Dead Moon 2: Home Sweet Hell (Dead Moon Post-Apocalyptic Survival Thrillers)

by Matt James

  I’m tossed forward when the catwalk beneath me explodes. I land on my back and witness the brute burst through and rake a set of clawed digits between my spread legs. If I had landed with my legs closed, they would’ve been cleaved off.

  Crab-walking, again, I pull the trigger to my pistol four times, putting each of the rounds into Lex’s face. He flinches and roars, but the bullets do little else besides annoy him.

  Son-uv-a-bitch! I can’t believe the bullets didn’t do more than that.

  I wait for the end. It’s so close. All Lex has to do is wiggle through the opening in the metal catwalk and lash out. But oddly enough, he doesn’t... He tries but fails to do so, and I see why.

  He’s stuck!

  I quickly climb to my feet and haul ass to the other end of the cellblock, limping hard as I do. I’m not sure what actually hurts, but something does.

  Back? Check. It’s okay—and I use that word lightly. It’s really not that okay at all.

  Knees? Check. Reread what I said about my back…

  Ankles? Nope, we’re good.

  It’s not until I get to the stairs leading back down to the first level that I see what my newest injury is.

  There’s a sizeable splinter of steel protruding from the outside of my left thigh. Alliteration aside, it hurts like hell now that I've noticed it!

  Mind over matter? Nope.

  Mind on the matter? You betcha!

  Descending the metal steps takes everything I have left and I all but fall to the floor when I reach it. Just as I’m about to land, I snag the stair’s railing to my left and stay upright.

  Lex is still wedged in tight, and we’re the only ones left in the room. He bellows his annoyance at being stuck and starts pounding his fists into the mangled catwalk. With each boom, the metal snare bends and his bonds loosen.

  The brute won’t be immobile for much longer. I push through the doors and yelp in fright when someone grabs my vest and yanks me into the shadows beyond. Being forcibly moved is too much for my leg, and I cry out in agony and fall to the floor, training my pistol on—

  “Dammit, Jill… What the hell!”

  I lower my gun, and her terrified expression transforms into one of concern when she sees my leg. The barb isn’t huge, the size of a large nail, but it's in there pretty good.

  “Get him up,” Wes says from further down the dark hall, “we’re leavin’.”

  “My…leg,” I mutter, cringing as Jill tries to pull me to my feet. Wes reaches out and helps, keeping his MP5 trained on the doors.

  “Nothin’ we can do about it now,” he replies. “We’ll take care of it on the road.”

  I know he’s right and keep my yap shut. Hope looks shell-shocked, coming to only after I toss her hair a little. At first, she backs away from me, startled, but she quickly realizes that it was just me and practically leaps into my arms. Luckily, she doesn’t actually pounce on me. I’m not sure I could hold her if she did.

  “Are you okay, Frank?” Her dusted face is streaked with tears.

  I groan out a laugh and steady myself against a wall. “Not right now, but I’ll be fine.”

  The doors vibrate as Lex releases a bellowing roar.

  Jill looks weary, and she has a right to be. If the brute gets loose before we’re able to get outside, I have no doubt that it’ll hunt us down with ease.

  “Come on,” Jill says, getting underneath my left arm.

  Not used to having her take care of me, I begrudgingly accept her offer, and we head off with Hope clutching her left wrist. I still have my pistol drawn just in case something hostile shows its ugly mug while we make our escape.

  “What about the inmates?” Wes asks from behind.

  I shake my head. “The brute killed most of them.”

  “We saw a dozen or so pass through here before finding you,” Jill says. “Wes hid us in an office until the coast was clear.”

  “Any un-friendlies?”

  “You mean the monsters?” Hope asks.

  “Yeah,” I reply, “them.”

  “A couple,” Wes answers. “They had huge blades for hands too.”

  Reapers.

  “How many?”

  “Four,” Jill replies, “but Wes cut through them before they knew what hit them.”

  “Go left.”

  We adhere to Wes’ directions, but before we continue, Jill and I take a look-see first. There’s nothing down either end of the T-junction except more bodies. Most belong to the white-clothed inmates.

