Worlds War One

viii [Badia]

Badia's father would read her stories. He had had a thick accent and struggled with some of the phonetical impracticalities of English, but he had been adamant about speaking in his non-native tongue. "We are Americans, not turnips," he would say. He had meant "tourists." Mother had once told Bad that he'd never spoken another word of Punjabi once he'd set foot in the United States, even going so far as to scold fellow compatriots when they'd conversed in anything other than English.

He had liked to read stories of adventures about Oz and Wonderland and Huckleberry Finn floating down the Mississippi. Little Bad, who was always good, would snuggle up in his great hairy arms and rest her head against his broad, barrel chest. His booming voice would vibrate against her cheek as he'd worked through the words. He'd read a chapter a night, no matter what else had been happening, whether he'd been sick or sad or suffering. And in the end, he had suffered. He'd died when Bad was only seven. They had just finished Peter Pan. One quote had stood out after they'd closed the cover for the last time—"To die will be an awfully big adventure."

Now Bad was on her own adventure. At the edge of finding herself in Oz or falling down a rabbit hole or ready to light out for the Territory, she thought of her father and those stories and how she might have been one of the people in one of the books from one of those many, many nights. Someday, she will sit with Mary and Rebecca to tell them this tale.

Bad bunked with Saanvi Laghari. Private Golden was paired with the other civvie, Autumn Loloma so that each nonmilitary member of the group had an armed attendant. Watching Saanvi, Bad was sure the woman could take care of herself. Saanvi moved with confidence and had an edge like a sharp knife sheathed but perfectly capable of drawing blood when brought to a fight. There was something dark and different about Saanvi. In this new world of strange and danger, Saanvi was something else.

"What's your story?" Bad asked.

Saanvi flicked her finger over an electronic tablet that illuminated her features in strange patterns like she was something other than the woman she appeared to be. The silhouette cast on the wall behind her seemed shaped with small twin horns pointing out of the top of her head. And some wisp of shadow slithered like a snake every once in a while around her hips.

"Oh, my story is a fairy tale," Saanvi said. "I'm a princess, but I don't usually need rescuing."

"You talk in riddles," Bad accused.

"Maybe it's more fable than a fairy tale, then," Saanvi replied. "I come from a family that has been a part of the Wider World for a very long time. This new truth for you is old news to me. I learned these things in schoolbooks, and we talked about them around the dinner table. Some people are kept in the dark, while others live in the light. And sometimes those others are something different."

"Different how?" Bad asked, suspecting an answer.

"It means I'm not Hum—"

A local villager busted into their suite, terror making his face something other than a man's. Sweat shined his dark skin, and his cheeks billowed with exertion. "¡Atacó a tus hombres!"

Bad didn't hesitate. She shoved the scared man out of her way as she sprinted forward through the doorway. She would use the compass on her wrist to navigate a world she couldn't even imagine yet, but Bad could also utilize it to track her troops if she lost one of them in some fantastic realm more Lord of the Rings than Aleppo. The screen located her squad on a local electronic map—Private Golden and Autumn Loloma were in their suite. Private Ramírez and Sergeant Cabello were in theirs. Airman Fox and Seaman Choi were out. She homed in on their location using the locator in the device on her wrist.

Both soldiers were already staggering to their feet as Bad entered the pub. The Seaman wobbled on sea legs, and the Airman rubbed his head. The place was otherwise empty. The patrons had all already fled. As had their attacker.

Someone had gotten the drop on two eminently qualified service members. Someone, or something. The way the local had warned Bad about the attack—"It attacked your men." Not "they" or "she" or "he." It. Bad had to believe what Saanvi had been telling her all this time or reject it and remove herself from the mission.

"Where is it?" Bad demanded.

Airman Fox managed to point a finger, then swayed and had to lean against the wall before he blacked out. Seaman Choi was steadier. He shook off the last effects and started moving forward, out the pub entrance. "This way."

They entered the woods that surrounded the village. The electronic compasses on their wrists also acted as flashlights, illuminating the forest with a light as bright as a ray of sunshine. There was a distinct trail left by the thing they pursued, prints that had decayed the detritus beneath each footfall, like a rotting sprinkle of crumbs left by some undead Hansel or Gretel. Neither Bad nor the Seaman paused in the chase, both fearlessly sprinting through the underbrush, soldiers after an enemy combatant.

Occasionally, a handprint on a tree, the bark black and soft with deterioration. Here and there, a spot of fallen leaves in a five-foot diameter pungent with the smell of decomposition. The putrid evidence was like a slap to the face. "It must have paused here," Bad said.

"Was it tired?" the Seaman guessed. "Lost?"

"Does a thing like that get tired or lost?"

Seaman Choi shrugged. "He called himself Wang Mot. He mostly looked like a man, but he wasn't. Sick yet strong."

Bad didn't have answers. She mainly had had questions these last long hours. But she knew one thing—an attack on her squad would not go unanswered. The only way forward was to push forth, Seaman Choi on her flank.

They found something dead, but it wasn't Wang Mot. The bodies belonged to two local Paraguayans, sprawled among dead flowers and curdled compost. They looked mummified, like something had sucked all the moisture from them and left their leathery corpses behind. Between the two bodies was a shimmering rip in reality, straight out of a science fiction movie, a doorway to someplace else. Bad supposed this would be an average Tuesday night from now on.

"They were the sentries," came Saanvi's voice from behind them. She still wore an elegant evening gown in case a random soirée broke out. "They were guarding the portal to the next destination on our journey."

Saanvi had brought along Drill with Private Ramírez. They'd collected Airman Fox along the way. A moment later, Private Golden arrived with Autumn Loloma. The timeline moved up from tomorrow to right now.

"I think the zombie got to them," Seaman Choi said.

"In the absence of Sherlock Holmes, I want to thank you for that brilliant deduction, Seaman," Autumn sneered. "Unless someone sees a dehydrator the size of a Dumpster in these woods, I'm going to go ahead and second that insightful detective work."

Seaman Choi glared at Autumn and opened his mouth to retort, but Bad gave him a look of warning, and Ji held his tongue. She couldn't do much about the civvie. At least not in this world. But that sharp tongue, if left unchecked, may be considered a deadly weapon in and of itself, so Bad reserved the right in the future to sheath Autumn's acerbic rhetoric. But not here. Not now.

Now, tonight, Bad addressed Saanvi—"We're going in?"

"Inward and onward, Lieutenant," Saanvi said.

"Everyone has their gear?" Bad asked.

They all nodded. Of course. The soldiers had prepared, and Autumn and Saanvi were more eager for this adventure than anyone.

Bad took a step forward without a moment of hesitation. Then she wasn't in South America anymore.