by Matt James
Not playing around, I march into the bedroom and snag my pistol, holding it at the low-ready in both my hands. But before I return to the living area, I notice a Zippo lighter next to where my pistol was. Never one to leave a good thing behind in a day and age like this, I pocket it.
Another bang.
I raise my gun, pointing it at the ceiling. Whatever is on top of Winnie, it’s testing her durability. The Unseen is attempting to find the path of least resistance.
It moves again, and when it does, it makes a squishing, rolling sound. In my mind’s eye, I recall the creatures we’ve encountered since making landfall.
Reaper? No.
Giant dog? Nope.
Squid? Ding, ding, ding… Tell them what they’ve won!
The noise that we’re hearing is a squid walking along the outer shell of our ride. The repeated squish, pop, squish, pop, is coming from its tentacles. And like most of the Unseen, when there’s one…
Hope squeals as something slaps against the rear of the vehicle. Jill ushers the girl forward and sets her down in the bench seat of the kitchen table. I look over and notice that she has her gun with her too, but has yet to raise it. Instead, Jill keeps it tucked into the front of her pants.
I place a finger on my lips and quietly slip into the driver’s seat. I say a silent prayer, begging for the battery to not be dead. Besides the battery, we need the gas tank to be intact—and full—as well. Jill stays on her feet, grimacing as she pulls her gun free. Her hand is still hurting, but she, nonetheless, does what she has to do.
That’s my girl.
The old-school Winnebago has curtains on the front windows to the left and right of me. There’s also a large sunshade up against the windshield. Nothing can see me where I am. Usually, in this instance, that would be a good thing. But I can’t see anything either… If the vehicle starts, I’m going to have to rip the shade down and throw it into gear at a speed I’m not sure I can muster.
Looking back, I mouth the question. “Ready?”
Jill and Hope nod. Hope grips onto the edge of the table, white-knuckling it hard.
Holding my breath, I turn the key and jump into action as the motor turns over. The first thing I see when I yank the sunshade off is the sickening face of a squid plastered up against the windshield. I put Winnie into drive and stomp my foot on the gas half a heartbeat later. The sudden motion surprises the creature, lifting it from the glass. I can see now, and thankfully, there isn’t anything in the way besides the curb.
“Hang on!”
We slam into it, causing everyone, myself included, to yelp. Winnie’s front end lifts majestically into the air like a breaching whale. As we rise, losing the horizon in the process, the squid freaks out, and lets go, disappearing overhead. With no rearview mirror, I have to rely on my side mirrors instead. I throw back the small curtain on my left just in time to see it ripped from its mount by a knotted tentacle.
The rear wheels connect with the curb next, getting a second cry out of Hope as she’s bounced around, hanging on for dear life. I glance over my shoulder and see that Jill has somehow stayed on her feet. She’s holstered her gun and is gripping onto the table with one hand while reaching across to the fridge’s handle with the other—all the while trying to verbally comfort Hope.
“Is it following us?” she asks.
I shrug. “No idea! I can’t see a thing!”
I struggle to guide Winnie through the grass, but her powerful engine does its job like a champ. We bounce once more, and this time, it’s back onto the road. Fan-friggin-tastic! Even before the rear wheels land, I’m already having to make split-second decisions on where to go. The road, like in Manhattan, is mostly unpassable.
Unlike Manhattan, Lake Worth is a much smaller town population-wise. But when it comes to square footage, Lake Worth is a lot bigger. Homes here are more spread out—much more land available.
There are plenty of lanes to steer through compared to what Vinny and I had to contend with while trying to get to Jill and Carla. That’s when a siren ripped me from the truck’s broken rear window and pinned me to its roof.
Topless she-monster. Fanged make out session. Impaled arm. Yadda, yadda, yadda…
Once Winnie’s rear tires stop fishtailing, Jill leaps into the passenger side seat. She throws open her window’s curtain before I can even ask. What can I say… We’re simpatico sometimes. I see her bobbing and weaving like a title boxer as she checks every angle in the mirror.
“I don’t see the squid!”
Biting my lip as I sideswipe a POS sedan, I just nod and keep my attention on the road.
“How’s Hope?”
“I’m okay,” she answers.
Looking back, I see that she’s still white-knuckling the table, looking scared as hell.
“Jill.” I tilt my head back. “Stay with her.”
She nods and kisses me on the cheek. “I’d love to do more to you right now…” Then, she leans in closer and whispers, “Try not to kill us, will ya?” With a wink, Jill leaves my side, but not before squeezing my shoulder. I look back and see her reach out to Hope. “Come on, honey.”
While having Jill by my side would be nice, Hope needs her more right now. Plus, I don’t want the kid to see why we’re bouncing around so much. I’m running over everything…and everyone.
It’s utter carnage out there.
From what I’ve seen so far, South Florida is just as bad as Manhattan. Our initial reason to come here was to find our families. Now, I’m not so sure the effort will be worth it. If anything, we should keep driving and do everything in our power to leave this version of New York behind.
