by Matt James
“But you’re a cop?” The woman’s earlier aggression completely vanished. Now, she was terrified of dying.
“Look around you,” I said. “If you haven’t noticed, things are a little different now. Besides, do you really think you can take us out before one of you is dead?” I laid it on thicker, staring at the shivering woman. I flashed her a menacing smile. “Does he care for you enough to put the gun down and save your life?”
“Um, Cory?”
Twitch—Cory—bit his lip, deep in thought, but he didn’t immediately drop his weapon.
This guy is insane!
“Put the weapon down, son,” Dad urged. “This isn’t worth your lives. We aren’t here for anything you have. We’re just trying to survive—same as you.”
I wouldn’t have said that those two were trying to survive. In reality, they’d probably end up killing themselves long before an Unseen did them in. Maybe this was their way of coping with being one of the chosen few to live. Guilt can lead to an intense case of depression—and depression can make you do some crazy things.
Quietly, I listened but didn't hear anything. What I was listening for is the movie score or even the soundtrack playing in the background.
The soundtrack to the end of the world. The “Songs of Sorrow.”
What songs fill my playlist of doom?
It’s probably better that I don’t ever have to choose them. I’m not sure I could pick the songs that I’d die to even if I were forced to.
“So,” I said, staring down Twitch, “what’ll be?”
It wasn’t really a question as much as it was an ultimatum. I needed those two to believe that they were about to die for nothing more than a sack of pills.
Finally, Cory growled, turned and chucked his gun into the back of the store. The gesture was nice and all, but I would’ve preferred that he handed it over to me—any extra ammo too. Relieved, I glanced at my father and nodded my head. Holstering my pistol, I speedily backed away from the counter. Dad didn’t follow me, however. He did quite the contrary. He stepped forward and kept his shotgun raised.
“Do yourselves a favor,” he said, sounding sad. “Use this day as a reminder of how lucky you are to still be alive.”
“You ready?”
Jill’s question takes my mind off the pharmacy incident and back to the task at hand. We need to find a car and resupply before continuing north. The best spot for that, and our usual go to—like back in Valdosta—is a corner store. The visitor’s center at Ruby Falls is as good a place as any. Plus, it’s the closest place that carries what we need. Inside are a gift shop and café. For our sakes, I’m hoping both are still somewhat stocked.
Only one way to find out.
3
We’re traveling along what’s called Cravens Terrace. It’s part of a set of hiking trails within the western slopes of Lookout Mountain. The path is relatively narrow too—no broader than a one-lane road.
The ground itself is natural and clear of any overgrowth, making it easy for us to move about. There have only been a handful of bodies since we began our trek this morning. “Off-roading” has its benefits besides staying out of the way of the Unseen. It also gives our fried nerves a break.
My skin breaks out in goosebumps just thinking about it.
It’s peaceful in the woods this morning—cool as well. The temperature is such that I can see my breath. I grip my bow and arrow, feeling my cold, sore hands protest the action.
Damn, that siren has a hard head.
I’ve been curious as to how the Unseen will handle the impending winter weather. If we’re lucky, a large number of them will freeze to death. If that’s the case, I think we should head even deeper into the Appalachians after our quest to find Jill’s parents is over. Somewhere quiet and cold sounds fantastic.
Hope blows out a long breath and grins when she sees the hot air appear, looking like a puff of smoke. She does it twice more before I turn my attention back to the world around me.
Birds chirp all around us. I smile at the calmness of it all. Even a small furry animal scurries across the trail up ahead.
Chipmunk? I frown. I swear if Alvin tries anything…
Then, something much larger than a chipmunk causes the brush to our right to bend and break as it comes careening down the slope of the mountain. Whatever it is, it’s moving fast, and coming right for us.
“Hide!” I hiss, keeping my voice down.
