City of the Dead (35 page)

"I miss Days of Our Lives," Etta said.

"You and those damn soaps," Leroy grunted. "That's all you ever watched."

"I watched it ever since I was a little girl. Last I saw, Abe and Lexie was getting back together, but Stefano was gonna stop it. Now I don't guess I'll ever find out what happens next."

"You won't be missing much." Leroy shook his head in frustration. "I miss my car. I swear, my damn feet got blisters from all this walking."

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"What about you, Steve?" Quinn asked.

"My son."

They grew quiet. In the darkness, Steve sniffed.

"Yeah," Don finally broke the silence. "I miss my wife, Myrna."

Pigpen's eyes were far away. "I miss that Italian place on 24th. They used to give me a meatball hoagie every day. God and I would share one, and eat it outside on the sidewalk bench. Boy, those were good. Didn't last long, though."

"You mean God didn't turn the sandwich into more, like Jesus with the bread and fish?" Quinn teased him.

"God's just a cat, Mr. Quinn."

They all laughed at this. In the darkness, Quinn's ears got as red as his hair.

"What about you, Forrest?" Don asked. "What do you miss most?"

"Honestly? This will sound weird. I was a news junkie. Growing up in Harlem, my momma made me watch the news every day. Stuck with me when I became an adult. Always started the morning with a cup of coffee and The Daily News. Then I'd watch Fox or CNN in the evening. I miss the news-I miss feeling connected to the world. I don't feel like I'm a part of it anymore."

"You might not want to be a part of it," Frankie said. "It belongs to those things now."

"I miss my home," Smokey mumbled. "And my dog. He was a good dog-kind and gentle, scared of his own shadow. Followed me around the house all day. I boarded him in a kennel when I came here to visit my daughter. I wish I knew what happened to him."

"Maybe it's better that you don't," Leroy said.

Frankie didn't speak her desire aloud. She missed her baby-her stillborn child. She squeezed her eyes shut

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and tried to force the image from her mind. She could still hear the nurse's screams when the infant had come back to life.

Danny murmured, "I miss Mommy."

Jim put an arm around his shoulders and squeezed.

They all fell silent again, each lost in their own thoughts.

Soon, the sounds of running water echoed from ahead. They emerged into a wide space filled with tools and construction equipment. A seamless curtain of water poured from a broken pipe fifteen feet over their heads. To their right, there was a hole in the cement wall. It looked like something or somebody had chiseled it out. Pigpen shined the flashlight beam into the hole.

Etta and Smokey both screamed.

Rats had eaten half of the zombie's face-whether before or after it had died they didn't know. The eyes were scratched out, and the tongue had been chewed away. An ear was missing; the other was a ragged lump of gnawed cartilage. When it sat up, the creature's empty eye sockets swarmed with wriggling maggots and a plump, white worm dropped from its nose.

The blind creature slumped out of the hole and crawled toward them, guided by their screaming. God reared up, hissing, and Pigpen dropped the flashlight. He bent, fumbling for it, as the monster crept closer.

Forrest raised his rifle to his shoulder, carefully lined up the crosshairs of his scope, and squeezed the trigger. The stock bucked against his shoulder and the zombie's rotting head exploded, splattering the wall with gore and maggots.

Pigpen snatched up the flashlight and gasped for breath.

Behind them, a thin figure separated itself from the

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darkness and glided toward the group. They didn't see it until it's yellow, broken teeth sank into Leroy's neck. Flesh and tendons tore, and blood gushed from the hole. Leroy's scream became a long, drawn out wail. He beat at the creature with his hands, but the jaws clamped down on the wound again. The zombie shook its head back and forth like a dog, burrowing deeper into his neck and shoulder. Its pus-covered fingers dug into the burn wound on his arm, popping the blisters and peeling his skin back.

"Get it off me! Oh God ..."

"I can't get a shot," Quinn yelled. "Steve! Nail it!"

Steve ran forward, clubbing the creature with the butt of his rifle. He smashed the stock against its face a second time, and the zombie reared backward, taking another mouthful of Leroy's neck with it.

The wounded man collapsed next to the zombie on the tunnel floor. He tried to scream, but blood shot from his throat rather than sound. He inhaled, the air whistling in his chest. The zombie reared up on its hands and knees and gnashed its teeth.

"Leroy!" Etta screamed.

