by Matt James
So, I make up my mind and run full-bore at the rear of the living room. Halfway there, I raise my gun and fire off another round. The rear window shatters, as I leap through it. I cringe as I try to avoid the glass still attached to the frame. Don’t need a repeat of last time. My jacket takes most of the abuse and gets sliced a couple times. My forearm also takes a few minor cuts as I block my face, but nothing feels too severe.
Another window, same arm.
In one fluid move, and obviously not thinking this through, I stand and quickly climb up onto the railing. Then, I shove, jumping from the seventh floor of a freaking building. I lash out with Joan’s pry bar, hoping to hook a railing on the next-door building’s sixth floor—across the alley.
Just as I think it’s about to work, it doesn’t. The pry bar clangs off the iron railing, bouncing away. Thankfully, my grip is solid and I hold onto it with one hand. I try again as I fall another level and hook the claw onto the edge of the fifth floor’s platform.
Son of a bi—
Growling erupts behind me as the five Unseen pricks try to follow me. Three leap, falling short, just missing my dangling form. I try to watch as they plummet to the ground below. But then the metal creaks a little, getting my attention back to where it should be. My escape.
Another tries to make the jump and successfully makes it onto the sixth floor’s fire escape, just a level above my head.
“Aw, shit,” I grumble as I try my best to haul myself up.
No dice. My hands slip down the shaft, almost letting go completely. I chance a look down and see my foot is only a few inches away from the fourth floor’s railing. Then I see the bodies of the three dead goblins, lying in a heap right next to—
“Fuck it.” I let go and fall, tossing the pry bar away.
Reaching out with my bare hands, I catch the next floor’s railing, clutching onto it for dear life. But just as my full weight pulls on it, it creaks and buckles. The entire handrail gives under the added weight and stress of my landing.
As I fall, I reach out again, but miss the third floor, and continue my plummet. That level quickly whips by as I keep falling, saying a prayer and an apology.
“Sorry, Babe.”
My face is about to pass by that floor’s railing, but strangely I don’t continue the fall. My plunge is arrested by a strong set of hands… grey hands. Groaning my displeasure at being saved, I look up into the hollowed-out eyes of the goblin that made it safely across.
“Some bitch…”
12
So, I’m hanging thirty feet off the ground by something that wants to eat me. Not good, but I can’t really do a lot about it either. If I attack, it drops me, and if I don’t attack, it kills me.
Decisions, decisions.
The hands flex and the thing lifts me higher. I’m not sure where the strength is coming from, but it’s sure as hell there. The durable material of my jacket is the only thing keeping me from joining the other goblins and becoming paste on the ground below.
My armpits are on fire from the fabric rubbing and chafing as I’m lifted higher towards the goblin’s agape mouth, its serrated teeth just inches from my face. It jerks me up again, bouncing my body against the rail, and I feel my ribs cry in protest. I reflexively twitch from the sting and my arm brushes against something hard on my hip.
Recognizing the shape of the object, I calmly reach to one of my newest editions and grip it. As quickly as I can, I draw the combat knife, swinging it up and burying it into the goblin’s head. The razor-sharp tip punches a clean hole straight through one of its empty eye sockets with a crack and a pop.
I’m expecting to fall now, but I don’t. The creature’s claws are locked in and not about to let go anytime soon. Its body slumps, acting as the other side of a teeter-totter and once again I’m stuck, dangling above the ground from the height of a three-story building.
The fire escape platform shudders as a body lands with a boom. The dead goblin’s body shifts and I slide back down a little.
Shit.
I glance between the dead one’s legs and see another set of feet. The fifth and final goblin has apparently joined us from across the alley. If it gets to me now, I’m even more royally screwed then I was before. Drawing my holstered gun isn’t an option since it’s being pinned inside my jacket. I try for Joan’s, but it’s just out of reach behind me, my fingertips barely grazing it.
