MirrorWorld

And I survived.

While feeling fear. It’s a nice confidence boost, if only for a moment. My body aches from head to toe. While my past wounds might have healed, I’ve taken more than a few beatings since arriving in New Orleans. I can’t see all my wounds in the dark, hidden by armor, but I can smell my own blood, even after my cleansing dip in the river, which means I’m bleeding from somewhere. Identifying the source of the wound would be easier if the pain wasn’t everywhere.

I push past it all, for Maya, and for myself. I’m not Crazy anymore, but that doesn’t mean I’m not still the deadliest son of a bitch the Dread have ever encountered. I look around and find myself in an alcove. It’s short and full of small nests. A pug den, I decide. I crawl slowly toward the opening and peek out. Nothing in either direction. No sound. No wave of pressure to indicate the approach of a Dread welcoming party.

I step out and take stock. I’ve got Faithful on my back, both trench knives on my hips, and the Desert Eagle holstered on my chest. The weapon can fire underwater, so the river trip is no concern. I swap out the magazine for a fresh one and slide the big gun back in place. I’ve managed to evade the Dread defenses. With stealth back on my side, using the hand cannon would be counterproductive.

I pull Faithful from its scabbard. The black blade is almost invisible, not just because of the dim light, but because it doesn’t reflect the light. Still, I can feel the chisel-tipped blade’s weight in my hand. I head left, following the path ever downward. At the top of the colony, the tunnel’s curve was almost imperceptible, always far off, but here it twists around so tightly that I can’t see more than fifty feet ahead. I hug the right wall, moving quickly and quietly but checking every alcove and nest for signs of life before tiptoeing past.

Despite my efforts at stealth, the thump of my boots on the hard-packed floor feels loud. The colony is silent.

Did they abandon the colony? It seems unlikely, but if the Dread mole can burrow as well as I think it can, there could be a network of tunnels connecting all the colonies in New Orleans.

Or maybe I’m in one of those other colonies? Could the fast-moving river have swept me out into a neighboring colony? This could also be a tunnel between colonies, though that seems unlikely. The continual curve suggests a colony … but is it still the right one?

I stop.

The tunnel levels out ahead. A fifty-foot-tall arching entryway stands to the right, just before the tunnel’s end. Whether or not this is the right colony, I’ve reached the bottom. Remembering what I found inside the main chamber of the New Hampshire colony, I slide Faithful back into the scabbard and draw the Desert Eagle. It lacks the ridiculous power of the 20 mm sniper rifle I used to drop the Dread mole, but it can shoot a round through twenty-five watermelons and drop anything short of an elephant in one shot. With nine rounds in the gun and nine more ready to go, I should be able to punch a sizable hole in just about anything I encounter—I slide up to the archway and peek around—except for maybe that …

I duck back, considering my options, which are fairly limited. I can fight and die. I can run, and probably die. Or I can give up … and die. Running, while perhaps my only chance of survival, isn’t an option, because as dire as the situation is on the other side of this wall, I saw Maya. There’s no way in hell I’m going to leave her. I came here for Maya, and if I’m going to die, I want her to know that I’m me again, that I remember her and that I came for her. That, at least, will provide a little closure before I’m slain.

I step around the archway into full view and stop. My eyebrows slowly rise, cresting halfway up my forehead. The Dread … nearly a hundred of them … are all looking right at me.

So much for not being noticed.