Escaping Wonderland

by Tiffany Roberts

She was close to death.

  Shadow settled Alice on the ground and removed his coat, vest, and shirt. “This is not a place for you to sleep, Alice. Stay with me.”

  Though he’d somehow kept his voice steady, the turmoil in his mind had only intensified. His heart pounded, the sound so pervasive in his head that it might’ve been the heartbeat of the entire swamp—the heartbeat of Wonderland itself.

  Not real. No. No! She’s fine, because this isn’t real. I’ll kill the king, save Alice, and the only thing that’s real is her, is us.

  His hands trembled as he used his clothing—tearing the fabric as necessary—to bind her wounds. She grunted and groaned despite his care, pressing her nails into his forearm. His already broken heart crumbled further at the knowledge that he was causing her more pain, but he took a modicum of comfort in her grasp—it meant she still had fight left.

  Alice opened her eyes and met his gaze. Despite the sheen in her eyes, despite the haze of pain that must undoubtedly have settled over her mind, there remained a piercing lucidity there. “Go, Shadow. Leave me.”

  “No,” he begged, even though he knew he had to go. “I can’t leave you alone. This isn’t real. We’re real, but this isn’t. You’re fine, you’re—”

  She pressed her trembling fingertips over his lips, silencing him. Her skin was cool and clammy. “You need to leave me. Wake up. Wake up and…and come find me. Find me beyond.”

  The presence behind Shadow seemed to intensify, and the tingling along his spine became a crackling heat that made his skin itch. He licked his lips with his dry, scratchy tongue and stood. After unclasping his knife belt, he tossed it aside and hurriedly tugged off his pants. He folded them, knelt, and slipped them under Alice’s head. Her eyelids fluttered shut.

  Not real. Not real… She’s fine.

  No, she’s not. She’s not fine, and the king is coming for me. Wake up!

  Shadow pulled one of the remaining knives from its sheath on the discarded belt. He spread and curled his fingers, adjusting his grip on the weapon, as he rose. His mind—more outside his control than ever before—whispered a thousand what-ifs.

  What if he was too late? What if Alice couldn’t hold on? What if he couldn’t wake up?

  What if this was real?

  “No,” he growled. He reversed his hold on the knife, cupping one hand over the butt of its grip, and positioned the tip against his chest, just beneath his ribcage.

  She’s not going to die. I will not lose her.

  The sensation on his back strengthened to the point of pain, pulsing along his spine in fiery lashes. He’d always avoided this place after he’d first discovered what currently awaited behind him. Perhaps, even back then, part of him had recognized that this swamp was a hint that Wonderland wasn’t right—that it wasn’t real.

  Shadow plunged the blade under his ribs and forced it upward as he spun around.

  The pain came only when he looked at the face of the sleeper who’d been behind him—his own face. Piercing agony set his chest ablaze. His knees wobbled, and his arms trembled, and his lungs were desperate for air, but he could not draw breath. He closed his eyes.

  The entire world lurched, and the weight of Shadow’s body rapidly increased, making him feel as though he were about to sink into the ground and be swallowed by Wonderland forever.

  Not real, not real, not real…

  “Not real.”

  The sound of his own voice startled Shadow. He opened his eyes to find himself face-to-face with his other, with his…ghost. His shadow. The ghost had blood smeared over his lips—Alice’s blood—and his hands were clasped over the grip of the knife jutting from his chest.

  Shadow glanced down to see his hands in the same position over the fabric of the green hospital gown he was dressed in. He moved his hands aside; there was no wound beneath, no tear in the fabric, no blood. But the scent of blood filled his nose—her blood. He looked up as his ghost, the body he’d inhabited during his entire stay in Wonderland, swayed. The light was gone from his ghost’s eyes, and no hint of the grin he usually wore was present. The empty shell, the shadow, collapsed, barely making a sound as it hit the ground.

  Shadow—he knew it wasn’t his name, especially not in this body, but he couldn’t remember what his name was supposed to be—shifted his gaze to Alice, who lay on the ground nearby his discarded ghost, unmoving but for the erratic rise and fall of her chest with her shallow, labored breaths.