The fire escape, groans in protest. It’s being overloaded with excess weight, just like the one above that broke away and dropped me. Uh, oh. I guess they haven’t been refurbished in some time, rusting out with the elements.
A sound like a snake hissing while eating sandpaper grinds through my head as the lone goblin hisses at me and reaches over and around its fallen comrade. It greatly wants to finish what its brethren couldn’t. I can’t let that happen—and I won’t. I glance down again, the fabric of my collar obscuring my view a little. I can’t see exactly what’s beneath me, but I know if I fall a foot or two in the opposite direction I’ll hit where the three other goblins now lay.
Not having any other choice, I reach back up and grasp the hilt of the knife. Then, I yank. It pops with another sickening slurp, and does two things. First, I’ve got my knife back. Second, the movement jars me free from the dead goblin’s grip.
I fall, but not before I reach out and snag the last goblin’s wrist. There’s no way it could’ve expected this. My presumption is immediately proven and I feel no resistance at all. My dead weight, along with its off-balance stance, creates the perfect carnival ride to hell.
It shrieks as we fall, but I don’t. I prepare for my landing. It’s going to be close. Falling together, I wink at it, fully knowing it can’t see the wink. It’s more for me than for it. Then, it’s gone, landing with a bone-crunching, wet thwap.
I, on the other hand, land in the grossest, most over-due-to-be-emptied dumpster on planet Earth. The splat from the goblin hitting sounds nearly identical to that of me landing in the rotted-out mess I just did. But… I’m alive.
“Thanks,” I say, patting the nearest trash bag. I shudder as my hand comes away covered in a viscous slime. I have no intention of looking at it, so I just sit up and wipe it on the side of the container.
Wanting nothing better than to rid myself of my foul-smelling surroundings, I stand, but quickly have to conceal myself again. Six more goblins are at the end of the alley and are headed my way. I have no shot at outrunning them in my current condition, and shooting it out won’t do it either. It’s not the amount of Unseen coming down the alley that frightens me, it’s the amount that will hear the shots and come to investigate the noise. I once again think about the millions of people that lived on the island.
“I guess, I’m waiting it out,” I whisper to myself. The stench of the dumpster should mask my scent perfectly too. It’s the only positive thing I can come up with and even then, it’s not easy to stay that optimistic about it. On the other hand, none of them actually saw me enter the trash receptacle either…for obvious reasons.
This might just work. But, if even one of them gets curious and comes snooping around over here.
Maybe not…
The sniffing gets louder and more feverous as one of the noseless bastards shuffles its way over to me. I hold my breath and wait, not sure what to do next. If the thing peeks in and gets a good whiff, I’ll no doubt have to kill it. I can’t risk it finding me and alerting its companions. But if I do that, I’ll be slaughtered for sure.
Especially trapped in this thing, I think as I look for anything to hide behind. I quickly discard the idea of moving. The noise will be just as bad. Either way, if I’m found, it’ll basically be like trying to fight my way out of a smelly broom closet.
Scratching grates my ears as it tests the metal container, doing its best to figure out if the dumpster is alive or not.
Not alive, dammit, I think trying to push my will upon the creature. NOT alive.
My insides squirm as a clawed hand
reaches over the rim and flexes, getting ready to hoist itself up and investigate.
And it does.
The top of its head appears and I slowly get my knife ready for another quick strike. My left hand is already reaching for my other gun, but I stop. A call of some sort barks from somewhere further down the alleyway. Then, its head lowers and the hand releases from the edge of the receptacle as the snarling continued. Almost immediately after the crescendo dies down, I hear the curious one follow, leaving me to literally rot.
“Some bitch,” I say, repeating my Jackie Gleeson impression from before. I lay my head back against the filthy innards of the dumpster and sigh, closing my eyes. “Could definitely use Trigger right about now.” But I know deep down that Bandit’s car couldn’t help me right now. The whole reason I haven’t just driven to the museum is because the roads are completely inaccessible by car. There are easily thousands of wrecks lining the streets. Even the tight alleyways have cars and other debris jammed into them. As soon as shit went south, people freaked and ran.
