by Matt James
A vision of Betty’s death replays in my mind and I watch again as her life fades. I even feel her coldness again as I grip her lifeless hand. Shaking the vision of her death out of my head, I grasp the door handle.
I refocus off of Betty and back onto the memory of Siren as she drops the lifeless teen. The other five Gremlins—the kids—attacked, slashing and clawing ferociously at the Siren. She barely felt it. The lady, completely decked out in fluffy overpriced furs, roared and fought back. I turned away before the end, not needing to see who won the fight. I suspect it was the Siren though. The smaller Unseen were horribly outmatched even though they outnumbered the lady six-to-one.
The cold metal handhold breaks me from the remembrance, and it’s for the first time since changing that I’ve felt cold. I was so used to it in my other gear that I stopped noticing it. I’m guessing it’s because I only had a t-shirt on under my thinner, older jacket. The only time I’ve felt good since leaving my place has been inside the library or Betty’s building. Like everyone else in the city, they had their heat on before losing power. It’s only been off for just over a day as of now so it was still comfortable inside both places.
I let go of the handle and look at my hands. Even though I’m much warmer and completely dry, they shake. I’m horrified right now. My police duties and crime scene experience have nullified some of the awful things I’ve seen, but I’m still scared shitless. Mostly for my wife.
She has none of the qualifications to handle this sort of thing—minus being a decent shot with the small caliber pistol she carries. It doesn’t pack much punch, but Jill is a pretty okay shot with it. Hopefully, she brought it with her to the gala. She normally does, not trusting anyone other than me with her safety. We may have had a rocky marriage of late, but she’s always trusted me…and I her.
It’s what cemented our relationship. An idiot friend of Jill’s wrecked her car on the way home from a party and called my then girlfriend to help. She brought me along, having been staying the night at my place. We had been dating for around six months at the time and the connection between us was instant. She brought me because of my connections with the police and ability to change a tire if need be.
Her friend—we won’t name any names—didn’t anticipate Jill bringing her cop boyfriend though. I had actually planned on looking the other way, but the drunkard went off on my lady for me being there.
Not cool.
Ten minutes later, Suzy McBitchy was in handcuffs, crying in the back of a patrol car for drunk and reckless driving charges. I even helped her into the backseat, reading her Miranda rights while giggling the whole time.
“Next time you call a friend out to help you and they bring a nice policeman with them…” I smile, laying it on thick, “try to behave.” I’m about to let the girl go to jail in peace, but add. “Oh, and by the way.” Her head snapped up at me, looking like a venomous, snot-covered, mascara-running snake. “When you get out of the drunk tank, look for some extremely hilarious photos on Myspace.” The social media website was the hottest thing online at the time, having just been launched. There were rumors of another social media outlet set to debut the following year.
“Facebook will never work,” I said at the time.
Before Jill’s friend could respond, I slammed the door in her face. I then looked over the roof of the patrol car as it pulled away, seeing Jill’s smile.
“You’re not actually going to post those, are you?”
I shake my head. “Didn’t take any…” I cock a thumb at the patrol car’s taillights. “But she doesn’t know that.”
I actually laugh aloud at the memory. It’s one of the many funny ones. We had a lot of those when we were in the early ‘love bird’ stage of our relationship. Even into the first few years of marriage we had them, but as time went by, and as we got busier and busier in our careers… Well, you get the point.
We’ll have more of those… I promise.
The rebuilt resolve I’m experiencing feels great. It’s something I haven’t really felt yet. Friday night, as soon as I threw open the door to my apartment and ran down the hallway, it was there in full force. Nothing was going to stop me. But since then I’ve almost died four or five times, it’s quickly been slipping away. At first it was a one-hundred-percent guarantee I was going to get to Jill in time. Then, I was hoping to get there. Earlier, when I watched Betty’s life slip away, I barely felt it. And, of course, falling seven stories and landing in that muck heap didn’t help either.
