by Matt James
Come clean when the time is right.
As I reiterate my tale, I realize that each and every encounter is worse than the one before it. By the time I’m done telling her, she’s in tears again. She stops me in my tracks with a soft and loving hand to my face, stroking my thickening stubble.
I reach up and hold it in place and look into her eyes. “I told you I was coming.”
She throws herself into my arms again, sobbing, not caring if anyone is watching. She’s put on a decent front so far, but deep down she’s terrified and has been since this all began.
“Hey,” I say, getting her attention. “Stay by my side no matter what, and I promise you,” I kiss her, “we’ll make it to the river.”
She nods, and I wipe her tears with my overpriced hankie from Harvey’s.
She sees it and laughs. “Why do you have a silk handkerchief with an F embroidered on it?”
I grin and then laugh a little. It sure does feel good to laugh right now. Every time I smile or laugh, I can feel some of the weight being lifted off my shoulders. I guess I forgot the whole Harvey’s story, but I don’t get a chance to tell her. We’ve arrived at the—
“Oh, great,” I hear someone say, instantly getting crushed from above by more stress.
I turn away from Jill and see everyone standing still, watching as John inspects what I thought would be the 72nd Street subway station.
“Is that a subway train?” I ask from the back of the group, making my way up to the front, holding Jill’s hand. Once our beams add to the other’s lights, I see it for what it is.
“Nope,” Carla says, “it’s actually two of them.”
The imposing transports are parked side-by-side, blocking our egress. We need to get around them—which I quickly see isn’t going to work, or…
“Looks like we’re going in,” John says, frowning, not happy.
“In?” Carla asks, her voice cracking.
“Yes, in,” John answers, testing one of the rear doors. It doesn’t budge. “Darn.”
“Darn?” I ask.
Jill elbows me in the ribs. “Not everyone has a potty mouth like you.”
Vinny begins to chuckle at my expense but quickly stops.
“Or you, Vincente.”
He looks away from Jill’s venomous glare like he found something better to look at in the darkened shaft.
“Hang on, John,” I say, climbing up to the door. “I got it.”
“How are you going to open it?” Carla asks, her attitude returning in spades.
I slam the butt end of my shotgun into the glass window, shattering it. Then, I carefully reach inside the new hole and unlock the door. Stepping through, I turn back to the crabby woman. “Like that.”
Jill grins and steps up. I half-lift her, my wrecked arm giving out a little. Realizing this, she quickly makes up for my lack of strength and grabs a handhold, hoisting herself up the rest of the way.
I look down and watch as she tiptoes in, her red heels skittering through the broken glass. The shuffling echoes a little through the subway tunnel, making it sound like it’s coming from behind us. “First stop when we get topside is a department store. We need to get you ladies some new footwear.”
Jill looks down and nods. “Something a little more appropriate would be nice—clothes too. I’m freezing.”
I wiggle out of my cozy jacket and slip it onto her shoulders, earning me a peck on the cheek and a look that says, “If only we were alone…”
Smiling, I decide not to mention that she has my blood-soaked jacket on. I’m sure she knows and is too cold to care. There could be worse things than that going on right this second.
Shouldering my shotgun, I step further into the train car, seeing nothing but death. Bodies are everywhere, most in pieces. No movement though—which is good. Whatever was here seems to have moved on.
Vinny is next, seeing the inside of the car when he’s halfway up. “Fabulous…” He then mutters what must be another string of Italian curses, because he gets another look from Jill.
I offer him my good hand, and he takes it, getting a shove from Carla from below. He quickly turns and helps her up next. As soon as she sees the bloodbath, she gags, dry heaving at the sight…ugh…and smell.
John’s in next and then Mrs. Howard. I turn away and peer deeper into the subway car.
“Front of the train must be at the platform,” I say, breaking down what must have happened. “Would have made it super easy for a few of the creatures to get inside and shred everything in sight.”
“Hang on, Mr. Howard.”
