Dead Moon: Nightmares are Born (Dead Moon Post-Apocalyptic Survival Thrillers Book 1)

by Matt James

  “What did you say?” I ask, brushing grime away from my jeans.

  “I’d rather not say,” he replies with a smile.

  “Why not?”

  “Because, I do not wish for my mother—God rest her soul—to hear me say that twice.”

  “In two different languages, nonetheless.”

  Our jovial reunion is cut short by a series of growls and grunts and we quickly make for the truck. We don’t need to chance our good fortune again in such a short period of time.

  17

  Bodies cover the ground around his shop, looking like the street itself is wearing a mask of death. There are so many that we literally have to tiptoe through them. From the looks of it, Vinny has been a very busy man these last two days.

  “Not the kind of crowd I’m accustomed to,” he said, when he saw my mouth hanging open as we pulled up and parked.

  His truck is truly a monster of a machine. It sits just outside the front door, locked tight, but ready. It’s blacked out windows and crimson stained exterior add to its menacing look.

  Not that there’s anyone to intimidate.

  “What the hell are you doing here, Frances? I was hoping that you and Jillian would be long gone by now.” The bigger man unlocks the barred door to his shop, letting me in.

  “First off, stop calling me Frances—it’s Frank—now is not the time to bust my balls…and we didn’t make it out of town in time.”

  He’s called me by my birth name since the day we met and I’ve corrected him ever since. My parents named me after the revered Catholic friar. Francis would become the patron saint of animals. When I was a kid we had a statue of the saint in our front yard. After my childhood dog, Maggie, died, I asked my parents if we could bury her ashes under Francis for protection and love in the afterlife. Mom and Dad were animal lovers too, so naming me Frances fit. Doesn’t mean I have to like it though.

  “I’ve spent the better part of that last few days trying to reach the museum. Jill called me from there right before we lost power. She said people were dying. I promised her I’d get there ASAP. Needless to say, that it’s turned out to be a lot rougher than I anticipated.”

  At the mentioning of the deaths at the museum, I see Vinny’s face fall flat. An uncustomary look of worry sweeps over his normally hard, impassive facade.

  “What?” I ask.

  “It is Carla,” he says, dipping his head. His already robust Italian accent comes out even thicker with the added emotion. “She too is at the museum with Jillian. I had hoped the two of them had fled together.”

  This is news to me. I had no idea Carla was going with her to the gala. Carla isn’t exactly a fan of the arts let alone lawyers. From what I’ve been told, she and Jill didn’t get along when they first met, like two overly dominant female wolves. Plus, I remember the stories of the boyfriend Carla had before Vinny. He was a piece-of-shit and a monster to her… He was also an attorney. She held it against Jill for just being associated with the lot.

  “How?” I ask. “How did she meet up with Jill in the first place?”

  Vinny shrugged.

  “Carla was out-and-about shopping, when she got a call from Jillian. She was crying telling her how you didn’t want to come and support her project—the children’s hospital charity event.”

  Dammit… I forgot it was a charity event for sick kids. Okay, I’m an asshole.

  Vinny’s eyes meet mine and I see disappointment in them.

  “Don’t you fucking dare give me that look, Vinny! I know what I did was wrong, believe me. It’s why I’m still here fighting these Godforsaken things. I want my wife back. I want to get the hell off this island.”

  His eyes soften with the sincerity of my voice.

  “Okay then,” he says. “We take my truck and go together.”

  My eyebrows raise at the offer. We could do some serious damage in that thing. Speaking of which…

  “Since when do you have a truck?”

  He smiles sheepishly. “It isn’t mine. I found it idling on the side of the road. Thought it was a good idea to have something bigger than my Camaro.”

  The cop in me isn’t happy, but the survivor in me is ecstatic. He may have just saved our lives. I know for damn sure he saved mine. Plus, it’s not like the whole police thing is really working out right now. I may even be the last cop left around here.

  Last alive one, anyways.

