by Matt James
Jill and Dad don’t hold back, though. They both open up and stumble the creature. Dad took the same approach that he used back at Art's place and went straight for Carlos’ legs, but Jill doesn’t, sending every round she can into his body and neck area. And once the bear leaves Dwayne and I’s no-fire zone, we join in on the assault.
Well, there goes my newfound ammo supply.
Maybe… We still haven’t had time to check out the trunk of the CPD SUV. Even Dad couldn’t see very much. He had said that it was packed with all kinds of supplies. It seems that Andy and the rest of the department had prepped for an eventual evacuation. I wouldn’t be surprised at all if their entire fleet of vehicles were similarly stocked and ready to go at the drop of a hat.
It’s a good plan, actually.
The local kid does the smart thing and drags Thomas to his station wagon, practically tossing the old-timer into the passenger seat. Unlike the oversized pig back in Florida, Carlos isn’t doing well under our barrage of gunfire. The pig’s hide was like Kevlar. When we left, it was still ravaging the landscape.
I turn and run back up the hill, careful to give the creature a wide berth. Every few feet, I stop and take a shot, but so does everyone else. The chaotic salvo is confusing the bear enough that it doesn’t go after one single target. Instead, Carlos swipes wildly at the air, reacting the same way the pig did when stung by the annoying, unknown enemies.
I catch a glimpse of my mother sneaking out of the Yukon, nocking an arrow as she does. She stands tall on the other side of the hood and lets it fly. The silent projectile impales Carlos in the stomach but is torn away with ease. Still, Mom had definitely hurt it. Seeing the same thing, she lets loose another one—then another—sticking them into his body whenever she has the opening.
Carlos is starting to look a lot like a porcupine.
As the bear weakens, we all move in for a closer—and hopefully—a kill shot. Everyone except Mom. She lowers her bow but stays behind the imposing, blacked-out SUV. I get the closest because I’m an idiot. Carlos tries to disembowel me, but misses. I leap back and, of course, find the missing mailbox with my foot, it’s thin, metal casing crumpling around my heel.
Between the odd angle and the light layer of slick snow, I slip and teeter back, leaning beyond the point of return, and tumble a few feet down the sloped lawn. The mailbox is still locked onto my foot and comes along for the ride.
Carlos must see it as an opening and faces me while my father reloads. I’m not sure if Dwayne is empty, but he also stops firing. I think he’s just scared out of his mind and his brain melted from the terror eating away at his mind.
The bear steps toward me but is rammed by the back of the kid’s station wagon, demolition derby-style. Carlos is flung sideways, spinning to the ground. He lands face down atop the mailbox’s jagged, spike-like post. I can’t see where it punctures the beast, but I hear it.
Gross.
Jill plods down the hill and she aids in removing the mailbox from my foot. Helping me up, we walk hand-in-hand and check out the damage sustained to Carlos. The wooden post acted as a spear and was driven straight through the bear’s throat. You can just barely see the tip protruding from the back of his neck. Dwayne’s face is priceless when my mother casually starts plucking her arrows from the beast’s back, checking them over as she does.
The kid stumbles out of his station wagon and surveys the damage to it and the bear. The rear end is done for, but all in all, I think it’ll still drive fine.
“How’s Thomas?” Dwayne asks, shaking the teen’s hand.
He shrugs. “Not sure, but he keeps complaining about a pain in his arm…”
Dwayne rushes to the passenger door and yanks it open. I don’t hear what he says to the elderly man, but his words are soft and slow. He is a firefighter after all. Those guys are trained for this type of thing. As far as killing Unseen monsters… I’m impressed that he only froze up twice. Once when we first arrived and again when I was on my back.
We give everyone a few minutes to recuperate. I do what I’ve wanted to do for a while now and check out the trunk of our vehicle. I need to see what was gifted to us by the CPD.
Popping the hatch, I step back and allow the thin, hydraulic arms do their job. The cargo inside makes me smile with delight.
