MirrorWorld (41 page)
In a blink, it’s all gone. The pressure. The water. All of it. I’m standing in the Dread-colony hallway, no doubt looking a little stunned. The charging bull has just passed. It felt like minutes trapped in earth, but was just a second, maybe two. The bull, having already lunged, sails through the air and into an adjacent alcove, where it careens into the back wall.
The thick but papery structure is no match for the bull. The wall tears, spilling the Dread into the space beyond. Hundreds of thin layers flutter away, butterflies in flight. A gaping hole is all that remains.
As more bulls leap from their alcoves, turning their heads back and forth, huffing and sniffing, most craning their gaze toward me, I run. For the hole. Not only is it my only hope of escape, it should also help me avoid an entire revolution around the colony, saving me a long run.
I sprint toward the alcove as the floor vibrates from the impact of so many charging bulls. It’s full of bunched-up debris, swirled into black nests, intertwined with glowing veins of surging liquid.
A head rears up.
I pull Faithful from my back, prepare to swing.
But there is something in the Dread’s four large eyes that holds me back. Not anger, or hate, or even fear.
It’s innocence. A complete lack of understanding of the danger I present. It merely regards me with interest.
A baby,
I realize, and then,
a litter,
as more heads rise. Dread or not, the rules of engagement still guide my hand, and I will not attack children. I have, in the course of my career, had my fair share of collateral damage. People get in the way sometimes. But the CIA is careful to avoid situations with children and would never actually target a child. Even secret agencies and assassins have standards. But what moves me most, when my eyes meet those of the Dread calves, is how they remind me of my son.
It’s no wonder these bulls are out of their minds trying to kill me. I’ve just invaded their home and put their children in danger. The trouble for them is that I’m just the start. If any of Lyons’s drugged-up Dread Squad get inside, they’ll kill everything. But this
is
war, and the Dread are ultimately responsible for what happens here today. They should have moved their young from this place. Even if they didn’t know Lyons had targeted this colony, they’ve been inside my head. They must have known that
I
would come when Maya’s tracker signal began transmitting.
Hopping from the edge of one nest to the next, I bounce through the alcove and leap toward the ruined wall. I’d like to say this is the old fearless Crazy shining through, but it’s really just desperation, hoping that whatever lies on the far side of this wall is less horrible than a horde of enraged, rhinoceros-sized parents.
The remains of the papery wall slap against me but provide little resistance as I plow through. When I see what lies on the other side, I shout in surprise, not because some horrible monster awaits me, but because I’ve jumped out over a twenty-five-foot drop.
It turns out that my fear of falling is misguided. As soon as my descent begins, it’s arrested. The bull, now clinging to the backside of the wall, has caught me. With a grunt, it slams me into the wall, once, twice, and then a third time, rattling my thoughts and snapping me into the past.
I’m with Lyons. It’s my first day with Neuro and he’s just told me his long-term game plan for the Dread. He’s looking for a way to repel them and end what he calls their “reign of terror.” Without their influence on mankind, he thinks wars will end, fear will dwindle on a vast scale, and global peace will be attainable. He speaks with energy bordering on frantic. Hungry. Unable to understand the subtlety of fear at the time, I missed the cues that this fight was personal for him. It always was. The “better world” scenario he presented me was simply justification for a vendetta that began during his childhood.
He asks my opinion.
“In my experience,” I say, “the only way to truly squelch a longtime enemy is to beat them into submission and then reverse the flow of influence. Post–World War Two Japan is a good example.”
His only response is a smile.
The memory fades as my body is jolted.
In the present, my new surroundings overshadow the surprise I feel about the World War II analogy, of which Lyons is so fond, which originated from me. I’m hanging sideways in the grasp of a bull as it lumbers down the tunnel on three limbs. Its grip is solid, my arms pinned by my sides. I’m stuck, and while the creature is moving in the right direction, I have no intention of reaching Maya as a prisoner. The sound of several sets of heavy footfalls tell me the bull is not alone. I open my eyes and confirm it. Bulls, pugs, and Medusa-hands. Too many to count. A mob of Dread is escorting me downward.
