Dead Moon: A Post-Apocalyptic Thriller (15 page)

DEPARTURE

28

Hands grip me, pulling and shaking. They tear at my clothes, trying to rip them off. I know what they want. They want my flesh, the fresh meat of my body. My blood. My life.

Red… The color of blood. The color of the blob.

Wait, what? I don’t understand.

They try to grab me again, but I don’t let them—I won’t. I need to keep fighting. I need to find my wife... What’s her name? I can’t remember. I swing and connect, knocking one of them back. The movement increases the deep penetrating pressure I feel driving its way through my skull.

My attacker shouts in pain and then anger as I land the blow, shaking me harder—faster, attempting to rip me apart. But I won’t let them. I need to keep fighting. I need to find my wife...

The repeated words resonate in my mind, helping me focus slightly.

Red feet stepping outside. They match the blob. Why does the blob have red feet?

I swing again, but my outburst is thwarted, stopped by my assailant. A large hand grabs my balled fist and pulls it down, pinning it to my side. Then its owner starts screaming at me, gurgling its incomprehensible words at me.

Doesn’t it know I can’t speak Goblinese?

If it’s not going to let me use my hands, then I’ll use my feet. I’m not at all opposed to fighting dirty—
extremely
dirty in some cases. Dad taught me as much. If I’m to get in a scrap outside the ring, there are no rules to the conflict. You fight to win. There are no style points in the real world.

I kick out and land a hard blow with what I hope is the thing’s
undercarriage
, feeling my foot connect with some sort of soft tissue. The grunt and cursing I hear tells me I was successful and I jump to my feet, blinking my eyes.

It yells again at me, shouting in its foreign language. I don’t understand a lick of it, but I’ve heard it before. This particular language sounds familiar. So does the tone of the voice.

I’ve heard Goblin before?

Glancing down at my abuser, what I see gives me strength. My adversary is down and in pain, but it’s when I see that tangle of oily black hair, I understand what just happened.

“Damnit, Frances!” my
attacker
yells. “I think you crushed my left nut!”

Uh, oh…
Definitely
not
a Goblin.

“Damnit.” I say, helping him up. “Sorry, Vinny.”

He growls as he takes my hand. I lift the bigger man up with a groan of my own, feeling everything in my body revolt. My pulsating head protests the action too.

“Were you yelling at me in Italian?” I ask, steadying the injured man. Vinny is about to wind up and slug me, but he can’t. He’s too busy holding his junk, breathing like a woman in labor.

“Yes…” he says inbetween breaths. “And for the sake of my mother—
again
—I will not tell you what I said.”

This gets a laugh out me, which in turn, gets a grunt out of me. I grab my head and stumble away, reaching out for anything. My hand finds a cold, flat surface and I use it to steady my feet.

Through squinted eyes I see that I’m standing inside one of the front doors of the
Theodore Roosevelt Rotunda
—the museum’s main entrance off Central Park West.

The massive door booms from the other side, making me flinch and fall on my butt. I crabwalk away from the banging, my hand slipping out from under me. I fall and land in an ungraceful heap on the floor, breathing even deeper than Vinny had been. I relent and just stare at the room’s high ceiling, staying put on my back.

“What…the hell…was that?”

“It’s them,” Vinny answers, stepping over to me. I see his shaggy head appear above me, a serious look on his face.

“What happened to me?” I ask, squinting my eyes again, still trying to fight off the pain and nausea in my head.

He holds out his hand and I take it, carefully standing up again. We both face the closed and presumably locked doors, hearing a faint bang every few seconds. The weaker strikes are followed by a louder thump and a boom. My guess is it’s a Siren joining the fray.

“They can’t get in?”

He shakes his head. “So far, no. And as for what happened to you…” He pulls his hair back and lassoes it into another ponytail, revealing a massive set of cuts along his jaw and neck. It looks like a large cat caught him in the—

“A Goblin?” I ask, realizing what it was.

He nods. “Two actually, but they’re dead now.”

Before I can ask how, he pulls a pair of brass knuckles out of his pocket. It’s only until he puts them on that I see that they, along with his hands, are covered in dried blood. It still stains his hands.

“You used that?” I ask, shocked.

He shrugs. “Didn’t want to risk shooting you. You were too close. I just reacted and beat them to death.”

My stunned expression must be pretty obvious, because all he can do is lift his hands up, questioning me. “What? I hope you’d have done the same if the roles were reversed.”

He’s right of course. Me and my baton would have swiped and smashed the creatures until either they or I died.

“Remember another thing my friend…” Vinny adds. “I wasn’t always the choirboy you see now. I’ve had my share of run-ins in my youth.” He exaggerates the last part by squeezing of his fist around the weapon, gripping the finger holes tight.

Boom.

The door rocks and startles me, making me jump away. Again feeling nauseous from the sudden movement, I grab my head, groaning. I wince for the twentieth time today and watch as my hand comes away with blood.

“Sheeit,” I curse, falling to one knee about to puke. Vinny grabs my other arm and keeps me from going all the way to the ground.

