Why do I care about dying alone?
In the past two years, the subject of my death, immediate or future, never crossed my mind. The topic just never held my interest. I knew it would happen. That life is finite. Quick, even. But now, thoughts of death, dying, and ceasing to exist—or not—threaten to undo me.
I swerve hard to the right as the road bends left, shouting in surprise and fright as I nearly cross over the lines and plow into a car. I cut hard back to the left, narrowly avoiding a tree. The driver lays on the horn, flipping me off as he speeds past. My heart beats hard. I slow the ATV. I was so wrapped up worrying about death that I nearly brought it about.
Moving at just twenty miles per hour, I catch my breath. I’m not sure why I’m winded. I’m sitting. The ATV is doing all the work, but I feel like I’m running a marathon.
Tires screech behind me. The high-pitched sound is followed by a sharp crash, the sound of metal striking wood.
It’s coming.
It’s still coming!
I gun the engine, speeding up the road, fear of what’s behind me overpowering my fear of crashing.
I see the police car up ahead. The officer is just now climbing out of the vehicle. He sees me. Goes for his gun. But he’s still dazed. Has trouble unclipping the weapon. As I zoom past, I shout, “Run!” But the officer just stands there, fighting for his weapon.
I’m just two hundred feet beyond the man when a shrill scream tears from his mouth. I glance back. The man convulses in the street, struck down by some unseen force.
It’s right there.
I can’t see it. I refuse to see it. But I know it’s there. The giant Dread. Closing in on me, ready to unleash a fear powerful enough to destroy a man’s mind.
I increase the ATV’s speed. I have no choice now. Driving like a maniac—like I used to be—is my only option.
Be Crazy, I tell myself.
I’m still that guy. I can still do the things he did. My skills, my knowledge—none of that has changed. I’m just afraid.
Despite the summertime warmth, a chill spreads over my body. It’s close. With a mile of road left to go and the long Neuro driveway, I’m not going to make it. Make it to what? If the Dread are inside the building, where can I hide?
Hide?
Dammit, I hate being afraid. The emotion is intolerable.
The short hairs on my head stand a little taller. All over my body, hair attempts to stand on end. A chill shakes through my core and nearly sends me off the road. I have just seconds.
With a scream wrought by the nearness of the Dread and the action I’m about to take, I cut hard to the left, cross the yellow lines, and launch into the woods. If it wants to reach me, it’s going to be in the world between, where the trees will obscure me. And if it wants to enter this world and kill me physically, the forest will slow it down.
In theory. I’m basing all this on a day’s worth of experience and secondhand, untested knowledge provided by my previous self.
I swerve in and out of trees, making myself a hard target. There’s no sign that anything is behind me, and while the chill gripping my body has faded some, it’s still there. It’s just harder to notice since I require nearly all my attention to keep from slamming into a tree.
The trees thin ahead. I can see the sky. I’m approaching a clearing. Almost there …
A tree cracks behind me.
I glance back. Bark has been shredded from a pine.
The air shakes.
The giant Dread is pushing itself into our world. It doesn’t want to scare me to death, it wants to smear me on the forest floor.
A blur of motion pulls my attention to the right. A tree explodes, bark peppering my face. The tall evergreen topples over, falling diagonally toward me. I hunker down and speed onward, determined to beat the tree’s descent. The splintering wood and loud whoosh are hard to hear over the ATV’s whining engine, but I can feel the thing coming, just as surely as I can feel the Dread.
Pine needles slap my head. A small branch whips my scalp, opening a wound, but I manage to escape being struck by the tree’s girth.
I look back again, expecting to see the Dread or another falling tree, but the woods appear empty, save for the dust kicked up by the felled pine.
When I look forward, I scream.
Adrenaline surges again. I move faster than I have before, turning the ATV hard to the right. The crackle of the electrified fence tickles my ears as I narrowly avoid slamming straight into it. I hadn’t seen it up close before, but I now recognize the black, weaved metal for what it is. Oscillium. No matter which world the Dread is in, it’s going to hit that fence.
