MirrorWorld

Then came the first attack. The colony’s burning was felt by all the matriarchs and broadcast to all connected Dread. Plans were set in motion, in both dimensions, resulting in the deaths of my loved ones. And then, I’m gone. No longer part of the story. Lyons became hidden, barricaded inside Neuro and a second location, which the Dread were able to infiltrate once — two weeks ago. One of the bats, which was attached to a Dread Squad soldier, made it inside the second location and overheard a conversation. A plan. Dread-day. It also saw a collection of devices every Dread could recognize after its image was broadcast by the matriarch Colby slew — microwave bombs. Hundreds of them. They would cook both worlds, but without radioactive fallout, the damage done to humanity’s frequencies could be repaired.

The result of that intel is the current state of the world on the brink of destruction. Like humanity, the Dread have evolved, both physically and socially. A barbaric past has been replaced by a more logical present, and yet, like us, they are still capable of violence. Like most people, they would prefer alternatives and to be left alone in peace. But they’re willing to burn the world if that’s not possible. And they need my help, not because they’re incapable of defending themselves, but because the actions I now take as the person who understands the truth will determine the fate of both worlds.

I open my eyes.

The tendrils pull back.

“What do you want me to do?” I ask.

“Choose,” whispers the voice in my head.

I’m about to ask for clarification when an explosion rocks the archway entrance. Fifty heavily armed men, moving with the lethal efficiency of special ops soldiers, enter the chamber. They’re followed by the last person I expected to see here. Lyons. My father-in-law. The man who would destroy the mirror world and, as a result, his own. But it only takes a quick look to see that he’s no longer simply a man.

56

Lyons strides into the colony’s core, determination wafting from him. He’s close to having his revenge for his childhood and the acts of violence against our family and to ending a war that he believes has been waged for generations but that, in truth, he began. But there’s something else about him. Something different. A strange confidence, like he’s already won. Given the amount of firepower the black-clad Dread Squad is packing, it would appear he’s correct. If the Dread mole attempts to free itself from the earth, it will be cut down by RPGs, machine guns, and high-caliber weapons. Following the pack is Katzman, still carrying his backpack.

I don’t know how many of these men are still outside. There could be hundreds of soldiers fighting out and around the colony, but that’s not a concern at the moment. Aside from the microwave bomb strapped to Katzman’s back, Lyons has all my attention. Not just because he’s the architect of all this or because he’s the one who stole my memory, but because I’ve gotten a better look at the man. He’s changed. Physically.

The hunch is gone, as is the cane. Loose skin has been replaced by taut muscle. This is Lyons if he’d been a marine or a professional wrestler and twenty years younger. Maybe thirty. He’s got a barrel chest, thick arms, and perfect posture. If not for the still-recognizable facial features and gray hair, I’m not sure I would have known him.

No one speaks or pushes fear or anything else. Both sides silently take stock of the other, forming strategies and picking targets.

Without a second thought, I do the one thing no one expects. “Lyons!” I try to look unruffled by his appearance and the knowledge of what he did to me and head toward my father-in-law.

Several of the Dread Squad members aim their weapons at me. They’re hopped up on drugs, barely in control, and look confused by the appearance of a man. I hold out my empty hands so they can see I’m not armed, while simultaneously taking stock of the weapons I have in reach. The Dread left me with the two trench knives, the Desert Eagle, and Faithful. They took a big risk trusting me. I hope it wasn’t misplaced.

“Stephen,” I say, getting Lyons’s attention.

Confusion fills his eyes, quickly replaced by surprise. “Crazy?” He steps closer to me, fearless despite knowing what I can do. And it’s not without reason. He’s nearly a foot taller than me now.

“Josef,” I say.

“You … remember?”

“Everything … Dad,” letting him know that our previous relationship is no longer a secret. I only called him Dad to rib him. He’s always hated it. I hope the casualness of this old gag will lower his defenses. I wave my hand dismissively, even though I really just want to punch him in the face. But if I can get Lyons to listen, maybe back down, I am willing to delay the introduction of my knuckles to his nose, and to the rest of him. “You had to make tough choices. I understand that now.”

He flexes his chest, watching me with predatory eyes. Dread eyes. “I know you better than that.”