Dead Moon: A Post-Apocalyptic Thriller (12 page)

22

The drive is blissfully quiet which actually scares me even worse than an all-out assault. I know they are out there somewhere. Why they aren’t attacking us yet is a really bothersome question. I’d much rather have my enemy right in front of me where my shotgun can see them than getting jumped from behind.

Especially when the bad guys aren’t some punks trying to snag my wallet.

“Could they be waiting for us somewhere else?” I ask aloud. The inquiry was rhetorical and really only meant for my own ears, but Vinny, seated next to me, replies.

“From what you told me before—about the Siren leading a pack of the men… It could be that they are regrouping and sitting tight until another opportunity arises.”

I nod slightly, looking out my window. It’s exactly what I was thinking too. We haven’t seen that type of behavior since my run in with them the first time I visited Harvey’s. I shot that particular Siren, but I have no doubt that she’s still out there causing all kinds of havoc. Could there be more like her? Sure. Why wouldn’t there be? Or was she a special case? Was she the alpha of the alpha?

I try to ignore the questions and take in the scenery. Central Park is normally a fantastic place to lose your thoughts and drift, but now from what I can see… It was also a place to lose your life. Bodies lay everywhere. Men, women, children—all ages. It was a slaughter of epic proportions. Cold, but clear weather, drew out everyone. There are activities to do throughout the park if
Mother Nature
permits and this weekend was no different.

She did,
I think, shaking my head at the sight.
It takes a lot to discourage New Yorkers from their daily activities. Cold and no snow is a cake walk for most here.

Vinny slows, bringing me back to the now, and stops as we near the halfway point of our scenic route through the park. The overpass at the crossing of Central Drive—of which we need to go under—is impassable, blocked by a large pileup. Looking closer, it’s actually kind of pathetic really. The accident is mainly made up of a cluster of economy class hybrids.

Like a bunch of Hot Wheels piled up on some kid’s track.

“Um…” Vinny says, glancing over to me. “Suggestions?”

I lean forward and look back-and-forth, left and right, seeing if there’s a way around. I do recall a path through the Heckscher Ballfields, but am unsure if it’s travelable. We played a department vs. department softball tournament there in the spring so I’m somewhat familiar with the grounds. There’s about half-a-dozen softball diamonds arranged around each other. Their outfields meet in the middle with no fencing to separate them, making for some pretty interesting moments if, and or when, someone gets a hold of one and sends a ball into another game.

“Turn off here and head down the footpaths,” I say, pointing left towards the wide pedestrian friendly sidewalk. “We should be able to cross through the softball fields and find another way back to the main road. The whole field is surrounded by paths that will lead us back to 65, or maybe, West Drive.”

“Off-road?” he asks.

“Yep, were going off the beaten path.”

He goes left, slowly edging us onto the walkway. The truck is much too big to fit its entire girth, so he just leaves the passenger side wheels off, trudging them through the grass and dirt. It’s a bouncy ride for me, but I’d much rather have my driver sitting as still as possible, keeping a firm handle on the steering wheel. Besides, the high-end shocks and comfy leather seats, reduce the jostling some.

At least we aren’t in his Camaro.

“You, okay?” Vinny asks, seeing me bobbing up and down.

“Fine,” I quickly reply, through gritted teeth. “Just keep it as steady as you can.”

We come up to a small intersection. The trees hang ominously out-and-over the road some, casting us in their shadows. I motion for Vinny to turn right and follow another path, weaving us towards our destination. He does and we quickly find ourselves approaching another small tunnel. This one is by no means built for a truck to pass through, but…

“Are we going to fit?” Vinny asks.

I shrug. “I think so. The last time I came through here I remember it being fairly big.”

He tilts his head and cracks his neck, continuing forward until we come to where the footpath continues under the Central Drive overpass. It’s going to be a tight fit, but I’m pretty confident we can make it through without getting stuck.
That
would suck. Getting our only mode of transportation jammed in a concrete tunnel would qualify as a worst case scenario situation.

“Hang on,” I say, grabbing my Mossberg. We’re ten or so feet away now. “Stop here and turn off the engine. I want to check something.”

Then, like a crazy man, I open my door and step out, shotgun at the ready. Vinny doesn’t say a word as he kills the motor, understanding that I want complete silence. I need to be able to hear if anything is trying to sneak up on us before I stray too far.

