Dead Moon: Song of Sorrow (The Dead Moon Thrillers Book 3), Page 2

  “How far are we from Gatlinburg?” I ask.

  “Hmmm,” Jill replies, thinking. “We’re just southwest of Chattanooga, and it’s about hundred miles from there—give or take. So…”

  She’s my compass right now. Her family has owned a cabin on the outskirts of Gatlinburg for two decades, and for many of Jill’s teen years, the D’Angelos regularly traveled to and from the vacation home. I kind of know the area, but mostly that of downtown Gatlinburg, not the places and cities surrounding it. I’ve stayed in the Chateau de Angelo, as we’ve come to jokingly call it, many times—mostly without her parents around, thankfully.

  “Great…” I reply, not liking her answer.

  “What’s wrong,” she swiftly adds, “besides the obvious, I mean?”

  I smile. She was quick to throw that last part in.

  Everything is wrong right now.

  “We can’t hike a hundred miles all that fast.”

  Jill’s eyes meet mine. She knows what I mean. She and I could do it, yes. Maybe… I’m not sure about the others, however.

  “Okay, then,” Jill says, sitting up and stretching just as the sun begins to peek through the trees, “we need to find a car.”

  I nod. “Supplies too.” I stand and crack my back. Ugh… Stupid tree. “We’re okay on water for now, but we need to find some grub. We’re running low on rations.”

  Our rations have included a lot of junk food recently, but also some fruits and veggies. About a week ago, we found an abandoned home with a large garden in back. Not only did we squat inside for the night, but we also raided the crops before leaving.

  “Ruby Falls,” Jill says, staring off.

  I grin. “Diarrhea water…”

  To the north of us, and just to the south of the Tennessee River, is the entrance to Ruby Falls. The underground waterfall is a well-known tourist attraction. The reason I called it what I did is because the water within Ruby Falls contains a high concentration of magnesium. Magnesium is, of course, a natural laxative.

  Hence, “diarrhea water.”

  Jill and I took a guided tour down to Ruby Falls a few years back. It was an incredible sight, considering that the waterfall is 145-feet-tall and sits over 1,100 feet beneath Lookout Mountain. I look around, taking in our current situation, and realize that we could probably live down there if we had too.

  It would be an uncomfortable endeavor, to say the least.

  Worst-case scenario, you poop your pants regularly.

  Best-case scenario, you have an unlimited supply of fresh water at your disposal, and still, poop your pants.

  Then again, we could settle down there and then get trapped and overrun. That would be worse than any bowel movement ever.

  While Jill and I wake the others, I think about how I might fortify the cave entrance, starting to like the idea of using it as a bottleneck against anyone wishing to cause us harm—people included. The first part is easy: Cut off power to the elevator, if there is any, that is. Next, we’d have to set up a blockade at the cave’s secondary exit—the one that is walkable and only used in case the elevator breaks down during operation hours.

  People too… The words are all too real.

  While usually on the run from the Unseen, we’ve also had our fair share of run-ins with an enemy of the human variety.

  It was two weeks ago, and we had just crossed into Georgia from Florida via I-75. We planned on stopping at the first major town we could find. In this case, it was Valdosta. Hope was running a temperature, and we needed to get her some medicine. It wasn’t anything too severe, and we wanted to keep it that way. Dragging a kid along with us is hard work, but dragging a sick one along… No thanks.

  Plus, Lord knows we could’ve used some painkillers ourselves.

  We were in luck too. Just off the highway was a local pharmacy—a name I can’t recall. I offered to go in by myself and have a look around, but Dad announced that he’d be joining me, which was fine by me. At the time, all I had was my crossbow and a machete. That was/is a severe disadvantage in a world like we have now. While slow and a bit clumsy, the Predator crossbow was my chosen weapon whether I liked it or not.

  Dad casually carried his shotgun along, keeping the barrel low and his finger off the trigger. We cautiously entered the pharmacy and were startled by an old-timey ding. There, attached to the inner door frame, was an antique-ish doorbell, just like you’d see in some classic movies. It added even more to the “Mom and Pop” feel of the place.