I turn back and watch as John tries to help the other man into the car, pulling him up while the elderly man climbs the steps. He’s halfway into the car when he gets yanked out, shattering the surrounding quietness with a wail of agony. He quickly disappears, shouting the entire time. I’m about to rush forward, but a distinct gurgle and a spray of blood ends in the man’s silence.
Snarling hums from the darkness below. Something is down there, and it’s eating Mr. Howard.
“No! Jack!”
Mrs. Howard hobbles forward, tripping on the dead, screaming her husband’s name. She pushes past the bewildered night guard and is forcibly wrenched from the train car, meeting the same fate as her dearly departed. She barely gets out a cry of protest before it too is cut off.
More growling erupts from below, and we back up from the rear door, stumbling over the bodies as Mrs. Howard did. I grab John and forcibly pull him along, so he isn’t ripped from the subway car as well. After a second or two of being hauled further into the car, he shrugs free of my grip, coming around.
I step around him and point my shotgun towards the door—just as a siren leaps in, mouth agape, dripping blood. I follow her through the air, squeezing the trigger of my weapon, but ease off it. Three quick shots, all striking the demon in the chest, erupt from John’s gun. The siren falls at my feet as I jump away, falling into an empty seat. Then, the former Marine calmly steps forward and puts a bullet in the creature’s head, ending her hunt for good.
I look up to him, mouth open in shock.
He doesn’t say a word and turns, walking the other way.
Vinny steps over and helps me up. He then walks over and taps the she-thing with his shoe. “Guy doesn’t mess around, does he?”
I look back and watch John as he leads the way forward.
“Damn right he doesn’t.”
Just for peace of mind, I step over the dead siren and close the door, locking it. It won’t keep anything out for long with the window busted out, but at least it might slow them down a little.
“You okay, babe?”
I turn around, seeing the worried look on Jill’s face increase.
I shake my head. “No—no I’m not."
32
I join John at the front of our little survivalist group. A group that is now two less in number. His look, while hard and true, is now even firmer—angrier.
“You probably already know this,” I whisper, “but fighting angry rarely works out for you...” I step in front of him and stop, “or the people you’re trying to protect.”
He meets my eyes, and I see them soften a pinch. It’s the only acknowledgment I get as he steps around me, continuing his march forward. The guy is determined if anything, but I suspect he understands what I just said.
Dad would be proud.
It was another of his teachings when he was training me. Fighting angry rarely works out, because you generally don’t think straight. A boxer needs to be intense and intimidating, but they also need to think rationally and strategically. I’d assume a soldier—Special Forces or not—would be the same.
The dead don’t thin out as we hit the halfway point of our romp through the Train of Doom. They must have been trying to bus people out when Abaddon was incoming, trying to leave the area.
Didn’t work out too well. Especially when we lost power. I’m still trying to figure that one out. Near as I can tell the only rea
son that would happen if an electromagnetic pulse of some kind wiped out every circuit around. But if that were true, then everything, including Vinny’s truck, would’ve been out of commission as well.
My thoughts are interrupted by an all too familiar sound of scratching nails. It echoes through the car, stopping us in our tracks. I nudge John, getting the zoned-in man’s attention.
“We need to move faster.”
He nods and sets his pace at a fast walk. I quickly follow Jill right behind me. Carla is next, followed by Vinny who’s continuing to glance behind us, keeping watch.
BOOM!
The roof above us bends in slightly, getting a shriek out of Carla. It’s followed by two quick shots from Vinny as he punches twin-holes through the ceiling with his shotgun. A howl arises, his rounds apparently finding their intended target.
Carla continues her retreat and rolls her ankle, spilling to the metal floor. Landing like she did usually wouldn’t have been too bad, except when she does, she falls into a sludgy pile of gore. On her hands and knees, Carla vomits, quickly realizing what she’s laying in.
