DEAD MOON Box Set: Post-Apocalyptic Survival Series (Books 1-3)

by Matt James

  Jill looks pissed.

  Mom and Dad look horrified.

  Hope can’t stop asking me questions about the animals I saw.

  My smile must be pretty wide because Jill notices it.

  “What’s so funny?” she asks.

  I shrug. “You guys. After I saw what I did with that family, good and bad, I’m just happy to be back on the road with you crazy bunch.”

  Everyone laughs, except for Hope, because, like a lot of the things I say, she doesn’t understand the true meaning behind it. She takes just about everything anyone says seriously. I mean, she’s seven.

  “Stay on Hixson Pike for as long as you can,” Jill says. “It’ll take you pretty far and has plenty of places to stop.”

  I nod and relax when I feel her hand on my thigh. She doesn’t squeeze it or playfully caress it. Jill just sets her hand there, knowing that I love it when she does. My fried nerves need precisely that, the calming touch of my wife.

  I follow the flow of traffic through Northern Chattanooga, counting every mile that we put between us and that damned zoo. I pay extra attention to the places we pass just for that reason.

  Go away zoo memory.

  Rice Box, Papa John’s, WalMart grocery store…

  Eventually, Hixson Pike merges into State Road 319 and carries us further and further northeast, exactly the direction we want to go. I lose 319 and get onto 27 just north of a town called Soddy Daisy. Then, we blow through Dayton and take 68 east across the Watts Bar Dam. On one side is Chickamauga Lake and on the other is Watts Bar Lake. The dam itself is still operating from the looks of it, but places like that are usually pretty self-sufficient.

  By now, I’m the only one awake. I’ve seen some Unseen on the side of the road, non-monster people too. I didn’t plan on driving this far tonight, but I got my fourth wind of the day and decided to keep going. I’ll stop eventually, maybe the next town I see.

  Just as the thought crosses my mind, a sign for Sweetwater, Tennessee comes up in the headlights. It sounds pleasant enough, but then again, Wellington is usually a nice place too—Chattanooga as well.

  I check the dashboard’s clock.

  2:07, I think, instantly feeling tired.

  “Let’s find a place to pull over for a couple of hours,” I tell myself.

  It’s getting colder outside so we won’t have to worry about it getting warm inside the SUV when I kill the engine. The air hasn’t been on once so far as it were. Everyone’s body heat is keeping the ambient temperature inside the Yukon comfortable.

  Just outside of town is a Holiday Inn Express and I’m this close to waking everyone and finding a room. But I think better of it, reminding myself of the value of this vehicle and the cargo, both human and not, inside. If this were earlier in the night, maybe we could chance it.

  It’s not worth it now. I sigh when I think of sleeping in an actual bed. Another day perhaps.

  I pull off the road and park in the closest spot to the parking lot entrance, backing in the car for a quick getaway if needed. I turn off the engine but keep the keys dangling in the ignition, just in case. I don’t want to be in a rush and find myself half-asleep fumbling for them.

  Carefully, I recline my seat and slouch down just a hair. I zip up my jacket and stick my cold hands in my pockets, already feeling better. I take one last look at the slumbering beauty to my right before I close my eyes.

  As I’m sure you’re aware, my dreams have been nothing but nightmares for some time now. I’ve been doing what I call a “mental exercise” for a little while now. It’s helped me fall asleep for the most part, but once I’m asleep, chaos. Mental warfare.

  I pick out all the good things that have happened to me over the last month and concentrate on them instead of focusing on the mountain of suffocating death.

  Jill and Hope.

  Mom and Dad.

  Family.

  It’s the closest we’ve all been in years and something I wouldn’t trade for the world. The world sucks right now, I know that, but it sucked pretty bad back then too. At least we have a viable reason for it now. In the past, it sucked because of laziness, more than anything else. Now, it’s life or death—and that can really motivate someone to change.

  “Frank?”

  The voice stirs me, and it, combined with an annoying light in my eyes, is just that, annoying.

  Hang on, light?

