Inbetween shots I hear Jill screaming in fright and Vinny roaring in anger. His shotgun booms again and again. Then…nothing. All parties fall silent. I stay on top of Jill for a few more heartbeats and then slowly peek out. Seeing nothing from my half-blocked vantage point, I jump up and snap the barrel of my own shotgun towards the door, seeing eight bodies. All dead.
How?
I turn my head back to Vinny. He’s holding my other Glock and kneeling in a growing pool of blood. His shotgun lay to his side, empty, discarded and replaced. It’s the same gun John used before getting run-through by a Siren.
“No…” I whisper to myself.
My melancholy reaction gets Jill moving and she leaps to her feet, screaming when she sees Vinny and Carla. On shaky legs, she shambles over the counter and slides to Vinny’s side, but stops herself. Not knowing what to do, her hand drops and she wails, covering her face with her hands.
I follow her over, but stay on my feet, stepping in front of the inert forms of my family. There, kneeling in his blood and that of his wife, his chin resting against his chest in peace, is the motionless form of Vincente D’Angelo. Dead. I try to survey the scene the best I can I look to see if Vinny is miraculously alive. I even reach forward and look for a pulse, but find none. His injuries are severe with too many gunshot wounds to count.
He died in a moment of passion, fighting for those he cared for.
I look down, seeing Carla’s peaceful face. She had smiled just before passing, a testament to her feelings for Vinny. She too died because of love. She adored her husband and literally followed him to hell to be by his side.
I place my hand on Jill’s shoulder, knowing I’d have done the same. If it were reversed, I’d be the one kneeling in death in her blood.
My wet eyes snap back to the front doors as the sound of screeching tires echoes off the buildings. It’s coming from the same direction I saw movement earlier—the south.
I squeeze her shoulder, getting her attention.
“I’m sorry, baby, but we need to go.”
Then she hears it too, getting closer.
“This fight isn’t over yet.”
35
We burst through the rear doors, fleeing diagonally across the intersection. Jill veers slightly left, thinking I want to go straight down 72nd, but I stop her, grabbing her hand and pulling her forward.
“What are you doing?” she asks, struggling to release herself. “We need to head down—”
“Not yet,” I say, softening my grip, but not letting go. “We need to hide. Everything within a couple blocks just heard what just happened and we’re about to have company.”
Her eyes go wide and she double times it, pulling up next to me. “Where to?” she asks as I let go.
“Verdi Square for now. Then, we’ll figure it out.”
The newer control house sits atop Verdi Square. It’s another triangle of land, bigger than the previous, offering benches to sit on and statues to view. But I’m more interested in the control house itself. If we can find more cover and try to lose our quickly approaching pursuers, we might have a chance. Fleeing on foot with them still looking for us is a death sentence.
I look over to Jill as we near the station’s doors, looking in every direction. I haven’t told her this part of my plan, but I’m hoping I can time it right. Seeing nothing up Amsterdam—the northbound highway that Broadway merges with—I look back east, down 72nd.
The view of the street is somewhat hindered, but the sky isn’t. It glows with the same devilish color it did the night Abaddon fell. It even pulsates the same way, like a heartbeat.
Damn. Please don’t tell me—
A screeching sound breaks up the thought. Whoever is coming to check on the others is close, maybe on the other side of the old control house.
Movement in my periphery brings a smile to my face though. My crazy plan might just come to light. A single Goblin is standing atop a yellow cab, sniffing the air. It’s near the sport store we stayed the night in and is no doubt tracking our scent.
I quickly draw my gun, aim, and fire one shot. It harmlessly pings off the cab’s flank, but it did its job. The Unseen know where we are—know where we all are, including the men looking for us.
“Are you nuts?” Jill hisses at me from inside the doors. “What the hell was that for?”
The groaning and barking down the street answers her question—both of them.
Question One: “Are you nuts?”
Answer: “Definitely.”