It isn’t something larger than a chipmunk, it’s somethings bigger than one. Everyone hurries forward and ducks into the trees on the bank of the footpath. One by one, a horde of goblins stomp through the foliage coming down the side of the mountain. If their origin is true to their current direction, then they must’ve come from the Point Lookout.
I’m instantly drenched in a cold sweat. I was very close to leading my party up to it to camp for the night. We seriously dodged a bullet there.
After a dozen or so of the creatures pass us by, Hope shifts her weight and snaps a twig beneath her foot. She closes her eyes and covers her head with her hands, knowing what’s about to happen. Usually, a sound as insignificant as that wouldn’t be that big of a deal. But with how quiet the woods are this morning, it was closer to my father’s shotgun going off than anything else.
The last of the goblins stops and turns toward us, sniffing the air as he does. Another advantage to roughing it every night is that we smell like nature. Grass, dirt, and whatnot… Still, the goblin abandons his westerly march and comes to investigate the disturbance.
Dad slowly shoulders his shotgun, but I push the barrel down and shake my head. Way too noisy. We need to take care of the goblin quietly—which means…
I nod at my mother. Like me, she already has an arrow nocked in her bow. I mouth a three count and, together, we leap out in front of our target, draw back our bow strings and quickly loose our silent payloads. At twenty feet away, our arrows hit home and knock the monster off his feet.
Without pause, I rush forward and unsheathe my machete, swiftly running its blade across his throat. For just a moment, I do nothing else except listen. The other Unseen weren’t that far ahead of this one. But from the lack of commotion, I think we’ve succeeded in not alerting any of them.
Satisfied that we’re alone again, I put a foot on the goblin’s chest, grab both arrows just above their heads, and pull. Being able to reuse our ammo is awesome. Mom and I each have around two dozen arrows left, and we’re planning to keep it that way if we can. We were forced to leave more than half our supply behind when we had to abandon the Jeep.
Luckily, Jill and Dad were able to grab all of their ammo, though. As of now, if we need a stealthier kill, Mom and I will handle it. If we need to blast our way out of trouble, my wife and father take over.
Hope squeals as something bolts out from beneath the brush and rushes straight toward her. She fumbles for her pocketknife but can’t get it open in time. Instead, she grabs a coconut-sized rock and heaves it as hard as she can. Remarkably, her aim is impeccable and, whatever she hit, it squeaks and falls silent. But as soon as the rock connects, Hope bursts into tears and leaps into Jill’s arms.
Confused, I investigate the scene and quickly see what has upset her. Startled, Hope thought something horrible was coming after her. I’d have reacted the same exact way, for what it’s worth. Only, it wasn’t some monster coming for her, it was just the chipmunk from earlier. The little guy was curious and, regrettably, got too close.
People aren’t supposed to feed the wildlife, but let’s be real, they always do. I once had a chipmunk similar to this one run up my leg when I visited Tennessee as a kid. It was the only other time I’d been here before eventually coming back with Jill years later.
Damn, I think, examining the scene.
Alvin took the stone to the head and is lying in the weeds twitching. He’s suffering and needs to be put down. Thankfully, instead of me having to do it—I’m a little soft like that—my father pats my shoulder and nods to
ward Hope. I smile my thanks and turn, just as Dad raises the stock of his shotgun high.
I don’t see him bring it down, but I hear it.
RIP Alvin. Dave, I’m sorry for your loss.
With her face buried in Jill’s chest, Hope’s muffled cries fade a few minutes later, and the forest returns to its calm self. Picking up where we left off, we continue our trek along Cravens Terrace unperturbed. The only thing that gets in our way is an occasional downed tree or the remains of some poor soul. The latter is mostly bones, however. The scavengers are definitely doing their jobs around here.
Just up ahead, the path exits the trees, bathing us in the morning sunlight. While not super cold outside, the warmth of the sun is still a wonderful feeling on my skin. It’s also a signal of a new day with everyone alive. Each sunrise is a blessing now. I’m not naïve. I understand how lucky we really are to wake up and be together.
