by Matt James
Yogi doesn’t see the attack coming until the fresh bear, Boo-Boo is upon it. Once within range, the smaller bear swats the larger predator with its still massive ten-inch-wide paw. The claws dig in deep and rip into the Unseen beast.
Yogi’s head snaps to the side with the force of a sledge hammer as it’s sent sprawling to the ground. It slides through the slick of blood it created, coming to a stop as it smashes into a mailbox. I cringe at the sound of metal being torn away and destroyed as the 2,000lb bear’s body rips the metal box from its anchorages. The bolts snap like a gunshot and tear from the concrete leaving only the slightest of traces of its existence.
Boo-Boo then looks at us, but before it can decide whether we are enemies or just food—neither of which are a good thing—Yogi rights itself and bellows into the air. The larger bear then mimics Boo-Boo, rearing up onto its hind legs before landing and throwing its thicker frame back towards its relative.
As ready as it can be, Boo-Boo stands pat, mouth agape, ready to sink the enormous teeth filling its maw into Yogi’s hide. Not being able to visually see the white bear throws off the crimson one’s attack, though. Yogi’s chin lifts too far up, giving the other the advantage. Boo-Boo simply lowers its head and lifts, launching Yogi skyward with all its prodigious might.
I watch as the one-ton bear sails over Boo-Boo’s back, destroying a Mazda when it lands. Its hulking form crumples the car’s roof, flattening it like a soda can underfoot. Glass bursts everywhere, some embedding itself into Yogi, causing the blood covered animal to bleed its own blood.
“Should we help?” I ask Vinny.
“Yes?” he replies, unsure.
I get an idea. “Go, get us over near Yogi!”
He looks back up to me with a look of shock.
“The red one!” I yell again, pointing.
“I know which one is Yogi!” he shouts back, jumping out of the bed. “I just really don’t want to get near that thing.” He reenters the truck, slamming his door shut, keeping his weapon’s barrel propped up, facing out the open window. Boo-Boo rounds on Yogi, backing off a little. It’s now a good twenty feet from the other bear, giving us a small opening to execute my plan.
Usually, I wouldn’t advise getting in between two polar bears when they’re fighting, but we need to end this before Yogi gets its wits about it and takes apart the smaller bear. I have no doubt that the Unseen version of these two can take all the pain being dished out, but Boo-Boo can’t. Eventually, it’ll lose. Plus, Boo-Boo is a survivor and deserves a chance to stay that way. Call it a ‘two-pack of righteousness.’ Slay the demon, save the innocent.
Vinny squeals the truck’s tires and sends us hurtling across the intersection, towards the monster. All that is going through my mind is a multitude of cursing and me saying, God, I hope this works.
Thankfully, Boo-Boo is startled by the truck’s powerful V-8 and its chirping tires. It stops its advance and almost cowers at the sound and sight of us.
Good.
“Stop!” I yell, banging on the roof of the truck.
Vinny responds to my request, and power slides us the rest of the way, sending us sideways towards Yogi’s resting place. The bear is still trying to right itself and turn over, but it’s having issues doing so. It’s wedged tight, buried into the four-banger’s roof, unable to free itself. As we stop the last part of my plan comes to fruition.
Sorry, big guy.
“Fire!”
Vinny and I unload into Yogi, sending every shotgun shell loaded, into the thing’s body, neck, and head. We don’t stop until we’re both clicking on empty. But the aftereffect is what I wanted. Yogi is down and definitely not coming back.
I didn’t ‘want’ this.
The behemoth is a mess of gore, its head missing and its entrails shredded. I look around and instantly realize something. I’m out of ammo for the moment and have another potential enemy to deal with. But my fear is unwarranted, Boo-Boo is taking off back towards the zoo’s main entrance further down 5th, frightened off by our intense barrage of 12-gauge gunfire.
I breathe and climb down from my perch, stumbling a little. My hands are shaking horribly from the physical toll, and my anger is rising from the emotional taxation.
How much adrenaline does a body have to use? I think, clenching my fists tight.