I hop the short iron fence that borders the entire square.
Question Two: “What the hell was that for?”
I quickly move inside the newer building and slam the doors shut, breathing hard, but still thinking. The delay in me answering Jill must have gotten to her, because she lightly smacks my cheek, waking me from my thoughts.
“What?” I ask, shaking out of it.
“What are you doing?” she asks again, quieter and less angry.
Answer…
“The enemy of my enemy is my friend.”
Her hands go to her head when the mind bomb goes off. “You’re going to make the creatures and the gang fight each other. That’s brilliant!”
While normally I’d be happy to hear such praise, I’m not even sure it’s going to work.
“It’s only brilliant if it works,” I quickly add, running to the other side of the bigger building. It’s relatively the same lay out, just wider and long. The second set of doors are already closed and I quickly open one and peek out, north towards 73rd Street.
The coast is clear which is fantastic, but it may not be for very much longer. Tires screech to a halt and voices shout to each other, talking about shooting anything that moves.
We need to buy some extra time—just a few seconds. But how?
I look at Jill who’s stretching her lower back, bending over in her tight elastic pants. I get an idea, but I’m pretty sure I’m going to owe her something for this.
“Take off your jacket,” I yell running over to her. “Give me your gun too.”
“What?” she asks, confused.
“I need them to see you and not shoot. We only have one chance of this working and we need to buy some more time.”
She thinks on it for a moment then hands me her gun and quickly unzips her jacket. The jacket is forcibly tossed into my face with a sneer which I deserve. Her curves are plainly obvious in her skintight clothes and should give these guys something to gawk at. I bolt for a corner that’s hidden from view, just as the front doors are kicked in.
From behind my hiding place, I hear more voices. Then, nothing.
“Hello, boys.”
I turn and see Jill flaunting her body like she’s on the runway. She’s turned hands over her head stretching, her stomach showing a little. From the intruder’s view point you’d be able to see every single muscle and bump her body has to offer.
“Damn!” someone says.
“Mamacita!” another says.
“Shut your mouths!” another retorts, shutting the other two up. This must be the one in charge—the impromptu leader.
“If any of you even thinks of touching her, I’ll kill you.”
Maybe I misjudged them?
“She’s mine…”
Nope.
I watch as Jill backs away slowly, her eyes glinting to me slightly as she turns again, showing herself off some more. She’s scared shitless and will be dead or worse in a matter of seconds.
Come on you bastards. The one time I actually want to see your ugly mugs—the Unseen I mean, not these assholes.
Then, the telltale sign is heard.
Jill flashes her eyes down to me again, nonchalantly pulling on her ear. She heard it too. When you know what to listen for it’s easy to pick out the scratching noises. They came from above our heads, but by the way Jill is acting the other men didn’t hear it. They’re still fighting over who gets Jill and in what order.
Fucking savages.
She spins and shrugs, asking me what to do, but I can’t answer unless I give myself away. If I knew exactly where they were and how many, I might be able to help. But I can’t. They’re no doubt armed and extremely dangerous. The only people still alive are the lucky and the ruthless. These are the latter of the two groups.
While these degenerates are no doubt the toughest of what’s left and most likely killers of men, I happen to be something of a hybrid of the two groups I mentioned. I have relied on luck and getting my hands dirty.
I grip my Glock, easing my finger onto the trigger. Next, I reach around to my jacket pocket and produce a weapon I have yet to use. Jill does another twirl and sees me getting ready for something. I hold out the black rectangular weapon and mimic what I’m going to do and what I want her to do.
She smiles to me, but gives it to the men approaching.
One of them steps forward just enough that I can see the tips of his bloodstained boots. He’s within striking distance now.
Damnit you piece of shit eyeless bastards. Where are—
The first scream from behind sends me into motion—Jill too. It all happens quickly. When my adrenaline spikes it boosts my reaction time and reflexes, but it also focuses me. I’ve always worked extremely well under pressure, whether it’s in the ring or on the streets.