“It’s so beautiful,” Jill says, interlacing her fingers with mine.
She’s holstered her revolver, for the time being, opting to hold mine and Hope’s hands instead. And yes, the scenery really is stunning to look at.
“Look,” Hope says, pointing at the ground.
We stop and see what she does. Jill and I were so busy taking in the scenery that we almost missed it.
“That’s not good,” Dad says, shouldering his shotgun.
I let go of Jill’s hand and kneel, inspecting the small footprints. I recognize who they belong to and I don’t like it one bit, especially given our current surroundings.
“Gremlins…” I muttered.
And the footprints are everywhere.
I’m not sure how old the impressions are, but there are so many of them that most have mushed together. Some are barefoot, and some aren’t, still wearing the shoes they had on when they mutated.
A mob of Unseen ankle biters is something I don’t ever want to see. It seems that the children who’ve turned and survived and call this area home have fled the cities and settled in the woods. I know from experience that they prefer the cover of night and the relative safety of the shadows. And it’s only relatively safe within the trees because nothing is one-hundred-percent safe anywhere.
* * *
“Look-out Moun-tain,” Hope reads, carefully enunciating each word. “Wel-come to Ru-by Falls.” She looks up at me. “There’s a waterfall inside the building?”
“Nope,” I reply, happy that she’s moved past the incident with the chipmunk.
“Where is it then?” she asks.
I point a finger at the ground beneath the visitor center. “It’s deep underground.”
“Beneath the mountain?” Hope asks eyes wide.
I nod. “Cool, right?”
Hope shakes her head. “No way! I bet it’s scary down there—like super scary!”
I try not to laugh, but realize that she has a point, regardless if she only means the dim, dank, claustrophobic tunnels and not what might be lurking within them. To a seven-year-old, the dark is evil enough. Now...? I can’t imagine what’s going through Hope’s head. A kid’s imagination is already insanely overactive. Mix that with real-life horrors, and you get a cocktail that I wouldn’t even try.
My younger self would’ve. That dude was fucking nuts.
Cravens Terrace takes us around to the northern end of Lookout Mountain, right in between the Tennessee River to the north and Ruby Falls to the south. Besides the occasional body or bloodstain, the surrounding landscape is beautiful. Tennessee in the winter is something to behold if you haven’t experienced it yourself.
“In we go,” Dad mutters, looking none-too-pleased. He already has his shotgun pressed deeply into his shoulder.
He leads the way to the front door and scales the short flight of concrete steps. I’m right behind him with all three of the ladies bringing up the rear. Mom has taken up the full-time job of watching our asses seriously. More than any of us, she keeps Jill and Hope in front of her every step of the way. Even Jill isn’t joking around right now. She has one of Hope’s hands clutched in her left, and her revolver held firmly in her right.
We enter through what’s called the “castle.” If you look it up online, you’ll see exactly what I mean. It literally looks like a miniature stone castle with vines growing up its front façade. I sneer when I take a closer look at the growth, though. They aren’t a deep shade of green like I thought they were when first seeing them from the road. Ugh. They’re a dark copper-brown, stained with blood. I turn around and descend the front stairs and step back out onto the sidewalk in front of the building. Looking up, I confirm that the peak of the castle’s tower is similarly stained. It’s slight, but the blood is there.
I’ve been to the top of the five-story-tall structure before. If I’m not mistaken, you can see the dark waters of the Tennessee River, the southern end of Moccasin Bend, and downtown Chattanooga from up there. I face northeast, toward the water, and visualize the path we’ll take.
Well, the one we’ll try to take.
If we can find a car, we can follow I-24 around the southern bend of the Tennessee River and then hopefully circumvent Chattanooga. I really don’t want to have to stop there. Over the last few weeks, we’ve, for the most part, avoided densely populated areas. I’d like to continue that trend for a little while longer.