“Easy, Frances. I think you may have a nasty concussion there. You need to rest.”

I hear half of what he says, but the other part is filled with the memory of the attack.

I see the Goblin in front of me about to strike—then I’m hit, forced to the ground. My head strikes the stone steps outside and my vision blurs.

I look up and see the red blob, floating in the breeze.

I snap my head around, pushing past the physical discomfort and queasiness, and yell, “Jill!” I then stagger, shoving away from Vinny and shout louder, “Jill! Jill!”

As I turn and look deeper into the room, away from the doors, my eyes adjusting, I find the front desk of the main hall. Looking through the legs of the fifty-foot-tall
Barosaurus
display, and standing in front of the counter is Carla and a security guard. But it’s not the two of them I lock on to, it’s the third person involved in the conversation. It’s a beat-to-hell, yet stunning, Jillian Moon.

She sees me and stops speaking, stepping away and staring at me.

I mouth, “Baby,” and charge forward, limping heavily, grimacing with every step.

Instead of doing the proper thing and going around the longneck’s display, I climb onto it, ducking under its legs, landing hard on the other side. As I hit, I stumble and fall, my legs giving out. Before I land I’m caught—caught by the woman I’ve spent what feels like an eternity looking for.

We embrace, holding each other tightly, crying.

“Oh, baby,” I say. “I’m sorry. I should have been here with you.”

She sobs, gripping my jacket tighter and tighter with every sad moan. She remains silent, until she mutters the last thing I was expecting.

“I’m sorry too.” Her eyes meet mine and I see the same softness in them I did when we first met. She’d hardened over the years, a by-product of her job.

Then again… So did I… A result of my job.

We were both so caught up in our separate lives that we never once sat down and tried to understand each other’s. I regularly saw death and other horrible things done to innocent people. She had seemingly unobtainable stress-filled expectations and was forcibly turned into something she didn’t want to be. We both wanted to help people, plain and simple, but instead we only hurt one another.

We’re on our knees cradling each other like we’re both newborns. “What do you mean?” I ask, not sure how any of this was her fault. I cradle her beautiful face in my hands, kissing her. I release her lips from mine and lean back. “You didn’t—”

“It’s not just the gala, Frank. I’m sorry for everything. I’m sorry that I dragged you to New York. I’m sorry that I didn’t think your opinion mattered anymore.” She sobs again, tears streaming out of her puffy, irritated eyes. “You’re not my monkey or my pet. You never were. I should have treated you better and listened. I love you for you. I love you for the way you look at me when I feel bad about myself and for your stupid one-liners. I love you for your obscure movie references, of which, most I don’t get by the way. I love you for—”

My lips cut her off and we kiss long and hard. If it wasn’t for the people starting to surround us, we probably would have made love right there. Locked in pure ecstasy under the gaze of the dinosaurs looking down on us.

But we part and she meets my eyes again. It’s the first time I truly get a look at her too. She has a welt on her forehead and bruise on her cheek. It looks like she was in the ring, fighting to the death. Her lip is even split and swollen. The dried mascara around her eyes, confirms she’s been crying a lot too.

“Regardless,” I say, squeezing her. “We’re together again.”

She helps me to my feet, but doesn’t leave my side. “Now what?” Her question, while normal for someone in her position, throws me off. I thought she’d just want to hug it out and talk for a while. The look on my face conveys the same confusion apparently.

“I don’t want to be here a second longer, Frank,” she says. “The quicker we can get out of here the better—off the island… Forever.”

While I’m ecstatic that she wants to leave so soon, her question definitely has some merit.

Now what?
It rings through my head again.

Now what…

I have no idea.

29

Hand-in-hand, Jill leads me over to the same security guard she was talking to just before we tackled each other.

“How many dead?” I ask my wife.

“We aren’t sure, honestly,” she replies, her eyes sad. “John and I have been searching the museum, looking for survivors, but…”

“But what?” I ask.

“But we mostly find bodies.”

Ugh.

“Who’s John?” I ask, stopping in front of the night guard.

“Sergeant Jonathan Sneeden, retired,” he says, sticking out his hand. “I’ve heard a lot about you, Detective Moon.”

I smile at the recognition and take the offered hand, feeling his vice-like grip tighten around mine. “Retired? Police?”

“Marines, actually,” he replies, standing straighter. The posture is a dead giveaway and something I hadn’t noticed. Even with everything going on, he’s still as attentive as ever.

“Good to meet you Sergeant Sneeden,” I say, gripping back. “And it’s Frank.”

He chuckles, showing the strong creases across his forehead and around his eyes. He might be in his late fifties, but he carries himself like he’s closer to my age. “Very good then, and please, call me John.”

I grin.
I like this guy.
His accent is Carolinian I think. I have friends in Raleigh and they have a hint of it too. I personally have a mix of everything being from Florida. We are a mutt mix of cultures from Midwest to New England to Southern.

“So why here?” I wave my hand around the room, seeing the space’s blood splatters for the first time. They have definitely seen some awful things. I remember when Jill called me about people coming in and killing the others.

