In Memoriam

by Matt James

  Awkwardly, we drag Quasi behind the still present crucified thief and tuck him behind the figure. For good measure, Jill and I adjust some of the debris and place it atop his body. Hopefully, in the duskiness of the room, if someone does come looking for him, they won’t find him right away.

  “What if he wakes up?” Jill asks.

  I shrug. “Let’s hope he doesn’t—not until we’re long gone, at least.”

  “We could, you know, kill him?”

  I shake my head. “We aren’t like them.”

  “I know, I know… I was just thinking that if we’re going to survive this, we might have to start thinking like these assholes—go above and beyond our normal capabilities.”

  She’s not wrong. We might have to start thinking like them, coldblooded and uncaring of what our souls become. Killing in the name of nothing doesn’t seem right, though. I’ve ended the life of countless monsters, both inhuman and human ones. But, all of them were either doing me or someone I cared about harm or was about to.

  I don’t kill just to kill.

  Ever.

  “Let’s try and find our stuff.”

  “And get these off,” Jill adds, shaking the chains.

  “Yeah, that too.” We approach the double doors, and I can’t help but ask in a hushed tone. “You don’t like being cuffed to me? Some couples roleplay in ways similar to this.”

  She doesn’t answer. Instead, she nudges open the door leading out of the crucifixion room. What’s on the other side will haunt me for the rest of my days. The last time I saw something this horrid was inside Flangian’s back in Wellington, but that was an Unseen-human hybrid that set up shop there. He dissected every living thing he could get his hands on. This…this is a crime against humanity in the worst way possible.

  “Oh, my god,” Jill whispers, choking on her own words. “They’re…eating them. They’re eating people!”

  * * *

  For once, I’m speechless. These people, our kidnappers, really are eating people. Sliced and diced corpses litter the next room. Off to our left, the section of the museum usually houses one of the most famous and significant scenes the Bible has to offer: The Last Supper.

  Not anymore.

  Like the room we’re trying to exit, this one has been defiled in more than one way. Jesus and his twelve closest friends are missing—but the banquet table isn’t completely devoid of people. What I can only guess is fileted human meat has been laid out on the table to be consumed at a later date.

  “Fuck me,” I say, gagging at the smell.

  This is ten times worse than what Baldy did back in South Florida. At least he was mostly monster. The people here are one-hundred percent Homo sapien. That’s what bothers me the most. The Unseen are primal predators just looking for their next meal. The animals that captured us are doing this under their own free human will.

  Either something within this group’s psyche went completely nuts when the world ended, or, as hard as it is to imagine, they were always this way. Come to think of it, Quasimodo did look a little funny. Call me an asshole if you want, but I think the dude may have been inbred—like Deliverance-style inbred. I may be showing off some of my worldly ignorance right now, but that’s what I’m going with.

  Inbred cannibals with guns and no sense of smell. Ugh, the stench!

  But seriously, I have no idea who these people are, only that they’re nuts and want to eat my, well, you know… The thought of losing my boys to these monsters sends a tingle down my back and into my bladder.

  I shut the door. “Nope, not doing it.”

  “But we have to—”

  “I’m not going that way!” I hiss. “Sorry…”

  Jill puts her hand on my shoulder. She knows what I’m feeling.

  We turn. There isn’t another way out of this room except through the meat locker. That means we only have one other option.

  The window.

  “Shit,” I say, moving towards it. “Here we go.” I look at Jill and then back to the window, lifting the AR-15 up in between us. We both grip it and rock it back. “Now.”

  Jill and I shatter the smudged glass with the single blow, ramming the stock of the weapon into, and through, it. The result is a loud crash, but it doesn’t end there. We hit the pane twice more, clearing the frame of the largest pieces. I go first and carefully climb through, helping Jill next. It’s as tricky as you’d think with the cuffs and rifle being involved.

  “Duck your head some,” I tell Jill, watching her nearly slash her right ear.

  “Trying!” she retorts, sounding annoyed.

