Woodcutter's Grim Series, Book 4: Hunters Blues (A Mirror Darkly World Novel) by Karen Wiesner

Chapter 1

He'd stood before the unornamented mirror so often he could almost see the countless reflections of himself like a house of mirrors extending back to the first time he'd been there. But he'd also stood in this place so often, he knew exactly what to do to change the images of himself to the ones he really wanted to see. Eagerly, he reached toward the center mottled gray glass in the three-paned mirror. The instant his fingertips touched the clouded, dark silver, he could see far beyond, could hear the voices he knew so well.

"We've been together forever, honey. How can you not feel that?" The voice could have been, maybe was, his own...in another place, but not another time.

Her laughter was soft and intimate, and he tensed with his fingertips firm against the living reflection beginning to solidify before his eyes in the world beyond the mirror. "Reed, we've know each other all our lives. That's not forever...but it will be."

Their images, their bodies pressed together in a timeless embrace, lips as one, showed on the other side of the mirror. For a moment, he was convinced he could smell the scent of her perfume--lilacs and sunshine and bright blue skies, if all those things could be smells comingled--and taste the sweetness of her full, giving mouth beneath his own. In unison they sighed, and Reed murmured, "We've been together in all worlds, Shelley. That's what I mean. Just like we are now." Reed turned his head to the mirror and her blond head turned, too, tucking against his chest, to follow his gaze. "Together. Always together. In every world, we've been together forever, together as light in the darkness, happiness, possibilities and hope for the future."

She could have easily laughed again, denied it, but instead she whispered, "You're a romantic from another era, love."

This time Reed chuckled, drawing her delicate face around again so he could cradle her delicate jaw in his large hand. "Okay, so maybe I am, but do you really not feel that we've been together always? That we've lived other lives, and, in all of them, we're like this. One mind and body, one heart, one soul?" Reed lifted his hand from her cheek, holding it up, fingers separated.

Shelley raised her smaller one and pressed it against his, palm-to-palm, fingertip-to-fingertip. "Yes," she said softly. "One. Every world. Always."

As one, they brought their hands to the mirror. As soon as they touched it, as one, they saw him...

Reece Pallaton woke with a start, not surprised by the wetness covering his face but bewildered as to his location. He expected to hear the silence of the world, like even the water was holding its breath against the stillness that never felt quite real. Each and every day he woke, the silence was unnerving because the sound of the ghouls' shrieks had filled the night before, filled until that one merged voice was deafening and there were no other sounds on the face of the planet. Only that integrated scream was real. He expected to feel the world gently swaying beneath him in safety. Another illusion. There was no safety, not anymore.

It's dark. Every ghoul in the world is screaming its vengeance at once. God, I forgot how close it could sound. On the water at night, he could hear it but not like this, not like he was in the center of that storm. From the water, the sound was louder, yet almost... He laughed. Am I actually thinking peacefully distant? Because I'm not in the center of it anymore? Because I go as far as I dare on Lake Superior, away from this place?

His movements slow and filled with stiff soreness, some pain, he reached up to his face and got another shock. The thick beard and moustache--as unkempt, unclean and untidy as his hair that were all part of the hunter's disguise against the ghouls--were all but gone. The goatee that was left was sleek and strangely soft under his fingers.

Where the hell am I?

He lifted his head, not recognizing his surroundings. The room was dark save for the sliver of moon peeking through thick windows set into the rounded stone wall of the fortress. Tower. Not one I've been in before. Ransom Tower.

Instantly, his mind went to Shell, and he closed his eyes as the exotic scent of her filled his nostrils until his senses were overwhelmed with agony, need, certainty that she'd been near him, surrounded him, skin on skin, her every body part pressed intimately to his every body part. Recently. Though he couldn't be absolutely certain, he believed this had to be her private apartment in the Ransom Tower.

So what am I doing here?

When he tried to remember where he'd last been, his brain hurt. The effort to bring forth the memories made him wince. Nothing came to him, nothing at all until he stopped straining, and then he remembered the chapel beneath the East Tower living quarters. "I come here to cry out to God, Reece, but out of hope. I know we can find a cure. I know we can turn the tide and defeat the evil. We just can't give up."

