Dead Moon: A Post-Apocalyptic Thriller (11 page)

20

“Go left!” I shout, pointing towards the sidewalk lining the western side of the street. Vinny complies, the look of confusion and terror still plastered across his cut face. Thankfully, the Siren didn’t land a worse blow when it slashed him. Vinny and I used the medical kit and cleaned ourselves up the best we could. Proper medical attention was obviously going to have to wait.

“Looks like you got attacked by a rake,” I said, when he asked how he looked.

He shook his head in annoyance. I’m not known to be too serious in situations like this. Not that I’ve
ever
been in a situation like this before, but any other high stress incident or something similar.

Like arguing with Jill over nothing.

The memory stung badly, but before I could completely sink into the sorrow-filled ocean, Vinny spoke up.

“Let’s hope they don’t transmit any kind of virus, or we’ll both be screwed, eh?”

I laughed along with him at the time, but was secretly cringing. Who’s to say we aren’t infected with some sort of bacteria that just needs time to incubate? We, as a people, have zero knowledge of what to expect from this. This isn’t some horribly directed zombie movie. This is real life and everything we learn from this experience starts now.

A roar makes Vinny yank on the steering wheel as the rear end is clipped from behind. The damn blood-red bear just tried to ram us off the road. “Come on baby,” Vinny mumbles, talking to the truck.

Yes, please do, baby. Come on.

The last thing we need is for the F-250 to die, stranding us out here with a murderous Yogi on the loose. Vinny spins the tires for a second as the backend struggles to find purchase on the gore covered street. Finally, it does, and he gives the vehicle a little more gas. The problem is, we can’t get up to a high enough speed to outrun or outmaneuver our new friend.

Nature documentaries have taught me two things about polar bears that always stuck with me. First, they are freaking huge, weighing up to 1,500 pounds and standing erect at nine-plus feet tall. The largest one ever killed was a 2,200 pound monster back in the sixties, standing eleven feet tall. Secondly, they’re fast, considering their bulk, topping out at 25mph at a sprint…like now.

Our biggest issue at the moment—bigger than the bear—is that every time Vinny gets us up to speed, we have to slow down to maneuver around car wrecks and other debris. Once we do gain some distance, the bear just eventually cuts it down again and again. It’s much more agile under the circumstances.

“We need to get rid of it if we can, or we’ll never make it to the museum!” Vinny yells through clenched teeth.

“No shit,” I reply, “but how do you suppose we do that?”

I get my answer when he glances down to my shotgun.

Damn.

“Fine, but you’re gunna’ have to hold it steady for a second.”

He snorts out a laugh at the absurdity of the request, grimacing in pain at having to stretch the cut skin on his face. Before I can come back with a snarky reply, I unbuckle and turn away, climbing into the backseat. Next, I slide the rear window open, attempting to climb out into the empty bed. Halfway through with my shimmy, I get my first real look at Yogi.

He’s easily as large as the one shot in the sixties—the really big one. There doesn’t seem to be any changes to its physiology like the humans that were exposed, minus the eyes. Yogi’s are also missing, having been clawed out. Most of the skin on its face is gone too.

What else could be roaming the city that isn’t human?

I know of a couple things that would make for some nasty adversaries, but that isn’t what’s important. Taking care of the polar bear has been moved to priority number one.

The fur is, indeed, blood-red and covered in—you guessed it—blood. This thing slaughtered whatever it could get its claws on, looking like it bathed in the remains. I’ve heard of animals scenting themselves before, like when my Beagle would roll in its shit, but this is ridiculous.

“Hold on!”

I try, but fail miserably, having one leg out in the bed and the other still inside the truck, uncomfortably and painfully straddling the partition. The Ford swerves around something, tossing me from my cramped perch. I tumble and slam into the tailgate hard, scraping my hands and face on the Rhino Lining, sprayed into the inside of the bed. It’s coarse, super grippy, and textured, grabbing my exposed skin like sandpaper biting a piece of wood.

“You okay?” a voice yells.

I wave Vinny off and kneel, bracing myself against the bouncing underfoot. “Fine,” I yell back, “but keep it smooth so I can get a clean shot off and try to at least deter Yogi from following!”

“Yogi?” he shouts back. “Why do you insist on naming everything?”

I ignore the question and shoulder my Mossberg, trying my damndest to keep my aim true. Yogi rounds another pile of bodies, appearing just long enough in my sights for me to take a shot.

The shell explodes out of the weapon’s barrel and clips the beast, but doesn’t really do much else. I skinned its right shoulder as it turned, straightening itself out for another go at us. Not having to cock the auto-loading weapon, I reacquire the lumbering animal and pull the trigger again.

