by Matt James
The rider has been picked clean by birds and is hanging over the ski lift-like lap bar, looking straight down at me as we pass. He’s just high enough that I can’t see the expression on his face.
Not that he has one.
We pop out onto East Parkway/321 and turn right. Even more of the local businesses are blackened and unrecognizable. The few I do recognize are only because their signs weren’t obliterated by fire, and/or explosion. There’s also a bunch of homes just off of this road as well. I can’t see many of them from here due to the tree line, but the ones I can spot, are gone, likewise destroyed by fire.
Some still burn now.
Knowing how close we are to Jill’s cabin, I push the rugged Yukon harder. Besides the Unseen, we seem to be the only living things in Gatlinburg. A few of them try and keep up with us but can’t, eventually falling back and returning to whatever mischief and mayhem they had been up to. We’re almost free until a siren falls in line behind us. She won’t be so easy to lose.
As casual as he can be, Dad puts down his window, sticks the barrel of his shotgun outside, and pulls the trigger. The shell doesn’t do much, but it’s enough damage to make the creature think twice about pursuing us. My experience tells me that a siren wouldn't have given up so easily, but with the dropping temperature and their emaciated appearances, the Unseen are either freezing to death or starving.
They’re picking their battles now.
I turn off the main road and onto one that dead ends at a place called Sanctuary. It’s the name of the D’Angelo’s neighborhood and one that is well off the beaten path, secluded from the less wealthy. The street is called Peace Creek, and it follows a creek of the same name to the northeast for a little under a mile. That creek just so happens to flow past the D’Angelo’s backyard. Other roads branch off of Peace Creek as we move, revealing smaller neighborhoods themselves.
But none are even close to Sanctuary, I think, picturing the two-story masterpiece in my head. The family cabin isn’t the only one of its kind within Sanctuary either. There are at least four or five others that are just as nice, if not more impressive.
The “cabin” isn’t really a cabin at all. It’s more of a mansion made of wood and stone. The construction is similar to what you’d expect in this area, but the inside is what wows the shit out of me every time I visit. It’s seriously that cool—pretentious—but cool.
A lot of the cabins are timeshares, but not the D’Angelos. No, they bought theirs outright when the market was good, and instead of selling it at its peak, they decided to keep the asset for themselves and invest in the home’s interior. Everything within the cabin is ultra-modern, exactly the opposite of how I would’ve done it.
When I think of a cabin in the woods of Tennessee, I think of something comfy and simple. What I don’t think of is giant flat-screen televisions and refrigerators that talk to you. I’m not kidding, their fridge is interactive.
Nothing around here has power, though.
The homes to my right and left are all dark, from the looks of it. There was only one working traffic signal back in town too.
Their back deck has a huge jacuzzi. Now, I’m not one to bitch and moan about a bad-ass hot tub, especially one that Jill and I have had sex in. Multiple times. Mic drop… The tub faces the river and is out of range for any, and all, looky-loos out there.
I hold my breath as I guide us around the last bend before we’re able to see Sanctuary. When I do, I’m actually filled with a little optimism. The closest of the homes to either side of the main road are burnt, but not all of them. Each cabin is on four acres of land, and none of them are set very far back into the property. They’re right on the road for all to see. A combination of privacy fences and dense foliage act as barriers from one residence to the next.
The D’Angelo’s place is at the back of the neighborhood, just out of sight from where we are now. Side streets branch off chaotically to the left and right, flowing with the natural grade of the landscape. Our destination just so happens to butt up against the river when it cuts east across northern Gatlinburg.
I count the ruined homes as we drive, stopping when I reach six—and that’s just on the main road of Sanctuary Way. Who knows how many more are done for that are out of sight? Another ten? Another twenty? As for the neighborhood itself, there are around fifty homes in total here. If the pattern holds, I’d guess that at least a third of them, maybe half, are gone.