And then it does.
The fence rattles as it’s lifted out of the earth by an unseen force. Electricity cracks over its surface, surging into the Dread.
I slow and look back, peering into the mirror world.
My eyes widen. The Dread is there, still alive but tangled in the fence, shrieking in pain. It’s a blur of movement, giving me no clear view of itself beyond giant limbs. I shift my vision back to a more comfortable frequency without getting a good look at the thing. All I really know is that it’s the size of a monster-truck 18-wheeler, with wide, squat legs; really long, hooked claws; and streaks of glowing purple veins.
While the monster tries to free itself from the fence shooting electricity into its body, I speed north, using the chain link as a guide. A minute later, I speed out of the woods in front of the ruined security shack. I head past the broken gate, back onto smooth pavement. I twist the throttle as far as I can.
As I near the Neuro building, I let my vision slip into the world between. The black pyramid-shaped building is still under attack. Mothmen fill the sky. The centipede thing is smashing its head into the elevator doors. Bulls and pugs scurry around the parking lot, driving the mass of humanity, who are now pounding on the outside of the building, trying to get through the metal plates. To the right of the entrance, a group of people have laid out a collection of ladders. At the top, several men with hammers, bricks, and shovels attack one of the third-floor windows, punching a hole through its surface.
A respectable amount of fear punches me in the gut, tempting me to turn and run before I’m noticed. I let my vision see just the real world again. Ignorance really is bliss. Then I have an idea. It’s insane. It’s … crazy.
I’m still that man, I tell myself.
No. I can’t do this.
Fuck off! I think at this new inner voice. Just shut up.
Fear, I realize, is like a little cartoon devil on your shoulder. You can listen to it, argue with it, or fight it like a son of a bitch.
Be Crazy. Just one more time.
I let go of the throttle, slowing the ATV. As the engine idles and the four-wheeler slows, I hear the chain-link fence rattling. I glance back in time to see the fence lift high up into the air and fall back down.
It’s through, I realize, but don’t look at the mirror frequencies. I can’t. My will to fight is a skipped heartbeat away from becoming flight.
Turning back toward the building and the mob surrounding it, I draw my handgun, exchange the cartridge for a fresh one, and spin the sound suppressor off. Gun in hand, I steer toward the ladders and twist the throttle. As I near the back of the crowd, I fire the pistol. By the third shot, people are looking my way. When I point the weapon at them, they move. When I push the fear I’m feeling toward them, using my own Dread abilities, they shriek. The pain is nearly as intense as I remember it, but its effect on my mind is dulled because I’m so distracted by the danger approaching from behind. Fear, at least, is a powerful motivator for overcoming lesser discomfort. The effect moves up the ladder as I near. People dive away, some straight to the ground, others onto the angled building, where they slide away.
When the ATV strikes the ladders and climbs, the men up top see me coming and abandon ship. I’m sure the Dread bulls and pugs have seen me now, too, but since I haven’t been struck by a limb sliding betwe
en dimensions, I’ve made it past them before they could act.
The ATV rattles up the ladders, which form a perfect ramp. When it reaches the window, the tires squeal over the smooth surface for a moment but then catch. I lean forward as far as I can to keep from falling backward and rocket up the side of the forty-five-degree slanted wall.
I take a peek into the mirror world to make sure I’m not driving into the jaws of a giant centipede. Mothmen high in the sky are coming my way, but the roof ahead looks empty.
Then I’m airborne, clearing the top. The ATV drops to the roof with a jolt. I hit the brakes and skid to a stop.
Everything on the roof stops and turns my way.
Shit.
Shit, shit, shit!
I hop off the ATV, thinking, Please be right! Please be right!
Lyons believed that something at the colony was leading the Dread, maybe controlling them. I think that thing is the giant that’s been chasing me, directing the others with its omnipresent whisper.
