City of the Dead (28 page)

"Got to hand it to them," she said aloud. "They really fixed me up."

She slipped out of the bed, swallowed several times to

257

wet her throat, and padded to the bathroom. She sat down on the cold toilet seat, shivering in relief.

As she sat there, Frankie considered her options. She could get back into bed and wait for the doctor or nurse to show up. Or, she could find her clothes, get dressed, and track down Jim, Danny, and Don.

Deciding on the second option, she pulled her panties back up and flushed. Something was obviously happening, unless the alarm had been a drill. And the absence of the medical staff concerned her as well.

When she walked out of the bathroom, a man was standing next to the bed, pointing a gun at her. She recognized him from television-Darren Ramsey, the billionaire developer. Except that without a team of makeup artists and public relations handlers, he looked old. Sick. Frankie also recognized the look in his eyes. She'd seen it before, in the gaze of certain Johns. Ramsey was insane. Next to him was a fat, greasy, nervous-looking man.

"Please," Ramsey said, "don't be alarmed. We won't harm you."

"You planning on lowering that pistol anytime soon? That would go a long way toward helping me relax."

"Of course." He smiled, and dropped it to his side. "You must excuse me. We weren't sure who, or what, was coming out of the bathroom."

The fat man's eyes crawled over her, resting on her breasts and the triangle of hair between her legs, peeking out below her hem. Frankie pulled the gown down as far as it would go and glared at him.

"Anything more than a look costs you twenty," she quipped.

His face turned a dark, angry scarlet.

Ramsey opened his mouth. "My name is-"

"I know who you are," Frankie interrupted. "Seen

258

you on television a bunch of times. You're Darren Ramsey. Who's this?"

"Frank DiMassi," the fat man grumbled, then turned to Ramsey. "We've got to get going, sir."

The old man nodded impatiently.

"You'll have to excuse us-I'm sorry, I didn't catch your name?"

"Frankie."

"You'll have to excuse us, Frankie. The building is about to come under attack."

"What?"

"I'm afraid so. We're completely surrounded. The zombies have gathered an army like nothing I've ever seen. Mr. DiMassi and myself are leaving for a safe location. We'd be honored to have you accompany us."

Frankie's eyes darted to the gun and then back up to his face. His smile faltered a bit under the scrutiny, and his upper lip and forehead were beaded with sweat.

"Thanks," she said, side-stepping past him, "but I've got friends that came in with me. I need to check on them, make sure they're all right."

"I assure you, Frankie, if your companions are on the floors below, their fate is sealed. It would be better- safer-if you came with us."

Frankie edged farther away, but doing so put her closer to DiMassi. The fat man licked his lips, gawking at her legs.

"Thanks anyway," Frankie said, "but if it's all the same to you guys, I'll take my chances finding them."

Ramsey raised the pistol again.

"I'm afraid I must insist. I'd hoped it wouldn't come to this, but you are essential to my plan for repopulating the planet. DiMassi, if you would, please?"

The fat man lunged, crushing her beneath his weight.

259

* * *

Ramsey Towers rose into New York's gray pre-dawn sky, already half-obscured by the smoke pouring from the burning buildings around it. Beyond the reach of the flames, thousands of zombies formed ranks, surrounding the block.

Ob gazed out at the undead force, reveling in the sheer size of his army. Then he turned his attention back to the skyscraper.

Inside, humans took position at the windows, or scurried back and forth behind them like frightened mice. Mounds of splintered, broken furniture lay strewn around the building's exterior plaza and sidewalks, forming a crude but effective barricade. The exterior doors and the windows on the first five floors, including the large plate-glass windows in the lobby, had been boarded over.

One of his lieutenants approached him. Its intestines hung loose, swaying with each step. Flies clung to the strands.

Ob turned to him. "I take it that the last flare signals everything is in order?"

"Everything is in position, my lord. Our forces are ready."

"Excellent," Ob hissed, exhaling fetid air. "Let's finish this, so that our remaining brothers can be free of the Void once and for all. Commence the attack."