Vinny hauls her up but doesn’t get the chance to console her. Another boom and crunch follow, spurring me into motion.
“Run!” I half-yell, half-whisper.
John doesn’t argue the point and takes off, Glock still pointed forward. Jill and I are hot on his heels, as are Vinny and Carla. Well, Vinny mostly… He’s basically carrying the blood-soaked woman now, opting for a more controlled option. She now goes as fast as he goes—which is still pretty quick for a big guy carrying another human being on his shoulder like a potato sack.
We exit the subway car at a sprint, turning and heading for the stairs to street level. We need to get inside whatever building we can and hide. I don’t even want to speculate on what could be chasing us, but the dents in the metal roof of the subway car tells me it’s at least one siren—maybe more than one.
John leads the way and quickly scales the steps to the outside, stopping as he reaches the top. He peeks out in every direction and ushers us forward. Jill and I pass him as he raises his gun.
The D’Angelos are next, following closely behind. Vinny forcibly yanks Carla up the steps as she stumbles and trips on a broken heel.
We definitely need to find better shoes.
“Move it!” I yell and take off down 72nd, gripping Jill’s hand. Four shots from John, aimed back down the stairs, sends me into another gear as I push myself, and Jill, even faster. We can only move so quickly though since she’s still in heels like Carla, but it’s good enough for the time being.
Thank God she’s an athlete, I think as I run. Her natural balance is paying off big time right now… Unlike Carla.
“Where are we going?” Vinny yells, following along closely, still dragging Carla along.
“There’s a sporting goods store a block-and-a-half away, between Columbus and Broadway! Head for it!”
“Tortoise & Hare Activewear?” Jill asks, doing her best to keep up.
“Yep, it’s where I bought you those yoga pants you like so much. They also have running shoes.”
“Good!” she yells but continues in a voice only loud enough for me to hear. “Because I’m freezing my nipples off!”
My foot catches something at the outburst, but I don’t fall. For a moment, I forgot how to run.
We continue to run as fast as possible. Mid-stride, I turn to her. “God I’ve missed you.”
She smiles, understanding that meant more than just these last couple of days. “I’ve missed you too.”
“Faster!”
I turn and glance behind me, seeing John running for his life. The look of fright is one I’ve unfortunately seen from someone running away from the Unseen. It means they are behind us and gaining.
We blow through the crosswalk at Columbus, rapidly approaching the sporting goods store. Cars are like they are everywhere—piled up. Bodies clutter the ground in various forms of decomposition and decay.
What’s left of them anyways.
“Dammit,” I say, turning again. I can’t see anything behind Vinny’s hulking form. “What do you have, John?”
“Four guys and another lady,” he shouts. “Coming up fast.”
“Okay,” I yell back. “You and Vinny, on me. Jill and Carla keep going to the store. Get inside and hide.”
No one argues, and I get a tight squeeze on my hand.
“I’ll be fine. Just sit tight and shoot anything that isn’t us.”
“Okay,” she replies. “Just be careful.”
“Now!”
I turn and stop next to Vinny, pointing our shotguns behind us. John stops a few yards in front of us and raises his gun, only to have a clawed hand burst through his back. The barrel to my Mossberg dips slightly as the bloodied face of a siren, leans out from behind the night guard. My chest constricts at seeing his arms and feet spasming in shock, but there’s nothing we can do. The siren punched a hole clean through his sternum, no doubt rupturing countless organs and arteries.
In John’s last moment of heroic defiance, he snaps up his gun, shoves it under the siren’s chin, and pulls the trigger. The bullet bursts through the creature’s skull, splattering the incoming goblins with brain and blood. I watch as the two combatants fall to the side together in slow-motion, still locked in combat, both dead on their feet.
The gun I lent John goes flying, kicked forward by a falling body and lands at Vinny’s feet.
Firing, we make quick work of the four goblins, killing each with a shell a piece. I step forward, towards the carnage, hoping there’s something I can do for the man, but I’m held back by a strong, yet gentle, hand.