  He longed to lift her up, to soothe her, to kiss away her pain, but there was no time. He had to be quicker than the king.

  “Not real, not real,” he repeated. His hoarse voice cut in and out, burning in his throat. This pain felt real and immediate.

  “Wake up, damn you!” Shadow pinched his arm, pushing one of his claws through his skin. Warm blood oozed from the small wound. “Wake up, wake up, wake up!” He lifted a hand and slapped his cheek hard. The sharp sting was a shock, but not enough of one to accomplish his goal.

  His eyes fell on Alice again as he grasped fistfuls of his hair and tugged on the strands. Despite the cool air, pinpricks of heat danced across his skin. Each of his thundering heartbeats was one closer to losing her. To losing everything. And if he couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think, how could he hope to help her?

  Shadow’s other lay beside her, lifeless and still. What if that was the real him? What if he truly was a ghost now?

  “No,” he growled. “I’m real. You aren’t!”

  He dropped to his knees and closed his hands around the ghost’s throat.

  “Not real. This…isn’t…real!”

  He tightened his grip and released a wordless roar. The world around him rippled, and a sudden sinking sensation made if feel like he was falling despite the solid ground beneath him—falling impossibly fast, impossibly far. He was falling into an unfathomable abyss, into a lightless void; he was falling out of existence. He turned his head to seek Alice, hoping that seeing her would ground him in reality.

  No. This isn’t real.

  The darkness devoured Shadow; it didn’t seem to care whether it was real or not.

  Chapter 20

  Shadow opened his eyes and sucked in a wheezing breath. He tried to sit up, but there was something solid over him; fortunately, his hand struck the obstruction before his head could. The darkness receded as his eyes adjusted to the dim light. His breathing echoed around him, amplified by the tight space, as his vision wavered and spun, blurring and focusing wildly for several seconds.

  When he could finally see clearly, he realized he was looking up at a small window. The soft, weak light originated from somewhere beyond the window. He shifted to get a different angle, hoping to see more than a shadowed, featureless ceiling, but a series of aches and stings cascaded through his body and halted him before he could.

  He gritted his teeth and dropped his head onto the padded cushion beneath him. Everything hurt, everything felt heavy, and he had no idea where he was—apart from someplace cramped and dark.

  I know this place. Alice told me about it.

  And I…I remember.

  Images flashed through Shadow’s mind’s eye—halls with dull artificial light, men in strange uniforms, a chamber filled with long, silent pods. These images had never been wild imaginings; they were memories from when he’d been brought here—from when they’d locked him in the dark.

  Lifting his head again, he looked down at his prone body. His gown—which should’ve been pale green—was made gray by the poor lighting, and his feet were lost entirely to the lingering darkness at the opposite end of the pod. Various tubes and wires were embedded in his body along the way. He could feel their points beneath his skin, shifting with his every tiny movement.

  He willed himself out of the pod, seeking that strange energy that had allowed him to phase in Wonderland, but it was gone. It didn’t exist here.

  The king is hunting…and Alice needs me.

  Those thoughts sliced through his confusion and fear. His heart sp
ed as he groped in the blackness with both hands, sliding his palms and fingertips along the walls and ceiling of his pod. He stilled when his claws caught on something—a handle of some sort. He curled his fingers beneath it and yanked it down. There was a hiss of air being released, and the lid rose, allowing more light to flow in around the edges.

  Shadow planted both palms against the lid and shoved up against it. He felt it strain as he pushed it faster than it was designed to move. Once it was high enough, he sat up.

  Though his range of motion was limited by several of the connections embedded in his skin, his head spun, and his stomach flipped at the sudden movement. With shaky hands, he clawed at the tubes on his forearm, pulling one loose; the needle that slid out of his flesh as he tugged on the line had to be at least three inches long.

  “Emergency disengagement activated,” said a gentle, feminine voice from the lid overhead. “Please remain still to avoid injury.”

