David Bernstein

Machines of the Dead

Chapter 1

“Damn it,” Dr. Reynolds said when he looked through the glass into the containment room. Homeless person number 14 was d ead, the bots taking too much of the man’s energy, sucking him down to almost nothing more than a husk.

“I don’t understand why the programming isn’t working,” he said, and hit the kill switch, filling the containment room with enough electromagnetic energy to wipe out a small town ’s electrical equipment. “The bots worked perfectly in the rats.”

“Sir,” said Dr. Chan, his assistant. “The human brain is just too complex. Maybe we-”

“Maybe we what, t ell the military that their project is too much for us? That they should find another company to work on this project? We’ll just give back the millions upon millions we’ve been funded, and say sorry.”

Dr. Chan sighed and looked down. “I’ll have more test subjects rounded up. The city’s full of them.”

“ Get on that; tell C hambers I want at least twenty-no, thirty.”

“Thirty? Sir that’s too many at one time. We’ve never-”

“ I need to be alone,” Dr. Reynolds said, cutting his assistant off.

“I’ll take lunch then,” Chan said, and left the control room.

When the military first approached him, Dr. Eugene Reynolds had thought it a good thing. Now he wasn’t so sure. What if he couldn’t deliver? What would they do to him? Would he ever be able to work again, or would his reputation be ruined? None of that mattered, because he was going to make the project work; give the government what they wanted. He had never failed before and he wasn’t about to now. With thirty more subjects coming in, plus the ten he had left, he would be able to get the bots to work. He had to.

Sitting down at his computer, he began to re-wo rk the nano’s interface module. He needed stronger bots, and ones that required less host — energy.

Chapter 2

Derek Mayfield had been living on the streets of New York City for ten years, having s pent time in almost every borough. At the age of fifteen, he was diagnosed with bi-polar disorder, and under his parents’ medical insurance, he received the proper care and medication for him to maintain a normal lifestyle.

At the age of nineteen, he fell in love with Clare Schmidt, a waitress and recreational drug user. Together, they partied at night and on their days off from work; it was a twenty-four hour party. Marijuana and beer were the drugs of choice, until one day, they decided to try cocaine. From th at day forward, it was the hard narcotics: cocaine, speed, meth, and heroin.

Off his meds, Derek experienced major mood swings. They could occur at any moment and anywhere. After Clare died from an overdose, Derek spiraled further down the path of destruction. One day, while arguing with his parents over money, he snapped and killed them both.

Since that night, he had been living on the streets, hiding from the cops and society. H is weight had dropped to half of what it used to be; he was dirty and had a full, scruffy beard. He was always looking to score, and one day a large, well-built man came to him, offering him a job.

“Work for you?” he asked the big guy. “I thought you brought me to this back alley be cause you wanted me to blow you.”

The big man smiled, but something about his smile bothered Derek, making his blood feel as if it had turned into ice.

“I work for a pharmaceutical company,” the big guy said.

Derek’s eyes lit up at hearing the word pharmaceutical.

He was in.

“My boss,” the big fellow continued, “is looking for test subjects. Former drug users, current drug users, and whatnot.”

“What do I gotta do, suck his dick?”

The big man laughed. “No, no. Nothing like that. He needs people willing to go around the bureaucratic tape, the paperwork. Things get done much faster that way. Course it’s all off the record. We keep our mouths shut, and you do the same.”

“How long is the job?”

“Should be no more than a few days and while you’re staying with us, you’ll be fed, bathed, and given whatever you need.” The big man held up a small baggie filled with white nose candy. Derek reached out, grabbed the coke and held it close to his chest. “And you’ll earn a thousand bucks, cash.”

What did he have to lose?

Now, sitting in his room five stories below Manhattan, in an underground bunker, Derek started to feel as if he were in withdrawal. He was antsy and needed a fix. The small room was too claustrophobic. It made him angry. Made him wonder why he was there in the first place. Who were the rich assholes who needed him? How much were they going to make off him?

He deserved more than a grand.

Derek closed his eyes and began smacking himself upside the head until he felt right again. Truth was he needed the money. Didn’t everyone need money? He’d been allowed to take numerous showers. The hot water was something he had longed for, and he was fed and clothed, just as the big guy promised. He could do this, whatever it was. If all they wanted were samples of his blood, they could have them. Shit, they could keep on having them if he could stay here. His brain was so fucked up. He needed meds. Fuck that. Meds turned him into someone else. He needed drugs, the kind he could use to leave the world and enter the land of ecstasy. Once he got paid, he would go out and celebrate in style. Get the good stuff, not that shitty crank he had to settle for on the streets. Maybe, he would even find a woman.

Okay, he could do this. Let them take whatever they wanted from him. A little blood, sure. Some skin, sure. He had done way worse, for far less. Nasty things with nasty people. He should count his blessings and enjoy himself. If only his head wasn’t so fucked up.

Sitting on his bed, he waited for his turn in the lab.

An hour later, a doctor entered his room.

“Hello, Mr. Mayfield,” the man said. “My name’s D r. Chan. How are we doing today?”

Scratching his head and twitching, Derek said, “Good. I’m doing good.”

Chan looked at him curiously. “You sure you’re okay?”

“Yeah. What have you got for me, Doc?”

“I’m going to give you a very mild sedative, so that when we bring you to the lab, you won’t be as jumpy.”

“I like sedatives. It’s a good idea. I’m a little nervous.”

“Oh, this is nothing really. I doubt you’ll notice a thing, and as far as being nervous, don’t be. All we’re going to do is x-ray your body, take some blood and skin samples and send you on your way.”

“Sounds good, Doc.” Derek held out his arms. “Pick one.”

The doctor approached him, held onto the left arm and inject ed him with the syringe he was holding. “Okay,” he said, “all done.”

“I’ll just lay back and enjoy… I mean, wait for you to come back.”

“Relax, Mr. Mayfield. You’ve got nothing to worry about,” Chan said, then walked out of the room and closed the door. Derek heard the lock click and jumped.

“Fuck,” he said. Why were they locking him in? P recautionary, that’s all, he thought. He laid back and tried to relax, let the drug take effect. However, after a few minutes, he felt the same. He wondered what the hell was going on. He’d been on plenty of sedatives and whatever they had given him, sure wasn’t one.

Shit. They were screwing with him.

Sitting up, his heart racing, he looked around the almost barren room. Cameras! They must have cameras and were watching him to see how he would react. But why?

He searched the room, looking in the corners, under the bed, and along the walls. Nothing; he found nothing. Shit. He was just being paranoid, allowing his condition to get the best of him. If only he had a hit of something, something to calm him down, because whatever they had given him was total bullshit. Maybe, he shouldn’t have lied on the form he filled out and informed them that he was bi-polar, and a heavy drug user, instead of just a recreational one. Maybe then, they would have given him a stronger dose of sedative.

Relax, he told himself, as he paced frantically. All they wanted was some of his stuff, blood and skin, then he was free to leave. Wait, the doctor didn’t mention the money. What if that was a lie. What if there was no money. What if this place was one big sex house and they were slowly dosing him so that he wouldn’t remember getting raped? No, he was being ridiculous. Damn it.

Derek hit himself in the head again, but this time it did nothing to calm him down. Shit, what had they given him? Maybe they knew he was “unsteady” and gave him something to keep him crazy. Watch him suffer.

He needed to get out of there, but if he showed them how upset he was, they might tie him up, or chain him down. Then he would be at their mercy.

Derek bit through his lower lip in grinding pain. “You got to act natural,” he told himself.

A knock sounded on the door, then Dr. Chan entered. “Okay, Mr. Mayfield-”

Derek lunged at the tiny man, toppling him to the ground.

Looking up, he saw that Chan wasn’t alone. He had a guard with him, a rather large man, who was dressed in black fatigues.

As the guard rushed at him, Derek pushed himself up. They collided, but Derek managed to toss the man aside. The guy lost his balance and fell to the floor. Standing over Dr. Chan, Derek stomped the little man’s face, breaking his glasses and his nose. The big guy was getting up. Derek jumped over to him and landed with his feet on the man’s back, knocking him down again. He then lifted his right leg and stomped on the back of the big guy’s neck, over and over, like someone at a slam-dance concert. He was in a rage, wanting to kill. Within moments, Derek had turned the man’s spine into mush. Blood pooled around the guard’s face, his jaw broken, and offset. Pieces of teeth lay in the red liquid like tiny lifeboats at sea.

Turning around, Derek saw Dr. Chan holding his nose and leaning against the doorframe. “You’re a tough little fucker, aren’t you?”

Holding both arms out, shaking his head, Chan said, “no, no, no.” Blood covered the man’s face, his broken, twisted nose, still gushing like a burst water main. The little man turned to run, but Derek was on him in a second. He was suddenly hungry, starving in fact. Grabbing Chan’s head, he yanked it back, exposing Chan’s neck. Derek brought his face down and sunk his teeth into the scientist’s Adam’s apple, tearing it free. He tossed Chan’s body to the ground like the dead weight it was and chewed.

As soon as he swallowed the meat, he wanted to throw up. Leaning over, Derek gagged, but nothing came up. Anger then coursed through him. What had these people done to him?

He needed to escape.

Turning back to the dead guard, Derek searched the corpse, finding a Taser strapped to his hip, a wallet with no cash, and attached to an extend-a-cord was the keycard Derek had seen numerous employees use to access doors. He unclipped the card, stuffed the Taser into the back of his pants, and left the room.

He ran down the hall, the way he had originally come, and came to a locked door. Using the keycard, he swiped the piece of plastic through the card reader and heard the door unlock. He grabbed the handle and pulled the door open.

Another hall lay before him and he didn’t hesitate to sprint down it, passing a large window. Men in lab coats and a single guard, dressed in the all too familiar black fatigues, were in the room. Immediately, an alarm sounded, but Derek didn’t think it was from anyone in the lab. He remembered seeing cameras in the corners of the hallways and in certain rooms. As he approached the elevator, he looked up and saw a camera with its cold eye staring at him.

He pressed the button for the elevator and then thought for a moment; e levators were small, cramped. He didn’t like cramped spaces, especially when he was messed up in the head, which he clearly was now. Instead, he turned toward the exit leading to the stairwell, saw the card reader and used the keycard. The door unlocked and Derek pulled it open, ready to run up the stairs when a guard stepped forward and blocked his way.

“And where do you think you’re going?” the man asked, holding a baton and smiling.

Derek reached behind, pulled the Taser from his pants and shot the guard point blank. The guy went down fast, his body rigid and shaking. Unlike a stun gun, which only affects the part of the body it is exposed to, the Taser causes pain throughout the whole body, incapacitating the target completely.

Derek dropped the Taser and ran up the metal set of stairs. His stomach pained him, almost as if he hadn’t eaten for days. He had known hunger; living on the streets had brought him that sensation plenty of times.

Up and up he went. He was so caught up in trying to escape, he lost count of the flights. Had he climbed five or six? He wasn’t sure. Finally, he reached the top, coming to a small landing. Elevator doors sat to his right. On his left appeared to be a set of storm-cellar doors and another card reader was next to them. He knew he had reached the exit. Taking the keycard out, he swiped it through the card reader. A beep sounded, then the mechanics of working gears sounded and the doors were opening.

Below, he heard the hustle of boots on the steel stairs as the guards were coming after him. Derek bolted up the steps and found himself outside and in the alley where he was first propositioned to work for the pharmaceutical company.

Derek might have been outside, but he was far from free. The men were right behind him and a solid steel gate eight feet in height, topped with curling barbed wire, stood at the end of the alley. A sharp, stabbing pain erupted in Derek’s gut. He doubled over, thinking he had been shot, but when his hand came away from the area, it was clean. When the pain subsided, he stood. His abdomen was fine; it was just hunger that he was feeling.

He took off running down the alley, hoping to reach the sidewalk, the public, before the men had a chance to capture him. He had no idea what those bastards did to him, but he’d fight it off like he’d fought off everything else in his life, well except for the drugs, which he could really use a hit of something strong right now.

Without slowing, Derek jumped up, grabbed the top of the steel gate, and pulled himself up and over it, ripping his outfit and cutting himself as he did so.

Standing on the busy sidewalk of Second Avenue bleeding, Derek watched as cars, mostly yellow cabs and delivery trucks, drove by. A few horns sounded when the car in the right lane didn’t move fast enough after the light had turned green. Derek had never been happier to hear the annoying sounds.

Pedestrians walked around him as if he wasn’t there; just another homeless guy out and about. Nevertheless, he needed to get as far away from the area as possible. Those men might still be coming for him. And why wouldn’t they? Afraid of a scene? Although no longer the quintessential homeless man, he was still a homeless man, simply cleaned up a little and dressed in green overalls. If men in black fatigues grabbed him, who would care? Who would step in and do something? No one. He needed to keep moving. Then his stomach cramped up again, and he felt weak. About to fall forward, Derek grabbed onto a woman who was walking by him. She screamed and tried pushing him away, but anger coursed through him. It wasn’t right what he had gone through, and now this bitch was screaming at him, drawing attention to him. He grabbed her hand, brought it to his mouth and bit down. The woman howled in pain. She tried shaking Derek off, but he hung on like a dog that was playing tug-a-war with a knotted rope. Derek’s mouth flooded with the taste of iron as his teeth broke her skin.

Something large and heavy hit Derek from behind, knocking the breath out of him. The woman’s hand slipped from his mouth. He tried lunging at her, but couldn’t. Someone was holding him. Fearing it was a guard, he threw his head back and felt something crunch under the impact; he wasn’t going back down there. A moment later, he was free.

Turning around, he saw a man in a gray suit covering his nose with both hands, blood gushing from beneath them. A guard had not grabbed him, just a “good citizen” trying to help a woman in distress. Why had Derek attacked her? And why was he chewing the small amount of flesh in his mouth? Confused, he spit it out, his chin covered in glistening crimson.

From his right, behind the steel gate, Derek heard men’s voices. Shit, the guards were coming. He was so tired, running out of energy, but he needed to get as far away as possible. Blend in with the crowds of people walking the city sidewalks. If the men in black got him back down in that place, he would be experimented on, and they would inject him with more of that crap again. Derek took off running toward 44th Street.

