Wild-Side
Today
I was moving fast. Far faster than was safe, given the three-quarter moon, the rough terrain, and the dangers of the creatures stalking the wilderness. They called it the Forbidden Zone for a reason. Actually, they had a lot of names for it, but none captured the horror that the people of that world felt for the untold miles of untouched forest surrounding one of their few small cities. The city walls had been enough to keep the denizens of Wild-Side safe until recently, and I still didn’t know if the few who had gone missing had somehow been taken or had just wandered off before falling prey to creatures from their darkest nightmares.
While I still had hope that the city walls held integrity, there was no question the Elend were growing bolder as they became more organized. They were also expanding in numbers; the truth of the correlation was still only a suspicion as I plowed through the thick brush and vegetation. The wilds of the Reaches resembled those of the Pacific Northwest and the Midwest of home. Tall trees consisted of everything from conifers to massive oaks, redwoods, and elms. But it was like the size restrictions of my world—Our-World—didn’t apply there. It was common for hardwoods to be bigger around at the base than the bedroom I had as a child. Maybe it had something to do with the population of Wild-Side. Though the people were unquestionably more technologically advanced, somehow, they had evolved in small numbers and managed not to overpopulate their world. They never became a burden on their natural resources, and it seemed their technology evolved quickly enough to keep them from making the same mistakes as Our-World.
Nearly the entire population lived in five small cities situated across two large continents. Hundreds, sometimes thousands of miles of virgin wilderness separated each city. And somehow, it worked. The people, for the most part, lived healthier and more content lives than the people of Our-World. They were intelligent, had resources, and their technology benefited them without damaging their environment.
Unfortunately, they were no longer at the top of their food chain. Something happened just over a year before that day in the woods. It shifted the balance of power, not only for the Seeley but for Our-World, too. Looking back, stopping it was obviously beyond my ability. A doorway was opened, and though I played a part, from what I’m told, it was certain to happen sooner or later. If not for me at that time, it would have been someone like me, perhaps generations later.
It was only ever a matter of time. Regardless, what happens next is on me. I can and will bring balance to both worlds… even if it is the last thing I ever do.
—–
Like I said, I was moving fast. One of the Seeley had gone missing, last seen near the base of the East wall. I didn’t know her personally, but that didn’t matter. The Seeley were a peaceful people and, in all the ways that mattered, simple. They were intelligent as all hell, but also foolish in many ways. They lacked the common sense required for long-term self-preservation. I think it came from their short, aggressive evolution in an environment with no natural predators. Book smart, but street stupid. They had evolved without a propensity for fighting each other, so when something dangerous—deadly—entered their environment, they were entirely unprepared and defenseless.
I say they referring of their entire race, not just portions of their population.
Nature has a twisted sense of humor, so when the Elend first crossed over to Wild-Side, so did I. Nature can be unfair, but it does insist on balance. For whatever reason, I am part of that balance. The first Elend to cross the Vale was a creature we now call Breslin. When he crossed to Wild-Side, a balance of sorts was struck, and I was pulled across from Our-World as part of that equilibrium. I thought the entire experience was a series of dreams. I was convinced of it for months. Strange imaginings turned into scary dreams, which turned into nightmares.
Then, one day, hey! The whole damn thing turned out to be real. As was my way, I skipped the whole inner angst of asking myself if I was crazy. There was no question by that point.
Needless to say, if you’re confused now, it pales in comparison to the mind fuck I experienced. I was traveling to another plane of existence some nights when I slept. Sound like the sort of thing a crazy man might claim? You bet. Except in my case, it was really happening, and with life-and-death consequences.
So…I was moving fast. Trust me, this is the best place to start. You’re about to see why.
It was dark; the brush cover was thick, and I’m not even exaggerating: every freaking direction I turned, there was another mother of a thorn bush just begging to rip my eyes out. It didn’t slow me down. I had prepared as much as possible given the six and a half minutes of preparation time before hopping the city wall. Jeans, a thick flannel, hiking boots, and a pair of wraparound safety glasses. The jeans, boots, and flannel were fabricated for me here; the Seeley had never pondered the wonders of outdoor attire prior to meeting me. And why should they? They rarely ventured more than a mile from the perimeter of a given city’s wall. My glasses and gloves were considered innovations in this world. The glasses were contoured to match the shape of my face. They were nearly shatterproof, and it was easy to forget they were even there. The gloves were similar, tougher than leather, both form-fitting and light enough that I could feel the texture and grooves of my machete’s handle. Even more importantly, the gloves didn’t get in the way when I fired the 9mm caliber Springfield that was almost always strapped to my hip.
