by Matt James
“Yeah, I know.”
“You need stitches.” Jill looks worried.
“Probably.”
Wes shouts back to us. “I know a good taxidermist!”
“Maybe he’ll sew your mouth shut!” I can’t let him take the only shot, and when Hope starts asking questions about what taxidermy is, I crack up. Wes quickly wilts under her inquisition. The exchange between the two of them is so entertaining that it almost makes me forget about the pain I’m in.
I’m led back into the kitchen and gratefully return to the position I was in earlier. Sideways in the booth, leg up. Just getting off my feet makes the pain almost vanish.
“Here,” Jill says, holding out two white pills.
I take them, holding her hand for just a moment before letting go. I pop the pills in my mouth and drain the remains of someone’s water bottle. I don’t care who it belongs to either.
“Ahhh…”
I lay my head back against the side window and close my eyes. Jill plops down on the bench across the table and puts her hand on mine, squeezing it hard. Keeping my eyes shut, I smile.
“Happy?” she asks. Her voice sounds a little questioning, like am I going crazy. Maybe I am?
I turn my head and open my eyes, finding a beautiful woman staring at me.
Yeah, I’m good.
“You could say that, sure.”
“Really?” Her eyebrows narrow. “After everything that you’ve been through, you’re happy?”
“We’re alive, aren’t we?” She tries to argue, but I don’t let her. “We can’t compare our life now to the one we had before, Jill. I was miserable—stuck and rotting on the inside.” Her face softens. “Can you honestly tell me you were happier last week than you are now, even with everything that has happened?”
Tears drip down her face, but she laughs and quickly wipes them as Hope climbs onto the bench with her. The girl crawls up to Jill and flops face first onto her chest, smiling at me before closing her eyes. More tears fall from Jill’s eyes, and I know they’re ones of happiness.
Are we crazy for being happy right now? Yes. Yes, we are. I shrug and shut my eyes. I’m good with that.
But are we on our way to living “happily ever after?” Unfortunately, for us, it’s still a little too early in our quest to say that. Every day, we need to live in the moment, and not get too far ahead of ourselves.
Monsters exist, and they’re savage and unpredictable.
Our chances of staying alive long enough to have that fairytale life will always be low betting odds, but the longer we can keep this up the more we can close the gap—even if it’s only a little at a time.
We can do it.
“Uh, Frank,” Wes says, sounding worried, “you need to see this?”
Maybe not…
Groaning, I shimmy forward. Jill grabs my hand, but I squeeze it and shake my head. Hope isn’t asleep, but she is blinking hard. I give Jill’s hand a gentle squeeze, release it, and then wink at Hope. Using the table as a crutch, I test my leg and stand.
My balance is good, but I’d hate to feel what would happen if I had to run. Running, regrettably, is in our future. It’s the one thing I can guarantee.
I slowly limp myself over to Wes and lean on the backs of both his seat and the empty passenger. Looking through the window, I see something I don’t like. We’ve stopped at the peak of the Southern and State Road 7 overpass.
Also known as 441 to the locals, State Road 7 is a behemoth, ten-lane, north and south running highway. This intersection is usually the busiest in the area. It seemed to be just that when everything happened. The base of the “hill” as we call it is packed with vehicles of all sizes. There is no way for us to sneak Winnie through the wrecks like we did before.
“Backtrack and get off,” I say, carefully sitting next to Wes.
“That’s not why I called you up here.”
I look at him, confused. “What then?”
He points at the dash… To the red light I hadn’t noticed.
My face falls. “Sheeit.”
Apparently, when Jill ran over the reaper in front of the prison, its bladed arms clipped something significant beneath Winnie’s undercarriage. Wes didn’t stop us at the top of the overpass intentionally… I glance back at Jill, and she squeezes Hope harder as a result. She knows something is wrong. Facing forward, my chin falls forward, and I shut my eyes.
The asshole reaper clipped our fuel line.
We’re out of gas.
14
“Now what?”
Wes’ question is a good one.
What do we do now that we have no wheels? The answer is simple really: Get more.
