MirrorWorld

The other three pull triggers. Unaimed bullets rip through the stairwell. The sound is thunderous. The effect, savage.

As I round the final flight of stairs, I’m greeted by bloody carnage. Despite the armor, the three men have managed to cut each other down, coating the stairs and walls with blood, guts, and brains.

And yet the monster lives.

But it’s been injured. There’s a splash of bright-green wetness on its back.

It turns around to face me as I round the last flight. I can’t tell if it’s surprised by my arrival. Those wide eyes never change, like a fish, expressionless.

It vibrates again, coming clearly into view. The whispers, like indistinct hissing, grow louder.

I feel nothing.

The thing’s head reels back a bit, showing a hint of surprise, which brings a smile to my face. And it’s the smile that has the most impact. The creature rears up on its back legs, vibrating furiously. Its underside looks soft.

“Big mistake, buddy.” I leap at the thing, pulling my trigger twelve times in the seconds it takes to reach the monster. It falls back from the force of the bullets, injured but not dead.

Yet.

As I fall within striking distance, I swing my weapon like a club, hoping to crack its domed skull, or at least daze the creature.

But I miss.

Well, miss isn’t entirely accurate. The weapon hits the hard skull and is torn from my hand. While the handgun makes contact, my hand goes through the thing. Right through its head, like it’s some kind of immaterial specter.

The creature reaches out its thickly muscled arms and catches hold of the railing and wall, stopping its backward descent. Instead of slamming into the thing, I simply pass straight through it. The concrete floor greets me harshly. I roll with the impact, but there isn’t much room, and my roll ends against the equally solid wall.

The bull spins around, looking down at me, vibrating. This time I hear a rattle and a whispered shriek. The sound brings fresh pain, radiating from my ears, but I’m not sure if it is the sound causing the pain or whatever is allowing me to hear it. I fight to stand. I don’t think anything is broken, but I’m going to hurt in the morning.

Enraged by my nonresponse to its strange behavior, the monster leans in closer. The massive hippo mouth drops open large enough to swallow me whole, but it’s not trying to eat me. It’s roaring. The wormy tongue shakes. Saliva sprays but doesn’t strike me.

Then the sound reaches my ears. It starts as a whistle and builds into a deep, throaty roar, like a lion’s, but sustained. I catch a whiff of the thing’s warm, rotten breath. The brief sense feels like a punch to my nose.

Unfazed by the freakish sight, I push past the pain, recover my dropped weapon from the floor, take aim, and pull the trigger.

The weapon clicks. I’ve already drained the magazine.

Stupid mistake.

The sound snaps the bull out of its intimidation display. It stops shaking and fades partially from view. The head turns toward the door. The exit.

It bolts.

As the large body passes by, I reach over my back, clasp the machete’s handle, draw the blade, and swing, all in one fluid motion. While I’m sure my hand would pass straight through the thing, the weapon’s black blade bites into flesh. Bites — and sticks.

The massive bounding weight of the bull yanks the blade from my hand. The creature — the Dread, capital D — lands on the first floor and then leaps through the door like it wasn’t there. The machete, however, makes contact with the door and stays behind, tearing a green splash of gore from the monster’s backside.

I recover the machete and shove through the door. The bull is already fifty feet away, running on all fours and trailing a stream of what looks like thick Mello Yello. I give chase, but there’s no way to catch it. It’s clearly trying to find a way out. I’m either going to be there to see how it escapes or greet it when it can’t.

As the Dread approaches the end of the hall, it never slows.

Ahh, I think, understanding the creature’s escape plan. But will it work?

The monster leaps a potted plant, throws its head up, and lunges at the tinted window. The window resists the monster’s head but bends. Then the creature’s massive body adds its weight to the impact, and the window explodes outward. The bull rolls out into the night.

I pick up my pace, machete in hand.

I can reach it. I can —

An alarm sounds. Small LED lights blink above the broken window. Just seconds before I’m through, a sheet of black metal slides down, blocking my path. Through the next window over, I see the spectral brute limp off into the darkness.

A loud ding whirls me around, machete raised. Elevator doors open. Allenby, Katzman, and four members of Alpha Team step out.

“What happened?” Allenby asks, looking around. “Is it still here?”

I point my blade at the sheet of black covering the broken window.

“Dammit!” Katzman shouts.

“I can track it,” I say, but the man is shaking his head before I finish the sentence.

“Too dangerous,” he says. “They’ll know about you now.”