  My eyelids snap open, and I see a quaint field across the road to the south. The sun is barely up, peeking over the horizon to my left. Low-hanging fog clings to the grass before me, making me smile. Wherever we are, it’s a nice change of pace, perfect for a family on the run.

  I yawn and stretch, which isn’t easy considering I’m still in the driver’s seat of our SUV. Jill is rubbing my shoulder, responsible for my awakening.

  I look at her and blink hard.

  “What time did you pull over?” she asks, likewise yawning.

  I gaze at the clock and try and recall the time. “Two-ish, I think.”

  My hand finds the lever on the side of my seat, and I put my seat back into its former position. I look down and discover an unopened water bottle in the cupholder, and unscrew the cap. I drink half of it before handing the rest to Jill. She happily takes it and finishes it off.

  “Where are we?” she asks, wiping her mouth.

  “Uh…” Then I spy the water bottle. “Oh, right. We’re just outside of some place called Sweetwater.”

  Jill nods lost in thought. “Fifty miles…”

  “What?” I ask, not understanding.

  She rubs her face. “We’re about fifty miles from Gatlinburg.”

  With the sun rising, I can also see the other cars in the parking lot. The one nearest to us disturbs me. I was so tired, and it was dark enough that I didn’t see it until now. It’s burned to ash, and the roof of the sedan is peeled back like the skin of a banana. Whatever destroyed the car…it happened inside of it.

  The obvious culprit is a burner, something I’ve yet to see with my own eyes.

  Damn, so they aren’t just confined to the Chattanooga area.

  Quickly starting the car, I put it into gear and get us moving. “Fifty miles, huh?” I ask Jill, getting back to her comment. “As long as we don’t drag our feet, we should be able to get there, in what, a couple hours?”

  “Sounds about right, though, there’s no direct route from here.”

  I shrug. “There should be plenty of signs along the way.”

  “Of course,” she agrees. “Gatlinburg is a big deal around here.”

  We coast down New Highway 68 and leave Sweetwater, Tennessee in the dust in no time. Just like that, we’re in and out.

  Talk about your small towns.

  The road turns south for a bit, and I start seeing these weird signs advertising something called the Lost Sea. Apparently, there’s a network of underground caves that lead to the country’s largest subterranean lake.

  A massive underground lake is exactly something I’d love to explore. Imagine what we’d see down there…besides Lord-knows-what kind of Unseen creatures. A freshwater lake beneath Nowheresville, Tennessee… What could go wrong?

  We pass by Lost Sea Road moments later, which makes me frown. Another neat thing that I'd love to see is now gone. Around a banking left, 68 straightens out and heads back to the east where it meets a larger roadway, Old US Highway 411.

  “Perfect,” Jill says, sitting forward. “This will take us right up to Gatlinburg’s doorstep.”

  She’s right. Even I remember 411. The only reason I recall it is because of the State Road in my home town of Wellington is also known as 441 and the similar naming of this State Road being 411 helped me know where I was when Jill and I would vacation here.

  Come to think of it, I think there’s another 441 up near Knoxville?

  Jill explains that forty of the fifty miles to Gatlinburg will be spent on this one road. If the highway isn’t too congested, we might actually be able to get there sooner
than I thought. Local roads are a time killer, but highways like this are generally the worst when it comes to accidents and logjams.

  The human race is out in full force this morning too. People pass us by every couple of minutes, no doubt on the hunt for food and water, or like us, they’re just passing through.

  We watch in horror as two cars collide into one another in the front parking lot of an Ingles Market. Why did they hit? I get my answer moments later when a mob of Unseen come pouring out of the store. The people that were inside must’ve been caught off guard while resupplying and were attacked.

  The driver of the blue minivan veers right into the side of a smaller two-door as both attempt to pull away. Regrettably, the vehicles are quickly overrun with swarming bodies.

  I don’t stop to help.

  It’s too late.

  “Where are we?”

