City of the Dead (34 page)

"You've got six shots in there. Don't forget to save one for yourself."

"Got... it..."

Tears ran freely from Forrest's eyes.

"Been a pleasure to serve with you, Bates."

Bates smiled. "The honor ... was mine."

"Semper fi."

"Ooo rah ..."

Forrest swung his legs over the shaft and climbed

317

down the ladder. With one hand, he grabbed the cable threaded through the manhole cover and pulled it shut behind him. The last thing he saw was his friend, lying in a pool of blood, eyes half-closed. Forrest let go of the rungs and dropped the last six feet, his boots thudding on the cement.

They crowded together in the tunnel. The impenetrable darkness increased their anxiety. Pigpen handed each of them a glow stick, and fastened another one to God's collar.

"This way," Pigpen said, pointing the flashlight beam into the blackness. God ran ahead, his tiny paws splashing through a pool of water. They followed.

After they'd disappeared around the corner, other tiny paws trailed along behind them, scurrying in the darkness.

Bates struggled to sit up, his back against a steel support pillar. The zombies battered at the doors. The racket was horrendous, and their cries were terrible. Something skittered through the air ducts over his head, searching for a way in.

Bates had known fear in his life. When he was eight and he'd almost stepped on a copperhead while walking through the woods behind his home. When he was sixteen, asking Amy Schrum to the prom. He'd been frightened during his first night in boot camp-lying there on his rack in the dark barracks, and listening to the guy below him sobbing. In Iraq, as they advanced north toward Baghdad with winds whipping at fifty miles-per-hour, burying everything under a fine coat of sand. That was the first time Bates had seen combat, and he'd been

318

terrified. And more recently, when he'd first seen the hints that his employer, Darren Ramsey, was slowly going insane from what was happening in the world around them.

Bates was no stranger to fear. Yet now, as the zombies smashed through the doors, he did not feel it. A strange sense of calm washed over him. Nothing mattered, not even as the creatures descended upon him, surrounding him with their rotting forms.

Smiling, Bates tried to raise the pistol and found that he couldn't. He suddenly felt weak and cold. His stomach hurt. He tried to lift the pistol to his head again, but it clattered from his numb fingers. Bates closed his eyes as the zombies drew closer.

He didn't feel the blade of the handsaw as it ripped across his throat.

"It is finished, lord Ob. The humans are defeated."

"None left alive in the building?"

"Our forces have just slain the last one, sire. We are victorious."

Ob looked up at the burning building, a funeral pyre towering into the sky. The clouds spat rain, but still the fires roared, engulfing floor after floor. The buildings surrounding Ramsey Towers were also ablaze, and the smoking wreckage of the helicopter lay scattered in the streets.

"Well, if there are any left inside, cowering in some dark corner, they won't be for long. Gather our forces. Have them regroup. And set the rest of the necropolis alight."

"But lord Ob, is this place not to be our base of operations?"

"If all the humans are destroyed, then our time here is

319

done. We'll have no need of this city. It will be our kindred's turn, and we shall move on to conquer other worlds. The second wave can begin."

A zombie stepped from the ruins, dressed in black leather pants and a bloodstained white shirt. Long, dark hair spilled down its back. The corpse was fresh. Its throat had been sawed open from ear to ear. It walked toward them.

"Lord Ob!"

"Yes?"

The thing inside Bates struggled to speak through its damaged vocal cords. "I just took possession of this body mere moments ago. I have searched my host's memories."

"And?"

"A number of the humans still live. They've escaped."

"Where?" Ob growled.

"Under the city, my lord. Directly beneath our feet."

"How many?"

"Ten of them, sire. Several of them are formidable warriors."

"How so?"

"Three are trained soldiers. And one of them traveled several hundred miles in search of his son. His example rallies the others-gives them hope."

"In search of his son?" Ob thought back to his previous host, the scientist, Baker. He'd had two companions: Jim, the father searching for his son, and Martin, the elderly holy man.

"This father-what is his name?"

"Jim. Jim Thurmond."

Ob clenched his fist so hard that the fingernails punched through his palms.

"Was one of them an old black preacher?"

