City of the Dead (11 page)

He drained his glass and poured another.

"Are you familiar with acupuncture, Bates?"

"Yes, sir. It was very popular when I worked in Hollywood."

"I suppose it would have been. The Oriental

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physicians found that the various functions of the body could be influenced by pressing upon specific points on the body's surface."

Bates set his glass on the desk. "You're talking about meridians, right? I studied them during my martial arts training."

"Correct. Each meridian is a pathway for specific energies-one of which is the head and brain."

Bates nodded. "An energy pathway. I see."

"Do you? It all comes back to the cranium-the brain." Ramsey pulled out the overstuffed leather chair from behind his desk and sat. He waved a hand at Bates to join him. "So, what's our status?"

Bates took a chair in front of him and checked his clipboard.

"We just finished inventory of our armory. I don't think we'll need to risk a raid on the National Guard or NYPD stockpiles after all. The federal armory raid netted us just over one hundred M-16 assault rifles and approximately one thousand rounds of ammunition apiece, plus magazines."

"I thought you didn't like M-16's?"

Bates nodded. "I don't. Personally, I prefer the M-l Garand, but beggars can't be choosers. The weapons were kept cleaned and serviced, and they should perform well enough. It doesn't matter what we defend ourselves with, as long as we have the ability to do so."

"I see. Go on."

"We obtained several Tec-9s and other assault weapons, as well as an assortment of shotguns and handguns, including an especially nice Kimber 1911, which I kept for myself. There are six M-60 machine guns, which Forrest is excited about, and ammunition for each one. We found twelve M-203 grenade-launchers that we

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can install on the M-16's. We also counted five flamethrowers, and several cases of grenades. Add to this the varied weapons our community brought with them upon each person's arrival and the weapons that we've found inside the building's apartments: more handguns and rifles, knives, crossbows, et cetera, and secondary weapons like baseball bats and broom handles-"

"Broom handles?"

"We can make spears and pikes out of them, sir."

"Ah."

"In short, we should be able to withstand any assault for many months to come."

Ramsey smiled. "We can withstand it, and this building can withstand it as well."

He wrapped his leathery knuckles against the desk.

"After all, I built it."

He rose from the desk and walked back to the window.

"After the multiple terrorist attacks that crippled this city, I built a monument to New York-a monument to America. Eight million square feet of office, retail, research, and living space, resting on solid bedrock and extending far below ground. Ninety-seven stories of reinforced steel and shatterproof windows. Hollow support pillars filled with water to keep them cool during a fire, as well as fireproofing in between the floors and pressurized stairwells that are pumped with fresh air. We've got self-contained air- and water-filtration systems and our own power generator. Ramsey Towers is an impregnable fortress-just the way I designed it. It can survive an earthquake, a tornado, a hurricane, a biological or chemical attack, and, according to the engineers, even a direct hit with an airplane."

Ramsey stared out the window. Far below them, pinpricks of light winked in the darkness.

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"Look at them. Encamped, circling this building all day and night, yet they cannot get to us. They shoot at the lower level windows-send their birds to attack. Remember when they tried the grenade launcher assault?"

Although Bates didn't respond, Ramsey knew the man remembered all too well. He'd lost four good men in the attack.

"Failed. As has everything else they've tried. Rats from the sewers. Rushing the doors with battering rams. Ladders. Concentrating their fire on one area. It's useless. They can't get in, and we don't need to get out."

Bates drained his wineglass.

"What about a nuclear detonation, sir?"

"What about it?"

"Surely the building couldn't survive that."

"A nuke? Where would they get their hands on one? And even if they did, yes, I believe we could withstand it-unless they detonated it on our doorstep. As long as I remain standing, so does this building."

"What about a truck bomb of some kind, like the one used in Oklahoma City years ago? At the very least, it would breach the exterior."

"Surely you jest."

Bates didn't respond.

Ramsey stubbed the cigar out in the solid gold ashtray on the desk corner and then returned to his seat.