He dodged citizens, most of them moving out of his way, reached the end of the block, and ran around the corner. He continued down 44th Street, running as if the Devil were after him. About halfway down the block, he looked over his shoulder to see if the guards were chasing him and didn’t see a rotund man emerge from a store. Derek collided hard with the man, sending them both to the ground. Face to face, like two lovers, Derek stared at the man’s puffy red lips — like gummy worms made of meat. He lowered his face to the plump tissue, bit down, grasping both of the man’s lips, and began to pull with the ferocity of a lion standing over its prey. The jelly-like flesh stretched as the man howled. Chunks of flesh came free with a suction cup sound. Blood gushed from the man’s face, running into his mouth and over his cheeks. It was wrong to do what he was doing, but he needed to eat. He was so damn hungry.

People stood around, screaming and yelling for help. Derek seemed to come out of his frenzied state. Feeling weak and terrified, h e jumped up, and a piece of lip was dangling from his mouth like a fisherman’s lure. Cell phones were pointed at him, recording his mug and the gruesome scene. He would be tonight’s headline on the news, the main story. Looking back the way he had come, Derek saw a large black shape cutting its way through the crowd. It was the men in black fatigues, the guards. Like one giant entity, they were coming for him. Spinning around, holding out his arms to part the surrounding crowd, Derek took off running down the street, listening to the cries of the man whose lips he had removed.

Chapter 3

“That’s the guy,” Jess shouted, leaning forward and pointing at the television screen.

She and Jack had been lying on the couch, snuggled up like two high school sweethearts. Anger and fear now coursed through his veins at seeing the man’s face.

His wife, Jessica, had been on her way back from the gym when a man attacked her, biting her on the hand. She had called the police, then Jack. Not wanting to wait for the authorities to arrive, Jack called back, telling the 911 operator that he was taking his wife to the emergency room. There, Jess was given an injection of wide-range spectrum antibiotics to potentially take care of any disease her attacker might’ve passed on to her.

The police showed up and Jess gave her report of the attack. The police told her that the man was still at large, but that they were doing everything in their power to locate the individual and bring him in.

Now, sitting on the couch, Jack listened as the anchorwoman told the tale about the man. His name was Derek Mayfield. He had been missing for over ten years and was wanted for questioning in the murder of his parents. Today, the man had appeared as if from out of nowhere on a city sidewalk on Second Avenue, between 43rd and 44th streets. From there, he went on a vicious rampage, biting and attacking people throughout the city. So far, two people were dead due to the injuries they sustained.

“Oh my God,” Jess said, bringing her right hand to her mouth.

“Come here,” Jack sai d gently, and pull ed her back to him. He wrapped his arms around her and gave her a gentle squeeze.

“I can’t believe he killed people,” Jess said, softly. “I could’ve been one of them.”

“Well, you weren’t. It was just the wrong place at the wrong time. Same for those others. A matter of chance.”

“But still, I could’ve been killed.”

“Don’t think like that. You’re a tough cookie. No woman of mine is going to let some crazy-ass dude take her down.” He squeezed her again and kissed her neck.

“Turn the channel; I don’t want to watch anymore.”

Jack picked up the remote and turned to another station.

“At least they got the guy; he won’t be hurting anyone else.”

“What if he had AIDS? Or TB?”

“The doctor told you the chances of him transmitting anything with such a small wound were basically zero. Plus, he gave you a shot to wipe out anything bad he might’ve had.”

Jess sighed. “You’re right. I’m worrying for nothing.”

“Hey, you had a tough day. Anyone, me included, would be nervous, on edge. But you’re fine and have nothing to worry about.”

“I’m drained. I think seeing that newscast wiped me out.”

“It’s been a long day so let’s go to bed.”

The next morning, Jack awoke just after eight a.m. He turned to Jess. She was still sleeping, but she looked terrible. Her skin was pale and the area around her eyes was dark and sunken. Putting a hand to her forehead, Jack almost jumped. Jess was burning up. He quickly pulled the covers off. His wife’s nightgown was soaked with sweat. The doctor had said she might have a slight reaction to the antibiotics, but nothing like this.

“Jess. Sweetie.” He tried shaking her gently, but she didn’t respond. Fear gripped his heart like a mother holding on to her child during a hurricane. He was finding it hard to breathe as panic overrode him. “Jess, please sweetie, wake up.”

Jack picked up the house phone and dialed 9-1-1. He paced frantically as the phone rang and rang before someone finally answered.

“9–1 — 1, please hold.”

Hold? What the hell was that about? Not wanting to hang up, he pressed the speakerphone button and placed the phone down on the nightstand.

He went back over to the bed and sat next to his wife. “Jess, Jess, please wake up.” He shook her gently and she started to come around.

Her left eye opened; the right one remaining closed as if glued shut. She spoke with a raspy voice, almost a whisper. “Hurts. So much pain.”

“I know, baby. I know. Help’s on the way.” He reached over and picked up the phone. “Come on, come on. Damn it.” He hung up and dialed again.

“9-1-1, can you please hold?” a man’s voice said.

“No, I can’t. Something’s wrong with my wife. She’s really sick. I think she’s dying.”

“Sir, is there any way you can get your wife to a hospital?”

“What? I don’t understand.”

“Sir, the city’s experiencing a crisis right now and the wait for an ambulance could be upwards of an hour or more.”

“Wha-what the hell are you talking about?”

“Sir, I need you to remain calm. Can you get your wife to a hospital?”

Jack couldn’t believe what he was hearing. Was he still asleep? Having a nightmare? His beautiful wife right beside him.

“Sir, I have others on the line and I need to get to them too. Do you want me to send an ambulance or can you get your wife treatment?”

“I’ll get her there,” he said, and hung up the phone.

Rubbing a hand over his head, he turned to look at his wife. Her left eye was still open, but it didn’t look right; it wasn’t moving. She wasn’t moving.

Frozen, struck with fear, he waited for the eye to do something. Anything. After a few moments of nothing, he came out of his petrified state and crawled onto the bed.

“Jess?” he asked. “Jess?” He waved his hand in front of her face. No response. He felt her neck for a pulse, but couldn’t find one and wondered if it was because his hand was trembling too much.

He rolled Jess on to her back, her body reacting like a rag doll, her arms flopping lifelessly at her sides. It felt as if his lungs had shut down; he couldn’t draw in a breath. Wrapping his arms around her, he pulled her to a seated position and hugged her close, rocking her limp body. “No, no, no, no,” he cried, and held her for a while.

Jack laid her back down, supporting her lifeless head with his hand. He put his head to her chest and cried some more. Sitting up, he checked for a pulse again. Nothing. His mind frantic, he bent over her mouth and performed CPR, something he should have tried earlier. Still nothing. Then chest compressions. Nothing. His wife was dead.

Sitting up, sobbing, he repeated his wife’s name over and over, telling her how sorry he was. Then something moved against his leg. Startled, he stopped crying and wiped at his face. Jess opened both eyes as her body began stirring.

“Jess?” he asked, hardly believing what he was seeing. “You’re alive.” He scooped her up and embraced her, never wanting to let her go again. “I thought I lost you.” He rocked her back and forth slowly, taking in every ounce of her. It was a miracle. Then the area between his shoulder and neck began to hurt. The pain was sharp. He adjusted himself, thinking maybe he pulled a muscle, but the pain persisted. He tried pushing his wife off, but couldn’t. What the hell was going on? He pushed harder and the pain in his shoulder area worsened. She was biting him. He cried out, half in pain, half in shock.

“Jess, what are you doing?”

When she didn’t respond, he shoved harder, finally pushing her off of him. She fell down onto the bed, mouth and chin covered in his blood; and she was chewing something. A piece of his shirt was showing from her mouth. She was eating the chunk she had taken from his shoulder.

The fever had caused her to go crazy.

“Hold on, baby,” he said, getting off the bed. “I’ll get some ice, we have to cool you-” He stopped himself when he looked into her eyes. There was nothing there. No recollection. She didn’t know him. They were dull, lifeless eyes. Standing up, he remembered: the bite from the man on the street. It must have something to do with what was happening to her. The deranged man passed something on to her. But what disease or virus could move so fast?

Jess was crawling across the bed toward him. Trepidation, like an ominous spirit, fell over Jack. She didn’t take her eyes from him, and when she reached the end of the bed, she fell face down onto the carpeted floor. She hadn’t even put her arms out to break her fall. He went to help her up, and grabbed her wrists, but as soon as he did, she went to bite him. Jack yanked his hands away and her head thumped hard against the floor. Without hesitation, or any sign that she was in pain, Jess was pushing herself up as if neither blow had any impact.

Jack needed to call 911 and have an ambulance come to his residence, but from the sound of things, that might take a while. The 911 operator had said the city was in a crisis, but what exactly did that mean? His mind was so scrambled, he couldn’t think about anything but his wife. She needed help and he had to do something.

He could ask one of his neighbors for help. The first person to come to mind was Mr. Zortov, a very nice man, but in his seventies. Then he thought of Zaun Van Pelt, his friend of two years since moving into the building. The guy was a little odd, but he was young and in good shape. He and Jack got along well. Zaun would be home, he was always home during the day, making his living as a day trader. The guy spent most of his free time at some martial arts academy downtown, but that was in the evenings.

Jess was now up and on her feet, walking toward Jack. Her eyes were on him, but seemed not to focus on anything in particular, just him in general. Her head tilted to the side and her mouth hung open. With arms outstretched, fingers curled into claws, she came forward.

She moved slowly, as if just learning to walk.

Jack didn’t want to injure his wife, if he had to restrain her, so he told her that he loved her and left the room, shutting the door behind him. Holding the doorknob, he waited for her to try and open it, but she didn’t. Instead, he heard her collide with the door and claw at it, the scraping sounds sending chills down his spine. Jess was so deranged that she didn’t even have the common sense to open the door. She was like a mindless drone with the inability to think or reason. Jack hoped the fever hadn’t permanently harmed her.

Not wanting to leave her alone for too long, he ran down the hall to Zaun’s apartment and rang the bell.

No answer.

He rang again, pushing the doorbell hard, as if that would help get his urgency to Zaun.

No answer. That wasn’t like the guy. Maybe he stepped out.

“Zaun,” Jack called loudly, “it’s me, Jack.” He banged on the door. “Open up, buddy.”

The door flew open, and before Jack knew it, he had the tip of a Samurai sword at the nape of his neck. He froze, looking down at the blade, then at Zaun.

“Jack?”

“Yeah, what the fuck are you doing?”

“You alone?” Zaun asked, his eyes peering sideways like a bird.

“Yes. I need your help. Could you please get that thing out of my face?”

Zaun withdrew the weapon, sheathing it with the smoothness of a seasoned warrior.

“Dude,” he said, “you’re bleeding.”

Jack had forgotten about his wound. Now he felt the sting again, thinking how funny the brain worked. “It’s nothing. Listen: Jess is really sick. I need your help with taking her to the hospital.”

“Are you nuts?”

“No, are you?”

“Have you seen the news?”

“No.”

“It does look like you just got up,” Zaun said, eying Jack from head to toe. Then he grabbed Jack by the arm, and pulled him into his apartment, shutting the door behind him.

“What the hell?” Jack hollered.

“I don’t like my door open for long periods of time. You’re lucky that I even answered it.”

“I don’t know what’s happened to you, but I’m out of here.” Jack turned to leave.

“Wait,” Zaun said, putting a hand on Jack’s arm. “Come here a minute.” Zaun turned and walked into the living room. Jack sighed and followed the man.

“Just watch this for a minute,” Zaun said, picking up a remote control and raising the volume on the television. “It’s all I’ve been watching today.”

Jack didn’t have time to watch television, but soon the images and words coming from the telecast entranced him. He saw a shot of a hospital waiting room. The place was overcrowded, with a line going out the door and down the sidewalk. The reporter was saying how this was just one hospital, and all others looked the same or worse. People across the city were sick and dying. It was feared that an unknown contagion was rapidly infecting people, making them extremely hungry, irrational, violent, as well as ill and unresponsive. Authorities had no explanation, but the CDC was called in and had set up a command center. It was also being reported that the first people to be infected with the contagion were the ones bitten by yesterday’s crazed Biter Man, Derek Mayfield.

The news lady looked frightened. Jack had never seen or heard such news before. The closest he could think of were the 9/11 attacks. The newswoman was advising people not to go to hospitals if it could be helped. People should stock up on bottled water and food, non-perishables, and wait in their homes.

“Is this for real?” Jack asked, stunned.

“Yeah and this is the ‘ government sanctioned ’ news. You should hear what some of the local, less — respected, but highly believable radio stations are reporting.”

“And what are they reporting?”

“That after some of the sick people died, they came back to life.”

Jack shook his head, disgusted. Even in a time of real crisis people were scumbags, making shit up in order to get people to listen. He needed to sit.

“I thought about getting out of the city,” Zaun went on, “but where would I go? I’ve lived here my whole life, no family or friends, anywhere but the city.”

Jack stood quickly. Jess, how could he have forgotten about her? She was one of the really sick, a real emergency.

“I have to get my wife to the hospital, Zaun. Will you help me, plea-” he stopped himself when it dawned on him. He had thought she was dead. In fact he was sure of it. Then she came back and when she did, she was not like herself. He shook his head. No, he was letting what Zaun had told him screw with his head. The dead don’t rise up. He had done CPR, probably the same thing others had done, hence the reports of the dead coming back to life. He sighed, feeling better.

“Zaun, please,” Jack begged. “My wife needs your help.”

“Jack,” Zaun said, pointing at the television. “Have you seen the news? About what’s going on out there? Do you want to risk getting Jess infected? Yourself? Me?”

Jack hadn’t told anyone about Jess being bit. If he told him now, there was no way Zaun was going to help him. He didn’t want to lie to the guy, but he loved his wife and he would do anything to save her.

“Look,” he said. “I’m a hunter. You know that. I’ll bring my handguns. Even give one to you. We’ll take a cab to Beth Israel, down on First Avenue. You can drop Jess and me off, and then you can go back home. You won’t even really be outside; you’ll be in a cab.”

“First, I don’t need a gun, but thanks. Second, no one knows what’s really going on. I bet all cabs are being used by the sick too, turning them into Petri dishes of disease, or whatever it is that’s going around.” He shook his head. “Sorry, man.”

“You know me and you know Jess. We’ve been friends for what, a couple of years now? I’m asking as a friend to please help me with her.”

“I’ll come to your apartment. If she’s really sick, and I mean bad off, I’ll help you get her into the cab, but that’s it.”

“Good enough.”

Together, they left Zaun’s apartment, Zaun locking all three locks, even though he only lived a few doors down from Jack. The life-long martial artist took his sword with him, telling Jack, “ You never know, man.”

