by Matt James
We need all of them here to make our plan work.
My butthole puckers when a chorus of floor creaks resonate below. If my math is correct, every single one of the things has entered the cabin. That is unless it's just the single goblin running in place atop the floorboard.
If so, jerk move, dude, jerk move…
Peeking over my shoulder, I take a second look at the upstairs window. We may need it after all.
I turn my attention back to the stairs when I hear a snarl.
19
The first goblin to appear takes a pair of shells to the chest. The one behind it is temporarily stunned by the splatter of blood before it, too, is dropped. Dad and I grin at one another but are forced to duck into our respective rooms when the other four goblins bull rush our position atop the stairs.
As for my share of the brawl, I back into the guestroom and empty my shotgun’s cartridge into the wall to the left of the door, the wall that shares itself with the hallway on the other side. Pain-filled screams answer the concussive booms of my weapon as the rounds penetrate the drywall.
Across the hall, Dad lets loose with his own salvo, earning another chorus of shrieks as a result.
Reloading, I take four more steps back and am met by the flopping body of an older man. The senior-goblin is laying on his side in a growing pool of red, and he smells like shit. Not a surprising given that he's been a monster for a month, I suppose. I mean, it’s not like I smell like roses either.
I snap my shotgun up when the sound of chopping wood thunders through the hallway. Wait a second, chopping wood? That doesn’t make sense at all unless there’s an army of Unseen-lumberjacks downstairs…
Oh, right, I think, reapers.
I can only imagine what a duo of the blade-wielding creatures looks like while attempting to ascend a staircase in a hurry. Plus, with the battle waging up here, they must’ve put it into high gear and shredded the wood and drywall between the front door and me.
There goes our way down.
I glance over my shoulder, to the dormer window, just as the siren dives through the glass. Before I can swing my shotgun around, she bowls into me, knocking it away. We furiously punch and claw at one another…and I’m pretty sure she’s hurting me more than I am her.
She’s on top of me, but I get a foot in between us and shove. I’m not quick enough, however, and she rakes her talons across my chest. I grit my teeth and growl, staggering to my feet. The siren backs me into the busted second-floor window, and instead of drawing my gun and hoping I have time to raise it, aim, and pull the trigger, I turn and leap through her entry point.
Covering my face, I’m thrilled to feel nothing besides the rough, sandpaper-like roof beneath my body when I land. I missed major injury this time, unlike the window incident back in Manhattan.
I roll twice before ending up on my hands and knees. My palms are quickly shredded, and so are my knees beneath my jeans. Oh, and my already injured chest is injured even more. So, other than that, I’m fine.
Except, I don’t stop.
With only inches to spare, my toes thankfully catch the gutter, and I halt my backward belly slide. Any further and I would’ve careened off the second story roof.
Ouch.
I scrambled to my feet just as the siren pokes her head outside the window. This time, I draw my gun. I pull the trigger but slip as I stand, missing her skull high. The off-balance shot isn’t a complete waste of ammo, however. She reflexively ducks back into the house, giving me a few more seconds to continue my escape to even higher ground.
Holstering my pistol, for the time being, I scramble up the peaked roof and pass by the bedroom window. I’m happy to see that the siren didn’t get a look at what direction I went. Above the opening now, I stop, regain my balance, and once more draw my gun.
Slowly, I backpedal up the slick slope, keeping my gun trained on the top of the dormer window. She could attack from the left or right as well, so I’m going to have to react accordingly.
And do it quickly.
Hearing my father shout is the only thing that happens, though. I’m about to charge back down the roof, concerned for Dad’s wellbeing. My concerns are somewhat alleviated a few seconds later when I hear his shotgun boom twice.
Then, nothing. The only sound I hear is the crisp breeze swirling around me.
Taking tiny steps, I shuffle backward again until I stop at the cabin’s highest point. Does my father’s silence mean he killed the siren, or could it mean that he’s injured, or worse, dead? His retaliation doesn’t tell me whether he won the battle or not, only that he participated in it.
