by Matt James
Dad eventually made his way back to us that night. He missed a lot, but I caught him up on the finer details of escorting Cynthia back to the cabin where Jill put her out of her misery. The vision of the siren killing my father still gives me the willies.
And yes, that’s what Jill did for her mother. She showed her mercy.
Cynthia knew what was happening to her and understood exactly what she was doing. After all, the husband she had been married to for over three decades turned into a monster, bit, and infected her.
She charged Jill on purpose that night.
My father and I have recently begun policing Sanctuary, killing all the Unseen that have entered. We’ve concentrated on the main road mostly, just in case. We want this neighborhood to be a beacon of hope for those in need of safety—a real-life sanctuary.
So far, two families have moved in down the road. Ben and his wife Linda are staying in the house to our left. They keep to themselves, and want nothing more than to be able to call a place home. I can appreciate that after everything that has happened. When I first met them and introduced myself, I could tell that they had suffered a significant loss. The way they looked at Hope made my heart drop. It was evident that they lost a child—maybe even multiple children.
Like Jill, they’ve reacted inwardly, shrinking into themselves.
Jill’s wounds have healed, to a point. They no longer cause her debilitating, physical pain. Unfortunately, like the deaths of her parents, the scarring to her body had a harsh effect on her mind. I’ll positively comment on her body, and say things like, “At least the good parts were spared.” Yes, I know it’s a juvenile thing to say. I’m just trying to get any kind of reaction out of my wife that I can.
The skin from her left shoulder up to her neck and parts of her jawline are ravaged from the burns sustained by her Unseen-father. She’s still as beautiful as ever too. You can’t see a thing if she wears a turtleneck, just a few tiny splotches along the left side of her face.
Jill can always see them, though, and there’s nothing I can do or say to change that. Still, I have faith that she’ll snap out of her funk. I’m just not sure when it’ll happen.
“Frank!” my mom shouts. I was in deep thought, sitting at the kitchen island when her frightened voice jarred me loose. “People…” she rushes to me. “Kids… In trouble!”
I leap out of my chair and snag my coat, then, my shotgun from the mount I built near the front door. Dad found the weapon that night and returned it to me. I throw open the door and quickly descend the front steps where I’m met by my father who is rushing around to the front of the house.
He’s coming from the backyard. He spends a lot of his time, sitting out back and thinking. I, like Hope, stay by Jill’s side as much as possible.
Dismounting the front steps, I keep on going, jogging alongside Dad. We immediately spot the conflict further down the road. Mom has taken it upon herself to keep watch from one of the upstairs windows. We removed one of the aluminum shutter slats, giving her just enough space to see. She is our “eye in the sky.”
The snow is coming down really heavy. We’re lucky that it's in the middle of the day or Mom may have not spotted the people in need. So far, the only thing I see is a woman backing away from a trio of reapers. We’re lucky there isn’t a burner involved. There really haven’t been many Unseen sightings at all actually.
It’s the cold, I think, pleased that my hypothesis of them freezing to death is coming to fruition. Dad and I have found dozens of them lying dead during our patrols of the neighborhood perimeter. We’ve strayed a lot further than we’ve admitted, and for good reason. We were both stunned by the number of the dead.
“Mom said…there were kids,” I say, slowing.
Dad does the same and stays silent. The lady is too close to the creatures for me to use my shotgun, so instead, I throw it across my back and draw my Glock. I squeeze off six rounds, putting three each into the closest reapers. The third one is far enough away that Dad pumps two shells into it, the last of which he does at close range while the writhing monster is on the ground.
“My children!” the woman cries. “Help me!”
I holster my gun and grab her by both of her shoulders. “Calm down, okay? Bring us to them.”
She nods and takes off toward the nearest cabin. We’re about to enter through the front door but are stopped by a feral cry.
It came from inside the home.
“Siren,” I say softly.
“Yep,” Dad replies.
“She—it—followed us.” She squeezes my arm hard. “I barricaded my son and daughter in a bedroom and escaped through a window to find help. They’re both sick and can’t move.”
“Sick?” I ask, worried.
She nods. “We’ve been on our own since…since my husband died. Finding food has been hard. We’ve been eating whatever we can find.”
Great… Probably food poisoning.
Shotguns forward, Dad and I enter the cabin first and find the open first floor empty. The stink of rot lingers from a long-dead kill, but there’s nothing fresh. That means that the kids and the siren are upstairs.
