Jeremy Robinson - MirrorWorld

The forest, cast in shades of gray shadow and purple light, is strangely beautiful. There are pine trees, but they’re intermingled with other, strange black trunks rising up to empty branches. Some of the trees occupy the same space, twisting in and out of each other. Some stand solitary. Green veins, like those on the Dread bull’s hide, but not nearly as bright, cover the ground, connecting everything. Am I just seeing both frequencies at once, or is this a separate place? I can’t tell, but I’m pretty sure I’m still physically located squarely in my home frequency, not in Lyons’s mirror world.

I follow the trail of blood for twenty minutes, crushing a path through dense forest. While the many streams, saplings, and fields of ferns don’t stand a chance against the ATV, I have to navigate around fallen trees, two ravines, random granite boulders, and a hundred-foot cliff, which, if the blood trail can be believed, the bull scaled.

The beast fled in a straight line, due south. According to Lyons, it was headed toward a colony. While he didn’t explain what that is, I get the implication. If I don’t catch the bull before it reaches the colony, I’m going to be facing more than just one of these things.

But what can they do?

Their weapon of choice seems to be fear, to which I am immune. It appeared to be capable of significant physical harm, but what good is all that nasty potential if it can’t touch me? Maybe it’s not a matter of can’t, but won’t. If that’s the case, the oscillium weapons provided by Neuro give me an advantage, provided the bull doesn’t come across some hunters and frighten them into shooting me.

Or a mob, I think, remembering the people in Manchester. Could all of that fear, and the resulting anger, really have been fueled by these things?

My rumination is cut short by a cloak of black rising into my field of view.

The bull! It swipes out with one of its thick arms.

I swerve left, but the shape moves with me, blocking my view.

Then it leaps aside, revealing a thick pine tree, five feet ahead. I hit the brakes, but I’m moving at forty miles per hour. There’s no avoiding the impact. The front of the ATV slams into the pine’s armorlike bark. For a fleeting moment, I think that I should have worn the helmet, but then I’m lifted up and propelled forward, straight into the tree.

There shouldn’t have been time to think about the pain I would feel upon kissing the tree, but I do. It’s not long, just a second, but when the words, this is going to hurt, flit through my thoughts, I realize I’ve somehow passed the point of impact unscathed.

And then the pain comes late. My body arches, going rigid as though in the grip of fifty thousand volts. The pain is so overwhelming that I think I should be dead, or at least unconscious, but there is no escaping it. So I do my best to reach beyond it.

I’m airborne, spinning like a flung action figure.

I feel the subtle pull of gravity, identify which direction is down, and reach out. The simple movement comes with a wicked sting, like my muscles have atrophied in the past second, never used and withering. My hand grazes the forest floor, which feels wrong. The rest of my body responds, muscle memory acting despite the severe discomfort, turning me over. The fall becomes a roll. It’s not something you’d see in a movie. I don’t spring back to my feet. But after three bouncing somersaults, I’m not dead, though I seem to be experiencing the torment of the damned. The bodywide ache makes self-diagnosis difficult. While it’s possible I could have survived an impact with the tree, I would have most certainly broken bones and been on the receiving end of a concussion. The pain is equally distributed throughout my body, but I’m mobile. This isn’t broken bones; this is something else. The headache of shifting vision has enveloped my entire body. But why?

My tumble ends as I slide to a stop in what feels like cold mud. The goo hugs me in place. When I try to stand, the gunk—and the muscle-numbing pain—holds me down. I strain to move, lifting an arm. It spasms from the effort, drawing an angry shout from between my clenched teeth. When the arm comes free, I fight through the pain, knowing that my body isn’t broken. Snapped bones would undo me, but I can fight past pain. With a growl, I pull free, climb to my feet, and draw my handgun. A quick spin reveals nothing.

And everything. What I was seeing before, without a doubt, was the mystery world in between. B flat, or whatever. Overlapping frequencies, like the chunky chocolate layer between two sides of an ice cream cake, connected to both but also separate. It was only a hint of something still beyond my experience. Now… now I’m seeing—and feeling, and hearing, and smelling—more. A lot more.

The pine tree that should have ended my life is missing.

The ATV is gone.

The whole damn forest is gone.

All that remains of the world I knew is the gentle rise and fall of the earth itself. There is a new, dark forest replacing the pines. The trees are just as tall but bowed and laden with thick, gelatinous, black tendrils of what looks like pulled pork. If it’s vegetation, it’s unlike anything I’ve seen before.

I’m fully immersed in Lyons’s mirror world, existing in an unknown frequency of reality.

A chill runs over my arms and legs.

Could full immersion in this world right next door to mine actually be generating some kind of fear in me?

I look down at my bare arms. Goose bumps cover my skin. But it has nothing to do with fear.

My clothes are gone.

The machete, with its black strap, remains over my back. The belt and holster hang loose around my waist. But that’s it. If not for the layer of black muck covering my body, I’d be fully exposed.

“What the f—”

My hand goes to my chest, grasping at nothing. I claw at my neck. The chain and pendant are gone. “No!” I shout and fall to my knees, scouring the muck, the pain giving way to my mania. “No, no, no!” My mind slips toward oblivion. I dig and crawl through the mud, desperate and pitiful. It’s not that I’m afraid without the pendant, I’m lost. Body, mind, and soul.

For an unknown amount of time, it’s just me, the mud, and my frantic search. It could be five seconds or five minutes. But then I see it, a glimmer of brass color mixed within the dark, wet soil. I dive for it, grasping the chain and lifting it free. The chain and pendant are coated in sludge, but a quick swipe of my thumb reveals the word, “evidence.”

My mind snaps back into place. I put the chain over my head.

Movement behind me.

I recover my dropped gun, spin, and pull the trigger.

The charging bull, green blood spraying with every pump of its hind legs, flinches with each impact, but the bullets fail to puncture the thing’s thick forehead. I adjust my aim, my stance unwavering despite the oncoming mass, and snap off a single round toward the monster’s eye. The creature flails, diving to the side like it can dodge the round now buried in its head.

A moment later, I discover that Allenby was right. While fully immersed in the Dread’s frequency of reality, the bull is fully tangible. I can now see, hear, smell, taste, and touch this other world.

And it can touch me.

Hard.

A flailing limb catches me in the gut, lifts me out of the muck, and flings me against a tree. I fall to the wet ground, thinking the pine tree might have been a mercy. At least this is pain I can understand. Injuries can be assessed. The agony of shifting between worlds, now fading some, is disorienting. Gasping for breath, but knowing there isn’t time to rest, I try to use the tree for leverage, and push myself up. But the bark, if there is any, is smooth and slick. I wrap my arms around the trunk, lock my fingers together, and hug the tree. My body slides up even as my feet sink into the muck.