The biggest problem with I-24 is that it sits between a city and a chief water source. I can’t imagine a scenario where we won’t come across some sort of trouble along the way. Animals need two things to survive: Food and water.
And we’ll be right smack in the middle of both.
“Think happy thoughts, Frank,” I say to myself.
“Hey,” I turn and find Jill holding open the door, “you coming?”
“Yeah,” I reply, scaling the steps again. Before I go inside, I give the scenery behind me another quick look-see.
“What’s wrong?” she asks.
I take my eyes off the river and find Jill staring at me.
“Nothing,” I say, patting her hip as I pass by. “You know me…just thinking of the next step.”
She playfully slaps my butt and closes the door.
“Don’t get ahead of yourself, okay? We need you focused on the here-and-now, not a future that might not happen.”
I’m pretty sure I’ve said something similar to that in the last month. Regardless, she’s right. There’s no need to think about what might come if you don’t live long enough to see it.
The Ruby Falls atrium is one thirty-foot, open room and it features a beautifully painted mural of its namesake, “Ruby Falls.” There’s an ATM machine just inside the door to my left, and its screen is lit. There’s power, but not a lot of it. The lights above the rear ticket counter are out as are the lights inside the gift shop to our right.
A few of the breakers must’ve tripped.
There are also twin streaks of blood circling around behind the front desk. Someone was dragged behind the desk and killed.
Silently, we head for the gift shop. I keep my body in between the ticket counter and Hope the whole time, somehow thinking that I can block her from seeing it—any of it. It’s ridiculous, I know. There are bodies all over the place. Actually, they are only remains now.
Scavengers have come out of the woodwork in full force now, doing what they do best: Scavenging. There was an odd delay of nonforaging right after everything happened. I really noticed it back in Wellington when the first vultures finally appeared overhead. Until then, they had stayed away. But the buffet was too plentiful to ignore any longer. Whereas most of us humans understand that’ll we’ll be getting another meal when needed, animals, especially wild ones, don’t have the privilege of that kind of foresight.
In the low light of the gift shop, Jill stops and breathes in deep, and I know why. I’ve already checked for them. There aren’t any bodies in here. Besides this place being seemingly empty during regular operation hours, the room feels almost normal at the moment.
Jill sighs.
“Coffee…”
Or it’s the fact that there’s an illuminated fridge filled with sodas and iced coffee drinks on the back wall. It’s as if she’s a moth to a flame, forever entranced. She may not have even looked at the shop itself—just the coffee.
I smile when she rushes forward, and flings open the door. One by one, she hands the adults one of the drinks. I gladly take the beverage and greedily guzzle down two-thirds of it. In unison, the four of us proclaim our delight with quadruple “ahhhs.”
“Chocolate milk!”
Hope, stuffed animal in one hand, is bouncing up and down, pointing at a bottle on the bottom shelf with the other. She looks up at me and smiles, waiting for me to give her the all-clear. It’s not a rule that she can’t have anything whenever she wants, she’s just really polite and knows that taking things usually isn’t right.
“Dig in, kiddo.”
“Yay!” she squeals, ripping the drink from its place, but after a couple of seconds, she stomps her foot and pouts.
“What’s the matter, honey?” Mom asks.
Hope holds up her cow-printed prize, eyes watering. She sniffs. “I can’t open it.”
My mother’s heart visibly melts, and she happily helps out the girl. I grin and shake my head and take in the rest of the rectangular room, sipping my drink as I do.
Damn, this is good!
We’re currently near the rear wall. The fridges are perfectly centered on that wall, a perfect spot in which to see them from the entrance of the gift shop. Instant moneymakers, like the gum and candy at a grocery store checkout.
AKA, impulse buys.
Up against the left-hand wall are the cash registers and additional tourist information—pamphlets and whatnot.
Nope.
The middle of the gift shop holds all kinds of trinkets and souvenirs, including t-shirts and refrigerator magnets.
Nope again.