12
We follow Dwayne’s truck as he leads us to a path to the main road. While I keep up, I mentally go over the Yukon’s inventory, plus our own. The Chattanooga Police Department went all out, for sure. I even recall Andy saying that she might be leaving soon.
Did she pack this thing without telling her brother what was in it? My mouth hangs open. She did! I grip the wheel hard. She was going to desert Tyson! I shake my head at the revelation. Probably take Tyson Jr. with her as well.
I’m stunned at what I’ve discovered—if it’s actually true. There’s a strong possibility that it’s just the ramblings of an exhausted mind and an overactive imagination. None of it might be accurate, or all of it could be.
Hopefully, I’ll never know. That would mean that I’d be back in Chattanooga at some point.
The first thing I noticed was the cases of bottled water and boxes of canned food. Dad is still slurping down his cold chicken noodle soup as we speak. Everyone has eaten except me. I’ll have Jill pop me open something once we get back on the road to Gatlinburg.
The next object that caught my eye was the long black case pushed up against the backseat. I dove for it, excitedly flinging open the lid. Inside was what I hoped I’d see.
“Sniper rifle,” I had said, eyeing the barrel-mounted scope.
The bolt-action Remington Model 700P is extremely popular within the law enforcement community, namely SWAT teams.
The “P” in 700P stands for “police” after all.
I’ve had the chance to fire one before and was impressed with its combination of power and accuracy. Next to the stock, also secured in a gray, foam-like material, were two loaded cartridges. I don’t remember how many rounds they carry, but either way, ammo will be limited.
There was also another shotgun with a case of shells, as well as, a large box of 9mm bullets. Dad and I were both ecstatic to see the 12-gauge and the ammo. While I’m getting the hang of my bow, I really, really don’t want to rely on it. Having my new pistol and now, another shotgun has brightened my spirits some. Plus, there’s another Glock 17, which is what Jill now carries. She gave the revolver to my father. Mom had initially been offered the weapon, but quickly refused it, happy with her bow and arrow setup.
My family.
The badass CPD Yukon.
The supplies.
I’m feeling very confident right now like we can take on the world. Then, Dwayne stops in front of an overpass with no entrance ramp. The road is visible from down here, but I don’t see a way to reach it.
Until he points to a hill to the right of his truck.
It seems that a portion of the woods has been cleared and an emergency dirt ramp was built. Dwayne exits his vehicle and produces a key. He uses it to unlock a chain that hangs across the narrow expanse.
I pull up beside him and lower my window.
“Path to the main road, huh?”
He shrugs. “Better than nothin’.”
We shake hands and part ways without another word. While a nice guy, I don’t want to see him ever again, just like Andy. Maybe if the world somehow rights itself, I’ll look them up—maybe.
And that’s a BIG maybe.
I push the Yukon forward and beg that the incline isn’t too much for it. We’d be royally screwed if the snow was coming down harder. There is no way the tires would catch on a slope like this if it were covered in it, even with the heavily treaded ones we have beneath us now.
I will the vehicle to succeed. “Come on, baby. Grab…”
Slowly, I give it a little more gas. If I push it too hard too quick, the tires will spin and ruin whatever progress we’ve already gained. I almost do just that and inwardly
curse myself. Luckily, the tires catch moments later, and we climb up and out of the ultra-sketchy on-ramp. As soon as we find pavement, we plow through a street sign that says, “Foothills Parkway.”
Foothills is quiet and scenic. There’s nothing on either side of it except the trees and their leaves. The snow is coming down a lot heavier now, and the temperature is dropping. For the first time in a while, I have to flick on my windshield wipers. Then, I turn the windshield defrost on low and keep it on. The air is just warm enough to clear the glass. It’s also warm enough to cut through the nip in the air.
“Let’s hope the Unseen don’t know how to use space heaters,” Dad says from behind me.
I nod. “We need to use the cold to our advantage.”
“How so?” he asks, leaning forward, closer to my mirror.
I had been thinking about it earlier but hadn’t come up with anything yet. Moving further north would be the obvious thing but staying put in a town we know might be the better thing to do. We should at least try to settle down for a while and catch up on things like sleep and, well, more sleep. Having a more consistent eating schedule would be nice too.