An aberration on the floor draws my attention next as I see something I recognize. Footprints. They cover the surface and are represented in all shapes and sizes. Bare feet and not. I trace the pattern back to the doors Vinny and I just entered, seeing that they did, indeed, come from there.

Mercifully, he answers, drawing my attention back to the conversation and away from the carnage. “Was always a fan of history and the like. Even studied it some in the service. I inquired about a job and they asked if I’d be interested in being the night guard. I couldn’t pass it up. I like to roam the halls and think about things. Even thinking of writing a book soon. It’s peaceful here…”

He doesn’t finish.

“It
was
peaceful,” Jill adds.

John and I both nod in agreement.

“How the hell did you make it here, Frank?” Jill asks. Then she looks to her cousin. “You too, Vinny.”

“You don’t want to know. Plus, we don’t have time for that right now. First things first... We need to figure out a way to get everyone out of here.”

I turn and take in the room, but before I can download everything I see, John speaks. “It shouldn’t be too hard.”

“What do you mean?” I ask, facing the man again. The look on his face tells me everything I need to know.

Glancing behind John, I see two people sitting on a bench. Then I quickly scan the large hall again, seeing no one else. I meet John’s hard stare, but watch as it softens a little.

“We’re all that’s left.”

“What?”

I’m completely shocked. I knew that there were deaths, but I wouldn’t have imagined that there would have only been five survivors in all—seven if you now include Vinny and me.

“What happened?” I ask.

“We were set up in the next room—you don’t want to go in there by the way. It’s something that no one should have to see.” I understand what he means. Lots of bodies. He continues, “Your wife, Mrs. D’Angelo, and the Howards here—they were all the closest to the room’s exit when the monstrosities made it inside. They don’t arm
us
, but thankfully these two ladies were.”

Carla steps over. Joining us. She gives me a quick hug and then steps into Vinny’s waiting arms. “We held them off as best we could, but John here insisted that we hide.”

“We were terrified Frank, and there was no way we could kill them all.” Jill’s head drops, a fresh set of tears falling down her cheeks. “So, we ran, and kept running until we couldn’t hear the screams anymore.”

I hug her. “You did what you could. I couldn’t have asked for anything more.”

I nod at John, giving the man my thanks. He reacted under pressure like the soldier he was—still is. That kind of training never goes away. Where a lot of the people—the victims—probably froze in fear, he moved and saved as many as he could.

Including Jill.

He quickly gives me a curt nod of his own. “I’d have to agree with your wife, though. And ask the same question.” He crosses his toned arms in front of his chest. “Now what?”

Honestly, this is actually good news for us. It’s something I’d never admit nor say aloud, but knowing that these are the only survivors will actually make this escape easier. Leaving with seven people is a hell of a lot easier than say, thirty. We don’t have an armor-plated school bus on hand to charter a group that big off the island.

I breathe in deep and turn, taking a few steps away as I think. I meet the gaze of the
Allosaurus
skeleton and get another set of chilling goosebumps. Its empty eye sockets remind me of the Unseen, staring through me without actually
seeing
me.

“I’m assuming that the truck is a no go,” Vinny says, speaking up for the first time.

“Most likely,” I say, agreeing with him. “Unless they give up soon and we can hurry over to it.”

“Can’t chance it,” John replies. “They could just be waiting for us to emerge. We need another way out.”

A foreboding silence fills the exceptionally large room, keeping my nerves on edge. My head pulsates with pain every time I try to concentrate and I lose my train of thought.

Train…

My eyes go wide. “What about the subway station in the basement?”

“What about it?” John asks. “There’s no power. No way to move the cars.”

“I’m not talking about the subway cars themselves. I’m talking about the tunnels.” Everyone turns to me and listens. Even Mr. and Mrs. Howard have joined us over at the ticket counter, interested in how I plan on saving their lives. “What if we head underground and walk the tracks south to 72nd?”

“Then what?” Carla asks. “We still need a way off the island and I seriously doubt we can make it on foot. I mean it’s not far, but…”

She’s right about that. The Howard’s have to be in their seventies at least and the girls are still in heels. Vinny and I are beat to hell and won’t make it much further either. The only one that looks to be in good health is John, the former Marine Sergeant. He looks as if he could run a marathon.

“Do we have a choice?” I glance over to Jill. “We need to leave here—now. We can worry about transportation once we get to 72nd.”

Carla’s about to argue, but Jill beats her to it. “Besides…” she adds, smiling at me. “Frank and I have a perfect way off the island—no car needed. The only thing is that we actually have to get there.”

I squint, unable to recall how
I
have a way off the island. I step away and close my eyes, rubbing my temples. The headache is subsiding a little and my concentration is getting a tad bit better. I think of what’s around the 72nd Street subway entrance and come up with nothing.

A way off the island.

My eyes snap open and I get it. Jill was literally talking about a way off the island
without
the use of a car—or the bridges for that matter. She’s talking about the water.

She must see my body language and smiles.

I look at the others and then back to her. “You’re a genius!”