Dead Moon_Song of Sorrow by Matt James

Author:Matt James [James, Matt]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2019-02-13T16:00:00+00:00

11

A few miles up ahead is another community of some kind. Roads of all shapes and sizes, paved and unpaved, break off of Flats and disappear, winding themselves into the trees. Each has a handmade, makeshift sign stating which path you’re about to turn onto if you so choose to. Jill hasn’t told me to do so, so I’m staying put.

“Deer Trot Trail?” I ask rhetorically. The street sign is wood and features a small family of deer mid-trot.

“Cute,” Mom replies, speaking up for only the second time in a while.

She’s been awfully quiet back there, Dad too, but I also remember that she doesn’t do very well in the backseat. The swerving mountain roads aren’t helping either. I know my stomach would be in knots right now if our roles were reversed.

“Top of the World?” This time, it’s Jill who is unsure of the name.

“Is that another road?” Dad asks, chuckling.

“No,” Jill replies, “it’s a town…”

“Any of this look familiar?” I ask, worried.

She shakes her head. “It’s been a long time since I’ve been through here. I don’t recognize any of it—just a couple of vague memories really. Plus, a lot of this is relatively new as people try to escape the busier resort areas.”

Busy, right. The busiest this area gets is when a community bonfire is put together. And, if you haven’t noticed, I have no clue what people in places like this do.

“Great,” I mumble. Jill’s eyes dart toward me, and I deflate her anger before it can erupt. “Still better than I could’ve done.”

The corner of her mouth curls into a smirk. She knows that I just dodged one hell of a bullet. She’s frustrated, and she wants to take it out on someone or something. I know the feeling all too well.

I feel it every fucking day.

Less than a mile later, I roll to a stop at a unique five-way intersection. I’d love to see a combo of super-seniors and teenagers navigate this one without hitting one another. It’d be a show for the ages—literally!

“Any ideas?” I ask. No one answers. “Okay, then… Flats it is.”

I keep the speed slow. The street is narrow like the rest, but the amount of homes is what has me going easy. More people—and every adult I see is armed—men and women alike.

No bonfires.

It’s not a joke, and I know it isn’t fair for me to lump these people in with the crazies we've already met along the way, but that’s where my mind automatically went. For all I know, the township of Top of the World, Tennessee, is a polite one. We try to keep it that way and wave to everyone we make eye-contact with. No one smiles back, but they do at least acknowledge us with a courtesy wave of their own, albeit it an uncomfortable one.

I pull off the road a minute or two later and park the Yukon in front of a sign that reads, “Blount County Fire Department – Station 8.” I can’t

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