7
Before the additional meteors fell from space, we had heard that the southern states had only sustained minor effects caused by Abaddon’s otherworldly “radiation.” Since Earth has gone to shit, no one has come up with a better explanation as to what it was besides that, radiation. Then again, I’ve been out of the loop for a while.
For all I know, NASA’s Dr. Kent has already figured out what happened and is currently coordinating with the government hierarchy with how to take out the Unseen on a grand scale.
Or, he died shortly after Jill and I ran for it, and we’re still at square one.
If I were a betting man, Dr. Kent getting torn to pieces would be the most likely outcome to put your money on. Regardless, I seriously doubt anyone has a fucking clue as to what’s really going on. The only reason I was considered an “authority” on the subject of the creatures was because I killed a bunch of them while gallivanting across Manhattan like a Knight of the Round Table.
I probably resembled King Arthur from ‘Monty Python and the Holy Grail,’ though. Then again, I don’t recall a guy following me around while banging together two halves of a coconut. I swear, if someone asks me about a shrubbery…
If it were up to me, I wouldn’t have killed a single one of the Unseen. All I wanted to do was to get to Jill, and the blind bastards just happened to be in my way. If they had gone to Queens, or even Brooklyn, I would’ve gladly waltzed my ass to the museum and picked up my wife without any conflict.
Anywho, back to the road.
Lake Avenue takes us up-and-over a section of water called the Intercoastal Waterway. The bridge is broken in some spots, and I have to navigate Winnie’s wide load carefully around the gaps. No offense, girl. Thankfully, they’re mostly on the eastbound side of the road and not the westbound. If we were traveling west and not east, we’d be royally screwed.
A humungous plume of water shoots into the sky off to the north, but I can’t see what caused it from here. It’s just out of sight—even from my higher vantage point. What I do know, is that it was caused by something alive in the water and not some random explosion.
Another Unseen Dick? Moby Dick that is.
A little further west is the “downtown” section of Lake Worth. Jill and I used to frequent the strip mall-like business area often, especially on New Year’s Eve and St
. Patrick’s Day. Our favorite spot during the festivities was at Brogues. Another hot spot was Dave’s Last Resort. The city would shut down the main road between the two businesses and allow people to party right in the middle of the street.
Good times.
Friends of ours joined us one year for St. Patty’s Day. The night ended with Joe dropping Ashley on her face while attempting to carry her to the car. He might have made it too except Joe, himself, was tanked. It was okay, however, because the equally blitzed “Ash-Bash,” as we called her, barely felt a thing. She didn’t even know it had happened…minus the bruises, of course. Jill and I laughed our asses off, being slightly less drunk than them at the time.
I don’t get to see Brogues or Dave’s this time, however. A pileup forces me to turn south, and from there, I weave Winnie from street to street. The roads here are naturally narrow, to begin with.
A “classic” goblin shambles out into the road, and before I run him down, I’m momentarily stunned to see one of the New York variants here. It shouldn’t surprise me that something from Abaddon’s original litter has shown up further down the east coast, but it does.
But unlike New York, I see gremlins.
Gremlins are children that have turned into the monsters. It was the only class of Unseen that I didn’t see in Manhattan. The youngest creatures I personally saw were of the tween age group.
I had assumed that they were the first to die after the changes occurred. Between the powerful and intelligent sirens, and the hordes of goblins roaming the streets, the smaller gremlins wouldn’t have stood a chance. Gratefully, the gremlins I do see scurry into the shadows and disappear as I roll the Winnebago past.
Looks like they’re skittish. I wonder if that’s why I didn’t spot any up north. They hid away from the conflict within the city.
There are many things I don’t want to see or do, and running over a kid, demon or not, is pretty much at the top of the list right now. I’ve got enough rattling around in my head. I don’t need a nightmare involving someone of Hope’s age splattered against my bumper too.
How the hell did she survive?
It boggles the mind how a seven-year-old defied death and someone of Vinny’s ilk didn’t. Vinny was the closest thing to a mobster that you could get. He even sold firearms for a living. If anyone should’ve walked away from New York alive, it was him.
And yet, we have Hope.
The obvious thing for me now is to look deep inside myself and relate her name to the actual definition of the word “hope.” While I’m a pretty deep guy in some cases, I ain’t that deep.
Moving on.
Slowing, I do the right thing and look both ways. Not liking what I see to the south or straight ahead to the west, I turn north onto South J Street. What’s left of the Bamboo Room slides by us on our left-hand side—another place I’d been to a few times in my youth. Now, there’s a car laying sideways inside the bar’s front window, charred and blackened. The whole place looks like it had burned for days.
Footsteps announce the arrival of Jill. Quietly, she plops down in the seat next to me but doesn’t say a word. I glance over to her and immediately notice the bags under her eyes. If she looks as bad as she does, then I must look like a train wreck.
“We pass Brogues?”
“Yep,” I reply, slowly steering around a row of fender-benders. Once the first car stopped, the rest followed, plowing into one another, one right after the other.
We see what halted traffic a moment later.
“Can you get through?” Jill asks, leaning forward. She’s surveying the landscape just as I am, searching for a traversable pathway. The intersection at Lake Avenue and South J Street is a disaster.