Reece pushed himself up on his elbows, not surprised by the weakness that raced over him, threatening to send him toppling back on the bed once more. He waited it out, still smelling Shell's perfume. He suspected she was the only person in the world who actually cared about smelling good. Beyond that, having a distinctive scent wasn't a good defense. Any human smell drove the spooks insane. It was safer to stink the way the hunters did, to blend in. A bubble of laughter escaped his throat as he waited for his strength to gather.

When he could maneuver without collapsing, he sat up, aware of two unnerving realities. He had blood in his mouth, iron, rusty. And he was naked. He couldn't remember the last time he'd been in that state, didn't want to remember. Grimacing, he pulled back the fragrant covers and saw his white body covered in bruises, but there was no blood and no dirt. In order to blend with the ghouls while hunting, he rarely bathed. Few did in this time. What was the point? The day was for hunting or gathering, the night for the sentry teams that patrolled the battlements. Or, if it was your night off, drinking pig slop until you were blind, trying to forget the way it was, the past, present and future all mingled into the same thing. He reached up to his hair. Also clean. Combed.

He glanced around, almost expecting to see Shell. Once more, he tried to remember how he'd gotten here, recall a reason why he was so stiff and sore and bruised, naked and clean as a newborn. Pain greeted him again, and he reached behind him, pulling the pillow from behind his back around to his front and pressing his face into it.

Shell. Despite the aches and discoloration on his skin that hinted at an injury, or more accurately, massive injuries, he felt his manhood harden savagely, almost beyond bearing, as Shell filled his senses with her scent, the knowledge that this was her bed he was in. When he closed his eyes, he could feel her bare skin against his, curve for curve, hardness molding the satin softness, her limbs stretched out over his. Although a part of him felt a nudge of something that might have been a memory of a sexual act, acts, that had never happened, he realized this particular impression wasn't sensual. Shell's body had covered his line for line, her cheek pressed to his, their breaths one and the same, and recently. He knew it, even if the recollection was cloudy.

She healed me, like she did her dad. Reece couldn't imagine ever forgetting that incident. She'd been little more than a child and her father had been dying, no way to save him. The Protectorate had been aware for most of Shell's life that she possessed the gift of healing like her ancestors did, though probably not as strongly as they did, that she could empathically restore someone to health by drawing the injury into her own body, where it would ultimately be neutralized. But until it was, she was damaged, suffering, in the case of her father, dying, and Reece had never felt more terror than seeing her collapse after her father had recovered from his fatal affliction beneath her slight weight.

Shell healed me. But when the hell was I injured? Why can't I remember?

"You're a good person, Shell. You're the heart and soul of all that's left now." Reece could feel her hand encased between his own again, pressed to his heart, then his mouth. Shell had come to him in the chapel, encouraged him when there was little faith left in him. She was the only doctor remaining in this ruined world, and she gave everything. Medical treatment, spiritual, mental, discovering cures and solutions to so many problems. She knew every single last soul alive in this time, and she loved them all. We can't survive without her. I can't. Sometimes I feel like she's all I have left.

The metallic taste of blood filled his mouth again, and he felt the brush of anguish he'd pushed so far away from him it should have disappeared. Maybe it would always be there, a dark shadow over his heart. Cally. Once the love of my life. My whole life. Life itself. So long ago, and now all I see is death. Cally disappeared, the one I loved was long gone, and, while she was retrieved, supposedly saved with mem rad, she's spent the time since destroying me with the monster that's left of her. She makes me worse, never better. She's nothing to me but another hunter...

Shooting pain went through him, reminding him of the dark cloud hovering over him that used to be his reality. Almost six years ago, it was over with her. I was free. Free of the obsession that filled my every waking thought, my nightmares, the jealousy that drove me to fight my own brothers stupidly because she lived for those confrontations. They made her feel coveted while I felt hopeless, useless, worthless by the same token. But then the black cloud went away, and I'd be a fool if I forgot the reason why.

Shell. Her light broke up that impenetrable darkness, and sometimes I think the nightmare was never real. Only Shell is real, only she's worth living for.