I slip fully into the Dread dimension, wince against the sudden pain, and dive to the discarded 20 mm sniper rifle still leaning against the short wall. I bring it back to reality with me, but not fully out of the mirror world, and remove the spent three-round magazine, pull a spare from a pouch on my hip, and slap it in.
I blink sweat out of my eyes, knowing that Dread are approaching from all directions, lift the heavy weapon up, and plant the bipod on the short wall. I lean into it, resting the stock against my shoulder, and peer through the scope.
The behemoth is there, staring right back.
39.
Seven round eyes look up at me as the massive Dread lopes toward the building. Five of the eyes arc across the top of the monster’s head, just above the other two, all of it surrounded by pulsing purple veins. Unlike other Dread, these eyes are solid black, like a shark’s. Beneath the eyes is what looks like an exploding mass of flesh—the tendrils that invaded and rewired my brain. Seeing the tentacles on the front of this thing’s face reminds me of a star-nosed mole I saw in a National Geographic. Ugly as hell, but the Dread mole’s horrible face and long hooked claws are definitely designed for subterranean living. Which might be why it moves so awkwardly over land. Its wide legs have a short reach. Its spine arcs with each lunge forward, almost like an otter on land. But the strangeness of its movement does nothing to negate the effect its hideous appearance has on my psyche.
My eyes twitch, spasming muscles mixed with stinging sweat. My vision is questionable, but I keep my eye to the scope, aiming between the triangle of eyes at the center of the giant’s head.
I slip my finger over the trigger.
And squeeze.
The Dread mole shimmers for a moment. I see it through the scope and shriek as something cold reaches through my chest and clutches my heart. The shot goes wild, tearing up into the atmosphere.
Gasping as unbidden thoughts of suicide bounce through my skull, I lift the rifle again.
The building shakes.
The Dread mole has thrown itself against the side. It swings one of its massive clawed hands out and shatters the oscillium window. Pulls itself higher. Slams its other clawed hand through the building. Higher. Climbing.
I’m shaking, muscles out of control, obeying the fear impulse driven into me by the Dread, ignoring the commands of my fracturing psyche.
The monster pushes its powerful fear up at me again. I close my eyes against it, but a wave of torment spills over me. I scream in emotional agony, eyes to the sky.
The building shudders.
Then again.
I can’t look.
It’s right there. I know it is. It has to be.
I consider running. But where? And how? I’m locked in place by fear-induced rigor mortis. My muscles tense and release, twitching. My head throbs, skips, and races. Pressure builds in my sinuses. The physical manifestations of fear are debilitating.
You can’t miss.
The voice is familiar. Confident. Crazy whispers from some hidden nook in my mind.
It’s right there. You can’t miss.
I open my eyes.
Look down.
Scream.
My arms work on autopilot while my voice fills the air with a raspy squeak that is my ruined voice. A round is chambered. My shaking hand pulls the trigger. I can’t hear the gun fire over my scream, but it kicks hard. I nearly drop it, but my arms, directed by muscle memory I can’t remember learning, chamber the third and final round. The weapon kicks hard. I drop it to the roof and pitch forward as the last of my strength is torn from me.
Through blurry eyes, I look over the short wall.
The Dread mole is gone from the world in between. It’s difficult, but I force my eyes to see the mirror dimension. Whatever pain the shift causes is insignificant compared to the effects of being afraid. The giant is there, slowly sliding back to the swampy ground.
The Dread mole is motionless. One of its eyes has burst. Purple and white fluid oozes from the ruined socket. A 20 mm round can punch through a tank, so I have no doubt the bullet continued through the head, creating a pressure wave that destroyed whatever it came into contact with. To the right of the ruined eye is a clean hole, dead center, between the triangle of eyes. I hit it twice.
I’m a good shot, even when I’m out of my mind. I choke out a laugh that becomes a cackle and fall into a shaking fetal position. My body convulses uncontrollably, outwardly reflecting the turmoil that has become my mind.
This is what the Dread do to people. This is why even strong men like Katzman can’t even look at them. I’ve lost control. I’ve lost myself.