  When she slips free of the open shark’s mouth that is the window frame, she falls into my arms. Basically, she punches me in the chest with the body of the AR-15, following close behind with her shoulder. We fall behind the row of low of bushes just beneath our exit, lying still and catching our breath.

  After we get to our knees, I take the weapon and attempt to place the stock into my shoulder. I can’t, though, not without painfully contorting Jill’s arms. The only way this will work is if Jill stands off to my right and I fire from the hip. Hopefully, I won’t have to use the weapon at all.

  Taking a deep breath, I blow it out and meet Jill’s worried eyes. She feels the same trepidation I do. This isn’t going to be easy…and it might not end well for one, or both, of us. Looking like a human W, with the gun barrel making up the central spike of the letter, we turn toward the conflict and take a look.

  Nothing.

  It seems that the recent commotion has died down, and the two gunmen have moved off. I’m assuming they’re out here as sentries more than looking for a fight. The group has obviously decided to take up residence inside the museum.

  And we’re almost out of their hair.

  There’s a dinged-up Mack truck with no trailer to our left. I’m going to go ahead and assume that it’s the one that hit us. Its tires are high on my list of things to shoot.

  “Head to where the burner was,” I say.

  She nods, and we take off in a low run. At first, we stumble over one another’s feet, our knees knocking half-a-dozen times. After a few seconds, we get into a rhythm, only to have to stop again once we reach our destination.

  “Why here?” Jill asks, joining me behind a burnt pickup truck.

  We turn our backs to the wreck and kneel, keeping the weapon trained on the front entrance of the museum. Then, we slide around it and stop again on the other side, facing away from our captors’ base of operations.

  Just when I think we’re clear of conflict, the world around us comes to life.

  Jill hears it too.

  “I had to ask…”

  8

  The parking lot outside of the museum is full of charred cars and bodies. The scene hints at the involvement of burners—a lot of them. To my left is the remains of a woman. Most of her head is missing, but her feminine build is distinct. Why does this matter you ask?

  “Siren,” I whisper.

  “Where?” Jill asks, head on a swivel.

  I shake my head. “Not out there… Over here.”

  Jill follows the tilt of my head—to my left. The siren’s talon-like fingers are plain to see. Not only are there burners around, but sirens too. We could probably handle the slower moving, combustible burner, but not a ninja-like siren.

  Dammit, man.

  “Get ready,” I say, lifting the rifle a little more.

  Popular in these parts for hunting, the simplistic point-and-shoot design of the AR-15 will help us conserve ammo. It’s not the spray-and-pray type.

  Would’ve been nice to have something a little heavier hitting. Oh, well. It’ll have to do.

  Guttural snarls pick up all around us, echoing through the lifeless sea of steel and fiberglass. I can’t tell where they’re coming from since our line of sight is so low. So, we’ll be patient and wait for our targets to present themselves.

  The worst thing happens next.

  “We got more of ’em!” A voic
e shouts.

  “A lot of dem bastards too!” Another adds.

  Not only is there a horde of Unseen headed our way, but Jill and I are now trapped between them and the gunmen who caused the earlier explosion. We are inside a literal shit sandwich, and we’re the stinky excrement.

  “Sit tight,” I whisper, getting only a nod in response from Jill.

  Maybe, just maybe, the two groups will go after each other and not even notice us. There’s bad blood between them already, and we’re playing the roles of the innocent bystanders in all this.

  Somewhere beyond the caravan in front of us, maybe twenty feet away, a red light pulsates, announcing the arrival of something wicked.

  “Holy shit,” Jill says, seeing it as I do.

  It’s a burner, and its entire chest cavity is glowing. I’ve never seen one of them do that before. I also haven’t seen them live long enough to show off a trick like this. Either this one is old in terms of a burner’s life expectancy or it evolved into something new—a big burner. Personally, I'm hoping that it's just really old. I can't accept that we have something new to deal with right now.

  “Look, it’s one of dem nightlights!” one shouts.

  “That’s a good one,” the other agrees. “Gonna be a fun one to blow up.”

