In Memoriam Read online

  Jill smiles wide. A genuine smile of happiness.

  “See, doesn’t that feel good?”

  “What?”

  I tap her lips with my finger. “That. This beautiful smile.”

  She tilts her face away from me. “I’m not beautiful, Frank.”

  I laugh. “Uh, yeah, you are… The bulge in my pants should be proof enough.”

  She looks down but realizes that I’m joking. “God, you’re terrible.”

  An explosion reverberates through the surrounding area, originating from somewhere down the hill. We’re only a couple of miles from city center and should be able to see the Gatlinburg Space Needle from where we stand…if it still stood. Witnessing it fall, while directly beneath it, was one of the craziest things I’ve experienced so far—and that’s saying a lot. A burner detonated somewhere inside the support structure beneath the observation deck and weakened the needle’s integrity until it came crashing down.

  Speaking of that, we haven’t seen too many burners lately. As far as I’m aware, they’re endemic to the region. The first time we caught a glimpse of them was down in Chattanooga.

  The explosion Jill and I just heard was more prominent than a burner. It sounded big enough to take down an entire building. Even a single burner couldn’t do that unless they got lucky and detonated next to an accelerant of some kind. Whatever is happening further down the hill, I have no intention of finding out what it is.

  So, we turn and run through Sanctuary’s gates.

  * * *

  Our retreat goes smoothly. We only saw something move once. Thankfully, it wasn’t an Unseen of any kind. We’ve actually had an issue with all types of predators wandering into Sanctuary. After everything initially happened, the ground was littered with corpses—human and not. The whole country was. Food was plentiful to those who’d happily eat it.

  Lately, there’s been a mountain lion roaming the subdivision. Jill had once mentioned that their population was on the rise in Tennessee. So far, we’ve only spotted one of them.

  Note to self. Get rid of the cat!

  Other places call them cougars. But I’m from Florida. We called them panthers down there. We even had a professional hockey team named after them. Luckily for us, the one we’ve seen is a normal animal and not some demonic mutation. At this point, it’s probably more of an ally than anything else, like a wild guard dog that’s unknowingly protecting us.

  Maybe we won’t get rid of the cat.

  Jill and I jog around the central common grounds and head straight to the back of the neighborhood. From the gates to home, it’s about a quarter of a mile. The cold air is stinging the crap out of my lungs, and my feet and knees are killing me, but I don’t stop. Mainly because Jill hasn’t even broken into a sweat.

  Not that either one of us could sweat right now. My face hurts too—and my ears. Damn, it’s cold! Plus, she is an incredible athlete, so it doesn't count.

  Entering the cul-de-sac, we finally slow to a brisk walk. My parents are the first ones to greet us. They hurry down the front porch stairs, armed as always. Dad has his trusty shotgun, and mom has her stealthy compact bow and a quiver full of arrows on her hip. Seeing that we’re alone and uninjured, both of them dip their aim to the ground with a look of confusion.

  “You guys good?” Dad asks, getting right to it.

  I nod. “We are, yes.” I look at Mom. “The woman we were trying to help on the other hand…”

  Jill and I give them a rundown on what happened.

  “That’s terrible,” my mother says.

  “Heard the shooting from here. It echoed right past us.”

  “We heard an explosion too,” Mom adds.

  I quickly shake my head. “Not us. I think it came from downtown.”

  My parents exchange glances. They don’t like it either. We haven’t come across a single unfriendly human since setting up shop here. The fact that we had the conflict with the siren and the explosion within minutes of each other tells me our luck may be running out.

  Dad looks like he has something else to say. “What’s wrong?”

  “Now might not be the time, but speaking of town…”

  “How low are we?” I ask, knowing where’s he going with this. Dad is in charge of cataloging our supplies. When it was just the four of us, we had enough for two months. Now, after three more people joined us, we’re down to—

  “Two more weeks.”

  My face falls. “Great.”

  Taking it all in, I turn and eye the immediate area, noticing we’re missing someone. “Where’s Hope?”

