In Memoriam

by Matt James

  The one closest to me turns to inspect the new sound. I leap into action and vault the display of pumpkin things. Knife bared, I stab the goblin in the lower back and tackle him to the ground. One after the other, I jab the same spot until my target’s movements slow to nothing.

  Breathing hard from the effort, I look up and see the rest of them on the ground as well. Our separate attacks caused enough confusion that we all successfully got the jump on them.

  Jill is the first to her feet. She limps over to the front desk and grabs her bat. The goblin she went after gets to its feet and leaps at her. She’s ready for it, though. She hits a grand slam and crushes the creature in the forehead. With the thwap of the composite cylinder impacting its skull, the goblin goes down for the count.

  Just for good measure, the front door blows open and scares the crap out of all of us. We all jump at the sound of the glass door’s metal frame clanging against the inside wall. Once we realize that it was nothing, we calm down, gather our belongings, and meet up in the center of the room.

  Andy’s about to say something, but she doesn’t get the words out. In unison, one of the gunmen appears just outside the front door. Then, a dreaded siren appears just outside the rear door. The man is completely unaware of our presence and raises his weapon. He fires a shot at something out of sight.

  The wall to our left explodes and caves in on itself. Most of the candles are extinguished, as they get covered in drywall. A quick, bone-chilling breeze puts out the rest of them. Then, the gunman fist-pumps and whoops into the air like an idiot.

  Burner? I ask myself. It’s the only thing that makes sense. Nothing else could take out a wall like that.

  The detonation and subsequent celebration gets the attention of the super-deadly siren. Our foursome quickly shrinks back into hiding when she turns to face the disturbance, sniffing the air as the goblins had. Not only can she still smell the candles, but she can also detect the blood of her deceased brethren. Sirens are smart, and with that intelligence comes vengeance.

  And this one is no exception.

  We witness the powerful siren snarl and pounce. From door to door, she leaps the entire distance of the store with ease and savagely tears into the startled shooter. The fight swiftly turns into a brawl, which is impressive, considering the guy was blindsided. We exit through the ruined wall and take refuge behind an “aggressively parked” delivery van. Eventually, the gunman’s cries quiet. No one can survive direct fisticuffs with a hungry siren.

  Except me.

  Andy’s question about how I’m still alive returns to the forefront of my mind. My answer was, and will always be, blind luck. I’m no different than anyone else, but for whatever reason, I’ve been consistently allowed to see the next sunrise.

  I get down on my hands and knees and see what our friend is up to. She’s still enjoying her fresh kill. My stomach churns at the sight of a human being eaten. Jill, Andy, and Cooper are quietly conversing, so I turn my attention away from the carnage and to them.

  “I don’t think that’s a good idea,” Jill says.

  “What isn’t?” I ask, missing the beginning of the discussion.

  “They want to go find Jack and Tara.”

  I look past Jill and see that we’re in front of the indoor mini-golf place. It looks like it’s actually a combo maze and mini-golf course. An odd pairing, for sure. Spooky too.

  I agree with Jill that splitting up is a bad idea, but we also can’t leave Jack and Tara behind either. It’s a tough decision. Rescuing the CPD cops is the right thing to do. Plus, we need the extra manpower—firepower included.

  “Go,” I whisper, tipping my chin toward the building. I put my hand on Jill’s shoulder. “We need the help.”

  Andy nods and then shrinks back into hiding when a single shot rings out. I drop to the street again and see who was targeted. The siren is on her back, unmoving. She was dropped in the middle of enjoying her hard-fought brunch.

  “What about him?” Cooper asks.

  I think I have a plan. It’s another doozy too.

  “I’ll draw his fire so you can get inside.”

  Jill snorts a laugh. “I?” She shakes your head. “You mean we.”

  I shrug. “Didn’t want to include you in my crazy idea.”

  Without a retort of any kind, she shoves me forward. Andy and Cooper head for the rear of the van and get ready to run. I deduce that the shooter is the sniper from on top of Bubba Gump Shrimp Co. The guy outside the candle shop must’ve been his partner. There were originally two gunmen on top of the restaurant’s roof. I bet the guy that just died had come back to check on the commotion we caused back at the space needle and ended up being on the wrong side of luck.