  Every time a bell rings…an angel gets its throat ripped out.

  Not wanting to waste any time, I immediately found a sign that read “Pain Relief” and headed that way. Dad went to the aisle with food and water instead. It’s how we kept our inventory up. Every day we’d try to stop and resupply ourselves as if it was the last chance we'd get for a long time. The trunk to our Jeep was already overflowing with rations, and we intended to keep it that way. Typically, we’d try to stop at a gas station with power, for obvious reasons.

  Scratch-offs and beer! Kidding…kidding. Not about the beer, though.

  The actual pharmacy counter was in the back of the store, right where I was headed. The shelves that held the remains of the pain relief bottles were directly in front of it, and I naturally turned away from the counter to find my prize. Smiling, I plucked a five-hundred count bottle of Acetaminophen from the bottom shelf, along with a children’s version and stood.

  “Hey, what are you doing!”

  The voice came from behind me, and it wasn’t my father.

  Understanding the circumstances surrounding me, I slowly raised my hands and turned around. There, behind the counter of the ransacked pharmacy, were two people, one a woman, the other a man. Both were as pale as ghosts, rail thin, and had heavy bags underneath their eyes.

  For his part, the guy had a small-caliber pistol, and he had it trained on me. The famished woman had a pillowcase thrown over her left shoulder. The fact that they were focused on the drugs and not the food and water told me that I was dealing with a pair of junkies.

  Who now have a lifetime supply of fixes, I thought, shaking my head.

  The guy’s gun hand trembled terribly, revealing that he was already as high as a kite.

  Or possibly coming down from his magic carpet ride.

  “Uh, hi there,” I replied.

  “What are you doing here!” he shouted, waving his gun at me.

  The malnourished girl pointed a shaking finger at me. “You’re trying to steal our stash, aren’t you?”

  I glanced at the bottles in my hand. “This?” The accusation made me laugh, but I stopped when the gun steadied on my chest. “My kid is sick, that’s all.”

  “Here,” I said, cautiously reaching into my back pocket, “look…”

  Slowly, I opened my wallet and showed them my ID—more specifically, my badge.

  “I’m a detective with the NYPD, and I’m just trying to get this medicine to my daugh—”

  “He’s a cop!” the girl screamed, interrupting my explanation. “Shoot him!”

  I was about to say, “my daughter.” While not factual, Jill and I decided to call Hope that from now on, just in case we were forced to explain our relationship. She looks enough like Jill that it could work. Plus, Hope, even though she’s Hispanic and not Italian, speaks with no Spanish accent of any kind, just as Jill has no Italian inflection.

  Seriously, it’s crazy how much they look alike.

  I held out my hands. “Don’t shoot! Please…” Twitch, thankfully held his fire. “I’m not trying to take anything from you. Would I try to do something like that with only a crossbow and a machete?”

  What the two druggies didn’t know was that I had my pistol beneath my coat. It was empty, just like it is now, but they didn’t know that. I calmed and smiled when, two seconds later, I heard the shuck-shuck of a cocking shotgun.

  Did I forget to mention that I wasn’t alone? Oops.

  Twitch’s gun barrel swung to my right, toward
my dad just as he revealed himself. Not taking any more chances, I drew my empty gun and leveled it at the girl.

  “Freeze!” I shouted, sounding as cliché as ever. “Move, and she’s dead.” Dad stepped forward. His aim was as solid as mine and, unlike Twitch’s hands, unwavering. “And believe me…” I warned. “I won’t hesitate to pull the trigger.”

  “But you’re a cop?” The woman’s earlier aggression completely vanished. Now, she was terrified of dying.

  “Look around you,” I said. “If you haven’t noticed, things are a little different now. Besides, do you really think you can take us out before one of you is dead?” I laid it on thicker, staring at the shivering woman. I flashed her a menacing smile. “Does he care for you enough to put the gun down and save your life?”

  “Um, Cory?”

  Twitch—Cory—bit his lip, deep in thought, but he didn’t immediately drop his weapon.