I’ll explain these fun anachronisms later.
I keep saying I was moving fast. There’s a reason for it. It was dumb; I was distracted, and it almost got me killed. I was following marks in the loamy soil—tracks I thought had been left by the Elend that had taken one of the natives. With my focus on the thorn bushes, machete, and marks in the dirt, I failed to notice the change in the forest until it was too late. The birds, insects, and other yammering little denizens of the night had gone suddenly silent.
With a final wave of the machete, I stumbled into a clearing. The floor of the woods was a jumble of crushed vegetation. It was splayed in a rough circle about fifty feet across. Though a small tree lay toppled through the center of the clearing—small by Wild-Side’s standards in that it was perhaps only three feet in diameter—there was nothing natural about the clearing. The surrounding bramble had been smashed flat by someone or something.
The fine hair on the back of my neck stood at attention instantly as I realized I was dealing with one of the aforementioned something. In the wilds of Wild-Side, that could only mean something bloodthirsty and savage.
As one might guess, my attention was focused on the fallen tree. It was big enough for something toothy to use for cover and, therefore, the obvious point of ambush. And sure enough, a low grumble foretold the presence of precisely the kind of big-bad my man-hackles were portending. The felled tree shifted—the entire tree—as four buck knife-sized talons rose from the darkness. They settled onto the surface of the bark and proceeded to clamp at least an inch deep into the hardwood. About three feet to the left of the first claw came a second. Between them rose a black, snake-like head. The face looked like a cross between an anaconda and…well, I’ll just say it…the thing looked more than a little like a dragon. A roughly trash can-sized dragon head. Black and wet in appearance, it was covered in slick, thumbnail-shaped scales. It had fiercely pronounced brow ridges, inward-sloping cheeks, and a short, wide, nose-like muzzle filled with a double set of triangular razor-edged teeth; one set appeared forward-facing while the other angled backward. If nature ever engineers a maw more ideal for rending flesh and bone to pulp and powder, I hope never to see it.
The shoulders rose above the surface of the tree as the large yellow eyes bore into me. The teeth were bad, but the eyes managed to creep me out even more. They were round—perfectly round—and yellow like rich honey. A vertical slit dilated and contracted as the head shifted in the moonlight. This explained what I already knew: these damn things could see in almost complete darkness. Since I could see every ripple and ridge in the thing’s scaly skin, there was no question that it had me clocked. There was no backing into the brush, hoping to blend in.
This wasn’t my first encounter with one of these creatures, but I’ll admit the experience from that night left an indelible impression. It changed much of what I thought I knew and was, at least at that time, the closest near-death experience of my life.
Rising to full height behind the tree, the Elend was about what I expected from a full-grown male. At roughly seven feet tall, he was man-shaped and man-sized, if a bit super-sized. Like most of its kind, it was bipedal, walking primarily on two legs. Bone-like scale protrusions ran across the tops of both shoulders and down each arm to the elbow. It raised one hand and the claws—I’m not freaking kidding—grew longer by about a third.
I lifted my machete in response but focused on its eyes. These creatures were fierce, but they were not intellectual. They fought based on instinct rather than strategy. Plus, they were accustomed to hunting the Seeley of this world. A meal that fought back would be a novelty.
The creature eyed the blade in my upraised hand as if reading my mind. It seemed to consider the weapon. This was a new experience for me. I saw contemplation in those slitted yellow eyes. I had only ever seen that once before. There was an advanced level of intelligence in their leader, the one we called Breslin. He had abilities unlike any of his kind. But given what I saw in this creature, I started to wonder if the beasts were becoming smarter…
Then, the memory of the elaborate clearing came to mind. The path I’d followed was so blatant and obvious that anyone among the Seeley could have followed it without tracking experience. The entire event was a setup, starting with the abduction. Since I was the only one among the Seeley who would risk the Wilds, especially at night, the trap was obviously set for me.
