City of the Dead (18 page)

"Sure. Whatever I can do to help. I'd be happy to."

"Excellent." He turned back to Don. "So, you asked Smokey what you could do. Can you shoot a weapon? I'm assuming so, if you've stayed alive out there for this long."

Don's ears turned red. "I shot my wife after she became one of those things. I guess I can do all right."

"Then perhaps we can find a place for you on the security squad. I'll speak with you later, gentlemen. Welcome aboard."

He glided away through the crowd, filled a plastic travel mug with black coffee, nodded and spoke politely to those around him, and then left, eyes affixed to a clipboard.

Jim stared after Bates, watching the crowd part before him like Moses and the Red Sea.

"What are you thinking?" Don asked.

Jim glanced at Smokey, who was talking to Etta again.

"I'm thinking that I don't trust Bates," Jim whispered. "He reminds me of another guy that Martin and Frankie and I ran across down in Gettysburg. Fella' named Colonel Schow."

"And what happened to him?"

"A zombie named Ob shot him with a bazooka."

The rest of the morning was spent in orientation. After devouring their breakfasts, Smokey gave the three of them a tour of the building, starting on the third floor and working their way up. Jim and Don were amazed, and Danny kept commenting on how cool everything

162

seemed. The interior of the skyscraper really was like a self-contained village. It was a wonderful place, but Jim had to wonder what the point of it all was-just to survive here forever? He hoped Ramsey and his staff were at work on a plan to take the world back.

"What's on the first and second floors?" Jim asked as they stepped into an elevator.

"A lot of guards on two," Smokey said. "When this all started, we dropped office furniture and stuff from the upper windows, to kind of make a barricade around the outside of the building. Heavy stuff, so they couldn't just move it all out of the way. The first floor, especially the lobby, is heavily barricaded on the inside too. We keep two guys on duty there, twenty-four seven. We've got it booby-trapped, and nobody is allowed down there without Bates's permission, other than the guards. Same with the parking garage and the basements levels. The two top floors are off limits too, so don't go up there either."

"Why's that?"

"That's the command-center-Ramsey's personal quarters and stuff like that. Nobody goes up there except for Mr. Ramsey and Bates."

"So what's Ramsey really like?" Don asked as they stepped out of the elevator. "I mean, I've seen him on TV and stuff, but what's he like in person?"

Smokey shrugged. "He's all right. Just a man, you know?"

"A very rich man." Don snorted. "He always topped the Forbes list. Fucking amazing, the way that guy could create wealth. Hell of a showman, too."

"Did all of the people here work for him before- this?" Jim asked.

163

"No. Bates and Forrest and some of the others did. A lot of these folks worked in the building, or lived here. Ramsey Towers had both office space and apartments. But the others were survivors, folks trapped in other parts of the city. The patrols found us and brought us back here."

"That what happened to you?"

Smokey tugged at his mustache. "Yeah. I'm from Michigan, originally. I was in Manhattan, visiting my daughter and son-in-law. They lived in a one-bedroom apartment on 34th and Lexington that went for three grand a month, but you could look out their window and see the Empire State Building. I was taking a nap when it happened. My daughter had gone out for a jog."

He paused, his Adam's apple bobbing.

"I never-I never did find out what happened to her, but when she came home, her bottom half was missing. She must have dragged herself up the steps and into the apartment. I woke up as she was crawling into the living room. There were-"

The old hippie looked away. His eyes were wet and when he spoke again, his voice cracked.

"One time, years ago, I accidentally ran over a nest of baby bunnies with the lawnmower. I didn't see them until it was too late. The yard was high, and the mother had hidden them pretty well, piled grass and her own fur over the nest. Didn't notice until I looked down and saw one of them crawling away across the yard. The blade had cut it in half. Its back end was missing and its guts were hanging out."

His fists clenched at his sides.

"That's what my daughter looked like when she came home that day."

164

Don and Jim looked at the floor, unable to meet his gaze. Danny's eyes were wide.

"I'm sorry, Mr. Smokey," he said, and took the old man's hand.

Smokey smiled, blinking away the tears, and patted the boy on his head.

