City of the Dead (7 page)

Pabon was on the other side of the pool fence, in Rick and Tammy's yard. As quietly as possible, Don slid the attic window open and pointed the Colt .45 at the top of the restraunteur's head. He knew that his grasp on sanity was slipping. He knew that he was throwing caution and his safety to the wind with this shot-that he would alert the creatures to his presence. But he didn't care

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anymore. All that mattered in that moment was Pabon. He shifted to get a better line of sight, and as he did, the zombie disappeared around the front. Exasperated, Don glanced at his neighbor's house.

He nearly dropped the pistol.

Directly across, only twenty-five feet away, an elderly black man in a minister's collar stared back at him from Rick and Tammy's attic window.

Martin pointed out the window. "Jim, come take a look at this!"

"Damn it, Martin. Get the hell away from there before you get shot!" He knelt and gave his son a reassuring hug.

"No," the preacher insisted. "You don't understand. There's a man! Look!"

Automatically shielding Danny behind him, Jim turned to the window and froze.

"Holy shit..."

It was hard to tell in the dark, but the preacher didn't look dead. He pointed in Don's direction. Then the old man moved aside, and Don glimpsed another figure- one that seemed vaguely familiar. White male, middle to late thirties, shoulder length brown hair. His shoulder was bleeding and he looked pretty rough. Rough enough that he could be a zombie, although why he wasn't attacking the preacher, Don had no idea.

Then Danny stepped out from behind the man, spotted his next-door neighbor, and started jumping up and down in excitement. Don gasped. The little boy's hair had gone white at the roots.

Whoever they were, they weren't zombies-of that he was now sure. He motioned for them to open the window and after a moment's hesitation, the old man did.

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"Howdy!" The preacher had a southern accent, and Don had to struggle to hear him over the battle below. Zombies smashed the windows and climbed into the kitchen and living room. The night erupted with muzzle flashes, and Don heard muffled gunshots from inside the house as well.

"Who-who the hell are you people?"

"I'm the Reverend Thomas Martin, and this here's Jim Thurmond. Danny tells us you're Mr. De Santos."

Incredulous, Don shook his head. "What are you doing?"

"Well, at the moment, we're panicking. They've got us pinned down in this house. We sure could use some help."

"Danny, are you all right?"

"I'm okay, Mr. De Santos! Can you help us, please?"

"Okay, don't move!" He ducked out of the window, searching the attic. It had been unfinished when they'd bought the house, and Myrna had always been after him to turn it into a sewing room for her. He'd gotten as far as laying down wooden planks over the insulation.

He pulled up one of the long, heavy planks, thankful that he hadn't nailed them down, but determined that it wasn't long enough to fit between the houses. Then he spotted the aluminum extension ladder. Puffing hard, he carried it back to the window and checked for zombies. Most of them now seemed to be concentrated around the front of the other house. So far, none of them had shown up with a ladder or rope. Quickly, he slid the ladder out the window.

"Grab it," he grunted. "Damn thing weighs a ton."

Jim and Martin grabbed the other end, preventing it from tumbling down into the yards or the swimming

57 pool. It barely spanned the chasm, but Don pulled on his end and they did the same, releasing the extension. "Let's go," Don urged them. "Hurry!"

Frankie's eyes stung. Her ears rang, and her hands and arms were growing numb. Still, she kept up a steady defense, squeezing off short, controlled single shots. The living room and the bottom of the staircase were littered with bodies, three or four deep. But for each one she dropped, two more creatures sprang up to take its place. They kept coming, despite her efforts. Worse, her magazine was almost empty.

A bullet whizzed by, and plaster dust rained down upon her. More shots slammed into the banister. An aluminum arrow, the kind used for target shooting, bounced off the stairs and birdshot peppered the wall next to her head. She retreated upward a few more steps, then crouched and returned fire. Three more fell-and six rushed in to take their place.

She gagged. "God damn, you things reek."

The stench of decaying flesh was thick. Wincing, she tucked her nose against her shoulder and breathed deep, preferring her own stink to that of her enemies. Then she smelled something else.

Gasoline.

