by Matt James
I snicker. “Not a chance in hell.”
She growls and pounces, trading blows with two opponents. My jacket is pretty much shredded. Its puff takes most of the damage. She does open a couple of shallow cuts on my arms, but they’re nothing I can’t handle. I’ll survive. If I learned anything from watching My Big Fat Greek Wedding, it’s that all I need is a little Windex.
Gramps wears down quick and takes a couple wicked slashes across his chest and side. Yet, amazingly, he doesn’t go down! He stays on his feet and roars into the air. I follow his example, and we both charge straight for the woman.
Momentarily confused by our change in tactics, Gramps and I get in a couple of good shots before backing off again. The siren grabs at her mid-section and whimpers before backpedaling away. Just when I think she’s going to retreat, my innate understanding of the species quickly floods into my brain.
Sirens don’t quit.
Gramps doesn’t know that, though. He attacks. I don’t. She parries his assault, and I leap into action halfway through her own barrage. I bury my blade deep into her side, yank it free, and jam it right back into the same spot. She spins and knocks me to the ground with a strong backhand. My knife, which is still in her side, goes along for the ride.
My foe turned friend turns back into my foe and hauls me to my feet as the Unseen female collapses to the rooftop. He shoves me forward and holds his blade to my throat. The back of my head is hanging out over nothing. Either he can throw me off the building and let a scavenger find my broken body, or he can simply slit my throat.
Surprisingly, he doesn’t do anything I expect.
Gramps’ head erupts in a crimson explosion, drenching me in blood in the process. My only reaction is to throw my hands up and close my eyes and mouth. The gunshot rings through the dead city. Slowly, I wipe my eyelids clean and turn around. There, across the street and outside of the indoor mini-golf course, is Cooper. The massive FN SPR that Jill gave him is tucked deep into his right shoulder, and he’s staring into its barrel-mounted scope.
Damn, I think, wiping my mouth with my sleeve, I guess he really is a good shot!
16
Heading back toward the rear of the restaurant, I take a moment to collect myself and to wipe someone else’s blood off me. Gramps’ jacket acts as a perfect towel. I take the time to confiscate the man's ammo and weapons, following suit with what Jill did earlier. You can’t have enough of either.
I know for a fact that we’ve lost at least one man, John-Ryan McDermott. As far as I’m aware, his partner, Domingo Cortez, is still MIA, presumably KIA. I sigh. May he RIP.
Acronyms aside, it sucks that good men are losing their lives while in pursuit of someone I think is, himself, a corpse. There is no possible way that TJ is still alive. From what I can tell, it isn’t Farrell’s style to take prisoners. For her, it’s all about death and destruction—anarchy or bust.
I’m back above Jill in no time. Now, all I have to do is figure out how the hell I’m going to get down. I throw a leg over the side and gingerly descend until I reach the end of the line. I’m in all sorts of pain. It’s nothing debilitating, but the pain radiates everywhere.
“So,” I say, looking around, “how’s this gonna work?”
“I’ll catch you,” Jill replies, not believing her own words, “maybe…”
I shake my head. “This isn’t going to end well.”
“Hang on, Frank!” a voice shouts.
I look left and smile when I see four people jogging down the alleyway. Andy and Cooper lead the way with Jack and Tara following close behind them. The female CPD officer is limping hard on her right leg, and Jack seems to be favoring his left arm. Still, they move quickly and efficiently.
The foursome joins Jill beneath me.
“I feel like we should have a fight song,” I say, about to become the top of a cheerleading pyramid. Nope. They form a tight ring directly below me. “Ah, shit… Okay, well, just don’t drop me.”
I try and miserably fail, to dangle my feet lower so they can grab them. Unfortunately, my aching hands lose their hold on the slick metal, and I end up releasing the ladder rung altogether.
I drop like a bomb, and half of my safety net goes down with me. I basically crush Cooper and the two newcomers. Relatively speaking, Jill and Andy make it out uninjured. Nevertheless, I’m pretty sure I elbowed one of them on my way down.