“Come, my friend.”
I turn to him, seeing the remorse in his eyes. “He died a hero. The best way to thank him is to survive.” Like Betty, I think. He then bends down and picks up the discarded weapon.
I nod slightly and turn, following my cousin.
Three doors later, we arrive at Tortoise & Hare. I watch as Vinny’s shaking hand opens the door for me. We enter in silence. It’s not until I see Jill stand up from behind the front counter, gun in hand, that I let my emotions take over. I fall to my knees and weep, my built-up resolve totally gone.
Jill falls next to me and wraps her arms around me. “What’s wrong? Where’s John?”
Through tear-filled eyes I see Vinny shake his head, silent as a mime.
“Oh, no…” Jill’s arms tighten. “I’m...”
I sob again, getting what feels like a lifetime’s worth of tears out of my system. I wasn’t close to John—hell I only just met the man. But he was a good man. A hero. I will never forget what he’s done for us.
I stand and wipe my eyes. Turning, I walk over to the front doors of the shop and lock them. The wood framing and thick glass will make for excellent cover and hopefully hide us from any wandering mobs. They can smell us, I have no doubt about it, but the scent of death outside is overpowering. Sometimes hiding in plain sight is the best option.
“What are you doing?” Jill asks.
“We’re spending the night here. The sun will be setting soon, and it’s getting colder outside. Plus, there’s near zero visibility at night, remember? Romping through the city will be suicide.” Carla’s about to argue even though I explained it earlier. I cut her off, not at all in the mood. “I want to leave as soon as possible too, but our best chance of surviving is waiting for the sun to rise.”
I end the statement by walking deeper into the store. I sit on one of the stores many benches and look up, seeing my distraught reflection in a full-length mirror. Mentally, I’m about to smash it to bits, but I feel Jill sit down next to me.
“You’re not the man I met all those years ago… Or even last week.”
That gets a slight smile out of me, which is a lot considering what just happened. “No… I’m not.”
“You’re better.”
I turn and see the same hungry look in her eyes I saw in the tunnel. The
way the sun is peeking through the glass storefront makes her face glow in the light, stirring up my insides again.
“Do you know if this place has somewhere private for us to properly refamiliarize ourselves with one another?”
She smiles wide and takes my hand, leading me into the store’s stockroom. She’s on me as soon as I shut the door, barely having time to turn around.
33
Monday morning
A rustling sound wakes me, sending me into another mini panic attack. I’ve yet to get used to waking up in a strange place, and it’s something I hope to never get used to actually. But I can’t expect anything different, I guess. Death encompasses me—us—wherever we go. Honestly, what else am I supposed to feel when I’m always waking up wondering if I’m next? It’s quite frightening.
I draw my gun, scaring the only other person in the dark room with me. She jumps at my sudden and violent movement, dropping her bra. While usually I’d be quite pleased to have a half-naked Jillian Moon in front of me, I’m actually mortified. I almost shot her.
“Sorry,” I say, sitting up and handing the undergarment back to her. It’s of the sports variety and should give her adequate support. I’ve nicknamed them, Boob Nazis, for obvious reasons. I secretly hate the things. Again, for obvious reasons.
She takes the constricting device and squeezes into it. “You okay?”
I nod. “It’s become a habit, waking, thinking I’m about to die.”
Seeing the goosebumps on her skin, I stand and hand her a skintight, long-sleeve thermal. It was an easy guess that the shirt was hers since the tags were torn off and lying next to it. A bundle of black sportswear accompanies it, including the black cold weather running pants she already has on. She must have gone shopping while I slept, coming back here to change. The shoes are black as well and are duplicates to the pair she has back at the house.
‘Had’ back at the house.
“Black?” I ask.
She shrugs, slipping into the thermal, noticeably relaxing at being a little less exposed to the elements. “Figured it’ll be easier to hide. I just wanted to be cautious.”
