by Matt James
“Crawl!” I shout. “Get as close as you can!”
Now, with the cat pinned beneath the fence, Andy is being tossed around like she’s a human-sized can of paint at Home Depot. After what seems like minutes, she’s now just out of reach of my outstretched hand. If I can get a solid hold on her, I think I can steady her enough for her to stand and jump.
The fence tips more.
“Now or never!”
The fence breaks away from the wall just as Andy leaps into the air, using the flexible chain link as a springboard. I snag one of her hands with both of mine and brace for what I know is going to hurt.
Gravity desperately tries to return her to ground level, but I keep her aloft as she swings into the wall beneath my feet. But that’s all I can do. I’m too tired and sore to pull her up higher. I readjust my grip and concentrate on not dropping her as she walks up the wall, using pieces of the partition and fence as steps.
After a few excruciatingly-long seconds, she makes it high enough to finish the climb on her own. We fall backward and roll down the other side of the broken wall and struggle to our feet. From somewhere in the dark below, we hear the big cat crying into the air as it tries to free itself from its makeshift prison.
“We need to go,” I say, ushering Andy along.
Together, we round the back of the building housing the red panda and stumble down a second set of steps toward the wooden bridge at the front of the Asian pavilion. We continue forward, back underneath the prayer flags and stop, hands on knees, when we reach the main walkway.
“Now…where?” I ask, breathing hard.
Andy stands tall, hands on her hips. She lets out one more long breath before answering me. When she does, it’s with a shake of her head.
“There’s no way Ty survived all this.” She looks down at me, eyes watering. “We should go.”
Unlike Andy, and her brother, I'm not ready to give up yet, but I do want to leave before our luck is tested again. The zoo has been completely void of any and all Unseen people. Either the cat has killed its competition for food, or they’re still here, and we’ve yet to encounter them.
A loud bang is followed by a roar. Both sounds startle us and get us moving again. Damn, this place has got me jumpy! I unwillingly follow Andy back to the front of the zoo, awkwardly checking behind us every few feet. I still have my flashlight, but Andy lost hers during the ascent to freedom. If I’m too quick, I won’t see anything, and if I’m too slow, Andy won’t be able to see anything in front of her.
I remember to follow through with my promise to recheck the zoo offices before leaving. When I grab the handle, I see a figure appear on the opposite side of the glass door and it scares the ever-living-shit out of me. I fall back and go for my gun, but I’m stopped by Andy’s voice.
“Ty!”
The door swings open and out steps a guy who barely looks old enough to be in his twenties, but Andy did say he was a rookie on the force. His left arm is in a t-shirt-made sling, and his face is bruised and swollen.
My eyes open wide.
“Hang on a second!” I yell, getting to my feet. I look at Andy and point back into the park. “After all that happened back there, your nephew was here the entire time?”
Ty looks back and forth between his aunt and me.
He shrugs. “I was sleeping in back when I heard something trying to get in. I came to check it out and nothing was there—you must have already been gone by the time I got here. Then, I saw a large shadow pacing the grounds off in the distance.” He looks sorry. “I figured it was the jaguar trying to get in again. She’s been hunting the zoo for days, and I haven’t been able to leave.” HE blushes. “I lost my gun when I ran.”
It’s an innocent enough explanation, a story of bad timing on our part.
I’m not having any of it, however.
“Are you fucking kidding me!”
9
My curse-laden tirade ended when a horrifying scream picked up around us. I couldn’t see where it was coming from, only that it was building up to what I figured would be one hell of a climax. Then, out in front of the zoo somewhere, a light as bright as the sun blinked to life within the pitch of the night. Just as quickly as it appeared, the fireball winked out and was immediately followed by another scream and a boom.
I just witnessed a burner going supernova.
I was about to go off on Ty again, but the next sound we heard was the jaguar’s, and it sounded really close. The two Daniels and I took our chances and rushed to the waiting SUV and quickly dove inside. It seemed that our entrance into the zoo gave Ty the chance he needed to escape unscathed. Yes, it was a complete waste of time, and we almost died multiple times, but we fulfilled our mission and got him out alive.