My hand moves to the decorative vertical pipe that acts as a door handle, the kind that look they should be on a giant-sized commercial refrigerator. I grip and am about to pull it open, but stop. A mob of Goblins nears, flowing out of the adjacent alley, the one I just came from. My heart stops for a moment, but I relax, remembering that the glass doors I’m standing behind are of the two-way variety. They can’t see me.
Moving like a living wave, I watch as their heads all pitch and bounce as one, turning and sniffing in unison. It’s like they are thinking as one or maybe being controlled by remote.
“The hell?” I whisper to myself.
I’ve been so busy avoiding, or in most cases, running from them, that I’ve never really been able to observe them. Knowing I won’t have very many opportunities like this, I halt my escape and dissect their every move.
Each one of the dozen or so Goblins sit, crouched in the middle of the street, looking like a flock of gargoyle statues. Their heads all sway back-and-forth like before, still enjoying that Stevie groove from before. The choreography is unnerving to say the least. The fact that these things could be working in unison makes me rethink everything I thought I knew about them.
Which wasn’t much.
“If you can work together… What else can you do?” I bite my lip after speaking the words. The group looks my way, as if seeing me through the reflective doors of the store. I know they can’t, but the fact that they even looked this way has me on edge.
Working together…
I think back to the lone Goblin that killed Betty. It acted before the rest of them did. So, did the one that attacked me in front of the stairs before that. Could they have been some kind of advanced scout or a kind of reconnaissance? So far, I’ve only thought of them as an angry mob, fighting each other for their prize, but now… I’m not so sure.
Then, she steps forward…
Another of the Unseen emerges from the dark alley, causing the grunts to part. She’s at least six-feet tall and rippling with toned muscle. And I should know… She’s almost completely naked except for some sort of necklace dangling low down her bare chest. The only article of clothing she’s wearing is a shredded skirt of some sort. It’s a Siren like the others I’ve seen, but this one moves differently. She walks…confidently. She isn’t slashing and shrieking her way forward like some of the dominant females in nature. This one is in control of the situation. Then again, I haven’t had the opportunity to observe them for this long without having to turn tail and run.
Especially for this long, I think, absorbing everything I’m seeing.
“Know your opponent, Frank. Know their weaknesses.”
Dad’s advice means absolutely bupkis right now, but I follow his instructions and continue to ‘Know Thy Enemy.’
Stopping at the front of the pack, the Siren growls, something angering her. Then as quickly as she arrived, she’s gone, turning and disappearing back down the alley. As soon as she moves off, so do the Goblins. They follow their pack leader without question.
Is that what she is?
“Well, damn,” I say to myself. “This just sucks now, don’t it?”
For whatever reason, I don’t think it’ll be the last time I’ll see that one. She was undeniably different. Even the one in the nighty attacked me with unbridled fury.
Abaddon seems to have affected a few of them a little different than the others. It’s like some of the evolutionary alterations peeked on a higher level than the majority
. Just like humanity. Some people are inherently smarter or more physically gifted than others. Genetics, as a whole, seem to be working the same with the Unseen.
After watching that, I need to be even more careful than I already was trying to be. What it also means is I need to take my time getting through the rest of the city. Jill may need my help, but that can only happen if I stay alive.
14
The development with the Siren-controlled Goblins is unquestionably the strangest moment yet. I mean, everything from the minute that damned rock fell from space has been odd, not just what has happened recently. It’s like every new discovery is worse than the one before.
After waiting another ten minutes, I finally emerge from Harvey’s. The new coat is much warmer than the last, being officially tested as I’m buffeted by another chilling breeze. The only thing I’ll miss, is the coat itself. It was a gift from Jill when I moved.
We met back in my hometown of West Palm Beach, Florida, while she was attempting to pass the bar to become the lawyer she is now. Her parents moved from New York for work when she was young.