The heavy wooden door to the apartment opened with a long, loud, slow creak that made Reece cover himself as the real world came back into focus. He turned, not surprised to see Lars enter. As one of the Chosen Seven, he was clearly the prophet  in their number with his onyx, otherworldly eyes. There was always a prophet in the Brethren, but, like the Protectorate as a whole, he didn't function anymore. There'd been no prophecies in so long as to make them wonder if there ever really had been any. Shell was the only one with a gift that actually worked. Even if it wasn't at full strength, she saved lives every single day with it.

Not for the first time, Reece thought, The Protectorate is dying, or it's been almost dead for the past fifty years. It will die because there's no one left to carry on our work. All the children, including those born to the Brethren in the last twenty years, are dwarfs, not healthy, not strong, incapable of fighting the evil. We're the last and, when we're gone, this war will truly be at an end.

"Shell healed me," Reece said without preface. "What the hell happened? Why can't I remember?"

"You can't guess?"

The question filled in the blanks inside his mind. Mem rad. I was given mem rad and that can only mean I was bitten. "How bad?"

"You wouldn't be alive now if Mishell hadn't healed you."

Just like that, the memory of how she'd collapsed while her father recovered from her empathic healing brought Reece to his feet. "Where is she? How is she? Why the hell didn't you stop her?"

"I tried. We all tried. We knew that's what you would've wanted. But she wouldn't be swayed."

No, she wouldn't. Shell gave everything for the last of humanity. She gave selflessly, altruistically, because it was who she was. But he knew it was more than that. Shell had been part of him, part of his family, all his life. She'd been his sister's best friend when they were growing up, and then... She became mine. She'd been there as long as he cared to remember.

"Nothing's worth risking her life--"

Lars caught him when he swayed on his feet and all the strength went out of him. Pushing him back on the bed, Lars looked directly into his eyes, firm hands on his shoulders. "She's fine. I admit, it was touch-and-go at first. She had to heal you more than once to get all the injuries mostly fixed--"

Reece swore. It didn't matter if Shell spent all her time giving him mixed signals. One minute open and proving she shared the intensity of his romantic feelings, the next uncertain and too careful, too distant. Even if he could never admit he loved her verbally because he didn't know which way the wind was blowing from one instant to another, he needed her in his life, his present and future.

The thought of anything happening to her, especially having her sacrifice herself for him, was akin to hell for him. Hell. Hell is this life, this time period, never winning the war against the evil...all this without Shell. She makes even a losing battle worthwhile.

Any guilt he might have felt because he'd loved her older sister Cally the first part of his life had dissipated--destroyed by Cally herself with her cruelty, her superficially vain need for worship, to be the most beautiful, by the number of times she'd blatantly cheated on him while they were married.

"But she pulled through, and you're almost fully healed. Your body can finish the rest. She just needs to rest now, get back her strength."

Reece lifted his gaze. "I can't lose her, Lars. Not her. I've lost everyone else. Not her."

Lars nodded. "I understand. But she's gonna be okay, brother. I promise. She was serious when she said she's stronger now than she was when she healed Dad."

The tone of the prophet's voice reassured Reece the way nothing else could have, short of seeing her and ascertaining for himself the truth of that. "I need to see her."

"You will. Just not now."

For a long minute, their gazes held, and Reece realized with a start that there was more. Turning, Lars walked to the window, looking out over the Black Lake. Reece effortlessly recalled that from his houseboat out on the lake as he left the compound, he could peer back into that very window every night of his life, imagining he could see Shell in the pane, also glancing out over the water at him. The beautiful maiden in the tower, unreachable. I imagine the swell of the violin that I convince myself is louder than the screams that fill the night.

"Tell me what happened."

"We found you unconscious by the last portal."

Woodcutter's Grim wasn't a normal town, not since the evil entered through the portal three hundred and thirty-six years ago, coming in the form of childhood terrors: Fairy and folk tales, myths, legends, fables, parables and poems. The last portal was the only one they hadn't been able to close. The only explanation they'd been able to come up with for that was because it was the point of origin, how evil had entered their world in the first place.