  With only one of them left to defend the intersection, Jill and I might just be able to pull this off. I quickly glance around the van, looking up Parkway to the northeast. I spot a reflection where I figured I’d find our potential killer. I duck back into cover. If I had to guess, I’d say that the reflection belongs to the sniper’s scope. It’s why his aim has been so precise.

  “Go!” I shout.

  I dart out for our cover and snap off a handful of wild shots up toward the shooter’s position. I don’t look to see if Andy and Cooper make it into the indoor mini-golf course. The lack of enemy fire tells me all I need to know. We did what we needed to do by distracting the sniper.

  “Now what?” Jill asks, pressing herself up against the front of the candle store.

  I press myself against the front too and look northeast, pondering our next move.

  “Come on,” I say, staying as close to the buildings as I can. “Let’s find this asshole and toss him off that roof.”

  Jill grins and follows closely behind me. The angle is such that he can’t see us. Each store has a shaded covering that hangs over the sidewalk. It’s just deep enough that it hides our approach. We can use that to our advantage and get the jump on him.

  There are only three stores in between us and the seafood joint. The trek is quick and eerily quiet. Nothing moves or makes a sound. The only thing that is alive is the crisp wind. It carries with it the fresh smell of smoke and gasoline. Ground zero for the attack I have planned is just up ahead.

  We stop directly beneath our target and make sure there aren’t any other baddies in the area. I’m not sure where the people that assaulted Dom and John-Ryan are. So, I ask.

  “Dom,” I say, speaking softly into my radio, “you copy?”

  Unfortunately, all I get is white noise. Either he’s dead, or his comms are down. Honestly, it could be all of the above, and it wouldn’t surprise me. These are dangerous times. I know my death is right around the corner, but for whatever reason, the Grim Reaper has had shitty aim as of late.

  “How’s it going, Andy?” I ask.

  Again, nothing.

  “They probably turned their volumes down once they went inside,” Jill says, trying to make me feel better.

  “Yeah, sure…” I turn and open the door to Bubba’s place.

  The smell that greets us is horrible. As you’d expect, the restaurant that’s famous for its seafood reeks of rotten sea life. It’s so nauseating that I have to plug my nose with my free hand. Luckily, I only need one hand to fire a pistol.

  We rush for the backdoor and practically kick it open. Neither one of us breathes until we shut it lest we accidentally inhale too deep. I hate seafood—hate it. This was as close to torture for me as anything I’ve experienced. It even gives me a cold shiver. The temperature is typically responsible for that, but not this time. Nope. Now, it’s the stink of the situation.

  “Frank,” Jill says, voice low, pointing back toward the building. “Look.”

  I do, and I don’t like what I’m seeing. The lower half of the ladder leading up to the roof is missing. I seriously doubt we can drag anything over to use as a stepstool without making a racket. We need to surprise the rooftop gunman, not prematurely announce our arrival.

  Putting her bac
k against the wall, Jill lowers her hands between her knees, cupping them together. “Up you go.”

  15

  I step on Jill’s shoulder and almost immediately kick her in the face. Doing isn't exactly going to score me any brownie points later. I can’t imagine when it would. Plus, Lord only knows what’s on the bottom of my shoes at this point. If anything, she’d make me sleep outside with the burners and mountain lions.

  With one final heave, I snag the ladder’s bottommost rung. It creaks ever so slightly, causing me to cringe while dangling mid-air. Jill then grips my boots and shoves me higher, showing off her incredible strength. Seriously, she’s done nothing but pound on the heavy bag down in the basement for more than a month.

  The next time someone crosses me, I’m going to tell them to watch it or else, “My wife is gonna kick your ass!”

  Once I get a solid footing, I crouch and reach as low as I can for Jill. She doesn’t even try to grab my offered hand. All she does is lift an eyebrow like, “Yeah, right.” I’m way too high up, and without the aforementioned stepstool, she’s not about to join me anytime soon

  I’m on my own.