I leap down from the rear bed and open my door, half-climbing, half-falling into my seat. I throw my empty weapon to the floor at my feet, frustrated at the whole damn enchilada. My rage and frustration are starting to boil over—I can feel it. I need to calm down before I do something stupid.
Screaming as loud and as long as I can, I finish off my outburst by punching the glove compartment a few times. After I gag on my raw, dry throat, I open my tear-filled eyes and see Vinny staring at me. It’s not a look of repulsion, though. He isn’t seeing me as some emotionally distraught psychopath. He gets it. He’s a mess too. I’m just more outward with my feelings apparently.
“You good?” he asks.
I nod, wiping the snot from my nose with the back of my hand and. I then take care of the tears streaming down my face. I grit my teeth one last time but squelch the anger down.
Get back in control, Frank.
We sit in silence for a minute while reloading our weapons neither of us saying a word. It’s only until I feel my temper come back down to Earth that I open my mouth.
“Okay, let’s go.”
Vinny puts the vehicle into gear and turns, taking us down the 65th Street Transverse, beginning our trip through Central Park. With any luck, we’ll see Spook Central soon. I may even wave to Dana Barrett in the corner penthouse. It’s actually something I’ve never done, but have wanted to do for a decade. Call it my inner child coming out a little again.
Do it now or forever hold your peace, I remind myself. We aren’t coming back.
For the time being, we just merely cruise, unsure of what’s to come in the massive park. There are plenty of possibilities, however. Some are nothing we can’t handle. Some are more of what we’ve come to expect. But knowing my luck, Vinny and I are about to get the shit kicking of a lifetime.
I just hope the kicker wears a smaller sized steel toe. After what I just went through in the back of the truck, my ass can’t take any more punishment.
22
The drive is blissfully quiet which actually scares me even worse than an all-out assault. I know they are out there somewhere. Why they aren’t attacking us yet is a really bothersome question. I’d much rather have my enemy right in front of me where my shotgun can see them than getting jumped from behind.
Especially when the bad guys aren’t some punks trying to snag my wallet.
“Could they be waiting for us somewhere else?” I ask aloud. The inquiry was rhetorical and really only meant for my own ears, but Vinny, seated next to me, replies.
“From what you told me before—about the siren leading a pack of the men… It could be that they are regrouping and sitting tight until another opportunity arises.”
I nod slightly, looking out my window. It’s exactly what I was thinking too. We haven’t seen that type of behavior since my run in with them the first time I visited Harvey’s. I shot that particular siren, but I have no doubt that she’s still out there causing all kinds of havoc. Could there be more like her? Sure. Why wouldn’t there be? Or was she a particular case? Was she the alpha of the alpha?
I try to ignore the questions and take in the scenery. Central Park is usually a fantastic place to lose your thoughts and drift, but now from what I can see… It was also a place to lose your life. Bodies lay everywhere. Men, women, children—all ages. It was a slaughter of epic proportions. Cold, but clear weather, drew out everyone. There are activities to do throughout the park if Mother Nature permits and this weekend was no different.
She did, I think, shaking my head at the sight. It takes a lot to discourage New Yorkers from their daily activities. Cold and no snow is a cake walk for most here.
Vi
nny slows, bringing me back to the now, and stops as we near the halfway point of our scenic route through the park. The overpass at the crossing of Central Drive—of which we need to go under—is impassable, blocked by a large pileup. Looking closer, it’s actually kind of pathetic really. The accident is mainly made up of a cluster of hybrids.
Like a bunch of Hot Wheels piled up on some kid’s track.
“Um…” Vinny says, glancing over to me. “Suggestions?”
I lean forward and look back-and-forth, left and right, seeing if there’s a way around. I do recall a path through the Heckscher Ballfields, but am unsure if it’s travelable. We played a department vs. department softball tournament there in the spring, so I’m somewhat familiar with the grounds. There’s about half-a-dozen softball diamonds arranged around each other. Their outfields meet in the middle with no fencing to separate them, making for some pretty exciting moments if, and or when, someone gets a hold of one and sends a ball into another game.
