City of the Dead (3 page)

What happened to my son? What the hell happened here?

Danny pulled away. "Daddy! You're hurt!"

"It's okay. It's not my blood. It's ..."

Danny looked down at his mother's corpse and then buried his face in Jim's chest. He shuddered.

"You-you shot Mommy?"

"S-she wasn't your mother anymore, Danny. You know that, right?"

"Daddy, I was so scared. The monster-people came, and Mommy and I hid in the attic. Mommy got sick and then Rick came and I hurt him-I hurt him bad with his bowling ball so he wouldn't get Mommy, but Mommy never woke up, and when she did, she was one of the monster-people too, so I locked myself in the attic again and I blocked the door just like on TV, and Mommy kept trying to get in and-Daddy, WHERE WERE YOU? You said you'd always protect me, but you lied! You lied to me, Daddy!"

Jim squeezed him tighter. After a moment, he wiped his nose with his sleeve.

"I was on my way, Danny. I left as soon as I got your

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message. I ran into some very bad people, and I got delayed. But that was a very smart thing you did, calling my cell phone. You were very brave, and I'm proud of you."

"Mommy said you wouldn't come. She said you didn't love me."

The familiar old anger surged through him, and for one brief second, he didn't regret shooting her reanimated corpse.

"When, Danny? When did she say that?"

"After she woke up again. When she was trying to get into the attic."

"Well, she was wrong. That wasn't your mother talking. And now that I'm here, nothing is going to ever hurt you again. I'll die first. Some friends of mine are waiting outside. But we've got to hurry, okay?"

Danny's cheeks were wet and puffy.

"I love you, Daddy. I love you more than 'finity."

Fresh tears rolled down Jim's face.

"Me too, buddy. I love you more than infinity, too. You don't know how long I've been waiting to tell you that again."

The door crashed open downstairs. Danny jerked in his arms. Jumping to his feet, Jim pushed his son behind him and reached for the pistol, still lying on the floor where he'd dropped it. Too late, he remembered that he was out of bullets.

"Get behind me, Danny."

A voice called out from below, "Jim?"

"Martin?"

"I'm here, Jim! Where are you?"

"Upstairs."

Then Frankie's voice, "Move it, old-timer! They're coming."

The door slammed shut with a bang.

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Danny cowered behind him. Jim knelt down and looked him in the eyes.

"It's okay, Danny. These are the friends of mine that I mentioned. They helped me come find you. Let's go downstairs, and I'll introduce you to them. Okay?"

"Okay." Danny nodded.

They were halfway down the stairs when the zombies' cries reached Jim's ears. Frankie and Martin were dragging the couch toward the front door. As Jim reached the landing and Danny stepped out from behind him, Martin froze, staring at the boy.

"Come on, Preacher! Help me move-" Frankie paused, then followed Martin's stare.

"Hi," Danny stared at his toes, his voice trembling. "I'm Danny."

Both the preacher and the ex-hooker gaped. Then, Martin's warm laughter filled the room. "Well, I guess you must be! You really do look just like your father. Hello there, Danny. I'm Mr. Martin. It's very nice to meet you."

Smiling broadly, he walked over to the stairs and shook Danny's hand. Danny smiled back at him and then glanced at Frankie.

"Hi, kid. I'm Frankie."

"Frankie? That's not a girl's name."

"Well, I'm not a girl," Frankie countered with a wink. "I'm a woman."

"Oh."

Still beaming, Martin hugged Jim. "See? I told you this was God's will. He came through for you. He delivered your son."

"You think maybe God could deliver this fucking couch over to the door, too?" Frankie asked, trying to

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push the sofa. "Those things are gonna be here in a second."

"We've got company?" Jim fought to keep the alarm out of his voice. He didn't want to upset Danny further.

"Yeah, we've got company," Martin answered. "Lot's of it."

"The whole damn neighborhood is dropping by," Frankie muttered. "It's like an undead welcome wagon out there!"

Jim grabbed the other end of the sofa and helped Frankie position it against the door. His shoulder throbbed as he pushed. Outside, the shouts and cries increased. The stench of rotting flesh enveloped the house like a cloud, making them all gag.

"Little pigs, little pigs, let us come in!"

