Chenelle had laid out all the food we’d brought end to end, open. It was all discolored and putrid, with worms visible writhing through the ripest bits and fungus on the rest.

“It’s rotten,” she said. “It’s all rotten, even the stuff that was sealed airtight when we came through.”

“Figures,” I said. One look at the dark and color-leeched surroundings, all rust and corrugated iron was enough to tell me that the warehouse we were in wasn’t normal in any sense of the word. And that was without the snatches of angry red sky visible through the chinks.

“Damn it, I knew it was going to be unforgiving on this side of the portal, but this…this is madness,” Chenelle continued. “How are we supposed to survive with no food?”

“We’re not.” It was Enola’s soft voice. She had seated herself on a pile of rotting lumber and was slowly, numbly, removing pieces of the mountaineering kit that all three of us were wearing for survival’s sake.

“Enola, stop that,” I said.

She ignored me, and tugged off one of her boots. “It’s all going to end in pain and darkness for us,” she continued. “Even before we came through.”

“Enola,” I said again, approaching her.

“It doesn’t matter what we wear or what we eat…pain and darkness…”

“Enola Bock,” I said firmly, taking her by the shoulders. “Stop that. We are not getting anywhere with that attitude.”

She looked up at me and Chenelle with her wide eyes misty with tears. “Don’t you think I know that?” she sobbed, weakly hurling a glove at us. “But I can’t help it. The vision haunts my every waking hour.”

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