Nothing.

I missed.

The truck shook just enough for me to send the second round skimming over the bear’s head. If it hadn’t have, this chase may have been over.

Unless its unusually thick skull can deflect this type of ammo too,
I think, remembering something else I know about these things. They can take a small caliber bullet in the head and be no worse for wear. Either way, it’s not like I have anyone to blame for the misfire. Vinny is doing his best to keep us from wrecking or fishtailing. It’s my job alone to take out our pursuer.

“Hang on!”

Without asking
why
, I do, grabbing onto whatever I can. The truck veers hard to the right, obliterating a small Fiat with the truck’s push bar, crossing two lanes of road. We’re now in the right lane and are quickly approaching the intersection at 65th. Not slowing down, Vinny floors the truck, up onto the eastern sidewalk, avoiding a turned over convertible. The driver must have been enjoying one more snowless day before putting the warm weather vehicle away for the winter.

Without pause, we swerve left, still traveling north towards our destination. Not having much of anything to grip onto, I just lay flat on my back, spread-eagle, using my hands and feet to keep me from getting my head bashed in. It works, but my back and ass are taking a beating.

Gunna’ be bruised for a looong time.

For a split-second we stop bouncing and then, we spin. The truck goes out of control, but luckily, it stays upright, keeping me from being tossed. Whatever happened, Vinny couldn’t keep the truck traveling straight, and had to yank hard on the wheel, causing the rotation.

Then, I hear something strange. The driver’s side door pops open and I hear Vinny climbing out. He then hurdles the side of the truck bed almost crushing my face with his backend.

“What…is it?” I ask, inbetween heavy breaths.

“Stand and take a look.”

I do and feel the weight of the world come down on top of my beaten body. There, not thirty feet from us, casually making its way down the 65th Street Transverse is
another
polar bear. But unlike its brother, it isn’t covered in blood.

Maybe it just emerged from the zoo? Doesn’t matter. Either way, we’re severely screwed.

“What’s the call, my friend?”

I look over to Vinny who’s aiming his own shotgun towards the newcomer. I’m still facing in the direction of the original bear, waiting for it to appear from behind the last pile of cars.

“You believe in God?” I ask, swallowing hard.

“You know I do,” Vinny replies. He then turns his head, looking straight at me. “Why?”

“Because,” I say, shouldering my weapon, “we’re gunna’ need a miracle if we’re going to survive this.”

21

And…we get that miracle. Vinny and I are both about to pull our respective triggers, but stop as something extremely unexpected happens. We just gaze in shock, neither one of us being able to believe it.

Staring down the barrel of my shotgun, I see the demonized polar bear appear, its ugly mug tilting back-and-forth like the other Unseen. When its head looks left, towards its zoo mate, it stops, and sniffs the air. Obviously recognizing the scent of the other bear, I watch as its lips curl and then gurgle out a snarl.

Once the second animal clears the shadows of the overhanging trees lining the road, I see why. The other bear—another male—
isn’t
a monster. Yes, it’s enormous and intimidating, but it’s not an Unseen. It’s your standard, everyday polar bear.

The newcomer responds and growls at Yogi, reminding me of something else I learned while watching Animal Planet. Polar bears are extremely territorial, fighting off others that wander too close to their homes. And that’s exactly what happens. The normal bear, rears up, standing impressively tall. Then, it lands and springs forward, charging the other, giving Vinny and I time to recoup a little.

Yogi doesn’t see the attack coming until the fresh bear, Boo-Boo, is upon it. Once within range, the smaller bear swats the larger predator with its still massive ten-inch wide paw. The claws dig in deep and rip into the Unseen beast.

Yogi’s head snaps to the side with the force of a sledge hammer as it’s sent sprawling to the ground. It slides through the slick of blood it created, coming to a stop as it smashes into a mail box. I cringe at the sound of metal being torn away and destroyed as the 2,000 pound bear’s body rips the metal box from its anchorages. The bolts snap like a gunshot and tear from the concrete leaving only the slightest of traces of its existence.

Boo-Boo then looks at us, but before it can decide whether we are enemies or just food—neither of which are a good thing—Yogi rights itself and bellows into the air. The larger bear then mimics Boo-Boo, rearing up onto its hind legs before landing and throwing its thicker frame back towards its relative.

As ready as it can be, Boo-Boo stands pat, mouth agape, ready to sink the enormous teeth filling its maw into Yogi’s hide. Not being able to visually see the white bear throws off the crimson one’s attack, though. Yogi’s chin lifts too far up, giving the other the advantage. Boo-Boo just simply lowers its head and lifts, launching Yogi skyward with all its prodigious might.