"Thank you, Danny. Thank you very much."

He straightened up. "How about we find your rooms?"

"That'd be fine," Jim agreed. "And I apologize if we brought up bad memories."

"No." Smokey shrugged, regaining his composure. "It's okay. We've all got stories like that these days. But you asked about Ramsey. That's him. He saved us. Saved us all, gave us shelter from the storm."

"Why?" Jim asked.

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, he and his men have this secure building. Why jeopardize their safety by bringing in more refugees? And that light show we saw last night? Doesn't seem smart to me."

"You don't think he did it out of the goodness of his heart, Mr. Thurmond?"

"I don't know the man. You do. Did he?"

Smokey didn't respond. They walked down the hall and got into another elevator. Smokey pressed a button and the doors closed.

"All I know, Jim, is that we're better off in here than outside with those things. And anytime I start to doubt it, I think about the population of this city and how most of them are now like my daughter. Doesn't matter what I may think about Mr. Ramsey. Survival is all that's important."

The elevator rose in silence.

165

* * *

Their rooms were small but comfortable. They'd previously been office suites, converted now into living space, along with a kitchenette containing a sink and a small refrigerator, and a bathroom with toilet and shower. Jim and Danny were assigned a room, and Danny shouted in delight when they entered. Somebody had placed two action figures on his bed as a welcoming present.

Jim collapsed on the other bed and groaned with pleasure. Then he started to laugh.

"You've got no idea how good this feels."

"I bet I do." Smokey grinned. "We'll leave you two alone. If you're so inclined, Jim, a bunch of us get together every night and play cards in my room. You're welcome to stop by."

"We'll see. Thanks. I think Danny and I have some catching up to do, though. Don't we, squirt?"

"Yep!"

Smokey led Don to a door a short way down the hall from Jim and Danny's. He informed Don that he would be moving in with a member of the security team named Forrest.

"You'll like him," Smokey whispered as he knocked on the door. "Forrest is one of a kind."

The door opened and a large, muscular black man in a terrycloth bathrobe stared out at them.

"What's up, Smoke?"

"Heya, Forrest. Wanted to introduce you to your new roommate. This is Don De Santos."

Forrest opened the door the rest of the way and stuck out his hand. His grip was strong, and Don actually winced.

166

"Pleased to meet you," Don grunted. "Sorry to barge in like this."

"No problem," Forrest assured him. "They told me I was up next for a roommate, and when I heard they were bringing you folks in, I figured I'd get one of you."

"Well, I still feel weird about it. Seems like I'm being forced on you, and I haven't had a roommate, other than my wife, since college."

"Don't sweat it. I usually work the night shift, so it'll almost be like you've got the place to yourself. That's your bunk over there."

"Well, I'm gonna go take me a nap," Smokey said. "Let you two get acquainted. If you need anything, Don, be sure to let me know. Forrest, I'll see you for cards tonight, before you go on duty?"

"You know it. Hope you're ready to lose."

"All right, we'll see about that." Chuckling, he turned to leave.

"Hey, Smokey," Don called after him.

"Yeah?"

"You never did tell us. What's your job around here?"

Smokey laughed. "I just did it. I'm the welcome wagon."

After he'd left, Don wondered just how many people Ramsey was rescuing, to have Smokey in an official position like that.

Ob stared across the parking lot at the armory, then sat the binoculars aside and looked down at the rat.

"How many are inside?"

The undead vermin squeaked in an ancient language, and Ob listened carefully, and then repeated the information aloud.

167

"Six of them. Heavily armed. And they were not aware of your presence?"

More prolonged squealing. The rat's vocal cords hadn't been designed to speak Sumerian. Ob was patient.

"Very good. You have done well. Now, I want you and the others wearing rats and mice as host bodies to go back to Manhattan and do extensive surveillance on Ramsey Towers, from all angles; above and below. I don't care how you get in-just gain entrance. Do not alert them that you are there. Observe all and report back to me. I want to know their numbers, weaknesses, and defenses. Is that understood?"

The zombie rat twitched its scabbed tail in confirmation and scrabbled away.