“Ouch,” Cooper says, holding a hand to his right eye.
Oh, so it wasn’t Jill or Andy?
“My bad,” I say, climbing off him. Then, I help the guy up and cringe when I see the welt already forming on top of his orbital bone. His cheek is going to be sore for a few days.
I brush myself off. “That went well.”
Everyone stares at me. I, of course, break into a laugh. It actually went terribly. In the last twenty minutes, we all had a brush with death and almost died.
I pat Cooper on the shoulder. “Nice shot, by the way.” I tap my forehead. “Right between the eyes.” I take the rifle off my shoulder and hand it to Tara. It’s another M4 Carbine, popular with local law enforcement around the country. “That reminds me…”
She looks over the weapon and nods her thanks, pocketing the spare magazine. The only weapon she had on her was her sidearm. Jack still has a cool looking, matte black, Remington 870 shotgun. It won’t do much unless he’s close. Luckily for him, the Unseen prefer that method of attack.
Claws, teeth, repeat.
“Y’all good?” I ask the two CPD cops.
They both nod.
“Just a creepy golf-maze filled with monsters and blood,” Tara explains. “Nothing we couldn’t handle.”
“And the limp?” I ask, eyebrow raised.
The plain, short-haired woman blushes. “I, uh, slipped in a puddle of goop and rolled my ankle.”
“And you?” I say, pointing to Jack’s arm.
“Pretty much the same thing happened to me.” His eyes dart away from mine. “It was really dark…”
I turn to Andy. “Any word from Dom?”
She shakes her head. “No, and I spotted smoke back the way we came. I’m pretty sure they tried to backtrack toward the museum after we got separated.”
So, we lost another Yukon and most likely two well-trained police officers. This, literally, can’t get any worse.
“Uh, Andy?” I say.
Andy responds before I can get my words out. She must have known what I was going to say. She surprises me though when she doesn't include herself.
“You guys should head back to Sanctuary,” she says, holding up a hand. “I’ll keep looking for TJ and Farrell myself.”
Tara speaks first. “You’re kidding me, right? You actually think I’m going to leave you to die?”
Jack steps forward. “Not happening.”
I meet Jill’s eyes. She really wants to go home. Except, I know her better than that. We made a promise to Andy, someone that has helped us without thought. We can’t let a friend down like that, not when she needs us the most. Plus, I want this psychopathic arsonist out of my town for good! I can handle the Unseen. Actual people are a different issue. They pose an even bigger problem.
I put a reassuring hand on Andy’s shoulder. “We refuse to acquiesce to your request.” Jill stares at me, dumbfounded. I shrug. “It sounded better in my head.”
Andy tears up. “No, I can’t let you risk your lives—not again. This…” Her shoulders dip. “This isn’t about me.”
“You’re right,” I say, now gripping both of her shoulders, “it’s not about you. This is about TJ.”
Her eyes wet, Andy looks up at me. “You said it yourself, it’ll be a miracle if he survived this long.”
She’s got me there. I did almost say that exactly. So, I try to look at it from her point of view. Either way, we need to rid ourselves of a person like Casey Farrell. She’s bad news for everyone she comes across. Jill and I have worked hard to transform Sanctuary into a safe place we call home.
/> As safe as safe can be right now.
Farrell’s presence throws an oversized monkey wrench into the equation. She can undo everything we’ve done with the flick of a switch, or in this case, the flick of a lighter.
“Farrell has to go, regardless of what may, or may not, have happened to your nephew.”
“Agreed,” Jill says, gripping my arm. “There’s a lot at stake for us, Andy. Our family isn’t safe with Farrell in Gatlinburg.”
Andy laughs, trying to rub the exhaustion from her face. “No, you’re not. That we can agree on.”
“Need to find her first,” Cooper says, leaning up against the rear wall. “Anyone got any ideas?”
“Well,” I say, “we were just driving until we got shot at, right? Why stop now?” I step away from the group and stretch my back while I speak. “I say we keep moving until we run that bitch over.”
Jack shakes his head. “Our ride is toast.”