  They didn’t make it out before finding trouble.

  Tiptoeing through the mayhem, I see what killed these men. Wes’ reapers—and with no weapons to speak of, the prisoners didn’t stand a chance.

  But, miraculously, a few did.

  A number of crimson footprints exit the pooled blood and continue deeper down the hall. The men that survived the reapers were those that Jill, Hope, and Wes hid from. Wes and Jill could’ve just as easily taken out the inmates too but didn’t. Instead, they allowed them to pass without further conflict. The “Correctional Officer Captain,” Wes’ official rank, had allowed the inmates that he’d been tasked with keeping behind bars to go free.

  That couldn’t have been easy.

  Screeches and snarls erupt from behind us, and so does Wes’ submachine gun. He lays into whatever has appeared, but keeps moving, shouting for us to do the same. Jill and I pick up the pace. I’m limping hard but push past the pain and keep moving.

  Ahead of us, a door explodes off its hinges and slams into the wall on the left. A pair of reapers appear next, but I dispatch them before they have a chance to attack. I pump two bullets into each of them, sending both to the ground. Hope yelps but doesn’t lag behind.

  “Go right!” Wes shouts.

  “They still following us?” I ask, looking back.

  “You’re damn right they are!”

  “How many?”

  “Too many!” he replies. “And not just the ones with knife arms either.”

  Great. Just our luck.

  I was kind of hoping that the reapers would react to the goblins the same way they did when being confronted by the squids. Or it could be that the squids are the territorial ones, and the reapers have no problem being around another sub-species of the Unseen.

  A shrill, high-pitched shriek announces the arrival of the most dangerous variation of the creatures. Somewhere behind us, a siren has joined the chase. Now, more than ever, we need to get back on the road.

  “What was that?” Wes asks, hustling along behind us.

  Jill laughs. “You don’t want to know.”

  Thankfully, Wes shuts up and keeps running. I don’t have it in me to explain everything at the moment. My leg is throbbing, and my gun is almost out. I don’t think I can reload with my left arm draped over Jill’s shoulders. I’ll try if I’m forced to, but…

  “Through those doors—faster!” Wes sounds terrified, and I can’t turn and look. If I could, I’d be able to help with tactics. But tactics-schmactics, Wes opens up with his MP5 and screams.

  We throw ourselves through a non-descript door and Jill, and I go tumbling to the ground. Hope scurries away and ducks behind a garbage can. Together, Jill and I unload into the dark opening. Wes is nowhere to be seen, but I can see a large, object scooting into view off to my left.

  I recognize the shape of the dumpster and instruct Jill to help. She does, handing me her gun. With mine empty, I switch to hers instead of taking the time to reload. Jill and Wes grunt as one and swiftly shove the creaking container into place and, for the moment, block the horde from overwhelming us.

  I immediately expel my dry magazine and replace it with a full one. Jill and Wes do the same with theirs. This time, Wes hauls me to my feet.

  “Come on, Frank. No rest stops.”

  I roll my eyes and grab at my leg, crying out in agony when Wes reaches down and yanks the metal barb free. Blood squirts into the air but is squelched when Wes removes his belt and tightens it around
the wound. With the shard gone, and with the makeshift tourniquet in place, my thigh is already starting to feel better.

  “Well,” I say, gritting my teeth, “these jeans are shot.”

  Jill slaps my back. “Again…”

  I groan and take a step on my own, but instantly regret it.

  “Woah there, tiger,” Wes says, catching me as I stumble. “I know you’re as stubborn as a mule, but geez.”

  “Eat me, Wes.” I shove him away, and tighten the belt more, growling at the pain. I stand and put pressure on the limb, feeling slightly better. “We need your gun, and Jill needs to look after Hope.” I look at the girls with a tight jaw. “I’ll be fine.”

  Wes can only shrug. “Fine. We’ll do it your way.” He points at the facility. “Your ride is back around to the south of the prison. We’re on the north side right now.” Before I can comment, he explains. “Sorry, but it was the quickest way out.”

  I swallow my anger, which is good since I’d have done the same thing. We were as good as dead if we had stayed indoors any longer.