"So, what else have you got for me?"

Bates turned back to the clipboard.

"Maintenance needs to take the air-conditioning offline tonight for routine repairs. It's scheduled for three this morning and should only be out for a half hour, but I imagine the smell from outside will be bad during that time. Branson and Val have been in contact with a group

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of survivors in the East Village. They're holed up on the second floor of the KGB Bar on 4th Street. They're armed fairly well, and seem to have enough food and water to last them for a few weeks. However, we lost contact with the group sequestered inside Penn Station, so we'll have to assume the worst in their scenario."

"Pity that I couldn't save them." Ramsey sighed. "We must save as many as we can."

Bates glanced back down at the clipboard and continued.

"Dr. Stern says the new family that DiMassi brought in two days ago has tuberculosis. They were quarantined, as always, so there's no risk of them infecting the rest of the building."

"And DiMassi?"

"He had limited contact with anyone else. Arrived back with the family and went straight to his quarters, where he slept for twelve hours. We've quarantined him as well, but so far he shows no signs. The doctors think he'll be fine. Of course, I still had his bed linens and accoutrements destroyed and the helicopter decontaminated, just to be safe."

"Very good. And you've had no further insubordination problems with him?"

"No, sir."

"Excellent. We can't have discord."

"Speaking of the helicopter, we need to find and secure another fueling station for it. Quinn and DiMassi have been using private airfields in Trenton, Brackard's Point, and Head of Harbor, but now all three are overrun with zombies. It's too risky for them to return. The size of the force we'd need to resecure the areas is more than we could transport with the helicopter itself. We'd

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need to go by land, which is, of course, impossible. Our men wouldn't make it two blocks at this point, let alone out of the city."

"I see." Frowning, Ramsey steepled his fingers together.

Bates shifted in his chair.

"Permission to speak freely, Mr. Ramsey?"

"Of course."

"Sir, perhaps we need to consider our situation more carefully. Things have become-rather precarious."

"Continue."

"Well, we're down to one helicopter, and it's our only way out of here. We can't go outside because those things have us surrounded, and more are showing up every day. The guy with the ham radio in Chatham told us that the zombies have gotten the Dover train running again and are shipping reinforcements into the city via the Morris-Essex line. What possible reason could they have for doing that? Face it, sir. We're under siege. Right now, it's a stalemate, but should they get more organized-should they get a leader, things could go bad very quickly. And if the U.B.R.D. malfunctions, or we lose the helicopter due to a mechanical problem or hostile fire, we'll be completely trapped."

"But we're not trapped, Bates. Indeed, we are safer than anyone else who remains alive out there."

"But for how long, sir? With all due respect, Mr. Ramsey, I don't understand your insistence on sending out regular patrols to bring back survivors. Sure, we have enough food and water now, but for how long? The more people we bring back, the more supplies we consume. There's no telling how long this siege will last. And every time we send the chopper out, we risk losing it."

"We bring them back because I can save them."

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Bates clenched his fist and continued. "Then think of the biological hazard. We're surrounded by thousands of dead bodies. Corpses. I'm not a doctor, but I would imagine they're all carrying disease. Things like the bubonic plague and hepatitis. These zombies are walking petri dishes. Maybe it's time we considered other options."

"So what would you have me do?"

"At the very least, we should shut off the strobe light on the roof. All it does is attract more of these things."

"How will others know where to find us if we don't show them the way?"

"But the other survivors can't get to us on foot, sir. Instead of worrying about others, maybe we need to worry about ourselves. We have to consider the possibility that sooner or later, no matter how well-guarded, those things will breach our defenses."

Ramsey grinned.

"If that happens, which it won't, then I have a contingency plan."

"Good. I can't tell you what a relief that is, sir. May I ask what it is?"

"No. As of now, that information is given out on a need-to-know basis, and quite frankly, you don't need to know."

Bates leaned back in his chair.

"Begging your pardon, Mr. Ramsey, but how am I supposed to protect us if I don't know?"

