by Matt James
The only thing I recall is a twinge in my side and darkness.
5
Oh, where oh where can my baby be?
The Lord took her away from me.
She's gone to heaven, so I got to be good.
So I can see my baby when I leave this world.
We were out on a date in my daddy's car.
We hadn't driven very far.
There in the road, up straight ahead.
A car was stalled, the engine was dead.
I couldn't stop, so I swerved to the right.
I'll never forget the sound that night.
The screamin' tires, the bustin' glass.
The painful scream that I heard last.
The lyrics to Last Kiss are terribly heartbreaking, but the tune itself—Pearl Jam’s version—is incredible. Is this my “song of sorrow?” Is it a premonition of what’s to come? Am I the guy driving? Is Jill the dead girl?
I figured that my soundtrack to the end of the world would feature a playlist from bands such as Kataklysm, Carnifex, Beneath the Massacre, and Slayer. Kataklysm’s Crippled and Broken is next to enter my brain as I open my eyes and realize that I’m in utter agony.
“Ow,” I say, barely being able to breathe.
“Stay still, Frank. You hurt yourself pretty bad.”
The voice is Jill’s, and she’s sitting right next to me. I feel her fingers interlaced with mine, along with another person’s smaller and similarly gentle hand too.
Hope.
Wait, I think, we’re sitting?
I feel us bank left. We’re moving too. Blinking hard, I see that we’re actually driving. This time, Mom is behind the wheel with Dad in the front passenger seat. We’re in an SUV of some kind—a Ford, an Explorer maybe—and have the Tennessee River on our left.
“I-24 to Chattanooga?” I ask, cringing when my ribs flex.
“Yep,” Jill replies.
She must see the pain I’m in because she explains what happened.
“You hit just about every single branch on the way down. You took most of them in the chest and back. Your vest must’ve absorbed it all.” She frowns. “But the last one…”
“Pow! Right in the…ribs,” I say, wincing as I try to lift my left arm.
I get it halfway into the air before my side protests the maneuver. While mostly effective, the Kevlar vest I wear beneath my coat doesn’t have a lot of protection below my armpit. At the moment, the vest is MIA, presumably in the trunk behind me. I’m not sure I could wear it right now, even if I wanted to—which I don’t. While useful, the thing was terribly cumbersome and uncomfortable.
“Um, Jill,” Mom says, “where do I go?”
Peering through the windshield, I see that we’re coming up on a network of crisscrossing overpasses. I look for a sign but don’t find one. The only thing I spot is the splintered post that had once held it.
“Get off and stay in the left lane,” Jill replies. “That’ll put us on U. S. 27 and keep us heading north.”
“That’s not what I meant,” Mom says. “Look…”
I do and see what she had already noticed. The left lane, the one we need to merge onto, is entirely impassable. Cars are pinned to one another and are blocking any chance we have of getting through. I think I even see a semi atop a few of the vehicles, and as we get closer, I see what happened.
The semi leaped the overpass and crashed down to the road below, crushing anything in its path. The broken and crumbling crossing sheds a little truth unto my theory.
We’re going to have to use the local roads.
I was hoping we could’ve avoided that.
The sign we need to follow reads “Downtown Chattanooga.” Instead, we take the one that says “Lookout Mt., Broad St.” Now, we head east, not north. Everyone is silent, wary of an attack as we enter the city. While technically a part of Chattanooga, the highway is much less nerve-wracking to be on. The local roads are usually filled with locals. That means the Unseen will be near too.
The southbound lane of 27 eventually merges into our lane, giving me an idea. Maybe we don’t have to use the city roads after all?
“Try and do a U-turn and go against traffic,” I say, carefully leaning forward between Mom and Dad. “Try to get us back headed north.”
Mom nods and slows. As she turns the wheel, a mob of Unseen flood onto the road in front of us. Before I can tell her to forget the plan, my mother yanks hard on the steering wheel and throws everyone the opposite way, stomping on the gas at the same time. We pick up speed but are slung forward when she’s forced to slam on the brakes.
