City of the Dead (30 page)

"Be a shame to let this gold Rolex go to waste. Can I have it, Quinn?"

Ramsey's eyes blinked.

Before Quinn could answer, Ramsey's corpse sat up and knocked the rifle aside. His intestines boiled from the hole in his stomach, splattering onto the floor. His teeth sank into Branson's wrist. The young soldier screamed.

Using the distraction, DiMassi shoved Jim and Quinn out of the way and bolted for the stairwell.

"Carson," Quinn shouted, "Get him. Shoot him if you have to!" Then he grabbed Branson's shirt collar and pulled him backward. A hunk of Branson's flesh disappeared down the zombie's throat. Blood dripped from the ugly wound in Branson's arm.

"I have come to join my brothers," the thing that had

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been Ramsey hissed. "As shall you all. We are undefeatable!"

The rifle kicked against Quinn's shoulder, and the zombie's head exploded. Ramsey fell to the floor a second time.

"Your building was supposed to be undefeatable too, you son of a bitch."

Carson took off down the hall in pursuit of DiMassi.

Quinn pulled out a pocketknife and cut a strip of cloth from Ramsey's pants leg. Then he tied the cloth around Branson's wound.

"You okay to move?"

Branson nodded. His face was pale and sweaty.

"I'm not going to be able to shoot for shit, but I'll live. Don't think I'm gonna go into shock or anything."

"Just make sure you keep this tourniquet tight," Quinn told him. "Can't have you bleeding all over the place. That would be like leaving a trail of breadcrumbs."

Jim stepped forward. "I'll take your gun, if you don't mind."

Branson shrugged. "Sure."

Jim gave Ramsey's pistol to Frankie and then picked up the rifle for himself.

"You guys know how to use those?" Quinn asked.

"We didn't make it this far shooting spitballs," Frankie said. She got out of the wheelchair with a wince, and made a show of slapping her clip in and out of the semiautomatic pistol's handle.

Danny frowned. "How come I don't get a gun?"

"Doc Stern kept an aluminum baseball bat in that storage room over there," Quinn pointed. "He and Maynard used to hit the ball down the hallway. How would that be?"

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Danny's face lit up. "Can I carry the bat, Daddy?"

"I guess." Jim sighed. "But if we come across any zombies, I want you to promise that you'll stay behind me and Frankie. Okay?"

Danny promised and then rooted through the storage closet. He came back out with the bat, and swung it like a sword.

"If they try to get us, I'll hit them in the nuts."

"Danny," Jim warned.

"Try their head instead," Frankie whispered, giving him a playful punch on the shoulder.

Quinn checked the tourniquet and then disappeared into one of the offices. He came back out with a bottle of painkillers and made Branson swallow four. Then he turned to the others.

"Let's go."

"What's the plan?" Frankie asked.

"We've got to catch up with Carson, and stop DiMassi before he gets to the helicopter. Then I'll radio Bates and see what our status is."

"And if Bates is dead?"

"I'll fly us out of here the same way I flew us in. The chopper will hold us."

"Where will we go?" Frankie said.

"Anywhere but here."

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Don's hands shook, and the rifle jerked up and down. He fought to calm himself. His handkerchief, tied around his mouth and nose to block out the smoke, was drenched with sweat, and his muffled breathing sounded very loud in his ears. Don wondered if the zombies could hear it too. He sighted on the first corpse as it rounded the corner, and squeezed the trigger. The hollow-point punched through the creature's throat. The second drilled into its head, painting the wall behind it. More zombies emerged, blocking the corridor, and the glow of the emergency lights. Don poured bullets into them, readjusted his fire, and watched them drop with the second group of shots.

Smokey, Leroy, Etta, and a man who'd introduced himself to Don as Fulci, all had time to squeeze off shots as well, and then the zombies returned fire. They ducked behind their makeshift barricade of desks and filing cabinets.

Leroy dug in his pocket for more ammunition. "Anybody hit?"

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"I'm okay." Smokey confirmed. Don and Etta murmured assurances as well. Fulci said nothing, because his lower jaw and most of his throat were now a ragged, wet hole. Air whistled through it.

"Better finish him off, Etta." Leroy quickly reloaded. "Don't need any more of those things in here."

