by C. T. Aaron
“I get it.”
And I do, but I also think it’s bullshit. Ever since my dad left, I haven’t exactly been the kind of person who wants or needs someone to come swinging in to save me from anything. But I’m also not dumb enough to refuse help. Maybe that has something to do with my ability to call Ezzy, but I don’t like to think so. I handled that Ballcap jackass at school without anyone riding in on a white horse to save me.
Unless you count Maebry. Maybe my life wasn’t in literal jeopardy when we met, but now that she’s here, I can’t imagine going through life without her. Maybe that’s immature or short-sighted or something. I don’t know. What I know is that if I felt any differently about her, I wouldn’t be in this hellworld trying to save her.
Except . . . if I don’t need saving, does she?
Yes! I tell myself. There’s a big difference between being saved from . . . I don’t know, myself, I guess; and being saved from monsters and men with guns.
My chewing slows, then stops. Something about this train of thought sticks me in the belly like a needle. A reality that is far worse than this real mirror world and all its nightmares.
Mae will die.
It’s just a fact that sits there like a sphere of ice in place of my skull.
Maebry, the faithful and devoted religious chick. Mae, who can quote Martin Luther King Jr. and Ghandi and Mother Teresa by heart. My Maesie-may, who I’m not one hundred percent sure would defend herself if she had to.
There is no way she’s going to survive this meet. I might not either, but I sure as hell would go down swinging. I don’t like the idea of fighting a real-life monster, but I would.
I will.
If I have to.
“You okay?”
I shake my head to make my eyes focus. “Yeah. No. It’s Maebry. She doesn’t stand a chance.”
Spark doesn’t say anything.
“We need to keep moving,” I say. “Ezzy?”
Ezzy stands, but I can tell he’s struggling as he lifts his torso off the dusty ground. I pat his chest. “Well, in a minute. In a minute. Catch your breath.”
Ezzy flops back down with a grateful look in his golden eyes.
Spark watches us with a sort of thoughtful expression.
“I’m not proud of it,” he says suddenly.
“Huh?”
“Of not seeing it through.” He stuffs his protein bar wrapper into his bag. It sticks out to me, this small gesture. There’s no reason I can see for him not to just litter, let the trash get carried away in some mirror world wind—if there were any. But he doesn’t. He takes the time to put it away. I’m not sure what that means. Maybe it’s just a habit of his and I’m reading too much into it.
“It’s just, these are some serious dudes,” Spark goes on. “And, I’ll be honest, I really admire the crap out of you for doing this, for going in there to get your girl. But I really wish you’d reconsider.”
“Reconsider letting her die? Not happening.”
Spark holds my gaze, then turns away.
I speak before I think—nothing new there. “Does it suck not having someone you’d die for?”
He barks a laugh. “Damn, how old are you, again?”
“I’m just saying.”
“And I’m just asking, how old are you?”
“Almost seventeen.”
“And you think this chick is for life? Because odds are she’s not.”
Here comes the rage.
I spit out the mouthful of water I’ve got as a way to underscore how pissed I am. It’s also probably stupid since I don’t know how, where, or when we might get fresh water again. It just feels good to do it.
“Excuse me? You don’t know me. You don’t know Maebry. We’ve been together almost a year already, and we’re going to go to college together, and then who knows what happens after that!”
Except only parts of that are true. Or only parts of it are true right now. So what if we haven’t seriously talked about school? We will go someplace together. We just . . . haven’t had time to work out the details, is all. I mean, I only just now brought it up with her for the first time, we haven’t had time to make actual plans . . .
Spark stares at me. Then he shakes his head a bit, and points.
“That’s west. When you hit the freeway, look left and right. You should be able to see the arena. If you can’t, it means you went too far off track north or south, and you’ll have to pick which one it is and follow the freeway that direction. Best of luck.”
“That’s it? You’re just leaving?”
