Dead Moon: Song of Sorrow (The Dead Moon Thrillers Book 3)

by Matt James

  I’m twenty feet from the open door, about a quarter of the way there, when a sturdy man with a shaved head saunters out into the sun…carrying a shotgun on his shoulder. He’s built for the job of fighting fires, which I hope he is, instead of a nut who just took over the building and now wants to shoot the annoying intruder: Me.

  I slowly raise my hands.

  “Morning,” I say, smiling. He doesn’t react, verbally or otherwise. “My name is Frank Moon and that there is my family.” I motion to the group huddled around the front of the SUV.

  The firefighter/gunman, I haven’t decided which one he is yet, removes the weapon from his shoulder and points it non-threatening at the ground. Still, he doesn’t say a word.

  “We’re just passing through and could use some help getting back to the main road.”

  Finally, he speaks. “What are you doing here, Mr. Moon.”

  “I just said that—”

  “Not that. I mean what are you really doing here.”

  It takes me a second, but I think I know what he means.

  “We’re just trying to survive, same as you.”

  “And that?” I notice that he’s not looking at me, but at the gun beneath my coat.

  Shit.

  “If it helps any, I’m a cop.”

  “Got any credentials, or am I gonna have to take your word on that?”

  I grin. I kind of like this guy. No nonsense. Straight to the point.

  “Sure do, and I’d be happy to show you as long as I don’t get shot for reaching into my pocket.”

  He shrugs. “Go for it. I’d rather not have to kill anyone today.”

  Today…

  I swallow hard and procure my badge and toss it over to the hulking man. He catches it easily and nods, tossing it back.

  “A little far from New York, aren’t you?”

  “Haven’t you seen the news, New York is gone—well, New York City.”

  His eyes open wide. “You were there?”

  I nod. “Yep. Barely made it out too.”

  “So, it’s true then?”

  I nod again. “Monsters. See any around here?”

  Now it’s his turn to nod. “We’ve come across a few of them here and there. Luckily, we’re pretty secluded.”

  “At the top of the world.”

  He smiles wide. “The name’s Dwayne, by the way.”

  “You in charge around here?”

  He shrugs. “I am now. The few people that policed this area took off a few weeks ago. Just me and the other Section Eighters left to look after things. Most of ’em who left lived over in Walland anyways. No reason to stick around here.”

  Like I’m supposed to know where Walland is.

  “So,” I say, trying not to sound rude, “about my directions?”

  A car comes screaming down the road and slides to a stop a few feet away. A boy in his teens leaps out of the vehicle and starts shouting at Dwayne.

  “We got a problem over on Hilltop!” the kid yells.

  “What kind of problem?” Dwayne asks, lifting his shotgun.

  “A big one! Dang black bear is ransackin’ Old Thomas’ place.”

  “Great…” Dwayne says, rubbing his glistening head. “Thing must be starvin’.” Even in the cold breeze, he seems to be sweating. Then again, some people are like that. No matter the temperature, there’s always a part of them that’s warm and seeping.

  My armpits do that. They seriously never stop.

  Dwayne looks at me, and I know what he’s about to ask. “Tell you what Detective. You help me get rid of this bear, and I’ll personally guide you to the road you seek.”

  I’m about to argue, but don’t even bother. I know the type. Even if I do win the battle of words, the person with the bear problem will probably get hurt, or worse, and I’ll feel like shit for not doing anything. This shouldn’t be that big of a problem either. Fire off a couple of shots, spook Baloo, then, back on the road.

  “Fine, whatever.” I look over my shoulder and see that Jill isn’t happy with my decision. I face Dwayne and say, “Let’s get this over with.”

  * * *

  “That ain’t no bear… That’s a…a…”

  “A monster, I know, I know…”

  Man, my luck sucks.

  All I wanted was some poor, hungry animal to scare away, but nooo, I get a demon-bear-hybrid instead. Seriously, the mutations are getting weirder and weirder as we continue to move about the U.S.

  Baloo—wait, didn’t I name one of the polar bears in Manhattan that, I can’t remember? You know what, fuck it! I’m calling him Carlos. I don’t give a shit anymore! His name. Is fucking. Carlos!