As we pulled out onto the main road, I could plainly see where the burner had been only seconds ago. The asphalt outside of the turnoff into the zoo was burnt and smoking. The melted road left by the Unseen reminds me of some sort of hellish crop circle because all that is left is an ominous, smoking, circular pattern.
No body. No pieces. Nothing. Just a blast mark.
Upon our return to the hospital, Andy pulls the vehicle right up to the front door, instead of out back in the middle of the lot. This announces our arrival and alerts everyone who is sleeping in the lobby that we’ve returned. Not that they knew. The doors burst open before Ty can reveal himself, and before Tyson Sr. can erupt on Andy and me, I lay him out on the front steps of the hospital with one solid blow to the jaw.
Just as he hits the ground, the rear door opens, and Ty leaps out yelling, “Dad!”
Tyson’s face swiftly goes from one of anger to one of happiness when he sees that his boy is alive and well. I cross my arms, still standing over the Daniel men.
“My family. Now.”
Tyson’s men balk at my command, but he doesn’t. The CPD Lieutenant nods as he wipes the blood from his lower lip never once taking his eyes off me. I’m beyond angry right now, but I’m trying to keep it under control so we can get the hell out of Dodge.
Jill and Hope arrive first, then my parents. Each of them stands behind me and waits. But instead of turning around, I step forward and reach a hand down and help Tyson to his feet.
“Uh,” he says, unsure. He glances at his son, and then his sister and back to me. “Thank you—both of you.”
I don’t acknowledge his thanks. I pull him in close and whisper, “Imagine if I wasn’t here. You left your own son out there to die.” I push him away. “You’re a disgrace to the uniform.” I point at his sister. “She has more balls than you do, Lieutenant.” I look at Andy. “Maybe you should be in charge from now on.”
She tries to hide her grin but fails.
I turn my attention back to Tyson, my rage building. “I’m gonna need a few things.”
“Here.” Andy tosses me the keys to her SUV. “It’s all gassed up and ready to go. Everyone’s things are already in the trunk from earlier.” She winks at me. “Plus a few thank yous of my own.”
I take the offered keys and give her a wink back, tipping my head at the two Tysons. “Take care of them, will ya?”
She smiles. “Will do.”
Everyone piles in and we pull away. Once we get back out onto the main road, I hear my father whistle in delight from the back seat.
“That girl hooked us up nicely.”
“Oh, yeah?” I ask, glancing at him in the rearview mirror.
Dad’s smile turns into a mischievous grin. “Oh, yeah…”
I trust my father’s assessment of our “thank yous” and also realize that we now have one of the CPD’s SUVs, a Yukon, at our disposal. These tactical vehicles are as tough as nails and built to run forever.
I flip through the steering wheel’s settings and check the mileage, happy to see that this thing has a long way to go before it dies of “natural causes.”
I turn right onto Riverfront Parkway and then make a left onto Veterans Bridge. The Tennessee River passes ominously bene
ath us, and I’m thankful that it’s the middle of the night. I don’t want to see what the waterway has to offer right now. All I want is to get as far away from Chattanooga as possible and find a quiet place to sleep for the night.
We still have a little bit to go before we get to Gatlinburg and there’s no sense in rushing in there, guns-a-blazin’. We still have to be smart about what we’re doing. The first thing we all need is some rest, but before that happens, I quickly fill everyone in with what Andy and I went through.
Jill looks pissed.
Mom and Dad look horrified.
Hope can’t stop asking me questions about the animals I saw.
My smile must be pretty wide because Jill notices it.
“What’s so funny?” she asks.
I shrug. “You guys. After I saw what I did with that family, good and bad, I’m just happy to be back on the road with you crazy bunch.”
Everyone laughs, except for Hope, because, like a lot of the things I say, she doesn’t understand the true meaning behind it. She takes just about everything anyone says seriously. I mean, she’s seven.
