The Gathering Dead (12 page)

Gartrell picked up his helmet and regarded it idly for a moment. “Hey, what about a freight elevator? Less chance of it making an unscheduled stop, right?”

McDaniels frowned. “There’s a freight elevator on this floor?”

“Oh yeah. Right past the elevator bay, there’s another door, across from the mailboxes. Locked from our side, but we checked it out during the initial recon. The bay was empty, but there was an elevator there. Judging by how wide the door was, it must be the freight elevator. It’s got to go all the way up.”

“Show me,” McDaniels said.

###

The freight elevator was in a smallish room off the corridor that was accessible through a set of double steel doors. They were supposed to be locked, but one of the doors had been left slightly ajar; McDaniels figured this was done by the nightly cleaning crew so they wouldn’t have to swipe in and out. And like the other elevators, it was switched off.

He called up to Finelly on Jimenez’s radio and asked him to ask Earl if the elevator went all the way to the 27th floor, and if it was in a secure area. It was in the same corridor as the fire escape, and Earl confirmed that it could go straight up. And he was in possession of a fire key, which meant he could summon it directly if required.

But the question remained, was it empty?

“Only way to find out for sure is to call it up,” McDaniels told Gartrell.

“So do we bring it here, or to twenty-seven?” Gartrell asked. “If we want to bring it here, we need to get the key, call the elevator, wait for it to open, then blast the living shit
—
or un-living, I guess
—
out of whatever’s inside. Once it’s clear, we all pile in and ride it upstairs.”

McDaniels considered that. “Or I can head upstairs and have Earl call it up, Finelly and I do the same if it’s occupied, then come down and pick up you guys.”

Gartrell shrugged. “Either way. One of us would probably have to go up anyhow, I don’t think we can let that maintenance guy come downstairs without an escort. If this man has his kids up there, we don’t want to leave them alone.” He smiled crookedly. “At least your way, one of us won’t be quite so tired.”

“So very true, first sergeant. All right, I’ll hoof it upstairs. You get Jimenez as ready to travel as possible.”

“Roger that.”

The climb back to the 27th floor was uneventful, but McDaniels’ thighs were on fire by the time he knocked on the fire door. Finelly and Earl let him in.

“You’re looking pretty peaked, major,” the tall sergeant observed. “Thought you Jedi Knights were immune to things like, you know, physical exertion and all.”

“It’s been a tough day, sergeant.”

“Tell me about it, sir.”

McDaniels clucked his tongue at the NCO’s insouciance, but he killed his reply when he sniffed the air. He looked at Earl.

“You smoked?”

Earl looked chastised. “Uh, that a problem?”

“Hell no, Earl. But I’d love to bum a smoke off of you, if you don’t mind. Later,” he added, when Earl immediately reached for his breast pocket. “Let’s call up that freight elevator, clear it, and then head down to get the rest of our group.”

Earl led them to the freight elevator bay, and like its twin on the 5
^th
floor, it was empty and silent. He slid a red key into a receptacle on the elevator door frame and turned it, then pressed the DOWN button. A motor started, and McDaniels heard the elevator come to life.

“Step outside, Earl. We’ll call you when the coast is clear,” he told the small maintenance man.

“Okay. You guys be careful.”

McDaniels shouldered the AA-12. “No need to worry about that.” He looked at Finelly, who formed up to his right, his MP5K at the ready. Both men had had the foresight to leave their hearing protectors where they belonged: in their ears. Earl scuttled out of the brightly-lit vestibule and slammed the metal door closed behind him.

“Safety off, booger-hook on the bang lever?” McDaniels asked Finelly.

“Hooah.”

Ding.
The elevator had arrived. McDaniels held his breath as the door slowly slid open.

It was empty. Just the same, McDaniels slowly stepped inside and visually cleared it. The elevator was vacant and cool.

“We’re good,” he reported to Finelly. The elevator door started to close, but he stopped it with his foot. He pressed his radio button as Finelly knocked on the door and told Earl to join them.

“First sergeant, the elevator’s clear. We’re on our way down.”

“Roger that, major.”