  I look into my mirror. Hope is rubbing the sleep out of her eyes, just waking. Luckily, she didn’t see what happened. That’s the last thing a kid needs to witness while wiping the tired crispies out of her eyes. Luckily, she’s little, and my parents block both of the windows. Plus, the girl is usually too enthralled with her stuffed animal to notice.

  Skylar has seen some crazy shit, right alongside us.

  Yes, I can recite the name of the winged jaguar from heart now. Sue me. We have a lot of downtime and Hope, and I play together. Well, she plays mostly. Usually, I only sit there with her in my lap and take it all in—being a dad mostly. She’s even mentioned the subject once or twice when talking about it to my parents. It may seem like it’s been longer than four or five weeks since her folks died. Regardless of how long it’s been, I haven’t worked up the courage to tell her that it’s okay to call me her father if she wants to.

  Days are like dog years now. Thirty-five days on our current calendar seems more like thirty-five months. That’s the main reason why I don’t push it. It hasn’t been a long enough grieving cycle. Plus—SPOILER ALERT—I’m not actually the girl’s dad! And Hope never has to call me that if she doesn’t want to.

  In the end, it’s up to her.

  I glance at her in the mirror again and catch her talking happily to Skylar. She catches me staring at her, blushes, and waves, smiling wide.

  Would be nice, though.

  10

  I’m sorry to say that we don’t get to see the 441 doppelganger. We’re forced off 411 and onto a winding 72 to the southeast into the foothills of the Great Smoky Mountains. I hang a left onto Happy Valley Road. To our left, is a small body of water for drainage of some kind. To our right, is a steep, tree-covered embankment.

  “Look!” Hope shouts, pointing an excited finger between Jill and me. “Snow!”

  I smile when I the see the light flurry up ahead. Living in New York for over a decade, I’m used to it now, but back when I was a young Floridian, I used to react just like Hope is now.

  “First time seeing it?” I ask.

  Hope nods, bouncing in her seat. “Can we stop?”

  I shake my head and laugh. “Not yet, kiddo. Besides, it’s not making it to the ground yet.”

  “When will it?”

  I lean forward and look up, steering around a fallen tree as I do. The snow seems to be getting heavier the deeper we travel into the Smokies.

  “Soon.” The SUV is buffeted by a strong wind. “Real soon…”

  The foliage around us is a beautiful collage of reds, oranges, and browns. The road is an awful combination of reds and greys. Black burn marks too. The Smokies, as a whole, seem to be the origin of the burner contagion, not one single city.

  I slow and roll over a downed power pole. Luckily for us, its wood and the Yukon makes quick work of the short climb. A couple of miles up the road, I notice that a transformer blew. Nothing around here is going to have power.

  Up ahead, I spot the first structure in more than half an hour—two actually. A pair of homes sit across the street from one another. Both seem extremely out of place considering that we've seen nothing but trees since turning onto Happy Valley Road. I’m about to stop but decide against it once I see that the owner’s car is on its side underneath the carport and is blackened. As far as the neighbor’s home, well, the entire thing is burnt to a crisp.

  “Is it just me,” I say, “or are there more and more signs of burners now?”

  “I was thinking the same thing,” Jill replies.

  “We’re getting closer to them?” Hope asks. “Why?”

  My eyes find hers. “We don’t have a choice right now.” I motion to the road. “We have to take what the land is giving us.”

  “And it’s telling us to go this way, sweetheart,” Jill adds.

  “You’re fine, Hope,” Mom adds, patting her leg. “You’re safe…”

  As we roll past, I increase the pressure on the gas pedal and pick up some speed. The road banks back and forth, exactly what you’d expect a rural country road to look like. It’s as tranquil as one as you’ll find in the United States.

  There’s nothing for miles.

  The only things we see are more homes, rarely though, and an occasional deer or two. A few are dead, gutted on the side of the road, but some aren’t, standing off to the side, and munching on grass.

  Ten minutes later, one of those deer tries to run us off the road. Seriously, a deer. The bloodstained Unseen-Bambi is sprinting alongside us, mashing its hideous fangs, shoving its antlers into the right flank of our SUV. No real damage is done, however…until I veer into the animal and send it careening into the base of a wooden telephone pole.

