A minute later, I feel the first signs of Lyons’s pursuit as a ripple of energy. He’s broadcasting fear like a radio station, pumping it into the airwaves. The park, aside from the people who nearly ran me over, appears to be empty. But they were just passing through. People are either hiding in their homes or part of a mob, but if anyone is unlucky enough to be in the park, they’re going to feel him coming, no doubt spurring future reports of park hauntings. That is, if we’re not all cooked in the meantime. The heavy weight of the backpack over my shoulders is a constant reminder of what’s at stake.
The second sign of Lyons’s closing distance is a constant whispering. It fills my mind, but unlike the incomprehensible Dread language, it’s all in English. Despite recognizing the language, I still have trouble making sense of it as words and sentences overlap. What I do know is that it’s getting louder and is hard to ignore.
I take a look back into the mirror world, but all I can see is swamp.
The path ahead is thickly wooded in both worlds, so I plow straight through the real world, dodging trees and careening through brush. I nearly plow headlong into a chain-link fence but manage to leap up and pass through it in the mirror world. Upon my return to the real world, I immediately dive forward, soaring over the supine form of Snow White, awaiting her prince. I roll back to my feet, but the concrete walkway I’ve landed on is unforgiving and reminds me of the punishment my body has endured.
Three sets of wild-looking eyes catch my attention. I spin toward them, expecting an attack, but come face-to-face with human-sized Three Little Pigs. They’re dancing gleefully next to their house of brick, the wolf clawing its way out of the chimney. Strangely, stories like this, about hungry stalking wolves, were probably inspired by the Dread. How many fairy tales of trolls, ogres, and spirits were inspired by encounters with the mirror world?
Lyons shimmers into view behind the jolly pigs, swiping two aside and biting the eldest in half. Lyons overtook me and lay in wait, playing the part of the Big Bad Wolf.
“Really?” I say, “You want to do this in Storyland?”
Lyons roars and tosses the oldest pig’s eviscerated lower half, striking an oversize Humpty Dumpty. The egg-man’s bolts snap; his hooked cane, which is embedded in the concrete walkway, breaks; and he topples off the wall. But, I’ll be damned, he doesn’t break. I take it as a good omen, and then run. I’m not ready to face Lyons yet.
The clear walkway and smooth surface allow me to hit my top speed in just a few strides. Lyons is quick to pursue but opts to barrel through the brick house, buying me a few seconds and a fifty-foot head start. Running through a stand of weeping willows, I cut through the thick curtain of Spanish moss and make a hard left.
Lyons dives after me, mole claws outstretched to impale my back, but he can’t see me through the moss. He explodes out of the trees, covered in long coils of vegetation. Momentarily blinded, he clips the short stone wall of a fountain and spills forward, sending up a wave of coin-filled water. He tumbles through the water, crushing the fountain and far wall, sending a fresh river over the dry concrete. Then he’s up again, shedding moss and lunging after me.
Lyons has the clear physical advantage, but he’s not using his human mind to its full potential. He’s acting ravenous. Uncontrolled. He’s going to catch me eventually, but he’s going to destroy all of Storyland first.
I make like Jiminy Cricket, leaping a short fence into the Pinocchio exhibit. Lyons has gained again and is just a few strides away. I charge into the waiting open jaws of a large bright-blue whale, atop which Pinocchio is seated, and leap through its backside by sliding into and out of the mirror world. I continue my flight on the far side of the display’s tail, unhindered by the exhibit. A moment later, the whale explodes as Lyons charges into the mouth and out the backside, never shifting frequencies.
The four-foot-tall Pinocchio statue spins through the sky, flipping past me like Mary Lou Retton on fast-forward, and crashes into Little Bo Peep’s white sheep. I nearly laugh at the frozen, wide-eyed expression on her painted face. I suspect it had never been appropriate until that very moment.
As I round a carousel and consider running through it, a sharp beeping sound fills the air.
The microwave bomb.
It’s time to face Lyons.
