City of the Dead (22 page)

"What?"

"I'm not sure. But whatever it is, it's getting closer."

"Then how the hell do we get out of here?" Forrest rapped his large knuckles on the table in frustration. "I mean, we can't fly everybody out. The chopper holds ten people, maximum, and that's with the pilot and co-pilot. We try sneaking ten of us out in the middle of the night, and those folks downstairs will string us up by our necks. And there's no way we could use the vehicles in the parking garage. They'd slaughter us as soon as we got outside."

"We could airlift people out slowly," the doctor suggested. "If we don't want to oppose Mr. Ramsey, tell him you're doing scouting and rescue missions, and secretly take a group of people out every time."

"And go where?" Bates shook his head. "Where do you suggest we take them? The mountains? That's no

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good, as long as the animals are reanimating too. There's also the small matter of our dwindling fuel supply for the chopper."

"Okay." Forrest's brow creased in thought. "The wilderness is out. We're close to Philly, Pittsburgh, and Baltimore. But they're no good either."

"If we go to a major metropolitan area, we'll be in the same situation we're in now," Bates agreed. "And most of the mid-Atlantic region is near a major metropolitan area. So what does that leave us?"

Stern raised his hand. "An island, perhaps?"

"No." Bates shook his head. "Same problem as the mountains, just on a smaller scale."

"A boat then."

"Again, you have to factor in the wildlife. A school of zombie sharks or an undead killer whale would destroy the type of boat we could safely get our hands on. Plus, there are the sea birds to think about. They'd massacre anybody that went topside. And how are you going to fit all of us on a boat?"

"So where would you go, Bates, if you could get out of here?" Forrest asked.

Bates creased his brow in deep thought. "If I could escape the city, and had the capability to fly anywhere, I'd go to the Arctic Circle or Antarctica. It seems to me that below-zero temperatures and the harsh environment would slow them down somewhat. They have no body heat, so maybe they'd freeze. And the wildlife there is sparse, compared to other wilderness areas."

"You'd live on a fucking iceberg?" Forrest snorted.

Bates nodded silently.

"Look," Forrest said after a long pause, "who says we got to take everybody with us? It would be a

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fucking logistical nightmare trying to sneak these folks from the building without Ramsey finding out about it."

"You're not suggesting we abandon all these people?" Stern asked.

"Not everybody, but maybe we get the three of us, and seven other people and we get the hell out of here in that helicopter. I mean, somebody has to survive, right?"

Bates rubbed his eyes. "That still doesn't solve the problem of where to go."

"I know where to go," slurred a voice from behind the podium in the corner.

All three of them jumped up in surprise. Forrest's chair fell over backward with a loud crash. Stern's hand flew to his chest.

Bates drew his pistol, crossed the room in three quick strides, and peered behind the podium. His eyes narrowed.

"Get out here, now!"

Pigpen crawled out of his hiding place, cradling a fat, calico cat in his arms. He petted the animal's fur, whispering to it soothingly.

"It's okay, God. That's Mr. Bates. He won't shoot us. He's a nice-"

"Shut up," Bates snapped. "What the hell are you doing in here, Pigpen? You know damn well that this floor is off limits to non-security personnel."

"I was looking for God. I found him behind the podium. Then we fell asleep. When I woke up, you guys were in here. I didn't want to interrupt. Sounded like you were talking about important stuff. God told me it wouldn't be polite."

"What's he talking about?" Stern whispered to Forrest.

"His cat," the soldier whispered. "Its name is God."

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"Oh, that's right. I'd forgotten."

Bates motioned with his pistol and Pigpen scurried into one of the chairs, still clutching the cat to his chest.

"What did you hear us discussing, Pigpen?" Bates asked.

"Not much."

"What did you overhear? Tell me."

"Just enough to know that Mr. Ramsey sure is messed up. People say I'm crazy, but boy howdy, he's not right. He ain't playing with a full deck."

Bates clenched his jaw, and then turned back to the others.

"I'm open to suggestions as to what to do with him, too."

"Shoot him," Forrest said. "Put him out of commission before he can scare everybody by telling them that the Grand Poobah is off his rocker."