  The color of several of the tubes changed, and something icy cold flowed through his veins, washing away his lingering disorientation. A moment later, Shadow’s throat constricted in panic as the remaining lines and tubes moved on their own, producing fresh, dull pain as they withdrew from his flesh. He watched them recede with wide eyes. It wouldn’t take much of a leap in imagination to see them as living creatures, as writhing parasites that had been feeding off him from the inside.

  After the final connection—this one at the base of his skull—had withdrawn, the voice said, “Please remain in your immersion chamber. An attendant will be with you as soon as possible.” There was a brief pause before it added, “Your wait may be prolonged due to a communication error with our monitoring systems. Thank you for your patience.”

  Shadow raised a hand to the back of his neck. Apart from a small lump beneath his fur, there was no sign that anything had just been buried in his skin—in fact, the spot was now oddly numb. All the spots where a needle had been injected were numb but for the one from which he’d removed the first tube, which also seemed to be the only one that was bleeding.

  He grasped the side of the pod and hauled himself over. His legs refused to support him when his feet first touched the floor. He collapsed, keeping his torso upright only because of his desperate grip on the edge of the pod. With a grunt, he pulled himself onto his feet. The room teetered and turned around him, and his stomach revolted, threatening to empty itself of whatever meager contents it currently held.

  For a moment, he staggered backward and waved his arms to catch his balance. His tail brushed against something solid behind him, and he stiffened it, producing just enough force to push himself forward. His flailing hands swung overhead and came down, latching onto the lid of his pod. As his weight bore down upon it, it swung closed. He leaned against the pod and caught his breath. His body was too heavy, too weak—it felt like his bones were made of rubber, and, despite the numb spots everywhere, every one of his muscles ached.

  How long had he been in that pod?

  How long had he been in Wonderland?

  Swallowing thickly, he surveyed the room. His pod was but one of many—at least thirty more stood in a row beside it, split almost evenly to the left and right, each with the same thick bundles of cords, tubes, and wires connecting it to the wall. A single door stood at the center of the wall opposite the pods with a blank screen mounted on the wall five or six feet away. The lights were turned low, leaving the glowing screens over each pod that much more vibrant in comparison. All the displays showed what appeared to be vital signs—pulse rates and oxygen levels and other things he couldn’t understand—along with names and a small string of letters and numbers. The name over his pod was Kor, Vailen.

  Shadow growled as pain blazed in his skull, so intense that it felt like his head would split in two. He raked his claws across the top of the pod, scraping metal. Memories flashed through his mind in rapid, violent succession, too quick and disjointed to make sense of—gunfire, explosions, screams, fire. An alien sky set aglow by the flames surrounding hundreds of dropships as they descended from orbit.

  Doesn’t matter now. Need to find Alice. Need to hurry.

  He thrust the memories aside and stumbled toward the door on the far wall, turning to look across the screens over the other pods. No Claybourne. No Alice. His chest constricted with another surge of panic—he didn’t know how big this place was, how many rooms awaited him, how many pods like these were scattered throughout the facility. There wasn’t time for a prolonged search; who knew if the passage of time here even matched Wonderland’s?

  “Focus,” he said. He turned back toward the door, and his eyes settled on the dark screen on the wall.

  Shadow hurried to the screen. Each step was a little more solid, a little more confident, than the last, but his fingers were clumsy and slow as he fumbled with the screen’s controls. Exhaustion pressed in around the edges of his consciousness, making his eyelids feel as heavy as the rest of his body. He fought it.

  “Coming, sweet Alice. Coming.” Somehow, he found his way into a program named Patient Directory. The touch screen display brought up the characters of the human alphabet.

  Flattening a palm against the wall to keep himself steady, he entered Alice’s name one letter at a time, only to realize he wasn’t sure how to spell her last name. He held his extended finger in the air and struggled to recall the spelling rules of a language he doubted was his native tongue.

  C-L-A…

  He hesitated. What was next? I? Y?

  The nearby door slid open before he could settle on the correct letter, allowing slightly stronger light to spill in from the hallway. Shadow pressed himself against the wall as a male human stalked into the room.

  The human had long, dark hair, and was athletically built. He held something in his trembling right hand—a pistol.