“Yep.” He walks over to me, thumbs hooked into his shoulder straps. “I like you, Briar, and I don’t want to see you die. But more to the point? I don’t want to see me die. I suggest you toddle on back home, but you’ve made it clear you’re not doing that, so, I wish you well.”
My mouth hangs open as Spark starts walking the way we’d come. He doesn’t look back or anything.
“You coward!” I shout after him.
He raises a hand and waves it a little, but keeps walking. I stand there, shocked, pissed, and scared as my only hope in this place wanders away through the crimson desert.
“I don’t believe this,” I say.
Ezzy stands and bumps his nose into me.
Well, at least Spark let me keep the pack. I climb onto Ezzy, still glaring behind me at Spark’s receding figure. At least my Fam only has my weight to worry about now.
“I hope he gets eaten by something,” I say.
Ezzy chuffs once and starts heading west.
Or at least, what I sincerely hope is west.
Hang on, Mae, I think as Ezzy breaks into a run. I lean into him. Just hang on, we’re coming.
TEN
I estimate that Ezzy runs for another hour. I ask him to slow down as we reach an area where there had been homes and businesses, but which are now smashed flat, like they’ve been hit with bulldozers.
The good news is I can see the arena. It’s really the only thing standing, so it’s easy to spot in the distance. Its roof is a dull white, the sides like grim aluminum. Sitting out there in the middle of nowhere, it reminds me of a spaceship, abandoned by its crew. God knows this entire landscape is alien enough. Is this what color Mars is on the surface?
But something about the way the buildings surrounding the arena have all been decimated makes me whisper at Ezzy to stop. He does, but I stay on his back, looking around.
For a radius of at least a mile, all these buildings have been knocked to the ground. It’s like pictures I’ve seen of rainforests getting cleared for farmland, leaving flat earth with a few tree stumps left behind. One minute there’s this thick forest, and the next, just bare earth.
That’s what this looks like. There are buildings behind us we’ve been running between, following what is probably a busy street back on Earth; then, abruptly, nothing but piles of rubble extending all the way to the arena. The only other intact structure is the freeway, further west beyond the arena. I recall Spark suggesting we get out into the open so we could see anything coming at us.
“This isn’t right,” I say to Ezzy.
He sniffs the air, then barks once.
Icewater dribbles down my back. “Uh . . . what’s that mean, exactly?”
The icewater on my back freezes to icicles as a Familiar races straight toward us from the direction of the arena.
It’s not hard to spot him, because the Fam, running on two legs, is gigantic. Proportional to Ezzy if Ezzy was a normal sized dog. That makes him bigger than Aison.
Ezzy bolts suddenly to the right, running along the edge of the ruptured buildings. The giant Fam veers to intercept as I twist my hands into Ezzy’s scruff and hang on for dear life. Ezzy cuts right again, lunging down a dirt road between two small office buildings.
That’s when I feel it. When he took off running just then . . .
It was what I’d wanted to do. Instinctively. Then turning right again, toward these buildings—that was me.<
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My voice squeaks as he pulls up to a halt behind one of the buildings. “Ezzy . . . ?”
No time to chat about it. The Fam we’re running from unleashes a colossal roar I feel through the earth, up Ezzy’s legs, and trembling into my own body—a tyrannosaurus crossed with a pride of lions.
The sound makes every muscle in my body clench hard, including my heart. “I don’t know, I don’t know . . .”
Ezzy barks several times. There’s nothing in our way. He’s barking at me.
Like he’s telling me to focus.
I close my mouth and force myself to breathe more slowly through my nose, the way my running coach has taught. His confidence in me helps. My heart keeps on pounding, but I try to remind myself that’s a good thing: I’m still alive.
Not sure for how much longer, but.
With a catastrophic crash, Ezzy and I are showered with chunks of glass and steel as something monumental smashes into the building above us. Acting as one, following my natural impulse, Ezzy darts forward several yards, then spins around and drops to a crouch, teeth bared.