“Breslin is getting better at this,” I told the creature. It seemed to intentionally flex its scaly muscles, causing its black surface to shimmer in the moonlight. I glanced at the back of my left wrist. A translucent timer counted down on a display extending two and a half inches up the back of my arm. The numbers were so clear and crisp that I had to remind myself that only I could see the augmented reality display. Three minutes and thirty-one seconds until the Flip.
I heard a whoosh of air to my right and knew it would be the longest three and a half minutes of my life.
—–
The Elend by the fallen tree had been a distraction. A blur of movement from my right, accompanied by a burst of air, warned me that another of the creatures had just broken from the cover of the treeline. The things were fast. They had reaction times quicker than most men, so I didn’t think; I just acted. Dropping to my left hip, I swung the blade over my head before waving it toward the dirt near my right boot with all the strength I could manage. I sensed more than saw the scaly belly of the Elend fill the air over my head. I count myself lucky if it missed me by more than two inches. The creature was less fortunate. My blade parted the seam where scaly plates met at the center of its chest. Their bellies are more like armor, the scales at least as sturdy as bone, but our research into their anatomy has proven that cartilage joins their chest panels, similar to how the human sternum helps the left and right ribs meet at the center of the torso.
The creature plowed a trench in the foliage with the force of its face and chest as it crashed and slid. Viscous slime, the color and consistency of someone sneezing with the world’s worst head cold, coated its path. The same substance dripped from the leading edge of my machete.
First, something you need to know about the machete: calling it razor-sharp would be a disservice. By definition, a razor is sharp enough to shave one’s face. The technology used to forge this blade and then hone its edge was beyond anything possible in Our-World. I’m told the blade’s nanoparticle lattice construction will ensure it cannot be broken by anything short of deliberate and intentional mechanical manipulation. Since I tend to damage things on a grand scale, my hosts here seemed to take particular pride in that claim. I was also told the blade would hold its edge through the most tortured abuse. Of course, the science of all this was explained to me in mind-numbing detail, but…well, they really should just stop trying to explain the science. Needless to say, no one would ever attempt to shave with anything this sharp—at least not more than once. This was the kind of blade that could separate your face from your head before you even noticed you’d had an accident.
It’s important to clarify the precision and strength of the machete because you’re likely wondering why I would lead with a blade when I have a perfectly good pistol within arm’s reach. The stumbling Elend was a great example of what I’m dealing with and what I’ve learned through painful experiences over the last year.
The creature was climbing to its hands and knees, so to speak, when its compatriot opposite the tree decided to tag in. It lunged, clearing the tree in a single leap. Since I was still on the ground, I had just enough time to raise my blade before the monster literally fell upon me. My blade passed through its heart with ease. The realization caught the creature so off guard that it neglected to swing either taloned hand at me. At that point, given our proximity and considering I was pinned under its 300-pound bulk, I would have been sirloin. I read the confusion in those wide, honey-colored eyes and shoved the beast away.
By the time I was swaying back to my feet, the Elend with the split chest was just returning to its own. His front was parted at the center, and a substance with the consistency of raspberry jam was leaking from the thirty-six-inch-long wound. Still, it appeared entirely undeterred by the injury. Similarly, the creature with what should have been a mortal puncture to its heart was already beginning a clumsy rebound.
That’s the thing with Elend. As far as I’ve been able to figure over the last year, only two things can kill them. One must either completely separate the head from the body or cause catastrophic damage to the eyes. I know what you’re thinking. It can’t be their eyes. Damaging their eyes must destroy the brain, which must be what takes them down. Trust me. I’ve killed more of these things than anyone should ever have to face, and it’s not the damage to the brain that does the job. It’s the eyes.
It’s always the eyes.
It’s said the eyes are the window to the soul. I have a hard time believing these creatures have souls, but either way, stick to the rules. They can save your life. Destroy an eye or remove the head. If not, they will keep coming until they get you.
