by Matt James
I clutch the handle in a backhanded grip and yank it free, swinging it around, up-and-over her right shoulder. I drive the tip into the creature’s chest, eliciting a cry of pain, followed by a gurgle of blood as the blade pierces and ruins one of her lungs.
She rebounds off the strike and snaps her jaws shut on my forearm as it slips up far enough for her to bite it, getting a yelp of pain out of me as well. Enraged, I twist the knife deeper and she begrudgingly lets go of me, but the damage is done.
Dammit, I think. I hope they aren’t contagious.
Down, but not out, the Siren tries to flip me forward, off her back. But I hold on, gripping her neck and the knife harder. She flips with me, my weight and momentum being too much for her weakened state. The only problem with this sound strategy is that she lands right on top of me…hard
The wind gets knocked out of me and my body involuntarily tries to let go. She attempts to sit up, but instead the butt of a shotgun slams home, smashing the Siren’s face. She wobbles and bends to my will as I rip out the knife, sending up a geyser of blood at Vinny. He’s standing over the flailing Siren, drenched in her blood, but doesn’t flinch. Instead, he rams the stock of the weapon into her face once more.
It gives me the break I need as I regain my breath and lock on again. The Siren snarls and reaches for Vinny, intent on ripping him apart, but I again don’t let her. Unhappy with what I’m about to do, I shout, flip my hand on the knife’s hilt to a standard grip. In one rage filled move, I draw the blade across her neck, severing her jugular and her will.
My brand-new attire is officially soiled as she bleeds out all over me. I’m so exhausted I don’t move. Her life just drains out onto me as I lay my head back and finish catching my breath.
It’s not until a beefy figure rolls her lifeless form off of me that I regain the full function of my lungs. I wheeze once more and then am pulled to my feet. Vinny and I look horrifying, covered head to toe in the Siren’s blood.
Looks like we’re headed back to Harvey’s.
19
We only encountered a small group of Unseen on our way back to Harvey’s, but they were easily dispatched when Vinny ran them over. And don’t read too much into it. He didn’t even have to steer into them. No course correction needed at all. The bastards just came, running at the beastly Ford. I think I even saw Vinny shrug before smearing them against the already ruined roadway. The dummies tried to attack us from the front like we were riding a four-wheeler.
I convinced Vinny to go, knowing the store well from my last visit. He wasn’t happy about backtracking, considering we were only a block from the park. He finally relented when I mentioned the mirrored front windows and the safety it provided. The design of the building’s front façade gave him just enough security to go along with the plan. Plus, I really wanted to change again.
Once inside of the upscale clothing store, we cleared the small area, looking for any and all dangers. Finding none, we locked the doors, breathing easy. Being able to let our guard down if only a little felt amazing. Then, we turned our attention to the racks of clothes.
Happily, I find a duplicate set, greatly enjoying the last ensemble. Even Vinny whistles from the corner, impressed with the selection of fine European makers. The fact that they have a Big and Tall section makes this detour an even better decision.
“I was afraid I’d have to squeeze into something on the tight side,” he says. He had changed back at his shop, but wasn’t above upgrading his wardrobe some, ditching part of his outfit for something better. His revolt in being covered in the creature’s blood also spurred his agreement into coming back to Harvey’s. He understood my pleading to go back as soon as he slurped his clothes off. I don’t have a spare set of clothes handy like him and would be stuck in them for the foreseeable future.
“How do they fit?” I ask, waiting for Vinny to come out of the changing room.
Footsteps sound and Vinny appears from around the corner. He’s dressed similarly to me, having opted for the jacket and jeans combo. Ditching the slacks and suit jacket was a big step for the normally slick dressed Italian. Now, he looks downright…normal.
Well, normal in my eyes.
Jill said I always liked to dress down, but I always came back with just liking to be comfortable. She even admitted that she hated wearing the dresses and pantsuits on a daily basis, but it was a part of her job. Me, being a detective, I was always dressed in street clothes. It was a part of the gig. So the informal work attire was the norm. Plus, I just really dig a comfy pair of blue jeans.