Seeing no other option, I pull what is becoming the oldest trick in my “How to Outwit and Outmaneuver Dread” book. The quick plan is to hop into my home dimension and, while the bull is distracted by my disappearance, return to the mirror dimension, push the mob back with a burst of raw fear, put a few Desert Eagle rounds into the nearest alcove wall to weaken it, and dive right on through. It’s insane. I recognize that, but it’s all I can come up with, so I go for it.
The plan falls to pieces the moment I put part 1 into action. I’m expecting moist but solid earth to hug and hold me in place. Instead, I get a raging torrent of flowing liquid. I’m yanked forward instead of stopping, spun around, slammed against hard stone, and lost in complete darkness. Near drowning, I reenter the mirror world, hoping to be tossed to the floor farther up the tunnel. But that’s not what happens.
When I enter the mirror world, I’m not deposited on or above the tunnel floor, I’m embedded
in
it. Half of my body is locked in stone. The other half, lying sideways, is left to flail. With my one free eye, I see the bulls snap to attention, snorting at my return. The closest of them raises its thick foot to stomp on me.
Choice is removed once again. I manage to suck in a breath through my one free nostril and then slip back into the raging waters far beneath New Orleans. I’m swept away again and brutalized by the tunnel walls. I cling to the air in my lungs, but the rapids seem determined to knock it free. Bubbles burst from my mouth with every jarring impact.
Then my head hits something solid.
I black out for a moment.
When I come to, thrashing awake, the air in my lungs is gone.
I reach out, hoping to feel open space, but how will I know it? Moving so quickly, spun like a pebble in a rock polisher, how will I ever recognize that fraction of a second of cool air being different from the water?
I won’t.
But then, as the raging water takes a sudden turn, I do.
I don’t feel the change so much as I
hear
it. The gurgling, muffled cacophony of flowing water suddenly echoes in a tight space. The sound actually hurts my ears when I take a gasping breath, and then another, calming the burn in my lungs.
The surface beneath me changes to a slanted solid stone. I can’t see it, but I claw my way over the surface, fighting to pull myself free of the devil’s waterslide. The gap is small, just enough room for me to pull my torso out of the water, but my legs remain wet, tugged at by the rapids, urging me to my death.
The rock bed is cold against my head, but so very welcome. With each breath, my body normalizes.
Calm down,
I tell myself.
Start thinking. What options do I have?
Option one, check out the mirror world. I peek without moving my body between worlds. It’s a surreal experience. I’m encased in the black earth, but it’s intercut by thin, glowing roots. I don’t clearly understand the Dread or their world, but one thing is for certain, it’s all connected. Free to move, I look in all directions and see the same thing: earth, right in my face. I rub my eyes after returning to the pitch black of the underground river. I only looked into the other world, but my brain still thinks there’s dirt in my eyes.
That means I’ve got only one possible escape route—the river. And who knows if it will even bring me in the right direction, or if I won’t have my back broken against a stone five seconds after getting back in the water?
But no choice means no choice. As much as I don’t like the idea of being battered by the rough waters or drowned beneath them, I refuse to give in now. Sure, I could survive in this little world for a time. I’d die from hypothermia long before I starved, and I certainly wouldn’t die from lack of water. But I’d be letting the Dread have Maya without a fight, and if she’s still around when Dread Squad arrives …
I sigh and roll onto my back.
Despite the pitch black, I close my eyes and see Maya. Her smiling face. Her hands full of pumpkin gore, dripping freshly pillaged seeds. I wait, holding a carving knife, while Simon digs his small hands into the open gourd. He’s the closest thing I’ve seen to a true Halloween zombie. I smile at the memory. It returned recently, probably while I was being bashed about in the river.
“I’m sorry,” I say into the darkness, warm tears on my cheeks.
Dammit. I miss that kid.