Danny shivered. "That's Tommy Padrone, the big kid from down the street. He walked around outside every night and hollered that over and over. I stuck my fingers in my ears, but I could still hear him. It was scary."

Jim frowned, wondering what other hells his son had faced while he was dealing with his own nightmarish journey.

"Martin, that thing got a fresh magazine?"

The preacher nodded.

"Good. Give it here."

Martin handed him the rifle. Its weight felt good in his hands.

"Take Danny upstairs. Go to the attic and close the door behind you."

"Daddy, I want to stay here with you!"

"I'll be up in a minute, squirt."

"You promise?" Danny sulked.

"I promise. Cross my heart and hope to die."

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"Okay. Come on, Mr. Martin. I'll show you my baseball cards and stuff."

Jim waited until they'd disappeared up the stairs before turning to Frankie.

"So just how many are we dealing with here?"

"Like I said, the whole damn neighborhood. We didn't stick around to count heads. It's not good."

The clamor outside grew louder.

Jim shook his head in frustration. "Why didn't the two of you stay in the Humvee? You would have been safe. Now you've led them to us!"

"Well excuse the fuck out of me! We thought you were in trouble. Martin thought maybe you ..."

"Maybe I what?"

She shook her head. "Forget it. Okay? We've got more important things to worry about."

"I'm sorry. It's just-he's safe, you know? I can't believe he's safe. And now I'm afraid it was all for nothing. I may have found my son only to watch us all die."

"Well then you'd better give me that M-16 to go along with mine, because I sure as shit intend to put up a fight."

Jim was quiet, appraising her. Then he smiled.

Fists, hammers and crowbars began to batter the door.

Frankie returned his smile.

"Let's do this shit."

Jim positioned himself at the bottom of the stairway. Frankie crouched down behind the recliner. The pounding on the door increased, rattling it in its frame. In the kitchen, a window shattered. Then another. The stench of decay wafted into the house, stronger now. They struggled to keep from retching.

"Remember-" Jim started.

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"-Aim for the head," Frankie finished.

The door splintered, and a dozen arms forced themselves through the crack. The couch slid an inch, then two. Glass shattered in the kitchen, and then the living room window exploded. A zombie clambered through it, jagged shards ripping its flesh. Frankie raised her M-16, fired, and the zombie tottered to the floor minus most of its brain. Another one crawled through the opening behind it.

"Throw down your weapons, humans! We will make your deaths quick. You have our word."

"I got a better idea," Frankie shouted. "Why don't you all fuck off?"

"Bitch! We shall rip out your intestines and wear them as a necklace. We will feast on your hearts and livers. We will-"

"Here comes the boom, mother-fuckers!"

Frankie squeezed off another shot at the second zombie in the window. Its head disappeared from the nose up. Glass crunched under booted feet, alerting her to the creatures in the kitchen. Five of them started down the hall toward the living room. Behind them, she heard the kitchen door crash open.

"Shit!"

She turned and fired, choosing aimed, single shots rather than spraying in panic. Rounds tore through the zombies and also into the wall behind them.

At the same time, the sofa blocking the front door slid backward. The creatures swarmed into the house, only to drop under Jim's barrage. More took their place and fell on top of their comrades. Still more replaced them.

"Swarm them!" a zombie shrieked. "We can overrun them with our numbers."

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"Better get upstairs!" Frankie shouted, squeezing off another three-round burst toward the kitchen. "They're coming in on all sides now."

"No way. I'm not leaving you here by yourself!"

"Bullshit! That's your son up there! You mean to tell me you came hundreds of miles just to die down here without him?"

Clenching his teeth, Jim aimed at the doorway and emptied his weapon. The rifle grew hot in his hands. The zombies that weren't mowed down jumped back out the door, taking cover behind the hedge.

"Look," Frankie reasoned, "if you've gotta die-and it looks like we're going to-then die with your son, not down here with me."

Jim slammed another magazine into place and glanced at Frankie.

"God damn it. You're right."

"Well then go!"

He ran up the stairs. Crouching, Frankie laid down a burst of cover fire and then duck-walked from the recliner to the foot of the stairway, taking his place. She retreated a few steps upward as more zombies entered the house.