The tall man turns slightly, checking on the commotion behind him, and when he glances back to Jill, her fist meets him halfway. The solid and quick jab connects with the bridge of the scumbag’s nose, breaking it with a splatter of blood. I leap out, throw Jill the Taser, and turn to the other five men.
Damn. More than I heard.
I lift my gun and squeeze off three shots, killing the one second closest to Jill. He sports—sported—a red bandana and a set of massive gold chains. Mr. Mamacita goes down with a trio in his chest.
After I take out him, Jill swings the Taser up and under the leader’s outstretched arms. His height actually helps in this case and Jill slams the weapon’s metal prongs deep into the rapist’s groin. He shrieks when Jill depresses the trigger, sending wave after wave of voltage into his man parts—just as a chorus of shrieks erupt from the front doors matching his own high-pitch wail. Just for good measure Jill then kicks the man in his already fried jumble.
A group of Goblins launch at the gunmen, slashing and biting anything they get ahold of. It’s a smaller group for what I’m used to, maybe seven or so, but enough to be devastating nonetheless. We don’t stick around to find out who wins. I turn and bolt for Jill, pushing her out the back set of doors.
Exiting quickly and then slamming them, I then hastily toss Jill back her jacket. Next, I hand her her gun and leap the western fencing. It’s only hip high, making the move easier considering I can barely walk. I land and stumble, turning to help Jill. But she just plants her hands and hops right over, barely breaking stride.
She’s the gym rat…not me.
It’s still snowing, making the ground slicker. This just keeps getting better, I think as my foot slides out from under me a little.
We head north, up the southbound lanes of the highway, making for the southwest corner of Broadway and 73rd. Only the northbound lanes merge into Amsterdam. The southbound lanes stay true to the prior’s name.
Scaffolding greets us and we duck under, continuing our mad dash to wherever, passing a Chase Bank. The name is a perfect description of what’s about to happen now. We need to find a safe spot to rest and wait it out, but not here. Anywhere, but here.
The clanging of metal turns me around and I roll my ankle, falling in a heap. A Goblin swings from the street level framework like a damn ape. It’s only twenty feet from us when two shots take it to the ground and a quick third puts it out of commission for good.
Jill stands over me gun barrel smoking, a look of determination on her face. It’s her time to step up and she knows it. I’d never ask her to do so, but I could really use some help now that Vinny and John are gone.
The thought of the two men, particularly Vinny, is heartbreaking, but we don’t have time for me to mourn them right now. If we make it off the island alive, we can properly grieve and give remembrance to everyone who died here.
“Come on, babe,” she says, helping me up.
The screams have stopped and so has our pursuit. The Unseen have their fresh meal giving us a slight break, but we need to keep moving.
We try, but the ground shakes, making us turn around, back towards Central Park. From under the scaffolding, we see the impossible. Buildings start to crumble and fall, leaning into the road.
It’s only then I tear my eyes away from the destruction and see the red pulse. It’s in time with the quakes.
Alive or not, Abaddon is going to bring the city down on top of us.
36
“How can a space rock cause half a city block to fall?” Jill asks, mid-stride. The sheer absurdity of the question is just mindboggling. And yet here we are, running for our lives from not only monsters and gun toting lunatics, but now we have entire buildings coming down around us.
Hi, Insanity. My name is Reality. Wanna’ get together sometime and have a drink?
“Doesn’t matter why,” I say. “We just need to not be here when the rest of Manhattan crumbles.”
She doesn’t argue and keeps running, but the sidewalk buckles and cracks. Then, it lifts, sending us sprawling into the street. I get thrown head first into a car and slump to the ground, dazed and exhausted.
