Dead Moon: Song of Sorrow (The Dead Moon Thrillers Book 3) Page 13

  “You're lucky this place has a stocked bar,” I say, careful to say this place and not your parents.

  I stay close, gently rubbing her right shoulder. I stay away from the left one. It’s a mess and needs the attention of someone with a medical background.

  “Let me see that, Jill,” Dad says, stepping in close.

  While not a doctor, my father has experience with some pretty nasty injuries from his time working the corners of a boxing ring. I’ve seen him cut a guy’s eye on purpose to get the swelling to go down—just like in Rocky.

  With my help, we successfully get Jill’s jacket off by cutting it to pieces with a pair of kitchen shears. Next, is her shirt. It doesn’t come free as easily, sticking badly to her bubbling skin. My heart breaks when she wails in agony as I peel it away, but she immediately relaxes when it finally falls to the floor.

  I cut away her bra next…

  “I, uh…” my father says, stuttering, uncomfortable.

  “Dad,” Jill says, patting his shoulder with a shaky hand, “it’s fine.”

  His eyes open wide. Jill, while always friendly with him, has never called him that. It’s always been Frank—never Dad. Her goal is to relax him and call him Dad as a thank you. Jill isn’t the only one on edge right now.

  He silently nods and gets to work cleaning the wounds with an assortment of ointments and bottled water. Jill squeaks and moans several times until we wrap her upper shoulder all the way to her neck with bandages and gauze.

  The left side of her face, specifically her jawline, is bright red and slightly blistered. She’ll no doubt scar from the ordeal, but I don’t care. I’m just damn glad my wife is still alive. While horribly painful, it could’ve been a ton worse.

  She could’ve died.

  I help her to her feet and lead her over to the couch in the living room. The fireplace isn’t lit, and for good reason. The smoke would swiftly attract the attention of those outside. While cold as shit, it’s best to keep the Unseen guessing whether someone is home or not.

  I look at my mom. “Get a couple of blankets from the hall closest, will you?”

  She smiles and rushes off. I turn my attention back to my shivering, half-naked wife, but leap back to my feet when my mom screams in fright. My hand goes for my gun—

  “No!” Jill yells, hand out, cringing at having to move.

  Her line of sight is better. Plus, I trust her judgment. Then, my mother steps aside and reveals the blood-spattered, twitching form of Mrs. D’Angelo. Jill tries to get up, but can’t, and shrinks back into the over-stuffed sofa. Dad hustles over and helps Cynthia to her feet as Mom finishes retrieving the heavy, wool blankets for Jill.

  “Cynth,” Mom says, trying to snap the woman out of her shocked stupor, “it’s me, Deb.”

  Cynthia comes to some. “Deborah?”

  Jill’s mother is totally out of it, like Woodstock out of it. What she saw happen to Anthony must’ve been too much to handle. Then again, the two of them have been here alone for weeks now—alone and afraid. Like I’ve stressed before, I’m barely holding it together, and I’m way more capable of a human being than these two.

  Well, more capable than they were. I glance at the back door. I’m not looking forward to breaking the bad news.

  Hope is quietly sitting on Jill’s right side, leaning into her good shoulder. Like Jill, she’s tucked herself under the blankets. Her eyes are red too.

  Frightened and exhausted. The sight of them both makes me frown.

  We’re all tired, but a kid’s thoughts, in a world like this, must be mind-blowingly terrifying. I can’t begin to think of the shit going through her head right now. I know for a fact that she doesn’t sleep much. The memory of hearing her whimper in her dreams breaks my heart.

  “Tony?” Cynthia asks.

  I sit next to Jill and lean on my knees. “He’s—”

  “Outside…” Mom quickly says. “He’ll be back soon.”

  She shakes her head. I’m not sure it’s a good idea to keep her husband’s death a secret from her. It doesn’t feel right.

  “Oh,” Cynthia replies, eyes wide, “okay.”

  Definitely in shock. I’m not even sure she remembers what happened. Which means we won’t be finding out what actually occurred anytime soon.

