Dead Moon: Song of Sorrow (The Dead Moon Thrillers Book 3) Read online

  It’s been even longer since the last time Jill, and I had some alone time…

  We tried having a quickie behind a tree back in North Florida somewhere, but we were literally caught with our pants down by some inconsiderate asshat. There, with Frank Jr. hanging out, I hacked the goblin to death with my machete.

  We see our next sign of human habitation a few miles up the banking, two-lane road. A dozen motorcycles are strewn about, bent and broken. I can picture what happened.

  A biker group must’ve been out for a leisurely drive—Foothills Parkway is perfect for that—when they were attacked. The riders would’ve made easy prey too, having little to no, protection. One after the other, they were picked off and dragged to the turf. Prone, and most likely injured, they were then slaughtered.

  It’s hard to see them, but I think I can just make out the smears in the road. Whatever tore into the bikers had dragged their bodies into the woods lining the road.

  Some were probably still alive when they were eaten.

  The landscape really is beautiful, though.

  The mountainous terrain is so much different than what I’m used to. I’ve spent my entire life living in either Florida or New York City. While Florida is more rural and spread out than New York City—specifically Manhattan—both are nothing like where we are now.

  We ride in silence until I see a pull-off up ahead. It’s not an offramp or anything, just a spot for people to get out and stretch their legs and take pictures if they so choose. I pay close attention to the area surrounding the pull-off and smile when I see it’s completely void of life. I glance into my mirror and see Hope’s eyes are still glued to the sky above.

  She really wants to see the snow.

  Against my better judgment, I slow and park. I turn in my seat and lock eyes with the girl. I feel the corner of my mouth raise, reacting to her ever-increasing excitement. She knows what’s about to happen.

  “Ready?”

  No words come out. Hope’s head is nodding too fast to do both that and speak. I turn and spy Jill smiling at me. Everyone piles out of the Yukon together. There’s a patch of grass between the pull-off and the main road, and that’s right where Hope dashes to. The snow is light, barely anything to play in, but the lifelong Floridian makes do and kneels in it, squealing with joy.

  As for the adults, we’re all looking for trouble. No one has their weapons drawn, but we’re ready if we need to be. Dad has Jill’s revolver on his hip, and Jill and I have our Glocks. Mom doesn’t have anything with her, except her grimacing face as she kneads her lower back. My knees, back, chest, side, and head all hurt, but watching our youngest companion roll around in the dusting makes the pain all but vanish.

  Man, she’s cute. How’d we get so lucky?

  Lately, she’s the only part of this whole experience that has brought us any happiness. Without Hope, we’d all be a bunch of irritated sourpusses.

  Now THAT would be an awful car ride!

  We give Hope ten minutes to play, which includes catching snowflakes in her mouth, before climbing back into the warmth of the SUV. The t-shirt under my jacket isn’t enough anymore. I need to upgrade my ensemble whenever I get a chance. Luckily, I remember that I have a beanie like Jill’s stuffed in the glovebox and quickly dig it out and slip it on.

  For whatever reason, I was the only one not wearing one. It was mostly because I hate the things. They itch like crazy and never fit me right. Only on the coldest New York days would I even think about adorning one.

  We also had heat then.

  I have no idea what awaits us in Gatlinburg, as I give thoughts to what the cabin will be like. The fireplace won’t be a problem. But, what about the condition of the cabin itself? Can it provide the shelter that we need?? Is there a massive hole in the ceiling? There’s no way to know until we get there. Let’s just hope that the D’Angelos were able to get firewood cut before the snow came in.

  I roll my eyes. I mean, it’s not like Anthony is going to do it himself! What can I say, manual labor isn’t his thing. It never has been, and I don’t see the end of the world changing that—which is laughable. What a douche. How Jill evolved from that bloodline is beyond my comprehension. She’s always been so self-reliant ever since we met, hardly ever asking for help with anything.

  I’m the same way to a degree. It's probably why we drifted apart like we did when we lived in New York. We didn't need to rely on each other for anything. Now, we all depend on one another to survive.