We move like ghosts, asking the mother to stay behind and hide in the kitchen. I take the lead, taking the stairs two at a time. The layout of the cabin is similar to our place, so navigating it isn’t a problem. Once we get to the uppermost landing, I witness the siren burst through a decimated door.
Twin cries of fright follow.
I sprint forward and dart into the bedroom, tackling the creature from behind without thought. My pent-up rage and frustration are released upon the siren’s skull as I lay into the back of her head. I furiously punch her over and over again, until my hand comes away bloodied and bruised.
This feels familiar, I think, recalling the last time I beat the back of a siren’s skull.
With the siren unmoving, I climb to my feet and lock eyes with those of a bewildered girl. The boy next to her is crying, his face smeared with snot. I kneel and hold out a hand. They reach for me, but shrink back in fear, looking over my head.
I don’t need to look to see what it is.
The siren is still alive and standing over me.
I jump backward and drive my weight into her gut. We both fall to the wood floor and fight to be on top. Her claws and teeth are dangerous, but unlike her, I can actually see what the fuck I’m doing. Plus, I’m pissed to all hell!
I knock her hand away and slug her in the face.
That’s for Jill, you bitch!
I reach back to hit her again, but her other hand catches me around the throat. Choking me, she forces me to my feet and wastes no time in heaving me through the upstairs window. Out of breath, I do my best to scramble for a handhold, but find none. I roll uncontrollably and fall from the second story roof.
I plop into a pile of snow, losing the rest of my air when I land. I gag and cough, eventually finding it again before I pass out. The screams above are replaced with the boom, boom, boom of my dad’s shotgun. He’s engaged the siren and is fighting for his life while I’m out here making bloodied snow angels.
The siren shrieks again, and it’s just what I need to get moving. I turn over and push myself up, grateful that I didn’t break anything during my exit. I find my shotgun a few feet away and quickly retrieve it. I rush around the side of the house and pump a shell into the latch on the fence. I don’t have time to stop and try it.
With the single blast, it’s thrown open, and I sprint through it. The snow makes it hard to pick up any steam and so does my sore lower back. My knees aren’t doing much better, but I do what I’ve done for the last couple of months and push past the pain.
I head around to the front of the house just as the mom and kids come flying down the steps. My father is nowhere in sight, but like many of our prior conflicts, we have to trust that the other is okay and focus on our mission.
We’re here to protect this family.
I meet them at the bottom of the stai
rs, but before we can check on each other, the crimson siren appears in the doorway and leaps into the air. She’s nearly upon us before I can get my weapon up.
She doesn’t make it, though.
Gunfire erupts off to my right, and the siren is struck. Instead of punching her extended claws into my chest and driving me backward, she only slams into me like a wrecking ball. We both go tumbling down the driveway as one being. After a few feet, we separate, and I stop face down in the snow.
My savior stalks over to the siren and squeezes the trigger of her Glock three more times. All three bullets strike the creature in the head, gruesomely blowing it out all over the asphalt. Not even twitching at the sight of grey matter spread across the ground, Jill turns toward me with the look of a seasoned, stone-cold killer.
“Jill?” I ask, stunned at seeing her here.
Not only has she snapped out of her mental funk, but she’s only wearing sneakers, a pair of jeans, and a sports bra. Her burns are out in the open for everyone to see. She barely lets me see them, let alone a trio of strangers.
But nor is she shaking from the cold.
I stand, keeping my hands where she can see them. I don’t think she’ll hurt me, but I need to make sure the real Jill is in control and not some broken, blood-thirsty imposter.
“You okay?” I ask.
Her eyes are still locked on me, but after a second, she blinks and takes in her surroundings. First, she spots the family we saved. Then, my dad limps down the stairs of the neighbor’s cabin, bleeding from a cut to his temple. Other than that, he looks fine.
Next, Jill looks down at her body, specifically the scars on her shoulder. She studies them as if it’s the first time she’s seen them. Upon seeing the marks, she steps away from me. Her skin breaks out in goosebumps, and she crosses her arms—not in embarrassment—but because of the temperature.
Jill dives into my arms and sobs. For a minute, I’m scared that she’s reverting back into a hunk of emotionless meat. But after she nestles into my arms, she laughs softly and whispers, “fuck it’s cold.”
I take off my jacket and wrap it around her shoulders as we walk back to our cabin. The cold stings my body, but it’s nothing compared to the warmth I’m feeling at having the real Jill back. It’s been hard not having my anchor around.
“Are you sure you’re okay?” I ask.
