Jeremy Robinson - MirrorWorld

A chill runs up my spine, warning of unseen danger, urging me to turn around.

I look back not really expecting to find anything, but a Medusa-hands is right behind me, tentacles outstretched.

With a shout of surprise, I lash out, burying the trench knife in my right hand into its skull. The body falls slack, pulling me down to the ground. I try to pull the blade free, but it’s stuck. I slip my fingers out of the knuckles and stand, leaving the weapon behind.

Movement catches my attention. The tunnel behind me is alive with motion. An army of Medusa-hands writhes toward me, their external veins and eyes glowing in the semidarkness. All around me, the veins that fill this world pulse with frantic energy. I turn away from the Dread stampede before they can paralyze me with fear and run.

The slow incline frustrates me as the rumbling grows more violent. Whatever was buried in the chamber below is rising.

Coming for me.

A warm, wet breeze makes my cheeks sticky. The smell of rot tickles my nose. Almost there.

Feeling a presence behind me and a chill on the nape of my neck, I draw the P229 and fire blindly. Shrieks fill the tunnel. I don’t know if I’m killing them or just injuring them, but they don’t catch me.

The entrance is just ahead.

A bull appears, its head twitching back and forth, no doubt summoned by whatever is still rising from the earth. Its eyes lock onto me, but before it can react, I act, driven by desperation and guided by instinct and skill. The remaining trench knife stabs up through the Dread’s chin and into its brain. I slip my fingers out of the oscillium knuckles and continue running, leaving the blade behind. The bull mewls and staggers away, not quite dead, but on its way.

I run out into the swampy clearing, slipping in the muck.

As the mob of Medusa-hands charges out behind me, I slip back into my reality and partially out of their grasp. But not completely. If they get their tendrils in my head, who knows what kind of thoughts they’ll put in there. If there is pain from the frequency shift, I don’t notice it. Fear, and its by-product, shock, can numb the mind from physical pain—I’ve heard.

Back on firm ground, adrenaline pumping, vision narrowed, I cover the hundred yards to the ATV in twelve seconds. I jump on the seat, turn the key, and rev the engine. One last peek into the mirror world reveals eight Medusa-hands, twenty yards back and closing fast. Behind them, the lobotomized bull staggers but can’t chase.

None of that fills me with as much trepidation as what happens next. The colony bursts open like an overfull aluminum-foil Jiffy Pop pouch. Massive flakes of the hivelike walls burst into the air. A giant limb, the size of a thick tree trunk, rises from the ground. Its foot, a triangular-shaped pad with long, thick, hooked claws descends to the ground. I can’t feel the impact in this dimension, but I can see the Medusa-hands stagger.

Having seen enough, I blink and see only the cemetery. I know the Dread are still there, coming for me, but not seeing them allows me to calm down. Focus.

I turn the ATV around and tear down the old road, back toward route 202. Despite my escape, return to reality, and speedy retreat, I can’t fight the building fear gripping my chest. Whatever that thing was rising out of the ground, it’s coming for me. Dammit, I think, it’s coming for me.

Trees blur past as I speed north on 202. I’ve got the needle pegged, but the speed now makes me nervous. I brake around the same corners I tore around on my previous journey. I stay locked in my lane. I think I should have brought a helmet. A helmet ! In New Hampshire! Where almost nobody wears a damn helmet!

I am not a fan of fear.

It might be the most powerful force I’ve ever felt. It controls the body despite what the mind thinks. But the mind isn’t unaffected, either. I’m thinking things I never would have before. I’m considering driving north until the tank empties, stealing a car and driving until the world freezes. Part of me is a coward, and it shames me.

I don’t run away. It’s not who I am, fear or no fear.

I repeat the thought like a mantra, trying to keep myself on course for Neuro. They might be screwed, too, in which case I probably will head north and not look back. But they’ve also got weapons. And if I die, it won’t be alone.

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.