Dead Moon: A Post-Apocalyptic Thriller (13 page)

24

Vinny hits the West Drive overpass at 40mph. And when I say he
hits
the overpass, I mean he actually runs into it. Three of the Goblins are peeled away from the driver’s side and smashed to the brick innards of the tunnel path. Vinny holds the truck there, metal screeching in protest, peeling the side mirror away in the process.

Then, he immediately veers around an abandoned SUV and slams my side of the truck into the tunnel’s right wall in a similar effort to shake off the unwanted passengers. Two more creatures are crushed, but not before one of them lunges inside my window where it’s essentially cut in half by the grinding high-speed vehicle.

The top half of the
still alive
Goblin lands in my lap as Vinny exits the overpass. I scream in fright and disgust and reach for the door handle. In one fluid motion, I pop the latch and swing open my door, pushing the thing out with one big shove. I quickly shut the door and shudder at having the top half of a Goblin flopping atop me like a fish out of water.

A bevy of curses floods my mind, but the only thing that escapes is a squeak of revulsion and a dry heave gag. I’ve literally had it up to
here
with these damn things.

Vinny sideswipes a crotch rocket motorcycle as he banks right heading for the fork that makes up the 65th Street exit and entrance ramps. If we go left, we will continue down the westbound 65. Needing to go north, up Central Park West, he opts for the more direct route, banking right, passing the
Tavern on the Green
restaurant in a blur.

I’d have done the same,
I think as the ‘Ghostbuster’s Building’ comes into view. We zoom past a row of wrecked cars, all of them having rear-ended each other one-by-one. What’s worse is that all five cars involved had their driver’s side doors peeled open like a fruit cup. Blood streaks can be seen, advertising what happened next. The drivers were pulled from their cars and killed in the streets.

Or the drivers turned and ripped their cars apart themselves.
Detective Moon wants to know exactly what happened, but the human in me is telling my subconscious to fuck off. I don’t need to diagnose more death than I need to.

Not forgetting my earlier promise, I mentally wave to the corner penthouse. I can’t physically do it since I’m still gripping onto the overhead safety handle for what must be the hundredth time so far today. Vinny slows enough to make the right hand turn without flipping us, but fast enough to once again pucker my sphincter a little. The guy is freakin’ determined to get to the museum as fast as possible.

And I’m keeping my mouth shut.

Central Park West is a major four lane road bordering the west side of the park, having traffic traveling in both directions. It’s quite rare in the city to have a non-one-way street. It was so much easier to get around south Florida than here. Well, for me anyways. Like I said, I’m not a huge fan of big cities. One-way streets are just another thing on the long list of why I’m not an urban aficionado.

Like the population factor...

If this happened down in Wellington, Florida—population thirty-thousand—it may not have been such a problem to get around. I shake my head, Manhattan alone houses millions.

Vinny weaves in and out of the mired traffic, finding lanes wherever he can. Calming some, I take in our state and survey the truck, looking for any stragglers. Thankfully, the backseat is clear, as is the bed. The roof is the only place I can’t see, but I’m not about to poke my head out of my window just to lose it.

“Stay sharp,” I say, still holding on for dear life, “I can’t see anything above us, but the back is clear.”

Vinny just grunts a reply, concentrating on his duty.

I do the same and check our ammo. I load my shotgun, but leave my Glock. It still has plenty of rounds left. So does Vinny’s.

67th Street passes as we barrel through, not slowing one iota. Vinny has no intention of letting those bastards behind us catch up. Then, like a sign from above, traffic thins out, giving us a straight shot for what looks like a couple blocks. Vinny sees it just as I do and picks up on the speed.

“Damnit,” Vinny says, pounding his fist on the steering wheel.

“What?” I ask.

“I almost forgot—check behind my seat.”

I reach behind him and feel something I recognize, but ultimately don’t understand. Something soft, like a rag or towel, and something large and hard. A few of them, actually. I lift out one of the jugs of clear liquid. There are no labels on it, but I’ve seen enough movies to figure it out.

“Moonshine?” I laugh, carefully opening the glass container.

Vinny laughs too. “I know, right? Whoever’s truck this is, was a damned moonshiner.”

I give it a sniff test and reel back. Definitely ‘shine,’ and it’s an absurdly strong blend to boot. As I cough the
flavor
away, my mind registers the other things holding the shine in place. Rags. Rags can be used for something else if the person is crazy enough to try.

I reach around Vinny’s seat again and procure one of the shop rags. He glances over to me and smiles wide.

“Of course
you
would think of doing that,” Vinny says.

“What does that mean?” I ask, mock-offended. “Besides,” I say, continuing, “you never know when you’ll need to light shit up.”

He shakes his head as we exit, passing through the intersection at 68th. Unfortunately for us, the museum sits on the northwest corner of 79th. It’s still another eleven ahead of us and traffic is already starting to thicken a pinch.

