MirrorWorld

The river batters me. The pain radiating through my body hides the burning in my lungs for a minute, but the ache to breathe soon dwarfs all other feelings. I crush my lips together, clinging to the air, absorbing each and every molecule of oxygen.

I hold on, watching the subterranean mirror world slide past. I’m seconds from taking a breath. Seconds from death. Lights appear in my vision, choreographed twirling spots. It’s almost beautiful. But I can’t see. My view of the mirror world slides to black.

No time left, I think. No time!

I shift.

And stop.

Locked in densely packed earth. The only question left is, Which world do I want to die in? Home, I think. I’ll drown and be carried by the river, maybe ejected out to sea and found by a fisherman. Maybe I’ll even get a burial. Or perhaps just feed a hungry shark. As my mind starts to slip away, I focus on returning home one last time.

Then I feel it.

My foot can move!

I slip back into the river, am tugged down hard. My mouth opens, sucking in water. As my body goes rigid, I shift back to the mirror world, leaving the river behind but carrying along the water in my lungs.

I fall for just a moment and land on a hard surface.

My body shakes, desperate to breathe, but unable to because of the water in my lungs. Still fading, it takes all of my remaining energy and willpower to roll myself over onto my hands and knees. My gut and chest convulse silently, pumping water out of my lungs, and then I can breathe.

That first breath of ammonia-scented air fills my lungs so hard and fast that I sound like a broken trumpet, announcing my arrival to any Dread in the area. I cough hard, expelling more water and the precious air too soon. My vision fades. I breathe hard a second time. The veins covering the floor beneath me come into focus. After three more gasping breaths, I get my body under control, still heaving but no longer doing an impression of a wounded wildebeest.

It’s a full minute before I can even think about doing something other than breathing. And then a single thought explodes into my mind. I’m alive. Rewinding recent history, I faced down four bulls, a swamp full of Dread crocs, and angry Dread bulls, and I was nearly drowned and / or buried alive.

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.