I move my hand from his back to his shoulder. "Tell me what's going to happen."

"I can't."

"I could have left you," I say. "I saved your life."

After a beat, he says, "It's a weapon."

"What kind of a weapon?"

He looks unsure for a moment, but a word bubbles out of him when I lean a bit closer. "Microwave."

"I thought microwave weapons in the field were a no-go."

"Not guns," he says.

"A bomb," I say, finishing the thought. "A microwave bomb."

I knew that microwaves and radiation affected all frequencies of reality, but I never considered what that really meant. I don't really consider them now. They kind of just barrel into me. "When we detonate a nuclear warhead, the effects are felt in both worlds."

"You have a point?" Katzman asks.

"They're bluffing," I say, more to myself than Katzman.

"What?"

"They don't want to push the president into nuclear war with Russia. It would kill them, too." I want to believe this, but I'm not sure. The Dread, and the way they think, is still a mystery. "But if they're pushed ... If we leave them no choice..."

His forehead scrunches up, the depth of his wrinkles exaggerated by the drugs flowing through his veins. "You think they'd kill themselves, intentionally?"

"Maybe the World War Two j.a.panese a.n.a.logy is more appropriate than Lyons knows? We really know nothing about the Dread. Who's to say they wouldn't rather burn with us than let us win?"

"What's the alternative?" he asks. "Let them win? Screw that."

"Can you stop it?" I ask. "If you had to?"

He shakes his head. "There are five of us carrying microwave bombs. Only one of us actually needs to make it inside."

"That's what's on your back?"

He nods. "But it's really just a backup plan, in case the a.s.sault goes FUBAR."

a.s.sault? Lyons is out of his mind. "Why?"

"Honestly..." He looks me in the eyes. "I'm not entirely sure."

That Lyons hasn't shared all his plans with the man in charge of Dread Squad is a little disconcerting. What could he be planning that a loyal soldier like Katzman might not carry out?

I look at my watch. Eighty minutes until the president's deadline. This is going to be tight.

"How much longer?" I ask.

He points to the sky just as a faint whine begins to tickle my ears. I look up and to the north. A ma.s.sive black Boeing C-17 Globemaster III flies toward our location. The huge transport plane is capable of transporting over a hundred paratroopers, dropping them into a battlefield with precision.

Then I see another.

And another.

Lyons's covert, black operation is about to leap into the light of day and into the arms of the Dread.

"Can you delay the a.s.sault?" I ask, already suspecting the answer. He barely gets a chance to start saying no when I wave off the question and sprint across the traffic circle.

As I leave the macadam behind and enter the lush Couturie Forest, he shouts to me. "They're going to shoot anything that moves! Don't be in there when they arrive!"

I don't doubt his warning. Amped up on BDO he very nearly shot me. Probably would have if he hadn't recognized me. The potent mix of chemicals might help a human being overcome the Dread fear, but when there's nothing to be afraid of, the drug sends the user into a manic state. Facing the Dread without it allows me to think more clearly, which is essential, but it also leaves me more susceptible to their effect, not that the drug did wonders for Katzman's performance.

My pace is slowed by the thick vegetation growing everywhere, but it's faster than slogging through the mirror-world swamp. I speed up when I come across a footpath headed in the right direction, but I only get thirty feet before I'm struck by an invisible freight train. I'm lifted off the ground and thrown into a marsh.

I've pulled my body and armor fully out of the mirror world. They shouldn't be able to strike me, unless ... They're pushing themselves into this world, just for a moment, just long enough to strike.

I stand, dripping wet, and ready my weapon. Then I slip between worlds, ready to put another Dread out of its misery.

Nearly waist-deep in water, I spin, searching for my target and finding absolutely nothing. I'm just a hundred feet from the curved wall of the colony. Like all the others, a series of arched entrances lines the outside wall, one every fifty feet, raised up just above the waterline by an earthen ramp. Like the city of New Orleans, the Dread colony is barely keeping the water out.

After ten seconds of searching for whatever struck me, I lower my weapon. I'm alone, and the entrances to the colony are unguarded.

A sudden fear clutches my insides.

I spin again, ready to pull the trigger, but am still unable to find a target. With my back to the colony, I search the black, hanging tree line. I see no motion, just bunches of dangling, wet foliage.

A ripple of water rolls past. I spin and fire three shots-into the water.

I'm being toyed with, my fear increasing with each close encounter.

But encounter with what?

I get my answer as the water, twenty feet away, bows up and slides away from a rising form. Four yellow eyes, all atop a flat head, break the surface. Four feet closer, a snout rises, blowing a hiss of air through two nostrils.

I take a step back. If you'd asked me, at any point in my life up until yesterday, whether I was afraid of crocodiles, the answer would have been no. Today the answer is yes; I am most definitely afraid of crocodiles. I don't think that what I'm seeing is an actual croc, but if it's anything like the man-eating reptiles, the distance between its snout and eyes mean it's absolutely ma.s.sive. A good thirty feet long.

The eyes glide toward me, unblinking, moving through the water so smoothly that they don't create a ripple.