Etta slid a screwdriver into Fulci's ear, shoving it through his brain. Blood trickled down the side of his mangled face.

"He ain't getting up again."

Don shuddered.

Another barrage slammed into the barricade, and all four ducked lower, hugging the floor. Smokey fired three wild shots, and the zombies laughed.

"What the hell do we do now?" Don asked, trying to eject the magazine.

"You're doing that wrong," Leroy told him, then took the weapon and did it for him. He handed it back to Don.

"There's two more stairwells on this floor," Smokey said. "One of them is behind us. The other, the fire escape route, is on the other side of the building."

"I say we make for that," Etta said. "Get up to the roof and the helicopter."

"Who the hell is gonna fly it?" Leroy scoffed. "Ain't none of us know how to pilot that thing."

More bullets chewed up the barricade.

"Well, we can't stay here," Don yelled. "Let's go."

Still crouched down, he turned to run and then froze. Four more zombies were creeping up behind them. None of the creatures were armed with ranged weapons, but each carried a knife or club.

"They flanked us!"

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With a triumphant cry, the zombies to their front charged. A second later, an explosion went off in their midst. Shrapnel and bits of pulped flesh showered down upon the group. Leroy cried out, hands flailing as a hot fragment of metal scorched his forearm. The stench of his burned flesh filled the air. The zombies to their rear pulled back, hesitating.

"Make a hole, motherfuckers," Forrest shouted. He clutched another grenade in one beefy hand. The other held an M-16.

Pigpen stepped out from behind him and drove an axe through the forehead of a zombie crawling across the floor. God poked his furry head out of a backpack slung over the vagrant's shoulders.

Smokey and Don took advantage of the four remaining creatures' hesitation and gunned them down. Then they stood up.

"God damn, it's good to see you, Forrest!" Leroy grasped his hand, and then winced, favoring his forearm.

"Good to see you guys alive too. Now let's move."

Etta grabbed Leroy's arm, her face concerned. "You gonna be okay?"

"It hurts like a bitch, but I'm fine."

"No time to talk," Forrest insisted. "They're all over the place. We need to go, now."

"Where?" Don asked.

"The back fire stairs, and then the sub-basement."

"And then," Pigpen grinned, "God will lead us out of here."

Val finally left her post in the communications center. The radio traffic was becoming ominous-more attack orders from zombies than humans-and she figured it

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was time to bolt. Naval radio operators went down with the ship, but not her.

She crept down the corridor, wondering where Branson had gone, when a zombie bird slammed into her face. Screaming, she grabbed the creature and flung it away. It smashed against the wall and crumpled to the floor. Val stomped it, feeling the bones snap beneath her feet.

The elevator doors at the end of the hallway stood open, revealing an empty shaft. The darkness inside the gaping hole wasn't just black, it was solid. From somewhere far below her, she heard muffled gunshots and explosions. A drought of warm air drifted from the empty shaft, brushing against her face. With it came smoke.

"Shit. Guess I can't go that way."

Val retraced her steps down the darkened hallway. Something fluttered behind her. She turned around and stared at the shaft. The noise repeated itself, a dry, rustling sound.

"What the-"

Without warning, a dozen undead pigeons flew out of the dark hole, soaring down the hallway toward her. Val ran, fleeing their terrible, squawking cries. She felt claws rake at the back of her neck, and beat them away. Another bird snagged her hair, pulling out a clump by the roots. She pumped her legs faster, lengthening the distance between herself and her attackers. Her hand instinctively covered her abdomen, protecting her unborn baby.

She rounded a corner and slid to a halt. At the far end of the hall dozens of zombies were searching room to room. They hadn't noticed her. Quickly, she tried the first door to her left. It was unlocked.

Val heaved herself into the room. Two birds made it through before she could slam the door shut. One launched itself at her face, and its razored beak clamped

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onto her eyelid and flew away. Val shrieked as it tore loose. The second bird darted for her lidless eyeball, plucking it from its socket.

Half-blind, Val grabbed a lamp from the table and swung it, clubbing the first bird to the floor. Still screaming, she smashed the other one against the wall. Both the lamp and the pigeon exploded. The first bird rose from the carpet and speared her other eye. The last thing she saw was the pointed beak. Then, everything vanished in a red cloud of pain. She clutched at the bird, feeling the gore-matted feathers, her fingers tracing over her own eyeball before she squeezed both it and the bird into a pulp.