I stop and turn around so quickly that it catches Lyons off guard. He flinches and slides to a standstill, fifteen feet between us. We’re framed by a unicorn-themed carousel and a pirate ship. Not the most epic of battlegrounds, but I enjoy the juxtaposition.
I hold my wrist up, revealing the beeping watch that I synced with the bomb’s timer when I was with Cobb. I reach up and push a button to stop it. “Do you know what that means?”
Dread Lyons’s seven black eyes squint. He’s still in there somewhere. “It means you’ve lost.” I take the backpack off, unzip it, and dump a tire-repair kit onto the ground. I don’t need to tell him that Cobb took the bomb, that he was going to find someplace to contain it or dump it in the ocean, which would reduce the weapon’s impact. Either way, the colony would survive. The war he longed for and the vengeance he craved—for the deaths he caused—would never come to pass.
Not against the Dread, anyway. The cold gaze in his seven eyes says he’ll be satisfied, to some extent, by reducing my body to pulp. The only question remaining is which one of us will take action first? The answer is never really in question. I make my move before the thought finishes.
62.
The handgun hidden among the tire iron, jack, flares, and orange cones is a 9 mm recovered from the SUV. It lacks the punch I’d need to kill Lyons, which is unfortunate, but it’s a good start. The weapon comes up in an unflinching two-hand grip.
I pull the trigger. Just once. The black orb on the side of Lyons’s head erupts, spewing a mixture of oily white and glowing red fluids.
His head snaps back, his jaw drops open, and tendrils whip the air. A roar warbles over the quiet Storyland walkways. When he’s done, he turns the remaining six eyes toward me. I can feel his loathing for me. Like the Dread whispering, it’s in my head, wordless, but clear.
And without effect.
My second shot bursts the Dread eye on the left side of his head. He shrieks again, and this time charges blindly, head turned away to protect his remaining eyes. This is it. I can end him right here.
I slip into the mirror world intending to reenter the real world, inside Lyons, just long enough to create a me-sized hole in his chest. Storyland disappears, replaced by a dark, green-veined swamp. With an eye still tuned to the real world, I watch Lyons charge. I visualize my attack, picturing the few simple steps. Eyes closed and breath held, I’ll arrive inside his body. Just for a second. Then I’ll slip back into the mirror world. Carried by his forward motion, I’ll be flung into the swamp, the landing buffered by a foot of water. Simple.
But that’s not exactly how it works out. Not even close.
Lyons turns his ugly head forward at that last second, slips fully into the mirror world, and swipes out with one of his big clawed hands. I manage to squeeze off three more rounds before I’m struck, but they just get lodged in the thick armor that is now his forehead.
The one bit of luck is that the curved tip of his long, mole claw misses me. While I’m not impaled or severed in two, the result is close to being lifted off the ground and flung by a rock-solid, oversize lacrosse stick. The impact catches me below the arm. I feel my ribs flex and then break. Three of them. Snap, snap, snap. And then I’m doing a repeat performance of Pinocchio’s acrobatics, soaring through the air. As I reach the apex of my arc, I’ve got to make a few choices. Lyons is already chasing after me, so there won’t be time to think once I land. He might just kill me, but I suspect he’s going to toy with me. I’m a mouse to him now, and, like a cat, he’s going to play with me until my body simply gives up.
Luckily for me, I’m a mouse with world-class military training, a killer instinct, and fearless nature. Mind made up, I finish my fa
ll in the Dread world, letting the water soften my landing. I take the hit on my left side, protecting my freshly broken ribs, and waste no time getting to my feet. I’ve still got one more challenge to overcome before avoiding this immediate danger. Injured and soaked through, I need to jump at least three feet up.
I bend my knees and shove hard, three seconds until Lyons’s arrival. The wet earth squishes beneath my feet, absorbing some of my energy. The water clings to my legs, not wanting to let me go. But then I’m free and rising. Two seconds to go. I lift my legs like a frog and, with no time left, return to the real world. Lyons follows and reaches for me but grabs a large plastic horse instead.