  Blow up?

  My eyes open wide. These guys are detonating the burners for fun, not self-defense! Well, yes, it’s also for self-defense, but they’re so demented that they’re having a jolly good time while doing it. I’ve killed my share of Unseen. I’ve never once enjoyed it. They were people up until recently. Every one of them had been a loved one to somebody. All were a son, daughter, mom or dad. It’s sickening!

  “Bastards,” I mutter, getting Jill’s attention.

  “What?”

  I shake my head. “Nothing. Just…just get ready to move.”

  Rainbow Brite shows himself a few seconds later. He is, indeed, glowing like a lightbulb. He’s also the size of the caravan to his left. Seriously, this guy is enormous, and not in an athletic, Dwayne Johnson kind of way. No, he’s as tall as he is wide.

  Biggins is something to behold. He waddles like you’d expect someone of his size, but he’s also slightly hunched like an Unseen should be. It’s an awkward gate. Plus, his right ankle looks like it has been broken recently. The joint bends at an awful angle with every sumo-sized step he takes.

  At least we won’t have to worry about outrunning the porker.

  It’s the only thing we have going good for us right now. That, and we’re armed, alive, and together. Okay, look, I know Jill and I are lucky to still have each other and be on this side of the earth. We’re two of the fortunate few.

  Biggins steps into the clearing before us, just as six goblins come forward. They’re keeping close to the big guy—but why? It’s then that I see it. The burner is giving off such an incredible amount of heat that the goblins aren’t freezing to death. He’s their own personal, mobile heater. It’s ingenious, actually. How creatures as savage as the goblins came up with it, I have no idea.

  Blind luck? I chuckle to myself. That one never gets old.

  I try to come up with a plan that’s better than just shooting Biggins in the gut and running like hell, but I come up with nothing. So, I lift the AR-15, happy that Jill doesn’t resist me. Glancing at her, I see the apprehension in her face. We don’t have a choice, so I lay my right index finger atop the trigger and—BOOM!

  We’re thrown back against our cover hard. It tips from the force of the detonation, and we tip together. We go toppling over the hood and land hard on the other side. The weirdest thing about the whole explosion is that we didn’t cause it. I blink away the cobwebs and stare up at the men that did.

  Both “dem boys” have shit-eating grins plastered across their faces. They’re tickled to see us—presumably again. I have to imagine they were involved in our abductions. Before either can kill us, or eat us, an ensemble of shrieks responds to the explosion. A few of the goblins survived Biggins going nuclear.

  Or more showed up?

  Regardless, the two gunmen turn their attention to the more dangerous opponent and open-up on whatever is back in the small clearing between wrecks. That’s when Jill and I get moving. We scurry to our feet and run for the nearest car. I’m expecting to get shot in the back, but thankfully, we make it back into cover, mostly unscathed. The only thing I have is a sore back and a deep, resonating ringing in my ears.

  Jill is blinking hard and shaking her head like a dog. She must be suffering from the same thing I am. I guess I’m used to it by now and have inadvertently learned to function with a head injury.

  Yay, me…

  More of the Unseen arrive on sight, coming in by the twos and threes. We watch from behind a ruined sedan as one of the men gets attacked form behind, slashed across his upper back by a goblin. He yelps in pain and whirls around, gunning down his assailant plus two others coming in behind it.

  The added aggressors give Jill and me the time to move to another vehicle and stop. This one is on its side, but like the others, it’s a burnt husk of its former self. Also, we don’t have the rifle anymore. I didn’t even notice we lost it until now. Getting away was priority number one. Now, fighting back is my next plan of attack.

  But with what?

  I go to scratch my chin but stop when Jill’s arms resist my movements. A thought creeps into my head. Then, the lightbulb goes off. I turn to Jill and relay my idea.

  “No fucking way, Frank. We aren’t doing that.”

  Gunfire erupts behind us, as do more snarls and whimpers.