We reach the halfway point and follow the asphalt around to the right, circumventing a cute central communal area. The half dozen gazebos are separated intermittently by picnic tables and children’s playground equipment. Slides, teetertotters, and whatnot… I spot Hope eyeing the park as we pass and decide that I’ll have her play there in the near future.
Now, on the opposite side of the commons, I can just barely see the Chateau de Angelo. Sanctuary Way dead ends there, making the cabin stand out more than the rest. Well, to be fair, it actually ends at a cul-de-sac with two other homes in it. Nonetheless, I guarantee you that’s why Anthony wanted the place so bad. His flaunting personality wouldn’t have anything less. Anthony is one of the worst types of human beings: A wealthy showoff.
Then again, everyone that can afford to live in a place like Sanctuary has a little of the same trait. Even the smallest of homes are worth a million-plus—most much more. The D’Angelo cabin was worth roughly 2.5 million dollars last I checked. Now, it’s worth less than diddly poo.
I guess you could say it’s ‘worthless.’
The good news is, the family cabin is still in one piece.
The bad news is, a group of five Unseen are trying to get inside.
I slowly roll up to the base of the driveway and throw it into park. As of right now, three of the creatures, the goblins, are trying to claw their way in through the heavy, wood front door. There’s a siren poking around near the front windows, looking for a better way in, but she isn’t having much success since the shutters are up. Maybe the D’Angelos aren’t so helpless after all… The fifth and final member of the group is what concerns me the most. It’s the first time I’ve seen one for myself and what I see will stay with me forever.
It’s a burner, and he just stands there, fists clenched, hunched, and shaking. The weirdest and worst part of it all is his skin, or rather, the veins beneath it.
The blood that flows through his body is glowing, radiating some kind of hellish energy from within. Steam rolls off his body as well, caused by his sweltering internal temperature. Even if it wasn’t as cold as it is outside, I bet he’d be doing the exact same thing. I watch as a few snowflakes land on him and instantly turn to vapor. The guy is literally hot as hell.
Oh, and the burner is Jill’s father.
16
“Dad?” Jill asks, climbing out of the vehicle.
This isn’t what we needed. I’ve obviously been pretty pessimistic about her parents surviving a month on their own in the world we now live in, but I never once thought that Anthony D’Angelo would become a fucking burner!
“Jill!” I leap out of the driver’s side and hold a hand in front of her chest. “Stay back!”
“That’s my father!” she yells back, trying to push through me.
The burner turns toward us and growls, his mouth glowing bright red from within.
“No,” I say, “it's not. At least, not anymore it isn’t.”
Jill shoves me aside and addresses her Unseen father. “Dad?” He snarls again. “It’s me, Jill, your daughter.”
Twenty feet up the driveway, the burner that used to be her father, takes a step towards us. When his foot lands, the snow beneath it sizzles and turns to steam. Jill and I both take a step back, but I draw my gun. Jill tries to stop me, but I step forward and aim for Anthony’s chest.
I don’t shoot, though. Something about him isn’t right—besides the obvious. I’m not sure what will happen if I shoot him and all the heat, pressure, and energy escape his body at once. I look around and see t
he large char marks dotting the neighborhood. The burners are like living bombs. Andy back in Chattanooga said as much.
Shooting him is the wrong way to go about this. I glance at Jill. Well, shooting him right here and now. Eventually, I am going to have to kill Anthony D’Angelo. I’ll just have to time it right.
I holster my Glock and think. What’s the best way to go about this? I need to find a way to defeat him without blowing myself up.
Think, dammit, think!
My eyes widen. What is it that consistently defeats fire? Water!
The river…
I bolt for the side of the house, specifically the gate into the backyard. Peace Creek is my only option. I need to somehow lure Anthony over to the short drop into the freezing cold wat—
“Look out!”
I leap to the side and roll to my feet, taking care not to reinjure my already aching ribs. The burner had followed me like I hoped and had apparently shown some impressive speed to boot. There was no way to tell how well the creature could move without giving it a reason to showcase it. For his part, Anthony tumbles to the snow-covered lawn, having just missed the back of my head. I actually felt the heat of his swing on the back of my neck.