  Dad stands and lays a hand atop his holstered revolver. “I’m going to check the house.”

  He doesn’t wait for an answer. He leaves the room and begins his inspection of the home. The center of the cabin is one two-story-tall space. The second floor juts out toward the middle of it, resembling a squared-off horseshoe. Basically, the level above us is one big loft divided up into three rooms, the master bedroom, the guest room, and an office/library.

  Dad’s booted feet find the hardwood stairs a few minutes later, and he clunks his way up. If I were him, I’d be looking for any uninvited visitors, while also checking the state of the shutters. Maybe, just maybe, we can hole up here for the nasty part of the winter and then come out of hibernation once the weather clears up.

  Jill is a mess physically, but her mother is a disaster mentally. Cynthia hasn’t said a word since she asked about her husband. Since then, she’s done nothing but sit in her rocking chair and stare at the unlit fireplace. She must’ve been there to see what happened to Anthony.

  And it must’ve been awful.

  I sit back and eye Jill’s bandages. How do the burners transmit the virus? Is it a “classic” zombie-type bite, or something less obvious? My heart sinks.

  Is Jill infected?

  I need to clear my head, and I stand and head for the front door. Jill calls after me, but I don’t answer. I draw my gun, unlock the deadbolt and quickly exit the house. For a moment, I just stand in silence on the porch with my eyes shut, breathing deeply. Then, I feel my nerves crack, and my fear for Jill’s life bursts forth.

  Tears stream down my cold face as I weep uncontrollably. I can’t lose her now, not after everything we’ve been through. Not now! This was our goal, our endgame. Once we got to the cabin, we’d figure out the rest of our lives. We now have Hope to take care of too. Yes, my parents are here, but it's Jill and I who want to raise her together.

  We love the girl—WE! Not just me—the both of us!

  A howl interrupts my emotional outburst, and I get moving. As quietly as I can, but not as quickly as I should, I begin to unload our gear from the back of the SUV. I’m taking more time than I should be, but I need the time. I need to be alone for a few minutes and gather my thoughts.

  No, I don’t know if Jill is infected with the burner virus or not—and yes, she’s probably fine, and I have nothing to worry about. I laugh as I grab the case carrying the scoped rifle.

  Yeah, nothing to worry about… Fat chance.

  I’ll have something to worry about for the rest of my stinkin’ life. That is literally the one guarantee I have. That, and I love my family. Everything else is up in the air, and like I’ve been doing, I’ll have to take it day by horrible day.

  God, I hate this.

  I look up into the snow-filled sky, up into the heavens beyond. If God really does exist, is this what He wanted? I look down at my hands.

  “Why did you choose me?” I ask aloud.

  Millions are dead, and yet, here I am, some random New York cop with a foul mouth and the temperament of a wild ass. Survivor’s guilt is a real thing. I’ve seen plenty of people who have survived mass shootings or horrific car crashes, and the first thing they’ll ask is how did they live when someone else didn’t. Imagine that, but on a scale you can’t even begin to imagine.

  That’s me. I roll my eyes. That’s ‘us.’

  I’m not the only person alive. Lots of ordinary people are still around. Dwayne and the residents of Top of the World, Tennessee are a perfect example. An entire community seems to have survived, for the most part.

  I grab mine, Jill’s, and Hope’s packs and the rifle case, and lug them up the stairs to the front porch. I’m about to set the case do
wn and open the door but am startled when it swings inward to reveal my father.

  He doesn’t look happy.

  “Couldn’t wait for my help, could you?” he asks, thankfully not asking about my wet eyes. I didn’t bother wiping them again, because I didn't care who saw them. Dad knows me well. I don’t have to hide my emotions from him.

  I shrug. “You were busy and I… I needed some time to think.”

  He pats my shoulder and lets me through. “Me too, son.” He sighs. “Me too.”

  I grin. That’s why he really went on his patrol of the cabin. He needed to clear his mind and be alone for a few.

  More howls erupt somewhere off in the distance. They don’t sound close, but the sound gets my father and me moving. We empty the entire Yukon in the next three trips and lock it and the front door. With all our possessions safely indoors, I will catalog our inventory properly a little later so I can go check on Jill.