A flash of bright orange light flared in the kitchen, and the zombies began to cheer. The air grew hotter and flames crackled in the background, creeping into the living room. The hair on her arms stood up.

"Oh, you motherfuckers. You dirty motherfuckers!"

"Frankie?"

Jim stood at the top of the steps.

"They lit it, Jim. They lit the fucking house on fire!"

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"Come on, let's go!"

She raced up the stairs, the first few wisps of smoke following behind her. Somewhere on the first floor, a battery-operated smoke detector began to shriek. She heard the zombies chanting outside.

"The roof, the roof, the roof is on fire! We don't need no water, let these fucking humans burn!"

Jim ran ahead of her. "Into the attic. We've got a way out!"

"Burn, fucking humans! Burn!"

Frankie shook her head in disbelief.

"If they start doing Doug E. Fresh, I'm going to fall over. Talk about old school."

He paused with his hand on the doorknob. "What?"

"Nothing. Forget about it. Flashback to when I was a kid. Some old school shit."

He led her into the attic. The window was open and a man beckoned to them from the house next door. A ladder bridged the gap between them.

"Who's that?" Frankie asked.

"Don De Santos," Jim told her. "He lives next door."

"What?"

"How many more people do you have in there?" De Santos called. "Are Rick and Tammy with you?"

"This is it," Jim yelled back. "Just the four of us. Martin, you go first."

The preacher hesitated.

"What's that smell?"

"They lit the house on fire. Now go. We're out of time."

Martin's eyes widened. Carefully, he crawled out onto the ladder. Gripping the rungs, he began to edge himself across on his hands and knees, silently praying as he did.

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He wobbled in the center and all of them gasped, but then he covered the remaining distance. Don clutched at him, hauling him inside.

Jim stared down. So far, they hadn't attracted the creatures' attention. The majority of them were gathered on the front and back lawns. The narrow swimming pool and the small strip of ground between the houses stood empty-for the moment. Jim hoped it would remain that way. He glanced at the black object at the bottom of the pool, but it wasn't moving. Probably leaves or a deflated pool toy. He couldn't be sure in the darkness and the weird shadows cast by the flames.

"Danny, you're next."

"I'm scared, Daddy. I don't want to!"

Jim knelt before him. "I know you don't, son, but you have to. Martin was scared too, but he made it across fine. Just don't look down. Frankie and I will be on this end and Martin and Mr. De Santos are on the other side. You'll be okay."

"But what if I fall? What if the ladder breaks? What if the monster people see me?"

Jim heard zombies on the stairs. He grasped Danny's shoulders.

"Danny, you have to do this. You have to trust me, okay? I know it's scary, but if we stay here, the monster people are going to get us."

Whimpering, Danny peered out the window. Next door, Martin and De Santos quietly urged him on. He turned back to his father.

"I can't. I want you to come with me!"

"Danny, I don't know if that ladder will hold us both at the same time. I need you to be brave for me, okay? Be a big boy."

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Smoke seeped under the attic door, and the smoke detector on the second floor wailed in harmony with the other one.

Swallowing hard, Danny inched onto the shaking ladder. He glanced back at Jim, fear shining in his eyes. Jim smiled and nodded in encouragement. Danny turned back to Don and Martin, hunkered down, and began to crawl toward them, carefully edging from rung to rung.

"That's it, Danny. That's it. Don't look down. You can do it!"

The smoke grew thicker. Coughing, Frankie and Jim pulled their shirts up around their mouths and noses.

Halfway across, Danny looked down and froze.

"Daddy, I can't do it! I'm scared!"

He hugged the frame, wrapping his arms and legs around the rungs. He closed his eyes and began to tremble.

"Come on, Danny," Martin urged. "You're almost here!"

Eyes still closed, the boy shook his head.

"Shit." Frankie shoved Jim forward. "Get out there!"

A muffled explosion rocked the lower level, rattling the house on its foundation. The ladder swayed. The crackling flames grew louder and the temperature in the attic continued to rise.

"Danny," Jim called. "Hang on, squirt. I'm coming across!"

He slid out onto the ladder. It groaned beneath his weight. Holding his breath, he crawled as quickly as he could toward his petrified son. He glanced down, relieved to see that the zombies were still clustered on the other sides of the house. Smoke poured from the lower windows.