  She hasn’t been feeling well the last few days. Her temperature is up, and she hasn’t been eating. It’s probably just a stomach bug or something, but it's not like there’s an operational walk-in clinic around.

  Mom jabs a thumb over her shoulder. “Upstairs with Kennedy.” She smiles. “It’s nice that those two found each other.”

  I nod, still thinking about what to do with our rations problem. “Right, good…”

  But yes, I agree. Kennedy is a nice little girl. She’s similar to Hope in that they’re both seven and that they both lost their fathers to the Unseen. Hope lost both of her parents, though. And now, Jill and I gladly take care of her. The end of the world has given us something we couldn’t produce otherwise. A child—a tough one at that.

  Coni Terhorst and her kids, Kennedy and Mitchell, were the first non-Moon people to settle in Sanctuary. It was inadvertent too and occurred shortly after the incident with Jill’s folks. Dad and I rushed into the snowfall one night to save the Terhorsts from a siren. I fell off the roof of a two-story house that night. Not my worst fall, either.

  It wasn’t until a few days later that we realized how fortunate we were that the three locals stumbled upon us. Coni’s intimate knowledge of the area has been invaluable. The Terhorsts lived a few blocks down the hill from Sanctuary and came running up here when their house was overrun by the Unseen. She immediately offered her services, and is our official adviser on all-things Gatlinburg, supplying us with a hand-drawn, detailed map to boot.

  Dad holds up the folded map.

  “Well,” I say, groaning as I stretch my back, “might as well get to it.”

  3

  Before Jill and I leave, we head inside to gear up and have a bite to eat. My diet, as of late, has consisted of canned chicken and vegetables. Hope’s the only one that has had any variety to her meals. Unknown to her, the rest of us have sacrificed to make it easier on Hope.

  It’s hard enough to get a kid to eat out of a tin can—even harder when it’s the same shit over and over again. It’s served cold most of the time too. We only build a fire when it’s absolutely necessary. The smoke alerts the Unseen. Luckily for us, we have a deep backstock of salt and pepper.

  The first places we raided were the other cabins in Sanctuary. We took everything, including food, clothes, first-aid supplies, toys for Hope, and deodorant. Yes, deodorant is that high on our list of priorities. Let’s face it, unless you’re comfortable taking freezing cold baths in the river, you probably stink. But like I mentioned before, it’s too cold to sweat right now, so at least we have that going for us.

  We ran through the perishable items until they were gone or out of date and riddled with mold. Peanut butter and jelly sandwiches for all! Then, we started on the canned stuff. Just the thought of having a PB&J makes my stomach growl because I want one so bad. Unfortunately, there isn’t any bread around anymore—not yet. I wholeheartedly believe that we, humanity, will eventually right itself and start over.

  Our species is just too friggin’ stubborn for it not to happen. This planet is ours and, dammit, we want it back! That’s how I feel, anyway. I’m sure if I polled all the survivors, they’d concur. I’d, honestly, be more interested in finding out how many of them would be willing to do something about it. It’ll take time—like, years—but I think we’ll be successful.

  First, we’ll have to… I shake my head. Don’t get ahea
d of yourself, Frank. We have a lot more to worry about than what ‘might’ happen. One day at a time. Take it one day at a time.

  I slip out of my winter coat and relish in the natural warmth of the cabin. In reality, it’s still cold inside, just not as cold as it is outside. I can comfortably walk around in nothing more than my pants and a long-sleeve shirt.

  I’m about to head into the great room but stop when I hear feet clopping down the stairs to my right. They’re lightweight in sound and belong to the smallest member of the Moon clan.

  “Hey, Frank,” she says, stopping when she’s eye-level with me.

  “Hey, kiddo.”

  I step toward her, and she leaps off the stairs, right into my arms. She gives me a warm hug, and I, of course, tickle her side until she squeals. I release her when she knees me in the gut. I laugh, but also cough. It was a nice shot to the solar plexus.

  “Good one…” I say, playfully sucking in a pair of deep breaths.