  I come up behind her, and frown when I don’t instinctively scare her. Instead, I announce my arrival with a cough and place a gentle hand on her good shoulder. Then, I lean in and give her a long kiss on the lips. We both sigh in unison, making us both laugh softly.

  “I’m fine,” she whispers, covering up the pain with a brave smile.

  “Sure you are.”

  I’m happy to see that everyone has left the living room. Mom is showing Hope the house and Dad is standing watch by the back door, peering through a gap in the shutters in a window to the right of it. He doesn’t carry his shotgun but still has his revolver on his hip.

  Speaking of which.

  I slip out of my shoulder holster and set it on the coffee table in front of us and recline my descent to a comfortable angle. I plop my feet up on the coffee table with a loud bang. We both flinch and look for her mother. Usually, she’d stare lasers into anyone who defiled her overpriced piece of furniture. But she doesn’t. Instead, she continues her staring contest with the unlit fireplace.

  Her lack of reaction has me worried.

  So does the bandage on her left forearm. It’s the first time I’ve noticed it.

  I lean in close to Jill. “What happened to her arm?”

  She cringes and mimics my posture and leans into me a little.

  “Without saying as much, she told us about something attacking her and—and my father.” Jill’s eyes glisten, but she stays in control. “I’m worried about her, Frank.”

  I bite my lip.

  “What?” she asks.

  “We need to make sure she isn’t infected.”

  Jill nods but doesn’t look so sure. “How?

  I breathe in deep and blow out a long breath.

  “Right,” Jill replies. “We wait and see what happens.”

  Jill isn’t happy, obviously, and I want to reach around her and grab her shoulder and pull her in. But I can’t, and it burns my ass that I can’t. My choice of words makes me instantly feel like an asshole.

  BURNS my ass… Good one, dipshit.

  Something comes to mind, and I grin. It doesn’t go unnoticed either.

  “What’s that for?” Jill asks.

  I look deep into her eyes and say, “My love burns for you.”

  With her hand already on my thigh, she quickly slugs me in it. The shot lands right in the area where there is no muscle—the perfect dead leg. I leap to my feet and hop around on one leg.

  The corner of her mouth curls into a smile. “That’s for being such a dickfuck.”

  Rubbing out the pain, I eventually sit back down, but with a sizeable gap between her and me. She gives me a look that says “Really?” and I respond by scooting back into her. She leans her head on my shoulder and closes her eyes.

  She yawns. “But…you’re my dickfuck…”

  And with that, Jill is out. I’m half-tempted to get up and take a look around, specifically the D’Angelo’s high-shelf liquor cabinet. They’ve got crap in there that I can only dream about buying. I close my eyes and realize that I don’t have to dream anymore. It’s all mine, and I can’t wait to indulge in it. But first, a nap with my lovely, disfigured bride.

  I know, I’m a douche.

  And I really don’t care.

  I lay my head against hers and say a prayer to anyone listening that the pain she’s guaranteed to wake up in is manageable. I have yet to sustain an injury as severe as Jill has. Even the wound I sustained while jumping through a window wasn’t this bad—or the sliver of metal in my thigh I was graced with inside the prison back in Wellington.

  My body tenses at the thought of being burnt by my crazed father’s body heat. What she went through mentally was even worse, I know that for a fact. Even though he was an ass to me, Anthony was a saint to his little girl. I was never good enough for Jill because NO ONE was ever going to be good enough for her.

  I bet most fathers feel that way.

  Before I drift off to sleep, I recall the time my dad laid out another kid’s old man when he openly encouraged the little shit to bully me. We met the pair on the sidewalk outside of my school, and the fathers wasted no time getting into each other’s faces.

  Seconds after Brad’s dad shoved mine in the chest, Irvin Moon knocked the guy out cold with an incredible right cross—right in front of the school cop. Officer Kelly did absolutely nothing, stunned, but he also witnessed the entire thing. Brad and his dad were pricks to everyone and both of them had it coming.