All those clenched muscles I’d had a minute ago become slack and useless as my brain hurries to try and process what it is that comes around the corner of that building. Giant spiders and Pteranodons aren’t enough, apparently, to land me in therapy for the foreseeable future, should I be so lucky as to survive the next ten seconds.
The creature stands two full stories tall. Maybe more. Its overall build is like a professional wrestler, somewhere between all muscle and all fat. It walks upright and has two arms and one head; so, essentially human. Essentially, but not exactly.
Because then it gets bad.
Its head sits on a thick neck—sideways. As if it is perpetually looking over its shoulder. Except this Familiar can look over both shoulders as once, because it has two faces. They are similar, like some hellish conjoined twin, with snarling lips and monstrous teeth shaped like sugar cubes that gnash and slobber while the head swivels back and forth so both faces can watch us.
I’d puke if I wasn’t so terrified.
The Fam roars at us, spinning its head back and forth as if to make sure we understand that both faces are pissed. It jerks its hand away from the building, and now I see it has a weapon: a massive concrete ball dotted with spikes attached to the end of a chain that looks big enough to have come from a ship’s anchor. More glass and steel rain down as the Fam frees the weapon; a morning star flail, I think, if my European history class is of any use. The giant whirls it above his head.
I make Ezzy leap forward instead of back as the weapon swings down toward us. He sinks his teeth into the giant’s shin and digs deep. Not what I’d planned, but it seems like the right thing to do. We’re working in tandem, somehow. We’re in some kind of crazy synchronicity.
The flail smashes into the dirt behind us as the giant wails. He kicks his leg twice, trying to free Ezzy from his grip. Instead of knocking Ezzy away, on his second shake I lose my grip on Ezzy’s scruff and tumble through the air.
I land hard on my back, my head whiplashing against the hard ground as I slide in the dirt, all my air coughing out of me. I sense rather than see Ezzy darting his eyes toward me to see if I’m all right.
I’m not.
Not only can I not breathe, my vision is shot. Blurry. I feel instantly nauseated, but when I try to roll over and throw up, I can’t. I can’t move.
Ezzy barks ferociously. The noise screams in my head.
Some sound comes out of my mouth, a groan or a grunt or a moan. I don’t know. Where the hell am I, anyway . . . ?
My fingers twitch. That’s a good thing, right? I think so.
After what must be several years, I’m able to push myself up onto my elbows. My giant wolf lets go of the massive Familiar and comes racing toward me, golden eyes flashing.
Now in a sitting position, I scream. “Ezzy, no!”
The Familiar swings his flail toward my wolf. The heavy ball of spikes crashes into Ezzy’s rear flank as he runs.
Ezzy’s hindquarters flare to the right as the flail connects, knocking Ezzy sideways. My wolf squeals, and the sound chills me. He hits the dirt and slides toward me, eyes wide in shock and pain. Blood and black fur fly through the air and off the points of the flail as the giant Fam counterbalances itself against the momentum of the weapon.
I force myself up and crawl to my Familiar. Ezzy yelps as he tries to get his hind legs underneath him. They lay limp on the ground, twisted to one side.
“Ezzy!” I reach his face and immediately, instinctively, rub the top of his head.
My wolf chuffs and tosses his head in the direction away from the giant.
“I’m not leaving you!” I raise my eyes to watch the giant Fam resetting himself for another swing.
Ezzy licks my cheek with the tip of his tongue, and stares into my eyes.
The two faces of the giant Familiar roar in tandem, standing like a gladiator with the flail dangling heavily from one hand. I pull myself to a standing position and lower my head, glaring at the beast. My vision is better, but I’m going to need to sit again here real quick.
Ezzy senses what I’m going to do. It’s the only thing I can do if I’m going to save him. Save us.
He barks once, as if to tell me no—then he’s gone. Disappeared to whatever corner of this mirror world he goes to when I send him away at home.
Which leaves me alone and possibly concussed and facing off with a monster.