  It seems that Hope’s training is paying off. Every one of us has helped her with it—my father, especially. His boxing background, like Coni’s knowledge of Gatlinburg, has been invaluable to us. I’m good in a fight, Jill too. She’s been going to town on the heavy bag in the basement. Dad has taken anyone willing to learn under his wing and given them a crash course in self-defense.

  “What happened out there?” she asks, loving my stories.

  “Siren… She wasn’t happy to see us.” I refrain from mentioning the woman the creature disemboweled. That part of the tale isn’t exactly what I’d call PG.

  We don’t let Hope outside much anymore. It’s just too dangerous. The first day the mountain lion showed up is when we were at the central commons area. It doubles as a park, having all the amenities of one. She was on the swings, with her back to the woods.

  It’s when the big cat first emerged.

  Dad got off a shot with his shotgun and scared off the animal. Hope would’ve been easy prey for the predator. The only place she’s been recently is out back. It’s fenced in except for the rear portion that butts up against Peace Creek. The bench that overlooks the peaceful tributary is my favorite spot in the world right now—Hope’s too. Sometimes, we sit there for what feels like hours. The spirited current is lovely to listen to.

  The two of us did just that a few days after the initial mountain lion encounter. The ordeal with the cat had shaken Hope, and I knew the waterway would calm her down.

  “I could sit here all day with you, Frank,” she said, “except…”

  “Except, what?” I asked, looking down at her.

  She returned my gaze with one of her own. “Except… I have to pee.”

  We laughed really hard that day until the cry of the mountain lion spooked Hope so bad that she wet her pants, right then and there. She was terrified and mortified, all at the same time. Thankfully, we’ve both seen each other at our worst, and it wasn’t that big of a deal.

  She had tears running down her cheeks when we walked in. Mom came rushing over and took Hope from me, uncaring that she was cradling the urine covered girl.

  “Oh, no,” Mom said, “what’s wrong, sweetie?”

  My mother looked to me for answers. So, I gave her the honest truth.

  Shrugging, I said, “Something scared the piss out of her…”

  The memory still makes me smile. Being Hope’s surrogate father isn’t easy, but it definitely has its benefits. I really do love that kid. She is the very definition of the word “resilience.” I was a tough kid, but I couldn’t imagine going through all that Hope has been through.

  Coming out of the memory, I watch her head off into the kitchen. Kennedy is nowhere to be seen. I know where she is, though. The girl is upstairs taking a nap. She doesn’t sleep much anymore, and she always passes out when she comes over to play with Hope.

  Coni, who is currently sitting in the living room reading, Mitchell sleeping soundly next to her, told me what’s going on with Kennedy a few days ago. “It’s because she never feels safe,” she explained. “My poor baby.”

  Having my parents around all the time—and Hope, Jill, and me as well—must be enough for Kennedy’s psyche to relax. Her soul is at ease within the Moon cabin. She trusts us to keep her safe while she sleeps, which makes me sad to think how she must feel when she’s not here.

  We need a maximum-security condo, I think, picturing the facility.

  Everyone within Sanctuary could live under one roof but have privacy with separate rooms. We all still need time for ourselves, right? I hated having a roommate in college. It was terrible. I guess it all depends on who you’ve been forced to room with?

  Mom is currently sitting in front of the unlit fireplace to my right, knitting another blanket. While I typically take walks in the monster-infested woods to relax, she knits useable wears for those in need. One of those things seems crazier than the other. I mentally raise my hand and move on.

  Dad has taken up his post at the back of the house, peering through the opening in the shutters. He stands as still as the dead with his shotgun leaning up against the wall to his right. If something goes down, he’ll be ready. Come to think of it, I'm not sure I can remember the last time he sat down, except to sleep, of course.

  “Come on, Dad,” I say, getting his attention. “Have a drink with me before Jill, and I head into town.”

  “You’re going to town?” Hope asks, spinning around on her barstool. She had been sitting at the large kitchen island, eating a granola bar. Now, she pauses midchew and waits for me to answer her.

  “Uh, yeah,” I reply. “We need supplies.”

  “Can I come with you?”

  I laugh and deflate her balloon. “Absolutely not.”