I glanced at my wrist and saw forty-two seconds remaining. It was doable. I just needed to keep the two going long enough to run down the clock. That’s when I heard movement beyond the perimeter of the clearing. Multiple contacts, no question. At least two more Elend, maybe more.
Suddenly, I wasn’t as confident in my forty-two seconds. I was surrounded.
Something had changed with the creatures. Either they were getting smarter, or they were becoming more coordinated. I instantly thought of Breslin. He’d been consolidating his power here. Apparently, he was having success pulling more of the Elend under his authority. It meant his plans for Wild-Side weren’t the only thing I had to worry about. He was organizing forces here while consolidating the resources and power on our side of the Vale.
Honestly, it was the first time I realized just how dangerous Breslin truly was to this world and ours.
Suddenly, time wasn’t running out fast enough. I had Elend at the perimeter of the clearing. If they began to converge on me, I wouldn’t have time to deal with the two before me. I needed to take these two out of play right away and hope the clock ran out before those at the treeline made their move.
The Elend with the split chest was on its feet first. It moved toward me on unsteady legs. I guessed the slit at the center of his chest had compromised its balance. It had to be painful, though these things didn’t seem to feel pain like we do. I took two quick steps in its direction and swung my blade. I think it started to raise an arm in defense. It certainly wasn’t at its best with the chest injury, and that had him moving much slower than normal. The finely honed edge of the machete lived up to the hype and cleaved the creature’s reptilian head about an inch below the jawline. It tumbled away and disappeared behind the fallen tree.
I was still on my backswing when something plowed into me from the side. I dropped the machete and shoved the creature’s chin away even as I felt its powerful arms trying to crush the life out of me. The Elend hoisted me into the air, arms clasped around me just above my hips. Its massive maw of double-rowed teeth snapped only inches from my ear as I pushed the face aside as far as I could.
The things are strong. Preternaturally strong. Man versus Elend in a one-on-one cage match? The Elend will rip the man limb from limb every time. It doesn’t matter how big or strong the man is. The Elend, wherever they come from, are evolved killing machines. If I were religious, I would say they were demons. It’s not a stretch of the imagination. They have the look, and they certainly have the bloodthirsty disposition.
I kicked and shoved, but it was all just an effort to buy time. Time to run down the clock and get my hand on the Springfield holstered at my hip. I was fighting a losing battle with one hand pressed against the creature’s chin when I crushed the muzzle of the 9mm against the Elend’s eye and pulled the trigger. The wet splatter hit my face as the percussive report slapped me upside the head.
The creature screamed and toppled. I rode it to the ground. When both of its taloned hands went to its face, I slipped the barrel of my pistol into the socket of the beast’s second eye and peeled off another round.
The screeching howl went instantly silent, and I knew the second creature was vanquished. The victory was short-lived, however. I’m still not sure if I sensed or saw what came at me from my left. Either way, the gun slipped from my hand as I rolled for the cover of the fallen tree. I ducked into a tangle of thick, leafy limbs just as a hand fronted with talons swung at my midsection. I recall thinking the hand was smaller than those I’d just faced, but the talons were somehow thicker and more substantial. Then I heard the crash of the beast’s blow splinter the ancient tree.
I was slammed into a sharp, jutting limb, and the display on my wrist vibrated. I was trying to push away at something poking my belly when the world around me began to blur. A heartbeat later, everything I could see flashed white, and the world spun with teeth-rattling abandon. I could hear the battle cry of the creature. It was laced with fury, but it was somehow distant and seemed to grow more distant with each passing heartbeat.
—–
The world was a spinning, featureless void. I bounced off a soft, plush surface and went crashing into another that was cold and unyielding. I’m going to describe my scream as a manly bellow of rage that bordered on a battle cry, but it likely sounded like a squirrel barely surviving a near-miss with a speeding tractor-trailer. At that time, no one had ever studied my return, so it wasn’t clear whether the violence of the event was linked to the transition or if it was my body’s response to the trauma of what was, by all accounts, an unnatural experience. Either way, the return, which often lacks grace, should never be witnessed by another human being. This time it was nearly as painful as the attack I’d been suffering from before the Transition. The spectacle is the second of three reasons why I endeavor to sleep alone.