320

The Bates-thing shook its head. "There are two black males, sire, but neither is a preacher. One is named Leroy, and the other, Forrest."

"What is it, lord Ob?" the lieutenant asked.

"Unfinished business," Ob said. "Associates of one of my former hosts. They escaped me in Hellertown. It's a trivial matter. Not really worth wasting time over. But still-it would be beautiful to destroy this father and son after everything they've been through. The irony, the violation, would burn the Creator's ears and eyes."

"How shall we proceed?" The lieutenant stood ready.

"We didn't do all of this just to let ten of these creatures slip through our net. Order all of our forces into the tunnels beneath this city."

"All of them, sire?"

"All of them."

The rain drenched them all, spilling onto the streets and into the gutters. It swirled down the drains and sewer grates, into the tunnels below.

The zombies followed.

321

They followed Pigpen in single file, while God darted ahead of them, exploring the shadows. The glow stick in the cat's collar flashed neon green in the darkness. The cat stopped occasionally, licking his paws until they caught up. Each step took them deeper and deeper into the network of tunnels spreading like veins beneath the city. The silence and darkness were overwhelming-the quiet broken only by the faint sound of dripping water. The dampness seeped through their clothing.

Frankie shivered, wishing she had something more than the hospital gown to wear. The thin cloth barely covered her, and her ass was an ice cube. She decided she'd conserved her glow stick long enough and snapped it on, activating the chemicals inside the plastic cylinder. The darkness surrounded the light, as if trying to extinguish it. She slogged forward, her fingers trailing along the wall to her left, and then yanked them away. Slimy moisture dripped from her fingertips. Wincing at the thick, unmistakable reek of raw sewage, Frankie wiped

322

her hand on her leg and buried her nose in the neckline of the gown.

"Maybe we should have stayed upstairs," she joked.

The ceiling rose and sank like a roller coaster. They walked farther along the tunnel, alternately ducking under pipes and stepping over puddles. Jim gripped Danny's hand, making sure they stayed close in the darkness.

A small arch led into another tunnel, reeking of hydrogen sulfate. A pipe in the wall dripped black sludge. It felt like the weight of the city was crushing down on them.

Pigpen and God led them on, emerging into a new passageway. They stepped over a jumbled mound of cinder blocks and a discarded roll of copper tubing. The floor was dry, and the darkness wasn't as thick. Thin beams of light from the burning buildings in the streets above filtered down through overhead grates.

Frankie caught a whiff of burning flesh from the streets above, and wished for the darkness again. A roach the size of a half-dollar popped beneath her heel. She thought back to her dream in the hospital, of the plants and the insects becoming reanimated after humanity and the other life forms were destroyed. She opened her mouth to mention it to Jim and Don, but then decided against it. No sense alarming the others because of a dream.

Pigpen stopped, tilting his head and listening.

"What is it?" Forrest whispered.

"God heard something," the vagrant breathed. "His hackles are up."

They peered into the darkness, but saw nothing.

Danny squeezed Jim's hand, and clenched the bat tighter in his other fist.

323

"Daddy, I'm scared."

"It's okay. None of us are going to let anything get you. The cat probably just smelled a mouse or something."

"But what if the mouse is one of them?"

God prowled ahead, and Pigpen followed. The rest of the group plodded along behind them.

"So how far does this tunnel run?" Forrest asked, whispering now.

"Almost the whole way," Pigpen answered. "They ain't finished building it, but it's sturdy enough. We'll pass a few rough spots, places under construction. We used to sleep near one of them sometimes, when we couldn't get below Grand Central. There's a bomb shelter a few stories below our feet too."

"A bomb shelter?" Smokey was puzzled. "Who built that?"

"Mr. Ramsey. There's bunches of them under the city, and I know where a few of them are located. Most of them got built during the Cold War, and they've sat empty since then. But folks live in them now. Last time I checked, Ramsey's was vacant, but it's got food and stuff inside."

"Well shit," Leroy grumbled, "why don't we just make for that? Hole up inside, barricade ourselves? Might be easier than going to the airport and stealing a plane."

