Escaping Wonderland

by Tiffany Roberts

  The strangest part of it all was how normal it seemed now. Only a few days ago—a few days ago according to the slowly suffocating rational part of Alice’s mind—such sights would’ve been mind-boggling. Now they just seemed mundane. However…

  “Are there giants here?” she asked.

  “If there are, I’ve never seen one,” Shadow replied. “Though…I’m sure it’s all just a matter of perspective, isn’t it?”

  Alice looked at him, cocking her head. “What do you mean?”

  Shadow shrugged nonchalantly. “Perhaps we are just very small—or otherwise very big. Who’s to say our normal is normal at all?”

  She chuckled. “Here in Wonderland? I guess no one.”

  Of course there was a giant garden. Just like there was a place where one of the purple cobblestone paths wound in a huge spiral, its loops growing smaller and smaller as it curled in on itself. Shadow and Alice followed that path, and when they reached the center, they were simply…somewhere else in the woods. She shrugged it off without a second thought and continued onward.

  As Shadow had said—they would get to wherever they were going. Direction made little difference.

  Despite having never been to Rosecourt, Alice knew when they were close—the atmosphere shifted. They emerged from the trees and stepped onto another cobblestone path, but this one was at least thirty feet wide—a cobblestone road. The trees along its edges were bent inward, creating a tall natural tunnel that ran as far as she could see. The air here was thicker, charged with a strange mixture of frantic energy and heavy foreboding. Posts set at irregular intervals along the road were topped with flickering electric lanterns that filled the tunnel with uneven, dancing light. The sunshine did not penetrate the leaves overhead.

  “Almost there,” Shadow said, his voice lower and quieter than normal as he stared down the road, the end of which was lost in a distant mist.

  A chill skittered down Alice’s spine, and she looked at Shadow. “What’s wrong?”

  “The air feels…bad.” He looped his arm around her waist and drew her against his side. “We know why the king was coming here. We just…” Shadow turned his head to look down at her, his eyes solemn. “We just need to be careful and keep alert.”

  It was at moments like this that Alice knew Shadow had changed; he was different from when they’d first met. He was more lucid, more himself. Something drastic had shifted within him, and it had started during their visit to Miraxis’s house.

  “What are we going to do?” she asked. “We can’t just…go in there and confront him.”

  Shadow walked forward slowly, and she matched his pace, though part of her didn’t want to take even a single step more toward Rosecourt. The urge to turn back, to find a quiet place to hide with him, to live with him, swelled in her chest and made her throat tight.

  But it wouldn’t really be living. This place wasn’t real, and they would never be able to live here peacefully. Their lives would always be in danger so long as they were in Wonderland, so long as their bodies—their real bodies—were left to waste away in the real world.

  “That absolutely was not my plan,” he said unconvincingly.

  Despite the situation, Alice couldn’t help but smile. “I don’t believe you ever really have a plan for anything.”

  “I have all sorts of plans all the time! Like goad the Hatter into anger, or irritate Jor’calla, or toy with Miraxis, or… You know, the specifics don’t matter. I’m an excellent planner.”

  “I believe specifics are usually required when you’re planning something. That’s why it’s called a plan, Shadow.”

  He threw up his free hand, palm turned skyward. “The best plans are adaptable, which means fewer specifics. You really just need the general gist of the plan. Any more is a waste of time.”

  Alice nodded once. “Okay. We can do this.”

  I hope.

  She faced forward, and they continued to walk along the tunnel. The mist only seemed to thicken as they moved. It was reminiscent of the swamp of sleepers; Alice cast those unsettling memories aside.

  “So…we’re going to confront the king and his army with your beltful of knives, overcome them, and force him to tell us how to get out of Wonderland,” she said.

  “That is the essence of the plan, yes.”

  “That sounds like a terrible plan. Shouldn’t we worry about their guns, or that he has at least twenty or thirty robotic soldiers?”