Below him, the black shape in the pool moved. It

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disengaged itself from the bottom and floated to the top. A head broke the water and stared upward in surprise. A zombie. And it had been in the water for quite some time, judging by the bloating. Then Jim saw why. Its arms were missing, and there was no way for it to climb out of the pool.

It opened its mouth to sound the alarm, and water and insects gushed out before it sputtered, "Here! They're here!"

"Go!" Frankie screamed, pulling a fresh magazine from her pocket and slamming it into place.

"Come on, Jim." Martin held his arms out, helpless. "Hurry!"

The pool zombie shouted again, and Frankie raised the weapon, trying to draw a bead on it. It ducked below the water before she could fire.

Jim's heart lurched as one of his legs slipped between the rungs. Panic seized him and he slipped farther. The aluminum frame scraped his back. He dangled from the waist down, clutching the rungs. His heart pounded in his throat. Then he pulled himself back up, took a deep breath, and continued across.

As he reached Danny, the creatures began to race around the house, converging below them.

"Danny, let go of the rungs!"

Terrified, the boy shook his head. A bullet whined directly over them, followed by a second.

"Danny! Do what I say. I've got you."

A bullet slammed into the ladder, gouging the aluminum and making their ears ring. Jim grabbed Danny's waistband. With his father's presence reassuring him, Danny opened his eyes and looked back at him. More shots whined over their heads.

Jim breathed a sigh of relief. "Good boy. Now look at

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Martin and Mr. De Santos. Don't look down. And go as fast as you can."

Nodding, Danny moved forward. A volley from below whizzed by them, but then Frankie returned fire.

Don pulled Danny inside. Jim raced along behind him. After crawling through the window, he turned back to Frankie.

"Come on!"

Jim and De Santos laid down a burst of cover fire, shooting indiscriminately rather than choosing targets. They alternated between ducking into the attic and then leaning out to shoot. The zombies ducked as well, scrambling for cover. De Santos shot one-handed, helping Martin steady the ladder for Frankie.

Not bothering to crawl, Frankie stepped onto the ladder and walked as carefully and quickly as she could, going from rung to rung. She concentrated, putting one foot in front of the other.

"I'm empty!" De Santos shouted.

Frantically, Jim searched his pockets. "Shit. Me too! Martin, you have any more ammo?"

The old man shook his head.

"Just what's inside my pistol, and that ain't much."

Jim turned back to the window. "Hurry, Frankie!"

The pool zombie continued shouting and then sank beneath the surface once more. More of the creatures were scrambling beneath Frankie now, pointing upward and hollering. A hunting arrow soared past her leg, missing by inches. Another clanged off the ladder.

"Fuck me running," she whispered, and began to walk faster. "One foot in front of the other. One foot

in

There was a loud clang, and the ladder tilted beneath

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her feet. Frankie reached out and grabbed the side, but her fingers slipped. Both she and the ladder plummeted downward. Screaming, the others could only watch as she splashed into the odd-shaped pool and sank beneath the surface. Between the darkness and the shadowy firelight, they could not see her.

Then, the ripples receded and the water was still once more.

Frankie did not resurface.

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"She's gone," Jim whispered.

"Are you sure?" Martin asked.

"I don't see her. I can't see anything, between the darkness and the smoke. The power is out. But we'd have heard her by now, wouldn't we? She would have to come up for air by now. The fall alone was enough. Or maybe she hit her head on the bottom. And you saw that thing in the pool..."

Jim leaned out the window, but another barrage of shots from the ground chased him back inside.

"We don't have time for this," Don warned them. "Those things are still outside."

Martin was insistent. "We need to look for her."

"There's nothing we can do," Jim said. "She must be dead, Martin. We've got to accept it."

"But-"

"There's no way we can go outside."

"You're right." Martin sighed.

Don hurried toward the attic door, looking uneasy. He beckoned for them to follow.

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Martin bowed his head in prayer. He struggled for words, and finally found them.

"Lord, we ask that you please accept her soul into your kingdom that she may dwell with thee. Amen."