Jeremy Robinson - MirrorWorld

“Aren’t you curious about what happened while you were gone?”

Now that she mentions it, I am.

“First, the larger ramifications.” She sits on the bed beside me and lifts a tablet from her pocket. She turns it on and accesses a saved video. The image is split down the middle showing two locations. I recognize both, but Allenby explains anyway. “The footage on the left is from New York City. On the right is the security footage from the roof. Pay attention to the time stamps.”

She hits PLAY. The videos have no sound, but it’s not required. On the left, an angry mob marches down 42nd Street. It’s a familiar scene, and the people are framed by riot police and sky scrapers on either side, though the mob contains a good number of police officers, too.

The video on the left shows an empty rooftop, and then me. I zoom into the picture atop an ATV, taking to the air and landing in dramatic fashion. And then, in a blink, I’m gone, disappeared into the mirror world. I watch the time stamps, keenly aware of what is happening in the now-empty security feed.

And then, I reappear, curled up on the rooftop, looking pitiful and afraid.

Motion in the left video feed draws my attention. It started just before I reappeared. The scene in New York has taken a turn for the worse. Chaos erupts, but it’s not what I expected. The mob has turned violent, but the brawling isn’t between mob and riot police, it’s every man and woman for themselves. Even the riot police are taking part, attacking the mob and each other.

Allenby switches the video to a playlist of saved videos. She scrolls through various video clips, some from phones, some from the news, and some from security cameras. Those with time stamps show different hours, but the minutes match up. They’re videos from around the world. In different time zones. But I understand what I’m seeing. They were all recorded at the same time. Angry crowds, in all of them, seem to snap and go wild all at exactly the same time. The psychic bond shared by the Dread allows them to stay in contact instantly and globally. Killing that monster set off a global response from the Dread.

“Where there was violence before,” Allenby says, “there is now chaos. Cities are burning. War is imminent. The world is on the brink.”

I look away from the videos. “What happened here?”

“They got inside,” she says. “Those who were caught either went mad or killed themselves or the person closest to them. Some of us made it to the oscillium-walled panic room. Sealed ourselves inside. They were nearly inside that when you…” She sighs. “Not everyone made it to the panic room.”

She holds my gaze, waiting to see if I’ll understand.

“Not everyone could walk. Not everyone was awake .”

“Maya,” I whisper. “Is she… dead?”

“Worse,” she says.

“Worse?”

“I went for her. Carried her by myself. But they reached right out… There were tentacles. I dropped her. Couldn’t look. Couldn’t control myself. But I could see her. She was here, and then she wasn’t. Just like you.” She takes my chin in her hand, squeezing hard, forcing me to look at her. “They took your wife, Josef, and, God damn you, you’re going to get her back.” She lets go of me. “You’re the only one who can.”

Allenby sets a stalwart pace down the hall. I struggle to keep up at first but push through the aches, and my body limbers up, feeling strangely renewed. I’m not sure where she’s leading me, but the innards of Neuro are a mess. Burn marks, bullet holes, and smears of dry blood mar the floors, walls, and in some places the ceiling. Allenby told me that fifteen people died when the Dread infiltrated the building through the elevator shaft. Would have been worse if the mob had gotten inside. Speaking of which…

“What happened to the people outside?”

“The Dread influence faded. Slowly. But within an hour, most of the people outside lost steam and left. When only a few remained, I went out and spoke to a woman. She was just sitting on the pavement, rocking back and forth. Her knuckles were bloody from pounding on the walls.” She glances back at me. “She was twenty years old. A college student. Poor thing had no memory of why she was there or what had happened.”

“Why the big show?” I ask.

“What do you mean?”

“The Dread can make neighbor turn on neighbor.”

“Family against family,” she adds.

I motion to a spatter of blood. “To the death.”

She stops walking. “What’s your point? Or is it a question?”

“Both.” I use the pause to stretch. “They could turn everyone against each other, like they are in the cities, but not everywhere. The human race could literally murder itself into oblivion. So what’s with the mobs? The government standoffs? The slow build toward global chaos? What’s the point?”

“I’m not sure there is a—”

“They’re smart,” I say. A chill runs through my body as the memory of the Dread mole’s mental intrusion surfaces. I push the images from my mind. “If they’ve chosen to attack us with such a slow build to annihilation, there’s a reason.”

“You might be right, but it’s too late for speculation now.” She starts moving again, double-timing it.

“What do you mean?”

“There’s a reason you’re still here, and I’m here with you. Lyons hasn’t said so outright, but I think he’s done studying them. He’s out for blood.”

“He can do that?” I ask. “I thought I was—”

“I’m not sure you’re as unique as we believed, at least in terms of being able to move between worlds. If the fear can be overcome with drugs, he might not need you… at least not for a single assault. He has spoken, in the past, about creating a kind of mirror dimension WMD. Something that would affect their world but not ours. I didn’t think he’d done it, but now I’m not so sure. It makes sense that he’d keep it from me. I always opposed the idea, which is probably why I’m here now. Left behind, as it were. Mass destruction in either dimension will be catastrophic. The effects are totally unknown. Not even theoretical. But extermination is never the solution.”

“Then what is?”

She stops at the stairwell door, hand on the knob. “I don’t know.” She opens the door and steps into the stairwell, maintaining her pace while heading up.

I stand still, eyeing the stairs.

Allenby stops at the first landing. “What are you waiting for?”

“I’m in a bit of pain.”

“They made you feel fear,” she says. “I didn’t realize they also made you a whiney bitch.” She glances back, grinning wide.

Despite the circumstances and pain, Allenby manages to get a smile out of me and to sufficiently motivate me to tackle the staircase. Like the walk down the hall, each step simultaneously hurts and helps. By the top of the second flight, I’m in pain, top to bottom, but also feel stronger, more focused, and a little less fearful.

A little.

By the top of the sixth flight, I’ve worked up a question that’s been nagging at me. “How did it happen? With Maya.”

Allenby stops next to a door labeled 6. “What?”

“How was Maya taken?

She frowns. “All I saw were tentacles—”

“Medusa-hands.”

“Right. It reached out of thin air, wrapped her body in those…” She shivers. “It just yanked her away from me, and they both disappeared. I couldn’t do anything. They got to me with the fear.” She stares at the floor, shaking her head in shame. “I ran. Didn’t even look back.”

I haul myself up the final step. “It’s all in our heads. The fear.”

“What do you mean?”

“The Dread communicate without speaking. It’s like a network. Sounds like whispering, but it’s in your head. Not your ears. Thoughts are broadcast. The closer you are, the stronger the signal, and the louder the whisper. Their presence makes people uncomfortable. It’s like pressure waves moving through frequencies, rippling through to our world, where we feel them as brushes with the supernatural. The closer they are to our frequency, the stronger the overlapping ripple and sense of being watched, or followed, or hunted.”