Forrest snapped a glow stick and wedged it into his belt. "If we do that, and the zombies found us, then we'd be trapped. I say we stick with the original plan. I don't want to spend the rest of my days holed up in a bunker."

"You've got that right," Jim said. He thought back to how this whole thing had started-trapped in a backyard bunker while the dead raged above him. He didn't want it to end that way as well.

324

They continued down the tunnel. Minutes later, they passed a manhole shaft. Shelves made from pallet boards and scrap wood hung over the ladder rungs, along with soiled sleeping bags. Needles, crack vials, broken bottles, and shriveled condoms lay scattered on the floor. The darkness grew thicker again, enveloping them all. The temperature dropped, and they could see their breath reflected in the soft light of the glow sticks.

"It's getting colder," Etta whispered.

"That's because we're getting farther away from the fires," Pigpen explained.

Frankie shivered again, and pulled the hospital gown closer.

They came to a section where muddy water dripped from the ceiling, forming a pool on the floor. A layer of scummy film floated atop it. It stank worse than the corpses in the city streets above them. More cockroaches scuttled through the detritus. But that was it. No humans or rats, undead or otherwise. They skirted the pool and moved on.

They continued in silence, with only the sloshing of their wet shoes and the sound of their breath as company. The network seemed endless, each tunnel vanishing into the distance, beyond the reach of the flashlight. But Pigpen and God crept on with unerring assurance, tirelessly guiding them through the twisting, graffiti-covered catacombs. Eventually, they arrived at a crossroads where several tunnels merged into an open area.

"What was this gonna be?" Forrest asked.

Pigpen shrugged. "I don't know."

"It looks like some sort of hub," Don whispered. "Service tunnels maybe?"

Quinn lit a cigarette. "Well, one thing's for sure. It'll never get finished now."

325

They crept on through a large, round tunnel, which emptied out into an uncompleted subway station, deserted except for a skid piled with new turnstiles, and an abandoned lunchbox and thermos. The flashlight beam reflected something in the darkness, and Steve stepped closer to investigate. A decapitated head stared back at him; a Ramsey Construction hardhat perched on its scalp- The skin on its face looked like wax-greasy and swollen. The lips moved silently, and the eyes darted back and forth, tracking his movements.

"Ugh!" Steve lashed out with his foot, kicking it down several flights of stairs to the lowest platform. The head rolled off the platform and bounced onto the tracks, coming to rest against the third rail. He held his breath, waiting for the crack and sizzle of electricity, but there was no power. Instead, the head just lay there, cursing him without vocal cords.

"Touchdown." Quinn smirked. "Hell, Steve. You could have played for the Giants."

They continued on; Pigpen and God in the lead, Steve and Quinn bringing up the rear, and the rest of the group sandwiched between them. When the glow sticks began to fade, they cast them aside and activated new ones.

"Pick those up," Leroy suggested, pointing at the discarded glow sticks. "No sense in leaving a trail for them to follow."

They put the discarded sticks in their pockets and kept walking.

Jim took hold of Danny's hand again.

"Daddy?"

"What, squirt?"

"Do you think they'll ever make a new Godzilla movie?"

326

Jim stifled a laugh. The question surprised him, so unexpected and removed from their surroundings.

"I doubt it, Danny. I think Hollywood and Tokyo are probably just like everywhere else now."

"That sucks," the boy pouted. "I'll miss Godzilla. And Spider-Man and Dragonball Z. Maybe when I grow up, I'll make new ones."

"Maybe we can find you some comic books somewhere along the way, after we get to where we're going."

Danny's face brightened at the prospect. "I miss my comics. They were all back at Mommy's house. Now they're probably burned up, or else the monster-people are reading them."

"You know what I missed?" Jim asked him.

"What?"

"I missed you." He gave Danny's hand a squeeze.

"But what do you miss now, Daddy?"

Jim thought about it. "Your stepmom. And West Virginia. My friends back home. Watching the Mountaineers play, even if they're losing. And Martin."

"You know what I miss?" Quinn spoke up from the rear. "An ice-cold beer. God, I'd kill for a beer right now. And a big, juicy steak, cooked rare with a baked potato on the side."