An image of my dad bleeding out on the floor flashes across my mind. I visualize him reaching a shaky hand to the ceiling, hacking up blood as he calls out my name. “Frank…” Then, the siren, like a lioness in the Serengeti, bites down on his throat.
Panicked, I take a single step forward just as the siren goes airborne, leaping directly over the top of the dormer window. And, with perfect timing, my feet slip when I try to snap my gun up. With my balance gone, I miss the siren twice before I’m bowled into hard. My gun goes flying out of my hand but stops down by the dormer on the other side of the house.
I’m about to dive after it but unsheathe my hunting knife instead. I immediately swipe at the approaching creature. She reels back but doesn’t fall. Her bare feet seem to be gripping the slick roof better than my boots are. Then I see that she’s digging in the tips of her clawed toes for traction.
Clever girl…
I notice that she’s bleeding badly from a wound to her side. It seems that Dad had gotten a piece of her just as she exited the home.
But is he alive?
Unfortunately, I don’t have time to worry about anyone else right now. My life is at stake. So, I carefully make my way back up to the peak of the roof, keeping the point between my legs, and turn my back to the road.
My plan works, but not only do I have better footing, so does the siren. The siren stalks toward me and backs me into a corner—only—the corner isn’t really a corner at all, it’s the front-edge of the cabin. I’m trapped at its highest point, easily twenty-five-feet off the ground. A fall from this height would more than likely kill me.
So will the siren if I don’t figure something out!
The disgusting creature lunges at me, but I parry her attack with one of my own, catching her across the wrist with my knife blade. She cries out in pain, deepening her sneer. I didn’t know it was possible, but the blind, snarling woman looks as if she’s regretting her decision to follow me. Bleeding from multiple wounds, she takes a cautious step back.
That’s when I make my move.
Letting loose a battle cry that William Wallace would be proud of, I leap toward her and jab at her stomach. My blade tip pierces her abdomen but seems to do little else. Now in too close, I quickly yank the blade free, needing to get out of her range. My feet don’t move, though. Instead, I freeze and stare in horror when her wound begins to glow.
Not only are there burners in the world, but the other Unseen can become infected with the same destructive virus as the rest of us.
Terrified, I stumble back. Shaking, my free hand goes to my chest. This same siren just slashed my skin with her filthy, elongated fingernails. There’s no way of knowing if the burner contagion is transmitted that way, or if it has to be a zombie-style bite. For my sake, let's hope it’s by bite only.
As the fresh plasma flows, the creature wails in agony. I can see her skin sizzling from here. Her blood is quite literally starting to boil with each passing second. Prepared to defend myself again, I raise my knife and gawk at the blade. Like the siren, it is smoking in the cold, winter air. Not wanting to chance infection, I chuck the weapon over the side, not once looking to see where it lands.
Shrieking, the woman rushes me. I backpedal all the way to the front edge of the cabin and wait. When she’s within reaching distance, I dive left, toward my gun, sliding on my wounded chest as if I�
��m a bloodied penguin in the Antarctic. Landing uncomfortably atop the other dormer window’s likewise peaked roof, I snag my weapon, turn, and aim.
But the siren is gone.
It doesn’t take a lot of imagination to figure out what happened to her either. I groan and stand. Clunking back up the slope, I keep my pistol drawn and head for the peak at the front of the cabin. The harsh winds pick up around me, making my search for the missing siren difficult.
Through watering eyes, I spot her further down the driveway twitching on the asphalt. One of her legs is bent in the wrong direction, and so is one of her arms. She calls out, wailing into the sky above, but either succumbs to unconsciousness or death and falls still.
I’m so focused on the dying siren that I don’t notice the other creature directly below me. This one is only feet from the front porch…and he’s glowing from within. I respond to the burner’s presence faster than I can process what I’m doing and put a single bullet in the top of his head.
The chemical reaction is instantaneous, and I’m blown backward off my feet. A fireball shoots past my peaked perch, quickly blowing apart the front of the cabin and igniting the world around me.