  Even Hope… We all need that kid.

  A blackened husk of a truck is smashed up against a tree on our right. It’s the only other vehicle we’ve seen on Foothills Parkway since scaling the makeshift onramp outside of Top of the World. The scenic drive is living up to its description: scenic. There hasn’t been much else at all.

  It’s also taking us forever to complete!

  A few miles up the road, we scoot past a two-car accident on our left. It looks like your classic fender bender, minus the bloodied handprints smeared across the outcrop of rock on the other side of the vehicles. I can’t see any bodies in my mirror when we drive by either.

  The small cliff face just off the road would make for a perfect ambush. The poor souls that wrecked were just in the wrong place at the wrong time when they bumped and had to pull over. That would have given a creature the element of surprise to drop down from the ten-foot-tall rock and start swinging.

  Another pull-off appears on our left, but we don’t stop. I can tell Hope wants to get out and play in the thickening snow. A fire off to the west nixes that idea before it can entirely formulate. Somewhere out in the forest, a building is burning, the trees around it too.

  There are homes sporadically placed now, reminding me of the stretch of road we came across on our way to the Dwayne and Carlos debacle. I’d imagine that’s what I’m looking at now. Out in the middle of nowhere, someone’s house is alight. Even if the homeowners survived the inferno, they'd be forced to avoid an attack by the Unseen as they creatures came in to investigate.

  Burning to death would be preferable than being torn apart.

  13

  “Walland, Tennessee,” I say aloud.

  “What about it?” Jill asks.

  “It’s where most of Dwayne’s crew live,” I reply, recalling what the local had told me. Very few of the firefighters stationed in Top of the World actually live there. And, instead of turning left onto Highway 321 and driving through the town of Walland, I turn right and pass a sign that reads, “Great Smoky Mtns National Park.”

  “E. Lamar Alexander Parkway?” I ask Jill.

  She nods. “I know it as 321, though.”

  “Thoughts?”

  Jill shrugs. “Stay on it until you can’t.”

  I do just that and weave my way through a series of minor accidents—nothing major. The road is mostly clear thanks to the area’s low population. Seriously, there can’t be more than five-thousand people living around here.

  Small businesses line 321, ranging from cornerstores to taxidermists, to family-owned repair shops. If there is a large chain store around, I haven’t seen one.

  “Tuck-a-lee-chee?” Hope asks, carefully pronouncing the word.

  “Apparently,” I reply, “it’s the name of a city.”

  “Riiight,” Jill says, obviously remembering something. “There’s supposed to be some enormous cave around here—big enough to fit a football field in.”

  I whistle, impressed. “That’s big. Love to see it sometime.”

  Dad leans forward and shuts us up with two words. “Ruby. Falls.”

  A tingling sensation runs up and down my spine at the thought of the gremlins. The Tucka-whatie cavern no doubt houses the same breed of horrors.

  I shake it off. “I take it back. No thanks.”

  Hope snorts a laugh. “Definitely not.”

  The town of Tucka-wha-cha-ma-call-it is here and gone faster than I can mentally process it, and I see a sign stating that we’ve entered another c
alled, Townsend. The only thing this place has to offer, from what I can tell, is a handful of small inns and something called the Little River Railroad/Lumber Museum.

  Yes, that’s a thing.

  I spot an old steam engine parked next to the largest of the still standing buildings. And that’s it.

  I think they’re stretching the meaning of the word ‘museum’ just a hair.

  Then, more well-known business names start to appear. Subway, Dollar General, Pizza Hut, and well, never mind, that’s it. The only sign I see that peaks my interest at all is the one for gas. I glance down at the hulking vehicle’s gauge and am relieved to see that we still have half a tank left. That being said, it can’t hurt to top it off, especially not knowing what lies ahead of us.

  As long as the place has power, I should be able to get it going just fine. It took me a couple of tries back in Central Florida, but I finally figured out how the computer software works. All I had to do was input how much I was paying in cash and then turn the pump on.