Standing in the Warren’s apartment, just outside the door to the bedroom, Zaun said, “What’s that noise?”

“It’s Jess.”

“Sounds like a dog scratching at a door,” Zaun said, almost laughing. Then his face went slack. “Why is she scratching at the door?”

“I told you, she’s sick.”

“And you locked her in the bedroom? What the hell’s going on here, Jack?”

“Nothing, she’s not in her right mind. The door’s not even locked; she can’t even open it.”

“Oh, my God, she really is sick. Let’s call that cab and…” he trailed off, appearing deep in thought. “Wait a minute, exactly how sick is she, Jack?”

“Listen, I was going to tell you-”

“No, no, no,” Zaun shouted, backing away. “She’s got what’s going around, doesn’t she?”

“Honestly, I don’t know for sure, but maybe.” Then, “Yes.”

“She was bitten by that guy on the news? The guy that went around assaulting people, wasn’t she?”

Jack closed his eyes and nodded.

“Oh, man,” Zaun said, his voice cracking.

Jack opened his eyes and saw Zaun looking at him. The man’s stare was focused on the area between Jack’s right shoulder and neck, the place where Jess had bitten him. With eyes wide, mouth open, Zaun said, “she bit you. You’re infected.”

“Zaun, I’m sorry,” Jack said, reaching out.

Zaun backed away, and in the blink of an eye, had sliced his sword through the air. Jack watched as four of his fingers came off, thumb untouched, like diced carrots on some crazy cooking show, flying in the air. Blood spurted like mini-geysers from the stumps as the digits landed on the floor. Jack screamed.

“Shit, Jack,” Zaun yelled, “I’m so sorry, man.” Zaun went to grab a towel from the bathroom when the apartment’s front door burst open. Four men and a woman, dressed in black military fatigues, came through the doorway, all of them holding handguns.

Jack was in pain and going into shock, but seeing the men shook him from his state. He watched as Zaun raised his blood-splattered sword to attack the intruders. One of the gun-wielding men pointed the weapon at Zaun and fired. There was no bullet sound, only a “pop” and then two darts attached to wires leading from Zaun’s chest to the weapon. Jack knew immediately it was a Taser. The sword fell from Zaun’s hand as his body convulsed. A second later, the martial artist was on the ground, shaking.

Cradling his hand, Jack asked, “What do you want?” He felt the warm blood dripping over his other hand, like freshly heated maple syrup.

“Where’s your wife, Mr. Warren?” one of the men asked. He was a huge fellow, with dark hair, graying at the sides, and a scar splitting his right eyebrow.

Jack didn’t know if the men were here to kill or capture, but from seeing the Tasers in their mitts, he assumed they were here to capture. They could’ve easily killed Zaun, but didn’t.

“In the bedroom,” he said. “She’s-”

“Sick,” the man finished for him. “We know.” Speaking to the man next to him, he said, “put this fucker to sleep.”

“Sleep, sir, not tasered?” the man asked, seeming confused.

“Yes, sleep. He’s been bit ten. The doc will want to take a look at him.”

“Wait,” Jack said, holding out his good hand. “I’ll cooperate. Do whatever you guys want. Please, just save my wife.”

“I think it’s too late for that, Mr. Warren, but we’ll see what we can do about you.”

Jack felt a pinch on his neck, and then the world went dark.

Chapter 4

Jack awoke in a wheelchair, his ankles and wrists bound to the metal contraption. He was in a small, dorm-like room, with walls that were painted a light gray. A simple twin bed with a blanket rested in a corner. On the other side of the room were an empty desk and a chair. Other than his head being a little foggy, he felt fine. Then he remembered: his sick wife, the men in black, and the loss of his fingers. He looked down at his hand. All four digits were present and accounted for. He flexed them to make sure they were real. What the hell was going on? Had he dreamt the whole thing?

“Hello?” he called out. “Anyone there?”

“I see you are awake, Mr. Warren,” a voice said, sounding as if it had come from somewhere to Jack’s left. He quickly spotted that the sound was coming from a small box protruding from the wall near the room’s door. Jack scanned the rest of the room, looking at the empty walls, and along the ceiling. It was there he spotted the small camera, its red lens a dead giveaway.

“Where’s my wife?” he asked, struggling uselessly against his bonds. Seeing his hand again, he stared at it. There were no scars or sutures to indicate the reattachment of his digits. Even if he had found some indication of a surgical procedure, there was no way he would have use of the hand. It would take time to heal, if such a thing were possible. He shook his head and closed his eyes. He had to be dreaming.

“You’re not dreaming, Mr. Warren,” the voice said, as if reading his mind. “Your precious fingers are back.”

Jack continued to shake his head. He was dreaming. This was all some kind of nightmare; his sick wife, the city in a crisis, and his sitting tied to a wheelchair. Things like that didn’t happen in real life. He opened his eyes, feeling none the better, because he wasn’t dreaming, and no matter how many times he told himself he was, he knew he wasn’t.

“What the hell is going on?” he demanded.

A sound, like metal sliding over metal, came from the door. A moment later, it swung inward and a small man, dressed in a white lab coat, followed by a large man dressed in black fatigues and wearing a Taser on his belt, entered the room. Jack recognized the man in black from his apartment.

“You here to let me out of this thing?” Jack asked.

“All of your questions will be answered shortly, Mr. Warren,” the small man said.

“Good, where’s my wife?”

The small man walked out of the room as the man in black came around behind Jack, took hold of the wheelchair, and pushed him out of the room.

“Where are you taking me?”

“You’re lucky to be here with us, Mr. Warren,” the small man said. “Sit tight and the doctor will answer all of your questions.”

“Please, just tell me where my wife is.”

“You’ll see her shortly.”

Jack was wheeled down the hall to an elevator. From there, he and the others traveled down three flights to another hallway, which ended at a set of double doors. A man and a woman, wearing black fatigues, each carrying an M4 machine gun and holstering a sidearm and Taser, stood to either side of the doors.

The small man used his keycard and the doors parted.

Jack was wheeled into a large room. Bookshelf-sized electronic equipment took up the entire rear wall, while a number of computer stations occupied most of the floor space. A large plate glass window, about six feet tall and twenty feet wide, occupied the wall space to Jack’s left. Looking at it, he could see nothing but darkness.

Finally, Jack was parked at the side of one of the computer terminals. He turned his head around and saw the guard walk off to the back of the room. Not a moment later, a tall man with a full head of salt and pepper colored hair came over to him.

“Hello, Mr. Warren,” the man said. “It’s a pleasure to finally meet you. I know you have a lot of questions and I’ll be happy to answer them as best I can.”

“Where’s my wife?”

“I figured that would be your first question.” The man walked behind Jack and reposition ed his chair so that he faced a large window. “I want you to know, Mr. Warren, that you are being restrained for our protection, as well as yours.”

“Great, I feel better. Now tell me where my wife is.”

“We’ll get to that soon.”

“Look, Mister…?”

“Doctor, ” the man said, correcting him. “My name is D r. Reynolds.”

Through gritted teeth, trying to remain calm an d submissive, Jack said, “Dr. Reynolds, I have no idea where I am or what’s going on. I just want to know where my wife is.”

“I know,” the doctor said, and Jack couldn’t tell if the man was looking upon him with pity or contempt, “but I need you to understand what has happened. Your world has changed and in more ways than one.”

Jack met the man’s eyes. “I don’t give a shit about anything right now. Fuck the world and fuck you. I just want to see my wife.”

“As you wish,” the man said, then turned toward his computer monitor. Jack watched as the man bent over and began hitting keys on the keyboard. Bright light erupted from the large plate-glass window and Jack could see into another room.

A woman was standing hunched over in the center of the room with her long hair hiding her face. She had on a tattered white gown with a red floral pattern on the front. Upon closer examination, Jack noticed that the pattern wasn’t of flowers, but something else. A door opened at the back of the room and a guard entered. He had on a puffy suit of armor, like something a dog trainer would wear. Shutting the door, the guard stood still, facing the individual in the center of the room.

The woman seemed to jump into gear. She turned toward the figure, raised her head and began to walk forward. Her arms were outstretched, and she walked stiff-legged, as if she’d had too much alcohol to drink.

Jack was captivated, unable to look away or speak. He was glad the woman’s back was to him, because for some reason, he didn’t want to see her face.

When the woman drew close, Puffy Suit held out his forearm, just like a dog trainer does with an attacking canine. The woman grabbed the man’s arm and began viciously gnawing at it, as if it was a juicy chicken leg. A chill ran down Jack’s spine.

“What are you thinking, Mr. Warren?” D r. Reynolds asked.

Jack swallowed. The woman in the other room was acting as his wife had acted. Whatever had infected Jess had infected this woman too. He needed to see Jess; to make sure she was okay.

“I think it’s awful what that lady is going through. She’s obviously very sick and needs help. Why are you showing this to me?”

“Because you need to see it with your own eyes.”

“Well, I’ve seen enough,” Jack demanded, turning away from the window. A dreadful sensation, like knowing someone only had moments left to live, fell over him. “I want to see my wife, now.”

“I’m sorry to have to be the one to tell you this, Mr. Warren, but your wife is dead.”

“Bullshit. She’s alive. I was just with her in our apartment a few hours ago.”

Doctor Reynolds reached out and grabbed a microphone that was sitting on his desk. He pressed a button on his keyboard and said, “Bring it to the window.”

“What are you doing? I said I’ve seen enough.”

Puffy Suit shoved the woman away and jogged over to the glass, then faced in the direction of the woman.

“What day is it, Mr. Warren?”

Jack had to think for moment. “Saturday.”

The woman in the room was walking toward the glass now, toward Puffy Suit.

“And today’s date?”

Jack, thinking, then said, “November 12th. What’s next, you want to know the year?”

The woman in the room was closer now.

“It’s the 15th of November. You’ve been unconscious for three days. ”

“What?” Jack asked shocked, and turned to meet the doctor’s eyes.

“We took you from your apartment three days ago.”

“What about Jess? I know you took her too.”

“ That is true,” Reynolds said, then motioned to the window. Jack moved his gaze from the man to the window.

Puffy Suit had his forearm out in front of him again, readying for it to be attacked. The woman was close now, her face clearly visible. She looked barely alive, face gaunt, eyes sunken in, and flesh, the color of a cadaver’s. Her eyes were lifeless, chin covered in red. What Jack thought was a pattern on the fabric; he now knew was blood. All over the blood-covered gown were holes and rips, as if someone had gone at her with some kind of implement or weapon.

The corpse-like woman looked familiar. Jack shook his head, refusing to admit it. It couldn’t be. He didn’t want it to be. But it was his wife, Jess. She looked dreadful, malnourished and ailing, but at least she was still alive.

“Jess,” he shouted. “Baby.”

“She can’t hear you, Mr. Warren.”

Jack was teary eyed, shaking. “She looks terrible. What’s wrong with her?”

“She’s dead, Mr. Warren. Your wife’s dead.”

“Don’t say that; don’t you say that. You took us for a reason. You can save her.”

The doctor stood. “No, I can’t. She’s already dead.”

“She’s right there,” Jack said, motioning with his head, as if the doctor couldn’t see her. “What are you saying? That there’s no cure?”

“There is no cure for death, at least not in the way you would want.”

“I don’t understand. She’s right there, alive.”

The woman was biting the man’s arm again, viciously trying to get at his flesh.

Jack watched as Dr. Reynolds leaned down and spoke into the microphone. “Shoot it.”

“No!” Jack shouted, struggling with all his might to get free. “I’ll kill you; I swear it. I’ll kill you if you lay a hand on her.”

Puffy Suit pulled out a handgun, pointed it at Jess’ chest and fired three times. Her gown fluttered in the front and back as the bullets entered and exited her desiccated body. As if nothing had happened, she continued to gnaw away at the man’s arm.

Jack’s mouth fell open.

“Your wife is not alive, Mr. Warren. She is a husk, a non-thinking, non-feeling bag of flesh and bones, controlled by microscopic machines in her brain.”

This was all too much for Jack. He didn’t understand what was happening. He just wanted to be with his wife. To go back to their apartment, lie on the couch, and feel each other’s heat.

“Jack?” the doctor asked. “Jack?”

Jack closed his eyes. “I need a minute.” Sadness turned to anger, a boiling rage building within him. He needed to hurt someone. Anyone. Opening his eyes, he began to scream, fighting like a wild man to be free, but the bonds held strong. After a minute of relentless struggle, he relaxed, the anger gone. Sadness returned and he began to cry.

Chapter 5

A day after finding out the truth about his wife, Jack had her body put to rest. The doc had wanted to keep Jess’ corpse active to study her, but Jack insisted otherwise. The guards were bringing in countless undead, the city having an endless supply of subjects, so there were and would be, plenty of other subjects.

Jack watched through the window as his wife stood, blood-covered and bullet-ridden, in the center of the room, head hanging low like some kind of ragged, old doll that no one wanted. Dr. Reynolds had explained this, saying that the nanobots were conserving their power, hence conserving the rotting of the flesh. As of now, the nanobots were not able to repair the dead flesh, but he feared that could change. The bots were programmed to adapt, to figure out new ways to heal. However, that was all theory, since it had only been tested in a living body.

Jack wanted to be the one to take revenge on the bots. It was silly, but hitting the button that filled the room with electromagnetic energy felt like a small victory, justice for his wife.

Now she could rest in peace.

Over the next week, he came to grips with his new world, a world that made little sense, and a world without Jess in it.

Dr. Reynolds had been working on a top-secret military project, code-named: ENHANCE. Microscopic robots, or nanobots, would be injected into a soldier, enhancing the soldier’s ability to heal and remain alert. Using some of the healthy tissue already in the body, along with consumed proteins and amino acids, the bots would repair any damage a soldier received as long as the soldier was alive. Any damage sustained from a small cut, healing within minutes, to a missing limb, taking a few days, would be re-grown or repaired. The only drawback was the amount of energy required to sustain the human body while the bots were active within it. So far, the bots required too much energy, causing the individual that was injected with them to have severe hunger pains, needing to eat immediately or the bots would start to take away flesh from the host body, breaking down healthy cells, ultimately leading to organ shutdown and death.