The old man took another sip of wine.

"Trust me, Bates. If and when the time comes, you'll be the first to know. Now, what about this situation to the south that you apprised me of earlier today? What became of that?"

"The communication center has continued monitoring,

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sir: citizen's band, short-wave, all civilian, federal, local, military, and maritime channels, as well as cellular and other frequencies. Branson and Val tell me it was a large force, obviously on the move. Possibly remnants of a National Guard unit, judging from some of the transmissions we intercepted. But we've heard nothing for hours."

"And that was in-Hellertown, Pennsylvania, yes?"

"Affirmative-at a government facility. Quinn and Steve are out now, flying over the Garden State Parkway, Interstates 95 and 78 and all the other major highways nearby, just in case there are survivors heading this way. I doubt they'll find anything. Who would be foolish enough to come into New York City if they weren't already here?"

"Who indeed," Ramsey chuckled. "Anything else?"

"We need to reconsider our power usage. Keeping the building lit not only excites the zombies, but it's draining our resources. I suggest rolling blackouts. We need to conserve-"

"Out of the question. I told you, we must keep the building lit so that other survivors will find us. The lights are a beacon to their safety. 'While I am in the world, I am the light of the world.' John, 9:5. You should read the Bible sometime. Fascinating book."

Bates fought hard to keep the frustration out of his voice. "As you wish, sir."

"Is that all?"

"There is one other thing. Earlier in the day, I discovered that one of the new arrivals, a little girl of about seven, had a bag of ripe black plums on her person. She was nice enough to share some with me, in gratitude."

"Plums?" Ramsey salivated at the thought. "Most excellent!"

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"I'll have one sent up for you at once, sir."

"No." Ramsey waved his hand. "You'd better wait an hour. I wish to masturbate first."

Bates paused, fighting very hard to maintain his composure.

"Very well, sir. I'll leave you then."

He turned and walked out. The door hissed shut behind him.

Darren Ramsey, billionaire industrialist and the man who was New York, unbuckled his pants, letting them fall around his ankles. Then he shuffled to the window and pressed his hardening member against the cold glass.

He threw his head back, closed his eyes and sighed.

" 'While I am in the world, I am the light of the world.'"

As his hand began to stroke, he gazed out upon the skyline again.

If there were a God, he thought, I bet his view wouldn't be as good as this ...

"I am their savior ..." he moaned.

This building, Ramsey Towers, spanning the 200 block of Madison Avenue, and stretching between 35th and 36th streets, was his world. And he stood at the top of that world, the ruler of all he surveyed.

Fourteen floors below him, an armless, legless torso strapped to an operating table shouted curses in ancient Sumerian.

Bates stood outside the door, listening.

"Bates?"

He whirled, hand automatically going to his pistol.

"Whoa." Forrest threw his hands up in the air. "It's just me."

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"What are you doing?" Bates snapped. "You know better than to be on this level without authorization."

The big man stared at the floor.

"You told me to let you know if Steve and Quinn found anything."

"And?"

"They did. Four survivors. Should be here in about fifteen minutes."

"Wonderful. That's all we need-more people."

"I bet Mr. Ramsey will be happy to hear it."

"I'm sure he will," Bates said. "He'll be delighted."

Because the old fucker has lost his mind and has some kind of messiah complex.

The black man stared at the door, listening to the noises drifting out.

"What's he doing in there?"

"None of your concern." Bates lit a cigarette and inhaled deeply. "Did you tell Dr. Stern to prepare for the new arrivals?"

"He was asleep, so I let Doc Maynard know. He ..."

"What?" Bates asked.

"He-he was doing something with one of the zombies."

"Another experiment?"

"No ..."

"What then?"

"He-it sounds fucked up. He was having sex with it."

"What?"

"Had it strapped down to a gurney and when I walked into the lab, his pants were down around his ankles, and he was humping away at the fucking thing! It was babbling in some kind of language I never heard."