  Dad stays outside with his shotgun at the ready to watch the Yukon. Plus, once he sees the pump clear and zero-out, he’ll start pumping gas.

  “I’m going to stay with your father,” Mom says, “okay?”

  I nod and head inside the small convenience store with Jill and Hope, but as soon as I open the door, I stop and snap my pistol up. It stinks like death. Someone was killed here.

  I groan, not happy about the situation, but step inside anyway. We can’t pass up this opportunity.

  But man, does it smell!

  “Go ahead and grab a few things. Whatever you think we need.”

  Holding Hope’s hand in hers, Jill draws her gun and heads down the center aisle of the store. The space isn’t big, by any means, but it’s large enough that I lose sight of them a few seconds later. I skirt around the desk but, unfortunately, find it impassable on the other side due to a man’s gutted torso. He’s been here a while too.

  Ugh, I think, swallowing down my vomit.

  Not only is he missing most of his entrails, but he’s also missing most of his neck. I go back around to the front of the counter and climb onto it.

  “Wonderful…” I mumble, holstering my gun to steady myself.

  The computer is on the rear counter and it isn't the counter that I'm teetering on top of at the moment. I’m forced to reach out over the gas-man and punch in the pump number and dollar amount.

  My fingertips, tap the screen, waking it from its slumber. Luckily, there isn’t a lock code or anything, and I get to work immediately.

  “Pump Two,” I say, edging forward another inch.

  My eyes widen when I lose my balance and fall face first toward the gas-man. With my left hand, I find the back counter, arresting my head-first plunge into the dead station attendant. I take a deep breath and gag. The smell is ten-times worse as I find myself leaning directly over the guy’s remains.

  With watering eyes, I tell the system that I’m paying fifty bucks and hit what passes for the ENTER button. I get the gift of confirmation and relax. I need to escape the stench and get some much-needed fresh air. It’s the first time I’ve yearned for the cold mountain climate in days.

  “I’ll never badmouth you again,” I say, looking outside.

  I shove away from the counter and almost get halfway up, but the push wasn’t enough, and I flail my arms wildly. I go to catch my fall again, but my knees slip, and my upper body takes a nose dive straight down instead.

  “Ji—!”

  Something snags the back of my jacket. “Got you!”

  I sigh and reflexively inhale deeply, feeling the bile rise once more. But Jill yanks me up before I lose my lunch—not that I’ve eaten enough to constitute a meal of that size.

  I turn and sit, sweating heavily from my disgusting ordeal.

  “You okay?” Hope asks, arms full of food.

  All I can do is nod and wipe the tears away from my eyes. Jill’s right eyebrow raises, but thankfully, she doesn’t ask. I just tip the back of my head in the other direction, nonverbally telling her to have a look for herself. She does, and reels back with a fit of coughs.

  She hands me a Mountain Dew, and I chug the entire twenty-ounce bottle. It’s definitely been a treat to have one now and again. Plus, the caffeine will help keep me awake. I’ve only had that one front seat power nap since Lookout Mountain.

  Not that the others have slept much either.

  Jill holds up a bag with iced coffees and a couple more sodas, food too, and in her other hand is a twenty-four pack of beer. That’s my Jill… Always thinking of the essential things in life.

  She grins. “To celebrate… For when we get to the cabin.”

  My smile turns into a frown.

  “What?” she asks as I hop down.

  How am I going to say this?

  “Um, Jill… What happens if, you know—”

  Her smile fades as well. “If my parents are dead?”

  I nod softly.

  She holds up the beer. “Then we honor them with a drink and a toast.”

  Jill goes to turn, but I grab her arm before she can. With her arms full she can’t fight me off when I pull her in and kiss her hard. But after two seconds, we both cough and gag at the smell that starts to suffocate us. We grin, head out, and find the others already inside the SUV, waiting on us.

  “Coors Light?” Dad asks from the rear seat, window rolled down.

  Jill laughs and pops the rear hatch. “Not much of a selection, but it’ll do.”