I lift my arms to the side, exposing my body, letting my fury power me. For a bare moment, I see in front of me not a terrifying Familiar, but the guy in the hat from school. Just one more person who thinks they can say whatever they want, do whatever they want, and my job is to sit there and take it.
Well not today. Not any day.
I shriek at him, “What, you gonna hit a girl? Go for it, you giant freaking nancy!”
The Familiar spins one of its faces toward me and both mouths scream. Even from thirty feet away, I can smell decay on its breath.
And—
And something else. Not on its breath, but in its eyes.
The faces are still contorted in what looks like mindless rage, a hungry need to crush my body to pulp. Except somehow, I can see that his eyes aren’t in it. They’re close enough to human eyes that they betray its body language and expression.
I think it’s sorrow. Some kind of sadness. Pain. I suddenly get that image again of the Ballcap guy at school, how he looked at me and Maebry.
His eyes weren’t like this.
Even in my dazed state, the meaning comes through clear: Just like any Familiar, this monster has to do what its told. Whether it’s being controlled right now or was just given some kind of order, I don’t know, but it’s only doing what was told to do.
The question is, if I’m right, is it enough to save to my life?
“You don’t have to do this,” I say. “You don’t want to hurt me.”
It sounds an awful lot like a bad movie, but then I don’t have many options.
The Fam stands there heaving, its grotesque head twisting back and forth so both faces can watch me.
“Please.” I force myself to take an unsteady step forward. “I can’t hurt you, and I wouldn’t want to anyway. I just want to find my girlfriend and go home. Okay?”
Still swinging its head back and forth, the giant Familiar relaxes its shoulders.
“Okay?” I repeat, and take one more step.
Then it roars and swings the flail in a high arc over its head straight toward me.
ELEVEN
My eyes shut automatically as the massive weapon whistles toward me. This is it. This is how I cash out, and my mom won’t even know . . .
The ground beside me trembles as the flail lands in the dirt.
I shrink back and open my eyes. The spiked ball is buried halfway in the dirt floor, six inches away from my foot.
With a grunt and a sneer—that still does not reach any of its four eyes
—the giant Fam yanks the flail from the ground and lets it drag behind him as he trundles off the way he came, headed toward the arena. I stand still and silent, watching him go, feeling instinctively that anything I were to say or do would only result in him coming back and actually finishing the job.
So I just stand there until he’s out of sight—then fall to the ground.
I land on my hands and knees, somehow believing that if go on to my back, I might pass out, and if I pass out, I might not wake up. I feel like total shit, and I crazily start debating internally whether throwing up would feel bad or good.
After a few deep breaths, though, I feel slightly better. Still woozy and sick, but conscious, which I assume is a good thing. I feel like I’ve heard somewhere that people with concussions shouldn’t be allowed to sleep.
Is that what I have? A concussion? It’s a big, scary word I really don’t understand. In any case, staying awake does sound like the smart idea.
“Maebry,” I say out loud, to hear my own voice. It’s not strong, but it’s there, and that’s something. I carefully arrange myself into a sitting position and get a bottle of water from my pack.
A new sound pounces into my ears, making me freeze and tilt my head to one side. No, not a new sound . . . an old, familiar sound that seems new only because it’s out of place here in the mirror world.
An engine.
A motorcycle.
I work my way to my feet and move to the side of the nearest “office” building, then slide around its perimeter until I can see the source of the engine noise. Out in the flatland of the decimated buildings, several motorcycles are speeding toward the arena. I can’t see them clearly from the distance, but I can tell they are all different types, dirt bikes mingling with big Harleys.
Peering at the horizon, toward the arena and freeway, I can see more of them are headed from that direction, too. All of them are driving straight for the arena. None of them, I notice, have any headlights on.
A couple things become very clear to me in that moment as the bikes kick up dirt behind their tires, creating red-tinted clouds. One: motorcycles make perfect sense. They probably don’t need a lot of electricity to get started, for one thing. Also you couldn’t get a car through a mirror world doorway—at least not the two I’ve seen—but you could squeeze a bike through.