  “Hang on,” I say, confused by something. “Why are you still here then? You could have made it out of here with that tank.” I thumb over my shoulder motioning to the front door of the shop where the truck is parked.

  Another sheepish look.

  “What?”

  “I have tried, but I wasn’t able to get out of the truck without getting swarmed by the creatures—”

  “The Unseen,” I say, interrupting him.

  “Unseen?” He then scratches his chin, contemplating the name. “I see. It is a good name for them.”

  “Anyways,” he continues, “I went south, around the park yesterday and it was all but impassable even in the truck. I was going to try going through the park next time, but I know the roads are narrow. Not sure if it’ll be possible.”

  He walks towards the back of his fully stocked store. His bloodstained designer boots, clunking over the expensive wood floors. Usually, Vinny would have them immaculately cared for, but under the circumstances he has let them go a little. He’s even changed into more casual clothes instead of one of his expensive suits. I’ve never asked how much they cost and I’m glad I haven’t. I was just complaining about the $400 in clothes I just…borrowed.

  His shoes are probably at least $200.

  “Plus,” he says, rummaging through a drawer, “it’s not like I can call inside and tell someone I am there. I seriously doubt anyone is still standing watch by the windows.”

  I agree. I sure as hell wouldn’t be. I wouldn’t necessarily be sitting around doing nothing, waiting to starve, either.

  More like something inbetween both.

  Turning, I look back-and-forth, seeing weapons lining every single wall. I remember when he gave me the behind the scenes tour when he first opened, so I know the place quite well. The glass gun cabinets are floor to ceiling and bulletproof—pretty thick too. He wanted to take no chances with security. They’re also locked with a fingerprint identification scanner and a key pad with both letters and numbers. No one other than he knows the codes. Not even Carla. Like I said… No chances. If someone wanted a weapon while he wasn’t there, the customer would have to wait for the next time he came in.

  “Why wouldn’t you share the combinations with your wife?” I asked, shocked at the lack of trust. It’s only when he told me the reason that I really understood his paranoia.

  “If she is here and I am not and some punk demands for her to open the gun cabinets she can’t. It’s my way of protecting her as well as making sure I know everyone who buys from me.”

  Overall it really isn’t a big deal though. He and Carla live above the shop. So, if she or one of his employees had an interested client they could just call upstairs and ask Vinny to come down.

  But now, there are glaring changes to Vincente’s. Shotguns, Vinny’s specialty, were strategically positioned around the store, lying atop every counter. He also has ammo boxes next to each weapon ready to go. Vinny isn’t taking any chances on not being armed while downstairs.

  He also has a plethora of back stock upstairs in his apartment, like me. My closet is generally pretty well-stocked, but Vinny’s is like another firearm warehouse.

  “Looks like you’ve taken care of yourself so far,” I comment, looking around.

  “Yes,” Vinny says. “Thankfully, they haven’t been able to overwhelm me…yet.”

  “Yet?” I ask.

  He nods. “They have tried multiple times to gain entry, but have failed. They can’t get through the iron bars on my windows and door, but I think they will eventually find a way.”

  “Wha
t makes you say that?” I ask, curious.

  “The females… They are what you would say…cunning…smart.”

  “Sirens…” I say quietly, mentally reliving my multiple encounters.

  “Another good name, and yes, they’ve almost gotten to me when I leave and go for the truck. Once, I caught one hiding, crouching in the bed.”

  My eyes go wide. I knew the Sirens were smarter than the Goblins, but not that smart. Then, I remember the way the last one ordered the others around, and suddenly, it doesn’t seem so fanciful of a tale.

  “What did you do?” I ask.

  He turns and smiles, holding up his shotgun, a custom piece. “I blew her head off and then turned on the ones that came with her.”

  Recalling the bodies strewn about, I don’t doubt my cousin. Not for one second. He took out three of them with easy efficiency. Then again, he’s sells weapons for a living. I’d imagine someone in his line of work would be a pretty good shot.

  “So,” he says, rounding his store’s main counter, “what do you prefer?”

  My head tilts to the side, not understanding the question.