Ob picked the binoculars back up, watched the armory, and spoke to one of his lieutenants.

"There are six humans holed up inside the armory. All but one are former police officers, so they'll probably be combat trained. After dispensing with them, we can loot the building. There is a stockpile of assault rifles, grenades, rocket launchers, urban assault vehicles, body armor, and more. We will add these to our weapons that we've found throughout the city, the ones we culled from former drug dealers, crime syndicates, terrorist cells, and of course, the ones the humans kept for home defense."

The zombie licked its lips. "Very good, lord Ob. We shall prepare to attack at once."

"The armory also has a fully functional ham radio unit and a gas-operated generator. Make sure that neither is damaged during the raid. After we restore the generator, I want to use the radio to contact our forces to the south, just in case our avian messengers didn't make

168

it. We'll need those reinforcements before we launch an assault on the skyscraper."

"Understood. And lord Ob, if I may-this host body is deteriorating quickly. If it does not last the battle, it has been an honor to serve you in this form. I hope that my next possession takes place in a host body here beside you as well."

Ob waved his hand. "Good. Commence the attack. Send in the first squad."

The lieutenant keyed a handset and gave the order. The creature plucked a loose piece of skin from its thigh. It appraised the morsel, and then plopped it into its mouth. Rotted, broken teeth ground in delight.

Suddenly, there was a flurry of activity. Five zombie suicide bombers, each wearing a backpack loaded with explosives, charged toward the armory. One of them was gunned down before he reached it, the bullets eradicating the top of his head. The other four arrived unscathed, crossed the wires clutched in their cold, pale hands, and set off simultaneous explosions, shredding both their bodies and the armory's door and outer wall. Before the smoke had even cleared, Ob's forces poured into the building through the fiery, twisted hole. There were gunshots and screams-and then silence.

"That didn't take long," the zombie lieutenant mused.

Ob quipped, "In a New York minute."

When it was over, the zombie army grew by six more bodies and hundreds of weapons.

Still watching through the binoculars, Ob smiled.

169 TEN

Jim sighed in contentment, drained a bottle of cold spring water, popped his neck, and watched as Danny sprawled on the floor and played with his action figures. The boy was making sound effects and doing the dialogue.

"Take that, you! Ka-pow. Ka-pow."

Jim stifled a laugh, not wanting to make Danny feel self-conscious. It had been far too long since he'd watched Danny play, and the sight was joyous. He marveled at his son's resilience. Despite all that had happened to them, it appeared that he was adjusting fine to this new situation.

"So which superheroes are those?" Jim asked.

"The red guy is Daredevil," Danny said. "The one with the skeleton head and flames coming out of it is Ghost Rider. They're both from Marvel."

"I thought Ghost Rider was a good guy. Why is he fighting Daredevil?"

"He's good, but I'm pretending that he's bad, like the monster-people outside. They got into his body and made him bad."

170

"Oh."

Jim propped his feet up on the couch. The bathrobe felt soft against his skin. Clothes had been hung in the room's closet for both of them, not exactly form fitting or new, but clean and comfortable enough. Jim wondered who they belonged to before, and who had been responsible for assigning them to him and Danny.

"Daddy?"

"What, squirt?"

"Do you think it was Mr. Ramsey that left these toys for me?" He echoed his father's thoughts.

"I don't know. It could have been, I guess, though I'm inclined to think it was probably Smokey."

Danny thought about this, and then said, "He seems nice."

"Smokey? Yeah, he does. Nice old guy. I think he's sort of the welcome wagon around here. At least, that's the impression I got."

Guided by Danny's hands, Daredevil kicked Ghost Rider in the face. Ghost Rider fell over, complete with Danny's sound effects.

"I wonder if Mr. Ramsey is nice, too."

"I don't know, buddy. I guess so. He's helping all these people."

"Mommy used to watch him on TV."

"Did she?"

"Yeah. She liked him, but Dad-I mean Rick-said he was a pompous jerk."

Jim grimaced, trying not to react to his son's referral of his stepfather as Dad.

"Well, Rick was right, as far as I'm concerned. Guess Rick and I agreed on that."