“Once we find Anthony and Cynthia,” I make sure I don’t if we find, “what if we stay in Gatlinburg for a while and take a break from the road?”
“The cabin,” Jill says, squeezing my hand.
Hope squeals with joy, and it’s all the convincing I require. I need to make it happen. Even if we have to build a friggin razor-wire-topped wall around the property to keep the baddies out, our new goal is to make the family cabin a real family cabin. And for that to work, my list of things to do when we get there includes boarding up the windows, stockpiling supplies, and surviving the winter.
The waiting will be the hardest part of all, but after everything we’ve been through while on the move, sitting around in relative peace shouldn’t be too difficult now that I think about. Living on the road sucks but sleeping on the road itself sucks worse. It’s been way too long since I’ve slept in a bed—not just a mattress—but a genuine, real-life bed. We did that once a couple weeks back.
It’s been even longer since the last time Jill, and I had some alone time…
We tried having a quickie behind a tree back in North Florida somewhere, but we were literally caught with our pants down by some inconsiderate asshat. There, with Frank Jr. hanging out, I hacked the goblin to death with my machete.
We see our next sign of human habitation a few miles up the banking, two-lane road. A dozen motorcycles are strewn about, bent and broken. I can picture what happened.
A biker group must’ve been out for a leisurely drive—Foothills Parkway is perfect for that—when they were attacked. The riders would’ve made easy prey too, having little to no, protection. One after the other, they were picked off and dragged to the turf. Prone, and most likely injured, they were then slaughtered.
It’s hard to see them, but I think I can just make out the smears in the road. Whatever tore into the bikers had dragged their bodies into the woods lining the road.
Some were probably still alive when they were eaten.
The landscape really is beautiful, though.
The mountainous terrain is so much different than what I’m used to. I’ve spent my entire life living in either Florida or New York City. While Florida is more rural and spread out than New York City—specifically Manhattan—both are nothing like where we are now.
We ride in silence until I see a pull-off up ahead. It’s not an offramp or anything, just a spot for people to get out and stretch their legs and take pictures if they so choose. I pay close attention to the area surrounding the pull-off and smile when I see it’s completely void of life. I glance into my mirror and see Hope’s eyes are still glued to the sky above.
She really wants to see the snow.
Against my better judgment, I slow and park. I turn in my seat and lock eyes with the girl. I feel the corner of my mouth raise, reacting to her ever-increasing excitement. She knows what’s about to happen.
“Ready?”
No words come out. Hope’s head is nodding too fast to do both that and speak. I turn and spy Jill smiling at me. Everyone piles out of the Yukon together. There’s a patch of grass between the pull-off and the main road, and that’s right where Hope dashes to. The snow is light, barely anything to play in, but the lifelong Floridian makes do and kneels in it, squealing with joy.
As for the adults, we’re all looking for trouble. No one has their weapons drawn, but we’re ready if we need to be. Dad has Jill’s revolver on his hip, and Jill and I have our Glocks. Mom doesn’t have anything with her, except her grimacing face as she kneads her lower back. My knees, back, chest, side, and head all hurt, but watching our youngest companion roll around in the dusting makes the pain all but vanish.
Man, she’s cute. How’d we get so lucky?
Lately, she’s the only part of this whole experience that has brought us any happiness. Without Hope, we’d all be a bunch of irritated sourpusses.
Now THAT would be an awful car ride!
We give Hope ten minutes to play, which includes catching snowflakes in her mouth, before climbing back into the warmth of the SUV. The t-shirt under my jacket isn’t enough anymore. I need to upgrade my ensemble whenever I get a chance. Luckily, I remember that I have a beanie like Jill’s stuffed in the glovebox and quickly dig it out and slip it on.
For whatever reason, I was the only one not wearing one. It was mostly because I hate the things. They itch like crazy and never fit me right. Only on the coldest New York days would I even think about adorning one.