  “I’ve never much worried about any of that before.” His hold on her tightened. “Though the stakes are much higher now.”

  Alice curled her fingers into his jacket and tilted her head, resting it against him as they walked. “You can disappear.”

  His voice was uncharacteristically thick when he said, “But you can’t.”

  Those words bolstered her—because his caring was evident in them—while also reminding her of the immense risk they were taking. Shadow was different from everyone else Alice had encountered in Wonderland so far; he was unique. But there was something different about the Red King, too, something inherently more dangerous—and it all had to do with Jor’calla’s cryptic words about beyond.

  Alice had no doubt that the king knew this was a simulation. She just couldn’t figure out how he knew, or why he was able to come and go as he pleased.

  The road continued straight—too straight, if that was possible. After experiencing all the nonsensical winding pathways and unnatural angles in the rest of Wonderland, this road, a seemingly normal road, was totally out of place. That only enhanced the unsettling air around it.

  Alice’s unease increased with every step. She couldn’t ignore the possibility that they’d find a dead city, its streets piled with corpses and its gutters flooded with crimson streams. The king meant to cull Wonderland, after all. He was marching on Rosecourt to kill people.

  A wall materialized from the mist. It was at least fifteen feet high, and as Alice neared it, she realized that it looked to be made of concrete—though the concrete was covered in layer upon layer of colorful graffiti, much of it faded by age and weather. The road ran through a wide gap in the wall, to either side of which lay two massive, rusted metal doors, neither of them attached to the concrete any longer.

  Shadow guided her through the gap.

  The mist cleared instantly, and Alice halted in shock. There’d been no sign of the tall, vibrantly colored buildings lining the road beyond the wall a moment ago, no sign that there was anything on the other side of the wall but more fog, and yet she now stood on a bustling city street.

  The buildings were painted in colors that were sometimes complementary but were just as often clashing, and their architectures presented some of the same odd, impossible angles and shapes that had been so prevalent at the Hatter’s. Alice could only liken it to a child’s crayon drawing made real—none of it seemed right, but everything was clearly what it was, regardless.

  Ten-foot-tall flowers and oversized plants were visible in great concentration all over, many of which were in crooked planters along the sidewalks or comically cramped balcony gardens on the buildings. Most prominent of the vegetation by far were the roses. They grew in vine-like tangles that clung to the sides of buildings and in bushes around the few open common areas in addition to within the planters, the blooms varying in size—the smallest were the size of golf balls, while the largest were likely wider than Alice was tall. Regardless of their size, their petals were all the same shade—deep crimson.

  Dozens, perhaps hundreds of people milled about in the streets. Most were human, but many were aliens of countless species. Their clothing was so varied it defied categorization—fashions from numerous historical Earth eras clashed with more modern attire and an eclectic array of alien clothing.

  A few of the people weren’t wearing anything at all.

  There were interactions and conversations happening all over. A few of the people were talking to themselves, while others danced wistfully to inaudible music. One man was e
ven smacking his head against a wall, over and over, his lips moving as though he were muttering. If the king had arrived in Rosecourt, he clearly hadn’t been here yet.

  This was closer to what Alice might’ve expected to see in an asylum. Not what she’d witnessed at Hatter’s Tea Party.

  “Why is everyone so different here?” Alice asked.

  “Different how?” Shadow asked. He maintained his easy pace, leading her along as he gracefully wove between the people crowding the street.

  “They’re…troubled.”

  A dancing woman spun, eyes closed and a joyful smile on her lips, as Alice passed her.

  “Well, not troubled,” Alice continued, “but…some of them seem closer to the sleepers than they do to the people that were at the Hatter’s. Like they’re not entirely here.”

  Shadow hummed thoughtfully. “Perhaps. But there are many more people here than at the Hatter’s; it’s only natural that you’d see more of the crazy ones. Just a matter of population density, I imagine.”

  “How many people are here?”