Dr. Reynolds hadn’t been able to get pas t the issue of energy requirement and was still working on the problem, when Derek Mayfield escaped. Somehow, when the man went around biting people, he had spread the bots to them. The bots quickly began to multiply, using healthy tissue in order to do so. Without the immediate ingestion of food, there simply wasn’t enough energy to sustain the bots’ activity in a human body for more than a day without the body dying. However, even after an individual was deceased, the bots were somehow able to remain active, animating the body and sending it in search of food, that food being human flesh.

As with Jack’s case, he was infected with the ENHANCE nanobots when his wife bit him. After being brought back to the bunker, Dr. Reynolds allowed the bots to repair Jack’s wounds, growing his fingers back while at the same time, intravenously feeding him copious amounts of protein. When he was fully repaired, Jack’s body was hit with an electromagnetic pulse, or EMP, frying all the bots into harmless, crispy little critters that the body would discard as waste.

Dr. Reynolds was working on a way to fix the problem. With the bots acting so quickly, killing people once they were inside, there really was no way to save the living-infected, unless said infected was immediately cared for within a day or less. A shock from 50,000 volts or more, or an electromagnetic pulse, would destroy the bots in the human body, allowing the person to survive.

In order to stop a member of the undead, the corpse should be treated the same as a living person, with electricity, or by destroying the brain, which was the bots command center.

Cut off from the outside world, Dr. Reynolds was now working on a way to get the bots to work in the human body as originally planned, without the negative side effects, and in turn, find a solution to the problem. As it looked, millions of Manhattan’s citizens were dead, or “undead” as the reanimated corpses were termed, and highly contagious. Dr. Reynolds’ only hope was to find some kind of mass solution to the bots; a way to help the uninfected, the survivors. If not, he feared the military in order to contain the epidemic, would detonate a nuclear bomb, incinerating the city and everything in it.

In the meantime, Blackhawk helicopters patrolled the airways while military gunboats patrolled the waters. Bridges and tunnels were closed, blocked off by military personnel and their equipment. Anyone attempting to leave the city was shot on sight. Shortly after the massacre on the Brooklyn Bridge-hundreds of citizens mowed down by machine gun fire for attempting to leave the city-a citywide media blackout had occurred. Somehow, the government had cut off all communication to the outside world, including cell phone, internet, and radio transmissions. Electricity was still running, at least for the time being, and Manhattan was on its own.

The bunker where Jack was being held was built five stories below the streets of the city, and exactly below the apartment building that he and Jess had been living in. A team of scientists and armed, military-trained guards were at the doctor’s disposal. Since Derek Mayfield’s escape, the good doctor had tightened security, arming the guards with weapons from the bunker’s arsenal and deactivating the card readers at both exits. Only he and one other person, Guard Commander Roger Chambers, had the code to activate the doors leading to the outside world.

The bunker was designed to be self-sustaining for a time of one year with the current staff, plus a few unforeseen extras like Jack. Non-perishable food and drink were kept in storage, along with a small armory of weapons, and antibiotics.

Before the media blackout had occurred, Jack sat in his room watching the news, day and night, unable to do much of anything else, except to think about Jess, crying hysterically at times. He was the only non-employee in the bunker; everyone else was there to work, helping in one way or another to find a solution. He couldn’t believe the un dead were walking the streets, attacking people. Yet, the massacre on the Brooklyn Bridge was what made him literally puke. He had witnessed the event on live television, the scene replaying itself in his mind for days afterward, even in his dreams.

Before the blackout, people were told to stay in their homes and wait until the situation could be resolved, yet food drops were scheduled throughout the city. Riots broke out as people fought over food and water. The number of undead grew, patrolling the streets like untiring guards. People no longer wanted to leave their homes, and the food that was dropped went to waste. The few that did try for the rations, usually wound up as a meal for the undead.

To Jack, the world looked as if it had ended.

Chapter 6

When Jack wasn’t learning about the bots, the city’s condition, or plans on possible solutions, he spent most of his time alone in his room. A few of the guards acted decent to him, giving him the time of day and chatting about life. Kevin Meyers, a twenty-three year old kid, was one of Jack’s favorites. Hardened in battle, the kid was still human, and seemed much more apprehensive about his stay in the lab than the other guards. Bottom line: he was worried.

“We’re all scared, Kevin,” Jack told him, during breakfast.

“I’m really glad you’re here, Mr. Warren.” The kid leaned in, whispering. “These other guys, they’re real hard asses. Made for this shit. It’s good to have someone I can talk with.”

Jack smiled. “Same here, Kevin. I’m no warrior; never served in the armed forces. And I hated science in college. All I have is downtime. I can get into a good book or movie, but it only lasts so long. I feel alone here. Reynolds has been great, but he’s under a lot of pressure, busy all the time. It really is good talking with you. And if you ever have any problems or concerns, or you’re afraid to talk to anyone, please come to me.”

“I will, Mr. Warren.”

“Call me, Jack. Believe it or not, I’m not much older than you are. I’m 35, not 50.”

“Okay, Jack,” the kid said, smiling.

“You miss your family?”

Kevin nodded.

“Me too.”

“Sorry about your wife.”

“Thank you. I miss her every second of every day.”

A few moments of awkward silence filled the air between them before Kevin spoke up.

“Do you know about the plan to nuke the city?” Kevin asked, keeping his voice low.

Jack put his head down for a moment. “Yes.”

“We can’t let that happen. How would we as a nation survive such a thing? I mean, how are we going to survive what’s already happened? Millions of people are dead, walking around, looking for a bite of human flesh.”

“We will. It’s what this country is about, and we’re no longer in it alone. The world has shrunk, and for the most part, we’re all in this together.” Patting the kid on his arm, he said, “But hey, nothing’s happened yet, so why worry? ”

Kevin took a deep breath and shook his head. “You’ve got a real positive attitude, Jack.”

“My wife used to say the same thing.” Jack smiled, trying to look calm, but on the inside, he felt like throwing up his breakfast. He’d been keeping it together, but when he really thought about what was happening, he almost couldn’t believe it. For the kid, he kept on with the happy charade.

If the city remained as is, how were he and the others supposed to escape? Would the military send in an extraction team after a year’s time? And if the city was nuked, Jack was getting a chill just thinking about it, what then? The bunker was secure, the good doctor assuring Jack that the place being five stories underground and lined with two feet of lead, would survive a nuclear attack. But how would they get out without risking exposure to high amounts of radiation?

“Kevin, mind if I ask you a question?”

“No, shoot.”

Jack looked around. The closest people were a few tables away and busy eating and talking amongst themselves, but he leaned in and spoke in a hushed tone. “Is there another way out of here? I mean besides the topside and sewer exits?”

“Yeah. You don’t know?”

“Is it the security door Reynolds says is off limits? The one next to his office?”

“No. That’s C-wing. That’s a ‘ high-clearance ’ only area. I’ve never been inside; above my pay grade, if you know what I mean.”

Jack had been given the run of the place, having been issued a level 1 keycard that opened regular doors throughout the bunker and not the ones that led to the outside world, or to C-wing, as it was called. He wondered what was in there, but had a more pressing concern at the moment.

“There’s a tunnel,” Kevin continued. “It leads from Reynolds’ office to somewhere outside of Manhattan. I would imagine, Brooklyn or Queens, though I don’t know for sure. Its destination is classified; again above my pay grade. In the event the city is too hot for retrieval, we go that way and walk our way out of Manhattan. It’s why none of the people down here are freaking out. They know in the back of their minds that there’s a safe way out.”

Jack felt a little better. Selfish, but a little better. There were probably survivors in the city. For them the way out looked grim. Maybe he could somehow help save a few. Make a difference. In the bunker, he was just taking up space.

He would add it to the list of things he needed to talk to Reynolds about.

“Well,” Kevin said, “I better get going or I’ll be late for my shift.”

“It was good talking to you, Kevin,” Jack said, holding out his hand to shake.

Kevin took it. “Yeah, it sure was. See you later?”

“Sure thing.”

After breakfast, Jack went to talk to Reynolds, but the man was busy. He would have to wait. So he went back to his room, lay on his bed and listened to some AC/DC on the portable stereo, having downloaded a bunch of albums from some of the guards’ MP3 players.

He still couldn’t believe his wife was dead. Hell, probably everyone he knew in the city was dead. Thank goodness, his sister, Sara, had moved out of Manhattan. He hadn’t spoken to her in over a year, wishing now that he had called to see how she was doing. Her husband, Gary, was an abusive drunk.

One day, while Jack was visiting Sara, Gary got shit-faced drunk, calling her a dirty, cheating whore and said she was probably fucking her brother. Jack intervened, telling Gary he needed to sleep it off, but instead he grabbed Sara by the hair and said, “This is my woman; my bitch. And you can keep your god damn mouth shut as you are a visitor in my house.”

Jack had had enough and wound up beating the shit out of Gary, sending him to the emergency room. When the police arrived, Sara said that Jack had started it and he was the one led away in handcuffs.

That was all a year ago and he’d refused to speak with her since. She’d called a few times, but he never answered. Now he wished he had. He’d do anything to hear her voice. They had been so close growing up, then she married Gary and things changed. She was distant, hardly inviting him up to her place. She was probably too embarrassed to have him over. Now she was worried sick over him, at least he imagined she was.

He had been so disappointed in her, having him arrested, letting that loser off. Gary was the victim, b ut the truth was, she needed help. He should’ve been there for her; gotten her away from that crazy son of a bitch. She only called the cops, because Gary had probably threatened her. That bastard was the one she had to live with. If Jack made it out of the city, no, strike that; when he made it out of the city, he’d make it his mission to get her away from that asshole husband of hers.

Jack got up, shut the radio off and paced the room. If he didn’t know any better, he’d say he was experiencing a little bit of cabin fever. But what could he do about it? N othing. Thinking about how to approach Dr. Reynolds, a thought popped into his head. If the man did come up with a way to fix the problem with the ENHANCE program, how was he supposed to get word to the proper authorities? T ravel through the escape tunnel and hand deliver the message? That just didn’t seem right. The man must have a way of communicating with the outside, some electronic way he didn’t want anyone to know about. So why lie about it? He would have to remember to ask the doc about it when they spoke.

Sitting in his chair an hour later, playing Xbox, he felt more useless than ever. Everyone at the bunker had a job. He didn’t. He was also the only non-military employee in the place. How was this possible? But he knew the answer. He was close enough to the bunker for Reynolds to send a team for him and his wife. Reynolds had gotten Jess’ name from the police report. Once the outbreak occurred, he had no time to go around the city rounding up infected, but going into a building directly above the bunker, a building that his corporation owned, had been within reason.

So what could Jack do to make a difference? To help? He thought of Zaun. Was his friend still alive? Was anyone in his building still alive? To traipse around the city was crazy, but what about just going to his building? That wasn’t so nuts, was it? He didn’t think so. That’s what he could do. Get some of the guards together, lead an expedition into his building, and see if there were any survivors. And if he or any of the others became infected, they would know how to kill the bots, becoming uninfected again. He had to see if Reynolds would go for it.

Chapter 7

Jack rapped on Reynolds’ door, the man’s room more like an apartment. The doctor had a king-sized bed, a computer, a large bookcase, filled with various titles, a bathroom with a stall shower-Jack and the others had a communal washroom-and a faux fireplace with some kind of furry creature skin rug in front. Pictures of various outdoor landscapes hung on the walls.

“Keeps me from going nuts,” Reynolds said, noticing Jack looking at the pictures. He was sitting in a red leather recliner in front of the fireplace, sipping from a stout, yet bulbous glass, with what looked like brandy in it.

“Nice place you have here, doc.”

“Thank you. It’s not home, but it’ll do. Now, what can I help you with, Jack?”

Jack took a seat in a chair opposite Reynolds. He felt heat emanating from the imitation fireplace.

“I wanted to talk to you about something.”

“Would you like a drink? Cognac?”

“Sure, thanks.”

Reynolds got up, went over to a cabinet, produced an identical glass to his, unscrewed the cap on an unlabeled bottle of dark, auburn-colored liquid, and poured two fingers worth of the stuff. Sitting back down, he handed the glass to Jack.

Jack brought the drink to his nose and inhaled the sweet aroma. He sipped, then swallowed, feeling the delightful burn as the alcohol trickled down his gullet. He had never tasted a better brandy.

“Only two thousand of these bottles were made,” Reynolds said, tapping the glass with a finger.

“Fantastic stuff,” Jack told him, taking another small sip.

“Mixed with Cognac from the 1830’s up to the middle 1990’s. Four thousand dollars a bottle at time of direct sale.”

Jack almost choked.

“Enjoy it my friend, for who knows if we’ll get to experience something like it for some time.”

The two men sat quiet for a few moments, each enjoying the liquor before Jack finally spoke.

“I’ve been feeling really useless around here. I eat and take up space. I want to contribute somehow.”

“Jack, you’ve been through a tough ordeal. No one is looking at you as ‘ useless. ’ You’re healing and when you’re up to it, we’ll find something for you to do.”

“That’s just it; I’m ready to do something. Sitting around, cooped up, it’s driving me crazy. All I do is dwell, and I’m tired of dwelling. I need to help and I think I’ve come up with a way I can.”

Reynolds shifted in his seat. “Tell me.”

“I want to go to the surface. See if there are any survivors in my old building. A small team, maybe three men and I can do it.”

“I can’t let you leave, Jack,” Dr. Reynolds said, shaking his head. “And my men only go out to gather subjects. Otherwise, I’d never risk their well-being. You may find this hard to believe, but it’s a nightmare up there. And as much as it ’ s confining down here, it’s Heaven compared to the surface. The men are petrified to go out, and I hate sending them, but it needs to be done. If it were up to them, they’d never leave.”

“Then I’ll go myself. I need this. I need to make a difference.”

“You have a sister, correct?”

Jack was taken aback. “Yes, how’d you know?”

“When you were brought in, I had a full background check done on you. I wasn’t going to let a crazy person or a murderer run loose in the bunker. From what I read, you’re a regular person. Except for that incident with your sister’s husband, which was clearly something the guy had coming.”

Jack was speechless. He didn’t know whether to be pissed or relieved that the doctor trusted him. Thinking about it, he understood the need to check up on him. He would have done the same.

“He did,” Jack said. “But back to the topic at hand.” He looked Reynolds in the eyes. “I need to see if anyone’s alive. I had a friend up there, the guy your guards zapped and left. If anyone is alive, it’s him.”

“I’m not going to convince you that this is a bad idea, am I?”

Jack shook his head. “No.”

“And you’re going to bug me about this forever, aren’t you?”