Miss his mother, too …
I see the entire past year, spent in SafeHaven in a new light. Despite the company of Shotgun Jones and Seymour, I was very alone. My lack of fear and memory prevented me from experiencing it, but now that my memories are returning and I’m able to feel a full range of emotions, remembering that time is heartbreaking, lonely, and desperate. Looking back even further, I can see that my life before Maya was much the same. I depended on myself, leaned on my fearless nature to get past struggles. My own strength carried me. But when I found Maya, that changed. I was still fearless, but she removed the burden of self-sufficiency. She became my strength. So did Simon. Is that why I ran away? Despite my lack of fear, did I become powerless? Weak? It’s not impossible, and I certainly wouldn’t have feared ridicule for my mental retreat.
But Maya wasn’t gone. She was alive. She needed me. Why would I have run from that? I still can’t remember, but I’m not going to make the same mistake again.
I’m coming, baby
.
I’m coming.
I roll myself into the river, content that it will either carry me where I need to go or usher me into the afterlife, from which I will do my best to torment the Dread for what they’ve taken from me.
Relaxing my body, I let myself drift through the darkness. I’m slammed into a side wall as the river takes a sharp left turn. That’s when I start checking the mirror world for open spaces. With my vision in the Dread world, I watch scores of glowing vein-roots slip past in a blur.
The river batters me. The pain radiating through my body hides the burning in my lungs for a minute, but the ache to breathe soon dwarfs all other feelings. I crush my lips together, clinging to the air, absorbing each and every molecule of oxygen.
I hold on, watching the subterranean mirror world slide past. I’m seconds from taking a breath. Seconds from death. Lights appear in my vision, choreographed twirling spots. It’s almost beautiful. But I can’t see. My view of the mirror world slides to black.
No time left,
I think.
No time!
I shift.
And stop.
Locked in densely packed earth. The only question left is, Which world do I want to die in?
Home,
I think. I’ll drown and be carried by the river, maybe ejected out to sea and found by a fisherman. Maybe I’ll even get a burial. Or perhaps just feed a hungry shark. As my mind starts to slip away, I focus on returning home one last time.
Then I feel it.
My foot can move!
I slip back into the river, am tugged down hard. My mouth opens, sucking in water. As my body goes rigid, I shift back to the mirror world, leaving the river behind but carrying along the water in my lungs.
I fall for just a moment and land on a hard surface.
My body shakes, desperate to breathe, but unable to because of the water in my lungs. Still fading, it takes all of my remaining energy and willpower to roll myself over onto my hands and knees. My gut and chest convulse silently, pumping water out of my lungs, and then I can breathe.
That first breath of ammonia-scented air fills my lungs so hard and fast that I sound like a broken trumpet, announcing my arrival to any Dread in the area. I cough hard, expelling more water and the precious air too soon. My vision fades. I breathe hard a second time. The veins covering the floor beneath me come into focus. After three more gasping breaths, I get my body under control, still heaving but no longer doing an impression of a wounded wildebeest.
It’s a full minute before I can even think about doing something other than breathing. And then a single thought explodes into my mind.
I’m alive.
Rewinding recent history, I faced down four bulls, a swamp full of Dread crocs, and angry Dread bulls, and I was nearly drowned and / or buried alive.
And
I survived
.
While
feeling fear. It’s a nice confidence boost, if only for a moment. My body aches from head to toe. While my past wounds might have healed, I’ve taken more than a few beatings since arriving in New Orleans. I can’t see all my wounds in the dark, hidden by armor, but I can smell my own blood, even after my cleansing dip in the river, which means I’m bleeding from somewhere. Identifying the source of the wound would be easier if the pain wasn’t everywhere.
I push past it all, for Maya, and for myself. I’m not Crazy anymore, but that doesn’t mean I’m not still the deadliest son of a bitch the Dread have ever encountered. I look around and find myself in an alcove. It’s short and full of small nests.
A pug den,
I decide. I crawl slowly toward the opening and peek out. Nothing in either direction. No sound. No wave of pressure to indicate the approach of a Dread welcoming party.
I step out and take stock. I’ve got Faithful on my back, both trench knives on my hips, and the Desert Eagle holstered on my chest. The weapon can fire underwater, so the river trip is no concern. I swap out the magazine for a fresh one and slide the big gun back in place. I’ve managed to evade the Dread defenses. With stealth back on my side, using the hand cannon would be counterproductive.