I make my way around the front end and stop, shutting my eyes and forcing my other senses to take over. First, I listen, only hearing the slight sway of the tree branches in the cold, somewhat refreshing breeze. I continue concentrating on the sounds around me, but hear nothing.

Too quiet.

Then, I sniff the air. It’s a combination of smells, ranging from the wooded scent and the recent truck exhaust. But there’s also something else mixed in. The breeze shifts, now coming from straight ahead, strengthening the smell. It’s an odor I’ve unfortunately come to know all too well. Blood.

I open my eyes, tensing my finger over the trigger, but see nothing. I feel the air flow again, realizing it’s presently being funneled by the tunnel ahead. The air is being channeled by the large void in the trees that the ballfields create, speeding up the normally gentle breeze.

It happens all the time in Florida during a hurricane. I remember when we got whacked one year and the back portion of our neighborhood wasn’t yet built, but the land was cleared. It gave the wind an unabated trajectory right into the back of our house. The pressure built up so much that it pushed the water under the sliding glass door’s track. You can guess what happened next.

Sniffing again, I confirm my prior conclusion that whatever is up ahead is the source of the smell. Heckscher Fields has seen death.

I turn back to the truck and motion for Vinny to keep his eyes on the tunnel behind me as I guide him through. He nods and I begin to back pedal, waving for him to follow.

The engine cranks to life and rolls towards me, its breaks squeaking a little as Vinny rides them. I cringe and stop, raising my hand for Vinny to do the same. I peek around the rear of the truck and then to each side looking for movement. Not seeing or hearing anything in front of me, I quickly recheck behind me. Nothing. Releasing the breath I didn’t realize I was holding in, I again motion for Vinny to continue forward.

The sky around me darkens as I step into the shadows of the tunnel. It’s dark and creepy enough for the hair on the back of my neck to stand once more, but light enough for us to still see without needing the truck’s headlights. Not being able to hear or see would be an excessive sensory overload.

As the truck’s front end enters the tunnel, it causes the roar of the engine to increase in volume. The arch shaped enclosure is amplifying the sound, causing me to cringe. Now, not only can’t I hear the world around me, but now I can’t even hear myself think. My sleep deprived mind and multitude of headshots I’ve taken are really starting to take their toll on me. The rising decibels were apparently the final straw.

I quickly step to each side and watch as the collapsed mirrors barely make it, having an inch to spare at most. Any bigger and we’d be stuck.

A skittering sound whips up around me and I flinch, turning and raising my weapon. But nothing’s there. I could have sworn I heard the sound of a Goblin’s nails scratching against the concrete. The sound erupts around me again, making me jump back as something slaps my feet. My back painfully bangs into the halted vehicle as I reel back in surprise.

I lower the barrel of my shotgun to the disturbance, expecting to see a creature grabbing at my ankle, and see a swirling garbage tornado. It’s been kicked up by the air pumping through the tunnel. I watch as it’s then drawn up-and-under the truck as it goes by. I stop and stare as pieces randomly strike both my feet, filling the air with the same rustling sound as before.

Damnit,
I think, lowering the Mossberg and turning. Vinny is staring at me through the windshield, a look of confusion on his face. He obviously didn’t see or hear anything so it must look like I got spooked by a rat or something else small and insignificant.

He slowly raises his thumb, asking me if I’m okay. I return the question with the wave of my hand and beckon him forward, hoping the task at hand will squelch my rising embarrassment. It’s burning on the back of my cold, windswept neck. Thankfully, Vinny acquiesces and releases the brake, rolling the large truck forward again.

Light appears from behind, signaling me that we’re almost done with our confined jaunt. I turn and see what I expected, a half-filled parking lot. It was a cold, but clear night on Friday and a few softball games must have been in session. By the looks of it, there may be a couple dozen cars, equaling about forty to fifty people—give-or-take. It’s a rough estimate, because I have no idea how many of them carpooled, drove alone, or were brought here by public transportation. It could realistically be closer to sixty or seventy maybe.

The real question is… Are they still here?

I hope not, honestly. That would make for a ton of Unseen to fend off in the open. Then again, wide-open spaces is the perfect spot to use the truck as a weapon too. It would be like plowing through the snow.

Being in front of Vinny and the truck, I exit the tunnel first, turning as I do. Not seeing anything, I step off the curb and sigh in relief, and am immediately struck from above. My
unseen
attacker lands hard, right on top of me, bashing me to the unyielding asphalt of the parking lot.