“Yes.” Jack took another sip of the auburn liquor. “Look, worse case, you lose another mouth to feed.”

“Don’t put it like that, Jack. We’re fine here, and able to feed at least ten more people without compromising our reserves.” The man paused, and Jack could tell he was thinking. “Okay, but you’ll need to work on procedure with one of the guards. And I need your word that you won’t go anywhere else but your building. To do so would be suicide.”

“You have my word.”

“And if no one is alive, I don’t want to hear how you want to go traipsing around to other buildings. If that’s the case, then maybe it would be wisest for you to leave on a permanent basis.”

Jack felt like he had been struck. The doctor’s tone had darkened, almost threateningly.

“Just the one building. That’s all. Believe me; I don’t want to have to wander the streets looking for a place to survive in.”

The doc’s face brightened. “Okay then. See Guard Commander Chambers. He’ll set you up with whatever you’ll need and figure out the best way to get you into the building.”

Jack downed the last of the Cognac, placed the glass down, and went to get up.

“And Jack,” the doc said, catching his gaze. “Good luck to you. I hope you find your friend.”

Jack left the room without bringing up the escape tunnel, or if he could come up with a mass solution to the epidemic, how the man planned to communicate with the outside world. He would save that for when he was back in the safety of the bunker.

Chapter 8

The next day, Kyle Chambers, the Guard Commander and a former army ranger, prepared Jack for his mission, showing him the ins and outs of rope climbing. Later in the day, he went over the weapon he would be taking with him: an M4 carbine machine gun. Being an avid hunter and having fired a number of different weapons, Jack became quickly accustomed to the gun. Chambers also went over the finer points of killing a zombie: destroy the brain, or destroy the bots, both of which Jack already knew.

“This is a grappling gun,” Chambers said, going over the final piece of Jack’s equipment. “It uses compressed air and is virtually silent, like firing a BB gun. You’ve got a cylinder attached, holding 100 feet of rope at 9 m illimeter thickness. It looks thin, but it’s plenty strong, capable of holding up to three times your weight, so don’t worry about it snapping or anything.”

“Good thing I’m not afraid of heights.”

“Yes, it is.”

The man went on, showing him how to aim the device. Jack practiced firing the weapon in the stairwell, trying to get the hook between the flights of stairs to attach onto the upper flight. By the tenth try, he felt comfortable.

Next, Jack was shown how to wear the climbing harness and the proper way to climb a wall. There were a lot of complex parts and things to do, but all in all, he got it.

Three days later, Jack was led to the double doors leading to the surface. Chambers had escorted him, giving him one more piece of advice. “The undead are attracted to noise, so be as quiet as possible. They’re slow as shit, most of them anyway, and are pretty easy to handle, but in packs they’re dangerous. Don’t try taking on a bunch; just run. They have no fear and will attack like they have nothing to lose.” The man paused, looked Jack in the eyes, then added, “It’s good what you’re doing, Jack. Dangerous, but I admire it. I’d go with you if Reynolds would let me.”

“Thank you, Kyle. I’ll be fine.”

“Good luck, Jack. And when you’re ready to come back, we’ll see you on the camera and send someone up.” Chambers pointed up to where a pipe was jutting out from the building. Inside, Jack saw a red lens gleaming in the light. The steel doors closed and Jack was alone in the alley.

On his person, Jack had the M4 machine gun, a knife, a flashlight, the grappling gun, three bottles of water and a few MRE’s-meals ready to eat, which were self-contained individual field rations for use during combat or in areas where food could not be attained.

Looking up, Jack saw the window he was told about, a window that led to the supply closet on the sixth floor. It was about sixty feet up, and the only window on that side of the building below one hundred feet. Its design was according to NYC building codes at the time, making the alley perfect for one of the bunker’s entrances.

Jack readied the grappling hook gun, aimed at the window, and fired. The device had virtually no kick and was a little louder than the twang from a crossbow. The three-pronged grappling hook shot upward and collided with the window. The glass shattered, filling the air with racket. Jack winced, then cringed, as the grappling hook bounced off the window’s ledge and was coming back toward him. He jumped out of the way as shards of glass cascaded to the ground, followed by the hook.

Damn it.

He began reloading the hook, leaving the line on the ground, when the steel gate at the end of the alley began to make noise. Shit, the dead were clawing at it, the noise of broken glass attracting their attention. Jack felt his legs go weak, but then he remembered Chambers telling him the alley was safe, that the gate was reinforced and would hold anything back short of a tank ramming it. Still the sounds of the dead pushing and clawing at the steel made him anxious.

This was going to be more difficult than he thought. He could go back to the bunker and take the sewer entrance route. He had the map, but the sewers led to manholes in the middle of the streets. He would have to run from the one in front of his building, as long as a vehicle wasn’t parked over it, to the building itself, and he had no idea how many undead were walking around there or if the doors to the place were even unlocked. He had left his keys in his apartment, and if the doors were missing, the glass blown out, or the lobby was filled with the undead, he’d be screwed. No, staying the course he was on, was his best option.

Aiming the grappling gun at the window again, he let a breath out, concentrated, and fired. This time the hook went into the open window. Placing the gun down, he began to pull the rope slowly, until the hook caught onto something. He tugged on the line a few times, making sure the hooks were secure and hadn’t attached themselves to something easily moveable, like a lamp or mop bucket. Next, he reached up and grabbed onto the rope, lifting his feet off the ground. He waited a moment. The rope still felt strong; the hooks were definitely caught on something solid, heavy. Standing back on the ground, he studied the rope. It was so thin. What if it broke and he fell, breaking his bones? Would the doc load him up with bots, making him like new again? The man had done it once before. The thought of getting injured and having the bots there, back in the bunker to aid him, actually made him feel better about the whole situation.

Jack ran the rope through his harness like Chambers had shown him, tying the correct knots, slipping the line through the belay, and attaching the ascenders. With the help of the belay, Jack didn’t have to worry about tiring or falling back to the ground; the device would keep him in place, making it easier to rest or use his hands. The tricky part was the extra cord that looped around his right foot. Using one ascender to aid him in climbing, there was another cord, looped at the end for his foot that he would use to push off from so that it wasn’t all arms and upper body strength. With that done, leaving the grappling gun on the ground, Jack began his ascent.

As he climbed the wall, ascending above the height of the gate, Jack could see out onto the street. There were a few undead walking by, in and around the vehicles, or on the sidewalks, but a small mob had formed at the alley’s entrance, like a concert crowd waiting for the arena to open. More and more zombies were walking into the mass, enlarging it. Except for the rattling of the gate, the city was too quiet. A gentle breeze blew, filled with the stench of garbage and decaying food.

About halfway to the window, Jack thought he heard humming, like the sound of a far away air-conditioner. Looking out over the crowd, he realized it was coming from them. The sound was so disturbing Jack thought about cutting his venture short. He waited a moment, then decided to move on. He couldn’t turn back at the slightest horror. There were sure to be plenty and he was relatively safe, at least in the alley, though he didn’t like the looks of the amassing crowd, and hoped the gate would hold.

Jack continued to climb, and soon enough, he found himself just below the sixth floor, supply closet window. As with every time he stopped, Jack secured his position with the belay, and waited there for a moment, catching his breath.

Ready for the final ascent, Jack reached up. He grabbed onto the ledge and began pulling himself up, coming face to face with Jerry Standt, the building’s superintendent, and now a member of the undead.

The zombie reached forward, mouth open ready to chomp. Jack let go of the ledge and fell, feeling as if his life was over, until he jerked to a stop, the belay doing its job. He was now just below the window again. The undead super was leaning out, reaching for him. Jack hurried, trying to un-strap the machine gun from his shoulder, but in his haste, dropped it. The weapon fell, but he managed to catch the strap on his boot. Breathing a sigh of relief, he felt the zombie’s fingers touching his head. Using the wall to brace himself, Jack placed both feet against the building, securing himself and the gun. He grabbed a hold of the former super’s right arm and pulled as hard as he could.

The zombie came partially from the window, its face the same, mouth gnashing and showing no sign it cared about its predicament. It only wanted Jack’s flesh.

Jack continued to pull the body of the undead halfway out the window, but it was stuck on something. The zombie’s face was less than a foot from Jack’s, its breath making him want to gag. He kept pulling, yanking with all he had. Something popped, and then the arm came free, the ripping of cloth and sinew echoing in Jack’s ears. Disgusted by the sight, Jack quickly let go of the limb. Looking up, he saw that the zombie was leaning farther out the window, its lower half free from what it had been caught on. He reached up, grabbing the former super by the back of his collar and pulled, kicking away from the wall as he did so, adding his entire body’s weight behind the maneuver.

The undead’s body fell from the window, Jack helping it along as he moved to the side as best he could, but the thing latched onto him, wrapping its one arm around his neck, like a distressed child holding onto its mother. Embraced in a hug, the undead brought its mouth to Jack’s throat. He got a hand up quickly, pushing his palm against the thing’s chin, keeping its mouth shut and jaws away. With his other hand, Jack reached for his knife. He withdrew the weapon from its sheath, gripped it tightly and shoved it into the zombie’s neck, just under its chin. The knife went in easily, but the corpse kept fighting. Shit, the blade wasn’t long enough. He pulled the knife out, then shoved it into the thing’s right eye socket-the eyeball bursting-pushing it in up to the hilt. The zombie shuddered, then released its grip and fell to the ground, landing a few feet from the M4, which at some point had slipped off his boot. Jack thought about going back down for it, but the barrel was bent at a 90-degree angle, now useless.

All that remained of his weapons were his gore-covered knife and the T aser, which only had three re-loads.

Jack pulled himself into the window, crawled into the supply closet and sat against the wall, breathing heavily and severely disappointed. That was only one zombie and look what happened, but he had made it into the building.

Sitting there, Jack took one of the water bottles from his pack and gulped half of its contents. His mouth was exceedingly dry. He would have to conserve from now on, not knowing how long he would be gone from the bunker, or if he’d find any suitable drinking-water in the building. If it wasn’t bottled, he wasn’t ingesting it.

Replacing the bottle to his pack, Jack rested a moment longer. The supply closet was dark, the only light coming from the window. He saw shelves lining the walls to either side, but half the room was shrouded in gloom. Jack made his way over to the door, felt for the light switch and flipped it on. Nothing happened. He tried the switch again with the same results. Either the electricity was off, or the super hadn’t gotten around to changing the bulb.

Taking out his flashlight, a Maglite mini, Jack surveyed the room. On the shelves were cleaners, mop heads, boxes, and leather workmen’s gloves, nothing useful. In the corner next to him were two mops with wooden handles. Wherever the bucket was, it wasn’t in the closet. Most buildings used the basements to store supplies, but for some reason, this building had an additional supply closet on the sixth floor.

Something bumped the door, startling Jack. Then he heard scratching, the same kind of scratching he heard when his wife was pawing at the bedroom door. The noise from the window breaking must have alerted a member of the undead. Hopefully, it was only one. What if there were more? A hallway full? H is mission would be over. His journey was looking more and more perilous, and more and more like he should turn around and go back underground.

Nevertheless, he couldn’t go back yet, n ot without first checking for survivors. And if anyone was alive, it had to be Zaun. That guy was a paranoid dude, and a fighting machine. Jack smiled, thinking about his friend, almost forgetting about the zombie outside the door. He had to work his way at least, to the 23rd floor, Zaun’s floor, and the floor he and Jess had lived on.

Grabbing one of the mops, Jack broke off the mop-end. From there he took out his knife and began whittling away at the splintered end. When he was finished, he had a crudely made spear; perfect for keeping a zombie at bay, or spearing it in the head.

Taking the other mop, he loosened the metal bracket that held the mop-head on, then broke the stick in half. Now Jack had a bludgeoning weapon; a misshapen battle mace, and something he could use to bash in the heads of the undead. It wasn’t ideal, but it looked like it would do the job.

With the spear tucked between his back and the pack, and the mace in hand, Jack took a deep breath and opened the door.

Chapter 9

A lone zombie stood outside the door, coming forward with shuffling footsteps like an elderly person in need of a walker. It didn’t hesitate at seeing Jack holding a weapon. It didn’t duck or dodge when he swung the weapon. The crude mace’s metal head struck the zombie on its left cheek, slicing open the skin and shattering its top row of teeth. The zombie lost its balance for a moment, slamming into the doorframe, but it righted and came forward. Jack raised the stick over his head, not having enough room to swing it the way he wanted to, and brought the mace down, over and over, onto the zombie’s head, until the forehead caved in and the undead thing collapsed.

He stood over the corpse, hands shaking and heart thumping almost painfully. He didn’t recognize the dead man, but if he had he would’ve acted the same, like he did with the super. Most of the building’s residents were strangers to each other. It was the same all over the Metropolitan Area. People had family and friends living here and there, and that’s who a person talked and spent time with. A very different picture than some of the smaller communities and towns Jack had visited, where a person knew his neighbor as well as every store clerk in town. Jack had become friends with Zaun, but everyone else living on the hall was a “hello” and a “goodbye.”

Jack did his best to scrape off the flesh caught in the crevices of the mace’s head, but small pieces, like food stuck between a person’s teeth, remained, and he wasn’t about to go picking them out with his fingers. Cleaning it as best he could, he stepped over the dead body and into the hallway. To his right, a few feet away, were two more dead bodies, both with their heads sliced cleanly off. He couldn’t know for sure if the deceased had been killed when they were alive, or un-alive, but maybe, along with electricity and destroying the brain, chopping off the head worked too. Made sense, he thought.

He wanted to call out, check apartments, but didn’t want to risk attracting more undead. And it might’ve been selfish, but he wanted to get to the twenty third floor and see if his friend was still alive. Together with Zaun, he would have a much better chance of rescuing people; of growing the group, making the task at hand even easier. He hoped to leave the apartment with a small army of weapon-carrying civilians. He never did discuss how many survivors he was allowed to bring back. Fuck it, he would bring as many as he could and if that were a problem, he’d mention the escape tunnel and have the refugees exit Manhattan through there.

Slowly and cautiously, Jack worked his way to the stairwell door. Looking through the narrow glass window, he couldn’t make out a thing. It looked like the electricity was out for the entire building. Clicking on his flashlight, he shined it through the window and saw that the immediate area was clear, up or down a flight, the stairs working in a vertical zigzag pattern could be a different story.