  He stopped three or four paces away from Shadow’s pod, aimed the gun toward it, and fired six shots. The firearm went off with explosive force, each shot punctuated by the high ping of the projectiles punching through the metal lid.

  Shadow flattened his ears, but that didn’t stop them from ringing as the final gunshot’s echo faded.

  “Fucking nuisance,” the man growled. “Now you’re a real fucking ghost.”

  Shadow knew that voice. He knew it very well. This human was the Red King—and he was alone and vulnerable. The fires of hatred and rage reignited in Shadow, dumping adrenaline into his veins and filling his limbs with renewed strength.

  The king is vulnerable beyond.

  Clenching his jaw, Shadow crept toward the king, his bare feet silent on the cold floor.

  The king strode up to the pod, keeping his gun raised. “You deserve to suffer, but I’ll take this victory gladly. Vanish now, you—” The king leaned forward and looked through the window on the pod’s lid. He released a frustrated roar which ended just as Shadow—who’d closed the distance between himself and his enemy to a single pace—brought his leading foot down.

  Shadow had overstepped; in his effort to maintain balance, his toe claws tapped the floor lightly.

  The king spun to face Shadow, swinging the gun around. Shadow lunged forward, one hand darting out to catch the king’s wrist before the gun’s barrel came to bear. But the king closed the distance between himself and Shadow quickly, eliminating the reach advantage afforded by Shadow’s longer limbs.

  The human’s fist connected with Shadow’s jaw, and Shadow’s head snapped aside. His knees wobbled, and the king pressed his advantage, throwing more strength and weight behind his gun arm.

  Shadow’s eyes rounded as the trembling weapon turned toward him one degree at a time, its barrel yawning like a black hole, ready to snuff out light and life. He grasped the king’s jacket with his free hand and pulled the human closer still, driving his knee into the king’s gut.

  Grunting, the king doubled over, but he wasn’t long deterred. He hammered his fist into Shadow’s defenseless ribs over and over, each blow producing more pain than the
last. Shadow refused to relinquish his hold; to do so would mean death. He curled his fingers tighter. The tips of his claws pressed into the flesh of the king’s wrist. The human’s pained growl became a shout as Shadow twisted his hand, forcing the claws deeper.

  The gun fell from the king’s hold and struck the floor with a dull thud. The king punched Shadow’s ribs again, and something crunched under the force.

  Shadow staggered aside as the breath fled his lungs, forced out by the immense pain clutching his chest. Instinctively, he willed himself to phase, to escape, to reappear anywhere other than right here, but this wasn’t a simulation, wasn’t a game; this was reality. Whether it was the aftereffects of being in the pod or not, right now, when it mattered most, Shadow was slower, weaker, and more unsteady than ever in memory.

  Pain was real here. And death was forever.

  The king took advantage of Shadow’s imbalance, wrapping his arm around Shadow’s torso and tackling him to the floor. Shadow fought without conscious thought, clawing, swinging his arms, and writhing, desperate to escape as the king tried to pin him. The human’s hands clutched at Shadow’s throat, but Shadow twisted his head and bit down on a few of the groping fingers, sinking his fangs deep. The coppery tang of human blood danced across Shadow’s tongue.

  “You fucking rodent, just die!” The king rained blows upon Shadow, who threw his arms up in defense; it wasn’t enough to spare him from several heavy strikes, all of which landed with dull, meaty thwaps.

  Alice’s face formed in Shadow’s mind’s eye, so beautiful, so happy.

  Happy. That wasn’t how Alice looked now. If she yet lived—she’s alive, has to be, must be—her features were drawn in agony, her skin deathly pale, her dress stained with her own blood. And this human—this mortal man, whose eyes were madder than anyone’s in Wonderland—was the one who’d done it to her.

  A second wave of fury rose from deep inside Shadow, blasting fire into his limbs. It didn’t matter how many people had suffered at the king’s hands, didn’t matter how many hearts he’d torn from his victims’ chests, didn’t matter how much blood was on his hands—he’d harmed Alice.