A metallic-purple light slips through the water to my right. It's in my periphery, but I don't look at it. I can't take my eyes off the monster coming my way ... until it stops. The submerged Dread freezes, going perfectly still.

I glance at the purple thing moving beneath the water, gliding casually between the Dread and me. I can't see much of it, but it looks like a long fish of some kind, its shiny scales reflecting the sky's purple light.

The four large yellow eyes flicker and turn black as the thing slides beneath the water.

I'm paralyzed, watching the fish swim by, oblivious to the danger. When it's ten feet in front of me, a shadow moves over the fish and snaps down. Water explodes into the air. The Dread rises from the water, thrashing the fish back and forth. Its eyes flicker brightly, and then the veins covering its wide body come to life like iridescent bulbs, blinking before going solid.

I was wrong; it's not like a crocodile at all. It's much, much worse. The mouth is not only deep, it's also six feet wide, with long black teeth that extend outside the mouth, like a Venus flytrap. The long teeth have skewered the fish. It clamps its wide jaws shut, the teeth forming a perfect seam, carving the prey in two. Rough, glossy skin, crisscrossed with yellow veins, rises up from the curved mouth to the four eyes, allowing them and the tall nostrils positioned halfway to the end of the mouth to protrude from the water without revealing the rest of the beast. The body is, as I suspected, at least thirty feet long, but with legs long enough for it to stand clear of and move quickly through the water, though I suspect its flat tail can move it through the water pretty quickly, too.

In the ten seconds it takes the Dread croc to trap the fish, sever it in two, and swallow the halves, I've completed my a.s.sessment of the thing: I'll be just another meal in fifteen seconds if I don't kill it in the next five. Knowing my magazine is half empty, I eject it, letting it fall into the water. I slap in a fresh magazine with three seconds left.

A loud snapping sound turns the monster's, and my, attention upward.

A Dread Squad soldier descends through the sky, held aloft by a black parachute, no doubt made of oscillium. He's made a mistake by entering the mirror world before landing. He's probably too hopped up on BDO, itching for a fight. But he has captured the croc's full attention for the moment.

I look into the real world. Three Globemaster transport planes circle the forest. Small black figures spill from the back of each, which are like deer s.h.i.tting pellets rapid-fire. Soldiers, hundreds of them, fall toward the ground, their black parachutes deploying at what appears to be the last second, and then, one by one, they wink out of reality.

They're parachuting into the mirror dimension. It's not a bad tactic, really, except for the fact that they're going to land in several feet of Dread-croc-infested water. It's going to be a bloodbath, on both sides, as the drug-amped soldiers unleash their weaponry.

Not that I'll be around to see it. When the soldier sees the Dread croc, he shouts a battle cry and opens fire. The croc responds by submerging itself and pumping its tail. It surges through the water, heading for its new target.

I can do this, I think.

And then the water to my right flickers yellow.

Then to my left.

Flickering yellow bodies, each as big as the first, come to life, one after another, stretching as far as I can see. I stand still as the light grows brighter.

No, not brighter ... Closer to the surface.

An array of glowing yellow eyes emerge from the water.

Feeling what I believe is an appropriate level of earth-shattering fear, I burst back into the real world and sprint forward like a white Bronco from the LAPD. It's just a hundred feet to the colony entrance.

Luckily for me, all eyes in the mirror world are now looking up.

After a few-second sprint, I slip back into the mirror world, just feet from the colony entrance.

Screams erupt behind me.

A Dread croc rises out of the water, propelled by its powerful tail. Its wide jaws open and shut over a man's pelvis. He's severed in half. While his legs are carried away, the still-living man shrieks, out of his mind, his insides splashing into the water below, acting as chum. Monsters swirl through the water, vying for position as the nearly lifeless man continues his descent.

Two Dread crocs make their move at once, each catching a portion of the man, silencing his screams. It's only a second before a fresh holler of pain fills the air, this time followed by the staccato roar of automatic gunfire. It's followed by more and more, nearby and distant, thunderously announcing the arrival of the human race in the mirror world. The battle for the colony's perimeter has begun.

I want no part in it.

I step inside the colony and am greeted by darkness. It lasts just a moment as my eyes adjust, faster than before. Luminous veins line the walls and ceiling, providing a rainbow of ebbing, flowing light. I take the smartphone out, intending to check on Maya's position, but the screen is black and dripping water. I put the device away and move quietly, stepping down the smooth, curving grade. It appears this giant colony is designed similarly to the smaller one in New Hampshire, spiraling downward toward an open core. This means I've got a long journey ahead of me. I think the colony is a thousand feet across, give or take a hundred, so the perimeter is just over three thousand feet. After just my second revolution, I'll have traveled a mile. At a run, I can cover the distance in six minutes, but there's no way to know how many circuits the tunnel makes before reaching the bottom. As wide as this colony is, I might have to run several miles before reaching the bottom, and I don't have a half hour to spare.

But what other choice do I have?