The frustrated look on Vinny’s normally relaxed face tells me he sees it too. He strangles the wheel in annoyance, but keeps his foot steady, slowing when necessary. Driving angry in any situation is a dangerous one, but
Vinny
driving pissed off in
this
situation would be a horrible, horrible thing.

Unless another horde of monsters gets in our way…

Suddenly, a strobe of red ignites the dimming skyline off to the northeast, towards the poetically titled lake. Seriously, it’s a lake named,
The Lake.
Apparently, whoever was in charge of christening that one must have taken an early lunch or something that day. Directly north of that is a much larger body of water named after
Jackie O
, but from the direction of the light, I’d say it missed south and landed near, or in, the smaller drink.

“The hell?” Vinny says, shielding his eyes. His hand twitches, causing the truck to veer a little, but he quickly gets us back under control. Looking to me, he says, “Didn’t the news say the meteor was supposed to land in the park somewhere?”

I nod my head. Abaddon has definitely landed in Central Park and it’s seemingly still…active. No, active isn’t the right word… Alive? No, I doubt a space rock is actually alive. So, what the hell is going on?

“Never mind it,” I say, pointing ahead. “Just get us to the girls in one piece. Then, we’ll get the hell out of here and contact the military and have them blow the shit out of it.”

At least I’m sounding more confident about surviving than I did a day ago.

Well, I did... Until the sound of grinding and scratching starts up over our heads.

I put my finger to my lips and point up, whispering, “We have a friend.”

25

Vinny continues forward, dodging the inert vehicles staggered all over the road. We just sit in silence and listen to our stowaway shift back-and-forth with every turn and speed change. The balance the Unseen is exhibiting is incredible. As far as either of us can figure, the Siren—at least we think it’s a Siren—must be riding us like a surfboard, taking the direction changes in stride like a surfer would a wave.

Probably has her toenails dug into the roof.
They are just as sharp and deadly as the weaponized fingernails. I’ve unfortunately seen them in action.

“What do we do?” Vinny asks, leaning over to me, speaking in a hushed tone. “We need to lose the hitchhiker before we get to the museum.”

“I know,” I say, not liking the idea I’m formulating. “Okay, look… I’ll take a peek out the back and see what I can come up with. Best case scenario, I’ll just shoot it and we’ll be done with it before we get knee deep in another fight.”

“And the worst case?” he asks.

“Worst case…” I pause and draw my Glock, leaving the clumsier, but more powerful shotgun behind. “Well, let’s just hope it doesn’t come to that. I’d really hate to die.”

I smoothly climb back through the middle of our seats, only grunting in discomfort twice, and sit, leaning over to the still intact right rear passenger window. How it survived the last few minutes, I have no idea. Seeing nothing and not wanting to alert our friend by lowering said window, I slide over to the driver’s side. This window is gone, but the angle still isn’t good enough, letting me see exactly bupkis.

Damnit,
I think.
This is gunna’ suck.

I take a look back up front and see myself in Vinny’s mirror, looking like a climbing cockroach. It’s an awkward move since I’m face up, only wanting to reveal the smallest of portions of myself. I literally just want to peek up onto the roof and then slide back into the truck. I’ll formulate a plan with Vinny before going back out.

I reach out with my empty hand and grip the only portion of the roof with no jagged edges. I then reposition my feet a little and pull myself through another couple of inches. My head clears where the back window should be, the wind whipping my hair to-and-fro. Struggling to stay in my unbelievably uncomfortable position, I squeeze my left hand tighter. I’m about to pop out and check, but the sound of broken glass crunches under my shoulders as they, along with my back, scrape against the bottom of the punched out partition. I grit my teeth and curse under my breath. The Unseen have impeccable hearing.

Especially, the Sirens.

The problem is that I can’t hear anything except the wind buffeting my body, shifting back-and-forth with Vinny’s zigzagging movements.

Distracted and too slow to react, a hand reaches down and snags my wrist and yanks. I’m instantly sucked out like the world’s largest vacuum cleaner is right over my head. I’m flipped head-over-heels and violently slammed to the roof of the truck, losing my gun. I hear it clatter, landing in the bed.

Well, at least I didn’t completely lose it.

Following my upper body’s path, my feet strike the windshield, causing Vinny to swerve in surprise. Thankfully, the glass is in one piece and not spider webbing with the hard shot it just took. Both of my boots struck hard, pounding into it. Any harder and the glass may have burst into my driver’s face.

Not good.

You know what else isn’t good? Staring upside-down into the face of a demon as she squats over my face. She doesn’t attack though. She’s still holding onto me, gripping my upper now, pinning it to the metal roof. I quickly glance over and see her other hand flat against the surface, holding her steady.

Two things flash through my mind. Two ideas really. I could either somehow signal Vinny to start swerving all over the road or at least brake hard. The issue with that is the Siren’s vice grip on my biceps. She would most likely bring me with her wherever she ends up. Either way, I’m probably going to die or at the very least get really, really broken.