  The dumpster shakes as something strikes the doors from the other side.

  I take a step away. “And that’s our cue to leave.”

  13

  Our trek around the enormous detention center is thankfully an uneventful one for the most part. Only twice do we have to stop and take cover. Luckily for us, the parking lot is full enough that the vehicles give us a lot of places to hide. I can just barely see Winnie off in the distance now, but I can also see something that seems just as dangerous as the Unseen.

  People.

  “Wonderful,” I whisper, ducking behind an SUV. I peek over the hood and take in the scene.

  There must be twenty-five of the inmates just standing around within the grounds of the roundabout. They look like they’re celebrating their newfound freedom. A few are even high-fiving one another. Some of them are holding weapons, mostly metal pipes and two-by-fours, but a couple of them do have guns. I don’t see any of Wes’ men around either.

  “Shit,” he mumbles, seeing the same thing I do. His men must’ve been overrun and killed.

  “Now what?” Jill asks, sliding up beside me with Hope.

  The facility’s front doors shudder from within.

  Maybe Wes’ men weren’t killed by the inmates after all?

  I tilt my head toward the Winnebago and creep around the SUV to another vehicle. I have to be extra careful because of my leg. It’s awkward and hurts like hell, but I’m managing. I’ll worry about it more when I have time to do so.

  Glass shatters and the collection of inmates holler in response. A few flee, scattering in all directions. Some of them come this way and pass right by our cover when they do. But not all of the men run. The few that have guns attack whatever has just broken free.

  I have to look. Slowing, I do and see it. I see her.

  The siren emerges, confidently stepping out into the sunlit sky like a demon queen. She’s slathered in the blood of the dead and seems to be enjoying the attention the men are giving her. Even without her eyes, I can tell she’s studying the group in front of her. Her nose twitches as she scans the area, contemplating her next move.

  And it’s a violent one.

  But it also gives us the distraction we need to continue our evac. The next car is twenty feet away, and we’ll be out in the open for longer than I’d like. Happily, for us, not the inmates, the siren is tearing them to shreds. Maybe it’s that they’re just wired differently than me, but I would’ve been running in the other direction by now.

  It’s incredible to see that there are still people trying to fight the siren. She takes a round to the shoulder and doesn’t even flinch. Then, with a lightning quick maneuver, the creature latches onto the closest man’s neck and lifts him off the ground while increasing the pressure on his throat. Blood streams from her talon-tipped fingers as she squeezes harder and harder until her prey stops kicking. Then, his inert form is nonchalantly thrown to the asphalt.

  Claws dripping, she scans the battlefield. There’s one man still alive. He’s currently trying to squeeze beneath a sedan but can’t. It’s too low to the ground, and his waist is just a fraction too thick to fit.

  Grinning, the siren stalks toward him. In doing so, she turns away from us. Putting a finger to my lips, I crawl forward, now only feet away from Winnie’s side door. I stop and pull out the keys, holding them tightly. Jill takes them from me and gets into a low crouch. I’d rather it be me that goes out there, but she’s in far better condition.

  She bolts for the door, unlocks it, and turns.

  The siren is already facing Jill but is halfway across the roundabout now. Wes yanks me to my feet and tosses Hope over his shoulder. Together, the three of us bang into the side of Winnie and quickly pile in just as Jill starts the engine and pulls away. Wes’ feet are dangling outside as we move, but I dig in and drag him inside.

  We’re still alive because Hope keeps her wits about her and shuts the door. When it clicks shut, something crashes into it from the other side. The siren must’ve gone airborne and tried to enter the motorhome behind us. She would’ve definitely made short work of us in the tight confines of the Winnebago.

  “There’s more people up ahead!” Jill calls out. “They’re running away.”

  Wes and I answer in unison. “From what?”

  Jill floors the pedal, seeing something we can’t. “Reapers!” “Hang on!” she shouts, swerving back and forth. We ram something, and I hear it as it bangs around directly beneath me.

  Hope grips my shirt, kneeling over me—as is Wes.

  “What was that?” Wes asks.

  “The reaper?” I reply.