The massive MV-22’s rotors were winding down as the Marine aircrew went through their post-shutdown checklist. Their landing platform, the USS
Wasp
, rolled gently from side to side in the Atlantic as she came about, her bow pointing to the south. There was some heavy weather moving in, with winds approaching seventy knots and bands of rain so dense that the leading edges had been plainly visible on the MV-22’s weather radar. The
Wasp
was getting the hell out of Dodge, and the Marines that crewed the Osprey were thrilled. Theirs was the sole surviving aircraft Marine Medium Tiltrotor Squadron 263; the rest of the squadron had been lost to the stenches in Central Park. The two pilots and two enlisted crew chiefs kept their conversation all business as they secured the mammoth aircraft. Watching friends and coworkers die was not usually conducive to witty repartee, especially when they died after being overrun fucking flesh-eating
zombies
.

Still, the Marine aircraft commander was a little put out when one of the crew chiefs broke the monotony of the checklist. “Hey, we’ve got fuel coming aboard.”

“Say again,” the aircraft commander said over the intercom.

“I said we have fuel coming aboard. Hose has just been attached to the fast transfer port.”

The aircraft commander saw his frown was mirrored by that of the pilot sitting beside him as he rapidly shut down the Osprey’s main electrical bus. “Generator on standby, batteries on,” he reported.

“Reset speed selectors forward and apply rotor brakes,” the aircraft commander said as he checked the parking brake handle between his seat and the pilot’s. While the MV-22’s rotors had lost a substantial amount of energy already, their rotor wash could still blast a man off the deck of the
Wasp
.

“Big Eye, this is Thunder Three, what’s with the fuel transfer, over?” he asked over the ship-to-ship.

“Thunder Three, Big Eye, we’ve been told to top off your tanks. Stand by.”

“Top off our tanks?” the pilot asked. He looked across the cockpit and out the windows on the AC’s side of the aircraft. Darkness reigned, but in the distance sporadic ripples of lightning flashing about inside the approaching cloud front. “Man, we’re not going
anywhere
tonight.”

“Let’s get back on the checklists,” the AC ordered, and the aircrew went back to work. They were almost done anyway, and it took only a few minutes to secure the aircraft. The crew was ready to egress, and the AC notified the
Wasp
’s air boss.

“Big Eye, Thunder Three is ready to dismount.”

“Ah, negative that, Thunder Three. You’re clear to disembark your PAX, but then you need to start turning cycles. You have to head back to New York, over.”

“Oh man, what the
hell
?” one of the enlisted crew chiefs moaned.

The AC wasn’t having any of it. “Get those civilians off the aircraft! Once they’re clear, we get on the cockpit pre-start and engine start checklists!” He depressed his microphone button. “Big Eye, Thunder Three. This crew’s run out. Going back to New York City’s going to bust us, over.”

“Thunder Three, high value targets are still in the city barricaded in a skyscraper on the Upper East Side. There’s no one else in the area that can pull them out, so you get the job. ENAV is on its way out to you. This comes straight from the top, over.”

A sailor rushed into the Osprey, pushing his way into the aircraft through the right entry door. The few civilians who had managed to get aboard the aircraft before it lifted out of Central Park were deplaned by the ramp at the rear. The sailor carried a plastic case, which he handed to the pilot. The pilot accepted it with a grunt and opened it. The case contained a flash card and a USB thumb drive. He pulled a flash card from the navigation panel between the two pilot seats and replaced it with the new one. He punched a code into the system via the soft keys on its panel, and the new route and target destination appeared on a moving map display.

“Good ENAV,” the pilot reported.

“Big Eye, Thunder Three has the ENAV. Who is it we’re supposed to pick up, over?”

“Thunder Three, Big Eye. You’re picking up someone who has key information to stop whatever the hell’s going on. Not to add any more pressure, over.”

The pilot chuckled mirthlessly, but the AC didn’t pay any attention to it. He turned and looked out the canopy windows as heavy, windblown rain droplets slammed into it.

“Big Eye, is this storm headed for New York? Over.”

“Thunder Three, this is Big Eye. You know it is, Marine. Now pull pitch and get the hell out of here, over.”

“Oorah,” the AC replied, then started the communication display unit checklist. The sooner they broke the
Wasp
’s deck, the faster they could start outrunning the storm.

###

Gartrell and Rittenour had loaded Jimenez onto a leather office chair and wheeled him into the freight elevator, then brought the Safires out of the pantry. Regina looked expectant; her father’s expression was blank and vacant.