  This guy is insane!

  “Put the weapon down, son,” Dad urged. “This isn’t worth your lives. We aren’t here for anything you have. We’re just trying to survive—same as you.”

  I wouldn’t have said that those two were trying to survive. In reality, they’d probably end up killing themselves long before an Unseen did them in. Maybe this was their way of coping with being one of the chosen few to live. Guilt can lead to an intense case of depression—and depression can make you do some crazy things.

  Quietly, I listened but didn't hear anything. What I was listening for is the movie score or even the soundtrack playing in the background.

  The soundtrack to the end of the world. The “Songs of Sorrow.”

  What songs fill my playlist of doom?

  It’s probably better that I don’t ever have to choose them. I’m not sure I could pick the songs that I’d die to even if I were forced to.

  “So,” I said, staring down Twitch, “what’ll be?”

  It wasn’t really a question as much as it was an ultimatum. I needed those two to believe that they were about to die for nothing more than a sack of pills.

  Finally, Cory growled, turned and chucked his gun into the back of the store. The gesture was nice and all, but I would’ve preferred that he handed it over to me—any extra ammo too. Relieved, I glanced at my father and nodded my head. Holstering my pistol, I speedily backed away from the counter. Dad didn’t follow me, however. He did quite the contrary. He stepped forward and kept his shotgun raised.

  “Do yourselves a favor,” he said, sounding sad. “Use this day as a reminder of how lucky you are to still be alive.”

  “You ready?”

  Jill’s question takes my mind off the pharmacy incident and back to the task at hand. We need to find a car and resupply before continuing north. The best spot for that, and our usual go to—like back in Valdosta—is a corner store. The visitor’s center at Ruby Falls is as good a place as any. Plus, it’s the closest place that carries what we need. Inside are a gift shop and café. For our sakes, I’m hoping both are still somewhat stocked.

  Only one way to find out.

  3

  We’re traveling along what’s called Cravens Terrace. It’s part of a set of hiking trails within the western slopes of Lookout Mountain. The path is relatively narrow too—no broader than a one-lane road.

  The ground itself is natural and clear of any overgrowth, making it easy for us to move about. There have only been a handful of bodies since we began our trek this morning. “Off-roading” has its benefits besides staying out of the way of the Unseen. It also gives our fried nerves a break.

  My skin breaks out in goosebumps just thinking about it.

  It’s peaceful in the woods this morning—cool as well. The temperature is such that I can see my breath. I grip my bow and arrow, feeling my cold, sore hands protest the action.

  Damn, that siren has a hard head.

  I’ve been curious as to how the Unseen will handle the impending winter weather. If we’re lucky, a large number of them will freeze to death. If that’s the case, I think we should head even deeper into the Appalachians after our quest to find Jill’s parents is over. Somewhere quiet and cold sounds fantastic.

  Hope blows out a long breath and grins when she sees the hot air appear, looking like a puff of smoke. She does it twice more before I turn my attention back to the world around me.

  Birds chirp all around us. I smile at the calmness of it all. Even a small furry animal scurries across the trail up ahead.

  Chipmunk? I frown. I swear if Alvin tries anything…

  Then, something much larger than a chipmunk causes the brush to our right to bend and break as it comes careening down the slope of the mountain. Whatever it is, it’s moving fast, and coming right for us.

  “Hide!” I hiss, keeping my voice down.

  It isn’t something larger than a chipmunk, it’s somethings bigger than one. Everyone hurries forward and ducks into the trees on the bank of the footpath. One by one, a horde of goblins stomp through the foliage coming down the side of the mountain. If their origin is true to their current direction, then they must’ve come from the Point Lookout.

  I’m instantly drenched in a cold sweat. I was very close to leading my party up to it to camp for the night. We seriously dodged a bullet there.

  After a dozen or so of the creatures pass us by, Hope shifts her weight and snaps a twig beneath her foot. She closes her eyes and covers her head with her hands, knowing what’s about to happen. Usually, a sound as insignificant as that wouldn’t be that big of a deal. But with how quiet the woods are this morning, it was closer to my father’s shotgun going off than anything else.