Jack pressed the push-bar as quietly as possible and opened the door. He shined the light down the stairs to the next landing and saw nothing, then did the same going up the stairs. He waited a moment, listening. The eerie silence was almost too much to bear, but considering what could’ve been waiting for him, he was thankful to hear nothing.

With the flashlight’s beam leading the way, Jack took each flight of stairs slowly and quietly. There would be no sneaking up on anyone or anything, the light giving him away. At each level, he peered through the glass into the sunlit hallways, making sure to turn the light off as he approached each one. So far, only floors 10 and 14 had a few undead on them, but almost every floor was littered with corpses, many of which had their heads severed, as well as arms and legs. To Jack, it looked like someone had come through and slaughtered person after person, or undead after undead, like some crazy character in an ultra-violent video game.

On the twentieth floor, as he glanced through the window, a zombie that was standing and facing the door spotted him. Jack backed away quickly, but it was too late. The undead thing was at the door, pawing at the glass and working its jaw. Jack’s heart sank a little. The undead was a young female, and looked to be no older than sixteen years old. A thought, sudden and awful, flashed through his mind: all the dead and undead children in the city. There must be thousands, maybe even millions. His chest felt heavy, and he wanted to vomit again. He thought he had seen the most awful things, thought about the worst possibilities, but he hadn’t. How could he face an undead infant, or even a four-year-old member of the undead?

Jack closed his eyes, needing the momentary escape, as he was safe in the stairwell. He heard a click. Opening his eyes, he saw the door opening. Shit, Dr. Reynolds had been wrong; the undead were intelligent. Jack shuffled backward toward the next flight of stairs. Then it dawned on him. The undead weren’t smart, capable of thought or reason; the zombie had just pushed up against the door’s push-bar. Relief flooded his mind, but it was only temporary, as the undead corpse, arms out, was coming towards him.

He swung the mace repeatedly, bashing the zombie in the side of its head. The thing’s right eyeball popped out of its socket, dangling from the optic nerves. Another couple of whacks and the undead corpse fell down; dead for good this time, the side of its head a mangled mess of matted of hair, skull, and flesh. Looking at the mace, Jack saw that some of the girl’s hair had gotten caught in the weapon’s crevices, along with pieces of flesh. He didn’t know if he could carry it around with the girl’s hair in it; he’d have to pull the strands out. Upon doing so, he noticed the wood, just below the mace-head, was badly cracked. The weapon was useless. One more whack and the mace would only be a stick. He tossed the weapon away as something thudded against the stairwell’s door. Shining the flashlight’s beam at the small window, Jack saw the face of another zombie. Its nose was missing, revealing the thing’s gore-filled nasal cavity.

He pulled out the spear, his only other weapon being a knife. Should he run? Fight? The door clicked and was opening. Screw it, he would stay and finish off the next one too. With the spear, he could jab it in the head from afar, keeping it away until he killed it, leaving one less zombie to deal with on the way back down.

Readying his weapon, he watched as the zombie, a large undead man, standing about six feet plus, walked into the stairwell. Damn, why couldn’t it have been a little old, undead lady? As the door was shutting behind the big guy, it stopped halfway, colliding into another member of the undead, also making its way into the stairwell. Now, Jack had two undead to deal with, and not being able to see into the hallway, he had no idea how many more there might be.

The one thing he did know was that the undead were mindless machines, programmed to walk forward and search for flesh. They couldn’t reason, didn’t care, and they couldn’t open doors, at least not doors without easy-to-push handles.

With only three floors to climb until he reached his destination, he decided to flee. Could the undead climb stairs? He had no clue, but even if they could, they wouldn’t be able to open the stairwell doors, leaving them trapped there. Of course, that didn’t mean he wouldn’t have to deal with any zombies, for there might be plenty on the other side of the door too.

The ascent to the 23rd floor was easy going, and clear. Opening the door, he found the hallway void of any bodies, dead or undead. There were however, blood stains covering areas of the floor and walls, as if a battle had ensued and the corpses were removed.

Moving down the hall, Jack saw that all the apartment doors, save Zaun’s, were open, including his own. Upon coming to his apartment, he listened from outside the doorway. Hearing nothing, he looked inside, and saw that at least the immediate hallway leading to the kitchen was clear.

He went in.

The place had been ransacked. The kitchen cabinet doors were all open. The foodstuff, cans, sugar, teas, and whatnot were all gone. Some glassware and dishes were on the floor, mostly broken. Checking the hall pantry, it had been cleaned out as well. Jack went to the fridge and saw that it was empty too, except for a few items that he couldn’t make out, since they had rotted too badly. The odor was nauseating. He quickly shut the door and headed for the bedroom, his and Jess’ bedroom.

The room was exactly how he remembered leaving it: the bed unmade, Jess’ and his pairs of slippers on the floor by the bed, her hairbrush on the nightstand. Going over to the long dresser, Jack picked up the couple’s wedding photo. Tears welled in his eyes. She looked so happy, so beautiful.

After a few moments, he wiped his face, removed the picture, folded it so that none of the creases would mar his or Jess’ figures, and placed it in one of his pockets. After that, he went for his wallet, which he usually left on the nightstand. It was gone. Panic hit him like a sledgehammer, and he began to shake. He didn’t care about the wallet or anything in it; he just wanted the picture of his wife that was inside.

Jack left the bedroom and went to the hallway coat closet. Checking the pockets of the last jacket he wore, he found the wallet, his pulse settling down again as elation filled his heart. He must have forgotten to take the damn thing out after he had come home from work.

Opening the wallet, he took out a recent picture of Jess, taken the last time they went to Central Park. Staring at it, his body suddenly felt heavy. He was so tired. H e had to sit.

Putting the small photo in his pocket, Jack went back to the bedroom, removed the spear from its place between his back and the pack, letting it drop to the floor. He then took off his backpack and sat on the bed. Still feeling weary, he laid down on Jess’ side, letting his face sink into her pillow. He inhaled, smelling her scent. He could taste her sweetness. Touch her soft skin.

“I miss you, baby,” he said, “so damn much.” Breathing was becoming harder with his face in the pillow. He didn’t want to stop smelling her, but turned himself over, needing the air. Lying still, he stared at the ceiling. He needed to get up and keep moving. Remaining where he was, in his old room, was pointless. Too painful. Jess was dead. He had gotten what he came for: the pictures, and a little closure.

But he was so tired. He didn’t want to go on. In the back of his mind, he heard his wife telling him to get up, that he needed to help others. Get himself and them out of the city.

Jack forced himself up. Looking around the room, his gaze stopped on the open closet doors. Guns. He had guns.

The weariness left him as if he’d been doused with ice-water. He got to his feet and raced over to the closet. He checked the top shelf for his handguns, finding that the cases they rested in were gone. His rifle and shotgun were missing too. Whoever had cleaned out the food, must have taken the weapons.

Damn.

Reaching up, Jack felt along the door’s frame, his fingers coming into contact with a small metal case that was attached by magnets to a metal strip. Sliding off the cover, he saw that his set of keys were still inside; the same set of keys that opened the lock boxes as well as the trigger guards to his weapons. Whoever did have his guns wouldn’t be using them, not without getting those locks off the triggers. Jack pocketed the keys, wanting to keep them in the event he came across his guns as he searched the building.

Pushing the clothes aside, Jack found that his Louisville Slugger baseball bat was still where he had left it. Picking it up, he felt the smooth wood finish, marred slightly from playing a few games of ball in the park. The baseball-hitting implement was about to get uglier, because it would no longer be used as a tool to hit baseballs, but to smash in the heads of the undead.

Jack had an idea and went back to the hall coat closet where he kept his toolbox. H e would hammer a few nails through the bat head. Damn it; his tools were gone too. Sudden rage swept over his body. He began pulling on the coats, snapping the plastic hangers, then throwing the garments to the floor. With the final jacket in his grip, he stopped. He closed his eyes and took a long breath. If he had been running around fighting for his life, he would have done the same, and taken whatever he could use. He only hoped that whoever had taken his stuff was still using it and that the person, or people, was still alive.

Before leaving, Jack grabbed his backpack, leaving the spear where it fell, and worked his way to the exit, eying everything for the last time. Standing in the doorway of his and Jess’ apartment, because it would always be theirs, he turned around. There wasn’t much to see except the narrow walls that led to the kitchen. He said a final good-bye, then stepped out into the hall, closing the door behind him.

Again, the silence was overwhelming. He thought about what to do next: go door to door, or check on Zaun. He decided to check on his friend. Now that he had the bat, a decent weapon, he felt better about roaming around, although he still wanted a firearm.

As Jack moved down the hall, he stopped beside each open door; listened, then peered inside. Clear, he moved on. He did this four times before coming to Zaun’s closed apartment door. Raising his hand to knock, he stopped himself. Instead, he grabbed the doorknob and turned it. Taking a deep breath, bat in hand, he pushed. The door opened.

Chapter 10

Zaun’s place was dark; the apartment was set up similar to Jack’s. An acrid odor, like wet-canine fur and rotten eggs filled his nose. Unable to see much as he walked down the hallway, Jack took the flashlight from his belt, and clicked it on. With his other hand, he let the bat slide through his fingers a bit, choking up on the weapon.

“Zaun?” he called out. “You here, buddy?”

No reply.

Jack entered the kitchen. The place seemed clean, save a few empty open cans of food resting on the counter. His eyes lit up upon the flashlight’s beam hitting two cases of water resting on the floor. He was suddenly very thirsty. He went over and bent down, tearing open the plastic, he pulled out a bottle, twisted off the cap and gulped the contents. Next to the water were a couple of twelve packs of Coke, and two six packs of orange Gatorade. Putting the bottle down on the counter, he scanned more of the darkened room.

The cabinet doors were closed.

“Zaun, it’s Jack. I don’t want you jumping out and slicing me up. You in here?” With no answer, Jack opened one of the cabinets. Cans of food, including string beans, corn, carrots, chickpeas, hearts of palm, and baked beans lined the shelves. It looked like Zaun was doing okay; and was maybe the person who had raided his apartment, although the building had hundreds of people in it.

Jack couldn’t help feeling a little giddy inside. Quite possibly, his friend was alive.

Leaving the kitchen, he entered the living room. The odor of unwashed dog worsened. It was too dark to see well, so he kept the flashlight on. Empty cans of food sat on the coffee table in front of the couch.

“Zaun,” Jack called again, but received no answer. Maybe the guy was out somewhere in the building looking for more supplies?

Not wanting to startle Zaun if he came back to his apartment, Jack went over to the windows and raised the blinds, flooding the room with glorious sunlight.

Dust particles like tiny alien sea creatures floated in the air. Jack coughed, then saw that the living room flat screen was cracked, as if something had been thrown at it.

Next, he checked the bathroom. Boxes of soap and containers of shampoo lay on the floor under the sink. Tubes of toothpaste sat on the shelves above the toilet where normally towels were kept.

Jack felt conflicting emotions as he went through the apartment. He was happy, but nervous, hopeful, yet discouraged that he hadn’t come upon his friend dead or undead. But with each room being empty of Zaun’s presence, Jack’s heart sank a little further. It was looking like his friend had survived for a while, but might have eventually died or left the apartment at some point. But then, why leave all the food?

The only place left to look was the bedroom. Upon reaching it, Jack saw that it was closed. He knocked on the door, calling out Zaun’s name. “You in there, buddy?” He waited for an answer, listening for any sounds of movement or worse, scratching at the door.

After a few minutes, Jack’s pulse racing with anticipation, he took hold of the doorknob, turned it, and threw the door open.

He readied the bat, cocking his arm back, ready to swing, as he scanned the room. The place was gloomy like the rest of the apartment had been. Jack clicked on the flashlight. The blinds on the window were down. Jack was beginning to wonder if his friend had become a different member of the undead, a vampire.

Facing away, a figure lay on the floor next to the bed, as if it had fallen there and didn’t bother getting up. On the person’s left arm was the tattoo of a yin and yang symbol with a dragon around it. Jack knew immediately it was Zaun, his friend looking deader than dead.

Shining the flashlight over his body, he saw gashes and cuts, but one in particular caught his attention. It was on Zaun’s forearm and it resembled a bite mark. The wound was open and bleeding. Jack’s heart jumped. If it was bleeding, Zaun was still alive.

He approached his friend’s body, standing about three feet away, and nudged it with the bat.

Zaun moaned, causing Jack to flinch.

“Zaun? Zaun?” No answer, just another moan.

Jack drew close to the body, and knelt down, rolling his friend over onto his back, cringing at what he saw.

Zaun’s face was almost colorless, his eyes sunken in, cheek bones revealed. For a moment, Jack was looking at his wife.

“Shit,” he said, softly.

Zaun opened his eyes, lids fluttering for a moment. “Jack?”

“Yeah, it’s me.”

“Was wondering when you’d be… back.”

“What happened to you? Were you bit?”

Zaun’s head fell to the side. He had passed out.

Jack shook him. “Zaun? Zaun?” No response. Looking at the wound up close, he really couldn’t tell if it was a bite wound or not, as Zaun’s body was riddled with cuts and bruises. But by the look of his friend, the guy had been infected.

“Screw it,” Jack said, standing. He pulled out his Taser, pointed it at Zaun’s still-moving stomach, and pulled the trigger.

Zaun let out a gasp. H is body went rigid, and trembled, as 50,000 volts coursed through his system. After a few seconds, the charge died and Zaun’s body went slack. Jack squatted and checked for a pulse. Nothing. He grabbed Zaun’s wrist, checked there: nothing. Damn, the shock must have been too much for his depleted body.

Jack began CPR, performing chest compressions and mouth to mouth. He checked Zaun’s pulse again, but felt nothing except cool skin. “I’m not giving up on you,” he said, then pulled the darts out of Zaun’s stomach. He tossed them aside and reloaded the Taser with a new charge. Standing up, Jack aimed the gun at Zaun’s sternum and fired the weapon. Zaun’s body stiffened, then went slack again.

Bending down, he checked his friend for a pulse again. This time Zaun had one. His friend was alive. Pulling the darts out, Jack breathed a sigh of relief.

Chapter 11

After placing Zaun in bed, Jack went over to the bedroom windows and raised the blinds, allowing sunlight to illuminate the dreary room, and to his delight, revealed a lost treasure. On the floor, opposite side of the bed where Zaun had been lying, were his guns and ammo boxes.