  And boy is Carlos perturbed.

  The owner of the house has got to be in his eighties, and he’s currently bleeding and being dragged away by the kid who came and got Dwayne and me. For his part, Carlos is currently dismantling the old man’s front porch. The black bear, if that’s what it used to be, is unlike anything I’ve seen so far.

  He’s still covered in hair, but his arms and legs are much longer than they should be. His head is big and thick, per usual, but his snout is elongated, and his teeth are enormous. At least the polar bear back in New York retained most of his bearish qualities. This thing fully morphed into something else altogether.

  Not quite bear, not quite classic grey alien.

  The house is near the bottom of the gentle, sloping front yard. Dwayne and I are at the top of it, standing on the edge of the road next to where Thomas’ mailbox used to be. Part of the wooden post is still there, splintered and pointing up to the heavens. The actual mailbox is nowhere to be found.

  “What do we do?” Dwayne asks.

  I draw my pistol and laugh. “You’re kidding me, right? Shoot it!”

  I pull the trigger of my Glock twice and am happy to see that my aim is still on point after so much time between trigger pulls. The bullets fly straight and true and do nothing—less than that, really—except piss off Carlos more as they uselessly impact his back.

  As the bullets hit, he swipes his right paw into, and through, the last support beam holding up Thomas’ covered porch. As the creature steps down from the raised level, one stair at a time, it caves in on itself.

  Carlos moves very human-like.

  This oughta be interesting.

  Both Dwayne and I backpedal some, taking pot shots as we do. I don’t have anything harder-hitting than my pistol. Even if I had my bow—you know what, never mind, it was an adorable thought.

  “Hey, Moon,” Dwayne says, “don’t suppose you have an idea cookin’?”

  I don’t answer him. I keep my eyes on the eyeless, altered black bear. It wobbles with every step it takes. While some bears walk very well on their hind legs, most can’t, and don’t, do it for long. You can thank Animal Planet for that insight. They’ve helped me a lot along the way. Carlos looks unsure of his newfound body, which means we might have an advantage on it out in the open.

  I relay my thoughts to Dwayne and get a shrug. “Makes sense, I guess.”

  “Just follow my lead, okay? Go wide and get a better angle—confuse it. Also, don’t get too close.”

  He laughs nervously. “You ain’t got to worry about that.”

  I step down into the yard and move to the left. Dwayne does the same but heads right. We stop halfway between the house and the road. Carlos is in our sights at the top of our triangle. He sneers and bellows in anger, hyperextending his jaw as he does. I’m about to put a bullet in his open maw but am interrupted by the sound of an oncoming vehicle.

  No!

  I glance behind me and see Jill behind the wheel of the Yukon. She and Dad quickly jump out of the front seats, leaving Mom and Hope in the backseat. I can barely make out the two women’s silhouettes behind dark window tint.

  They must’ve panicked when they heard the gunshots.

  They got here quick too, but it’s not like Top of the World is hard to navigate. It only took Dwayne three streets to get to So
uth Hilltop Drive. Wouldn’t have been too hard for Jill to follow.

  Carlos isn’t happy with the newest visitors.

  In a move that I should’ve seen coming, but didn’t, he drops onto all fours and gallops towards them like a razor-blade horse. Dwayne and I are forced to hold our fire, as it passes between us. The last thing we need to do is shoot each other instead of the bear.

  Jill and Dad don’t hold back, though. They both open up and stumble the creature. Dad took the same approach that he used back at Art's place and went straight for Carlos’ legs, but Jill doesn’t, sending every round she can into his body and neck area. And once the bear leaves Dwayne and I’s no-fire zone, we join in on the assault.

  Well, there goes my newfound ammo supply.

  Maybe… We still haven’t had time to check out the trunk of the CPD SUV. Even Dad couldn’t see very much. He had said that it was packed with all kinds of supplies. It seems that Andy and the rest of the department had prepped for an eventual evacuation. I wouldn’t be surprised at all if their entire fleet of vehicles were similarly stocked and ready to go at the drop of a hat.

  It’s a good plan, actually.