  The last thing I remember before passing out is the feeling of my right hand squeezing shut. Instead of the dads going at it, I visualize myself punching Brad. Officer Thomas R. Kelly was a cool dude, and the reason I became a cop. He treated everyone with respect and testified against Brad’s father, saying that he acted first.

  While technically accurate in a legal sense I guess, it prompted me to do the right thing whenever I could, even if it meant bending the law a bit if necessary. I’ve never professed myself to be a perfect man, nor a flawless police officer, but I pride myself in my character as a human being.

  I fight for what I believe in—and I whole-heartedly believe that I can keep my family safe. I really do. And it’s a great feeling!

  And…I’ll die trying.

  18

  “Frank.”

  My dad’s whispered words rouse me from my sleep. I’m still on the couch with Jill, underneath a second, thicker blanket. Someone put it on us while we were dead to the world.

  Dad, I’m guessing.

  “Yeah?”

  I yawn and look at my watch. It’s 2:30 in the morning. Jill and I have been asleep for a while. It feels like it too. I haven’t slept that much straight through in weeks. Typically, it’s a couple of hours at a time tops, not half a night.

  In the light of an LED lantern, I find Dad standing back by the rear door again, once more peeking through the gap between the window frame and the protective shutter. He looks my way, concerned.

  “We have a problem, son.”

  I slip out from under Jill and lay her down with her injured side up and join my father at the door. It’s only then that I see that he has both his shotgun and revolver on him. Something has him spooked.

  “What’s wrong?”

  The only answer I get is a tilt of his chin to where Cynthia was sitting. I dozed off before I could see if she had gone to bed or not. It seems that she did, unless…

  “Where is she?” I turn to go upstairs, to where the only bedrooms in the cabin are but I’m stopped by a firm hand.

  “She’s not here, Frank.”

  I face my father. “What do you mean, ‘not here?’”

  He grips his weapon harder. “I checked the entire place, garage, and basement too. Cynthia…” Jill mumbles in her sleep, quieting my dad. “She isn’t here.”

  I rush to my holstered pistol and slip into it. Dad meets me halfway to the front door, and he has our other shotgun in his hand. Without question, he hands it to me, but not before I slip into one of Anthony’s designer coats.

  “Near as I can tell,” he explai
ns, “she went out the front.”

  I raise an eyebrow. “How do you know that?”

  He points at the ground. It’s wet just inside the door.

  “Because it was wide open when I came to check on you and Jill. You were damn lucky that nothing ugly came by before I found you.”

  I pat him on the shoulder and grab a beanie cap from a hook by the door. Dad does the same thing, tossing a hideous version of my own headgear on. It looks expensive and ridiculous.

  Must’ve also belonged to Anthony.

  Dad nods that he’s ready and I open the door. We’re about to leave when we hear someone coming down the stairs to our left. It’s Mom, and she looks worried.

  “Find her,” she says, arms crossed, glancing at Jill. “For her. We already lost one of her parents.”

  My eyes flick between the two women and settle on my mother. “We’ll find her.” Dad and I step through the door, but not before instructing Mom to lock it behind us.

  She doesn’t look happy, but nor does she argue. With Jill incapacitated and useless in a fight, my mother has to step in to protect her and Hope.

  We make it down the steps and to the car before hearing the first signs of life somewhere in the neighborhood. The moonlight is remarkably bright, and it shouldn’t really surprise me either. With no power anywhere, the only illumination is natural. As long as it doesn’t get too cloudy, we should be okay.

  Before we move any further, we duck behind the SUV and put together a game plan.

  “Move house to house until we find something?”

  Dad shrugs. “Sounds good to me.” We stay low and head around the front-end of the vehicle, keeping our barrels pointed safely at the ground. I take the lead, but Dad stays beside me the whole time, keeping his head, like mine, on a swivel.

  “How’s Jill?” he asks, keeping his voice low.

  “As good as you can expect.”

  “She sleeping okay?”

  I nod. “Better than I thought.”

  “That’s good. I was against your mother drugging her at first, but—”