cut directly through Plymouth. Trevor and Jon followed that route north until they came to a river crossing. That is when they saw their first hostile.
It emerged from beneath an ugly concrete bridge built recently by PennDot to replace an aging stone and metal span. The creature stood nearly nine feet on two thick legs with wiry black and silver hair and four muscular arms. It swung a lizard’s tail and gnashed jaws akin to a crocodile’s snout.
Jon said, in a surprisingly calm voice, 'There’s a troll living under the bridge.'
It climbed the embankment and intercepted the vehicle. Trevor slammed the brakes and the RV skidded to a halt, facing the creature at twenty yards. The Troll stood and glared as if savoring a meal to come. Its jaws hung open in what might have been a smile of sorts.
That changed.
Suddenly its eyes widened and its four arms waved in self-defense. Something huge swooped from the sky, seized the Troll in massive talons, and flew off.
Trevor and Jon leaned forward and watched a big black silhouette with dual sets of wings similar to a dragonfly soar away to the north with the silver and black haired monster struggling in its grasp.
The two men glanced at one another but could not think of anything to say.
Stone pressed the accelerator and they crossed the Susquehanna into the southwestern neighborhoods of Wilkes-Barre. The road became 'Carey Avenue,' a passage meandering through those neighborhoods toward the center of town. Based on what the men had witnessed from the mountaintop, they calculated the chopper crashed somewhere near Meyers High School, about a mile from the bridge.
Trevor soon realized he had been wrong about one thing: Wilkes-Barre was no ‘dead city.’ It teemed with life.
A mob of Ghouls identical to the things Trevor had seen attack the television station during the initial onslaught, gathered in a used car lot fighting over scraps. They were too busy pushing and clawing one another to notice the RV.
The rescuers continued onward underneath a railroad bridge and through a major intersection where they saw an abandoned alien plane crashed into the front of a half-burned Burger King. About the size of a fighter jet, it sported two sharp-looking scimitar wings.
Then they saw another ship. Or, at least, what they thought must be a ship because it flew high above the city. Longer and wider than a passenger jet, its shape defied the laws of aerodynamics. Indeed, it resembled more a blob than a craft, coated in a sickly green color with the texture of skin.
The ship-or creature-disappeared over the southern horizon.
As they drove, all manner of animals scurried about, most running from the motor home as if it might be a predator. Trevor had already noted the variety of invading creatures, many of which were docile and timid. Among those lived carrion eaters who, in a very practical sense, aided his cause.
Nonetheless, many human bodies remained.
No, that was not right.
Parts of human bodies: the indigestible chunks predators did not want or the carrion eaters could not consume. Most of those remains had decomposed into gory piles, some more recognizable such as the messy heap on a curb wearing a Phillies jersey, the skeletal frame on a smashed Honda motorcycle, and a filleted body laying near a precious booty of cigarette cartons outside a convenience store.
Many of the houses in south Wilkes-Barre wore unusual fronts such as big bay windows or wide double doors for the reason that before QuikMarts and chain drugstores many had been small family businesses. Jon grew up in Wilkes-Barre during the tail end of those days. He had played little league for 'Macris' Pharmacy against the kids from 'Sarafini’s Groceries' and 'The Spinning Wheel' restaurant. Shopping malls and powerful brand names had been the monsters visited upon those entrepreneurs.
A sharp breeze blew a hurricane of litter across the road. Jon watched the papers flutter and said, 'We're not going to find them.'
'Relax,' Trevor sounded calm but he felt a growing sense of claustrophobia. Clusters of houses, churches, and funeral homes crowded the street on both sides. So few escape routes, so few avenues of retreat, but plenty of ambush points.
A window curtain fluttered.
A trash can fell over and rolled.
Out the corner of his eye, Trevor saw a shadow dart between homes.
Something hanging on tree in a corner park howled a bizarre cooing noise…their noses caught a strange, musty scent that warned of marked territory…a yellow Wilkes-Barre Area school bus sat in two pieces on a side street, its center stretch completely gone as if neatly removed by a surgeon’s scalpel.
The RV rolled to a stop in front of E.L. Meyers High School, 'Home of the Mohawks!' A black cat rested in the shadow of a massive pillar at the front of the long stone building. A shaded residential neighborhood surrounded the school.
'Why are you stopping?'
'We’re not going to find them just driving around, c’mon,' Trevor killed the engine and both men exited the vehicle, carbines ready.
'Perimeter,' the Master commanded and ten K9s spread around the motor home.
Across the street from the high school sat a house in the midst of major porch roof repair when the apocalypse had come, leaving only exposed crossbeams where there should have been wood and shingles.
Trevor and Jon, in a state of curious shock, approached that porch.
Four bodies dangled there-two men and two women-hanging from ropes secured to those exposed cross beams with roughshod nooses around necks. Jon stepped onto the porch to examine the rotting corpses; the bodies long ago picked clean. Probably by birds.
Probably.
Both men wore tuxedos. One woman dressed in a wedding gown, the other a fancy but dated prom dress. A piece of cardboard taped to the banister offered an explanation of sorts:
'Here hangs the South Side Suicide Club,
We couldn’t take it no more.
So we dressed in our best, stood straight and abreast,
And kicked away stools numberin’ four.'
'Wow, now this is so fu-'
'Shh,' Trevor cut Jon off.
From the porch, the men viewed Carey Avenue and two side streets. Thick curbside trees shaded one of those side streets as it headed in an easterly direction. An autumn wind gust blew along that shady street directly toward them. Tree limbs softly waved; clusters of leaves came loose and surfed the air. Several sounds carried on that wind.
First, a subtle, eerie howl hidden in the breeze. Second, a single sharp report.
Stone and Brewer exchanged glances.
Gunfire?
Trevor estimated forty-five minutes elapsed since the crash. A gunshot meant — maybe it meant- any survivors were still survivors and not leftovers.
'Trev,' Jon pointed toward a blue sign with a big white ‘H’. 'Mercy hospital. Probably a landing pad on the roof. That’d be something a pilot would aim for.'
Trevor whistled for his troops. The K9s piled into the RV.
Stone started the vehicle again and they drove forward on that shady street.
The tall, wide hospital dominated the surrounding blocks with its red brick and stucco frame. The main entrance waited a right turn away on a smaller street. Trevor drove to that turn, cranked the wheel, and suddenly slammed on the brakes.
Jon jumped.
'What? What?'
Trevor laughed and shook his head.
'Sorry. Just we’re going the wrong way down a one-way street. Old habits, you know?'
Jon spotted the black arrow pointing the other direction and shared Trevor’s laugh.