“Stay on Hixson Pike for as long as you can,” Jill says. “It’ll take you pretty far and has plenty of places to stop.”
I nod and relax when I feel her hand on my thigh. She doesn’t squeeze it or playfully caress it. Jill just sets her hand there, knowing that I love it when she does. My fried nerves need precisely that, the calming touch of my wife.
I follow the flow of traffic through Northern Chattanooga, counting every mile that we put between us and that damned zoo. I pay extra attention to the places we pass just for that reason.
Go away zoo memory.
Rice Box, Papa John’s, WalMart grocery store…
Eventually, Hixson Pike merges into State Road 319 and carries us further and further northeast, exactly the direction we want to go. I lose 319 and get onto 27 just north of a town called Soddy Daisy. Then, we blow through Dayton and take 68 east across the Watts Bar Dam. On one side is Chickamauga Lake and on the other is Watts Bar Lake. The dam itself is still operating from the looks of it, but places like that are usually pretty self-sufficient.
By now, I’m the only one awake. I’ve seen some Unseen on the side of the road, non-monster people too. I didn’t plan on driving this far tonight, but I got my fourth wind of the day and decided to keep going. I’ll stop eventually, maybe the next town I see.
Just as the thought crosses my mind, a sign for Sweetwater, Tennessee comes up in the headlights. It sounds pleasant enough, but then again, Wellington is usually a nice place too—Chattanooga as well.
I check the dashboard’s clock.
2:07, I think, instantly feeling tired.
“Let’s find a place to pull over for a couple of hours,” I tell myself.
It’s getting colder outside so we won’t have to worry about it getting warm inside the SUV when I kill the engine. The air hasn’t been on once so far as it were. Everyone’s body heat is keeping the ambient temperature inside the Yukon comfortable.
Just outside of town is a Holiday Inn Express and I’m this close to waking everyone and finding a room. But I think better of it, reminding myself of the value of this vehicle and the cargo, both human and not, inside. If this were earlier in the night, maybe we could chance it.
It’s not worth it now. I sigh when I think of sleeping in an actual bed. Another day perhaps.
I pull off the road and park in the closest spot to the parking lot entrance, backing in the car for a quick getaway if needed. I turn off the engine but keep the keys dangling in the ignition, just in case. I don’t want to be in a rush and find myself half-asleep fumbling for them.
Carefully, I recline my seat and slouch down just a hair. I zip up my jacket and stick my cold hands in my pockets, already feeling better. I take one last look at the slumbering beauty to my right before I close my eyes.
As I’m sure you’re aware, my dreams have been nothing but nightmares for some time now. I’ve been doing what I call a “mental exercise” for a little while now. It’s helped me fall asleep for the most part, but once I’m asleep, chaos. Mental warfare.
I pick out all the good things that have happened to me over the last month and concentrate on them instead of focusing on the mountain of suffocating death.
Jill and Hope.
Mom and Dad.
Family.
It’s the closest we’ve all been in years and something I wouldn’t trade for the world. The world sucks right now, I know that, but it sucked pretty bad back then too. At least we have a viable reason for it now. In the past, it sucked because of laziness, more than anything else. Now, it’s life or death—and that can really motivate someone to change.
“Frank?”
The voice stirs me, and it, combined with an annoying light in my eyes, is just that, annoying.
Hang on, light?
My eyelids snap open, and I see a quaint field across the road to the south. The sun is barely up, peeking over the horizon to my left. Low-hanging fog clings to the grass before me, making me smile. Wherever we are, it’s a nice change of pace, perfect for a family on the run.
I yawn and stretch, which isn’t easy considering I’m still in the driver’s seat of our SUV. Jill is rubbing my shoulder, responsible for my awakening.
I look at her and blink hard.
“What time did you pull over?” she asks, likewise yawning.
I gaze at the clock and try and recall the time. “Two-ish, I think.”
My hand finds the lever on the side of my seat, and I put my seat back into its former position. I look down and discover an unopened water bottle in the cupholder, and unscrew the cap. I drink half of it before handing the rest to Jill. She happily takes it and finishes it off.