Like a kid on Christmas morning, Jack sat on the floor, took the keys from his pocket, and opened the first lockbox. Lifting the lid, he saw the Sig Sauer P226 inside. Not wanting to be unarmed a moment longer, he removed the trigger guard, then opened the ammo box, an army green, 30 caliber, M19A1 container he picked up at an army-navy store, grabbed a box of 9 mm bullets, and loaded the fifteen round clip. After popping the clip in, he gently racked the slide and was ready for business. Flipping the safety on, he placed the weapon down, eager to see the next gift.

He opened the box containing his. 45, a Smith and Wesson 1911 handgun. After removing the trigger guard, he loaded the eight round clip and drew the slide back before setting the safety switch to the on position. Jack couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt so powerful, so invincible, so good. Then he did remember, and it had nothing to do with firearms. The last time he had felt this good was when he and Jess were sitting on the couch, watching television, his arms wrapped around her. Suddenly, the ecstatic feeling he had was gone.

He picked up both handguns like the hero in some action flick, and admired them. A spark of anger ignited within him, warming his soul with hate. He wished he could shoot each individual bot, slowly making each one suffer as he destroyed them all. But the best he could do was help the living, and send the animated dead back to the grave.

He grabbed the bag holding his Remington. 30–06, unlocked the trigger guard and had the weapon loaded and ready to go within moments. Most likely, he’d be running around, climbing, and banging into things, so he didn’t bother with the scope.

Finally, the big momma was left, his Mossberg 500, a 12-gauge shotgun. After removing the trigger guard, he loaded five shells of buckshot, then cocked the weapon, making room for another shell.

Now, Jack was ready for anything short of a nuke. The undead would fall easily at his feet; people too if they so chose to try and hurt him or anyone he was trying to save. As much as he would like to believe people wouldn’t be a problem, he knew it was a possibility. And with that thought in mind, Jack couldn’t remember if he’d locked the apartment’s front door.

Tucking the Sig Sauer into his pants, he hurried to the door and locked it. Standing there a moment, he realized he was hungry, and headed to the kitchen where he grabbed a can of baked beans and a can of corn. Using a can-opener that was resting on the counter, he sat at the table and opened the cans. After eating about half of each one’s contents, he replaced the lids, and went to check on his friend.

Zaun lay on his back, just as Jack had left him, the man’s stomach rising and falling with each breath. He smiled as his heart filled with warmth. He had no idea how long it would be before his friend would wake, but he was elated the guy was alive. Zaun would need time to regain his strength, to heal, and by the looks of him, Jack figured it would be at least a few days, maybe even a week. He wouldn’t leave until Zaun was able to defend himself, and strong enough to descend the side of the building via the rope. From what he saw of Zaun’s supplies, waiting a few days for his friend to recover would be doable, unless of course, the city was nuked; but he didn’t want to think about that, at least not for now.

Leaving Zaun to rest, Jack took the shotgun and the Sig Sauer and checked out each of the apartments on the floor. He found no survivors and no bodies, dead or undead. Any useful items were gone, taken either by Zaun, or by whoever survived.

Checking out the stairwell through the small glass window, he saw that a number of the undead had gathered just outside the door. Upon noticing him, they came toward him. Jack recognized the big guy from a few levels down. So, they could walk up stairs. He didn’t want to leave them there, and tried opening the door, but a number of undead were pressing against it, making it difficult to do so. He had an idea.

Walking to the stairwell at the other end of the floor, Jack peered through the window, scanning the area with his flashlight. All clear, he opened the door, and went down a flight. After making sure the hallway on the 22nd floor was void of undead, he went in.

Here, the apartment doors were all closed. Jack made his way quickly to the other end, peered through the window, then opened the door. He stepped into the stairwell, leaving the door ajar. He could hear the undead on the floor above him as they pawed and pushed at the metal door.

“Hey, assholes!” Jack yelled, his voice booming in the enclosed space. He waited as the undead began coming down the stairs. He heard a few thuds, guessing one of the undead had taken a fall, then saw a zombie dragging itself down the stairs as if its spinal cord had been severed.

Jack waited as it rounded the banister, then aiming his Sig, fired at the thing’s head, stopping it cold. The others were coming down the steps slowly, and one by one, he took them out until there were four dead bodies, including the big guy, in a pile at the foot of the stairs.

Letting the door close, Jack went to the nearest apartment and checked it for undead. Finding none, he went back to the stairwell and one by one, dragged the corpses into the apartment. Knowing he and Zaun would be using the stairs, he wanted the foul-smelling things out of the way.

With that done, Jack went through the rest of the dwellings on the floor before checking out the ones on the two floors below. He found that almost all the residences he visited had pots of water in them, just sitting on the stove as if everyone had decided to boil something, but never got around to doing so.

After spending a few hours searching the places, finding a few supplies but nothing special, he returned to Zaun’s.

Two days went by before Zaun was fully conscious and able to sit up and use the facilities on his own. Before that, Jack had fed and washed him. Zaun explained about filling pots of water and leaving them in the other apartments, the water used for washing and toilet flushing in case the electricity went out. His actions had proved beneficial, the only drawback — having to go to the other apartments to do his business, and carrying heavy pots of water back to his when he felt like it.

Throughout Zaun’s recovery, Jack talked about his own adventures, from waking up tied to a wheelchair to entering Zaun’s apartment.

“So, that’s how you saved my ass?” Zaun asked. “With a T aser?”

“Yeah,” Jack said, smiling, not telling his friend how close to death he had really come.

“You’ve been a busy man.”

Jack laughed. “Compared to you, it seems I had it easy.”

Zaun sat up in bed and took a sip of Gatorade.

“Yeah,” he said, “cleaned out the whole building, give or take a few places. Couldn’t get them all, those undead fuckers. It was tiring, having to swing a sword so many times and run around gathering supplies. Wish I had the keys to your guns, would’ve made life a lot easier.”

“You did a great job. I only came across a few undead, and what a stockpile of food you have.”

“I gathered as much as I could, buying a shit-load of food before things got really bad. After the… screaming… and other sounds died down, I went around to the apartments, gathering what I could. I kept myself well fed and hydrated. I was holding up, hanging in there… until one of them bit me. From there I started going downhill, until you came and saved me.”

“Well, we’re going to get you healthy, go out and look for any other survivors, then get the hell out of here.”

“There are no others, Jack,” Zaun said, quietly.

“There’s got to be, you can’t be the only one.”

“I checked. There’s no one else.”

“How can that be?” Jack asked, horrified.

“It just is. I the checked the basement, the roof, looked in and behind things. I checked every apartment up and down.”

Zaun’s faced started to redden. He slowly shook his head.

“You did your best, man. Don’t be hard on yourself.”

“I was a coward.” Zaun said, looking away.

“Don’t say that; you were amazing, killing all those undead and trying to save people.”

“That’s just it, Jack,” Zaun said, turning back to meet his gaze. “I didn’t try to save or help anyone… not at first.”

“When the shit really started to hit the fan, after all those people were mowed down on the Brooklyn Bridge, I flipped out. I hid in my apartment. I heard screams in the halls. People pounded on my door, but I was too afraid to answer it. I had already stocked up on food. I was an island, self-sustaining. From what I saw, it was every man for himself. Even the police scattered. Can’t blame them, they’re only human. It was a lawless period, brief as it was. People were acting crazy, and the dead were growing in number, coming back to fucking life. The news had said it wasn’t an airborne virus, but who really knew, right?”

Jack felt bad for the guy; for anyone caught in the city. It seemed like the world was ending. Maybe it had, at least for the citizens in Manhattan. No one could predict how a person would react to such an extreme occurrence; the dead rising up, looking for human flesh. Zaun shouldn’t blame himself for how he reacted to the events that unfolded, that were still unfolding. Sure, there would be scumbags who would take the opportunity to do evil, to rape and murder, but short of that, a person couldn’t get down on themselves for trying to survive.

“Don’t be so hard on yourself,” Jack told him. “The whole city was, and is, in chaos; and from the looks of it, you were one of the smarter ones. People should’ve stayed inside, listened to the warnings; stayed off the streets.”

“Yeah,” Zaun agreed, “but in order to be able to stay in your home, you’d need supplies. Make sure you had enough of the essentials. No one knew how long this epidemic, the imprisonment, would last. The elderly were especially vulnerable. Mr. Zarnof came to my door, asking for help. I pretended I wasn’t home. Found him outside my door, dead. He wasn’t bit or anything. I think he just died of a heart attack or something.”

Zaun stopped talking. Tears were rolling down his face. “I still can’t close my eyes without seeing dead bodies, hearing the cries of people as they suffered.”

Jack hadn’t thought about what it was like from a topsider’s point of view. He had been one of the lucky ones, removed from the immediate chaos, the front lines. He couldn’t remember ever seeing Zaun so down, let alone cry.

“You did what you had to do in order to survive,” he said. “You did the best you could, and what was right for you.” Jack didn’t necessarily believe everything of what he was saying, but wanted Zaun in a positive frame of mind. He, himself, had no idea how he would have acted if he had been left in his apartment, his wife one of the undead. He would like to believe he would have tried to help people, but not having had to endure it directly, he truly didn’t know. Zaun was more of a loner, having no family and not many friends. The guy only did what his mind was capable of doing: dig in and survive.

“Only when I stopped hearing things,” Zaun continued, “did I finally get up the nerve to leave my apartment. I hated myself for being such a coward. I was relieved by the quiet; that there was no one left to save. I thought about killing myself, seppuku style, the way a samurai would have offed himself, but that was only deserving of a true warrior.

“I forced myself to eat, pushed my self-loathing down deep, realizing I could do nothing to change the past. I decided to see if there was anyone still alive. But the whole damn building was filled with the dead or undead. I was angry, pissed off. I hacked those undead fucks to pieces, but I quickly found that the only way to stop them was to separate the head from the body. I put all my years of training to use, except it wasn’t like fighting people. The undead were slow and stupid. Only in numbers were they formidable, intimidating.

“I started with our floor, clearing out the undead, dumping the bodies down the elevator shaft. I went through each apartment, looking for survivors, gathering up supplies, food as well as soap and whatnot. There were so many of the undead; I had to take breaks regularly. Sometimes, I’d have to run away, and then half the floor would be after me, chasing me into the stairwell.

“Then, one day when I was walking down the stairs, I heard a woman cry out. I ran down, saw her enter on the third floor. A zombie was on her tail, a kid of all things. I lopped his head off, then followed her to her apartment. She wouldn’t let me in, so I bashed the door down. She was crazy, all scratched up and bleeding. She didn’t want to come with me. When I went to grab her, she bit me.” Zaun paused, staring at the bite mark on his arm. “I was so angry. So pissed… I… backhanded her. Raised my sword…”

Jack closed his eyes. “You had no choice. She was already dead.”

“But that’s just it,” Zaun cried. “I didn’t kill her. I left her alone.”

Jack opened his eyes. He didn’t know what to say.

“I probably should have killed her, but I was so full of rage. She’d killed me, and I wasn’t about to allow her the easy way out. So I left her to die a slow, painful death.

“I came back to my place, scrubbed the wound, poured hydrogen peroxide over it, then bleach. Burned like a motherfucker. Later that night, I was already feeling tired, drained, but not like I was when I was hacking up those ungodly bastards. I was drained as if I had no strength, as if I hadn’t eaten in days. I was so hungry and all I kept thinking about was meat. Human meat. If I had the strength, I think I would’ve gone back down there, found the woman and started tearing into her. As it was, I was too wiped out. I was so hungry, Jack. Hungry enough that I had to fight against eating my own flesh.

“Eventually I started hallucinating. I saw my mother. She came to me. Told me everything would be all right. That I’d be with her soon.” Zaun was crying again. “It was the only good thing that happened to me.”

“Well, I’m here now, buddy,” Jack said, patting Zaun on the leg. “The past is the past. It’s time to move forward. You’re looking better, but you need to rest. No more talking, too much stress is no good. I’m going to let you sleep, then get you up in a few hours for some chow.”

Jack was pleased to see his friend coming along quickly. It was probably his age, good eating habits, genetics, and the fact that he was in shape. He didn’t want to spend anymore time topside than was necessary, but he also didn’t want to scare the guy. He hadn’t told him about the possible plans to nuke the city. Jack wasn’t leaving without his friend, and if the city was leveled, he and Zaun probably wouldn’t suffer for more than a few seconds at best.

Caught in a tough situation, Jack left the room, hoping the good doctor had come up with a way to solve the bot problem and alert the military before they decided to blow up Manhattan.

Chapter 12

While Zaun was recovering, Jack scoured the building, killing undead and looking for survivors. He had to see for himself that there was no one left alive. He didn’t find anyone of course, but did manage to kill a number of undead to the point he could no longer find anymore. He wanted to make the building as safe as possible for when he and Zaun made the trek to the sixth floor supply closet. But it was more than that. Jack felt as if he had made a safe zone for other survivors. There had to be more in the city, and by chance if any of them made it to the building, they would be able to have a place that was undead-free; a safe haven from the city’s ugliness.

A few days after waking, Zaun was strong enough to leave. Jack went over gun protocol, making sure his friend knew as much about the firearms as possible, including where the safety switches were, how to properly load a weapon, and how to aim and shoot.

With their packs full and on their backs, guns loaded, Jack taking the two handguns and the rifle while Zaun carried the shotgun and his sword, the two companions left the apartment.

They easily made their way to the supply closet on the sixth floor. Looking out the window, Jack saw that the gate was open. A few undead were currently occupying the alley, with one right below the window where the rope was dangling. Another was about halfway down the alley and a third stood between one of the open gates and the brick wall, as if confused on how to exit the area.

Jack almost couldn’t believe it. The undead horde from earlier must have grown so large that their combined mass was no match for the gate and broke the steel door open. They flooded in like water from a burst dam. Finding no food, they receded back out, leaving a few stragglers behind.

Looking out into the street, Jack saw a single zombie walk by. Then another. At any moment, one could walk right in and then there’d be four to deal with.

“What is it?” Zaun asked.

“Remember that ‘ safe ’ alley I told you about?”

“Yeah.”

“Well, it isn’t so safe anymore.” Jack moved aside to let Zaun have a look.

“Wow,” Zaun said. “Guess those military dudes were wrong about that gate being secure.”

“I just think they underestimated the undead’s strength. Those things might be weak and slow individually, but in groups they’re like a tornado.”

“There are only a few down there now,” Zaun pointed out. “We can take them out.”

