"Why, um, yes, thank you," stammers the commander. He briefly wonders how he so suddenly has stumbled into his leader's good graces. He accepts a very fine cigar. And then-a light.
"I've always been fascinated with fire, Commander… Have you?"
But the soldier doesn't have a chance to answer.
The glowing red ember at the tip of his cigar quickly expands. It runs up the entire length, then across the man's face, over the back of his skull, and down his neck. Then the bright red, smoldering line races around and around his torso and arms, down to the tips of his toes-leaving the hunt commander, for the briefest moment, a statue of ash.
Then The One taps his cane lightly on the ground, and the gray powder collapses in a soft plume of smoke.
"You failed to capture Wisteria Allgood, and failure isn't an option in this Brave New World."
Chapter 8
Whit
Would you think that I was completely mad if I told you that what saved us in that signal hut was a portal that sucked me and Wisty through several dimensions and hurled us back into our current hellish reality at a completely different location?
A year ago, I would've checked myself into a psych ward for that, but crazy is the new sane in a society defined by New Order nutjobs. FYI, a portal is one of these elusive spots where the fabric of this world is… soft. But stepping through one can be anything but. It can hurl you into an entirely different place, time, or dimension… or sometimes force you into places you'd rather not be. Violently.
Like, for instance, in this cramped pitch-black space we've landed in. For all I know, we might be locked in The One's shoe closet. The air feels close, stale. My shoulder's on fire and my head is pounding.
"Whit? Are you here?" I hear a whisper. There's a gentle shifting around about a dozen feet away.