  Well, that’s one way to take one down.

  “Do you have a first-aid kit on board?” Wes asks, looking at Hope. She looks confused. “A plastic box… You know, with medicine and stuff.”

  Her eyes light up, remembering the one I used on Jill’s hands earlier. She crawls into the bedroom and digs beneath the bed. She quickly produces the white case with a red cross on its lid. Hope is thrown into me when Jill slams on the brakes, and then is tossed under the kitchen table as Winnie swerves to the left. The case, however, stays put.

  Wes digs into it and produces a bottle of clear liquid and a single-use syringe. Jamming the tip into the top of the bottle, he offers me a silent apology and plunges the needle into my already aching thigh. “Penicillin,” he says. I clench my teeth and wait for the pressure to subside. When it does, I almost pass out.

  Hope’s sobs keep me awake, though.

  “Come here, kiddo,” I say, holding out a hand. I’m bleeding and still on my back, but I need to comfort the girl before she becomes inconsolable.

  She scurries over to me and hugs me, there on the floor of the Winnebago. My body's weight keeps us from getting tossed about, unlike the petite Hope. Wes plops into the front passenger seat and calls out what he sees.

  “The creatures are everywhere, and they’re killing everyone. There must be a couple hundred inmates out here now. More are pouring out of the front door.” He spins in his seat and looks into the side mirror. “Cars are pulling away.” He looks back at me. “The cars still work?”

  I shrug. “Why wouldn’t they?”

  His shoulders sag. “They could’ve left days ago.”

  “They?” I ask, sitting up as Jill’s chaotic getaway driving evens out.

  “My people… They could’ve left.”

  “We’re on Southern,” she says, breaking the tension.

  Southern Boulevard is a major highway that travels east and west through all of Palm Beach County, Florida’s largest county. It goes as far as Belle Glade where it merges into Hooker Highway—I shit you not! If we can take it far enough west, it’ll drop us off on Wellington’s front door. From there, we’ll only be minutes away from both our folks’ houses.

  Wes slides out of the passenger seat and helps me up, easing me into kitchen table’s small booth. I prop my le
g up and begin to breathe a little easier.

  “Wes,” Jill says, “take over, will ya?”

  “Uh, yeah, sure…”

  She’s hovering over me seconds later with a big smile on her face. She gives me a kiss while yanking on my vest.

  “What are…you doing?” I ask, lips locked.

  “Let’s get those pants off.” She smiles. “I want to check out your—”

  “My what?” I interrupt, winking.

  “Ugh, your leg!”

  That’s when we both notice that Hope is just standing there staring at us, looking very uncomfortable.

  “Hey, kiddo,” I say, smiling softly, “why don’t you go keep Wes company?” She glances between Wes and us, nods and quietly saunters off.

  Gently, I sit up and scoot forward, and with Jill’s help, we make for the bed. Letting go of her, I hop on one leg and plop down on the foot of the bed. I close my eyes when Jill begins to unbutton my jeans. Unfortunately, that’s where the pleasurable part of this experience ends, because she also has to undo the tourniquet on my left thigh.

  “Grrr.” I know Jill is trying to be as tender as she can, but it still hurts.

  My pants slip down to my knees, and she stops.

  “Geez, Frank, what did this?”

  “A brute the size of—ugh—Lou Ferrigno on steroids.”

  “Well, I’m gonna have to clean it, okay?”

  I laugh. “Sure… It’s not like it can get any worse.”

  It does. It gets much, much worse.

  She basically pours an entire bottle of rubbing alcohol on my leg, getting an embarrassingly high squeak out of me before I clench my jaw shut. I take deep breaths and wait for the wave of pain to subside. Once it fades…slightly…I hold up a hand and am pulled up into a sitting position. It’s the first time I’ve seen the wound for myself. While it’s pretty bad, I’ve actually had worse in the last two weeks.

  Jill lays a thick piece of gauze on the wound and wraps it in a bandage. When she finishes, she helps me slip back into my blood-soaked jeans. With a smile, she even hands me back my belt.

  “I’d say ‘stay off it for a while’ but…”