  “I don’t think we have a choice.” I grab her hands and squeeze them. “We go after the injured one first.” She’s about to argue again, but I stop her. “We can do this—I know we can.”

  Jill looks around while she thinks over my proposition. Biting her lip, she softly bobs her head. “Okay.”

  With nothing more than two sets of handcuffs and ourselves, we stalk around a small pileup and take a looping, circuitous route to get to our target. His buddy, the uninjured one, is nowhere in sight. I’m not sure where he went. He must’ve gone off somewhere when Jill and I made a run for it.

  Our path takes us back towards the museum. I don’t like it, but we don’t have a choice right now. Off to the left are the front doors. Behind Jill and me, a commotion arises. More gunfire ensues along with the howls of something big and angry. I’ve heard the roar of a brute more times than I’d care to remember. They are big and hard to bring down.

  Then, I think back to Carlos, the Unseen-bear back in the small town of Top of the World, Tennessee. I haven’t seen too many mutated animals lately, so it wouldn’t surprise me if that’s what’s making all the noise. Hopefully, it’s where the second gunman headed. We won’t be able to pull off this insane plan of ours—of mine—with both of them around. Even one of the gunmen will be tough. They’re still armed, after all.

  There’s only one more car between the wounded killer and us. Jill and I take in the scene through the vehicle’s broken rear windows. His left arm is tucked into his chest, seemingly useless because of the injury to his upper back. His shirt is soaked with blood, but that hasn’t stopped him from his duties of keeping a lookout for additional trouble.

  Us?

  What gives me the most hope is that he’s foregone using his rifle. It’s hanging from his shoulder. Instead, he’s drawn a pistol. The lesser firepower isn’t necessarily a good thing for us, however. If he’s a decent shot, the sidearm will be better to defend an up-close attack like the one we’re about to partake in. The rifle would’ve been easier for us to defend against, especially since he’s hurt.

  Oh, well.

  “On three?” I whisper.

  Jill’s eyes glance into mine. She’s not happy about it, but she isn’t going to back out either.

  I wait for our mark to turn entirely away.

  “Three!” I rasp.

  We leap out of cover and sprint toward the armed goon.
Our footfalls aren’t quiet. They give us away a moment before we careen into him. We take him off his feet, slamming into his exposed ribs, just under his right arm. He lets out an oof when we hit.

  “Keep going,” I grunt, using every ounce of strength at my disposal to keep the guy aloft. Jill does the same, growling because of the effort.

  The gunman elbows at me but doesn’t make any serious impact. Then, we let go and send him sprawling into the underbelly of a tipped car. The back of his head meets splintered steel, and he goes down. Jill and I almost fall with him but slow down and catch ourselves before we do.

  “His gun,” I say.

  We look around and find it back where we attacked him. Greedily, both Jill and I grab for it. I let her get it and lean forward at the hips. Jill kneels and carefully pulls my hands down to the ground. Her hand slides around the sidearm’s handgrip and snaps up between my legs. She pulls the trigger twice, firing at something behind me. I can’t see who, not until I bend forward further and peek under my crotch.

  The injured shooter has his rifle in his hands, and it's pointed at us.

  Wide-eyed, I look at Jill with a look that can only say, “Woah.”

  Just as quickly as Jill took out our would-be killer, the other guy shows up.

  “Gerald, no… What the hell did ya do to my brother?”

  Brother? Dang.

  The other guy is to my left—Jill’s right. She is currently kneeling, and my hands are still between my knees. Needless to say, we aren’t in a good position to defend ourselves. Even if we were facing the guy, we’d be at a grave disadvantage. His shotgun is pointed straight at us.

  “You gonna pay for that.”

  Cliché much? I mean, seriously, he could’ve said anything, and that’s what he went with! This ain’t some old-fashioned western, pal. I’m still waiting for him to yell, “Draw!”

  But just as quickly as the man showed up, he’s taken down by a barrage of bullets. They tear into the guy and the vehicle behind him. I collapse on top of Jill, trying to protect her the best I can. Round after round sail over our heads.