  Before I head off, I point at my eyes with my index and middle fingers. She winks, understanding what I want.

  Watch my ass.

  She draws her Glock and backs away from the ladder to get a better view of the roof above. So far, the sniper hasn’t shown himself. That doesn’t mean he won’t before I can get a weapon up to defend myself. As of now, it’ll be either my gun or my knife. I can’t imagine when I’d get the chance, or the time, to use my bow. So, I’m going in hard, and most likely going in noisy.

  Five feet beneath the edge of the roof, I take a look up and down the alleyway. I can’t see much, unfortunately. Bubba Gump’s sits at the southwest corner of an awkward, curving T-shaped juncture. Parkway is at the top of the T, and Historic Nature Trail is the vertical arm of it.

  Dammit, I think, pissed that I can’t at least see where Dom is hiding. He said he was in some sort of boutique, but which one? There are a hundred small stores that fit the bill, most of them within walking distance of my current position. It’s a resort town for a reason.

  At least there aren’t any Unseen around.

  In fact, I haven’t seen a single one since the siren was killed. Their presence nowadays is sporadic, but they are most definitely still out there. Close by too.

  I need to hurry.

  I make it to the top rung without conflict. Usually, I’d think that would be a good thing. It’s not if the guy is expecting me. I could be walking right into a gun barrel and not see it before it is too late. If the gunshot doesn’t kill me, it and the two-story fall to the concrete below will.

  Gun in hand, I grip the top rung hard and spring up. I level my weapon at absolutely nothing. The roof is long, at least a hundred feet from me to the entrance on Parkway. And between me and the front of the building are plenty of hiding stops, mostly large, square air handlers.

  I seize the opportunity to access the roof unnoticed and immediately find cover behind the nearest metal box. The toe of my boot catches the ridged roof, and I trip and clumsily bang into it, cursing myself for being so careless. It wasn’t deafening, thank God. The sound reminded me of a quieter sniper round. The only other noise up here is the unmolested winter winds.

  To put it simply… It’s cold.

  Gripping my gun with both hands, I edge out to the left of the air handler and confirm that the roof is still empty before leaving the safety of it behind. Keeping my head low, I move diagonally to the northeast until I slide behind the next unit.

  There’s two more before I reach the end of the line, and now, I’m confused. I do the same as before and inch my head out until I can scan the area directly in front of me. It’s clear, and I move off for a third time. Halfway there, my inner monologue takes over, and I lose focus.

  Where the fuck are you?

  If anything, I’m going to beat the gunman to death for making me wait so long to kill him. The anxiety within me is at a crescendo. I’m about to burst unless something happens soon.

  Here killer, killer, killer…

  I bolt for the second-to-last air handler and duck my head to the right as something sizzles past my ear. The only reason I moved at all was that my knee gave out. Again, luck is on my side. The bullet shot past me like an irate hornet. Either one would’ve hurt like hell. One would’ve killed me for sure. It’d have been the bullet since I’m not allergic to hornets, at least, I don’t think I am.

  “Missed me!” I shout, egging on the assassin. Not typically something I recommend doing, by the way. In this case, I’m hoping my annoying behavior will force him into doing something foolish.

  A fool fighting a fool.

  What sucks is that I still have no idea what his exact position is. I didn’t physically see him. I’m guessing he’s behind the last air handler. If not, then we’re sharing the same one now. Lowering my finger onto the trigger, I get ready to pull it at the drop of a hat.

  Another stiff breeze picks up around me. It locks up my muscles for a couple of seconds, which is literally the last thing I need to have happen right now. I swear if I die because I can’t function in cold weather…

  “The Conrads were pussies!” I shout. “Died real easy!”

  I can’t believe what I’m saying. I must be delirious or suffering from something I caught back at the Jesus museum. It wasn’t very sanitary from what I could tell. I even pat myself down to make sure I’m not losing blood from an unknown injury. I shouldn’t really be surprised. I haven’t eaten anything in a while, and God knows I’m not sleeping worth a damn.