Doubled over with agony, Val crashed around the room, blindly searching for the door handle. She found it, and stumbled out into the hall. Blood streamed from her empty eye sockets. Part of her brain warned her that there were still zombies in the corridor, but she didn't care. Something flared inside her head. Hands held out in front of her, she weaved down the hallway, one shoulder sliding along the wall.

"Can somebody help me?" she sobbed.

The air stank of smoke and cordite-and rot. She smelled the creature before it spoke.

"Where are you going, bitch?"

"Please ..."

"Come here, little mouse."

"Somebody help me!"

"One blind mouse. See how it runs ..."

"Leave me alone!"

Val turned in the darkness, seeking only to escape the stench and that horrible, grating voice. She ran, hearing the unmistakable sound of a racking shotgun. She fled, sightless and crippled from the pain and shock.

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"Please," she sobbed. "Somebody-"

Still running, she tumbled down the open elevator shaft.

Ob and his lieutenants strolled through the burned-out lobby, stepping over the smoldering ruins and surveying the damage. Above them, the slaughter continued.

Relentless, the undead hordes pressed forward, murdering every living creature in their path-humans hiding in apartments and offices, cowering in bathroom stalls and ventilation ducts, and making a stand in the hallways and stairwells. For the most part, the killings were quick and efficient, but some of the Siqqusim who had remained trapped in the Void for a lengthier time than their brothers stopped to feed, relishing the moment.

The residents of Ramsey Towers fought back; cab drivers and models and clerical assistants and telemarketers- all turned warriors in the face of their own extinction. Both the living and the dead suffered heavy casualties, and pieces of human wreckage littered the building. But for every walking corpse that was destroyed, four more rose up to take its place. The bodies of the recently dead returned, hunting down their former friends, family members, and lovers. Methodically, the creatures swept through each floor of the building, choking the passageways with their presence and leaving abominations in their wake. Slowly, they worked their way to the top.

Bates and Steve emerged from the armory, each carrying a flamethrower. Their backs were strapped with lightweight canisters full of jellied gasoline. Bates had used one in Iraq, and had seen the liquid fire melt skin and bones.

They ran down the hall and straight into a massacre. Thirty feet away from them, ten zombies stood in a

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circle feasting upon the gored remains of three adults and two children that lay in a dismembered pile between them. Absorbed in their meal, the creatures didn't notice their approach. Quickly, the men ducked out of sight, and watched, deciding what to do next.

"We should move on," one of the creatures grunted around a mouthful of liver.

"I'm hungry," another moaned, carving a layer of yellow fat from one of the children. "Let's finish eating first. I haven't had man flesh for three days."

A third elbowed its companion out of the way, and wrenched the heart from another body.

"We must continue," the first one insisted. "We can enjoy these spoils later."

"Not until we replenish ourselves. I waited longer than you for release from the Void. I will eat my fill!"

Another zombie held up one of the children's arms like it was a chicken leg, and greedily bit into the bicep.

"Try this first." It smacked its lips, nudging the first one. "The children are much more succulent than the adults. Have a bite before we move on."

"Ob's orders were to-"

Bates and Steve leapt out, and pulled their triggers at the same time. The flames whipped toward the clustered zombies, incinerating them in mid-feast. They howled, not in pain, but in enraged confusion. Two of the corpses stumbled forward, scorching the floor with every halting step. Bates directed the flame toward them, and they crumbled. Nothing remained but burning meat.

Steve turned away and retched. In the ceiling above them, the sprinkler system kicked in, drenching them both.

"Bates," Steve gasped. "I can't take this anymore, man. I can't..."

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"With luck, it will all be over soon." "You think so? Because I sure don't see it." Without a word, Bates flicked his wet hair from his face and led Steve toward the stairwell.

Dr. Stern was inside an elevator between the twenty-seventh and twenty-eighth floors when the power went out. He froze, terrified that the car would plummet to the bottom of the shaft. When he realized it was still suspended safely by its cables, he breathed a sigh of relief.