I watch as the one-ton bear sails over Boo-Boo’s back, destroying a Mazda when it lands. Its hulking form crumples the car’s roof, flattening it like a soda can underfoot. Glass bursts everywhere, some embedding itself into Yogi, causing the blood covered animal to bleed its own blood.

“Should we help?” I ask Vinny.

“Yes?” he replies, unsure.

I get an idea. “Go, get us over near Yogi!”

He looks back up to me with a look of shock.

“The red one!” I yell again, pointing.

“I know which one is Yogi,” he replies, jumping out of the bed. “I just really don’t want to get near that thing.” He reenters the truck, slamming his door shut, keeping his weapon’s barrel propped up, facing out the open window. Boo-Boo rounds on Yogi, backing off a little. It’s now a good twenty feet from the other bear, giving us a small opening to execute my plan.

Normally, I wouldn’t advise getting inbetween two polar bears when they’re fighting, but we need to end this before Yogi gets its wits about it and takes apart the smaller bear. I have no doubt that the Unseen version of these two can take all the pain being dished out, but Boo-Boo can’t. Eventually, it’ll lose. Plus, Boo-Boo is a survivor and deserves a chance to stay that way. Call it a ‘two-pack of righteousness.’ Slay the demon, save the innocent.

Vinny squeals the truck’s tires and sends us hurtling across the intersection,
towards
the monster. All that is going through my mind is a multitude of cursing and me saying,
God
I hope this works.

Thankfully, Boo-Boo is startled by the truck’s powerful V-8 and its chirping tires. It stops its advance and almost cowers at the sound and sight of us.

Good.

“Stop!” I yell, banging on the roof of the truck.

Vinny abides to my request and power slides us the rest of the way, sending us sideways towards Yogi’s resting place. The bear is still trying to right itself and turn over, but it’s having issues doing so. It’s wedged tight, buried into the four-banger’s roof, unable to free itself. As we stop the last part of my plan comes to fruition.

Sorry, big guy.

“Fire!”

Vinny and I unload into Yogi, sending every shotgun shell loaded, into the thing’s body, neck, and head. We don’t stop until we’re both clicking on empty. But the aftereffect is what I wanted. Yogi is down and definitely not coming back.

I didn’t ‘want’ this.

The behemoth is a mess of gore, its head missing and its entrails shredded. I look around and instantly realize something. I’m out of ammo for the moment and have another potential enemy to deal with. But my fear is unwarranted, Boo-Boo is taking off back towards the zoo’s main entrance further down 5th, frightened off by our loud barrage of 12-gauge gunfire.

I breathe and climb down from my perch, stumbling a little. My hands are shaking horribly from the physical toll and my anger is rising from the emotional taxing.

How much adrenaline does a body have to use?
I think, clenching my fists tight.

I leap down from the rear bed and open my door, half-climbing, half-falling into my seat. I throw my empty weapon to the floor at my feet, frustrated at the whole damn enchilada. My rage and frustration are starting to boil over—I can feel it. I need to calm down before I do something stupid.

Screaming as loud and as long as I can, I finish off my outburst by punching the glove compartment a few times. After I gag on my raw, dry throat, I open my tear-filled eyes and see Vinny staring at me. It’s not a look of repulsion, though. He isn’t seeing me as some emotionally distraught psychopath. He gets it. He’s a mess too. I’m just more outward with my feelings apparently.

“You good?” he asks.

I nod, wiping the snot from my nose with the back of my hand and. I then take care of the tears streaming down my face. I grit my teeth one last time, but squelch the anger down.

Get back in control, Frank.

We sit in silence for a minute while reloading our weapons neither of us saying a word. It’s only until I feel my temper come back down to Earth that I open my mouth.

“Okay, let’s go.”

Vinny puts the vehicle into gear and turns, taking us down the 65th Street Transverse, beginning our trip through Central Park. With any luck, we’ll see
Spook Central
soon. I may even wave to Dana Barrett in the corner penthouse. It’s actually something I’ve never done, but have wanted to do for a decade. Call it my inner child coming out a little again.

Do it now or forever hold your peace,
I remind myself.
We aren’t coming back.

For the time being, we just simply cruise, unsure of what’s to come in the massive park. There are plenty of possibilities, however. Some are nothing we can’t handle. Some are more of what we’ve come to expect. But knowing my luck, Vinny and I are about to get the shit kicking of a lifetime.

I just hope the kicker wears a smaller sized steel toe. After what I just went through in the back of the truck, my ass can’t take anymore punishment.