  He shrugged. “I don’t know. I’m not sure anyone does, really. Thousands, tens of thousands. Maybe hundreds of thousands? It’s difficult to say. I don’t believe anyone even really knows how big Rosecourt is.”

  Alice hadn’t seen the asylum from outside, though she supposed even if she had, it wouldn’t have helped her guess how many of those pods were inside. If there really were hundreds of thousands of people in this simulation—and she couldn’t bring herself to believe that was true—it was highly unlikely that they were all linked in from a single facility, but she simply didn’t know either way.

  “So, what do we do now?” she asked. “We came here to find the king, but if he’s not here…”

  “We go to the likeliest place for information. The Stark Rave.”

  Shadow’s words from Jor’calla’s—it seemed like that had been a lifetime ago—drifted back to her.

  See? Stark raving mad.

  “The Stark Rave? That…doesn’t sound very appealing, does it?”

  Shadow shrugged. “I think people are more interested in what they can do there. What it’s called isn’t very important.”

  They came to an intersection, and Shadow turned left. The next street was just like the last—not that anything was actually the same, but it was equally colorful, disjointed, and crowded.

  “The Stark Rave is just like Hatter’s Tea Party,” Shadow said. “Just no dollies and infinitely more drugs. It’s run by Bokki and Grithis; they’re friends of the Hatter’s. But we don’t need to worry—that mean woman with the bird mask, Cecilia, is never there.”

  “And you think they’ll know something?”

  “People are in and out of the Rave constantly, and they’re always high while they’re inside, so they talk. Bokki and Grithis make a point of keeping abreast of all that talk. Jor’calla knew things, but those two hear things. Everything.”

  Alice’s brows lowered. “That doesn’t mean they’ll just tell us.”

  Shadow’s lips stretched into a slow, wide grin.

  “Okay, so maybe they will,” said Alice. “You seem to put fear into everyone here, and I’m sure they’ll only be more scared with the threat of true death.”

  “I’m not frightening, just persuasive. But I probably ought to inform you that I’m not actually welcome in their establishment, so we’ll have to avoid entering through the front door.”

  “I’m sure that has nothing to do with you being scary, right?”

  Shadow shook his head. “Not at all. They were just upset that I continuously came out on top in our games.”

  Alice stared at him. “You killed them, didn’t you?”

  “Yes, but they always came back!”

  “They won’t anymore.”

  “That means they should be especially friendly and talkative today.”

  He increased their pace. Despite everything, Alice’s heart beat with a touch of excitement; hurrying through the streets with Shadow was, in its own way, thrilling, and that thrill was certainly more pleasant than dwelling upon the uncertainty and danger they were rushing toward.

  After more turns than she could count—including several through alleyways of varying sizes and degrees of filth—they turned onto a street wider than the rest. The electric lampposts, which lined the streets all over Rosecourt, were positioned at more regular intervals here, and the open space seemed designed specifically with pedestrians in mind. More oversized vegetation was on display in sculpted planters along the street, but they weren’t what caught Alice’s attention now—her eyes were drawn to the building directly ahead, at the end of the street.

  At least one or two hundred people were gathered outside of it, their degrees of intoxication implied by their levels of unsteadiness. There was plenty of space for them—the Stark Rave itself appeared to be comprised of more than a dozen smaller buildings mashed together, all perched upon a single column that ran to the ground. It reminded Alice of a bird house. Every one of the clashing planes on the structure was a different color and pattern. Vibrant reds, oranges, yellows and pinks hit cool splashes of green, blue, teal and purple, sometimes in stripes, checkers, or spots, none of it matching and yet somehow comprising a greater, oddly coherent whole. Some of the smaller buildings had balconies upon which more revelers were dancing and talking—the highest of which had to be at least a hundred and fifty feet off the ground.

  As far as Alice could see, there was only one entrance—a pair of large doors at the base of the column, which itself seemed far too thin to support the structure above it. A pair of burly guards in dark suits flanked the doors, occasionally stepping forward to block people’s entry.