  The local kid does the smart thing and drags Thomas to his station wagon, practically tossing the old-timer into the passenger seat. Unlike the oversized pig back in Florida, Carlos isn’t doing well under our barrage of gunfire. The pig’s hide was like Kevlar. When we left, it was still ravaging the landscape.

  I turn and run back up the hill, careful to give the creature a wide berth. Every few feet, I stop and take a shot, but so does everyone else. The chaotic salvo is confusing the bear enough that it doesn’t go after one single target. Instead, Carlos swipes wildly at the air, reacting the same way the pig did when stung by the annoying, unknown enemies.

  I catch a glimpse of my mother sneaking out of the Yukon, nocking an arrow as she does. She stands tall on the other side of the hood and lets it fly. The silent projectile impales Carlos in the stomach but is torn away with ease. Still, Mom had definitely hurt it. Seeing the same thing, she lets loose another one—then another—sticking them into his body whenever she has the opening.

  Carlos is starting to look a lot like a porcupine.

  As the bear weakens, we all move in for a closer—and hopefully—a kill shot. Everyone except Mom. She lowers her bow but stays behind the imposing, blacked-out SUV. I get the closest because I’m an idiot. Carlos tries to disembowel me, but misses. I leap back and, of course, find the missing mailbox with my foot, it’s thin, metal casing crumpling around my heel.

  Between the odd angle and the light layer of slick snow, I slip and teeter back, leaning beyond the point of return, and tumble a few feet down the sloped lawn. The mailbox is still locked onto my foot and comes along for the ride.

  Carlos must see it as an opening and faces me while my father reloads. I’m not sure if Dwayne is empty, but he also stops firing. I think he’s just scared out of his mind and his brain melted from the terror eating away at his mind.

  The bear steps toward me but is rammed by the back of the kid’s station wagon, demolition derby-style. Carlos is flung sideways, spinning to the ground. He lands face down atop the mailbox’s jagged, spike-like post. I can’t see where it punctures the beast, but I hear it.

  Gross.

  Jill plods down the hill and she aids in removing the mailbox from my foot. Helping me up, we walk hand-in-hand and check out the damage sustained to Carlos. The wooden post acted as a spear and was driven straight through the bear’s throat. You can just barely see the tip protruding from the back of his neck. Dwayne’s face is priceless when my mother casually starts plucking her arrows from the beast’s back, checking them over as she does.

  The kid stumbles out of his station wagon and surveys the damage to it and the bear. The rear end is done for, but all in all, I think it’ll still drive fine.

  “How’s Thomas?” Dwayne asks, shaking the teen’s hand.

  He shrugs. “Not sure, but he keeps complaining about a pain in his arm…”

  Dwayne rushes to the passenger door and yanks it open. I don’t hear what he says to the elderly man, but his words are soft and slow. He is a firefighter after all. Those guys are trained for this type of thing. As far as killing Unseen monsters… I’m impressed that he only froze up twice. Once when we first arrived and again when I was on my back.

  We give everyone a few minutes to recuperate. I do what I’ve wanted to do for a while now and check out the trunk of our vehicle. I need to see what was gifted to us by the CPD.

  Popping the hatch, I step back and allow the thin, hydraulic arms do their job. The cargo inside makes me smile with delight.

  12

  We follow Dwayne’s truck as he leads us to a path to the main road. While I keep up, I mentally go over the Yukon’s inventory, plus our own. The Chattanooga Police Department went all out, for sure. I even recall Andy saying that she might be leaving soon.

  Did she pack this thing without telling her brother what was in it? My mouth hangs open. She did! I grip the wheel hard. She was going to desert Tyson! I shake my head at the revelation. Probably take Tyson Jr. with her as well.

  I’m stunned at what I’ve discovered—if it’s actually true. There’s a strong possibility that it’s just the ramblings of an exhausted mind and an overactive imagination. None of it might be accurate, or all of it could be.

  Hopefully, I’ll never know. That would mean that I’d be back in Chattanooga at some point.

  The first thing I noticed was the cases of bottled water and boxes of canned food. Dad is still slurping down his cold chicken noodle soup as we speak. Everyone has eaten except me. I’ll have Jill pop me open something once we get back on the road to Gatlinburg.