The zombie lieutenant barked orders back to the line. Minutes later, a box-truck cruised down the street, rolling to a stop in front of the skyscraper. The zombie behind the wheel gunned the engine, revving it to a frenetic crescendo. Then the truck shot forward. It crashed up over the curb, racing along the sidewalk.

Above, windows opened and the humans fired at the

260

vehicle. Undead birds immediately swarmed the snipers. The humans reeled backward, screaming and clawing as the birds poured themselves through the open windows. A shotgun plummeted to the ground, clattering on the pavement. A zombie darted forth from the lines and snatched it, but fell sprawling as a bullet obliterated his head.

Another zombie stepped forward and pulled the pin on a grenade. Before he could throw it, a round tore into his wrist, severing his hand. The hand fell to the ground at his feet, still clutching the grenade. A second later, the explosion tore the creature apart.

"Now that's what I call a hand grenade," Ob quipped. "That's what he gets for not following orders."

His lieutenant said nothing.

The truck continued to pick up speed, rocketing toward the building. It crashed through the barricades and roared toward the lobby entrance.

"This is going to be good," the lieutenant gloated.

Ob agreed. "Let's knock and see if anybody is home."

Cullen and Newman both hated the midnight watch, but they hated lobby duty even more. Normally, they would have been relieved at dawn, when the next shift took over. But now, with the attack underway, Bates had ordered them to hold their position. He'd promised that reinforcements were on the way down.

Neither man had been a soldier before the rising. Newman had worked in a recording studio, and Cullen had been an attorney. Now, they were volunteers in Ramsey Towers's security squad. Never had they regretted that duty more than they did now. The lobby stank, not just from the constant stench of the rotting flesh

261

outside, but from the smoke as well. It seeped into the building from various cracks in the windows, and through the ventilation system.

"What's happening?" Cullen hissed from behind the sandbagged receptionist desk. He remained crouched, not wanting Newman to see him shaking.

"I can't see much because of the smoke." Newman peered through a peephole. "The fuckers are burning everything down though, man."

"Figures," Cullen snorted. "The rain stops just when we need it."

"Yeah," Newman agreed. "Guess it don't matter. I don't think we're going to see the sunrise today."

"Hope the reinforcements get here soon," Cullen said. "I'm fucking tired, man. We've been up all night."

"Dude, we're about to be attacked. You really think you're going to get some sleep?"

"No," Cullen admitted, "but I thought maybe I'd track down Rebecca."

"Who's that? The nurse?"

"No, that's Kelli. Rebecca works in the greenhouse up on the fifteenth floor. Met her a few days ago in the gym. I'm worried about her."

"Better worry about yourself instead, man. Stay focused on what's happening."

The elevator dinged and its doors slid open. Ten more heavily armed men stepped out of it and hurried toward them, taking positions. Their gear clanked as they ran.

"What's the situation?" one of them barked.

"We're not sure," Newman responded.

"How many are out there?"

Suddenly, Newman gasped in alarm. He backed away

262

from the peephole as headlights raced toward the blockaded doors.

"Oh sh-"

A second later, they saw the sunrise after all.

It burst inside the lobby.

"

263

The fertilizer bomb exploded as the truck crashed through the barriers, the massive concussion rocking the building. Fire and smoke ripped through the first floor. Shards of metal, chunks of concrete, and shattered glass hurtled into the air. The lobby and all inside it were instantly vaporized. Then, the billowing smoke cleared, revealing twisted steel girders and tongues of orange, flickering flame.

Amazingly, the building stood firm.

Ob watched through the binoculars. His gray lips pulled back in a grimace.

"The bomb didn't work as well as I'd hoped. That blast should have taken out the first five stories. Instead, it only destroyed a portion of the first floor and the parking garage. The building was touted as being indestructible. The designer was a bit of a gadfly, given to hype and self-grandeur. Perhaps it wasn't hype after all. No matter. Ready the artillery and the mortars. Take out the section where the building's generator is housed. I want the power out immediately. Also, bring the tanks

264

forward and have them create some more entrances. And send in the first wave of foot soldiers."