  The last of the goblins stops and turns toward us, sniffing the air as he does. Another advantage to roughing it every night is that we smell like nature. Grass, dirt, and whatnot… Still, the goblin abandons his westerly march and comes to investigate the disturbance.

  Dad slowly shoulders his shotgun, but I push the barrel down and shake my head. Way too noisy. We need to take care of the goblin quietly—which means…

  I nod at my mother. Like me, she already has an arrow nocked in her bow. I mouth a three count and, together, we leap out in front of our target, draw back our bow strings and quickly loose our silent payloads. At twenty feet away, our arrows hit home and knock the monster off his feet.

  Without pause, I rush forward and unsheathe my machete, swiftly running its blade across his throat. For just a moment, I do nothing else except listen. The other Unseen weren’t that far ahead of this one. But from the lack of commotion, I think we’ve succeeded in not alerting any of them.

  Satisfied that we’re alone again, I put a foot on the goblin’s chest, grab both arrows just above their heads, and pull. Being able to reuse our ammo is awesome. Mom and I each have around two dozen arrows left, and we’re planning to keep it that way if we can. We were forced to leave more than half our supply behind when we had to abandon the Jeep.

  Luckily, Jill and Dad were able to grab all of their ammo, though. As of now, if we need a stealthier kill, Mom and I will handle it. If we need to blast our way out of trouble, my wife and father take over.

  Hope squeals as something bolts out from beneath the brush and rushes straight toward her. She fumbles for her pocketknife but can’t get it open in time. Instead, she grabs a coconut-sized rock and heaves it as hard as she can. Remarkably, her aim is impeccable and, whatever she hit, it squeaks and falls silent. But as soon as the rock connects, Hope bursts into tears and leaps into Jill’s arms.

  Confused, I investigate the scene and quickly see what has upset her. Startled, Hope thought something horrible was coming after her. I’d have reacted the same exact way, for what it’s worth. Only, it wasn’t some monster coming for her, it was just the chipmunk from earlier. The little guy was curious and, regrettably, got too close.

  People aren’t supposed to feed the wildlife, but let’s be real, they always do. I once had a chipmunk similar to this one run up my leg when I visited Tennessee as a kid. It was th
e only other time I’d been here before eventually coming back with Jill years later.

  Damn, I think, examining the scene.

  Alvin took the stone to the head and is lying in the weeds twitching. He’s suffering and needs to be put down. Thankfully, instead of me having to do it—I’m a little soft like that—my father pats my shoulder and nods toward Hope. I smile my thanks and turn, just as Dad raises the stock of his shotgun high.

  I don’t see him bring it down, but I hear it.

  RIP Alvin. Dave, I’m sorry for your loss.

  With her face buried in Jill’s chest, Hope’s muffled cries fade a few minutes later, and the forest returns to its calm self. Picking up where we left off, we continue our trek along Cravens Terrace unperturbed. The only thing that gets in our way is an occasional downed tree or the remains of some poor soul. The latter is mostly bones, however. The scavengers are definitely doing their jobs around here.

  Just up ahead, the path exits the trees, bathing us in the morning sunlight. While not super cold outside, the warmth of the sun is still a wonderful feeling on my skin. It’s also a signal of a new day with everyone alive. Each sunrise is a blessing now. I’m not naïve. I understand how lucky we really are to wake up and be together.

  “It’s so beautiful,” Jill says, interlacing her fingers with mine.

  She’s holstered her revolver, for the time being, opting to hold mine and Hope’s hands instead. And yes, the scenery really is stunning to look at.

  “Look,” Hope says, pointing at the ground.

  We stop and see what she does. Jill and I were so busy taking in the scenery that we almost missed it.

  “That’s not good,” Dad says, shouldering his shotgun.

  I let go of Jill’s hand and kneel, inspecting the small footprints. I recognize who they belong to and I don’t like it one bit, especially given our current surroundings.

  “Gremlins…” I muttered.