I was a member of the Palm Beach Sheriff’s Office at the time, and hated every minute of it. But it was work, and I was good at it. It just sucked being stuck working the graveyard shifts. Jill and I never saw each other. I had applied to become a detective, but hadn’t heard any promising news.
I wanted to be a detective since I was a kid and when I told my folks I wanted to join the police force after graduating high school… Let’s just say they didn’t take it well. Mom immediately opened a bottle of wine and Dad went into the spare room and started on the speed bag. He said hitting things cleared his head. Yikes. But like most parents, they eventually started to support me once they realized how much I was helping people. Or at least trying to.
Jill got an offer from a firm in New York that she couldn’t pass up, and being newlyweds I obviously followed, picking up and moving away from the only town I ever lived in. Plus, she was about to easily double my salary. Thankfully, the people that hired her also had an in for me in the NYPD, having worked closely with them on several cases. So, we both moved and started our new careers together.
It was by far the scariest decision we ever had to make, but we quickly acclimated to the hustle-and-bustle of New York. Being from a much quieter suburban town in southern Florida, I never really liked the idea of living in an apartment building above a busy street. I would have preferred to stay put in Florida, but hey, you do things like this for the ones you love.
But I really do hate the brutally cold winters New York offers. So much so, that we go back home and bunk with my parents for two weeks every winter over Christmas and New Year’s. Jill is a bigger fan of the fast-paced lifestyle, but she’s completely onboard with me about the cold. Florida kids are pretty much spoiled with t-shirt, shorts, and flip-flop weather year-round. There’s only about a week where you are required to breakout a hoodie, but after that it’s back to normal.
That’s where the jacket came into play. We moved to New York and I lacked any type of traditional cold weather clothes. Jill bought it as a thank-you gift, knowing I’d never go out and spend that much on one. It fit perfect from day one, fitting better and better as I broke it in further. I left it sitting on the counter back at Harvey’s. It was actually really hard to let it go.
No choice, I think, refocusing on the task in front of me. I look to the right, mentally mapping out my next plan. I’m directly east of Central Park giving me a little hope that I’m so close. If the roads weren’t congested with the dead, I’d be able to just drive straight and true. That’s not the case, though. Bodies, both human and automotive, clutter the streets. People did what most would have done when the world was ending, they fled. They ran out of their homes and were immediately greeted by those that had turned.
Should have taken the NASA guy’s warning literally and stayed indoors, I think, ignoring the irony that I also fled out into the streets. At least my actions weren’t those driven by fear. I, unlike ninety-nine-percent of the city, am still thinking straight and moving with purpose. I won’t go as far and say that I have a plan quite yet, but I can definitely say I have an endgame. I find peace in that I’m not just aimlessly roaming the boulevards.
The one mode of transportation that might work, is the only one I’ve yet to find. It would be super quick and easy to elude my hunters, but like I said, I’ve yet to see any.
I draw my Glock and move fast, staying as close to the buildings as possible. The only time I’ll venture out into the roads is if the sidewalks themselves are blocked. Some cars have aggressively parked themselves in the front windows of the first-floor businesses lining each side of 65th.
Fires burn too, not a ton of them mind you, but there’s a light smoky haze to the air from time to time. I wish I carried a lighter, just in case. You never know when a large-scale scorching of some kind can come in handy. If I had to bring down a building in order to stop these things, I would. No question.
Right now, I’m only about a mile from the eastern gates of the park. Normally, I’d have scoffed at the distance. Jill and I would regularly walk that far just for the hell of it. Driving was normally out of the question, being more of a nuisance than it’s worth, and public transportation was just as bad.
Even worse depending on the cabbie you get.
Sometimes your feet were the quickest, safest, and definitely the cheapest way to travel. The subway system was the only other method I’d ever go for. Something about being in the controlled atmosphere of the cars, made it doable.