She ran to his side and the zombie lunged for her. Steve swung the rifle over his head and slammed it down a third time. There was a sickening thud, and then blood and other fluids gushed from the cracked skull. Steve clubbed it again. The corpse went limp, sprawling in a puddle of sewage.

The others checked the perimeter, but there were no more zombies. They gathered around Leroy and Etta.

Leroy held his hands up to his face and saw the blood on them. His eyes widened in panic and he grasped his throat. Etta sobbed, begging him not to die. He tried to speak one more time, and then his lips stopped moving.

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"No," Etta cried. "This ain't happening. You come back, Leroy. You come back to me right now, god damn it!"

Forrest's voice was gentle, but firm. "Etta, you know what we've got to do."

"He ain't gonna rise. Not Leroy. He ain't gonna come back."

Smokey knelt down beside her and clasped her hands. "Etta, you know that's not true."

Don sniffed the air. "You guys smell something?"

"Just the sewer," Frankie quipped.

Suddenly, God howled. The cat paced back and forth in front of the large tunnel, hissing and spitting with rage. He peered into the darkness and then backed away.

"Listen," Quinn gasped. "What the hell is that?"

"Whatever it is," Frankie whispered, "the cat doesn't like it."

Then they all heard it, racing down the tunnel toward them-the whispered scurrying of rats. Hundreds of beady red eyes reflected back at them from the darkness.

"Oh, God," Quinn whispered. "We are so fucked ..."

Frankie shoved him. "Run!"

"Jim," Quinn shouted, "Get that flamethrower back here! Toast the fuckers!"

"No," Forrest yelled. "Those are gas mains over our heads. You light up and you'll kill us all. Move, people!"

Jim glanced upward and spotted the gas pipes hugging the ceiling. Small, furry shapes darted along the top of them.

The undead rats rushed down the tunnel like a brown wave. They made no sound, save the clicking of their claws. As they drew closer, they began to squeal. The sound was like fingernails on a chalkboard.

God was the first to run, followed by Pigpen, Frankie,

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Don, and Smokey. Jim scooped Danny into his arms and raced down the tunnel after them. Quinn, Forrest, and Steve brought up the rear. All three fired into the scurrying mass, but it had no effect.

Etta never had a chance. The undead vermin swept over her as she struggled to get to her feet, crushing her back to the floor. Her body was completely obscured. They stripped the flesh from her bones in minutes, and then did the same to Leroy. The rest chased after the group.

Ob stared down the shaft in the sub-basement's floor.

"They went down there? You are sure of it?"

The gash in Bates's throat opened and closed as he talked. "Yes, lord. It is all here in my host's mind. They could not have gotten very far."

Ob turned to his lieutenant. "I want our forces to enter through every manhole cover and subway station within a twelve-block radius. Hunt them down and eradicate them. I would be done with this. Also, have a group dispatched for the airport, just in case they slip through our net."

The zombie nodded, and then lurched off to convey the orders.

Ob realized that his right pinkie finger was loose and dangling by a thread of sinew. He hadn't noticed until this moment. Perhaps he'd cut it on a piece of wreckage, or maybe the body was deteriorating faster than he'd expected.

He ripped the half-severed digit from his hand and dropped it down the hole.

"I don't like loose ends."

Ob climbed down the shaft. His forces followed.

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They ran down the tunnel, their breath burning in their lungs. The rats bounded after them, unstoppable, closing the gap.

Smokey tripped over the rail and fell, sprawling across the tracks. Forrest bent to help him. The others kept running, not looking back or stopping until a sudden hail of gunfire from in front of them brought them to an abrupt halt.

The human zombies surged forward, blocking their escape. Frankie and Don dropped to their knees and returned fire, aiming for the muzzle flashes. Jim dove to the floor, sheltering Danny beneath him. Steve and Quinn fired into the rats, still bearing down from the rear.

"We're cut off," Forrest shouted. "Defensive positions!"

"Defensive my ass," Quinn wheezed. "This is gonna be a massacre."

"Jim," Steve hollered, "Get back here with that flame thrower."

"What about the gas lines?" Jim shouted back.

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Quinn clamped his tongue between his teeth and squeezed off another shot. "The hell with the gas lines! I'd rather get blown up than eaten."

"I'm not leaving Danny!"