"You were in bad shape, Reece. The ghouls tore you apart and left you for dead. It was a miracle you were alive."

"You found me alone...?"

"Alone. You were alone."

Reece shook his head in disbelief. "No. I couldn't've been alone. They never leave anyone behind, alive or dead. And...I would've killed any that came close."

What kept the ghouls animated, undead, came down to a simple matter of brain activity. If the brain could be reanimated, the body would go on mindlessly, trying to infect others. Headshots and burning were the only two means of killing the spooks. Electrocution rifles disrupted brain activity long enough for hunters to put a bullet straight through the skull or to chop the head off altogether. Burning the body also prevent the brain from being jump-started.

"I know. I don't get it either. We can't figure it out. When you're better, we're gonna have to talk about that, figure out why they left you there at the portal, like that. It's hard to believe the spooks got spooked."

The ghouls always took victims to one of their lairs to insure that the infection would spread. The evil had realized a few years ago that if the humans were able to get their people back, they could stop the infection with memory irradiation. So the creatures always took captives deep into their hideouts, tried to keep them hidden so the soul drain could be completed and one of their own kind created in the process.

Hunters had two main jobs: Priority one was to retrieve any person taken by the ghouls as fast as humanly possible. Twenty-four hours after the bite, there was no way to reverse the damage. The longer it took to rescue a victim, the more damage done. Those missions always took precedence during daylight. The second task was to seek out the dark lairs the spooks holed up in during daylight hours and kept their captives in. The sun made the zombies tame somehow, as if the rage that consumed them at nightfall was temporarily spent. Hunters destroyed as many of the undead as they could during the daylight hours, but they never made a dent in the population. The opposite, in fact. At one time they'd thought the creatures could mate, they reproduced so fast. But they'd figured out that what was really happening was the ghouls were flooding into Woodcutter's Grim from every side, from other parts of the world. Once upon a time, they'd been in contact with other survivors, but it'd been more than fifty years since they'd heard from anyone else, though they kept trying on every conceivable radio frequency. The world had fallen to the infection. And now every zombie in the world was headed their way, drawn here by the evil. What else could they believe?

"What about the rest of the teams?"

"We're okay, boss. All the teams are intact."

I don't remember going out hunting that day, after I saw Shell in the chapel the night before, because of the mem rad. I don't remember anything that happened after my stolen time with Shell.

Against his will, Reece asked tightly, "Cally?"

Lars didn't turn from the window. "Reece, you wouldn't let us give you the mem rad out in the field. You were on death's door, but you fought us. You acted like you'd been bitten before and given the serum. Like you knew what to expect from it and you didn't wanna go through it again. What the hell was that?"

What could he say? Reece couldn't remember anything. Still, Lars' words made him think instinctively, Given mem rad in the past because I wanted to forget being bitten, having my soul sucked out? No. Given the serum to forget something else? Yeah. That's why. Something I wanna remember more than anything but can't. It only comes in impressions, the flutter of a butterfly wing against my skin. Maybe I'm imagining it, but I can't escape the belief that I've tasted mem rad before.

"You've never been bitten," Lars said what Reece well-knew.

Close but no cigar. If I was given the mem rad before, I wouldn't remember it. That's the whole point of administering it. So why do I feel like I have been given it before, against my will and not based on actual memory? Just like when he tried to recall the past twenty-four hours, he attempted to think, to draw the truth of this out of his head, but his brain felt like it might explode rather than give up the memory.

"I need to hear everything about the past twenty-four hours, Lars."

The prophet turned, nodding. "You will. But you need to rest up and get better first. I'm gonna go visit Mace. I'll be back later."

Reece wasn't certain whether it was the reassurance in his friend's tone that allowed him to accept the pacification or the dizziness he experienced that made him complacent. Whatever had happened to him, he'd recovered but he was still in a weakened state.

Gotta see Shell. That's what matters most...

He found himself falling back, his consciousness ebbing away. As his lucidity faded, he realized along the fringes of awareness that Lars had never answered his question about Cally. He'd either purposely or incidentally deflected the inquiry about whether she was all right. Reece didn't have the strength to push the issue before he was out cold.