Dead Of Winter (The Rift Book II) (29 page)

Billy approached the ladder. To the right of it was a sign covered with sludge. He wiped the black gunk away.
Grant Street
, it said. Weak beams of light shone down on him from the manhole cover. The singing in his head hiccupped and then came back, strong as ever.

“This is good,” he said, turning to the boy. “We can go up here.”

He grabbed the ladder and gave it a good tug to test its strength. It didn’t move. He then ushered Christopher over and proceeded to climb the rungs. They were slick but sturdy. The boy panted as he followed suit. At the apex he wrapped his arm around the top rung, braced his other elbow over his head, and gently pressed upward on the manhole cover. It was heavy but he got it to move. The corroded ridge scraped against the metal rim that held it in place. Billy winced, thinking the sound would surely announce their arrival to the creatures outside. After a few minutes of waiting brought no reply he shoved the heavy disc up far enough to peer through the gap.

He looked around. They were all alone, smack-dab in the middle of an abandoned street. Warehouses lined both sides of the road. The sun had come out again. It gleamed off the melting snow, threatening to blind him. He shoved the cover aside, pulled himself out of the hole, and helped Christopher do the same.

Once out they snuck quietly as they could down the road, staying close to the buildings. Christopher jumped occasionally when strange sounds were heard, but Billy was too lost in reverie to be surprised by anything. Every fire-blasted brick wall, every overturned automobile, every collapsed edifice, reminded him of what he’d seen in his vision. It was all true. All of it.

That being the case, he knew exactly where to go.

Marcy’s voice grew still louder. They snuck past a street where the undead roamed and ran around the next bend and entered a parallel alley. When they reached the end Billy stopped short. His eyes opened wide, believing and disbelieving at the same time. Christopher ran into him from behind.

“What is it?” asked the boy.

“Beautiful,” Billy said. His eyes remained fixed on the building above them, and the constant flicker of the beacon that shone from one of its upper windows. Just like rest of the city it was as he remembered it.
The Omni
, he thought.
We actually arrived.
Without thinking, he took a step forward…

…and was yanked back by his collar. He stumbled and nearly fell. His jacket tore on a garbage can he came close to knocking over. Out of instinct he wheeled towards Christopher, rage burning behind his eyelids and hands balled into fists.

The look on the kid’s face disarmed him. His eyes were bulging and something other than the cold made him quiver. “What is it?” Billy asked. Christopher pointed at the mouth of the alley. Billy followed his finger.

The Omni was indeed in the distance, across the street and down a ways. But standing between them and their destination, with dead eyes and decayed flesh, were hundreds of the rootless undead. They meandered like the dead things they were, arms limp, heads down, backs hunched. He could see no way around. In order to get to the hotel they would have to pass through them.

The beacon flashed above their heads, taunting him.

“This is not good,” Billy whispered.

Christopher screamed.

Billy wheeled around in time to see Christopher kicking at a dead woman, half of whose face was a mess of dripping red devastation. The boy shoved her against the wall. She bounced off and came at him again. Billy rushed forward, grabbed the woman, and hurled her further into the alley. . She weighed virtually nothing, and when she stopped rolling she came to rest at the feet of four more beasts. Behind those was another countless mass. The creatures had followed them. There was no turning back now. Their only way out was straight ahead.

 
“Damn,” Billy muttered.

Grabbing Christopher by the arm, he yanked the boy out of the alley and into the street. The ruckus had gathered the attention of the others. Countless pairs of lifeless eyes gazed at them while stiff, corroding bodies lurched and shuffled.

Billy knelt beside the boy and forced him to look in his eyes. “Are you with me, Christopher?” he asked.

Christopher nodded.

“Okay. Listen closely.” He had to raise his voice to be heard over the growing moans and hisses. “We are going to make a run for it. Take hold of my coat and
do not
let go
. These creatures are weak. As long as we keep from being cornered we should be fine.”

Christopher nodded again, this time crying a little.

“There is nothing to be afraid of,” he said. “It will be just like hockey. Close your eyes and check them if they get too close. Do you think you can do that?”

He didn’t wait for a reply. The horde was almost on top of them. He waited for Christopher to grab hold of his jacket and then Billy lowered his shoulder and drove into the human wall. Two of the creatures bounced off to either side, creating an opening that was swiftly closed by two more. These he rammed as well, and then two more, until he found a slight crease. He raced through, dragging his partner behind him, zigzagging through the throng of death. It felt like he was moving quickly but they seemed to gain no ground on their objective.

Still more of the undead closed in. Billy squeezed his eyelids shut and rammed into them, as well. He and Christopher became human pinballs, bouncing from one barrier of dead flesh to the next. His heart raced and fear washed out his thoughts.
I will not give in
, his brain proclaimed.

A few seconds and thirty collisions later, they broke through the final line of weakly grasping hands and entered open space. They were at the bottom of the stairs leading to the hotel entrance. His heart sank. The doors were barricaded with steel girders and wooden beams. He dashed up the steps, a panting and wheezing Christopher right behind him, and tried to remove the obstructions. Each one was heavy. He could barely make them budge.

He wheeled around to see their pursuers stagger after them. The horde was fifty deep, too dense to ram through this time. He’d gone and done the one thing he told the boy they shouldn’t do – he got them cornered. Without a second to think he threw his shoulder into Christopher, picked him up, and tossed him over the railing. The kid landed with a thud on the pavement below. A surprised whinny escaped his lips. Billy jumped down after him.