Holy fuck!
Dazed, I stand, unsuccessfully holstering my gun twice before finally returning it to its spot beneath my left armpit. How I didn’t let go of the weapon this time, I have no idea.
With my footing compromised, I try to back myself away from the hellish mayhem, but can’t. The roof directly behind me cracks and caves in cutting off any chance at escape. More fire erupts, this time originating from within the newly installed skylight. Hopefully, the owner is an astronomer. Either I jump to the ground or get roasted.
Decisions, decisions…
“Frank!” I turn when I hear Dad’s voice shouting from somewhere inside the cabin.
“Get…out of here!” I yell back, coughing hard as I’m hit with a wall of smoke and heat.
I stagger back away from the noxious fumes and to get away from the front third of the cabin that has begun to tilt away from the rest of the dwelling. The burner must’ve really done some serious damage, and regrettably, I’m stuck on the shitty side.
The sound of snapping trees startles me.
Shit.
I realize it isn’t the tree line behind me that’s snapping, it’s pieces of the cabin that are, for the most part, below me. The roof shakes and tips toward the driveway, and I have no choice but to drop to my hands and knees and ride the wave.
The world comes apart around me. Fires kiss my exposed skin, forcing my eyes shut.
Back in the woods outside Lookout Mountain, Jill battled a siren before being tossed. She described it as if she had just ridden Satan’s mechanical bull.
That’s me now, except this feels more like Babe the Blue Ox beneath me instead.
And all I can do is wait for whatever is about to happen to me to happen.
I’m bucked from my perch where I slam into the splitting frame of one of the upstairs dormer windows. I ride it for another second or two before it, too, breaks free of the rest of the cabin. Together, we and the dormer slip free of the rest of the home and are deposited into the side yard—and by deposited—I mean that we’re thrown into the burning shrubs.
We are the “Knights Who Say OUCH!”
I roll away and come to a stop on my back staring up into the star-filled sky, marveling at the steam billowing off my heat-stricken body. I feel no significant burns, nothing different than when Jill’s father scalded my skin through my jacket. Happy to be alive, I do nothing but rest and breathe.
The only time I move is when the forward section of the cabin crashes to the ground beside me. I sit up just as thousands of pounds of wood, metal, and drywall land atop the siren.
If she wasn’t dead before, you can damn-well guarantee that she is now.
I circumvent the wreckage and stand before the three-walled building. I can see right into the large great room on the first floor and also into a few of the remaining upstairs bedrooms. Parts of the house are still burning, but the majority of it isn’t. It seems that most of the fire fell away with the front third of the house.
Including me.
Hands on hips, I laugh when I spot my father still inside his bedroom. He must’ve stayed put after we were bull rushed by the goblins, and then, the siren. The burner as well… Crawling out from under the bed, he spots me and gives me a nervous wave. Embers are floating in the air around him, and I watch as he swats them away from his face.
He isn’t too far from me, but he’s far enough away that I can’t help him down. I, honestly, have no idea how he’s going to get down and I can’t offer him any advice. The sight of Jill’s burner-mother sends me into a panic, and I stumble away in fright. I go for my gun, but something inside me gives me pause.
No, not something inside of me, it’s something inside of Cynthia. Her eyes lock on me, but they aren’t full of hate, they’re sad. She’s still herself mentally, but she also understands what’s about to happen to her.
Cynthia reaches a trembling hand out to me. “Please, Frank. Help me.” Her tears sear her skin. “Kill me now.”
“Kill you?” I ask, shocked.
She nods, tears streaming down her scorched cheeks. Cynthia is in a world of pain, I can see it in her face. Her hands are shaking too. She’s trying desperately to keep her emotions in check.
“I… I saw what happened to Tony.” Her lower lip quivers. “I tried to help him, but I couldn’t. Then…”
“He bit you?”
Cynthia nods and holds up her right arm. The teeth marks are deep, and they radiate the same intense energy as the other burners I’ve encountered. I’m not entirely sure when, but Jill’s mom will eventually change into one of the creatures.