Another mob greets us—this one of the human variety. Each of the twenty-plus people are holding guns of all sizes. They’re also holding something I thought I’d never see in person.
Molotov cocktails.
As one, they lob their homemade combustibles over our heads as we come to a screeching halt. I turn and watch, witnessing each of their payloads explode into fireballs upon impact. Then, half of the gunmen open fire and take down the survivors.
The other men point their weapons at us.
“Not good,” I say, nudging Jill with my knee. “Let me out.” I need to squelch their show of force before they make a terrible mistake and open fire on us too.
Jill doesn’t argue. She pops open her door and lets me out. Then, she hops back in and shuts it—but not before drawing her revolver first. If there is a shootout, she’ll be a part of it.
Can’t let that happen.
I dig into my pocket and produce my badge, holding it out in front of me. Of the ten men pointing their guns at us, five of them shift their aim to me. It’s an impressive show of organization. They’ve been training for encounters like this.
“Detective Frank Moon, NYPD. We come in peace.”
We come in peace? Really?
The Unseen that survived the firebombs are put out of their misery one by one behind me. I don’t look. Instead, I meet the eyes of the militia’s leader. He’s a man of my size and age but is a few inches crazier than me. Seriously, this guy’s eyes are like saucers, and he’s got the classic “whack job” look plastered all over his face.
“Are you one of them?” he asks.
“Uh,” I reply, “one of what?”
His eyes narrow and he points to the road. “One of them.”
I look at what he’s pointing to, and I’m confused. The only thing I see is a black burn mark in the asphalt. But upon further inspection, it isn’t a burn mark caused by anything like the Molotov cocktails. It’s a mark caused by an ultra-hot explosion of some kind.
“I don’t follow.”
He raises his pistol and shouts, “Are you infected?”
Infected?
I raise both my hands. “What infection?” He squeezes the grip of his gun harder. “And whatever it is, no, none of us are infected!” He relaxes some. “We’re just passing through, okay? We’re on our way to Gatlinburg.”
CrazyEyes doesn’t lower his aim. If anything, I think I’ve somehow pissed him off even more. This guy’s paranoia makes him a candidate for a lifelong stay in a padded room. The men with him haven’t said a word. Their body language isn’t as rigid as CrazyEyes’ either. They either trust his judgment or are scared to death of his wrath.
The latter is what I’m going with.
Finally, he lowers his aim from my face to my chest.
Awfully nice of him…
“I believe you—for now.”
“For now?” I ask. I don’t like the sound of that. Usually, that means there will be an extended amount of time under a person’s supervision—time we don’t have—and I certainly don’t want to spend it with the mayor of Crazytown, USA.
He nods. “I’m sorry, but you aren’t going to Gatlinburg until I deem it safe.”
“Safe?” I ask. “Safe for who?”
“Everyone.”
“I told you, no one is infected!”
My outburst earns me a barrel to the face, and as soon
as CrazyEyes’ aim raises, I hear a door open behind me. The only person stupid enough to join me is Jill. She isn’t stupid in an idiotic way either. She’s stupid in a loving and protective way.
“What’s going on here?” she asks, stepping right up next to me.
“This…gentleman…says we can’t leave until he’s sure that we’re not infected.”
“Three days is all it’ll take to prove it.”
“The hell it will!” Jill steps forward and aims her revolver at the group leader. “You’ll let us pass, or you’ll die here and now.”
He shrugs, indifferent, but for just a second, his hard stare wavers. “As far as I’m concerned, I’m already dead.”
Hmmm… I think. Something terrible has happened to this guy.
The odds of us shooting our way out of this is at zero. We need to play ball with him until we can figure something else out. Worse case, we’re delayed in getting to Gatlinburg. Best case, we get to befriend a well-organized militia leader.
“Jill,” I say softly. She looks at me, and I shake my head.
