MirrorWorld

24.

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.

But I get to my feet again.

So does the bull, though this time it’s not exactly right. I don’t know if it’s dying or if the bullet lodged in its head is screwing with its thought process, but when the thing charges, it’s not in a straight line.

With my handgun missing, knocked away when I was struck, the machete is my only weapon, unless… I look back to where the pine tree was, to where the ATV should be crumpled up. The bow and arrows are there, floating in space, held by an ATV that can no longer be perceived by any of my senses but that exists nonetheless. These oscillium weapons can exist in both worlds or just one at a time. Sounds like a bunch of science fiction hoo-ha, but there they are, floating by the tree.

There’s not enough time to get the bow, and the machete—I draw it up and out of the scabbard hanging on my bare back—feels like an extension of my arm. Not that it will help if the bull manages to throw its full weight into me. The Dread bellows oddly, its voice slick and warbling. Confused. It’s going to miss, I think, and prepare to strike as it passes. But then it stumbles and is suddenly back on track, green blood–coated head lowered to ram the life out of me.

See what’s not there, I think. Be somewhere else! Go home!

A pain like melting flesh surges up from my feet, rises through my chest, and explodes from my mouth as a scream.

The bull’s head slams into the machete first. The blade bites deep, severing the thickly armored skull in two. The creature’s battle cry is silenced, but forward momentum carries it straight through me. I’ve passed, painfully, back into the world between, still able to see the bull but no longer physically interacting with it. The pine trees are back. The wrecked ATV, too. The only hint that the Dread world is just beyond my perception is the green veins scattered about the ground like a loose net.

I duck as the machete, which still exists in both worlds, is caught in the beast’s skull and wrenched from my hand. The side of the blade slips past my head while the bull crushes his face against a mirror-world tree I can no longer see.

Black fog covers my vision as the bull slumps down dead. While my body is free from the bull, my vision is stuck in the lightless insides of the bull’s body. I try to step out of it, to the side, but am held in place. It’s my belt and the scabbard strap. The Dread is still interacting with them, pinning them against a tree that’s no longer there.

Wrenching the machete back and forth, I tug it free. Then I slip the blade beneath the strap over my chest but stop before cutting it free. Oscillium can be here, there, or everywhere. And I can bring it with me. Change its frequency. Bioelectromagnetism. Rage moves it into the mirror world, calm pulls it back. I turn my attention to the strap, will it to leave the Dread world while thinking pleasant thoughts, which is hard to do while trapped, naked, and covered in mud inside the body of a monster. Rage would be easy, but calm? My free hand comes up and clutches the plastic pendant. This is my calm. My center. I focus on it. My chest burns with such intensity that I expect to see smoke and smell roasted me. I breathe through it, like a woman in labor, maintaining mental calm despite the body’s signals that something is wrong. And then the pain fades and the pressure on my chest disappears. The oscillium strap has shifted back into my reality, or rather left the mirror world behind.

I shake my head. Bioelectromagnetism. Who would have guessed? Granted, it’s mild pseudoscience compared to the discovery of varying frequencies of reality, but learning about weird shit and actually doing weird shit are very different experiences.

I try to move again, but there’s a tug around my neck. The pendant. It’s not made of oscillium and shouldn’t be able to move freely between worlds. I consider leaving it behind, but a deep sense of loss, like a nail pounded into my chest, forbids it. It’s a part of me. I have no idea why, but I think I’d stay here and rot before leaving it behind.

So I decide to take it with me. I did it once before, when I fell through the tree. Allenby mentioned that such a thing, in theory, could happen, probably with some kind of concerted effort, but I somehow achieved it instinctually. But can I duplicate the effect on purpose?

This is different from the oscillium. The pendant’s metal and plastic weren’t designed to switch frequencies in response to a change in bioelectromagnetism. But that doesn’t mean it’s stuck in one frequency. Allenby said it was theoretically possible, and I proved it by somehow bringing the pendant with me. But how?

Force of will, I think. The object around my neck feels like part of me, so when I fell through the tree, whatever part of me has changed took the pendant along for the ride, letting it piggyback through the frequency shift. Just like the food in my stomach, I think. It’s not technically part of me, but it comes along for the ride. I’m no scientist, but it’s the layman’s explanation that makes the most sense. Maybe Lyons will be able to explain it? What’s important is that it is possible.

I close my eyes, will with all my heart and soul that the plastic charm will stay with me, and lean forward. For a moment, I feel nothing but the pull of the chain on my neck. The tug becomes a strangle, the chain taut, stuck inside the bull. C’mon! I think, hoping the chain won’t snap. C’mon!

A sharp sting, like a razor’s cut, or how I imagine a tight garrote must feel, slides across my throat. Am I killing myself? Am I sliding my body through the chain? These possibilities cause me no fear, but I’d prefer not to have a metal chain embedded in my neck. A sharp tingling sensation seeps out of my neck, and for a moment I can feel it reaching out, stretching along the notches of the pendant.

I pitch forward, freed from resistance. My first thought is that the chain broke, but when I open my eyes again, I’m free of the bull and the pendant hangs around my still-tingling neck. I clasp my hands around the rainbow-colored mystery, more thankful for its presence than surprised I’ve just moved a nonoscillium object between worlds. My hands travel to my neck next. There is no wound. The pain was caused by the shift. Back in the world between, closer to my original sensory self, the discomfort is once again a dull ache.

