MirrorWorld

“I’ve never killed one in combat.”


Great. I adjust my aim, pointing the barrel of my gun at its right eye. If a .40 caliber in the eye won’t put it down, I’m not sure what will. It just stares back, as fearless as me, either not fearing the weapon or naive about its ability. I squeeze the trigger.

Far below, a door bursts open. Beta Team surges into the first-floor stairwell. My first shot misses. The bull is no longer there. Has it disappeared or did it move? A blur of movement, bounding down the stairs, is my answer. It’s going for Beta Team.

“Incoming!” I shout down the stairwell, and charge down after the unreal creature. It’s taking the flights down, one leap at a time, but slows to round the bend. As I keep my downward sprint at an even pace, we move in tandem, separated by a story and a half of stairs.

With one hand on the railing, I try to run faster, swinging around the corners. It helps, and I avoid smashing into the concrete walls, but I’m going to dislocate my left shoulder if I’m not careful. That said, my pace never slows because I’m not afraid of dislocating the arm. Sure, it will hurt, but I don’t need it to fire a weapon and a quick slam into the wall can pop things back into place.

Screams rise up from below as I reach the building’s third floor. I look over the edge. The bull is still two flights above the Beta Team, but they’ve spotted it, and, like Katzman, they’ve become useless sacks of molten fear. The four men climb over each other to escape.

There’s no way I’ll be able to stop it in time.

I’m just two sets of stairs above the group when it reaches them.

But it doesn’t attack. It simply lands among them and vibrates. Otherworldly whispering fills the stairwell. When it does, I see it better than ever. Its frequency is changing, I think, closer to A than B, having a more profound effect.

A kind of madness grips the men. They react out of terror.

One man turns to run and careens straight into the concrete wall. The impact knocks him out cold. He tumbles limply down the stairs, bruised and broken, but still alive.

He’s the lucky one.

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.