You’re likely wondering what the other two reasons might be. First of all, that means you’re nosy. These things are personal. But stay tuned. While I have a short fuse and am quick to irritate, you’ll soon find I tend to overshare. Stick with me long enough, and all will be revealed. For now, let’s focus on the super impractical part of this experience I brushed over only a minute ago. I was entirely naked when I was launched from my bed onto the painful, cold, and unforgiving surface of the tile floor. Yeah, that soft thing I bounced off was my bed. I started this little misadventure there. I frequently do.
The observant among you might wonder, who puts porcelain tile on a bedroom floor? I’m glad you asked. It’s not a bedroom, per se. I often hole up in unusual places such as warehouses, storage lockers, and abandoned buildings when I’m spending time in Our-World. As you might expect, such accommodations don’t lend themselves to comforts like plush carpeting or air conditioning. I do insist on a comfortable mattress, running water, solid-core doors, and multiple means of egress.
Yeah, yeah,… naked on the floor. There’s really no getting away from that unpleasant part of what I call the Transition. For reasons I’ll never fully understand, I have the unique ability to move between Our-World and a place I call Wild-Side. Not the most creative names, you say? Bite me. You can worry about the creative writing, and I’ll worry about my survival. The name is fitting since the place is currently plagued by an ever-increasing population of creatures that want to kill me and eat me—or maybe eat me before killing me. It’s not entirely clear what they want to do with me or even what they do with the denizens of Wild-Side after abduction. Suffice it to say, it’s one of several mysteries that a team of folks far more intelligent than I continue to attempt to understand. They are the brains. I concentrate on killing violent, deadly things before they can kill us meek and defenseless humans.
This is the story of two worlds. Well, three, if we’re being technical. But for simplification and to bring you up to speed with minimal exposition, there are two worlds that we care about: Our-World and Wild-Side. What do the people of Wild-Side call their world? Fair question. Until they met me, they didn’t know they needed a name. They didn’t realize there was another world.
So Wild-Side it is.
This is all part of what the pointy hat people call Brane Theory, though the fact that they continue to use the word theory bothers me. It stopped being theory when I proved that moving between Branes was possible. I guess they can’t call it Brane Science yet because no one understands how it works or why I can do what I can. If you’re already guessing how and why any of this works, you’re not the only one. No one understands why only I can cross between Branes. It doesn’t keep pretty much everyone in Wild-Side from submitting a theory—
Oh! Right. Now I understand. It does work. I’m good with calling it Brane Theory again. Thanks for letting me work through it.
The theory is that reality as we know it is composed of membranes layered atop one another. Wild-Side is a reality separated from two others, positioned logically on either side. If someone had the means, either naturally or using a tool of some sort, they could move from Our-World to the reality, or membrane, adjacent on either side. This was only a theory—supposedly—until I started slipping across to the place I creatively refer to as Wild-Side.
Why can I cross membranes or branes when no one else can? No idea. As I said, folks much more intelligent than I are working to make sense of that. And for reasons that will soon become clear, they are highly motivated. The opposition is working to solve the same problem, only for different reasons. That’s a more complex story; again, more is soon to follow.
For now, let’s concentrate on why I was naked and bleeding profusely on the cold tile floor. Oh, yeah! I neglected to mention the blood. In truth, I wasn’t even aware of it until I slipped in a pool of my own B-positive and whacked my noggin on the floor. I turned my head just in time to prevent the loss of teeth. Cat-like reflexes even in the most messed up of moments, right?
“Shit!” I cursed. “Esker, give me some light.”
A pair of lamps on the milk crates in opposite corners of the large room pulsed and came to life. “You’re experiencing significant blood loss,” Esker’s voice seemed to come from every direction. “Shall I contact emergency services?”
I was still seeing stars, so I didn’t immediately answer. I’m pretty sure he asked me the same question again, but I’ll admit my recollection of this exact period is a little fuzzy.
Esker is the AI that interfaces with the nanotechnology infused in my body shortly after all of this Brane-walking started.
Brane-walking…I like that. I just made it up. We’re going to go with that from now on. Being the world’s only Brane-walker—well, almost only—I should be able to call it what I want, right?