“Not yet, Frank,” Jill says, having to shout over the grinding of concrete and steel. She picks me up, leaning me against the hood of the car. As I bend over I get a look at the door and see that it’s dented from where my head and shoulder made contact. Warmth envelops the left side of my face as blood runs down it. I’d say I’m starting to resemble John McClane right now with all the injuries starting to pile up. All I need is the soiled white undershirt and to be running barefoot. From the numbness surrounding my temple I can tell that there must be a good size gash of some kind, but I pay it no attention. The sight in front of us is just too astounding.
The two blocks on either side of 73rd—between Central Park West and Columbus—fall apart, collapsing in on themselves. Then like a wave of destruction, the debris washes out over the road, consuming the vehicles and anything else in its path, including a mass of Unseen. It reminds me of the various flood and landslide videos I’ve seen on the news, watching as entire neighborhoods get consumed past their rooftops. Only this isn’t mud or water. This is the remains of other apartments and businesses.
Insanity has officially met reality.
We watch the dust settle, looking for movement. Seeing none we go to turn, but stop. The red glow from inside the park has brightened and increased in intensity. It’s now so bright that we can’t even look at it. Then, it grows, looking like a red-colored dome of crackling electricity.
“Run!” It’s all I can say. No witty one-liners or other sarcastic remarks. Just, run.
I pull Jill, but she doesn’t move. She’s frozen in shock. I pull again and this time she listens. And for good reason. The next block closest to us begins to shake apart, in time with the pulsating red light.
As the dome of red hell increases in size, so does the strength of the quakes. Buildings ahead of us start to break apart and we start having to dodge the falling fragments. Fragments may actually be too nice of a word. As evidence, a chunk the size of a Mini Cooper lands and crushes another car of equal size.
I leap atop the closest vehicle, another yellow cab, and take in our surroundings while carefully still moving forward. We are only about a block or so from Riverside Drive. West of that is the dog park at 72nd Street. After that is the water. If we can survive another few minutes of death-defying stunts and other bullshit that reminds me of your run-of-the-mill disaster movie, then we should be able to make it to the public kayak rental place.
I jump off another car and land awkwardly, stumbling yet again. My legs are about to give out
and if that happens we’re screwed. Jill isn’t strong enough to carry me.
“Shit, watch out!” Jill yells, shoving me to the side. I go rolling to my left, landing hard on the sidewalk just in front of the intersection at West End Avenue. She then dives on top of me, squeezing her body into me hard just as dust and dirt bloom into the air around us. We lay there for a second, the shaking subsiding for just a moment. It starts up again almost immediately. Like I said, only a moment. We go to move, but we can’t. Not easily anyway.
“Can you move?” I ask, trying to shift my weight.
“No,” I hear Jill gasp. “Something…is on top of me… I can’t…breathe.”
Oh God…
I try to shift again, moving only a fraction of an inch, but it’s enough. Jill gasps for air and coughs, trying to speak again. “What…happened?”
“You tell me,” I say, worming my way forward. At least I think it’s forward. “You shoved me to the ground. What did you see?”
She coughs again, but gets her breathing under control enough to speak. “The building next to us was coming down, tipping over like a redwood. We wouldn’t have gotten clear in time so I just reacted.”
Okay then, at least I know where we are.
We’re under what used to be the building on the southeast corner of 73rd and West End and from the dim light around us there seems to be a tunnel of some sort zigzagging through the debris. Far as I can tell, the structure tipped over and fell, cracking low at the base. When it hit it was leaning at a funky angle and didn’t crush us.
“Just keep moving until you see daylight,” I tell her, yelling behind me as we move. “Follow the sound of me crawling.”
I hear what I think is an ‘okay’ and start to squirm forward on my back. It’s such a tight squeeze that I can’t flip over and crawl like Jill should be doing now. I’m literally grabbing whatever hand and footholds I can feel and inching myself along. Every foot or so I crane my neck and look upside-down doing my damndest to gauge the distance.
Dead Moon: A Post-Apocalyptic Thriller Page 19