“You look…weird.”
Vinny squints his eyes at me, but laughs. “I’ll admit, this is not what I would typically go for, but…” he turns to a mirror. “I could get used to it.”
I shake my head. What a time to comprehend your future fashion sense.
“Ready?” I ask, stepping towards the door.
He nods and grabs his shotgun.
We wait another minute, watching the streets around the store. The Unseen can no doubt track the sound and scent of the truck, so we need to be extra careful. One of us was trying to watch while the other changed and I know I didn’t see anything and I’m pretty sure Vinny would have let me know if he had.
“Let’s go,” I say and swing the door open, not waiting for Vinny to voice his opinion. We need to move while the coast is clear. No better time than now.
We sprint to the truck and I wait to get in. Vinny has a longer run, making his way around to the driver’s side door, so I help keep watch before leaping in. As he opens his door, I match him, climbing in and locking it quickly.
“Onward my friend,” I say, unclenching my butt cheeks. If I had been squeezing them any harder, I may have pulled something vital.
He turns the key, revs the engine, and takes off back the way we came. The one-way, westbound lanes of 65 are clear enough to navigate, until we come to the T-boned accident I had to avoid on foot.
“Turn left,” I say.
“Why?” he replies, turning.
“You don’t want to go right.”
The finality in my statement keeps him from asking more questions. He knows what I went through getting to his store.
The memory of the one chasing me before I found the bicycle is still fresh in my mind. Remembering how she dug her claws into the brick building and ran on it as she rounded the corner gives me the willies. It was like a Matrix ability or something from the Wu Tang Kung-Fu movies. This nightmare of a weekend is like taking both the red and blue pills with a shot of Absinthe.
‘Crouching Siren, Hidden Goblin’ would make millions in the box offices.
He suggests heading back towards his shop on Madison. It’s only a couple of streets south of 65th, so getting back to the Transverse won’t be difficult.
“We didn’t see many of the creatures coming here, so why mess with a good thing, you know?”
I agree and could use a quiet ride. I need to collect my thoughts and come up with a plan of attack. Getting to Central Park was only Phase 1 of my plan. Phase 2 and 3 have never crossed my mind since I had no idea what the hell to expect.
The buildings go by, one-by-one, and nothing tries to jump out at us. I peek into every crevice we go by. Some I see movement, some I don’t, but by the time I look back, we are gone, whizzing by another storefront. Goblins can’t catch us unless we get stopped, and so far, I haven’t seen a hint of any Sirens.
Let’s keep it that way.
A lane opens up and Vinny guns the engine a little more, shooting us down the street. We are quickly approaching Madison and he begins to slow just a little.
As we pass the intersection I hear Vinny mumble to himself.
“Huh?” I ask.
He looks over for a second. “I was…just saying goodbye one more time.”
I nod. “We’ll be back.” The statement came from nowhere. Maybe I’m just trying to console the man?
He turns, nearly facing me fully as he steers around the obstacles i
n the road. “I never want to come back to this place ever again.”
With that, we sail past Madison for what I know will be the last time. Vinny has put the past behind him. He’s solely focused on the future and the now. We need to be fully coherent of our surroundings and not be glancing behind us, looking back to the lives we’ve left behind.
We’re still alive. It’s better than what most around here can say.
“Almost there,” Vinny says, slowing the truck to a steady crawl. We approach the light at 5th Avenue and stop completely, looking around.
“Where is everything?” I ask. There is absolutely nothing down either way, left or right. Our next move is to turn right and go back up to the light at 65th, but the cool calm of the road has us frozen stiff.
“I do not know, my friend.” He cranks the wheel and eases out into the intersection. “But I’d rather not wait around to find out.”