"Good Lord," Stern balked, rising to his feet. "You can't be serious!"

"He's not," Bates sighed, "but he is right. We can't let Pigpen tell the others. Not yet. Last thing this building needs right now is panic. Panic is infectious, and in a situation such as this, it will spread like wildfire."

Pigpen's rheumy eyes darted among the three of them. In his lap, God purred and then licked himself. The bum ducked his head low, putting his ear next to the cat.

"What's that, God?"

He raised his eyes and stared at Bates.

"God knows how we can get out of here. He says if you'll give me a drink, he'll tell us how."

Bates arched his eyebrows.

"Oh wonderful. I can't wait to hear this."

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Val took a sip of coffee, even though it wasn't good for the baby inside her, and didn't notice when it burned her tongue. Her eyes were shut in concentration as she listened, totally absorbed in the voices coming from the radio. All around her, communication equipment beeped and hummed. An oscillating electric fan blew cool air on the units to keep them from overheating.

"I don't believe this," she muttered to herself. With the headphones over her ears, she didn't realize how loudly she was speaking.

Branson tapped her on the shoulder, and she jumped.

"Jesus fucking Christ, Branson! You scared the shit out of me."

The other radioman held up his hands in mock surrender. "Sorry, Val. Didn't mean to freak you out. What's going on? What you got?"

"Something really scary." She ripped the headphones off her head and handed them to him. "Listen to this. You wouldn't believe me if I told you."

"What is it? Another group of survivors?"

"No-just listen."

Branson place the headphones over his ears and adjusted his glasses. Suddenly, his eyes widened in surprise.

"This can't be real, can it?"

"I don't know," Val shrugged, her eyes serious, "but we better tell Bates right away."

"Shit," Branson breathed. "This is bad, Val. This is really bad."

Her hands darted protectively to her belly, and the unborn baby inside.

Branson picked up another radio to call Bates. His hands were shaking.

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"I know you think I'm crazy," Pigpen said. "But I don't take offense. I guess I'd have to be crazy, living the way I did. But I ain't. Know what I did for a living before I was homeless?"

The other men shook their heads in unison.

"I worked for the city's department of public works. Down in the sewers. You know that people lived down there, right? Beneath the city. They lived down in the darkness and the stink, fucking and fighting and loving and dying in those tunnels just like we did up here. Children were born down there, spent their whole childhood down there."

"You're talking about the mole people," Bates responded.

"Mole people?" The derision was thick in Forrest's voice. "Give me a fucking break."

"It's true," Pigpen insisted. "They weren't mutants out of some horror movie. They were just folks like you or me, down on their luck and with no other place to go. When you're homeless, you live where you can; in alleyways or behind garbage Dumpsters, under railroad trestles, cardboard boxes, anywhere there's space. Down under, too. You'd be surprised at the people you find down there. Stockbrokers. Lawyers. Factory guys. Medical school dropouts and college graduates."

Bates thought to himself, They banded together for safety in numbers, just like we've done.

"I read several books about that," Stern said. "And I remember some prominent newspaper and online articles about it, too."

"Yeah, but that was just an urban legend," Forrest protested. "Like alligators in the sewers and all that other bullshit."

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"It's true," Pigpen insisted. "I know it. I saw first hand, both before I was homeless and after. Shit, I lived it every day. And there are alligators down there, Forrest, gig albino fuckers with red eyes and white skin. I had a buddy named Wilbanks. He lost a damned leg to one."

"You lived underground?" Bates asked.

"Not at first, but I ended up down there. I came up to the streets during the day, panhandling and looking for cans to redeem and shit. But at night, I slept way seven stories beneath Grand Central Station, down where there was no trains or cops. We'd pick-axed a hole into the wall. Gave us access to an old service tunnel. There's all kinds of unused shit like that down there. Train stations and bomb shelters and stuff-just sitting there. It wasn't so bad. I had a place to sleep that was pretty dry, and we rigged some of the electric cables to give us power and light."

"Why'd you go underground, Pigpen?" Forrest prodded him.