As the column of tanks rumbled toward the skyscraper, a horde of zombies charged across the plaza toward the gaping hole created by the truck bomb. Heedless of the damage to their bodies, they strode through the flames. Their burning corpses emerged on the other side. Not slowing, they clambered through the wreckage. Moments later, they burst into the stairwells in search of more prey. When the stairs became crowded, they even climbed up the elevator shafts, using the service ladders and cables.

Then the screaming began.

The elevator doors slid open. Danny squeezed Jim's hand tighter as they stepped out.

"Was that thunder, Daddy?"

"Sure sounded like it. It rained most of the night, I think. But you're not scared of a little thunder and lightning, are you?"

Danny shook his head. "No, but Frankie might be."

"Why do you say that?"

"Because she's a girl."

"You might be surprised," Jim chuckled. "Frankie's pretty tough. Girls can do just about anything boys can do-Frankie especially. I bet she'll be happy to see us."

They started down the corridor. Despite the alarm, Jim was surprised that none of the medical staff was present. The entire floor was eerily silent. His boots echoed on the tiles.

"Do you like Frankie, Daddy?"

"Sure I like her. She helped me find you."

"Are you going to marry her now that Mommy and Carrie are dead?"

The question stopped Jim in his tracks.

265

"Now where did that come from?" he asked.

Danny shrugged. "I think she's pretty."

She is pretty, Jim thought to himself. But with everything that's been happening, I guess that I never really thought about it until now.

"I think we've got more important things to worry about right now," Jim said, hoping Danny would change the subject.

But the boy refused to be diverted. "I think she'd make a good mommy."

They approached Frankie's recovery room. Jim considered explaining to his son that Frankie had been a mommy, and what had happened to her child. But he decided against it. Danny had seen enough horror and lived through enough traumatic events. He deserved some time to be a kid again, free of violence and terror.

"Daddy?"

"What, buddy?"

"I smell smoke. Something's burning."

Before Jim could respond, the door to the recovery room opened and a man stepped out. He wore wrinkled gray trousers and a sweat-stained white dress shirt. His right hand clutched a pistol. Despite his disheveled look, Jim recognized him immediately. It was Darren Ramsey.

A large, unkempt man followed, pushing Frankie in a wheelchair. She'd been gagged, and bound to the wheelchair's armrests with rubber surgical tubing. A thin line of blood dribbled from her nose. Her eyes widened in surprise as she spotted Jim and Danny.

"Frankie!"

"Stay where you are," Ramsey ordered. "We mean you no harm. I'm Darren Ramsey."

"I know who you are," Jim said, pulling Danny

266

close. "That's my friend you have tied down in that wheelchair."

"I can assure you, it is for the young lady's own good. Her welfare-indeed, the welfare of us all-is my utmost concern."

"Is that why her nose is bleeding?"

"She became unruly. Her behavior has been quite erratic. I'm sure you know that the building has come under attack. We are simply restraining her so that we can move her to safety."

Frankie grunted, straining against the gag. The fat man's grip tightened on the wheelchair.

"Attack?" Jim stepped in front of Danny and slowly walked toward them. "I know there was an alarm, but I haven't heard anything about an attack. Where are you taking her?"

"To salvation. She will be the new Eve."

"I think you'd better let her decide that."

"That's far enough, Mr. Thurmond." Ramsey brought the pistol up.

"How do you know my name?"

"I know everything about my children, even when they are disruptive and disrespectful, as Bates is now behaving. I'm sure he's told you that he thinks I'm insane?"

"Listen," Jim held his hands up, "I don't know what you're talking about. If you and Bates have a problem, then that's something the two of you need to work out. All I know is that you've got my friend tied to that wheelchair, and she's hurt. Why don't you go ahead and untie her, and then we'll be on our way and let you fellows go do whatever it is you're doing."

"We are attempting to save her." Ramsey sighed. "And you are trying my patience, Mr. Thurmond. I offer

267

you and your son the same salvation. Come with us. Dimassi and I intend to leave this place. Ramsey Towers could have withstood this attack, but with Bates in charge, its defenses will weaken. Our time here is over."