But as soon as we creep onto 5th and head north, against the normal flow of traffic, I see why nothing is alive. Everything, and I mean everything, is dead, torn apart by something massive. The large bloodied footprints left behind give away that something huge was here, but they’re smeared and I can’t get a good enough look at them to make out what exactly it is that did all of this. Turning my attention back to the road ahead, I can see the destruction thickening, bogging down the road some as we move on. Bodies line the sidewalks too.
“What…” Vinny can’t get the words out. “There has to be hundreds of bodies here. It’s barely been two days…”
“We’ve seen how the Unseen attack their prey,” I say, verbally digesting the scene. “They bite and claw, but they don’t rip limbs from bodies or crush skulls. They’re like scavengers when they hunt—like a pack of dogs. Even the Sirens aren’t this brutal.” I look out my window and see a smear of blood running across the side of a building. “This is something different… Something far worse.”
We continue north until Vinny stops at the 64th Street intersection. I glance left and see the entrance to the Central Park Zoo. The carnage looks subdued down the front drive compared to here, but I can still see several bodies dotting the path. A groan sounds from my driver, and I reflexively turn my head back to the windshield and see why. A colossal form casually makes its way south down the road and with the glare of the sun and the filthy window, I can’t make out what it is.
But Vinny does.
“Oh, my God,” he says, crossing himself.
“What?” I ask, leaning left. Once I’m almost into his lap, I see the beast responsible for all this death.
“Holy shit.” The curse comes out as a croak. My voice barely working.
The Central Park Zoo is known for some really amazing attractions. The largest of them being one of the most awe-inspiring animals in the world. It also happens to be the largest land predator on Earth.
“Is that a—”
“Yes,” Vinny says, interrupting my question.
I know what it is, but the bloodstained body makes it look like pure evil. Its gleaming white coat is normally so beautiful—so regal, but now it looks like a pet Satan would keep by his side.
“It’s one of God’s most majestic creations—which also happens to be one of his greatest champions.”
“It’s a polar bear,” I say, still not fully registering what I’m seeing. I blink and try to focus. “I guess the radiation affected more than just people. It seems to have affected other—”
I don’t get to finish my analysis. The Unseen-bear charges, roaring into the copper scented air.
20
“Go left!” I shout, pointing towards the sidewalk lining the western side of the street. Vinny complies, the look of confusion and terror still plastered across his cut face. Thankfully, the Siren didn’t land a worse blow when it slashed him. Vinny and I used the medical kit and cleaned ourselves up the best we could. Proper medical attention was obviously going to have to wait.
“Looks like you got attacked by a rake,” I said, when he asked how he looked.
He shook his head in annoyance. I’m not known to be too serious in situations like this. Not that I’ve ever been in a situation like this before, but any other high stress incident or something similar.
Like arguing with Jill over nothing.
The memory stung badly, but before I could completely sink into the sorrow-filled ocean, Vinny spoke up.
“Let’s hope they don’t transmit any kind of virus, or we’ll both be screwed, eh?”
I laughed along with him at the time, but was secretly cringing. Who’s to say we aren’t infected with some sort of bacteria that just needs time to incubate? We, as a people, have zero knowledge of what to expect from this. This isn’t some horribly directed zombie movie. This is real life and everything we learn from this experience starts now.
A roar makes Vinny yank on the steering wheel as the rear end is clipped from behind. The damn blood-red bear just tried to ram us off the road. “Come on baby,” Vinny mumbles, talking to the truck.
Yes, please do, baby. Come on.
The last thing we need is for the F-250 to die, stranding us out here with a murderous Yogi on the loose. Vinny spins the tires for a second as the backend struggles to find purchase on the gore covered street. Finally, it does, and he gives the vehicle a little more gas. The problem is, we can’t get up to a high enough speed to outrun or outmaneuver our new friend.
Nature documentaries have taught me two things about polar bears that always stuck with me. First, they are freaking huge, weighing up to 1,500 pounds and standing erect at nine-plus feet tall. The largest one ever killed was a 2,200lb monster back in the sixties, standing eleven feet tall. Secondly, they’re fast, considering their bulk, topping out at 25mph at a sprint…like now.
