by Matt James
“Get…out of here!” I yell back, coughing hard as I’m hit with a wall of smoke and heat.
I stagger back away from the noxious fumes and to get away from the front third of the cabin that has begun to tilt away from the rest of the dwelling. The burner must’ve really done some serious damage, and regrettably, I’m stuck on the shitty side.
The sound of snapping trees startles me.
Shit.
I realize it isn’t the tree line behind me that’s snapping, it’s pieces of the cabin that are, for the most part, below me. The roof shakes and tips toward the driveway, and I have no choice but to drop to my hands and knees and ride the wave.
The world comes apart around me. Fires kiss my exposed skin, forcing my eyes shut.
Back in the woods outside Lookout Mountain, Jill battled a siren before being tossed. She described it as if she had just ridden Satan’s mechanical bull.
That’s me now, except this feels more like Babe the Blue Ox beneath me instead.
And all I can do is wait for whatever is about to happen to me to happen.
I’m bucked from my perch where I slam into the splitting frame of one of the upstairs dormer windows. I ride it for another second or two before it, too, breaks free of the rest of the cabin. Together, we and the dormer slip free of the rest of the home and are deposited into the side yard—and by deposited—I mean that we’re thrown into the burning shrubs.
We are the “Knights Who Say OUCH!”
I roll away and come to a stop on my back staring up into the star-filled sky, marveling at the steam billowing off my heat-stricken body. I feel no significant burns, nothing different than when Jill’s father scalded my skin through my jacket. Happy to be alive, I do nothing but rest and breathe.
The only time I move is when the forward section of the cabin crashes to the ground beside me. I sit up just as thousands of pounds of wood, metal, and drywall land atop the siren.
If she wasn’t dead before, you can damn-well guarantee that she is now.
I circumvent the wreckage and stand before the three-walled building. I can see right into the large great room on the first floor and also into a few of the remaining upstairs bedrooms. Parts of the house are still burning, but the majority of it isn’t. It seems that most of the fire fell away with the front third of the house.
Including me.
Hands on hips, I laugh when I spot my father still inside his bedroom. He must’ve stayed put after we were bull rushed by the goblins, and then, the siren. The burner as well… Crawling out from under the bed, he spots me and gives me a nervous wave. Embers are floating in the air around him, and I watch as he swats them away from his face.
He isn’t too far from me, but he’s far enough away that I can’t help him down. I, honestly, have no idea how he’s going to get down and I can’t offer him any advice. The sight of Jill’s burner-mother sends me into a panic, and I stumble away in fright. I go for my gun, but something inside me gives me pause.
No, not something inside of me, it’s something inside of Cynthia. Her eyes lock on me, but they aren’t full of hate, they’re sad. She’s still herself mentally, but she also understands what’s about to happen to her.
Cynthia reaches a trembling hand out to me. “Please, Frank. Help me.” Her tears sear her skin. “Kill me now.”
“Kill you?” I ask, shocked.
She nods, tears streaming down her scorched cheeks. Cynthia is in a world of pain, I can see it in her face. Her hands are shaking too. She’s trying desperately to keep her emotions in check.
“I… I saw what happened to Tony.” Her lower lip quivers. “I tried to help him, but I couldn’t. Then…”
“He bit you?”
Cynthia nods and holds up her right arm. The teeth marks are deep, and they radiate the same intense energy as the other burners I’ve encountered. I’m not entirely sure when, but Jill’s mom will eventually change into one of the creatures.
I shake my head and rush to her side. “No. You need to see Jill first. You need to give her that much.”
Cynthia’s temperature dips when she looks off into the distance, towards the cabin and her daughter. She softly nods. Then, her eyes pulse and she doubles over in agony. I try to help her, but the heat radiating from her skin is too intense—too hot to touch. After a couple of horrible seconds, she regains control of herself and staggers forward, back the way we came.
I cheer her on the entire time, wanting nothing more than to put her in a fireman’s carry and take her burden away. I know it's not possible to do that, so I focus on keeping us safe from other Unseen instead. One after the other, I take down the stray monsters that have come to investigate the commotion, and the fire and smoke.
I’m happy to be Cynthia’s sword and shield in her final hour. I’ll never forgive myself if Jill doesn’t get to say goodbye to at least one of her parents. The thought of losing both of the D’Angelos within a day of each other is heartbreaking. I’m not sure how I’d react if it were my own mom and dad in their place.
But I know how Jill will respond.
That is to say, badly.
We’re halfway back to the cabin, and Cynthia’s veins have already begun to glow brighter. Her breathing has changed too. It's raspy and heavy. I’ve felt the hot breath of an Unseen on my neck before. It sounded the same as hers does now, like a laboring animal’s inhalations. Every time air exits her mouth, it sounds more and more like a growl. Even her eyes are becoming wilder—predatory.
She’s almost out of time.
The cabin is just ahead now, and I think I see Mom and Hope standing outside on the porch. Both look happy to see Cynthia and me. It's not until we get closer that their response to seeing Mrs. D'Angelo alive changes.
Hope screams when Cynthia slashes at me, snarling like a beast. When I hit the deck, she moves in closer but stops her advance when she hears a familiar voice.
“Mom?”
There might be a little bit of Cynthia left in there, and Jill’s voice and face, seem to be what she’s tethered to. The glow within the woman’s body dims upon seeing her daughter.
“Jillian?”
Jill is hunched forward, favoring her left side badly. I’m amazed that she’s on her feet at all. The meds that my mother slipped her are obviously doing their job. Jill was also coherent enough to think to bring her gun along. It’s clutched in her right hand, dangling down by her right leg.
“No…” Jill says, choking back tears.
“I…” Cynthia stammers, “I’m sorry, honey.”
And with that apology, Cynthia charges Jill and the others. She shrieks and displays her talon-tipped fingers. I hadn’t noticed them before. They were hidden because she was in such pain that she had her hands clutched to her chest for much of our walk. I didn’t really think anything of it at the time.
Cynthia is halfway between us when I witness Jill take a deep breath and decisively raise her gun, quickly pulling the trigger when she does. The single bullet punches through her mother’s chest and exits with an explosion of bright-white energy. Then, Mrs. D’Angelo goes nuclear and bursts into a ball of flames.
Closer to her than anyone else, I roll and face away from the heat, covering my head with my hands. The flames lick my skin but it's over in an instant.
Shaking the cobwebs loose, I climb to my feet and turn. The only thing left of Jill’s mother is a charred, snowless driveway. I also witness Jill break down in tears as she collapses on her parents’ front porch.
20
As the weeks pass by, the snowfall deepens, and the temperature drops dramatically. It’s been twenty sunsets since Jill was forced to personally end both of her parents’ lives. It’s how we keep track of things now. We don’t sleep at regular intervals like before, so we don’t call them “days” any longer.
First, Jill threw her father from a cliff and then she put a bullet in her mother. Since then, my wife hasn’t been the same.
Jill just sits and stares at the unli
t fireplace like her mother had done days earlier. She’ll sometimes react to soothing touch and calming words, but she hasn’t quite snapped out of her living nightmare. I was hoping a little time would’ve helped, but it hasn’t. The only time she reverts back to her former self is when Hope holds her hand or sits by her side. Once in a blue moon, Jill will look into my eyes. Her inner fire is still lit, but it’s mostly being smothered by guilt.
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 d
oing 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 stairs, 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.