"God damn it, Jim! Get your ass back here or we're dead!"

Thin, rusty ladders climbed up the sheer cement walls on each side of the passageway, providing access to two small service tunnels. God scurried up the one to their left, and Pigpen followed him. The vagrant wrenched the steel door open and turned back to the group.

"This way," he called. "Hurry!"

Jim lifted Danny into Pigpen's waiting arms and then scrambled up the ladder behind him.

"Go," Frankie urged Smokey and Don. "I'll cover you."

Smokey stood up and ran for the wall. The guns sang out, and the air buzzed with lead. A bullet plowed into him, and his heart exploded through the front of his shirt. Smokey collapsed back onto the tracks, eyes staring sightlessly.

"Fuck!" Don returned fire. "I can't see what I'm shooting at. It's too dark!"

Frankie's weapon clicked empty. She cast it aside and grabbed Smokey's.

"Is he dead?" Don asked.

"What do you think? You see the size of that hole in his chest?"

"I can't see shit. That's the problem!"

Another explosion rang out and more muzzle flashes erupted in the darkness.

"I'm hit," Steve cried out. "Oh shit, that fucking hurts!"

Frankie returned fire, aiming for the muzzle flashes.

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Steve writhed on the tunnel floor, blood streaming from his leg. Quinn and Forrest knelt over him, and fired into the wave of dead rats.

"Get out of here," Forrest told Frankie and Don. "That's an order!"

"We don't work for you," Frankie shouted. "You can't hold them yourselves."

"Go, god damn it!"

A bullet pinged off the concrete next to Frankie, and fragments of stone pelted her skin.

Don tugged her arm. "Come on. We need to move, now!"

Crouching and firing at the same time, they reached the ladder. Frankie tossed Jim her weapon and climbed up while Don and Jim laid down cover fire. Then Don hoisted himself up, while Jim and Frankie held the zombies at bay.

Pigpen, Danny, and God watched from inside the service tunnel. Jim, Frankie, and Don remained on the ledge, turning back to the others. The zombies had the men pinned down, and the rats were less than twenty yards away, and closing fast.

"Get out of there!" Don yelled.

Forrest reloaded and unleashed another barrage into the moving wall of vermin, then spun and fired into the midst of the other zombies.

"You guys go," Steve groaned. "I'll hold them off."

"Bullshit," Quinn snapped. "We ain't leaving you behind the way we did Bates. He was mortally wounded. You're just shot in the fucking leg."

"And I'll slow you down," Steve insisted, clenching his teeth. "No way I can run from those rats."

Forrest kept firing. "Help him to his feet, Quinn."

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"Damn straight. We'll carry him if we have to."

"No," Forrest said, wincing as hot shells bounced off his forearms. "Steve is right. He'll just slow us down. Help him to his feet and give him a gun."

Quinn gaped in disbelief. "You cold hearted-"

"You heard the man," Steve grunted.

"Oh fuck," Quinn moaned. "Fuck, fuck, fuck! This isn't right, man! What about the airplane? Who's gonna fly it?"

"Use your head, Quinn. There's no way you guys will make it to the airport now!"

"This isn't right."

Steve grabbed his hand and squeezed it tight as another bullet ricocheted off the rail.

"Listen to me. We don't have time to argue. I'll never see my son alive again. But maybe, if there is an afterlife-and God, I fucking hope there is-just maybe, I'll see him there. I want to find out. The only thing that matters right now is that little boy up on that ledge, and his daddy. You want to do something for me? Get them out of here. Now!"

Slowly, Quinn nodded. "Okay, man."

The rats drew closer, their stench thick and cloying.

"Kick some ass, Canuck," Forrest said.

"You know it." Steve wobbled, shifting his weight onto his uninjured leg.

Quinn hesitated, eyeing the rats. "I still-"

"Don't. Just go..."

Forrest handed Steve an extra magazine and then shoved Quinn forward. They were halfway to the ladder when Smokey's corpse sat up and grinned at them.

"Hey guys," it slurred. "Who's up for a game of cards?"

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The zombies opened fire again. Bullets slammed into the ledge where Jim, Don, and Frankie were standing. The three of them ducked inside the tunnel.

Quinn frantically reloaded. "We're cut off."

"This way!" Forrest lunged for the other ladder. He climbed to the top, and then helped Quinn clamber up behind him.