The building on the northwest corner is still on fire, the northeast corner has all but collapsed in on itself, the southwest corner is slathered in blood, and the southeast corner is being overrun by what looks like rats. I shudder at the thought of being attacked by a mass of their little, furry bodies.
Being nibbled to death would be a horrible way to die.
Not wanting to draw the attention of the rat pack, I turn left and edge the Winnebago into the intersection, scraping against one of the many vehicular corpses. The sound of screeching metal makes me cringe, and I give our ride a little more gas and pop through, heading west. The next stretch of Lake Avenue is semi-clear, but I turn north onto U.S. 1, opting to use the highway instead of the jam-packed city streets.
“Where’s Hope?” I ask, letting out a long breath.
“Down. I figured I’d give you some company while she slept.”
I nod. “That kid is something else, isn’t she?”
Jill smiles. “I know… So brave.”
“She got lucky…” I say flatly. “We did too.”
I can sense that Jill wants to argue, she doesn’t. She knows I’m right—not that I’m knocking Hope for being resilient and staying alive.
“You especially,” Jill mutters, turning toward me. “How many times have you cheated death so far?”
“Me?” I shrug and laugh. “Too many to count.” I look at her and wink. “But I’m still kicking.”
Jill smirks, but her eyes say something else.
“What’s wrong?”
“I…” She chokes on her words. “I’m just afraid what’ll happen when your luck runs out.”
“And what makes you think that’s going to happen?”
She shakes her head and wipes her eyes. “I don’t—but I can’t take care of Hope without you. We owe it to her to play it safer than we have been.” She points behind us. “Look what we went through just to get to dry land!”
“What are you saying?”
Jill tucks her feet into her chest and sighs. “Maybe we should’ve stayed in New Jersey with Dr. Kent. We would’ve had an army by our side the whole time.”
I laugh again. “We didn’t exactly have a choice. We ran for our lives and headed for the water. Even if we had decided to stay and fight the good fight, the cutter was our best option.”
“And now?”
I draw in a lungful of air but can’t think of anything earthshattering to say. So, I just say, “Well, we’re sure as hell not going back to Jersey. That ship has sailed.”
Jill snorts a laugh. “More like, that ship has sunk.” She looks out her window. “Well, boat really…” She relents. “Plus, we wouldn’t have found Hope if we had stayed…”
We meet each other’s eyes and smile.
Damn, it’s good to have her here.
“Where are we headed?” she asks.
“Honestly, I don’t know.” I point at the cacophony of cars and trucks in front of us, smoothly changing lanes as I do. “West, obviously, but I’m just going to take what the roads give me.” I pat the steering wheel. “I don’t want to do anything rash and give up our ride.”
“Speaking of that,” Jill says, sitting up. “How are we on gas?”
I look. “Almost full, actually. We’re lucky that these things have huge gas tanks.”
Jill looks a little more relieved now, but still looks tired.
“Why don’t you go lay down with Hope.”
Jill glances between me and the rear of the vehicle but stares longingly at the latter. Biting her lip, she nods and stands. Rustling my hair, she playfully grabs a handful of it and turns away. Before she leaves, I reach out and grab her ass, getting a spirited yelp out of her.
Still heading north, 10th Avenue comes up a few minutes later and I turn west and take it for about a half a mile before merging onto I-95. From here I could go just about anywhere on the east coast of the United States. The major interstate runs from South Florida all the way to Maine. If we did actually want to backtrack up to New Jersey and find Dr. Kent, this would be the way to go.
“Not a chance,” I say to myself. Either way, I need to head north if I want to get us farther west—and in good time. There’s another main road up ahead that will cut down our travel time by a decent amount.
As a child, my parents and I would routinely go on road trips, traveling the country. I have personally been to two-thirds of the states. My dad, the ex-boxer, has been to all fifty—most while either fighting or managing other fighters.
Eventually, he settled down and opened his own gym where I quickly became his best pupil. But unlike the others he worked with, I was never trained to actually become a pro boxer. Dad didn’t want that life for me. No, he better prepared me to become a police officer, something I had wanted to do since I was ten.
My father secretly rooted for me behind my mother’s back, pretending to be as upset as she was. He was scared for me, for sure, but I’ve never seen the old man prouder than the day I announced I was joining the police academy. Both of my folks calmed some when I decided to stay put and work near home.
“The Moon men have a sixth sense when in a fight,” Dad used to say. “When trouble comes calling, we Moons have an innate ability to get out of harm’s way.”
“And your concussions?” I’d ask.
“What about ’em? I’m alive, aren’t I?”
Rolling my eyes, I focus on the road ahead of me and not my father’s antics. I could write a book about the man. And he always had a tale to tell, including stories from his days of living on the road and from his experiences with the guys he managed and coached.
The highway narrows in sections, shoving the concrete divider on my left closer and closer. I mean, it’s sketchy on a normal day. Right now, with even less room to maneuver, it’s making me really uncomfortable. The only consolation is that it appears as if traffic had been light on “doomsday.”
Left, right, left, right… We chug along and snake our way past accident after accident.