I land on the carousel floor between a unicorn and Cinderella’s pumpkin chariot. Lyons is in a slightly more precarious situation. While his right arm is free to move, the rest of him is embedded within metal bars, a double set of Pegasus, and the floor of the ride. He wrenches the interfering horse out of the floor and tosses it aside. His free arm swings out, gouging a trough through the floor where I’d been a moment before. Even with my quick backward roll, he nearly catches me.
But now I’m on my feet and he’s trapped.
“This could have gone differently,” I tell him, reaching over my shoulder. “You were naive when you destroyed the first colony. I can look past that. And we lost nearly everything, you and I.” Lyons stops struggling against the carousel. Actually appears to be listening. “But it could have stopped there. It should have stopped there. Both sides drew blood, but if we’re honest, you and I, and the rest of humanity, have done far more damage. I didn’t know fear until a few days ago, but in that short amount of time, I learned that it can be conquered, like any other emotion.”
I draw Faithful, feeling stronger with the blade in my hand.
Lyons eyes the weapon but doesn’t move. Could he actually be considering what I’m saying? Was there ever a time when he listened—really listened—to me? I’m not sure. But I’m going to give him a chance. For Maya, whose fate is still a mystery, and who is the reason I need to end this.
“I’m going to ask you this only once,” I say, stepping closer but still out of reach. “Can you let it go? Can you move past your childhood and loss, forgive your enemy, and move on? Show the Dread that we are better than them. Show them that humanity is more than war and destruction. Show them how to forgive.”
I grip the machete tightly, anticipating his reply.
Unfortunately, I don’t anticipate exactly how the response will be delivered.
Lyons disappears. It’s a blink. A fraction of a second. And when he returns, he’s a step closer, driving a hook-clawed hand into my gut like a giant fist. I pitch forward and fall back, gasping for air, but am thankful it wasn’t the claws’ sharp tip that had made contact.
The carousel spins as Lyons tries to reach me again. But he’s locked up once more. Problem is, he already knows how to overcome that problem. When he disappears again, I throw myself away from him, injured but mobile and still wielding Faithful.
When Lyons returns, he’s no longer trapped. He’s still inside the carousel, but he’s standing on the floor, not in it. With a savage roar, he follows my path through the ride, destroying unicorns, horses, and fairy-tale creatures with brutal efficiency.
The ride, it seems, is over. One lap around the slowly spinning carousel is all I’m going to get. After that, I’ll be slowed by the ruins and he can continue plowing his way through.
I’ve got no tricks left that he can’t match.
So we’ll do it the old-fashioned way. Part man to used-to-be man. I step off the carousel, walking calmly, my back to Lyons. When I hear him smash free of the now-ruined ride, I turn around to face him, left hand clutching my side, right hand holding Faithful.
“C’mon then,” I say. “Let’s get this over with.”
He stalks toward me, pausing to shake his head, throwing streams of glowing red from his ruined eyes. I take a quick look around for the pistol. It’s gone.
Standing almost casually, I wait for the charge.
When it comes, I’m almost surprised by its quickness.
Almost.
Lyons’s primary attack has been swiping at me with those big claws. He repeats the same tactic, or perhaps instinct, once again. I duck beneath the strike, step to the side, and hack down as the lumbering monster that was my father-in-law rumbles past. The chiseled blade tip cuts a gouge in Lyons’s flank. It’s hardly a mortal blow, but I’ve severed several of the thick, external veins covering his body. Blood loss will eventually slow him. Emphasis on eventually.
Reacting to the pain of the cut, Lyons brings his rear limb up and kicks out like a horse. Quick reflexes and Lyons’s broad foot dispersing the force of the blow over a wider area save me. But the kick is still solid enough to send me sprawling toward my broken ribs. Fear or no fear, the impact will nearly blind me with pain.
I slip into the mirror world. The swamp buffers my landing, sparing my ribs. I’m about to slip back when I realize I’m no longer alone. And it’s not Lyons. Holy shit, I think as I turn my head in a slow arc. The swampy clearing is surrounded by towering trees, sagging low with twisting black coils. But standing among the trees are hundreds of Dread. Bulls, pugs, mothmen, mammoths, Medusa-hands, and crocs. There are even two of those massive winged centipedes and a cloud of small bats circling the area.