  The number of driveways has increased dramatically. Now, there’s one every half mile instead of one every mile-plus. Letting up on the gas, I use the slight decline to my advantage and rest my aching knee. I’m fortunate that this vehicle isn’t a stick. I’d really be hurting if I had to do a bunch of shifting while navigating the sloping terrain.

  Now, there are homes everywhere. Each has a plot of land of around thirty to forty acres in size and compared to what we just drove through, this is a thriving, yet horribly overpopulated, metropolis.

  Lots of people too.

  A family of five waves to us as we pass their farm on our right. Then, another larger group on our left. From where I’m sitting, I can see that a few of the townspeople have rifles and shotguns. Then again, maybe they always carry them around here…

  Do I hear banjoes?

  I’m not even sure that reference makes any sense here. Are banjoes indicative of all country folk, or just those living in the Louisiana bayou? Are they even symbolic of them?

  Man, I need to watch Deliverance again and get my ‘facts’ straight.

  Mailbox after mailbox, dirt driveway after dirt driveway, there are survivors everywhere! My original hypothesis of the rural areas not being affected as hard seems to be accurate. Besides Bambi, I haven’t seen a single Unseen for miles.

  And I see why just up around the next bend.

  There’s a church off to our left. Its driveway is long and made of natural dirt and rock. On either side of it are fields, each around two acres in size.

  They’re both covered in bodies.

  I watch as the living walk around carrying torches, burning the carcasses left behind by the devilish event. I can see it now. The people here would’ve turned to the heavens for an explanation. While I do believe there’s evil in the world, I believe it’s in the hearts of men, not within the core of a meteor from deep space.

  “Frank,” Jill says, “look…”

  I had just turned away from the “Field of Screams” and had missed something far worse than the mass grave. There are large, charred poles in the grounds in front of the church. I slam on the brakes and slide us to a halt. There, in the middle of the road, I leap out of the SUV. These aren’t just any kind of poles. These have pyres blazing beneath them.

  People are being burned at the stake.

  Fire has always been seen as the great cleanser throughout history and the world, but this is
maddening. Jill joins me and puts a shaky hand on my shoulder. We need to do something.

  “Come on, Frank,” Jill says, coaxing me back to the car. “We need to keep moving.”

  No!” I shout, tears streaming down my face. “This isn’t right.”

  “Don’t you think I know that!” she yells back, grabbing my shirt sleeve.

  I pull out of her grip. “There has to be something we can do!”

  Jill’s head drops. “Like what? Do you really think the people here are the only ones who have lost their minds?”

  I turn back toward the field and sigh. “No, I don’t.”

  “I’m sorry, Frank, but you said it yourself—”

  I know what she’s about to say and say it myself instead. “I can’t save them all.”

  “No,” she says, sounding somber, “you can’t.”

  Dad is the next one out of the SUV.

  “Son?” I face him. “The people back there—the ones tending to their property.”

  “What about them?”

  “They’re alive.” He points to the hundreds of burnt bodies littering the grass. “They aren’t a part of this.”

  “But some are.”

  He shakes his head. “You don’t know that. For all we know, the people here were dead before the fires.”

  Jill steps in. “Maybe they think the mutations are some sort of disease and not from the radiation.” Hmm… Could be. “They could be treating it like the plague.” My shoulders and neck muscles loosen a little. What they’re saying doesn’t sound too farfetched.

  “And the stakes?” I ask, still concerned.

  He looks unsure. “For the Unseen?”

  Right. Are they really capturing the creatures, tying them up, and burning them at the stake? No, that doesn’t feel right.

  I know they’re both trying to talk me down from my mental ledge. It’s working too. Just the conversation alone is calming me a little. This proves that I’d be a wreck, and most likely dead, without my family by my side. I’m strong-willed and have a tough mind, but if I had to do all of this by myself, it wouldn’t have turned out well.