of her head. We flew to the craft—and found the woman herself trying to steal it. We learned we had been deceived by what seemed to be pure evil.