“Where are we?” she asks, wiping her mouth.
“Uh…” Then I spy the water bottle. “Oh, right. We’re just outside of some place called Sweetwater.”
Jill nods lost in thought. “Fifty miles…”
“What?” I ask, not understanding.
She rubs her face. “We’re about fifty miles from Gatlinburg.”
With the sun rising, I can also see the other cars in the parking lot. The one nearest to us disturbs me. I was so tired, and it was dark enough that I didn’t see it until now. It’s burned to ash, and the roof of the sedan is peeled back like the skin of a banana. Whatever destroyed the car…it happened inside of it.
The obvious culprit is a burner, something I’ve yet to see with my own eyes.
Damn, so they aren’t just confined to the Chattanooga area.
Quickly starting the car, I put it into gear and get us moving. “Fifty miles, huh?” I ask Jill, getting back to her comment. “As long as we don’t drag our feet, we should be able to get there, in what, a couple hours?”
“Sounds about right, though, there’s no direct route from here.”
I shrug. “There should be plenty of signs along the way.”
“Of course,” she agrees. “Gatlinburg is a big deal around here.”
We coast down New Highway 68 and leave Sweetwater, Tennessee in the dust in no time. Just like that, we’re in and out.
Talk about your small towns.
The road turns south for a bit, and I start seeing these weird signs advertising something called the Lost Sea. Apparently, there’s a network of underground caves that lead to the country’s largest subterranean lake.
A massive underground lake is exactly something I’d love to explore. Imagine what we’d see down there…besides Lord-knows-what kind of Unseen creatures. A freshwater lake beneath Nowheresville, Tennessee… What could go wrong?
We pass by Lost Sea Road moments later, which makes me frown. Another neat thing that I'd love to see is now gone. Around a banking left, 68 straightens out and heads back to the east where it meets a larger roadway, Old US Highway 411.
“Perfect,” Jill says, sitting forward. “This will take us right up to Gatlinburg’s doorstep.”
She’s right. Even I remember 411. The only reason I recall it is because of the State Road in my home town of Wellington is also known as 441 and the similar naming of this State Road being 411 helped me know where I was when Jill and I would vacation here.
Come to think of it, I think there’s another 441 up near Knoxville?
Jill explains that forty of the fifty miles to Gatlinburg will be spent on this one road. If the highway isn’t too congested, we might actually be able to get there sooner than I thought. Local roads are a time killer, but highways like this are generally the worst when it comes to accidents and logjams.
The human race is out in full force this morning too. People pass us by every couple of minutes, no doubt on the hunt for food and water, or like us, they’re just passing through.
We watch in horror as two cars collide into one another in the front parking lot of an Ingles Market. Why did they hit? I get my answer moments later when a mob of Unseen come pouring out of the store. The people that were inside must’ve been caught off guard while resupplying and were attacked.
The driver of the blue minivan veers right into the side of a smaller two-door as both attempt to pull away. Regrettably, the vehicles are quickly overrun with swarming bodies.
I don’t stop to help.
It’s too late.
“Where are we?”
I look into my mirror. Hope is rubbing the sleep out of her eyes, just waking. Luckily, she didn’t see what happened. That’s the last thing a kid needs to witness while wiping the tired crispies out of her eyes. Luckily, she’s little, and my parents block both of the windows. Plus, the girl is usually too enthralled with her stuffed animal to notice.
Skylar has seen some crazy shit, right alongside us.
Yes, I can recite the name of the winged jaguar from heart now. Sue me. We have a lot of downtime and Hope, and I play together. Well, she plays mostly. Usually, I only sit there with her in my lap and take it all in—being a dad mostly. She’s even mentioned the subject once or twice when talking about it to my parents. It may seem like it’s been longer than four or five weeks since her folks died. Regardless of how long it’s been, I haven’t worked up the courage to tell her that it’s okay to call me her father if she wants to.