He proceeded to drag Christopher across the concrete, heading around the side of the building in hope of finding an unguarded rear entryway. The dead closed in on them once more, and for the umpteenth time Billy tried to ram his way through. Greedy hands tugged on his hair, his coat, his backpack, his pants. Christopher shrieked. The collective effort of pulling the boy and trying to fend off the multitude proved too much. His knees buckled and he fell. The weight of undead fingers pressed against his flesh. With as many as there were they’d be torn apart. He tried to reach into his backpack and grab the pistol but his hands were pinned. He closed his eyes, tucked himself into a ball, and let Marcy’s song, barely noticeable among the din of groans, carry him off into oblivion.

An explosion rang in his eardrums. For a moment he assumed it the result of the tacky fingers shoved into his ears, trying to pry off the top of his head. But then it happened again, and again, and again. The hands clutching at him gradually retreated. He opened his eyes to see the dead were still above him. One tried to gnaw on his shin but was having a rough go at the three layers of denim he wore. The rest, however, moved their attention elsewhere. Another blast sounded. This time the skull of a dead man to his right burst like a water balloon. Blood and gore showered those behind it, who seemed not to notice. Their lifeless eyes simply stared in the direction from which the sound came.

With their attackers momentarily distracted Billy scuttled backward. Christopher was laying there, eyes wide as could be. Tears streamed down his face and his lips bled. Billy took his hand and the boy squeezed back. They began to nudge their way across the ground but they were still surrounded, locked in a prison of decomposing knees and feet. Billy scrambled into a crawl, tucking Christopher beneath him. The faces of the deceased fell upon them. They ignored the strange noise from outside their ranks and reached out for the frightened pair.

“Help us!” screamed Billy. “Please, somebody, help us!”

Three more explosions rang out, and this time shouting followed. He heard rapid footsteps pound the wet pavement. Three of the undead took hold of his wrist. They were strong in cooperation and he couldn’t wiggle from their grasp. The remnants of an old woman stuck his gloved fingers in her toothless mouth and bit down. He felt her gums, loose and fetid, slide back and forth over his knuckles. He knelt up and swung his free hand, striking her in the nose. Her face caved in on impact.

The shouts grew louder. Bodies that once leaned in on them flew backward. A domed head appeared in front of him. A pair of kind blue eyes stared from behind a clear plastic mask. The mouth below those eyes mimed,
you okay
, to which Billy nodded. More hands grabbed him, this time around the bag strapped to his shoulders. These hands were strong and sturdy, pulling him across the concrete. He kicked his feet to keep up, glancing over his shoulder to see three men wearing padded blue suits with the letters
PPD
embossed on the back as they pummeled the hapless walking corpses with the butts of their rifles. Another man grabbed Christopher around the waist and hauled him away from the carnage.

He was rushed up a set of stairs, through a door, and into a dimly-lit room. The men lugging him tossed his tense body aside and disappeared back out the door. Christopher came through next, dumped in a similar fashion. Their gazes locked. The tears that had been in the boy’s eyes were gone. Awe and relief replaced them.

Shouts and urgent calls followed and six men in riot gear hurried into the building, slamming the door behind them. They grabbed three steel poles leaning against the wall and quickly dropped them into brackets fastened to the wall and floor. When all three supports were in place the men stood with legs spread apart, as if readying to sumo wrestle, and braced the door. It shuddered once, then twice, then three times as the mass of dead flesh shoved into it. The beams held firm. Before long the men slid their arms to their sides and shook their heads.

One after another the men passed them by on their way down an adjacent hallway. The last in line stopped before them. He took off his helmet to reveal a head of light brown hair, thinning on the top. It was the man who’d pulled Billy from the throng. He noticed the lines of age that creased the skin around those powder-blue eyes. The guy had a thick jaw and must have been around his age, perhaps older.

“Hey there, name’s Jamie Forrest,” the man said, a sad grin on his face. “Welcome to the Omni. Take time to gather yourselves and then head down that hallway there. We’ll be waiting for you.”

With those words he casually saluted and strode after the others, leaving Billy and Christopher alone. They were surrounded by huge ovens, cabinets, and rows of kitchen appliances. Billy glanced at Christopher, who shrugged his shoulders.

“Well,” said Billy with a smile, “we made it.”

The boy’s resolve shattered and he broke down. He leaned over, his back shuddering with each breath. Billy inched his way over to him, pulled the boy into a bear hug, and let him sob into his chest.

It was the first time he’d offered up that much compassion to another human being in a long, long time.

After taking a few moments to calm down the pair followed the lead of their six saviors. They walked along a carpeted hallway that slanted upward. At the end of the hall they entered the hotel antechamber. The place was huge, decked with marble floors and countertops, the walls blue with flecks of gold. There were ferns everywhere, large and small, ferns Billy remembered from his vision. He smiled wide. Christopher passed him a curious glance. He playfully nudged the boy in reply.

A bustle of activity surrounded them. Concerned-looking faces offered passing glances as they hurried to and fro. They gave the soiled duo and their stink a wide berth. Billy heard frantic orders shouted and started to feel useless and ignored. From the other side of the ample room a pair of women came running, carrying a large bucket between them. Steam rose from it. A man opened the door to the staircase and held it for them. They disappeared and he closed the door.