A bullet plowed into the recliner, littering the carpet with tufts of foam stuffing. Another tore through the stairway's wooden railing. Outside, in the darkness, she saw a muzzle flash.

"Shit, they've got guns too."

She waited for the next shot, saw the flash before she heard it, and fired through the open doorway in the shooter's direction. The flash was not repeated.

"One down, eighty or so to go."

More zombies poured in through the kitchen.

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Suddenly, she felt a pair of clammy hands upon her ankle, clawing at her through the banister. She screamed, jerking her foot away. The zombie's ragged nails scratched her skin.

"Come here, cow!" the zombie taunted.

She swung the M-16 and fired. The headless corpse toppled to the carpet.

Still shooting, Frankie retreated to the top of the stairs.

"Jim, if you've got a plan, now would be a good time to share it!"

The zombies started up the stairs after her.

"And these are my Yu-Gi-Oh cards." Danny held the shoebox proudly.

Martin was amazed that Danny was reacting so calmly. He himself felt like hiding in a closet and pissing in his pants. Still marveling at the boy's resilience, he picked up a bright green, heavily muscled action figure from the floor.

"Who's this mean-looking guy? Wait a minute; I know. He's the Hulk, right?"

Danny rolled his eyes. "No, he's Piccolo from DragonBall Z."

"Oh," Martin muttered, aware that he'd just gone down on Danny's cool-meter. "I knew that."

He glanced around the room, saddened at the signs of a young boy forced to hole up here for the last week. Dirty bedding, a rumpled pile of clothes, empty water bottles and cookie bags, and scattered toys.

Gunshots rang out below and they both jumped. It was followed in quick succession by several more single shots; then changed over to the roar of automatic fire.

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Danny gave the door a worried glance. Martin tried to distract him.

"You know, Danny, your father really missed you."

"I missed him, too. I didn't think he would come. I didn't think I'd ever see him again."

"Oh, he came all right. And he didn't let anything stand in his way, either. Not a thing. Your daddy is one tough cookie. You wouldn't believe what we had to go through to get here."

"Monster people?"

"Yes. But it wasn't just them, Danny. There were other bad people too. But your daddy never stopped. He was determined to find you."

More gunfire exploded downstairs. Martin clutched his pistol and tried to look calm.

"Mr. Martin, if you're my daddy's friend, and you helped him come find me, then how come I never met you when I went to his house in the summers?"

"Well, that's because I just met your father, after all this-well, after he left to come get you."

"Why?"

"Why?" Martin straightened his stiffening legs. The sounds of combat grew louder, and he had to raise his voice. "Well, because that's what God had planned for us. That's what God wanted me to do. Do you know about God, Danny?"

Danny nodded. "A little bit. Mommy and Rick didn't go to church. I know that he lives in Heaven, up in the sky. I thought that's where dead people went, but now I know better. When people die, they don't go to Heaven. They become monster-people."

Martin flinched, not sure how to respond. He picked up the action figure again.

"They still go to Heaven, if they know Jesus. Those

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things out there-they aren't people, Danny. They're just shells-kind of like these toys. Like Piccirilli here."

"Piccolo." Danny corrected him.

"Sorry, Piccolo," Martin corrected himself, still trying to distract the boy. He walked over to the attic window and peered outside, trying to judge the distance to the house next door. It was too far to jump, he decided. Zombies swarmed below them, carrying a variety of weapons.

"Do you see anything?" Danny asked.

"Not really," Martin lied. "But I'm not afraid because the Lord is with us. He's always with us, Danny. Always. He lives inside your heart, and he sees everything that you do and knows everything you think. You might think that, with all of the bad things going on outside, He isn't there, but I can assure you that he is. He's always watching over you."

"Like Santa Claus?"

A frantic pounding on the door interrupted Martin's response. He crept down the attic stairs, pistol shaking in his arthritic hands.

"Wh-who is it?"

"It's Jim!"

He opened the door. Jim burst in and slammed it closed behind him.

"Daddy, are you all right?"

"I'm fine, buddy." He scooped Danny into his arms and gave him a hug. But Martin heard the lie in his voice. Everything was far from fine. The sounds of gunfire, both Frankie's and their attackers, was constant now, as were the angry cries of the zombies.