  She growls in frustration. “Oh, come on, Frank! I’m sooo bored.”

  I smile. She’s a kid, after all. So, I decide to let her down gently. I stop in front of her and lean in close to her face.

  “You know I’d never forgive myself if I let anything happen to you, right?”

  She silently nods.

  “How ’bout this… I promise to bring you back something awesome for Christmas if you stay here and look after my folks.”

  Her eyes light up. “Really?”

  “Yep. Really.”

  Hope sticks out her hand. “Deal.”

  I grin and clasp her hand, purposely squeezing it too hard. She’s such a good kid. Hope squeaks and kicks me in the shin. I playfully hop around, grabbing my leg as I do. Seriously, though, she got me good…again.

  “Hey, hey, hey,” Jill says, stepping out of the basement entrance. “Careful with him.” She gives me a smirk. “He’s not as young as he used to be.”

  I immediately stop the hopping and wheel around on Jill. “Come on, really? You’re on her side?”

  “Children…”

  Everyone quiets when my mother speaks. Her word is law. I may be in charge, but I also listen to my mamma.

  And with that one word, our commotion ends. I give Hope one last look—and she promptly sticks her tongue out at me. I shake my head and glance over at Jill, who is softly smiling at our interaction. Sighing, I head for the pantry to find a quick bite.

  * * *

  Our breakfast ends as quickly as it starts. We don’t have a ton that qualifies as a proper breakfast right now. No eggs. No milk to go with our cereal, which is what I had. Dry Cinnamon Toast Crunch isn’t the worst thing to eat, but I could’ve really used a glass of ice-cold milk. I’m weird, and I don’t pour it into the bowl. I drink it on its own and love every sip of it—whole milk too, not the other bullshit.

  My inner Homer Simpson moans and drools just thinking about it. It’s one of a hundred things I’m dying to have again. Another is an Oreo Klondike bar—any ice cream would do. Most places don’t have power, nothing around us, anyways. It went out a couple weeks ago and has been off since. I bet we can get some of it going again, though. We’ll have to travel a little to make it happen, but it is possible.

  “Ready?�
��

  Jill is standing by the front door. She’s dressed in a jacket and a sock hat. Her gun is no doubt holstered at the small of her back, where she always keeps it. It’s perfectly concealed and easy to get to. Mine is tucked under my left armpit, but that’s not the only weapon I plan on bringing.

  My Night Ridge recurve bow is hanging on a peg to the left of the front door, as is my quiver of a dozen, wickedly sharp arrows. The other armament I’m bringing is a matte black combat knife. It’s sheathed at the small of my back as we speak, ready to go.

  “You’re seriously not going to bring anything else besides your Glock?”

  Jill’s left eyebrow raises as if it’s the dumbest thing I’ve ever asked. I can guaran-damn-tee you that it isn’t. I’ve said plenty of stupid things in my life. This isn’t even close to the top of the list.

  Rolling her eyes, she relents and snags the other weapon by the front door—a composite baseball bat. No longer are aluminum bats the norm. These things are ten times the piece of equipment I used in little league twenty-five-plus years ago.

  Bat over her right shoulder, Jill stands there and waits for me. I turn and meet my father’s gaze. He nods, telling me, in no words, that he’ll hold down the fort with his life. I’d do the same if I were in his place. Mom smiles at me, looking very worried. And as always, Hope looks pissed that she’s, once again, staying home.

  The door opens behind me, and I go to leave.

  “Don’t forget your promise,” Hope says, sounding disappointed.

  I give her a wink and step out into the brisk Tennessee air, shutting the door behind me without another word.

  4

  Our gassed up, police-issue GMC Yukon is waiting for us outside. It was given to me by Andrea Daniel of the Chattanooga Police Department, much to the chagrin of her brother, the man in charge. The blacked-out SUV came fully loaded and is ultra-durable, perfect for what we’re about to do.

  We haven’t driven it much as of late, which is great, because I’d really hate to have to get gas again. The only working station is twenty miles north of here, and it’s infested with Unseen—particularly burners. Nasty little pricks to have around something as flammable as gasoline.