  Noticing my confusion, he smiles and laughs, holding his arms out wide. “Pick anything you like. My store is your store.”

  Smiling, I walk to the first display case on my left, seeing my preferred heavy-hitting weapon. “You got any more autoloaders like yours? Pump action is going to be too slow for what we’re about to be going up against.”

  “What kind?” he asks, checking over his own variant.

  “How ‘bout a 930 SPX with a pistol grip?”

  Vinny smiles. “Mossberg? Of course, I do. This isn’t some second-rate outfit here, Frances. It’s in the next case over.”

  I follow his directions and look, seeing a bevy of them all lined up like baby chicks. He walks over and simply slides open the glass earning a surprised look from me.

  “No power, remember?”

  I nod, feeling dumb.

  “The locks have a battery life of almost two days,” he explains. “They just went down before I left and eventually ran into you. It’s another reason I stayed behind. God forbid someone breaks in here and simply takes my inventory. If everyone’s motives were as noble as yours, I honestly wouldn’t care. I’m pretty sure I’m out of business now anyways.” He says the last part with a half laugh, but the pain of losing the business he started from nothing is evident. With the arrival of Abaddon, Vinny lost more than just his place of work… He lost his livelihood.

  Me too…

  He reaches in and grabs the exact weapon I was looking for. It’s even my favorite coloration if it matters—matte black. I tightly grip my new friend and then look back up to my cousin.

  We might just have a chance.

  18

  “Okay,” Vinny says, packing his duffle bag, “we have the shotguns along with plenty of ammunition, including two ammo belts. There’s also canned food, bottled water, and medical supplies.” He then looks up to me as I reload a fresh mag into my Glock. “Anything else?”

  Looking around his apartment, I make a mental checklist of what we may end up needing. What he just listed off should be enough, but we could very well need something else by the time we get to our wives. You can only prepare so much when everything you’re about to encounter is classified as the ‘unknown.’

  I slam the clip home and holster the gun. Lifting an empty, I shake it next to my head like I’m trying to hear something inside. Frowning, I say, “You wouldn’t happen to have any spare rounds for this, would you?”

  He smiles and stands, heading for his bedroom. A short moment later, he comes back out and tosses me an opened box of ammo, maybe another fifty or so bullets left in it.

  I smile, thanking him. “I appreciate this, Vinny.”

  He shrugs it off, not understanding the true meaning of my thanks.

  “Vinny.”

  He looks up and meets my gaze, seeing the seriousness in it.

  “I mean it… Thank you.”

  Vinny being Vinny, he just duplicates the shoulder shrug. “Jillian was my family long before she was yours. Remember that. I care for her too. Italian families, like ours, are close.”

  I stand and heft on my own pack, but not before I secure one of the ammo belts diagonally across my chest. It’s filled with 12-gauge shells, easy to reach for quick reloads. The shotgun follows, already loaded and ready to boom its way through the city. Ready for war, I sit back down and start loading my empty mags. I have one completely empty and a second almost there.

  Our plan is pretty straight forward. We will head west, driving straight and true, directly through Central Park via the 65th Street Transverse. The road cuts right through the southern part of the park, passing the northern end of the Central Park Zoo. The road then exits right in front of 55 Central Park West, the famous apartment building featured in Ghostbusters. It was perfectly nicknamed, Spook Central, by Dr. Ray Stantz in the classic 1984 film. One of the all-time greats.

  I ain’t afraid of no ghosts… Then, I think of where I am and what I’ve experienced. Never mind… I’m actually terrified.

  Vinny turns and heads out of the front door. I follow, thinking of what to do once we get to the museum. I have no doubt we can make it there now. Vinny’s massive four-door almost guarantees it. But I also know how careful we are going to have to be. Treading softly in certain places will be pivotal. If this takes us another day or two, I need to be okay with that. We can’t rush this. The more we hurry, the more noise we’ll make, drawing unwanted attention to our already loud transport.

  It’s either the truck or we find some bikes and pedal, exposed to the elements and its guard dogs.