I stop at the corner of a building and peek out. Movement can be seen from deeper into the shadows, and I wait, watching. Then, it’s gone, returning the cold, eerie alley to a calm, but still creepy-as-hell state. The chilly, dank atmosphere makes me think of turn-of-the-century London. Under the current conditions, I can definitely picture Jack the Ripper stalking his way through these streets, picking off his prey with ease.
Speaking of old-timey England, Sherlock Holmes was the reason I wanted to become a detective in the first place. I loved reading about his ridiculous methods and seemingly crazy antics. Robert Downey Jr’s portrayal of him was flawless in my opinion. He perfectly captured Holmes’ wit and charm, but wasn’t shy about showing his tough and devilish side too. The perfect hero, really. He wasn’t all glitz and glam like some other protagonists. He was a drug addict and constantly got himself into trouble, relying on Watson to keep him in check and out of Scotland Yard. Sherlock was as human as the next man.
As human as the next man…
The statement has new meaning now.
I quickly cross the alley and hug the side of the building, stopping. I can’t go any further. A taxi cab is on its side, crumpled against the front door of a pizza joint I was quite fond of.
Dammit.
Gripping the pry bar in my left hand and the gun in my right, I dart out into the street and duck between two pinned sedans. They must’ve T-boned each other and spun, halting the rest of traffic around them. Cars are backed up for as long as I can see in both directions, but no drivers. They either ran, or seeing all the dried blood around and inside the vehicles, I’d say they were slaughtered before they could even unbuckle.
It was a massacre.
The thought of thousands—possibly hundreds of thousands—of people dying in minutes is nauseating. Thank God I was upstairs when all this shit happened. I couldn’t imagine being down on ground level when Satan’s spawn first appeared.
This is bad enough.
My skin breaks out in a sweat, even in the cold air. Sweating isn’t anything new to me, but doing it without exerting myself is a new one. Normally, I’m running for my life when my armpits start to drip.
Or leaping from seventh floor fire escapes.
That was easily the stupidest thing I’ve ever done—and that’s saying a lot. I’m not going to recall the other dumb things I’ve done in the past. So instead, I move forward, awkwardly
placing my left fist against the crunched front end of another taxi, leaping it with a quick hop.
Easily clearing the first half of the cab’s hood, I slide across the second half of it like a cheesy TV show cop. I quickly spy my landing and groan. It’s a slick of gelatinous, viscous fluid. What can only be a mixture of blood and bile, meets my booted feet, and I slip. As I sort of catch myself, my elbow banging off the car’s fender. The jolt sends a pulsating bitch of a stinger up into my fingertips. Naturally, the nerve impulses in my fingers react, flexing inward towards my palm… Pulling the trigger to my gun.
“Shit.”
I quickly stand, shaking the tingling in my elbow away. I cringe as I hear the gun’s report echoing off the buildings around me. So far, my luck has been pretty decent today. I survived a fall from seventy feet and then didn’t get eaten by a group of monsters while hiding in a giant garbage can. Before that I found some extra ammo, another gun, a knife, and a Taser. I also got my share of alcohol which I’m still feeling—barely—but it’s still there a little. It’s not enough to screw with my head, but once it wears off I’m going to hurt like a bitch.
So why can’t I have one more quick kiss from Lady Luck?
The snarling behind me violently brings me back down to earth.
“Ugh,” I say, turning. “Double shit.”
The large mass of Goblins is back and before the Siren shows up, I bolt in my original direction, using the cars as blockades. I need to lose the bastards before I find cover. I evaded the last couple of groups because they were smaller, and because of good fortune. It’s plain to see that this isn’t going to be one of those times.
So instead of relying on another fluke, I’ll run. Then maybe I’ll fight if I’m forced to. I glance over my shoulder as I round a pick-up truck and see the Siren emerge.
Nope—never mind. No fighting.
Just a lot more running.
15
Did I mention that I really hate to run? No? Well, I do… With a passion. It’s actually my least favorite thing to do. But now, I guess dying would go to the top of that list. Running is just the result of that fear.