“Turn off here and head down the footpaths,” I say, pointing left towards the wide pedestrian-friendly sidewalk. “We should be able to cross through the softball fields and find another way back to the main road. The whole field is surrounded by paths that will lead us back to 65, or maybe, West Drive.”
“Off-road?” he asks.
“Yep, we're going off the beaten path.”
He goes left, slowly edging us onto the walkway. The truck is much too big to fit its entire girth, so he just leaves the passenger side wheels off, trudging them through the grass and dirt. It’s a bouncy ride for me, but I’d much rather have my driver sitting as still as possible, keeping a firm handle on the steering wheel. Besides, the high-end shocks and comfy leather seats, reduce the jostling some.
At least we aren’t in his Camaro.
“You, okay?” Vinny asks, seeing me bobbing up and down.
“Fine,” I quickly reply, through gritted teeth. “Just keep it as steady as you can.”
We come up to a small intersection. The trees hang ominously out-and-over the road some, casting us in their shadows. I motion for Vinny to turn right and follow another path, weaving us towards our destination. He does, and we quickly find ourselves approaching another small tunnel. This one is by no means built for a truck to pass through, but…
“Are we going to fit?” Vinny asks.
I shrug. “I think so. The last time I came through here I remember it being fairly big.”
He tilts his head and cracks his neck, continuing forward until we come to where the footpath continues under the Central Drive overpass. It’s going to be a tight fit, but I’m pretty confident we can make it through without getting stuck. That would suck. Getting our only mode of transportation jammed in a concrete tunnel would qualify as a worst-case scenario situation.
“Hang on,” I say, grabbing my Mossberg. We’re ten or so feet away now. “Stop here and turn off the engine. I want to check something.”
Then, like a crazy man, I open my door and step out, shotgun at the ready. Vinny doesn’t say a word as he kills the motor, understanding that I want complete silence. I need to be able to hear if anything is trying to sneak up on us before I stray too far.
I make my way around the front end and stop, shutting my eyes and forcing my other senses to take over. First, I listen, only hearing the slight sway of the tree branches in the cold, somewhat refreshing breeze. I continue concentrating on the sounds around me but hear nothing.
Too quiet.
Then, I sniff the air. It’s a combination of smells, ranging from the woody scent and the truck’s exhaust. But there’s also something else mixed in. The breeze shifts, now coming from straight ahead, strengthening the smell. It’s an odor I’ve unfortunately come to know all too well. Blood.
I open my eyes, tensing my finger over the trigger, but see nothing. I feel the air flow again, realizing it’s presently being funneled by the tunnel ahead. The air is being channeled by the void in the trees that the ballfields create, speeding up the usually gentle breeze.
It happens all the time in Florida during a hurricane. I remember when we got whacked one year, and the back portion of our neighborhood wasn’t yet built, but the land was cleared. It gave the wind an unabated trajectory right into the back of our house. The pressure built up so much that it pushed the water under the sliding glass door’s track. You can guess what happened next.
Sniffing again, I confirm my prior conclusion that whatever is up ahead is the source of the smell. Heckscher Fields has seen death.
I turn back to the truck and motion for Vinny to keep his eyes on the tunnel behind me as I guide him through. He nods, and I begin to backpedal, waving for him to follow.
The engine cranks to life and rolls towards me, its breaks squeaking a little as Vinny rides them. I cringe and stop, raising my hand for Vinny to do the same. I peek around the rear of the truck and then to each side looking for movement. Not seeing or hearing anything in front of me, I quickly recheck behind me. Nothing. Releasing the breath I didn’t realize I was holding in, I again motion for Vinny to continue forward.
The sky around me darkens as I step into the shadows of the tunnel. It’s dark and creepy enough for the hair on the back of my neck to stand once more, but light enough for us to still see without needing the truck’s headlights. Not being able to hear or see would be an excessive sensory overload.