  I realize Vinny is talking to me and mumble a reply. “Sure.”

  “Sure?” He turns, eyebrow raised.

  “Yes.”

  “So, wondering what the girls have been eating for the last few days is, sure?”

  I blush and avert my eyes before saying sorry.

  “I was just thinking, you know? I… I didn’t hear you talking.”

  He puts a hand on my shoulder. “It’s fine, Frances. Just try to stay focused. It’s not easy for me either.”

  Remembering I’m the policeman and he’s the civilian, I puff out my chest a little and stand straight. I need to be the ‘big man on campus’ right now, not Vinny.

  I grip my Mossberg and give him a cocky grin. “Let’s do this.”

  He smiles and reenters his store, locking the backdoor heading up to his apartment. He pats the door in what looks like a goodbye.

  Come to think of it, I’ve never thought of not returning to here—Manhattan, I mean. I’ve obviously thought about escaping this hellhole, but not never returning. I can picture it now, looking like Chernobyl. The 1986 nuclear plant disaster left the still radioactive city of Pripyat dead, looking like it was frozen in time. People’s belongings can still be found in the same places they were left thirty years ago. The pictures are super creepy and unsettling to look at. The thought is eerie enough to give me another set of goosebumps.

  Abandonment…

  I wonder how many actually made it out alive. It’s a thought for when we join those that survived. Doesn’t do us any good to daydream more nightmares right now.

  Vinny grabs the truck keys from a hook on the back wall and heads for the front door.

  “Check the left to see if anything unfriendly is hanging around.”

  I follow his instructions and head for the front of the shop, glancing into one of the display cases as I pass. In the reflection, I see what Jill had once described as a ‘less psychotic looking Mel Gibson’ walk by. Me being a cop and my overall style and look reminded her of his character from the Lethal Weapon movies—minus the death wish and feathery mullet.

  Leaning forward, I peek through the shop’s front windows and see nothing but death. Dead death, not the leaving kind. I even do my best to stand on my tippy toes and try to see inside the bed of the truck, but I can’t ge
t a good enough angle from here. We’ll just have to be extra cautious before climbing in the front.

  “Nothing,” I say, stepping away. “You see anything?”

  “No,” Vinny replies, breathing in heavily. He’s doing his best to stay positive and keep his shit together, but he’s starting to crack a little. Leaving Vincente’s behind might be his undoing.

  “You good?” I ask.

  He glances my way and gives me an annoyed look.

  He’s fine. Nervous as hell, but fine… Like me.

  I can even feel my own hand twitching ever so slightly. Breathing in deep myself, I nod to Vinny, who then grips the door handle. He then slowly and quietly, unlocks the deadbolt—just as something slams into the door, barreling over the man.

  As the Siren enters, she slashes out at anything in her way, including Vinny, who takes a clawed hand across his face. The wounds aren’t deep, but they are numerous, just missing his eyes. It turns on him and goes to slash again, but doesn’t… I don’t let it.

  It’s then I realize I’m on her back, opting for the quieter kill. Using our much louder weapons would have brought a gang of Unseen our way. It’s something I’ve been trying to avoid as best I can since leaving my own home.

  My arms are locked around her throat, hanging on for dear life. She’s thrashing and spinning, but I don’t let go. I’m beyond pissed off at the circumstances I currently find myself in and squeeze. Anger is fueling my body, spiking my already peeked adrenaline to an astronomical level.

  Hearing the bitch-hulk gag and choke is strangely satisfying. Her growling then turns into a whimper as I squeeze even harder and wrench back as hard as I can. She then grabs on my arms and begins to use her much stronger body to pry me off.

  Pry…

  I may not have my pry bar anymore, but I do have another non-bullet firing weapon. This one also came from Joan’s place. It was under the Glock in her gun safe.

  Quickly repositioning myself, I lock my left elbow around the Siren’s neck and lean back again, throwing off her balance more. It’s all I need to gain the extra second of time and physical leverage to draw my army knife.