  Maybe I am delirious?

  Back against the air unit, I go right, but then reverse course and head left. It’ll be easier going left since I’m a right-handed shot. I turn and sidestep belly-down across the metal handler. Then, exposing as little of myself as possible, I peek out and lift my gun hand up.

  Looks like the sniper thought about doing the same thing, and I quickly squeeze off a shout, ecstatic to hear him yelp in pain. It wasn’t much, just a glancing blow, but I got him. Like I thought, he was behind the last air handler. Like me, he was armed with a pistol that he doesn't have anymore. I think he dropped it after my bullet tore through his flesh.

  That’s fantastic, and all, but where’s his rifle?

  I rush forward and practically leap around the last metal box. When I do, the bastard racks my hands hard with the butt of his—you guessed it—his rifle.

  There it is!

  I drop my Glock and shake my throbbing hands. I don’t have to worry about it for too long, however. A) They’re numb from the cold, and B) The sniper takes my mind off the discomfort. He places my worry onto my already aching back when he lifts me off the ground and slams me into the splotchy, snow-covered, black tar roof.

  He goes to step away from me, and presumably toward one of our felled sidearms. I can’t let him do that. In between wheezing breaths, I lash out with my right foot and catch him in the left kneecap as soon as he steps toward me. His footing falters—so I strike the area again. This time, I hit it harder.

  Grandpa stumbles backward, grabbing at the impaired joint. And yes, he’s a decent amount older than me. Still, he kind of looks like that rugged grandpa commonly seen in movies that are set in places like this. I’m pretty sure this guy can take care of himself in a fight.

  Groaning, I get to my feet and lift my fists, prepared to throw down with a man twenty years my senior. Gramps does the same with a set of bear paws for hands. This guy has two of the biggest fists I’ve ever seen not belong to that of a brute.

  Just my luck.

  We’re about to go at it, but we’re stopped by an odd scraping sound. Our eyes dart back and forth from each other to the front ledge of the eatery. Then, the worst thing imaginable happens. A siren claws her way up to us.

  Gramps and I both decide that she is a threat that is bigger than either one of us. We each turn
toward her. I reach behind my back and unsheathe my knife. The enemy of my enemy who damn sure ain’t my friend, yanks one free from his boot.

  Insert comical Crocodile Dundee quote here.

  The siren sneers at us, sniffing the air hard. She opens her talon-tipped fingers wide and waits for the perfect opportunity to eviscerate us both. I’m thinking of doing the same to both these assclowns for the sole reason of getting off this freezing roof!

  On cue, another bitter wind rips through Parkway. The siren and I both freeze in place, but Gramps doesn’t. Being a local, he’s used to this crap, and he lunges at the beast. I’m impressed when he catches her across the shoulder. He was this close to clipping her throat, but she turned when she was assaulted by the breeze.

  I jab my blade at her just as she swings at my new pal. I miss her. She, however, doesn’t miss him. The siren rakes her nails across his left arm, getting a delightful squeal out of the gruff guy. I know it makes her happy because she smiles.

  Slowly, I try to back away. My foot makes a grating, crunching sound when it impacts the snow on the roof. The creature faces me as a result. Gramps, in all his glory, turns and runs. He doesn’t get far, though. His movement is more intoxicating to her—so is his blood. The siren sticks him in the back with her fingernails, sending him sprawling to the ground. Now, for the moment, I’m mono e womano with this wench.

  I laugh and talk to myself. “Could really use my gun right about now.”

  None of the Unseen see anything. They react using all their other heightened senses. If I were to move slow enough, I could simply raise my pistol up and shoot her in the head. Regrettably, I have no such weapon. Plus, no siren will let you stand around long enough to do so.

  “Get up,” I hiss, reeling back when the siren hisses back.

  Gramps answers the call, bleeding from a deep-ish wound on his left forearm and another in his upper back. He reacquires his knife and says the funniest thing I’ve heard in a while.

  “Let me get my gun. I’ll put a bullet in her.”