I stand and slowly make my way back to Jill and Hope. Both are still seated at the table, and I motion for them to stay put. I plop down across from them and keep my leg out to the side like before.
Wes stays standing and leans back against the adjacent counter, folding his arms across his barrel chest. He remains silent and waits for me to say something.
“We need to say goodbye to Winnie.” It’s much harder to say then it should be. She’s gotten us through a lot and feels like more than just a motorhome.
Hope nuzzles into Jill, and she begins to cry. She more than any of us has grown attached to the home-on-wheels. After her parents were killed, Winnie was all she had to keep her safe.
I reach across the table and clutch her tiny hand.
“I’m sorry, Hope.”
She doesn’t say a word. She just leans into Jill again and turns away from everyone, shrinking in on herself. Not having anything else to say, I go to stand but am stopped. Jill snags my forearm and keeps me in place.
“And where do you think you’re going?”
I try to get up again, but Jill doesn’t let go.
“We need to keep moving.”
“Not right now,” Wes says. He turns away from the windshield. “We got a lot of company outside.” He sighs. “Might as well take a break and wait for them to pass.”
He's right so I don't go into a discussion about what’s outside. Wes’ judgment is usually sound and, in this instance, I know his suggestion to stay put is the right call. I sigh and sit back and look at Jill.
“Why don’t you two go lay down for a few.”
She nods and slides forward with Hope clutching her hard. I’m alone with my thoughts a second later, which is great—and scary. Wes stays put up front, plopping back down behind the wheel. Me? I just lay my head back against the glass and close my eyes and visualize a world full of monsters. It isn’t hard to do either. We’re living in one now.
* * *
An hour or so later, everyone is back in the kitchen area. I’m on my feet, testing my range of motion, and threshold of pain. The pain itself isn’t overly severe, but my quad has tightened up a good bit, feeling like it’s permanently flexed.
The girls are sitting quietly at the table, playing a card game I’ve never heard of. It may not even be a real game at all—maybe something they’re just making up on the fly.
I try to squat, but can’t, without grimacing.
“Sorry, Frank,” Wes says from the front of the motorhome. He glances at Jill and Hope, “…but with that leg, you’re on babysittin’ duty.”
Hope glares at him. “I’m not a baby, I’m seven.”
Wes looks uncomfortable, wilting under her hard gaze. “It’s, uh, just a figure of speech.”
“Figure of speech?”
Wes pivots and leaves us, heading for the side door. “Forget it.” He looks at Jill. “You comin’?” He didn’t even have to ask. Wes knew Jill was joining him.
She checks her pistol and grips it softly, keeping it drawn and ready. Then, Jill leans in and kisses both Hope and me, without verbally saying goodbye. Goodbye is too permanent of a farewell these days anyway.
See you in a few, I mentally say, trying to hide my worry. I’m not used to sitting on the sidelines—especially when it’s Jill on the frontline. Thankfull
y, she has Wes by her side, and he still has his wits about him…and his MP5.
“Find something nice,” I say. “Leather seats—lots of leg room.”
Jill glances at me, looking annoyed. “How ’bout we settle for something that runs?”
I shrug. “Sure, that works too.”
She smiles and follows Wes outside. I get up, careful with Hope and hobble to the front seats. From here, I’ll be able to watch everything that happens—good or bad.
Please be good. Please be good. Please be good.
I set Hope down in the passenger seat, and she immediately gets to her feet and leans forward on the dash, watching as intently as me. I’m in the driver’s seat, white-knuckling Winnie’s steering wheel, mumbling a string of curses under my breath. So far, Jill and Wes are moving slowly down the incline, swinging the barrels of the weapons back and forth.
Nothing meets them when they reach the closest row of cars—four in all. The largest is a sedan of some kind, and when they look at one another after trying each vehicle’s door handle, I get the sense that they’re all locked.
Beautiful, I think, people actually had the wherewithal to lock their abandoned cars.
I shake my head and keep watching.