With all of my accoutrements freed from the Dread world and the bull’s body, I’m able to step away and look at my fallen foe. It’s dead, that’s for damn sure.

And I’m as naked as a hairless cat, but not quite hairless. The mud from the other world is gone, left behind when I shifted back home. Machete in hand, I scramble back to the pine tree, body protesting with every movement because of the lingering effects of shifting between worlds, not to mention getting clubbed by the bull. My clothing is plastered around the trunk where my body should have struck. I peel the articles away and quickly dress.

After slipping on my second shoe and tugging the laces tight, I sense a presence and, without thought, focus on the world around me, in multiple frequencies. The sudden surge of extrasensory input hits the inside of my forehead like a sledgehammer, but I manage the pain with the knowledge that it is temporary. Clicking screeches, which I can clearly hear, mix with the strange whispering that feels more… in my head. I plug my ears. The clicking stops. The whispering continues in my head. I turn slowly, keeping my body concealed by the pine tree and ATV.

Several small Dreads, the size and energy level of pugs, swarm around the fallen bull. They’re focused on the wounds, twitching back and forth, sniffing the body and the air. Are they scavengers? I wonder, but the things never take a bite.

I count seven of them.

A shriek interlaced with frantic clicking turns me around.

Make that eight.

The small creature inspects me, oblivious to the fact that I can see it, too. Its four eyes match the bull’s, two vertical rectangular pupils joined in the middle to form a ragged H surrounded by luminous green. Its body is small but armored, like the bull, and a lattice of glowing veins coat its hide. Is it a baby bull? Did I kill these things’ mother?

The rest of the pack tears around the tree, checking me out.

Then, one by one, they vibrate. They’re trying to frighten me, I think. But why? Do they want me to run? Am I supposed to panic and fall to the ground? Or are they hoping I’ll lose my mind and fall on my sword?

Whatever it is they’re expecting, I don’t do it, and suddenly they’re on to me. They’ve switched from casual inspectors to on-guard watchdogs, each facing me, coiled to spring. But in which direction?

While I have no fear response, I’m careful to not look the things in the eyes. That, I’ve learned, is a dead giveaway. Right now, they’re just confused, but—damn. I turn away from the bunch on the ground and face the pine, where a ninth mini-Dread clings to the bark, upside down, staring straight at me.

I try to look away, but it’s too late. Our eyes connect.

Moving slowly, I take hold of the bow, and nock one of the black arrows. Though none of my movements are aggressive, the small creatures are backing away. If they’re any kind of smart, and I think they are, they’ve put two and two together.

“That’s right,” I whisper. “I killed your big—”

The things grow rigid.

Surprised.

Annnd fuck—they understand me. Good to know.

I draw back the bow and send an arrow into the Dread clinging to the pine tree, pinning it to the bark. The body goes limp. The top half flops to the side, swivels down, and hangs in place.

There’s a beat of silence and then the Dread pugs bolt. But they don’t scatter, which would be smart; they all head south. I nock and fire two more arrows, slaying two more Dreads, but there are too many, and they’re too fast. I sling the arrows over my back and pursue the things up and over a rise.

For a moment, I see just the real world. The tall pines of the forest are replaced by gravestones on the other side of the hill. It’s a cemetery, empty and peaceful, but old and unused for a long time. I shift my vision back to the world between, the pain less severe now. A network of glowing veins cuts across the ground, along with the scattering pugs, but nothing else. Nothing, at least, in this reality.

It takes just a moment this time, focusing on what I can see and feel, expanding it all, like taking a deep breath. The world bends and flexes, like I’m looking through warping plastic, and then it snaps back into focus. The pain sucker punches me and drops me to my knees. The raw pain of changing my perceptions is equally intense, but the duration is shorter… or maybe I’m just getting better at coping.

I look up, seeing the Dread world. My eyes widen. The shrieking Dread pugs race toward a black mound, like a giant wart on the surface of the purple-skied earth. The whispering I’ve been hearing now fills my head, loud but unintelligible. Bulls pour out of the mound’s arched entrance, meeting the smaller creatures, touching noses with them. There is a familial feel to the way they’re interacting, but the differences in their appearance are obvious now that I’m seeing them together. The bulls have longer limbs, barrel chests, and longer necks, not to mention those massive jaws. The pugs have short, thin limbs that don’t seem well proportioned to their wide, squat bodies.

I don’t know if the bulls can see me. If they can see in all frequencies, or only one at a time, or if, like me, they’re able to peek from one world into another. But if they’re not looking now, they will be soon. So I duck down and crawl away, shifting my vision back into the real world. I complete the shift so quickly that the sudden pain knocks me to the ground. It takes all of my willpower to not shout out. Instead, I bury it all, rolling on the pine-needle carpet, clutching my head while the pain subsides. It takes just seconds, but given my predicament, feels like a lot longer.

I might not be afraid, but I’m not stupid, either. Being found by multiple bulls without any understanding of what they really are, and can do, is likely a death sentence. With the quiver of arrows over my back, the bow in one hand, and the machete in the other, I break out in a run. I slow my pace ten minutes later, confident I’m not being followed. Not only have they not attacked, but I’ve looked back, in both worlds, and seen no sign of company. That said, I’m following the trail of blood north, back to Neuro, the same trail of blood those bulls will have no trouble following. The supernatural shit is going to hit the fan, and I’m going to be the only one who gets to see it coming.