I shake my head and rush to her side. “No. You need to see Jill first. You need to give her that much.”
Cynthia’s temperature dips when she looks off into the distance, towards the cabin and her daughter. She softly nods. Then, her eyes pulse and she doubles over in agony. I try to help her, but the heat radiating from her skin is too intense—too hot to touch. After a couple of horrible seconds, she regains control of herself and staggers forward, back the way we came.
I cheer her on the entire time, wanting nothing more than to put her in a fireman’s carry and take her burden away. I know it's not possible to do that, so I focus on keeping us safe from other Unseen instead. One after the other, I take down the stray monsters that have come to investigate the commotion, and the fire and smoke.
I’m happy to be Cynthia’s sword and shield in her final hour. I’ll never forgive myself if Jill doesn’t get to say goodbye to at least one of her parents. The thought of losing both of the D’Angelos within a day of each other is heartbreaking. I’m not sure how I’d react if it were my own mom and dad in their place.
But I know how Jill will respond.
That is to say, badly.
We’re halfway back to the cabin, and Cynthia’s veins have already begun to glow brighter. Her breathing has changed too. It's raspy and heavy. I’ve felt the hot breath of an Unseen on my neck before. It sounded the same as hers does now, like a laboring animal’s inhalations. Every time air exits her mouth, it sounds more and more like a growl. Even her eyes are becoming wilder—predatory.
She’s almost out of time.
The cabin is just ahead now, and I think I see Mom and Hope standing outside on the porch. Both look happy to see Cynthia and me. It's not until we get closer that their response to seeing Mrs. D'Angelo alive changes.
Hope screams when Cynthia slashes at me, snarling like a beast. When I hit the deck, she moves in closer but stops her advance when she hears a familiar voice.
“Mom?”
There might be a little bit of Cynthia left in there, and Jill’s voice and face, seem to be what she’s tethered to. The glow within the woman’s body dims upon seeing her daughter.
“Jillian?”
Jill i
s hunched forward, favoring her left side badly. I’m amazed that she’s on her feet at all. The meds that my mother slipped her are obviously doing their job. Jill was also coherent enough to think to bring her gun along. It’s clutched in her right hand, dangling down by her right leg.
“No…” Jill says, choking back tears.
“I…” Cynthia stammers, “I’m sorry, honey.”
And with that apology, Cynthia charges Jill and the others. She shrieks and displays her talon-tipped fingers. I hadn’t noticed them before. They were hidden because she was in such pain that she had her hands clutched to her chest for much of our walk. I didn’t really think anything of it at the time.
Cynthia is halfway between us when I witness Jill take a deep breath and decisively raise her gun, quickly pulling the trigger when she does. The single bullet punches through her mother’s chest and exits with an explosion of bright-white energy. Then, Mrs. D’Angelo goes nuclear and bursts into a ball of flames.
Closer to her than anyone else, I roll and face away from the heat, covering my head with my hands. The flames lick my skin but it's over in an instant.
Shaking the cobwebs loose, I climb to my feet and turn. The only thing left of Jill’s mother is a charred, snowless driveway. I also witness Jill break down in tears as she collapses on her parents’ front porch.
20
As the weeks pass by, the snowfall deepens, and the temperature drops dramatically. It’s been twenty sunsets since Jill was forced to personally end both of her parents’ lives. It’s how we keep track of things now. We don’t sleep at regular intervals like before, so we don’t call them “days” any longer.
First, Jill threw her father from a cliff and then she put a bullet in her mother. Since then, my wife hasn’t been the same.
Jill just sits and stares at the unlit fireplace like her mother had done days earlier. She’ll sometimes react to soothing touch and calming words, but she hasn’t quite snapped out of her living nightmare. I was hoping a little time would’ve helped, but it hasn’t. The only time she reverts back to her former self is when Hope holds her hand or sits by her side. Once in a blue moon, Jill will look into my eyes. Her inner fire is still lit, but it’s mostly being smothered by guilt.