"Didn't have nowhere else to go. I got sent to prison for a DUI charge. Got out and my old lady was running around on me, and I couldn't find a job. Pretty soon, I ended up below. It's that easy. I started living underneath the city, and that's when I found God."

"How did you survive?" Stern asked. "What did you eat?"

"There was a broken sprinkler pipe that we got water from. As for grub, handouts when we could get them, or else we'd go Dumpster diving. And lots and lots of track rabbits."

"Track rabbits?"

"Rats." Pigpen smiled. "We called them track rabbits. They're pretty good, believe it or not. Taste a little like

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chicken. We'd trap them, or just snatch the little fuckers by the tail and slam them against the wall. God was good at catching them, too, which is why nobody ever tried to eat him."

Shuddering, Stern made a disgusted face and turned away.

"Hey, Doc, you'd eat track rabbit too, if you were forced to do it. You'd be amazed what a fellow will do to survive."

Bates sighed in exasperation. "Get to the point, Pigpen. You're proposing we all hide out in the sewers?"

"Nope. The point is this. God says there's a way out of here."

"And?"

"If you've got somebody that can fly an airplane, there's a way to get from here to the airport."

"What the hell we gonna do at the airport?" Forrest kicked the cowering man's chair. "Come on, Bates. This crazy fuck doesn't know anything."

Stern said, "Even if we tried to get there, we wouldn't make it a block with those things outside. They'd tear us to shreds."

"We ain't going through the city. We're going underneath it. God says we'd go underground, through the sewers and the tunnels."

"Underground?" Bates looked Pigpen in the eyes. "Does God realize that there's a little thing called the East River between here and JFK?"

"There used to be." Pigpen winked. "But Mr. Ramsey built a tunnel underneath it. And there's other tunnels. The 63rd Street subway tunnel goes under the river. There's a whole bunch more. Stuff like the Long Island Railroad tracks go into Grand Central."

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"The East Side Access project," Bates said, "but Mr. Ramsey didn't-"

"Mr. Ramsey," the vagrant interrupted, "spent six billion over the last five years building a private network of tunnels. Damn things run from beneath this building to JFK. He even had them install a concrete bomb shelter eight stories down. I know, man. We used to sneak in from our own tunnels at night and steal equipment and stuff that the construction workers left behind. And they hook up with all the other tunnels and shit down there."

"Something like that would have been in the news," Stern scoffed. "An undertaking of that size would have attracted all kinds of attention from the media and the public. There are zoning laws and permits to consider. Union requirements."

"Mr. Ramsey don't worry about zoning laws," Pigpen spat, his hand moving up and down God's spine. The cat purred, even when his master stroked him against the grain. "He's the richest guy in America. And unions? What the fuck-you think he had somebody other than Ramsey Construction building it?"

Stern and Forrest looked at Bates. He shrugged.

"If it does exist, I've never heard of it."

His previous night's conversation with Ramsey surfaced.

"Mr. Ramsey, we have to consider the possibility that sooner or later, no matter how well guarded, those things will breach our defenses."

"If that happens, then I have a contingency plan."

"Good. I can't tell you what a relief that is, sir. May I ask what it is?"

"No. As of now, that information is given out on a

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need-to-know basis, and quite frankly, you don't need to know."

"Begging your pardon, Mr. Ramsey, but how am I supposed to protect us if I don't know?"

"Trust me, Bates. If and when the time comes, you'll be the first to know."

"So how do we gain access to this tunnel?" Bates asked Pigpen.

"Through the basement and then down into the subbasement. God showed me before."

"And it will get us to the airport, without running into the zombies?"

"It will. God will lead us."

"You believe this shit?" Forrest asked.

Bates shrugged. "It might be worth checking into."

"You're serious?" Forrest asked.

"I am. At this point, I'll take any help I can get-even from God."

He reached down and scratched the cat's ears.

"Meanwhile, what do we do about Mr. Ramsey?" Stern asked.

"I'll handle him. It's my responsibility. You get a secure room ready, someplace where we can lock him up so he can't hurt himself or others."

"Bates," Stern arched his eyebrows. "Why didn't you tell us about Ramsey sooner?"