But I’m not dead. And I’m not being attacked.
My eyes clench shut, but I need to see. I need to know if there is anything left to fear. As my body quivers, I let my eyelids slip open. Purple light filters through my lashes. I’m still viewing the mirror world. I open my eyes and come face-to-face with a Medusa-hands. My voice sounds like tearing paper as I shout. I try to push away from the creature, but I’m already up against the wall. Nowhere to run.
But I don’t need to.
Like me, the Dread is on its side, twitching. Alive, but no longer in control. Or maybe no longer being controlled. I don’t know which is the case, but the thing appears to have been lobotomized by the Dread mole’s death. Then it goes rigid, its limbs snapping still for a moment before falling to the roof, still and dead.
It must have been right behind me when the strings were cut, when the Dread mole died. Had it reached me … I’m clutched by horrible images. My head pounds.
I look beyond the wide head of the Medusa-hands and take in the rest of the rooftop. Mothmen litter the oscillium surface, shaking like dying bees, some spinning in circles. A few more are still falling from high up in the sky, fluttering madly like actual moths that flew too close to a lightbulb. The large centipede undulates and thrashes, snapping its large wings in the process. The uncontrolled movement brings it to the side of the roof, where it rolls over and falls from view.
It’s over, I think.
My body quakes, still gripped with fear despite the danger’s passing.
Get a grip.
The small voice of my former self has no power.
Stand up.
Like a swimmer pulled from arctic waters, my muscles contract and release of their own accord. Images of death and pain and blood race through my thoughts, unhindered.
Stand the fuck up!
I squeeze my eyes shut, shaking my head back and forth. “No!” When I open them again, the sky is blue, and the Dread are gone. I’m safe.
But still afraid.
I roll onto my stomach, forehead resting on my folded arms. I’ve won, and yet I feel like a frail creature that has lost everything. Where do feelings like this come from? How can my mind conjure such torturous emotions having never experienced them before?
Because it has.
I just can’t remember them.
I have lost everythin
g. A wife. A son. Thirtysomething years of memory.
None of those things were created by the Dread. They simply drew to the surface what existed, no matter how well hidden by my lack of memory, and magnified it. The realization does me no good.
I can’t remember what I’ve lost. Not really. But there is nothing in my life, absolutely nothing, that can combat this sorrow. No love. No real friends. And just this one, hollow victory, if you can even call it that.
I’m done, I think, and close my eyes. With a final spasm, my tired mind and even more exhausted body quits, and I slip into merciful sleep.
40.
I wake up screaming. The sound cracks my raw throat, combining with the exquisite pain that comes from sitting up too quickly. My body is beaten and bruised.
Something brushes against my forearm. Squeezes. I don’t so much flinch from the touch as catapult. Arms flailing, I reel away, spiraling out of bed and onto the hard floor. An IV needle tears from my arm. The floor punishes me for the clumsy descent. But I barely notice as I scramble backward across the floor, still running from that touch.
My head hits the door. Then my back. My legs continue to pump, but there’s nowhere left to go.
Through my still-screaming voice I hear a name. It’s being shouted at me. Slowly, it sinks in.
“Josef!”
My eyes snap up to the sound of the voice.
Blue eyes stare back at me. They have an immediate calming effect. My voice falls silent, but my legs are rigid, pressing me against the door.
“Josef,” the voice says, gently. “It’s me. It’s Jess.”
Jess?
“Winters,” she says.
My eyes wander. Her blond hair is a mess. Her face is partially covered by a bandage. “I know you,” I say.
She crouches in front of me, smiles, and puts her soft hand on my cheek. “Better than you remember.”
As she strokes the side of my face, I close my eyes. Memories and tears surface, none of them pleasant. I can feel the Dread mole, projecting fear upon me, crawling through my mind. I put a hand behind my head. There’s a bandage taped in place.
“You’re okay now. You’re safe.” Her voice is calm and soothing. “We haven’t detected any Dread activity in the region since—”
MirrorWorld Page 24