We also had heat then.
I have no idea what awaits us in Gatlinburg, as I give thoughts to what the cabin will be like. The fireplace won’t be a problem. But, what about the condition of the cabin itself? Can it provide the shelter that we need?? Is there a massive hole in the ceiling? There’s no way to know until we get there. Let’s just hope that the D’Angelos were able to get firewood cut before the snow came in.
I roll my eyes. I mean, it’s not like Anthony is going to do it himself! What can I say, manual labor isn’t his thing. It never has been, and I don’t see the end of the world changing that—which is laughable. What a douche. How Jill evolved from that bloodline is beyond my comprehension. She’s always been so self-reliant ever since we met, hardly ever asking for help with anything.
I’m the same way to a degree. It's probably why we drifted apart like we did when we lived in New York. We didn't need to rely on each other for anything. Now, we all depend on one another to survive.
Even Hope… We all need that kid.
A blackened husk of a truck is smashed up against a tree on our right. It’s the only other vehicle we’ve seen on Foothills Parkway since scaling the makeshift onramp outside of Top of the World. The scenic drive is living up to its description: scenic. There hasn’t been much else at all.
It’s also taking us forever to complete!
A few miles up the road, we scoot past a two-car accident on our left. It looks like your classic fender bender, minus the bloodied handprints smeared across the outcrop of rock on the other side of the vehicles. I can’t see any bodies in my mirror when we drive by either.
The small cliff face just off the road would make for a perfect ambush. The poor souls that wrecked were just in the wrong place at the wrong time when they bumped and had to pull over. That would have given a creature the element of surprise to drop down from the ten-foot-tall rock and start swinging.
Another pull-off appears on our left, but we don’t stop. I can tell Hope wants to get out and play in the thickening snow. A fire off to the west nixes that idea before it can entirely formulate. Somewhere out in the forest, a building is burning, the trees around it too.
There are homes sporadically placed now, reminding me of the stretch of road we came across on our way to the Dwayne and Carlos debacle. I’d imagine that’s what I’m looking at now. Out in the middle of nowhere, someo
ne’s house is alight. Even if the homeowners survived the inferno, they'd be forced to avoid an attack by the Unseen as they creatures came in to investigate.
Burning to death would be preferable than being torn apart.
13
“Walland, Tennessee,” I say aloud.
“What about it?” Jill asks.
“It’s where most of Dwayne’s crew live,” I reply, recalling what the local had told me. Very few of the firefighters stationed in Top of the World actually live there. And, instead of turning left onto Highway 321 and driving through the town of Walland, I turn right and pass a sign that reads, “Great Smoky Mtns National Park.”
“E. Lamar Alexander Parkway?” I ask Jill.
She nods. “I know it as 321, though.”
“Thoughts?”
Jill shrugs. “Stay on it until you can’t.”
I do just that and weave my way through a series of minor accidents—nothing major. The road is mostly clear thanks to the area’s low population. Seriously, there can’t be more than five-thousand people living around here.
Small businesses line 321, ranging from cornerstores to taxidermists, to family-owned repair shops. If there is a large chain store around, I haven’t seen one.
“Tuck-a-lee-chee?” Hope asks, carefully pronouncing the word.
“Apparently,” I reply, “it’s the name of a city.”
“Riiight,” Jill says, obviously remembering something. “There’s supposed to be some enormous cave around here—big enough to fit a football field in.”
I whistle, impressed. “That’s big. Love to see it sometime.”
Dad leans forward and shuts us up with two words. “Ruby. Falls.”
A tingling sensation runs up and down my spine at the thought of the gremlins. The Tucka-whatie cavern no doubt houses the same breed of horrors.
I shake it off. “I take it back. No thanks.”
Hope snorts a laugh. “Definitely not.”
The town of Tucka-wha-cha-ma-call-it is here and gone faster than I can mentally process it, and I see a sign stating that we’ve entered another called, Townsend. The only thing this place has to offer, from what I can tell, is a handful of small inns and something called the Little River Railroad/Lumber Museum.