Gunfire erupts back down the drive as the siren and goblins go after my family. Jill and Dad unload into the siren first, spinning her to the ground with a series of impacts. She’s not dead, but she’ll be mostly out of the fight for sure. The goblins scatter and attack from all angles but are kept at bay for the time being.
I refocus my attention on Anthony and open the side gate, making sure that it stays open for him. I really don’t want to set the cabin’s fence on fire if I can help it. The house survived a lot, and I intend for it to be around a little bit longer.
My monstrous father-in-law grumbles incoherently, and I’m almost shocked into immobilization by his glowing eyes and mouth. The sight is strange enough that I kind of want to gawk, but it’s frightening enough that I keep my ass moving. There are few ways to die that scare me worse than burning to death and “burning to death because the face-melting heat is coming from inside my Unseen-father-in-law” is high on that list.
Anthony’s eyes lock onto me and begin to glow even brighter. With each inhalation, his rage seems to build, and with his ever-rising anger, so does the glow. I need to figure out a way to keep this guy calm. Regardless, I think I’ve stumbled upon one of the triggers. Eventually, no matter what we do, he is going to blow his top.
Poor Jill.
While she’s busy defending the Yukon, the house, and the rest of our family, I’m over here coming up with a plan to kill her dad. Not exactly the best thing to do to keep your marriage healthy, huh? Usually, the husband might be asked to save a family member in a crisis, not put a bullet in one.
I’m hoping I don’t have to shoot Anthony. There aren’t a lot of options right now, and no matter how rough things get, that’s going to be my last resort. If, and when, he dies, I’ll do my damnedest for it to not be by my hand.
Not directly, anyway.
Anthony follows me through the gate, but not before stopping and laying a hand against it for support. It looks like he may have hurt his ankle, or possibly his knee, during the fall. I watch in horror as the wood beneath his hand starts to smoke. I can’t even comprehend what that must feel like.
Note to self: Don’t become the wood!
I backpedal and slip. The stone path to the backyard is slick with snow…and blood. Thankfully, I stay on my feet. Anthony must see an opening because he lunges at me with a pulsating fist of heat. His emotions definitely have an effect on his internal temperature—that’s been confirmed.
A chorus of shrill cries echoes somewhere behind me. The backyard wasn’t completely void of life like I wanted it to be. I really needed it to be just me and Jill’s father. Now, I’ll have to contend with whatever is coming up behind me, as well as my in-law.
I pick up the pace and put some distance in between the limping Anthony and me, drawing my pistol as I do. Two goblins scurry toward me, and each takes a bullet to the chest. Another one jumps down from a tree and quickly ends up like his brothers. I have to put a second bullet in this one, though. He’s twitching, and I can’t have him getting back into the game, can I?
Now, that I’ve stopped shooting, I notice that the commotion out front has subsided. Jill proves me right when she comes running up behind her father.
“Dad!” she shouts.
Shit, I think, watching as Anthony starts to turn.
I bend down and snag a rock from the stone path and chuck it at him. The baseball-size distraction works and he, once more, focuses his attention on me.
“Don’t do this Jill,” I say, keeping my tone even.
“He’s my father, Frank!”
Anthony begins to turn again.
“Dammit, you prick,” I shout, “look at me!”
The burner-in-law’s veins pulse with power and he growls in annoyance. Steam billows off his skin as we’re pummeled with even more snow. Now, there’s a forever hissing sound in the air all around us. The wind picks up too, stinging my face and chilling me to my core. My winter jacket isn’t made for this kind of weather.
Cold? Yes.
Bitter cold? No.
The Floridian in me comes out every time the weather turns to wintery dog shit. I love the cold weather, but this is unbearable.
And it’s only going to get worse.
Anthony pauses his advance and shivers. The light within him dims a little with each passing second. Like his emotional state, the outside temperature seems to have an effect on his, uh, condition.
I look past Anthony and witness Jill’s eyes flick down to my gun. Her face changes from concern to terror. She must think I’m about to shoot him.