I get ready to turn over and fight back, but instead have two hands grab me. One clutches my jacket and the other gets a grimy fistful of hair. I start to panic, thinking I’m about to be yanked off the ground and tossed away—or maybe even pulled in and gnawed on. I’m not exactly sure which.

But before the creature can do either, I hear shouting and then beeping. I look back as I struggle to free myself and briefly glimpse around the Goblin’s head. My eyes go wide as Vinny floors the pedal and shoots the truck out of the tunnel like a cannon ball, directly at us. Seeing only one option, I finally wiggle out of the thing’s grasp, losing a few hairs in the process. Then, I quickly dive to the ground, flattening myself on my stomach.

Just as I hit the ground again, the truck rolls over me, slamming into the monster. It’s sent flying into one of the parked cars, slamming face first. Half under the Ford, I quickly crawl out, feeling the heat of the engine kissing the back of my neck. I shakily climb to my feet, stunned at what happened and at the prospect of almost being run over.

Technically, I was run over.

Screeching fills the parking lot and I do a quick three-sixty, but don’t see anything. Then, remembering where my assailant came from, I look up. The overpass is alive with bodies—hundreds of them. They squirm over each other like a giant mass of worms, moving like liquid. They are exactly what a tidal wave of death would look like if there was such a thing.

I bolt for the passenger side door and leap in. Not having to tell Vinny what I saw, he crams down the pedal again with all his might. The first surge attacks, leaping at us from above.
Booms
and
thumps
erupt from behind as at least five or six of them land in the bed of our quickly accelerating vehicle.

Two more bangs resonate on the roof, causing Vinny and me to shrink lower in our seats. A hand appears on the windshield, scratching at the glass. The nails screech across its surface, sounding like those grinding across a chalkboard.

We glance at each other and swallow in unison.

“Go left!” I yell, pointing to the nearest ballfield.

Vinny does so and bashes through an already weakened chain-link fence, making us bounce hard as we first climb up-and-over the curb.

The big open expanse of grass that makes up the softball fields is right in front of us.

I look up, visualizing what’s directly above us.
I should have brought my bat.

23

I have to give Vinny some additional brownie points on this one. His skill at dodging the bodies covering the ballfields is really impressive. But what really earns him that extra credit, is that he’s doing it while trying to shake seven of the Unseen from our ride.

The truck bucks as we hit the pitcher’s mound at a funky angle, the rear right tire jostling off the pitching rubber. The sudden bone-jarring movement does what I hoped though. One of the Goblins is thrown from the moving vehicle, flailing like a ragdoll.

“Hang on!”

I do as Vinny yanks hard on the wheel, intentionally fishtailing us. The rear-end slides right, threatening to pull the rest of the vehicle with it, unable to find proper traction in the crimson stained grass. We basically hydroplane on blood, sending up twin rooster tails of the stuff.  

Gunna’ need a solid detailing after this for sure.

We leave the first of several fields, weaving through the dead the best we can. Unfortunately, Vinny can’t avoid them all. He winces as he crushes something under the front wheels, his nose turning up in disgust.

“It’s fine,” I say, bouncing, holding onto the ‘
Oh Shit
handle’ with a vice-like grip, “there’s nothing you can do.”

He again yanks on the steering wheel, tilting us hard to the left, narrowly avoiding a group of bodies, but clipping a few others as our backend sails by them. Vinny again grimaces at the sound of the truck flattening the departed, but he doesn’t stop there. He straightens us out and heads for the northern entrance to the fields. If he gets us there in one piece, we should be able to hop back on 65 and continue over solid ground.

Then,
I think,
we should be able to put on some more speed—maybe shake a few more of them loose.
I look back into the rear seat, seeing the closed back window full of clawing creatures.
We gotta’ fight back.

“Get us back on the road and I’ll do my best to rid us of our friends.”

I’m not sure Vinny heard me, but his head bounces up and down nodding. Well, it’s either a nod or his chin is just following the violent upheavals the truck is currently experiencing. I draw my Glock and point it behind me and wait. We are quickly approaching the north parking lot. The last thing I need to do is get thrown while pulling the trigger.

Don’t want to waste the ammo.

