Jeremy Robinson - MirrorWorld

The Dread continues on its way, unmarred.

I chamber a second round.

“You missed ?” Allenby says. It’s the most surprised I’ve heard her.

“I’ve been in a psych ward for a year, and though I seem to know how to operate this beast, I have no actual memory of doing so.” I look through the scope. “But I’m not worried.”

“That’s because you don’t get worried,” Allenby says.

I pull the trigger. The big gun kicks, sending a second round tearing toward the Dread. I’m hoping to see the thing twitch and fall to the ground, but that’s not what happens. The damn thing explodes, bursting into a mash of black and red goo that rains down into the forest. I chuckle in surprise and lean back. “Got him.”

“What did they look like?” Katzman says. He’s got goggles pulled over his eyes. Can see that we’re in the clear now. But if reinforcements show up and he’s wearing them, he’ll be useless.

I point at the goggles. “Better to take those off. Let me handle this.”

He lifts the goggles.

I point at the Mothman being dragged up onto the roof by the two Dread Squad members, who are doing their best to not look at it. “All five were like that one. Mothmen.”

“Hey!”

We all turn toward the voice. It’s Dearborn. He’s running toward us from the elevator, waving excitedly. He’s got a damn smile on his face. “I saw it from the security room.”

“Are you nuts?” Katzman asks. “You’re supposed to be leaving with the others.”

“No way, man,” Dearborn says. “This is modern myth in the making, demigod and all. I need to see this. I need to bear witness.”

“I’m no demigod,” I say.

“The Dread have been worshiped as gods,” he says. “You’re part Dread. Ipso fa—”

“Ispo fuck off,” I say. “You’re going to get yourself killed.”

He ignores me and leans over the mothman’s body, which has been laid out on the roof by the Dread Squad guys. It’s very dead and covered in its own gore, but that doesn’t seem to bother Dearborn. “It’s a mothman.” He looks up at me. “You’re lucky you saw it.”

He’s clearly not going anywhere, and I don’t have time to force him. I lift the sniper rifle and lug it back toward the roof’s edge. “Why’s that?”

Dearborn walks beside me. “The amount of fear generated by different subspecies of Dread varies—we think. Looking at the history of Dread encounters and comparing sightings of various species with the resulting effect on humanity, we can paint a rough picture of which Dread can do what. While bulls can instigate people to violence, it takes time. Mobs and confusion are their territory. Historically, mothmen most often lead to dramatically violent events. The 1967 encounters in West Virginia culminated with the collapse of a bridge that killed forty-six people. They’re also more likely to enter the physical realm, as you just saw.”

“The claw I took?”

He nods. “A mothman.”

I turn to Allenby, who is on my other side. “Maya? And Simon?”

“Most likely,” she says. “Hugh and your parents, too.”

Assassins, then. Like me. I’ll keep that in mind next time I come face-to-ugly-face with one.

I crouch by the side of the roof. Moving slowly, I put the rifle down, leaning the bipod on the top of the foot-tall wall surrounding the rooftop. “Anything worse than a mothman?”

“Not that we, or previous you, has seen or captured thus far,” Dearborn says, “but it seems likely. While humanity divides race by skin color and facial features, the Dread vary far more widely. It’s more like different species of Dread, rather than races, though each species might also have its own geographically separated races. We don’t know, and thinking we’ve experienced all of them would be like going to a mall and assuming all races of humanity are represented.” Dearborn peeks over the wall. “From what we know, the Dread we’ve encountered are just the grunts. Following orders. They’re closer to trained animals than intelligent beings. I suppose you might find out when you visit the colony, eh? If you’re still keen on playing G.I. Joe.”

I lift the sniper rifle, placing the stock against my shoulder. “Just need a little target practice first.” I look through the scope and take aim at the crowded parking lot.

“Triangular-shaped head, wider at the top. Tall but hunched body. Kind of like Lyons. Its legs are covered by some kind of cloth. Black. Wispy. Almost like a skirt. Has four eyes like the others. Two on the outside, two nearer the middle. Bright yellow veins all over. Two arms, but they split into tentacles. Too many to count. Each ends with a glowing yellow tip, and it’s poking them into the backs of people’s heads as it passes through the crowd.” I lean away from the sniper scope and look at Dearborn. He’s shaking his head, a hint of a smile. Allenby just looks mortified. “Something new?”

Both nod. My past and forgotten experience with the Dread is starting to appear fairly limited. Bulls, pugs, and mothmen seem to be the limit of Neuro’s Dread-related knowledge base. Of course, back then, the Dread weren’t trying to instigate rebellions and world wars, so I suppose it makes sense that we’re encountering previously unseen species.

I return my eye to the scope. “There’s only one of them down there. Eight bulls. Maybe twenty pugs.”

“Pugs?” Allenby asks.

“The little ones. They look like alien pugs. The dog breed.”

“You said the new one was wearing clothing?” Katzman asks, standing behind us, far enough away from the roof’s edge to not be visible.

I focus on the monster in question as it flits about the agitated crowd, moving from one person to the next, pausing just long enough to… what? “That unusual?”

Katzman kneels behind the wall, peeking over the top. He slowly lowers his goggles into place. His body goes rigid just from seeing the thing. He curses, yanks the goggles up, catches his breath, and says, “According to your past accounts, it’s a first.”

“Whatever it is,” I say, “it’s not really scaring anyone.” I watch the way the bulls and pugs shimmer closer to our frequency and the effect their brush with our reality has on the people nearby. They’re pumping fear and paranoia into the crowd, keeping them on the edge. But Medusa-hands seems to be directing the flow of ideas. Those it touches move forward, toward the front doors. If this goes on much longer, they might have this mob storm the building. Lyons has faith in the building’s defenses, but I have my doubts. If there is anything a mob is good at, it’s finding a way through a building’s windows, even if those windows are three stories up. And these people are supercharged by fear. Some of the most heinous and desperate acts in human history have been fueled by fear. If these people get inside, anyone left will be in serious trouble. Of course, so will those who get inside. Once we evacuate the remaining staff, the people left inside will either be inner-circle scientists or heavily armed guards and Dread Squad members. The pristine hallways beneath us could very quickly get a fresh coat of red.

“Can you take it out?” Katzman asks.

I center my scope on the thing’s wide head. It’s always moving and, despite the creature’s size, remains ducked down behind the people it’s affecting. I could shoot it, but not without risk of hitting someone. While I’m fairly certain I could squeak a round between some protesters without hitting them, I don’t know if the massive round will be stopped by the Dread’s body. It could very easily pass straight through the Dread—and whoever is behind it. I might drop the monster and a line of ten people with it. War between overlapping dimensions is a complicated thing, especially when the bullets exist in both worlds.