MirrorWorld

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.