  The next object that caught my eye was the long black case pushed up against the backseat. I dove for it, excitedly flinging open the lid. Inside was what I hoped I’d see.

  “Sniper rifle,” I had said, eyeing the barrel-mounted scope.

  The bolt-action Remington Model 700P is extremely popular within the law enforcement community, namely SWAT teams.

  The “P” in 700P stands for “police” after all.

  I’ve had the chance to fire one before and was impressed with its combination of power and accuracy. Next to the stock, also secured in a gray, foam-like material, were two loaded cartridges. I don’t remember how many rounds they carry, but either way, ammo will be limited.

  There was also another shotgun with a case of shells, as well as, a large box of 9mm bullets. Dad and I were both ecstatic to see the 12-gauge and the ammo. While I’m getting the hang of my bow, I really, really don’t want to rely on it. Having my new pistol and now, another shotgun has brightened my spirits some. Plus, there’s another Glock 17, which is what Jill now carries. She gave the revolver to my father. Mom had initially been offered the weapon, but quickly refused it, happy with her bow and arrow setup.

  My family.

  The badass CPD Yukon.

  The supplies.

  I’m feeling very confident right now like we can take on the world. Then, Dwayne stops in front of an overpass with no entrance ramp. The road is visible from down here, but I don’t see a way to reach it.

  Until he points to a hill to the right of his truck.

  It seems that a portion of the woods has been cleared and an emergency dirt ramp was built. Dwayne exits his vehicle and produces a key. He uses it to unlock a chain that hangs across the narrow expanse.

  I pull up beside him and lower my window.

  “Path to the main road, huh?”

  He shrugs. “Better than nothin’.”

  We shake hands and part ways without another word. While a nice guy, I don’t want to see him ever again, just like Andy. Maybe if the world somehow rights itself, I’ll look them up—maybe.

  And that’s a BIG maybe.

  I push the Yukon forward and beg that the incline isn’t too much for it. We’d be royally screwed if the snow was coming down harde
r. There is no way the tires would catch on a slope like this if it were covered in it, even with the heavily treaded ones we have beneath us now.

  I will the vehicle to succeed. “Come on, baby. Grab…”

  Slowly, I give it a little more gas. If I push it too hard too quick, the tires will spin and ruin whatever progress we’ve already gained. I almost do just that and inwardly curse myself. Luckily, the tires catch moments later, and we climb up and out of the ultra-sketchy on-ramp. As soon as we find pavement, we plow through a street sign that says, “Foothills Parkway.”

  Foothills is quiet and scenic. There’s nothing on either side of it except the trees and their leaves. The snow is coming down a lot heavier now, and the temperature is dropping. For the first time in a while, I have to flick on my windshield wipers. Then, I turn the windshield defrost on low and keep it on. The air is just warm enough to clear the glass. It’s also warm enough to cut through the nip in the air.

  “Let’s hope the Unseen don’t know how to use space heaters,” Dad says from behind me.

  I nod. “We need to use the cold to our advantage.”

  “How so?” he asks, leaning forward, closer to my mirror.

  I had been thinking about it earlier but hadn’t come up with anything yet. Moving further north would be the obvious thing but staying put in a town we know might be the better thing to do. We should at least try to settle down for a while and catch up on things like sleep and, well, more sleep. Having a more consistent eating schedule would be nice too.

  “Once we find Anthony and Cynthia,” I make sure I don’t if we find, “what if we stay in Gatlinburg for a while and take a break from the road?”

  “The cabin,” Jill says, squeezing my hand.

  Hope squeals with joy, and it’s all the convincing I require. I need to make it happen. Even if we have to build a friggin razor-wire-topped wall around the property to keep the baddies out, our new goal is to make the family cabin a real family cabin. And for that to work, my list of things to do when we get there includes boarding up the windows, stockpiling supplies, and surviving the winter.

  The waiting will be the hardest part of all, but after everything we’ve been through while on the move, sitting around in relative peace shouldn’t be too difficult now that I think about. Living on the road sucks but sleeping on the road itself sucks worse. It’s been way too long since I’ve slept in a bed—not just a mattress—but a genuine, real-life bed. We did that once a couple weeks back.