Throwing caution to the wind, I run, setting a fast but not impossible pace. The air smells rank, strong with ammonia, and stings my throat, but I haven't pa.s.sed out yet, so there is still enough oxygen to keep me alive.

Three minutes into my run, I haven't encountered any resistance.

At three minutes, five seconds, everything changes.

Alcoves line the walls on both sides up ahead. In the last colony, these s.p.a.ces contained empty nests. With all the action outside and the commotion in New Orleans, I expect the same here. As I run by the first alcove and glance inside, I realize my mistake. With the closest thing I've seen to a stunned expression on a Dread, a bull watches me pa.s.s by.

For a moment, I think it's just going to let me pa.s.s, but then a cry rings out, echoing down the long, curved tunnel. The bellow is joined by a sharp surge of mental whispering.

Barks from far beyond me and all around me explode into the air.

I pour on the speed, instinct telling me to run from the danger while my intellect screams at me to stop because I'm simply putting myself deeper in Dread territory. My flight into danger is short-lived. Thumping feet turn my attention to the left.

A Dread bull charges from an alcove, head down, perfectly aimed. A wave of fear explodes from the monster, tearing through my body, twisting my insides like a giant corkscrew spiraling through my gut. Its four eyes lock on target, confident. With only a second before impact, I freeze in place.

Muscles spasm and lock.

Lungs seize.

My body becomes a statue. Unflinching. Unmoving.

And still alive.

I can't see, smell, hear, or feel anything. That's not entirely true. I feel cold. And wet. Trapped tightly on all sides, moisture seeping past my clothing to chill skin.

And then I realize I have felt this before. Once. Locked in stone beneath the New Hampshire colony. I've left the mirror world and leapt into the very earth itself, which in New Orleans is so far below the water table there is actual water pressure. It squeezes in on me. My nose stings as water fills it, threatening to spill down my throat and fill my lungs.

In a blink, it's all gone. The pressure. The water. All of it. I'm standing in the Dread-colony hallway, no doubt looking a little stunned. The charging bull has just pa.s.sed. It felt like minutes trapped in earth, but was just a second, maybe two. The bull, having already lunged, sails through the air and into an adjacent alcove, where it careens into the back wall.

The thick but papery structure is no match for the bull. The wall tears, spilling the Dread into the s.p.a.ce beyond. Hundreds of thin layers flutter away, b.u.t.terflies in flight. A gaping hole is all that remains.

As more bulls leap from their alcoves, turning their heads back and forth, huffing and sniffing, most craning their gaze toward me, I run. For the hole. Not only is it my only hope of escape, it should also help me avoid an entire revolution around the colony, saving me a long run.

I sprint toward the alcove as the floor vibrates from the impact of so many charging bulls. It's full of bunched-up debris, swirled into black nests, intertwined with glowing veins of surging liquid.

A head rears up.

I pull Faithful from my back, prepare to swing.

But there is something in the Dread's four large eyes that holds me back. Not anger, or hate, or even fear.

It's innocence. A complete lack of understanding of the danger I present. It merely regards me with interest. A baby, I realize, and then, a litter, as more heads rise. Dread or not, the rules of engagement still guide my hand, and I will not attack children. I have, in the course of my career, had my fair share of collateral damage. People get in the way sometimes. But the CIA is careful to avoid situations with children and would never actually target a child. Even secret agencies and a.s.sa.s.sins have standards. But what moves me most, when my eyes meet those of the Dread calves, is how they remind me of my son.

It's no wonder these bulls are out of their minds trying to kill me. I've just invaded their home and put their children in danger. The trouble for them is that I'm just the start. If any of Lyons's drugged-up Dread Squad get inside, they'll kill everything. But this is war, and the Dread are ultimately responsible for what happens here today. They should have moved their young from this place. Even if they didn't know Lyons had targeted this colony, they've been inside my head. They must have known that I would come when Maya's tracker signal began transmitting.

Hopping from the edge of one nest to the next, I bounce through the alcove and leap toward the ruined wall. I'd like to say this is the old fearless Crazy shining through, but it's really just desperation, hoping that whatever lies on the far side of this wall is less horrible than a horde of enraged, rhinoceros-sized parents.

The remains of the papery wall slap against me but provide little resistance as I plow through. When I see what lies on the other side, I shout in surprise, not because some horrible monster awaits me, but because I've jumped out over a twenty-five-foot drop.

It turns out that my fear of falling is misguided. As soon as my descent begins, it's arrested. The bull, now clinging to the backside of the wall, has caught me. With a grunt, it slams me into the wall, once, twice, and then a third time, rattling my thoughts and snapping me into the past.

I'm with Lyons. It's my first day with Neuro and he's just told me his long-term game plan for the Dread. He's looking for a way to repel them and end what he calls their "reign of terror." Without their influence on mankind, he thinks wars will end, fear will dwindle on a vast scale, and global peace will be attainable. He speaks with energy bordering on frantic. Hungry. Unable to understand the subtlety of fear at the time, I missed the cues that this fight was personal for him. It always was. The "better world" scenario he presented me was simply justification for a vendetta that began during his childhood.

He asks my opinion.