MirrorWorld

Katzman is a brave man. He’s stood up to me twice. But that man is gone. He’s withered into a child just woken from a nightmare. He manages to find his voice, though. “Three stories down.” A gasp for air. “Use your eyes. Like you did earlier.”


I remember my strange look out the window. What it felt like. What it looked like. Dark. Tinged with green. Otherworldly. The living shadow. But I’m not sure how to trigger … whatever that was, again.

I lean over the edge, looking for a target. Eager to pull my trigger. To draw my machete. To tame the chaos.

But there is nothing in my repertoire I can do about a drab stairwell.

That’s all I see.

I blink hard, trying to alter my vision. Trying to see what’s not there.

Allenby told me to “see what you want to see.” She might not understand how to control the changes my body is going through, but she probably knows how it’s supposed to work.

I lean over the edge again, aiming down at nothing.

See, I think.

See!

I relax my thoughts. Focus my attention on what I can’t see. Then I feel it. That strange new muscle. I flex. My eyes tingle, then sting, and suddenly, like a light switch has been thrown, I can see what’s not there. And it hurts. The pain nearly cripples me, exploding from my eyes and roiling through my blood, but what I now see keeps me upright and focused past the physical discomfort.

I’m looking at my target, which is very much not a shadow, straight in the eyes.

And it’s looking right back.





21.

I empty the P229 at the thing. Twelve .40 caliber rounds. It should be dead. Most everything else on the planet short of a blue whale or armor-plated rhino would be. Then again, it’s about the size of a rhino, and the way it’s flickering in and out of view makes the details hard to discern. It could be armored. Or thick-skinned. Or who knows what.

I have no idea what it is.

But it’s there.

It’s real.

And then it’s not.

I blink and it disappears. I’m about to ask where it went but then realize I’m focusing on what it is rather than seeing it. I narrow my eyes, willing them to see what is unseen, and feel a shift in my vision. This muscle just needs exercise.

With a fresh wave of pain, the monster reappears, one floor higher and on the move. It’s fast for its size, taking each flight of stairs with a single leap.

My hands reload the P229 without taxing my mind and despite the pain. It’s a reflex, muscle memory, and I’m able to keep my eyes on the rising creature.

It’s mostly black, which doesn’t help with the details, but twisting green lines trace the body, helping to define its muscular forearms, powerful limbs, and arched back. It has no hair to speak of, just rough black flesh like the skin of a stealth bomber … or the black machete on my back. There are four glowing green eyes atop its head, two on the sides, two looking forward.

But that’s all I get. The flickering effect intensifies as the creature nears.

Its massive mouth opens like a hippo’s, long strands of saliva stretching out, revealing large, sharp teeth and a tongue composed of what looks like undulating worms. It appears to be roaring, its entire body shimmering, vibrating, but all I hear is a whispered hiss. Katzman reacts to the sound by yelping and scrabbling back toward the door. “Shoot it,” he says through grinding teeth. “Shoot it!”

It’s just one story down when I empty the second magazine into it. If I missed at all the first time, which is doubtful, I score a hit with each and every round this time. The thing bucks and reels, throwing itself back against the wall, but it doesn’t go down. All I’m really doing is irritating it.

“Not working,” I say to Katzman.

The creature drops back down to all fours and turns its flickering head up.

“It’s a bull,” he says, looking a little more put together, but still wild-eyed.

“Is that supposed to mean something?”

“They’re tougher.”

The bull’s green eyes come into focus. The pupils are split, two vertical rectangles connected in the middle, forming an H.

“What’s it doing?” Katzman asks.

“Looking at me.”

“Does it know you’re looking back?”

“We’re having a staring contest, so that’s a safe bet, yeah.”

He pushes himself up, fighting against quivering legs. “You can’t let it escape. If they find out…”

My hands eject the spent magazine and slap in a fresh one. My last twelve rounds.

I keep my eyes locked onto the beast’s. The rest of its ugly face slowly comes into focus. Its domed head has no nose. No ears. Its eyes are circular, blank, but somehow also filled with loathing. The teeth in its prodigious hippo mouth are like a great white shark’s, but the color of night. The only color aside from black and pale, fleshy worm-tongue is green. Thick, glowing, fluorescent-green veins twist away from its eyes, forming pathways around its body.

“Find out about what?” I ask.

“You,” he says. “That you can see them.”

“Right. Any advice on where to shoot it?”