Begrudgingly, she lowers her weapon and holsters it on her hip.
“Fine,” I say, looking back at CrazyEyes, “we’ll play your little game.”
“This isn’t a game.”
Geez, this guy is even more wound up than me.
“What’s your name?”
He likewise holsters his gun and steps forward. “My name is Lieutenant Tyson Daniel, CPD.”
“Chattanooga police?” Jill asks. “You’re a cop?”
Tyson’s jaw clenches. “I used to be.”
I nod. “I understand the feeling.”
He shakes his head. “Seeing that you have, who'd I guess is, your family with you...no you don't.”
I notice that he has a wedding ring on. I knew something awful must have happened to him, and now I know what. It’s the feeling of death that he said he has.
I step forward and stick out my hand. “I’m sorry for your loss.” He doesn’t move a muscle. So, I lower my hand and rejoin Jill and take in the other people. “You’re well-organized.”
Tyson crosses his arms. “I’d hope so. This is most of what’s left of my department. The others have either left…” his face falls, “or died.”
Knowing that the people here are fellow police officers makes me relax a little. This isn’t just some gang of gun-toting lunatics—minus Tyson maybe—they’re cops doing what they’re trained to do. They’re protecting us, but they’re also protecting each other, and whoever else is still alive here.
“So,” I say, “there’s an infection?”
Tyson’s eyes blaze. “Yes, but we need to get moving.”
He motions to his men—and women—I notice that there are a few female officers mixed in as well. Two of them move for our vehicle and two more head towards Jill and me.
“Hang on,” I say, holding up my hands. “What’s this? We already said we’d cooperate.”
Tyson places his hand on his holstered pistol’s grip. “Forgive me for not believing you, but we don’t take any chances, not after what’ happened.”
“Tell me then. What happened here,” I wave my hand, “besides the obvious.”
“Lieutenant,” one of his men says, “we have incoming.”
Tyson looks past me, which gets me to turn around. There’s a mass of bodies back a little further, and it won’t take much for them to find us. We need to leave and, unfortunately, we’ll have to abide by the Lieutenant’s rules.
“Fine,” I say, “but the girl comes with us,” I motion to Jill and me.
“What girl?” he asks. His eyes dart to our Explorer. Dammit… He lost more than just his wife.
“Our daughter,” Jill replies. “You aren’t taking her away from us.”
It looks like he’s about to protest our request, and just when he’s about to, he closes his mouth and sighs.
“Fine.” He turns on a dime and walks away. “You’re riding with me then.” He stops his march and looks over his shoulder to me and then to one of his men. “Cuff them.”
6
This isn’t exactly what I had in mind when I told Tyson that we’d cooperate with him. I’m cuffed and sitting in the front seat of a blacked-out SUV, next to the man that ordered me to be put in shackles. Jill and Hope are in the back seat with a tall, well-built female officer sitting between them. My wife is cuffed as well, but gratefully, Hope isn’t. I can’t imagine a scenario where she’d need to be.
Even Tyson can’t be ‘that’ coldhearted?
His reaction to the mention of having a daughter has piqued my interest as to who Lieutenant Daniel is, exactly. He clearly lost someone near and dear to his heart. You don’t have to be a Holmes-level detective to figure that out. My guess is that his wife and daughter were killed within the last month.
While he’s had some time to mourn their passing, he’s still grieving. He's put his focus on doing everything he can to keep his people alive, putting off the grieving process for another time. It’s the reason he’s so on edge and insanely paranoid. Eventually, he’ll come down from the mental ledge and realize that not everyone is trying to kill him—infect him.
Speaking of that.
“Tell me about this infection?” I ask, turning my attention off of the unreasonably tight handcuffs and onto my captor.
He lets out a long breath before speaking. What he says shocks me.
“We call them burners.” His eyes glaze over, lost in a memory. “My wife and daughter were the first.”
Fuck me… No wonder he’s so paranoid.