Our biggest issue at the moment—bigger than the bear—is that every time Vinny gets us up to speed, we have to slow down to maneuver around car wrecks and other debris. Once we do gain some distance, the bear just eventually cuts it down again and again. It’s much more agile under the circumstances.
“We need to get rid of it if we can, or we’ll never make it to the museum!” Vinny yells through clenched teeth.
“No shit,” I reply, “but how do you suppose we do that?”
I get my answer when he glances down to my shotgun.
Damn.
“Fine, but you’re gunna’ have to hold it steady for a second.”
He snorts out a laugh at the absurdity of the request, grimacing in pain at having to stretch the cut skin on his face. Before I can come back with a snarky reply, I unbuckle and turn away, climbing into the backseat. Next, I slide the rear window open, attempting to climb out into the empty bed. Halfway through with my shimmy, I get my first real look at Yogi.
He’s easily as large as the one shot in the sixties—the really big one. There doesn’t seem to be any changes to its physiology like the humans that were exposed, minus the eyes. Yogi’s are also missing, having been clawed out. Most of the skin on its face is gone too.
What else could be roaming the city that isn’t human?
I know of a couple things that would make for some nasty adversaries, but that isn’t what’s important. Taking care of the polar bear has been moved to priority number one.
The fur is, indeed, blood-red and covered in—you guessed it—blood. This thing slaughtered whatever it could get its claws on, looking like it bathed in the remains. I’ve heard of animals scenting themselves before, like when my Beagle would roll in its shit, but this is ridiculous.
“Hold on!”
I try, but fail miserably, having one leg out in the bed and the other still inside the truck, uncomfortably and painfully straddling the partition. The Ford swerves around something, tossing me from my cramped perch. I tumble and slam into the tailgate hard, scraping my hands and face on the Rhino Lining, sprayed into the inside of the bed. It’s coarse, super grippy, and textured, grabbing my exposed skin like sandpaper biting a piece of wood.
�
��You okay?” a voice yells.
I wave Vinny off and kneel, bracing myself against the bouncing underfoot. “Fine,” I yell back, “but keep it smooth so I can get a clean shot off and try to at least deter Yogi from following!”
“Yogi?” he shouts back. “Why do you insist on naming everything?”
I ignore the question and shoulder my Mossberg, trying my damndest to keep my aim true. Yogi rounds another pile of bodies, appearing just long enough in my sights for me to take a shot.
The shell explodes out of the weapon’s barrel and clips the beast, but doesn’t really do much else. I skinned its right shoulder as it turned, straightening itself out for another go at us. Not having to cock the auto-loading weapon, I reacquire the lumbering animal and pull the trigger again.
Nothing.
I missed.
The truck shook just enough for me to send the second round skimming over the bear’s head. If it hadn’t have, this chase may’ve been over.
Unless its unusually thick skull can deflect this type of ammo too, I think, remembering something else I know about these things. They can take a small caliber bullet in the head and be no worse for wear. Either way, it’s not like I have anyone to blame for the misfire. Vinny is doing his best to keep us from wrecking or fishtailing. It’s my job alone to take out our pursuer.
“Hang on!”
Without asking why, I do, grabbing onto whatever I can. The truck veers hard to the right, obliterating a small Fiat with the truck’s push bar, crossing two lanes of road. We’re now in the right lane and are quickly approaching the intersection at 65th. Not slowing down, Vinny floors the truck, up onto the eastern sidewalk, avoiding a turned over convertible. The driver must have been enjoying one more snowless day before putting the warm weather vehicle away for the winter.
Without pause, we swerve left, still traveling north towards our destination. Not having much of anything to grip onto, I just lay flat on my back, spread-eagle, using my hands and feet to keep me from getting my head bashed in. It works, but my back and ass are taking a beating.
