MirrorWorld (44 page)
“Stand up,” a voice whispers. I turn, looking for the speaker, but see no one. I’m still in the large chamber, surrounded by Dread. Maya is there, too, but now stands far to the side, still flanked by mammoths, but no longer controlled by a Medusa-hands. She meets my eyes and gives a very lucid nod.
Is she urging me to listen?
I obey the voice and stand while two Medusas slide away from me. The thick Dread mole, or matriarch tendrils protruding from the ground, undulate slowly, very nonthreateningly. They’re just ten feet away.
“Do you remember?”
I spin around, looking for the source of the whispered voice. My eyes widen with realization. The whispering is in my head. I can understand it now. I turn and face the tendrils. “Did you do this to me?”
“Your mind has been restored, but it is not you who is understanding our language; it is I using yours.”
“Can all of you communicate in English?”
“Yes.” The tendrils slow.
“Do you remember?”
“Remember what?”
“Your life. All of it?”
I think for a moment. For the first time in a long time, my memory feels complete. I know that I’m Josef Shiloh, I remember my decisions, and the true sequence of events that led to the deaths in my family. I also remember my time as Crazy, and living in SafeHaven, where I learned how to be compassionate and patient with broken people, and not just Shotgun and Seymour. Everyone, I realized during my yearlong stint in the loony bin, is broken to some degree, including me. Most people contain it, or drown it, but other people, like Lyons, are masters at hiding it. In the end, Simon’s grandfather is really a man obsessed with war, whose very human fear of the unknown and childhood trauma at the hands of independently acting Dread pushed him to make a horrible mistake. It left him broken and has driven him to seek his own kind of retribution, blaming the Dread for his pain, both externally inflicted and self-inflicted. I’m not convinced the Dread
aren’t
a threat, but where there are no doubt countless shades of gray, Lyons only sees black and white.
I don’t know if the Dread mole buried beneath my feet can see me through those tentacles, but I nod anyway. “I remember.” My thoughts drift to the Dread bull memory at the Trinity nuclear test. “I remember everything.”
One of the tendrils stretches out toward me in a nonthreatening way. An outer layer of skin peels back, unleashing a mass of smaller tentacles, similar to a Medusa-hands but tipped in glowing purple rather than yellow. The snaking things come right up to my face and stop. I don’t flinch away, despite knowing what they’re capable of. “What do you want me to do?”
“Remember … more.”
“What else is there to remember?”
“History.”
I’m not positive, but I think it means their history. Dread history.
“Why didn’t you do this before?” I ask.
“You were still our enemy.”
“And now?”
“You remember.”
“I remember that you killed my son.” A twinge of anger surfaces, but not enough to propel me toward violence.
“We have known you for a long time, Josef Shiloh. We have watched the man who did not fear. Such a curious person. You understand war. How they’re started. And how they’re prevented. You have been a party to both in the past.”
The matriarch is right. My actions have both started wars and ended them. The … jobs I carried out affected thousands upon thousands of lives, both as a CIA killer and while working with Neuro.
“You are responsible for the deaths of many,” the Dread whispers. “But you now have the opportunity to save even more.”
Distant gunshots echo into the chamber from somewhere far away in the colony. My head snaps toward the chamber entrance, looking for danger and seeing none. The tendrils remain focused on me.
“
If
I remember…”
“Understanding is fear’s—and hatred’s—most powerful adversary … and it must be accepted willingly, not forced.” The tendrils spread open, awaiting me.
I’m having trouble accepting that this ancient enemy of humanity is being genuine. The Dread
are
monsters, in every sense of the word, horrible, ugly creatures that have plagued mankind from the shadows. But we are not much different in their eyes.
“And if I don’t?” I ask.
“You will lack the determination to do what you must, and both of our worlds will burn.”
“You’ll do it, won’t you?” I ask. “Nuke the world?”
I feel the yes more than hear it. “You have felt the network that connects us all,” the matriarch says. “You have seen what happens when a colony loses its matriarch.”
I remember it clearly. All of the Dread connected to it die.
“I am the oldest of the matriarchs. Every colony, as you call them, is connected to me. If my life ends before another ascends…”
“Your world ends.”
“I do not want to destroy your world, but … I will.”
“I get it,” I say. “Mutually assured destruction.” It’s the stalemate that has prevented World War III on multiple occasions. As bad as disagreements and hatred can be, no one wants to end all life on the planet. But the only way that works, is if both sides are actually willing to do it. If the matriarch feels its life—and all the Dread connected to it—is ending, it will, in turn, end humanity.