Jill rushes over to a larger SUV, a Chevrolet Traverse. I can tell what it is because I've wanted one for quite a while. I’m not really sure why, but I have. Gleefully, she pops the passenger side door open and leaps in, but not before both she and Wes look our way with twin expressions of dread on their faces. Then, they hurry in and shut the door—just as a wave of Unseen flow past the idle Winnebago.
Instinctually, Hope and I duck down low enough to be out of sight…of the blind creatures. Even after all this time around them, it’s still hard for me to remember that the bastards can’t see. Still, we stay low and keep a watchful eye on the Traverse.
This wave of the creatures is a mix of all the Unseen we’ve come across so far except for squids who we’ve only seen near the water thus far. These rush by Winnie, Hope, and me like they’re after something. When a dozen of them look our way—past us really—I come to realize that they’re running from something.
The Winnebago is sideswiped by something huge, and we see what it is moments later. It’s thick and covered in coarse hair. The creature’s body is much larger than its stocky legs should be able to support, but yet, here it is, rampaging head down through the throng of Unseen like an oversized NFL fullback or—
Hope looks at me. “It’s a pig!”
The areas surrounding Wellington have been known to have wild pig problems in the past, so much so, that landowners have actually hired hunters to come out and kill every wild pig they come across. They’d shoot the pigs and leave them there for the scavengers to pick clean. This one seems to have been looking at the sky when the meteor flashed its harmful light.
“That’ll do pig, that’ll do…”
Hope looks at me like I’ve gone crazy, not seeming to recognize the line from the movie, Babe. I don’t get to explain either. Instead, we watch in horror as the Unseen-pig nonchalantly begins to flip each, and every, vehicle it comes across. With a sudden twitch of its head, car after truck goes sailing into the air.
Some even disappear off the side of the overpass.
Jill!
I go to rush out of the Winnebago but stop as soon as I feel my leg resist the movement. “Babe” is moving fast and is already too far away for me to effectively use my shotgun, and I doubt my pistol will do anything unless I get close enough.
It seems we’re at the mercy of luck.
Again…
But I can’t sit by and watch Jill and Wes get tossed overboard. So, I do something stupid and launch myself back toward the driver’s seat and slam my palm into Winne’s steering wheel. The horn blares, coming to life and startling the massive pig. Just as he’s about to flip Jill and Wes’ hiding spot, he comes to a grinding halt and turns, barely bumping the Traverse with his ass.
I’m hoping that Winnie’s inert form, along with her mechanized scent, will hide us from the beast. Hope and I duck into the center of the Winnebago’s belly and wait for whatever is about to happen.
After a nauseating minute, nothing occurs.
Hmmm.
Winnie is forcefully shoved to the side, her tires audibly rubbing—protesting—against the road. Hope squeals in surprise, but quickly slaps both of her hands over her twitching lips. Her eyes are wet and are the size of saucers. We’re hit again, and this time, both Hope and I go flying into the cabinets beneath the kitchen sink. She hits her back, but I, of course, go into it headfirst. Woozy, I try to shake the cobwebs free and Hope’s shouts help me focus.
Seeing that there’s light coming in from behind me, I turn and see what has her so spooked.
Babe has his gnarled, mutated snout buried deep into Winnie’s gut, via the side door…our only escape. He shoves in further, and I scoop up my shotgun and level it at his face, or rather, in his wide-open maw, and pull the trigger. The single shell must have hit something vital because he snaps his jaws shut on my weapon’s barrel and bucks his head wildly and half-shrieks, half-snorts. It’s an odd sound for sure.
The thing that really sucks? My shotgun is torn from my grasp.
Well, that didn’t last long… To think, I just got the damn thing and then, poof, gone.
In reaction to the pain, Babe lifts the right side of Winnie up, essentially flipping us from the inside out. Babe’s snout tears through the roof—and as the vehicle continues its death roll, I grab Hope and dive onto the road. Winnie goes ass over tea kettle and flips over the eastbound barrier. Then, she clips a palm tree and disappears from sight.