Instead of focusing on his loss, I inquire about the “infection.”
“What is it?”
Tyson adjusts his posture. He’s uncomfortable with the question, but he explains, nonetheless.
“There are a select few of the creatures that carry a transmittable disease.”
“Really?”
I’m stunned. This is news to me for sure. I’ve literally seen everything these things have to offer and have yet to witness anything that resembles a contagion. If it’s true, then this is a gamechanger.
“You tell me,” Tyson says. “You’re a New York cop in Tennessee. Tell me what you’ve seen.”
I do. Both Jill and I recount the gist of what we’ve both experienced so far. We even retell our finding of Hope. I was reluctant at first, but I want this guy to trust us. Telling the truth is the best way for that to happen. Plus, with his wife and daughter dead, I’m hoping that our decision to take in, and keep, Hope as our own sways him into helping us.
“The Unseen, huh?” He nods. “It’s a fitting name.”
“Absolutely,” Jill says. “Tyson, is it? Look, we’re trying to find my parents. You can appreciate that, right? That’s all we’re doing. Whether they’re dead or alive, we aren’t here to pick a fight.”
“I believe you.”
My eyebrows raise. “You do?”
He nods. “But I also need to protect the people of Chattanooga.” He glances at me. “I’m not crazy, Detective.”
“Frank is fine.”
“You can call me Tyson, and as far as the virus is concerned…” He shifts in his seat, uncomfortable. “We don’t know much more than you. We were out foraging for food and supplies one day and, well, Holly was bitten by one of the Unseen.”
“Holly?” Hope asks, sounding sad.
Tyson nods. “My daughter. She was just a couple of years older than you.”
“What do the burners look like?” I ask. “Tell me everything.”
Tyson looks at me like I’m nuts but does as asked. The look on his face is one of horror. It’s apparent that he wants nothing to do with the creatures and is mortified that I do.
Knowledge is power, my friend. Knowledge. Is. Power.
“While most of the Unseen look like monsters from Hell, the burners don’t.” Interesting… “The one that attacked us looked like nothing more than a woman on the run. She resembled you and I. Except for her e
yes…”
“Were they missing?” Jill asked. It was my question as well.
Tyson shakes his head. “No…they were bright red. Like there was a fire burning within.”
“Faith and Holly ran to her side to help.” Tyson grips the steering wheel hard. “The woman leaped onto Holly and bit her shoulder. Faith and I wrestled our daughter free, but not before she was bitten too.”
“And the burner?” I ask softly.
“I put a bullet in her head and patched up the girls. We went home and hid like we had been doing. Three days later, Holly’s eyes changed.” Tyson’s voice catches. “Then, Faith’s...”
We ride in silence for a moment. After two minutes, I ask one more question.
“What exactly does a burner do?”
Tyson points a thumb over his shoulder. “Remember the charred piece of asphalt I pointed to back there.”
I nod, recalling the burnt road. “What about it?”
He turns to me as we pull into a hospital and parks. “Burners explode.”
* * *
Still handcuffed like common criminals, we’re led into the hospital’s lobby. Mom and Dad are right behind us, and they’re handcuffed, just like us. Everyone has been relieved of their weapons too.
Except for Hope. No one checked her, which means she still has her pocketknife. Not that it’ll help us right now.
Besides the group that met us on the roadways, there are another twenty, armed men and women inside the hospital—around forty in all.
Forty-four if we get our weapons back.
The fact that our weapons were confiscated tells me that while Tyson trusts us, he doesn’t trust what we’ll become if we are, in fact, infected by the burner virus. His paranoia makes all the sense in the world now. He’s lived through the effects.
Poor guy.
Unlike Wes’ prison, the Chattanooga Medical Center is filled with families and other regular citizens. The facility back in Florida housed mostly cops and inmates. This place is the home to those seeking refuge and safety. It also shines Tyson in a whole new light. Yes, he’s friggin nuts, but no, it’s not for his own wellbeing.