“I know it doesn’t change anything,” I say, “but I’m sorry. For what I did. For the colony I—”
“These are the harsh realities of the world we share. Conflict. Death. War. We will move beyond them eventually, but for now we must
both
accept what has happened and move forward.”
“Forgiveness,” I say.
“Yes.”
I see my son. My parents and Hugh. I remember the way they made me feel, and the emptiness their departures left in my soul. But the matriarch shares this pain and more. Without either of us speaking a word, a weight lifts away.
“It is done,” the matriarch says.
I glance at Maya. She’s just watching, still lucid, almost hopeful. She’s still gaunt and weak, but the look in her eyes … I see clarity.
“Are you okay?” I ask her.
She looks a little unsure, which, given her surroundings is understandable. “Better, I think.”
“Do you remember?” I ask. I don’t need to specify what I’m asking about. She knows. The sadness in her eyes says so.
“The memory is different now,” she says. “Distant. Not me.”
“It
wasn’t
you.” Maya’s body might have thrust the glass downward, but she wasn’t in control of it.
“I’m sorry I was lost,” she says.
“We both were,” I reply. While the Dread took her mind, Lyons took mine. Had both sides just left us alone, we wouldn’t be here right now. I would have stopped Lyons before it got this far. “But we’re back now, and I’m going to finish this, okay?”
She nods.
“I love you,” I say, and look forward as tendrils wrap around my face. I’ve stepped into them before fully realizing I wanted to.
The past slams into my mind, but it’s only vaguely recognizable, and slipping through my thoughts so fast that I can’t get a clear image of any one moment. It’s like all this information is pouring through a mental colander, leaving a residue and the occasional chunk of knowledge. A picture begins to form, and then a narrative.
The Dread are older than the human race, but not much older. They evolved in the mirror world, but as their senses took shape, they became aware of the world between, where they found evidence of the human race in the form of large inanimate structures—Stonehenge, the pyramids, the Great Wall of China—and eventually the world beyond. I see glimpses of now-extinct animals that predated humanity’s rise. And then there are flashing images of Neanderthals and early Homo sapiens. Humanity was evolving, but so were the Dread. Most of the various species I’m familiar with hadn’t fully developed yet. The Dread world was a chaotic place, sometimes spilling into the other worlds as wars and battles were fought
between
Dread.
In some ways, the mirror was an accurate reflection. While humanity fought for wealth and territory, the Dread did the same. Sometimes battles were fought in the same location, at the same time, amping the fear of men and more deeply instilling the hatred they had for each other. Mankind became more tuned in to the Dread, driven by increasing levels of fear, burying their dead in the earth around colonies, and sometimes offering sacrifices to the Dread, animal and human. The connection between frequencies became a strange, unknown codependency. Some cultures worshiped the Dread. Others demonized them. But as both sides slowly evolved, mankind began to sense the Dread more and more. What had been vague fear or a mere brush with the supernatural became actual sightings and rare physical encounters, especially when Dread, acting as disconnected angry individuals or bored youth, harassed humanity. The sensory ability to detect and later experience other frequencies that the Dread were born with began to emerge in the human race—it’s how we feel their presence at all—and in a few thousand more years the Dread will have to share their world with humanity.
This realization led to a largely unified Dread world. While there were still small bands of Dread clinging to the old ways, pushing fear onto the human race, most Dread pulled back and formed a civilized society built around the matriarchs. Information was passed freely between all unified Dread. While the mirror world found peace in unity, the human race, long steeped in fear, continued to war. And they never truly forgot that there was another world just beyond their reach.
I see images of World War II. A word enters my thoughts: “Ahnenerbe,” the title given to the group responsible for Nazi Germany’s research into the occult. I see a laboratory. And a bell-shaped device. Two of them. The first … flew. The second opened a door. Exposed and frightened, the Dread made their first attempt at global manipulation, propelling powerful nations to unite against Germany. The technology was destroyed and forgotten.
Until recently. Technology, it seemed, would uncover the mirror dimension long before the human race’s senses developed the natural ability. Enter Lyons and Neuro. Driven by his supernatural childhood torment and an impressive intellect, Lyons not only used technology to discover the mirror world but came to the partially correct conclusion that the Dread had, and were, influencing humanity. But without understanding why, he saw only evil, built up defenses, and set out to destroy the otherworldly enemy that terrified him. The following years were full of confusion for the Dread, not knowing how to communicate with Lyons without terrifying him and deepening his convictions.
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.
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.
