Terror. A dimension mirroring the living one--but morphed to reflect the imagination of its Overseer. And the current Overseer... has refused to relinquish her power for centuries, tormenting her souls--"terrors"--into becoming... zombies.
Arielle f...
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South. According to Jade, that was their destination. Nice and vague, but at least it was something.
They'd detoured the gross town Benny hadn't wanted to return into, and kept to murky paths through swampy forests, lining rivers that ran with blood. Or so Benny believed; they stayed at a distance, but he could have sworn he saw red liquid coursing through a creek, and pinched his nostrils shut at the stench of it. Rotten fish, expired eggs, decay—the mix of odors were enough to make even the strongest stomach gurgle and regurgitate all its contents.
Luckily, Benny's stomach was empty. Jade had mentioned in passing that terrors didn't need food or drink; they were dead, after all. The smells were something he'd get used to, she assured. And she'd also promised him there were spots of Terror that weren't as foul, as fiery, or as dangerous. But such places were rumors in the far west, and for now, they were stuck in the east.
"I want to see where she died," said Jade, breathless as they climbed up a steep hill. There was no way around it—sharp, cliff-like rocks staggered on either side for what looked like miles. To avoid them, they'd be taking a massive detour and she didn't want to waste any time. "That house—you said that's where you died, too?"
Benny nodded, struggling to speak. The path was slippery, and there were no tree-trunks or rocks shaped in a way to grip onto to help himself climb. Jade had less difficulty, but from her glowing cheeks and tense spine, she wasn't having an easy time, either.
At the top of the hill, the scarlet sky seemed closer, as if dipping down to greet them. The clouds here had parted to show the intensity of the sky's color—a rich crimson, ready to drip blood all over them. What happened when it rained, if it rained, in this realm? Were the drops actual blood? Or a regular, clear shade like normal raindrops?
Benny hoped he'd never find out. Every time he glanced at the sky he felt like it got closer to him, eager to slurp him up, devour him. It was a heavy, hot sensation that coated his neck and arms and woke pain in his abdomen. When it wasn't the zombies—which they'd avoided by sticking to the woods, or so Jade claimed—it was the air. And when it wasn't the air, it was the sky. Everything in this dimension reeked of despair, rocked one's core, and destroyed one's hopes. It wasn't Hell, but it sure had every aspect of it.
"It's risky," said Jade, hands on her hips as she peered down at the tree-tops below, scanning the continuation of their passage. There were few fires here, only far ahead in the distance, and lining their path, not hindering it. "That house is her headquarters. Penelope." She shrugged a few fingers through her messy mane; it had gotten sticky and humid, from passing under dangling branches and crouching near bushes. A few dried leaves stuck to her strands, and Benny helped her pluck them out.
"Is she always there? At her headquarters, I mean." Benny braced himself for the trek down the slope. The dirt path looked as slippery here as it had been on the way up, and he definitely wasn't wearing hiking shoes. He'd died in his sneakers, and blood still caked on the sides, reminding him of Kylie and her gruesome demise. "Will we be able to get into the house? She probably has armies of zombies protecting her, right?"