They’ve come to watch the end of the two men who nearly destroyed their world. We’re probably infamous characters to the Dread. Destroyers of colonies. Invaders. I suppose watching the two of us fight—the fearless man versus the Dread man—would be a little bit like watching Osama bin Laden and Hitler go at it.
Not quite, I remind myself. I did help save this colony and prevent a war between worlds. So maybe they’re just here to cheer me on? Given the way they’re all lingering at the clearing’s fringe, they’re clearly not here to help, though I suspect they might also be here to deal with the winner.
Lyons unknowingly takes advantage of the distraction. He explodes into the mirror world, slams a hooked claw into my shoulder and another into my side. I shout in pain as I’m lifted out of the swamp and slammed back down. Water surges into my mouth as the air is knocked from my lungs. I can’t even scream when the hooked claws are yanked free.
I clear my head from the water, coughing and gasping, but am pinned. Lyons is above me, leaning closer. At first I think he’s going to simply bite my face off with those snapping jaws, but then I note the tendrils writhing on his face. With those, he can enter my mind.
He can make me afraid.
He can erase my memory again.
It’s a fate worse than death.
I’m about to use my last seconds to cuss him out when a voice shouts out, bold and strong. “Father!”
Lyons pauses. Glances up.
I follow his gaze, seeing Maya upside down. She’s a mess and physically afraid, but I haven’t seen this stern look in her eyes since before Simon died. She wades through the muck and water. Raises a finger at the monster she knows is her father. “You let my husband go.”
For a moment, Lyons appears to consider her demand, but then his eyes squint. He roars at Maya in a way that says, you’re next. It’s all the motivation I need.
I slip into the real world, somersault forward, and stand.
It takes just a second, but I’m now in a race. If Lyons chases me and enters this world while I’m still here, he’ll erase me. But if I move first … I shift back into the mirror world and miss my mark. I had intended to emerge inside Lyons, to replace his insides with myself. But he’s stepped forward, and I’ve come up behind him, weaponless.
Technically, I’ve been trained to be a weapon, but that was against people, not … whatever Lyons has become. My best chance of stopping him was punching a hole in his body by slipping through dimensions. But now …
My eyes widen. I still have one weapon—the assassin’s best friend, hidden in a pocket all this time, waiting for its deadly potential t
o be released.
Lyons swipes at me with his tail, but I’m already leaping for his back. The appendage sweeps beneath my feet. I land on his hard back, grunting as my ribs are bent inward. I manage to cling to the protective plates covering him and use my newfound strength to hoist myself higher. Lyons reaches for me, twisting his arms back, but his bulky muscles lack the flexibility. He spins and roars, reaching, clawing. I climb over his back, sliding up over the line of mammoth tendrils covering his spine, and stop at his plated shoulder blades.
In range of my target, I prepare myself for what will be one of the most basic, while at the same time complex, attacks I have ever performed. Step 1 is old-school, and I handle it with practiced fluidity. Holding on to Lyons’s back with one hand, I reach into my pocket with the other, gripping the oscillium handle of the coiled garrote. I pull the line from my pocket, leap higher, and swing the line downward. As my jump reaches its pinnacle, the second handle swings down and around Lyons’s neck. I pluck it from the air with my free hand—and drop. Pulling the line tight with all of my weight and strength around Lyons’s neck.
Now comes the hard part.
While oscillium can reside in one frequency of reality, or all frequencies simultaneously, biological creatures—human and Dread—reside in one dimension at a time. And right now, the garrote resides in whichever frequency I am in, coming along for the ride. While I’ve been able to look into both dimensions at once, I simply changed the perception of one eye. What I need to do now is different, because in a second Lyons is going to slip back into the real world, and I need to keep my weight on the line. So I shift part of me and then all of me, not between frequencies, but into all frequencies: A, B, and B flat. The garrote matches my multifrequency state.
White-hot agony tears through my body and mind, but I never relinquish my grip. Lyons’s roar becomes a choked gurgle, and he shifts back to the real world.
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