  The guards would’ve looked right at home at the Hatter’s Tea Party.

  Alice’s eyes widened as they neared the Rave’s grounds. There were several people having sex outside—on the ground, amidst the large-leafed bushes, on the benches and tables scattered all around, even a group of three up against the building’s support column. Everyone else was talking, drinking from vials, swallowing pills, or eating little cakes. The drinks and drugs seemed to be provided by masked, tuxedoed waiters wandering throughout the crowd.

  Alice eased a bit closer to Shadow. This place reminded her too much of her brief time at the Hatter’s. Was this the sort of scene that would’ve awaited her had she remained there? Would she have wound up as one of these drug-addled revelers, sharing her body with strangers, her inhibitions and free will cast away and forgotten?

  Something in her gut told her that it would’ve been somehow worse at the Hatter’s.

  Shadow led her to the outskirts of the gathering and turned to walk along the edge of the grounds. As Alice swept her gaze around, she noticed several more stoic guards posted at various intervals.

  Were all those guards—so big, so intimidating, so calm—patients in the asylum, too?

  “How are we going to get inside?” she whispered.

  Shadow turned his head to glance up at the building. “I think you already know, dearest.”

  She followed his gaze with her own. The Stark Rave looked even larger from up close, nearly as tall as the giant trees between which she’d spent so much time walking. At least she had some idea of what to expect inside—the same as out here only more, only louder.

  “Hey!” someone shouted.

  Alice swung her gaze aside to see one of the guards shoving through the crowd toward her and Shadow, his expression hard. A spike of fear pierced her chest.

  “Hold on, my sweet,” Shadow said an instant before sweeping Alice into his arms, dipping her back, and covering her mouth with his.

  Alice’s eyes widened, and she clutched at his arms. Despite her fear, she couldn’t deny the heat that sparked within her in response to the feel of his mouth against hers. Her eyelids drifted shut; she was vaguely aware of the air wavering around her, and then music with thumping bass pulsed over her.

  Shadow broke the kiss, and Alice
opened her eyes. He offered her a grin before raising her from the dip.

  Alice glanced around their new surroundings. They were at the edge of the dance floor in a huge, domed room. Countless bodies writhed nearby, their faces obscured by dim, flickering lights and a thin but prevalent cloud of smoke. The air was redolent with a mixture of powerful scents, but alcohol and that sweet smoke were the strongest of them.

  Something tickled Alice’s scalp, and she turned to see an alien woman beside her with a thick strand of Alice’s hair in her fingers. The alien’s skin changed wildly from moment to moment under the pulsing lights—vibrant pink when the bright lights touched it, and a deep purplish-blue under the ultraviolet lights.

  The female smiled and raised Alice’s hair higher, rubbing it against her cheek, before she met Alice’s gaze. She extended a webbed hand and ran her fingers along Alice’s collarbone and down to her breast, which she cupped in her palm.

  Alice’s breath hitched.

  “Such a pretty thing,” the female said, smiling to reveal shark-like teeth.

  Shadow spun Alice away from the female, and, with a metallic flash, pressed the blade of a knife to the alien’s throat. “Hello. We haven’t met, but that won’t stop me from slicing you open from top to bottom.”

  Alice peeked around Shadow’s shoulder. He kept an arm around her, his fingers curled possessively on her hip. She could feel the press of his claws despite them being separated from her skin by both her skirt and her pants.

  The female alien’s glowing yellow eyes flared, and she backed away, raising her hands. “Faceless One, I meant no disrespect. I only sought to taste the pretty.”

  “She is for me,” Shadow growled, angling the knife to keep its tip pointed at the female, “and no one else.”

  The alien recoiled and bowed her head, averting her eyes. “Of course. Of course.”

  Shadow held his stance until the female had vanished into the crowd before twirling the knife between his fingers—as effortlessly as a person might scratch their cheek—and sheathing it on his belt. “Give people some mind-altering substances and they forget all their manners.”