That’s probably how most of the survivors died. They panicked and tried to rush out of the city. Some even ran over others on foot, not caring about their neighbor. I saw some of it first hand as soon as I stepped out onto my street, seeing the chaos unfold before me.
I slowly stand, quickly peering out from inside my hiding place. Seeing that the coast is a hundred percent clear, I steady my footing and half-jump, half-fall out, landing hard on my ass.
The groan that escapes from my lips sounds like a deer letting out a fart before it dies… I’ve never actually heard a deer fart or hunted one for that matter, but that’s what I imagine dying buck-gas would sound like.
I sit up against the receptacle, nursing another new injury. My ribs are absolutely killing me. Falling from the seventh floor of a building can do that to you. I may leave this daring escape out of my story whenever I get a chance to tell Jill. She’ll call me a nut job, or a loony.
“Not too far from the truth.”
I go to push off the ground, but stop when my hand brushes up against the cold steel of my pry bar. I stand and kiss the clawed end for saving my life. I wobble into a somewhat upright position, having to lean on the garbage can for balance and support. The street is only twenty feet or so to my right and looks clear from where I stand. Looking across 1st Avenue, I smile when I see what has just become my next destination. The sign reads, “Harvey’s Menswear.”
I look down at my garbage-soaked clothes, turning towards the clothing store. The breeze kicks up, and I smell myself, gagging.
Ugh.
Ripping off my jacket, I enjoy the cold wind blowing through the alley. It’s the first time in a while I’ve had time to even think of the temperature. It feels like I’ve been sweating from exertion for the better part of the last thirty-six hours. I know better though. It’s too damn cold to sweat like that, but my mind feels like it has. It’s tired—maybe still a little tipsy—and generally when I feel this exhausted, I’ve been sweating in some capacity.
It’s decided then. “Harvey’s it is.”
Daddy needs some new digs.
13
I hurry across the intersection, watching for trouble the whole time. Back on the other side of 1st Avenue, I dive towards the high-end clothing store’s doors. They’re big and glass, but I can’t see through them.
Interesting, I think, pulling open one of them.
If they are what I think they are, then this could actually be a rare advantage for me. At least while I’m here anyway. As soon as I enter, I shut them and look, being able to see through them perfectly.
Two-way mirrored doors. Like a funhouse or in my case, a police station’s interview room.
I quickly zigzag through the store, finding whatever I can. Not bothering with a dressing room, I completely strip down and throw on my new wears, ripping off tags and annoying size stickers as I go. My jacket is a pain in the ass, being the most expensive of what I found. I have to go to the front counter and find the stupid sensor removal tool that every retail worker seems to have a problem using. I snag the sensor and pop it free on the first try, smiling to myself.
The simple pleasures in life.
I slip my holster back on and then the jacket. I have to wear a size bigger to account for the gun. It’ll bulge and poke into the back of the jacket if I wear the proper size, giving away that I’m carrying.
Not that it matters now. I could have two six-shooters strapped to my hips right now and it wouldn’t matter. All I’d need is the hat.
Nevertheless, it’s more comfortable to wear it looser in my case. I’m kind of in between sizes anyways, so the extra-large doesn’t look like a garbage bag on my broad shoulders.
Just for shits and giggles, and needing an extra minute to recover, I put the price tags on the counter. Adding them up proves extremely comical, and I laugh the entire time while I do it.
Four hundred dollars! That’s what I would have spent on my new clothes—plus tax. I’m not exactly sure why a t-shirt, a thermal long sleeve, a leather jacket, and jeans would cost so outrageously much, but whatever. I didn’t pay for them, so, what do I care?
Maybe it’s the boxers and socks that put me over the mark? Either way, I’m super comfortable and snug as a bug in my new—warmer—attire.
Snug as a bug? Great… Thanks, Mom.