Anyway…You might say that Esker’s a voice in my head, though that makes me sound a little crazy. I can’t be whack-a-do because there’s science involved. Since Esker’s linked to a quantum processing core here, I can access him only when I’m in Our-World. My nanotech works across Branes, but Esker only works here. Yes, my life is complicated. I’ll understand if you’re struggling to keep up.
I rolled onto my back, hearing the blood beneath my shoulders squish but not really feeling it. One arm patted the other even as my eyes rolled in their sockets, trying to focus against the newfound light. The sense of vertigo that accompanied every Transition scrambled my brain. Esker’s words bounced around in the fog that was my mind. At first, I was dimly aware of the blood on the floor. And though I’m told it took only seconds for me to take action, it felt like long minutes.
Finally, I started to probe the surface of my body in search of the injury causing the slippery mess.
“Your lower right abdomen,” I heard Esker say at the same time I felt my fingers wrap around something wedged in my flesh.
My eyes shifted to a stubby shard jutting from the skin just above my right hip. It was slightly curved and half as wide as my wrist. It was roughly the color of bone but had the texture of unsanded hardwood.
“It’s a talon,” I heard Esker say. “I recommend you do not—”
Talon. Let’s call it what it really was, a freaking claw. I brought one of the freaking creature’s claws back across the Vale with me…in my flesh! I stopped hearing Esker’s words when I pulled the damn thing from my abdomen. I recall hearing it clatter to the tile, and the room started to spin.
Then everything went black.
—–
I woke up almost four hours later, according to Esker. You’re missing out if you’ve never had an AI chastise you for disobeying medical advice. It’s a unique experience. There’s no face to go along with the ass-chewing, and since the voice is in your head, it’s extra hard to ignore. And when you’re immobilized because the incorporeal entity is using your body’s nanotech to keep you from moving a muscle, there’s absolutely nothing you can do to make the lecture end before the intelligence decides you’ve had enough.
“I’ve flooded the wound with nanites,” Esker was saying. “It was enough to stop the blood loss, and your abdominal wall is ninety-three seconds away from regaining structural integrity. I estimate one hundred and twenty-two minutes until you regain mobility.”
“Swell,” I said. My voice was dry and humorless, but I admit to feeling a certain amount of amusement about my situation. I couldn’t feel anything. I was still lying bareass naked on the cold tile floor, but at least I couldn’t feel the cold or the pain. And most importantly, I was safe. When the countdown timer hit zero, I rebounded to Our-World. Regrettably, I didn’t find the abducted Wild-Side woman before bouncing home, but at least the Crossing had been timely. It had saved my life, if just barely.
Wild-Side was a Brane at war, and in a lot of ways, I was the one leading the fight. The Elend had set a trap for me that almost paid off. That meant I needed to rethink my strategy. They were organized in a way that was unprecedented up to that point, and I could already sense a shift in their power dynamic. It foretold new dangers for the Seeley, and for me in particular.
I looked down at myself, at least as much as I could since my body was immobile from the neck down. A thick, coagulated pool covered the floor. What I could see of my skin was pale with a blue pallor from the cold and blood loss. And even though I knew the nanites would be working overtime to replicate a fresh blood supply, there was no question my body would suffer from the experience.
“What’s with the talon?” I said to Esker. “How did I bring it back?”
The AI’s voice returned with its own healthy dose of confusion. I’ve never figured out if it mimicked human emotion or had it baked into its code. Either way, it was often very much like talking to another person. Other times, less so.
This was an example of one of Esker’s less convincing performances.
“Unknown. We’ll need more data before I can begin to guess,” Esker said. “Doctor Cormac believes carrying anything physically across the Vale is impossible. Until now, we’ve had no evidence to the contrary.”
He was right about that. This rule, for lack of a better word, was why I was lying naked on the floor. Nothing went with me when I crossed from one Brane to the next, what we sometimes call the Vale. No matter what I was doing when I started, I always ended up naked on the other side. It was more than inconvenient; it was dangerous. Wild-Side had become an increasingly savage place over the last year, and arriving there each time the way I did meant I had absolutely no means of protection. Arriving there wearing even a pair of pants would have been nice, but the truth was that I’d give my right nut for an assault rifle or even a sharp hunting knife.