Dang.
“Clown car it is,” I say, getting confused looks from everyone. “We all pile into your Yukon—after we change the flat.”
“Are we all going to fit?” Tara asks, looking worried.
I scratch my head. “Not sure, but we’re damn sure gonna try!”
* * *
Cooper and I changed the tire with little difficulty. Everyone else watched over us while we did. Luckily, no one raided our SUV after we ditched it in front of the Dunkin’. The doors being locked by Cooper's quick thinking helped a ton. And we still have the keys too. I’m liking the guy the more and more he’s around.
His personality is a little stiff for my liking, but I’m pretty sure I can rub off on him and loosen him up. Jill has mentioned several times that I have that ability. I’m the master at wearing down people both physically and, as it appears, mentally. I’m still trying to figure out whether that’s something to be proud of or not.
“Alright,” Cooper says, wiping his hands on a rag, “that should do it.”
I nod, impressed. “Nice moves.”
He lifts an eyebrow. “It’s just a tire, Frank…”
Shaking my head, I walk away. All I tried to do was give the guy a compliment and, instead, he has to be all ‘straight’ with me and not get what I was saying. I didn’t mean he has nice moves like doing that macarena. I meant that he’s done an excellent job overall and—oh, never mind...
Let’s move on, shall we?
We climb back into our previous seats. Cooper and Andy up front. He’s driving, she’s navigating. I sit behind him so I can talk to Andy if need be. To my right, is my faithful sidekick. She looks ready to roll, edgy and twitchy. She hasn’t stopped impersonating an owl since we walked back to the Yukon. I’m surprised her head hasn’t fallen off like Petey from Dumb and Dumber. Though, he was a parakeet, not an owl.
For what it’s worth, no, we didn’t all fit inside the SUV. Jack and Tara volunteered to stay behind and take up positions atop the Bump Gump fish place, like Farrell’s men had. And don’t yell at me about it! While I agree with the decision, it was theirs and Andy's to make, not mine.
“With all the commotion going on, someone is bound to come check on the men here, and when they do…”
Tara let the statement hang in the air. But we all know what she meant. She and Jack would line up the people’s heads in their sites and put a bullet in every last one of them. We left them with extra ammo and some food and water, just in case we didn’t make it back for a while—or at all.
“Hike to the northeast,” I say, instructing the CPD officers in case we fall in combat. “Our place is in the back of Sanctuary. Go in slow and announce your presence. I’d hate for my mom and dad to kill you before you could tell them what happened.”
Jack and Tara didn’t know what to say. So, they didn’t say anything at all. They just nodded and started climbing the ladder up to the roof. This time, however, they were given the luxury of a leg up, using the roof of the Yukon as their starting point.
“Take care of yourselves and listen to your comms,” Andy said before we pulled out. “Keep trying to raise Dom. Let us know ASAP if you get through to him.”
Rolling away, our radios crackle to life.
It’s Tara. “Will do. Godspeed.”
Not really knowing where to go, we decide to continue south down Historic Nature Trail. There’s a row of hotels coming up, charming places in their prime. It’s where I’d take refuge from the cold. Plenty of comfortable beds and blankets to keep a person warm. An abundant number of rooms to hide in too.
I keep my eyes peeled for movement, tracking everything I see.
Subway, hotel, motel, another church, hotel, pancakes…
Seeing the first and last places makes my stomach rumble. A pancake breakfast followed by an Italian sub lunch sounds incredible right now. I’d have a hot cup of coffee with the flapjacks and a beer with the sub. Coffee is something we’ve been fortunate enough to have regularly—in small servings. It isn’t hard to boil water. Our backstock of coffee grinds is solid, but like everything else is dependent upon manufacturing jobs and will eventually run out.
A large parking lot appears on our right. Behind it is the Holiday Inn Club Vacations Smoky Mountain Resort. There are plenty of cars still there, which is good to know just in case we need a new ride, or if we have to siphon gas. It also warns us of the potential resistance we might see when we get inside. Jill and I don’t have a car anymore, so I concentrate on the vehicles that seem drivable.
