City of the Dead (38 page)

Frankie wasn't sure how long they stayed that way, but eventually, Danny sat up and wiped his nose on his hand.

"Maybe I am a little hungry," he said.

"Good. I'll get the corn."

She got up and spooned the corn into two bowls.

"Frankie? What will we do next?"

"I don't know, Danny. We're okay for now, but eventually, we'll have to leave this place. We've got enough food and water to last for a while, but we can't stay down here forever."

"But where will we go?"

She didn't respond.

356

They ate in silence. Danny let God lick his bowl clean while Frankie used the coffee can. When she came back out of the spare room, Danny was looking at her with an odd expression.

"What's wrong?" she asked.

"You'll think I'm making it up."

"No, I won't. What is it?"

He paused before continuing. "While we were asleep, I dreamed about Daddy. He said he was in a better place now, and that I shouldn't be sad. He said we would see him soon. Him and Mr. Martin and Mr. De Santos and everybody else that died."

Frankie's breath caught in her throat.

"Do you believe me, Frankie?"

Slowly, she nodded. "Yeah. Yeah, Danny, I do. I dream about the preacher-man, and he says the same thing."

Danny reached down and scratched God behind the ears. The cat raised its face to him and closed its eyes in contentment.

"Maybe they're not dead. Maybe the monster-people are the only ones that are really dead."

"Maybe," Frankie agreed.

Still exhausted, they lay back down on their cots. Frankie turned the flashlight off. Soon, the sound of Danny's soft breathing filled the room.

Maybe death isn't the end, she thought. I still don't know if I believe in Heaven, but hell is right outside that door. Maybe Danny is right. Maybe death is just the beginning for us, and maybe it gives us an escape from those things. Maybe that's why they are here-so that we don't have to deal with them in the place we go to next. So that it's free of their kind ...

357

Frankie pulled the sleeping boy to her womb and closed her eyes.

What was it Martin had told her?

Everything dies, but not everything has an ending.

In the darkness, God watched over them while they slept. Eventually, the cat curled into a ball and drifted off as well.

The three of them slept like the dead.

When the rats finally chewed through the wood and silicone that blocked the hole in the door and poured into the shelter, Frankie, Danny, and God never woke up.

When they did, their loved ones were there to greet them.

In the streets of the Necropolis, silence reigned once more. Far above the empty skyscrapers and concrete canyons, the newly risen moon shined down upon the world, staring at a mirror image of its cold, dead self.

In Central Park, a broad, gnarled oak tree began to move its branches, stretching the massive limbs with a deep rumble. Individual blades of grass began to sway.

The moonlight disappeared, and the city was engulfed in darkness.

Thunder crashed in the sky, and the heavens wept one final time.

358 **B

BRIAN KEENE is a two-time Bram Stoker Award-winning author of several novels and short story collections, including The Rising. His work has appeared in numerous anthologies and magazines, and several of his novels and short stories have been optioned for film. He has also edited several anthologies. He lives somewhere on the border between Pennsylvania and Maryland, where he spends too much time writing, walking his dog, and worrying that his readers or his editor will demand another sequel. If so, contact him at www.briankeene.com.