As the truck’s front end enters the tunnel, it causes the roar of the engine to increase in volume. The arch-shaped enclosure is amplifying the sound, causing me to cringe. Now, not only can’t I hear the world around me, but now I can’t even hear myself think. My sleep-deprived mind and multitude of headshots I’ve taken are really starting to take their toll on me. The rising decibels were apparently the final straw.
I quickly step to each side and watch as the collapsed mirrors barely make it, having an inch to spare at most. Any bigger and we’d be stuck.
A skittering sound whips up around me, and I flinch, turning and raising my weapon. But nothing’s there. I could have sworn I heard the sound of a goblin’s nails scratching against the concrete. The sound erupts around me again, making me jump back as something slaps my feet. My back painfully bangs into the halted vehicle as I reel back in surprise.
I lower the barrel of my shotgun to the disturbance, expecting to see a creature grabbing at my ankle, and see a swirling garbage tornado. It’s been kicked up by the air pumping through the tunnel. I watch as it’s then drawn up-and-under the truck as it goes by. I stop and stare as pieces randomly strike both my feet, filling the air with the same rustling sound as before.
Dammit, I think, lowering the Mossberg and turning. Vinny is staring at me through the windshield, a look of confusion on his face. He obviously didn’t see or hear anything so it must look like I got spooked by a rat or something else small and insignificant.
He slowly raises his thumb, asking me if I’m okay. I return the question with the wave of my hand and beckon him forward, hoping the task at hand will squelch my rising embarrassment. It’s burning on the back of my cold, windswept neck. Thankfully, Vinny acquiesces and releases the brake, rolling the large truck forward again.
Light appears from behind, signaling me that we’re almost done with our confined jaunt. I turn and see what I expected, a half-filled parking lot. It was a cold, but clear night on Friday and a few softball games must have been in session. By the looks of it, there may be a couple dozen cars, equaling about forty to fifty people—give-or-take. It’s a rough estimate because I have no idea how many of them carpooled, drove alone, or were brought here by public transportation. It could realistically be closer to sixty or seventy maybe.
The real question is… Are they still here?
I hope not, honestly. That would make for a ton of Unseen to fend off in the open. Then again, wide-open spaces are the perfect spot to use the truck as a weapon too. It would be like plowing through the snow.
Being in front of Vinny and the truck, I exit the
tunnel first, turning as I do. Not seeing anything, I step off the curb and sigh in relief, and am immediately struck from above. My unseen attacker lands hard, right on top of me, bashing me to the unyielding asphalt of the parking lot.
I get ready to turn over and fight back, but instead have two hands grab me. One clutches my jacket, and the other receives a grimy fistful of hair. I start to panic, thinking I’m about to be yanked off the ground and tossed away—or maybe even pulled in and gnawed on. I’m not exactly sure which.
But before the creature can do either, I hear shouting and then beeping. I look back as I struggle to free myself and briefly glimpse around the goblin’s head. My eyes go wide as Vinny floors the pedal and shoots the truck out of the tunnel like a cannonball, directly at us. Seeing only one option, I finally wiggle out of the thing’s grasp, losing a few hairs in the process. Then, I quickly dive to the ground, flattening myself on my stomach.
Just as I hit the ground again, the truck rolls over me, slamming into the monster. It’s sent flying into one of the parked cars, slamming face first. Half under the Ford, I quickly crawl out, feeling the heat of the engine kissing the back of my neck. I shakily climb to my feet, stunned at what happened and at the prospect of almost being run over.
Technically, I was run over.
Screeching fills the parking lot, and I do a quick three-sixty, but don’t see anything. Then, remembering where my assailant came from, I look up. The overpass is alive with bodies—hundreds of them. They squirm over each other like a giant mass of worms, moving like liquid. They are precisely what a tidal wave of death would look like if there were such a thing.
I bolt for the passenger side door and leap in. Not having to tell Vinny what I saw, he crams down the pedal again with all his might. The first surge attacks, leaping at us from above. Booms and thumps erupt from behind as at least five or six of them land in the bed of our quickly accelerating vehicle.