“Are we getting out of here?” Regina asked.

“We’re leaving this floor,” McDaniels told her.

“I don’t understand,” she said.

“We’re going up. To get further away from those things on the street. There are other people on the twenty-seventh floor, and we’re going to join them while we wait for exfil.”

“‘Exfil’?”

“Short for exfiltration, Regina.” Safire’s voice sounded weary, and so did the man himself. He leaned against the elevator’s metal wall and rubbed his eyes. “An exfiltration is a military term for a stealthy pickup.”

“So... so someone’s coming for us?” she asked, puzzled. “That’s why we’re moving?”

McDaniels considered explaining things completely, but settled for expediency. “Yes.” He nodded to Earl. “This is Earl. Earl, meet Doctor Wolf Safire and his daughter, Regina. The man in the chair is Sergeant Jimenez, and the other two are First Sergeant Gartrell and Sergeant First Class Rittenour.”

Earl ducked his head. “Pleased to meetcha,” he said meekly.

McDaniels clapped him on the shoulder. “Twenty-seventh floor, if you would.”

Earl smiled and twisted the fire key. The elevator door slid shut and the lift ascended.

“On our way,” Earl said quietly.

They rode upward in silence for a moment before Safire spoke.

“You’ve checked the rest of the building, major? Are we alone?”

McDaniels shook his head. “I have not. I only know that the twenty-seventh floor is more defensible, and it’s well stocked with supplies. It’s the best place in the building to barricade ourselves.”

“Really. Eating old cheese sandwiches out of a vending machine, are we?”

“Oh, it’s not like that at all, sir,” Earl said. “We got a little bit of ever’thin’ up there. Fresh fruit, veggies, bread, meat... hell, we even got some jerk chicken and spicy meat patties. That’s what they usually serve on Tuesdays. Jamaican Tuesdays.”

Safire didn’t quite roll his eyes. “Really.”

Earl heard the sarcasm in his voice and looked at him directly, suddenly no longer so meek.

“Kiss my black ass, motherfucker,” he said.

Gartrell smiled. “That’s the spirit, Earl.”

The elevator arrived, and the door opened. Earl yanked the key free and marched into the loading vestibule, where Finelly stood watch with his MP5K in his hands. Earl pushed past him and disappeared past the double metal doors. Finelly watched him go quizzically.

“What’s up with that?” he asked McDaniels.

McDaniels waved the question aside. “Help us get Jimenez inside and get the Safires squared away. Then get Earl to shut down the elevator again. I have to get topside and call the taxi service.”

###

As soon as McDaniels stepped onto the building’s roof, he felt the certain electric quality in the air that signaled a storm was coming. The moon had already risen into the darkening sky, illuminating a dense line of storm clouds on the horizon, still many miles distant.

“Holy fuck, would you look at that,” Gartrell said as the clouds flashed with internal lightning.

“Yeah, looks like we have some weather coming in,” McDaniels said. He broke out the sat phone.

“Was talking about the window divers, major.” McDaniels looked up at Gartrell. The first sergeant pointed across the roof, where the zombies had started surging out of the broken window in the building across the street. They reached for the two Special Forces soldiers as they fell. McDaniels shook his head. He was already used to them.

“Window divers, huh? Pretty creative.”

Gartrell didn’t say anything, just continued to stare at the line of zeds spilling out of the building, a look of revulsion on his face. Then he snapped out of it and took an audit of the roof, his AA-12 ready. Even though he hid it behind years of discipline, McDaniels saw the man was spooked.

“Rapier, this is Terminator, over,” McDaniels said into the phone. “Rapier, this is Terminator, back with you on the hour, over.”

“Terminator, this is Rapier. Good to hear from you. Give us your SITREP, over.”

“Situation remains pretty much the same, Rapier. We’ve relocated to the top floor of the building to get some distance from the zeds. One in our party has some fairly serious injuries, and he’s needs better medical care than we can give him. But for the moment, we’re holding out. What’ve you got for us? Over.”

“Terminator, Rapier. We have an MV-22 headed your way, should be onstation in less than two hours. Asset is equipped with a rescue hoist, so you’ll be uploaded that way. You’ll be taken back to the Marine operational platform until we can arrange for a transfer, over.”