A bullet pings off the Yukon’s tough windshield. Our plan of trying to run into gunfire has worked yet again. Cooper slows and yanks on the wheel, pulling us into the parking lot.
“Muzzle flash! Top-floor balcony!” Andy says, readying her M4 Carbine. “Shooter has a red hat on.”
Here we go, I think, drawing my Glock.
Cooper pulls right up to the front of the hotel and underneath the covered veranda. This is where patrons would unload their luggage before handing off their cars to the valent service. Everyone hustles out of the Yukon, slamming the doors in harmony. The four of us rush for the front entrance but have to pause to pull apart the heavy, unpowered sliders.
Weapons up, we immediately see that the gunmen weren’t the first ones to arrive here. Fresh bodies litter the lobby floor. None of them are Unseen either.
“What happened here?” Cooper asks, swinging his barrel side to side.
“Survivors,” I say, quickly putting it all together. “Looks like they found a place to hole up before Farrell’s people gunned them down. See the angle of the bodies?” I point to the nearest one. “They’re all pointed away from the front of the hotel.”
“They were running away,” Jill adds, understanding.
“Probably unarmed, too,” I say, gritting my teeth.
“But why?” Andy asks.
“Because,” Jill replies, “crazy doesn’t need a rational reason for anything.”
No one argues with her, or with my assessment of the crime scene. Farrell and her people entered this haven and took out everyone with ferocity. The gunfire was excessive, to say the least. Bullet holes riddle the walls—the bodies too.
“Huh?” Cooper says to himself.
I turn and find him inspecting the closest body.
“What’d you find?” I ask.
“Yellow stuff mixed with their blood. No idea what it is. You?”
I shake my head. “Your guess is as good as mine.”
With no answers to give, I file my discolored plasma concern away for later and inspect the rest of the room.
The centrally located fireplace has been recently used by the looks of it. Dried pieces of wood, mostly broken furniture, are stacked next to it. I doubt the people staying here lived as cautiously as we’ve been, so it makes sense. The only fires we’ve lit have been to cook with, not to keep warm. Even then, it’s been at the back of the property, out near Peace Creek. That’s about as far away from the house that we can go without leaving the relative safety of our lot.
I look and see what she has spotted. Behind a chair, in the corner of the room, is a pair of small, sneakered feet. I don’t have to see if the child is alive or not, it’s apparent by the swiss-cheesed chair in front of him and the blood-spattered wall behind him, that he’s dead. They, literally, killed everyone in sight with no remorse.
I squeeze the handgrip of my gun harder, wanting nothing more than to unload my magazine into the asshole, or assholes, that did this. Usually, I don’t go around looking for a fight, but now, after what I’ve seen, specifically here, I want it badly.
I want to kill these people.
17
Stepping lightly, we pass by the fireplace, two on the right, and two on the left. Jill and I head right, splitting between the hearth and the check-in counter. One more body is visible behind the desk. It looks like she took cover when the hotel was stormed and shot up. I shake my head at the sight—at the needlessness of it all. None of these people had to die. If Farrell wanted to make them suffer, all she had to do was toss them out on the street.
Her psychosis is at a level I’ve never witnessed before. She’s more messed up than the Unseen. They’re monstrous predators, after all. All they want is the same thing a lion wants, its next meal. They are programmed to focus on survival. We humans are known for acts of both good and evil, and then there are others that are so much worse. Ferrell perfectly slots into the latter category.
Everything mankind does is for its own gain. We take and take and take and hardly ever put anything back. This isn’t a climate change rant either. We’re way past that. I’m talking about looking out for one another as people. Each of us should always be on the mind of the other. We need to band together and fight the abomination that Abaddon wrought upon our planet.
“Frank,” Jill whispers.
I don’t look at her. I look where she looks. Footprints lead us further down the main hall, beyond the fireplace. The trail on the left is booted. The ones on the right are not. Whatever it means, at least one of the shooters came this way, and if it’s up to me, it’ll be the last time that person makes the trek.