Suspiciously, however, I hear Winnie land much sooner than anticipated—just as she fell away—in fact. With Babe before us, I’m forced to back us toward the precipice and grin at what I see when I look. There, right side up, but teetering on the back of a pair of wedged semi trailers, is Winnie the Winnebago. She’s got three wheels planted firmly, but her fourth is hanging out over nothing.
“Eh, screw it,” I mumble, knowing this is really gonna hurt.
I hoist Hope onto my hip and push aside the pulsating pain in my thigh. Then, I grit my teeth and vault the already ruined divide. Babe shrieks somewhere behind us, but I’m too focused on not breaking my legs or my back to care. Ten feet later, we reenter Winnie, bounce off one of the kitchen table’s padded booths, and come to an abrupt stop against the cabinets below the sink…again.
“Fuhhh.” Well, at least I ‘landed’ on my ‘good’ leg.
Looking up through the new skylight, I can just barely see Babe rampaging above us. We cover our heads as chunks of concrete and road are thrown everywhere, some making their way into Winnie. Thankfully, it’s nothing large enough to harm us, which is good, cuz I’m spent!
“Frank,” Hope says, sitting up, “that was crazy!”
“Yeah,” I say, groaning, “I know…” I climb to my feet and limp hard. “Oh, Hope?”
She looks up at me, eyebrows raised. “Yes?”
I smile. “Don’t tell Jill what I just did.”
I laugh when Hope snorts and giggles.
Her eyes open. “Jill!”
I put a reassuring hand on her shoulder. “Don’t worry, kiddo. Jill and Wes are going to be fine.”
“What about the pig?” she asks.
“Babe,” I correct.
“Uh, okay… What about Babe?”
I try not to laugh again. For some reason, hearing a seven-year-old call the Unseen-pig, “Babe,” is hilarious to me.
I shake my head. “I think he’s still fuming over us.”
Hope’s eyes find me again. “Is that good?”
I shrug. “I’ve had worse things want me dead than an oversized Porky Pig.”
“Porky Pig?”
I close my eyes, sigh, and rub my head. “Never mind…”
Somewhere above us, tires screech.
As does Babe.
So d
oes something else.
What the hell?
Then, the sound of gunfire joins in the fray. Jill and Wes are desperately trying to fight off Babe and whatever else has just shown up. Babe is shrieking, but he sounds like he’s in pain as well as pissed off.
What’s worse is that there’s nothing I can do to help. Minutes go by, and I think I hear a car approaching beneath us. Carefully, I stand and hobble over to the smashed side door. There, grinning like an idiot, arm out the driver’s side window of the now blood covered Traverse, is Wes.
He looks up at us with a quizzical look. “How in the hell did you get up there?”
“Does it matter?” I motion for his help. “Just get us down, will ya?” I point at the smeared SUV. “What happened on the overpass?”
Wes and Jill climb out of the vehicle and I carefully lower Hope down to them. The pain in my leg is excruciating, but then again, so is everything else. For a moment, she dangles above their waiting arms. “Ready?” I ask. Hope looks up at me and nods. I let go and am happy to see her fall right into Wes’ thick arms with barely a squeak.
Seeing what we had to do to get Hope down confirms that my own dismount is definitely going to be much worse.
Jill takes Hope and embraces her hard.
“What about Babe?” Hope whispers.
“Babe?” Wes asks, understanding the meaning soon after. “Oh, right…”
“Gone,” Jill replies, carrying Hope back to the Chevy.
“Gone?” I ask. “What do you mean, gone?”
“We had visitors—lots of them,” Wes replies. “They were small, black, and furry.”
More rats? Wonderful… The last time we saw them was in the downtown district of Lake Worth.
Winnie trembles and begins to tip. Not only is my dismount going to be a lot worse than Hope’s, but it seems that I’m going to do it while still inside the fucking Winnebago!
Wes hurries to the SUV and throws it into gear without so much as closing his door. It’s the last thing I see before I rush to the front passenger seat and buckle myself in. Slowly, almost comically, Winnie and I teeter to the right. The landscape before me tilts as well, and we fall. We crash on our heads, but luckily, not really on mine…this time.