It’s no surprise that I’ve picked up some of my parents’ euphemisms and overall quirkiness. We all have them. Some are just more hidden than others. Not me, though. I wear Mom and Dad right out on my sleeves. Well, what I meant was… Never mind—forget it.
Next, I reattach the knife and shove the spare Glock down the back of my pants, wishing it had a safety. The Taser is next, going into my jacket’s right-hand pocket. It’ll be a quick and easy extraction if and when I need it.
I turn and stare back into the full-length mirror and look myself over. I pretty much look exactly the same as I did before, but with clean upgrades. Jacket and jeans are the standard for me, just typically not expensive ones like these.
Satisfied, I head back to the entrance and stop, standing just inside the front door of the abandoned high-end retail shop. I breathe deep as I contemplate my next move. I know the city like the back of my hand, so direction and course aren’t a problem. The real issue is the random hordes of monsters roaming the city looking for a fresh meal.
Fresh is actually irrelevant when it comes to the age of their meal. While I’ve been running, I’ve seen goblins here and there eating the dead. It’s something I recall seeing now that I’ve had a chance to slow down and think. I’m not sure if they’d eat the long-since-dead, but I really don’t plan on being around to find out.
Kids are another oddity I haven’t come across. I’ve literally seen no children alive or otherwise. It’s another of the mysteries that I hope to never solve. I’ve had enough issues with dead or dying kids while working. I don’t need that here too. But it may be pretty obvious why.
Too small and too weak of competition.
I remember the first time I saw the Unseen… When the woman changed and then attacked those high schoolers. She dove at the first one, before it could turn to face her.
She bit down on the kid’s neck, much like what happened to Betty.
A vision of Betty’s death replays in my mind, and I watch again as her life fades. I even feel her coldness still as I grip her lifeless hand. Shaking the vision of her death out of my head, I grasp the door handle.
I refocus off of Betty and back onto the memory of siren as she drops the lifeless teen. The other five gremlins—the kids—attacked, slashing and clawing ferociously at the siren. She barely felt it. The lady, completely decked out in fluffy overpriced furs, roared and fought back. I turned away before the end, not needing to see who won the fight. I suspect it was the siren though. The smaller Unseen were horribly outmatched even though they outnumbered the lady six-to-one.
The cold metal handhold breaks me from the remembr
ance, and it’s for the first time since changing that I’ve felt cold. I was so used to it in my other gear that I stopped noticing it. I’m guessing it’s because I only had a t-shirt on under my thinner, older jacket. The only time I’ve felt good since leaving my place has been inside the library or Betty’s building. Like everyone else in the city, they had their heat on before losing power. It’s only been off for just over a day as of now, so it was still comfortable inside both places.
I let go of the handle and look at my hands. Even though I’m much warmer and completely dry, they shake. I’m horrified right now. My police duties and crime scene experience have nullified some of the awful things I’ve seen, but I’m still scared shitless. Mostly for my wife.
She has none of the qualifications to handle this sort of thing—minus being a decent shot with the small caliber pistol she carries. It doesn’t pack much punch, but Jill is a pretty okay shot with it. Hopefully, she brought it with her to the gala. She normally does, not trusting anyone other than me with her safety. We may have had a rocky marriage of late, but she’s always trusted me…and I her.
It’s what cemented our relationship. An idiot friend of Jill’s wrecked her car on the way home from a party and called my then girlfriend to help. She brought me along, having been staying the night at my place. We had been dating for around six months at the time and the connection between us was instant. She brought me because of my connections with the police and ability to change a tire if need be.
Her friend—we won’t name any names—didn’t anticipate Jill bringing her cop boyfriend though. I had actually planned on looking the other way, but the drunkard went off on my lady for me being there.
Not cool.
Ten minutes later, Suzy McBitchy was in handcuffs, crying in the back of a patrol car for drunk and reckless driving charges. I even helped her into the backseat, reading her Miranda rights while giggling the whole time.