  I see my father bobs his head in agreement. He’s more of a Heineken man. Jill will drink anything as long as it isn’t too hoppy or too heavy.

  Me? Well, I’ll literally drink anything.

  It’s a gift.

  A half a mile up, the road splits in two. Whereas before, 321 and E. Lamar Alexander Parkway were the same street, now, they’re not. Jill leans forward, deep in thought, and before I can ask her what’s on her mind, she tells me.

  “Go straight. Stay on Alexander.”

  “You sure?”

  She eyes me. “Unless you want to roll through Pigeon Forge?”

  “Dollywood?” I shake my head. I can’t imagine what an Unseen-Dolly Parton would look like. Pigeon Forge is a fun place, depending on your interests, but it’s a resort town, nevertheless. There’s a ton to do, for sure, but that means loads of people too.

  No thanks, Dolly.

  “How much longer?” Hope asks, sounding antsy.

  “Not much further, honey,” Jill replies. Then, she turns and gazes out of her window. “We’re really close.”

  Like Hope, Jill is anxious to get there. Unlike Jill, I think Hope is twitchy because she has to pee. Come to think of it, so do I. I know there’s a “don’t eat the yellow snow” joke in there, but I leave it alone. Honestly, I’m too damn tired to come up with a good one.

  The scenery around Alexander Parkway is the same as it’s been. There are tall hills, or are they small mountains? I’m not sure what to call them, honestly, but they border the landscape for as far as the eye can see.

  Dozens of small businesses dot the roadside, adding to the already small-town feel of the area. But a lot of them have been torched. Burners? Regardless of the cause of their destruction, the surviving buildings look old and weathered, except for those that have a brick façade. The bricks are the only things left, in some cases.

  It had to be burners that did this.

  Alexander turns south, away from where we want to go, but knowing these twisting mountain roads, I expect it to turn back to the east. Jill wouldn’t have guided us this way unless she was sure of it. More than any of us, it's Jill that wants to see her parents the most. Delaying that, for any reason, isn’t an option. Luckily for us, the road does bank back to the east. We also find ourselves at a roundabout with a half-broken sign. The part that still exists, the part that wasn’t smashed to pieces by a car, states that “Gatlin” is to the left.

  On the left-hand side of Little River Go
rge Road follows what I assume is Little River. It looks shallow enough to walk across and has an inviting bank. In my mind’s eye, I can picture families picnicking on its shore in the warmer months, kids splashing in the year-round chilled water. Mountain streams like this are always cold, even I know that.

  My attention is taken off the pristine water and back onto the road when Jill’s breath catches in her throat. I snap my eyes forward and see something odd. There’s an Unseen in the middle of the road, a woman, a siren… I half-expect her to charge us and dismantle our ride, but she doesn’t. Instead, she stumbles to the asphalt and struggles to get back up. I roll to a stop and watch.

  The siren is clothed in nothing more than a t-shirt and panties, and with the dipping temperature outside, I think she might be freezing to death.

  “She’s wet,” Mom says from behind.

  Mom’s right. The siren must’ve crossed the river to get to the road and is now paying for it with her life. Who knows how long she’s been wandering through the Smoky’s foothills?

  Days? Weeks?

  I don’t wait around to see her die. I give the vehicle a little gas and continue on our way. Deplorably, I smile on the inside. The creatures might just perish from the oncoming winter. We’ll have months of it up here, and once the weather begins to warm up in the spring, the Moons might just be able to start over in peace.

  Now, I’m even more ready—or is it readier?—to find that cabin. Not only are Jill’s folks there, hopefully, but so is the best chance at a somewhat normal life.

  14

  Little River Gorge Road is pretty incredible—on an ordinary day, I mean! We’ve passed at least a dozen cars that pulled over just to go for a swim or a relaxing tubing adventure. I know this because of the bodies interlaced with their deflated innertubes. There’s just enough room on the river-side of the road to park your vehicle and get out and explore. Even in the dead of fall, a month ago, people were braving the declining conditions and splashing around in the cold, mountain water.