She shrugs. “I honestly didn’t know what was going on until I heard Deb screaming about them.” She tilts her chin toward the family in front of us. They’re following Dad while Jill and I bring up the rear. “It’s like I was living in a fog and couldn’t escape.” She slows and looks at me. “I killed my parents, Frank.”
I shake my head. “No, an alien virus did. The Unseen you killed weren’t your parents.”
Jill folds her arms across her chest, fighting against the cold and her frayed nerves. “I know you believe that, Frank, but I don’t.”
I frown. “I’m sorry you feel that way—I really am.” I put my arm around her and bring her in close, keeping an eye on our surroundings as we walk. “But I’m confident you’ll see things my way with time.”
Jill doesn’t answer me. She just eyes the family walking with us and keeps to herself, all while she grips her gun in her right hand. My wife is a very strong person. I really am confident that she’ll fully rediscover the woman she was before. But if she doesn’t, and she’s now this new, self-aware badass with a mean streak, then, well, maybe we’ll be fine either way.
Regardless, I’m not alone in this fight for survival anymore. The rock that keeps me grounded in all this is back, and I couldn’t be more thankful. This world we now call home is a savage one. We’re going to need each other now more than ever. Like the mother of two pointed out, finding food will be increasingly difficult with each passing day, and once our factory-made reserves dry up, we’re going to have to find another way to live.
But we will endure.
We will survive.
I grin, finally choosing my song. So far, all the tunes have been utterly depressing and centered around death. But my song isn’t even one of sorrow, it’s one of hope.
I've got all my life to live.
And I've got all my love to give, and I'll survive.
I will survive, hey, hey…
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
MATT JAMES is the INTERNATIONAL BESTSELLING AUTHOR of over fifteen action-packed titles, including the intense DEAD MOON series, DARK ISLAND, THE DRAGON, PLAGUE, and BLOOD AND SAND. Matt has also partnered with USA TODAY bestselling action-adventure author David Wood. Together, they've released three books within David's popular, globe-trotting Dane Maddock Adventures (BERSERK, SKIN AND BONES, and VENOM).
He lives in Wellington, Florida with his wife and two daughters, gobbling up the work of authors like Greig Beck, Jeremy Robinson, James Rollins, Matthew Reilly, Andy McDermott, Ernest Dempsey, and Nicholas Sansbury Smith.
YOU CAN VISIT MATT AT:
Facebook: www.Facebook.com/MattJamesAuthor
Website: www.JamestownBooks.Wordpress.com
BookBub: www.BookBub.com/profile/matt-james
Twitter: @MJames_Books
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PRAISE FOR MATT JAMES
"Matt James is my go-to guy for heart-stopping adventure and bone-chilling suspense!"
—Greig Beck, international bestselling author of
BENEATH THE DARK ICE
“If you like thrills, chills, and nonstop action, then Matt James may just be your next favorite author!"
—John Sneeden, bestselling author of THE SIGNAL
PRAISE FOR “DEAD MOON”
“DEAD MOON is a high-octane thrill ride filled with action, suspense, and of course, monsters! An amazing read!”
—Zach Cole, author of KAIJU EPOCH
PRAISE FOR “THE HANK BOYD ADVENTURES”
“BLOOD AND SAND takes readers on a spellbindingly treacherous journey that also manages to have fun along the way!”
—Rick Chesler, bestselling author of HOTEL MEGALODON
“The Hank Boyd series has been added to my must-read list!”
—J.M. LeDuc, bestselling author of SIN
“The next Hank Boyd Adventure can’t come soon enough!”
—David McAfee, bestselling author of 33 A.D
PRAISE FOR “PLAGUE”
"PLAGUE erupts from the pages in a steroid-filled tornado of terror and shock!"
—SUSPENSE MAGAZINE
“PLAGUE is filled with action, monsters, and our new favorite hero, Logan Reed. Need a cup of coffee and the next book!”
—THE MR. CAFFEINE SHOW
PRAISE FOR “EVOLVE”
"A rip-roaring action-adventure that grabs you by the throat and doesn't let go!"
—Richard Bard, Wall Street Journal bestselling author of BRAINRUSH
Copyright © 2019 Matt James
No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means without the prior written permission of the publisher, nor be otherwise circulated in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without similar condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.
The right of Matt James to be identified as the Author of the Work has been asserted by him in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act, 1988.
All characters in this publication are fictitious and any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
Cover design © Matt James used under
Creative Commons licenses
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