So, instead of fighting back, I just wait and think. First, I check her out—not literally—looking for any kind of weakness I can expose.

I glance up, unintentionally looking between her legs, immediately regretting it.
Ugh, speaking of ‘expose.’
The lady-thing is completely naked—minus what’s left of a shredded skirt. While I would normally love the chance to crack a joke about a situation like this, I’ll spare you with a description of what I’m seeing. Demon-monster lady parts are even something I can’t make funny. No way, no how.

Something smacks my forehead and I see it for what it is a moment later. A jewel of some kind attached to a long dangling necklace slides across my forehead.

Necklace? Skirt? Oh, damn.
It’s the Siren from before, the really smart one. She confirms her identity when she repositions herself. She has twin bullet wounds in her right shoulder from when I shot her earlier. She leans in again, opening her mouth, showing me her serrated teeth. Her cheek muscles flex slightly turning into a wicked smile.

Son-of-a…

I start to struggle, but can’t get my left arm free. I then try to turn, but instantly feel her clawed grip tighten, digging into my flesh. The nails slip through my jacket’s fairly rugged material like it’s made of notebook paper.

I grimace, halting my escape. When I stop, the pressure from her grip does too. Unfortunately, she doesn’t lessen it, but she just doesn’t increase it either.

Okay, then. If I move again, I lose my arm.

She leans in again, opening her mouth wider, intent on ripping me apart with her version of the
kiss of death
. I desperately need to find a way out of this.

Vinny turns, most likely dodging another car. The movement causes me to shift, making my right hand slap against my thigh. My eyes widen just a pinch as I recognize the shape of my police baton in my pocket. Its cylindrical from is just inside my right front pocket. I think I can even feel a part of the handle protruding from the top my designer jean’s useless shallow pockets.

Slowly, I slide my hand over my thigh/hip area. I know what I need to do next, and it’s going to hurt like a bitch. Making the Siren think I’m trying to get up again, I thrash, struggling like a caught fish. She does what I expect and grips my impaled arm tighter, driving those nails that much deeper.

I attack while her attention is elsewhere, kicking out with my right foot. I catch her in the face, making her rock back, away from my face. As she leans away, I quickly reach into my pocket and draw my baton, expertly flicking my wrist like I’ve done a hundred times before.

Not waiting for her grip to yank me off the roof, subsequently shredding the muscle in my arm, I swing as a hard as I can. The angle is bad and it’s not a death blow, but her unprotected face takes the steel baton square in the forehead. Her grip loosens enough for me to wriggle free and strike again, landing another solid blow to the face.

She stands and wobbles, lashing out with her right hand. She catches me across the chin, opening a small, but deep, gash. Blood quickly runs down my neck as I swing again. She blocks it this time, grabbing onto my wrist, squeezing.

I shout in pain and frustration and reach around my back with my injured arm. My body protests slightly, but my will outranks it, and I pull free my knife. With a quickness I didn’t even know I had, I plunge it into the Siren’s abdomen, burying it to the hilt.

The truck bucks and bounces, running over something. The jarring movement, makes me fall backwards, pulling the creature with me. Her grip on my wrist doesn’t let up and I’m actually glad it doesn’t. She inadvertently keeps me atop the truck, potentially saving my life in the process.

I stomp as hard as I can on the roof, hoping Vinny understands what I want. I’m really just hoping for a speed change, needing to finish throwing the Siren’s balance off completely.

He does me one even better and slams on the brakes. Being as prepared as I can, I duck and lunge between the she-demon’s legs, gripping onto the roof where the rear window used to be.

The sudden jolt of the truck stopping throws my lady friend forward, forcing her to release her death grip on my wrist. She goes flying off the top of the truck, rolling like a tumble weed down the hood. I react instantly, and dive into the bed, retrieving my gun. I scramble, finding it quickly, and stand, aiming over the dented roof.

The Siren stands, teeth barred, knife still plunged deep into her stomach. She sniffs and looks up, just as I put a bullet between her eye sockets. Her head snaps back and she falls back, out of sight once more.

I plop down into the bed and start to giggle, happy to be alive, but also frightened with how close I had just come to dying yet again. Vinny leaps out of the driver’s side door, weapon sweeping back-and-forth, looking for another target. Finding nothing, he looks back at me.

“What the hell’s so funny?” he asks, appalled at the sight of my laughing.

After another fit of the giggles, I stop. “You have no idea what I’ve seen—what I just saw.”

He squints, a look of disbelief splayed across his face, but it’s also one that says that he’s interested in what I have to say.

The dry heave that follows gets another laugh out of me. I’ve made lesser people gag at my humor before, but making someone like Vinny almost vomit takes the cake. Apparently, making a joke about being nose-to-nose with the reproductive system of a half dead Siren
was
as disgustingly inappropriate as I thought.

I deserve a medal…