The front tires find the hard surface of the parking lot, immediately sending me into motion. I quickly squeeze off three shots into the center most Goblin, obliterating the sliding portion of the rear window in the process. Glass flies as the bullets penetrate and quickly blow through the tinted glass, hitting their intended target.

The creature falls, tumbling into two of the others. They fall in a heap of tangled limbs, screeching into the air. I keep my gun trained on the cab’s new entry point and am immediately greeted by a snarling face. Never wavering, I pull the trigger and shoot the bastard point-blank in the head.

Another tries to follow its now dead mate, taking a bullet dead center in its windpipe. I watch as it reels back, flailing, unable to breathe, clawing at any and everything. The fight quickly drains from it and it collapses and gets bounced over the rear tailgate.

Three down.
I take in the scene, counting the rest of them. Two more in the bed and two more on the roof.

“Shit!”

I grip my seat as Vinny slams on the brakes, tossing the two from above. They go flying, landing hard and rolling…into the feet of half a dozen Sirens. But it’s not just the female Unseen that has Vinny spooked, it’s the throng of Goblins coming up behind them.

It’s about half the size of the group back at the Central Drive overpass, but still, between the six Sirens and the fifty or sixty Goblins, this is going to be all but impossible to get through.

Gripping the steering wheel tighter, Vinny floors it, causing the rear tires to squeal again. We shoot forward, rocketing straight into the throng of carnivorous fiends.

Forgetting all about the remaining Unseen in the bed, I flop back down into my seat and hold on. We hit two of the women head on, bouncing them off the truck’s highly effective push bar. Unfortunately for us, the other four Sirens leap away, avoiding the instantaneous death of their sisters.

Two jump straight up, one landing on the hood and the other on the roof, crunching it down a fraction when she lands. The other two leap to the sides, quickly getting to their feet in pursuit. I look back and see them running up behind us, barely breaking a sweat.

“We need to get rid…of the women!” I yell, my voice shaking with Vinny’s driving.

“Trying!” Vinny shouts back, swerving back-and-forth as we enter the mob. Bodies are everywhere, clawing and leaping. The truck crushes anything it touches, but not all of them die. Some actually climb on board, joining the others in the bed.

The bed!

I turn, seeing two mutilated faces sticking through. Holstering the less powerful Glock, I raise my Mossberg.

“Sorry!” I yell to Vinny, pulling the trigger. The concussion in the cab is loud, but the result is nonetheless effective. Both creatures disappear. First their heads, then their bodies as they’re thrown back. As their forms clear my immediate view, I see the ten or so in the bed and the arms flailing outside the driver and passenger side windows.

Oh, God…

“Give me a gun!” Vinny shouts, right hand open, left hand on the wheel. “I’ll do what I can without losing control, but you’ll have to do most of it!”

Without questioning him, I hand him my other sidearm, the one from Joan’s gun safe. Its clip is fully loaded, having been tucked away in the back of my jeans.

The window next to my head shatters as a fist bursts through the serrated opening. It passes right in front of my face, barely missing me by centimeters. I’m showered in glass, but am nevertheless fine. Nothing feels like it’s embedded in my skin, but it could have if that fist connected.

Recognizing the talon-like claws and rippling arm muscles, I quickly register that it’s one of the Sirens. The force of that impact may have even killed me if it hit home.

Another point for luck.

Her face appears next, but is quickly erased by a bullet from Vinny’s gun and then knocked aside by the butt of my shotgun. Her body falls from the roof and is sucked up and under the back tires, making the rear end go airborne. I look over and see the grin on Vinny’s face as he shoves the Glock under his left thigh. He has absolutely no ill feelings about running over one of them.

“Where are we?” I ask, sending another two shells into the rear bed. I then elbow the first thing I see outside my window, the face of a Goblin. I smash it square in its face, making it lose its grip and fall.

“Still heading west on 65, coming up on the West Drive overpass!” Vinny shouts, gripping the wheel with both hands now. “Hopefully—” His own window shatters. Vinny quickly shields his face with his shoulder, turning away from the explosion of glass. The truck lurches for a moment, but he expertly course corrects, winds up, and punches one of the other Sirens in the face, dazing it. Then, quicker than a gunslinger in the Wild West, he draws the handgun from under his thigh, thrusts it into the Siren’s open mouth and pulls the trigger.

He shakes the glass from his hair and continues. “Hopefully, it is clear unlike the last one.”

I turn and fire another shell into the mob trying to make its way inside the missing rear window.

It better be.