“Frank, no!”
I’m not, but I might have to now. Anthony launches at Jill, who isn’t even trying to defend herself. She’s in shock. She can’t believe what her own father is about to do.
But I’m not as easy to immobilize. I rush him from behind and tackle him to the snow-covered ground, but when I touch him with my shoulder, even through my jacket, I yelp in pain and roll away. The polyester material has melted, and the heat scorched my skin. Luckily for me, I think it’s just a bad heat rash and nothing worse than that.
“Frank…” Jill says, looking sick. She knows I just saved her from a series of horrible burns—maybe even saved her life. Tears stream down her face and a look of contentment washes over her. I’ve seen that look before. She’s going to do something insane but she’s in complete control upstairs.
Jill runs for the river, yelling at her father the entire time. I’m watching while desperately trying to rip off my jacket. Once I do, I toss it aside and hurry after the father-daughter duo. Jill is less beat up than me and is moving just fine. Anthony must really want to sink his teeth into his little girl’s flesh because he takes off at a dead sprint right after Jill.
I might be able to get off a solid shot, but I’m not sure what will happen to the bullet. Will it burn up when it strikes Anthony, or will it pass through his compromised body and hit Jill instead.
“Fuck!” I yell, holstering my weapon.
I fall in line behind them, keeping an eye on Jill the whole way. She’s slowing as she reaches the rear of the property. There’s a gap in the trees about forty feet wide. I know the area well and have frequented the bench there many-a-time when trying to avoid Jill’s folks. I can’t tell you how many snow-chilled six-packs I’ve drunk out here.
Man, I could go for one now.
Jill slides to a stop, faces her father, and is bowled into with the force of a battering ram. I fall on my face but realize that’s exactly what Jill wanted him to do. Just as he hits her, she ducks and lifts Anthony over her left shoulder. Fortunately, for her, he isn’t a big guy and looks to have lost a few pounds since turning into the Human Torch.
Johnny Storm goes sailing into the air and disappears from sight. But my attent
ion isn’t on him anymore, it's on Jill who is screaming in agony. When I touched Anthony, it was with my puffy jacket. When Jill did it, her neck and face got it good.
I jump on top of her and all but shove her face into the snowy ground. She fights me but eventually relaxes. Then, an explosion erupts somewhere beneath and behind us, putting the period on Anthony’s life on planet Earth. A plume of icy-cold water follows his demise, dousing Jill and me in the coldest bath I’ve ever taken.
The freezing water actually relaxes Jill some as it washes over her beat-red skin. I’m no expert, but I think she got lucky. She was most definitely burned, will probably scar too, but she’ll live and be able to heal on her own.
We lay there for a few more minutes until we’re discovered by my parents and Hope. At first, they all give us the same huh? expression. It all changes once they get a look at Jill, though. Mom rushes for her and gently puts an arm under one side, while I get the other. Dad, shotgun in hand, leads us to the back of the house.
“Our gear?” I ask.
Dad shakes his head. “We’ll get it later.”
“Yes,” Mom agrees, “let's get inside and have a look at Jill’s injuries.”
Mom bears the brunt of Jill's weight so I can pick up Hope. I know Jill will be okay. I’m more worried about Cynthia than anyone. With everything going on, we haven’t seen her yet, and I’m praying that we aren’t about to find her rotting corpse on the dining room table.
17
“Mom?” Jill calls out as we enter through the back door. Thankfully, Jill has a key, and we didn’t have to break it down. We were also lucky that nothing saw us go in. No one was moving too fast after the experience we just had. Killing Jill’s father has taken its toll on everyone.
But mostly Jill. She grimaces when I sit her down at the kitchen island. Not just physically either.
The first thing my mother does is dive into the cabinets, following Jill's instructions, to look for pain medication. If Jill thinks she’s hurting now, she’s going to get a rude awakening in a couple of hours. I’ve seen some bad burns while on the beat. She’s going to be hurting for weeks.