“Yeah, but we have to do it quietly or we’ll wind up with half the city’s undead down there. I was thinking about picking them off with the rifle, but I’m not sure how the sound would travel from up here. The shots could echo and confuse the things, or it might attract them into the alley. Then we’d be stuck up here for who knows how long.”

Zaun turned to Jack, a grin on his face. “You trust me?”

“Why, what have you got in mind?”

“It might be nuts, but it’s our only option.”

Jack listened as Zaun suggested that he go down the rope. Using his martial arts training, he would then quietly take out the three undead.

“And if it doesn’t work,” Zaun added, “you’ll pull my ass back up and we’re no better off.”

Jack shook his head. “I don’t like it.”

“What other choice is there, the sewer? T hat sounds more dangerous, at least getting to them does.”

Jack knew his friend was right. He didn’t like the guy going down there alone, but he’d be ready with his rifle. And if the alley became overwhelmed with the undead, he’d help Zaun back up.

“Fine, but you’re taking the harness. I’m not sure I can pull you up all that way and I doubt you’ll be able to climb sixty feet without tiring.”

“No way. I’ll be fine. Between the two of us, we’ll get me back in this closet. I’m rope savvy, having climbed before. You on the other hand are not. How do you expect to climb down without falling?”

Jack should’ve thought to bring at least one extra harness. Now one of them was going to be in danger.

“It’s settled then,” Zaun said, smiling. He grabbed a pair of the heavy workman’s gloves from the shelf and put them on. “I’ll be able to slide down easily with these. They should hold up well.”

Zaun gave the shotgun to Jack, then went to climb onto the windowsill.

“Hold on,” Jack told him.

Zaun turned around.

Jack held out the Sig Sauer. “Just in case.”

Zaun took the weapon, tucking it into the front of his pants.

“Safety’s on,” Jack informed him.

“I know. You think I’d shove this thing in my pants if it wasn’t?”

“Just watch your ass.”

Zaun climbed onto the windowsill, wrapped the rope around his left hand once, creating his own belay, then started down.

Jack kept an eye on the undead, but also watched his friend.

Zaun made his way quickly down the line, stopping just above the zombie that was standing below him. With his legs intertwined between the rope, and his left hand holding him up, he drew the sword with his right hand and plunged the blade into the top of the zombie’s head. The undead corpse went slack and collapsed to the ground. Neither of the other two undead seemed to notice.

Zaun dropped the rest of the way to the ground, landing in a crouch. He stood slowly, reached into his jacket, and produced a throwing star. Jack shook his head, remembering having the pointy things when he was a kid. He would throw them at trees or into the back of the door to his room, but never imagined ever using them in real life. They were a thing for movies or books; things kids played with. But Zaun, along with hand-to-hand combat and swordplay, practiced using all kinds of throwing weapons. He’d told Jack that knives were his favorite, the long blades were great for deep penetration and killing, but only when in somewhat close proximity to the target. Throwing stars were better for distance strikes, usually not penetrating deep enough to cause death, but could cause enough damage to hinder an enemy’s attack or impede his escape. Zaun was going to use them to draw the undead’s attention.

Jack’s heart was in his throat as he watched Zaun thr o w the weapon, hitting the undead in the back of its head. The thing stopped, and turned around, then headed straight for Zaun.

Damn, Jack thought. The weapon hadn’t penetrated deep enough to kill the zombie, but at least Zaun had hit his mark and quietly drew the thing’s attention.

The undead’s pace was slow, but faster than when it had had no target in it sights. The zombie near the gate remained in place, apparently unaware of what was going on.

Zaun stood like a statue as the thing came straight for him; his right hand on the hilt of his sword. Jack’s heart continued to slam against his chest. When the undead thing came within an arm’s length, Zaun swung his sword in one smooth motion. The zombie’s head tumbled to the ground, followed by its body.

Damn, Jack thought, the guy is good.

However, there was a problem. The zombie near the gate hadn’t moved, and was still about sixty feet away. Zaun couldn’t go up to it, not without the risk of attracting any undead that might walk by the alley. How was he going to get its attention? The distance was way too far for him to use another throwing star. If he missed, the metal clang would attract others.

Looking down, Jack saw Zaun motioning for him to come down. Right, why bother with the lone zombie? They would both be long gone and underground before the thing even knew they had been there.

Jack hooked himself up to the rope, climbed out onto the windowsill and began his descent. He moved slowly, not wanting to attract the attention of any undead that might see him from the street, or fall and break his bones. Turning around to check on Zaun, he saw that he wasn’t below him anymore, and was moving down the alley. What the hell was the guy doing?

Jack moved faster, wanting to reach the ground and get to Zaun before he did anything stupid, but by the time he reached the asphalt, the guy was too far away. Calling out was not an option.

Jack watched, sweat running down his face and back, heart still racing, as Zaun stopped about ten feet from the lone zombie. He produced another star and threw it at the undead thing. At the same time he released the weapon, a female zombie, dressed in a dark gray business suit, ambled from around the corner, and spotted Zaun immediately. The star did its job, drawing the heavyset zombie from where it stood.

Jack couldn’t breathe.

Both undead were heading Zaun’s way, their pace quickening slightly. The female zombie kicked something metal with its foot and the item clanged loudly as it skidded along the ground.

Jack cringed, hoping the sound hadn’t traveled into the street. Zaun was backing up, leading the undead farther into the alley. There were only two, and Jack had no doubt that his friend could take care of them with ease. Hell, the guy had taken out most of the zombies in the building, what were two more.

Then another member of the undead, stumbling like a drunk, came from the street. Others quickly followed it. Within seconds, the undead completely blocked the entranceway. They were like sharks; when one smelled blood so did all the others.

“Get back here,” Jack yelled, realizing there was no point in keeping quiet. Zaun retreated and was by Jack’s side in moments. The undead were slow, but they were coming.

“Forget that thing,” Jack told him, referring to the sword, and handed Zaun the shotgun. Jack took aim with the rifle and began firing into the approaching horde.

As the two unloaded their weapons, turning heads into dust, the undead went down, the lead bodies tripping up the others, slowing the mass even more. But like an unrelenting force they kept coming. The numbers were just too great.

“Get up that rope,” Zaun yelled over the sound of gunfire. “Get out of here.”

Jack ignored him, and kept on shooting.

They kept firing into the crowd of undead, keeping them at bay until the guns only clicked, and there were no more clips left.

“You should’ve gone up,” Zaun said, holding his sword, the shotgun tossed to the ground.

“Screw that,” Jack said, wondering where the hell the guards were. They should have been here by now. Maybe they saw the gate was open, or saw the horde coming, and decided it was too dangerous to risk a rescue.

With the hungry, undead horde closing in, Zaun turned to Jack. “Well if this is it, it was a pleasure knowing you, Jack.”

Chapter 13

With his back against the wall, death all but imminent, Jack’s mind raced with thoughts. There was still so much left that he needed to do. So much undone. A short time ago, he didn’t wish to go on without Jess. But that’s how most people felt when a loved one passed. And the best way to honor her was to live. Now, facing down the mass of undead, he wanted to live more than ever. He needed to see his mission through; get Zaun to safety. He needed to see his sister again, help her this time, get her out of that abusive relationship. And he needed to see the Manhattan Armageddon put to a stop. He wanted to be there when every last bot, those mindless little fuckers, perished.

With the undead closing in, Jack shut his eyes and prayed. He wasn’t sure he believed in a higher power. He knew the universe was too complex to “just be, ” but he had never taken the time to explore his beliefs. So he prayed; prayed for a way out of the impending doom.

The sound of squeaking metal filled Jack’s ears over the shuffle and hum-like sounds the undead were giving off. Opening his eyes, he saw the double doors parting. Then the guards, dressed in their black fatigues, carrying machine guns, came up the stairs. They formed a wall and began firing into the crowd. Memories of that horrible Brooklyn Bridge massacre filled Jack’s mind, but only for a second. He saw Kevin among the machine gun toting soldiers. He hadn’t thought of them as such, but that’s what they were, soldiers. Soldiers performing their duties as guards.

The line of guards was aiming high, aiming for the zombies’ heads, disintegrating them. If the scene wasn’t so horrendous, Jack thought it would be beautiful. Turning his head to the stairwell, movement catching his eye, he saw Chambers at the top of the stairs. He was yelling and motioning for Jack to come to him.

Zaun was enthralled by the carnage, a grin on his face. Jack knew his friend was a little different than most, a hyperactive, emotional guy, but seeing his expression was almost scary. Jack nudged him, then pointed to Chambers.

Soon Jack and Zaun were underground, just below the street, listening to the awesome sounds of gunfire. Jack thought single burst would have made more sense, aiming at the heads, but guessed they were doing a quick not-worried-about-ammo rescue mission. The machine gun fire began to lessen as the guards came down the stairs, Chambers the last to arrive as the doors swung shut.

Silence swallowed the group as everyone composed themselves.

Finally, Zaun spoke up, “Damn, you guys came just in time.”

“Yeah, thanks. To each and every one of you,” Jack told the room.

“I hate to ask, because we aren’t going back up there, but is that it, Jack?” Chambers asked. “A plus one?”

He nodded. “Whole building was gone. Everyone dead.”

Chambers seemed to be thinking something over, then said, “All right, everyone. Good work up there. Head back down, take an hour, then back to your posts.”

The guards left, leaving Chambers, Jack, and Zaun to take the elevator. “Where are we heading?” Zaun asked.

“To the containment room,” Chambers answered. “We need to make sure you’re not carrying any of them little critters around inside you.”

When the elevator came to a stop, Guard Devon Witherspoon was waiting to take their weapons.

“It’s protocol,” Chambers said. “You aren’t military and Doctor Reynolds doesn’t want just anyone running around with weapons.”

Jack nodded, and gave up the guns.

“The sword too,” Chambers said.

“Hell no. This stays with me.”

“That’s fine,” Chambers said, crossing his arms over his massive chest. “But then you don’t stay with us. Doc’s house; doc’s rules.”

“Hand it over, Zaun,” Jack told his friend, and he did, reluctantly giving the sword to Chambers.

“They’ll be in the arsenal, safe and sound.”

They followed Chambers to the containment room, Zaun entering first, Jack hesitating.

“Jack?” Chambers asked.

“I’m okay,” he said, then walked in. The door closed behind them, making Jack jump.

“What’s up?” Zaun asked. “This going to hurt?”

“No. They just zap the room with an EMP. You won’t feel a thing.”

“So what’s…” Zaun paused. “Oh, this is the room where Jess.. where she died?”

“No, she was already dead by the time she was here. This is where I last saw her body, before I fried the little bastards inside of her.”

“Sorry man,” Zaun said, putting a hand on Jack’s shoulder.

“Thanks.”

A small hole opened in the ceiling and a silver sphere, attached by a metal arm, lowered into the room.

“Is it disco time?” Zaun asked.

The lights dimmed, and the sphere began to glow red. A bass-like blast echoed around the room. Before Jack knew it, the lights came back on and the silver sphere retracted back into the ceiling. The door to the room opened, and Chambers told them that they were all set.

“Jack,” the man said, “ Dr. Reynolds would like to have a word with you in his room.”

“Now?”

“Yes.”

“Okay. What about Zaun?”

“Mr. Van Pelt will be escorted to his room, and a guard will be posted outside his door, for now.”

“What am I, a criminal?” Zaun asked.

“Relax,” Jack told him. “They don’t know you. Once they do a thorough background check, like they did with me, you’ll be fine.”

“No background checks, Jack,” Chambers said. “We’re self-contained now. No internet, but don’t worry, I’m sure Dr. Reynolds will give your friend the run of the place in no time.”

“Okay, buddy,” Zaun said to Jack. “Don’t want to upset our hosts. I’ll behave. You go see this doctor and I’ll catch you in a bit. I need a shower and a nap.” Turning to Chambers, he asked, “You guys have showers, right?”

“Yes, each residential floor has them.”

Chapter 14

Jack sat in the same chair he had sat in during his last visit to Doctor Reynolds’ place. This time instead of drinking Cognac, the man was sipping tea, offering Jack nothing to refresh himself with this time. The imitation fireplace blazed away, Jack feeling its heat as if it were real.

“So, all that for only one survivor?” Dr. Reynolds asked.

Jack thought the man sounded perturbed. “Yes. Only one and I’d do it again for another one.”

“I didn’t mean to sound cruel, as if your friend’s life wasn’t worth rescuing. I simply mean it’s a shame there weren’t others, that along with the rest of the city, the entire building was dead.”

Jack went on, telling the Doctor everything that had happened, from his climb up the rope, to finding Zaun almost dead, to the narrow escape at the end.

“Amazing,” the doctor said, his tone cold, no emotion in it. “The last part, your rescue, I watched on camera. Dreadful.”

The doc took another sip of his tea. Jack thought the man looked terrible, as if he hadn’t slept in days. Screw the tea, the man needed his liquor.

“Any headway on the bot situation?” Jack asked, wanting off the current topic.

“None,” Dr. Reynolds said, looking dejected.

Jack had never seen the man as he was, completely cold, almost sinister in his demeanor. The guy was under a lot of pressure. Jack wondered how he would feel having the weight of a cure on his shoulders.

“Well,” Dr. Reynolds said, “I’m glad you at least found one person alive… and a friend no less.”

“Yeah…” Jack shifted slightly in his chair. “About that. I wanted to ask you something.”

“Shoot,” the man said, enthusiastically, startling Jack a bit.

“When you do find a way to stop the bots, a cure so to speak, and I know you will, how are you planning to get word to the outside?”

Reynolds sat still, looking at Jack as if studying him. He sipped his tea, taking his time as if pondering something. Jack felt a shiver crawl over him, waiting for a response. He began to question if he should have kept his mouth shut.

“I have a way,” he said. “A way of communicating to the proper authorities.”

Jack couldn’t believe it. So there was a way to reach the outside. Why had he kept it from him?

“Only a few others know about this,” Dr. Reynolds continued, “and I’m counting on you to keep it to yourself. This includes your friend, Mr. Van Pelt.”

“But why? Wouldn’t it make the others feel better, knowing they aren’t cut off?”

“No. It would distract them. They’d constantly want to get word out to their families. Then they’d even want to speak to them, one on one. This can’t and won’t happen. Not on my end and not on the military’s. The channel is hardwired to a building in Brooklyn. Communication-wise, it goes directly to my bosses. They expect their soldiers to do their jobs, and not worry about home life. The same goes for when our troops are in the field overseas. No communication. No whereabouts known. It’s better to just have everyone believe we’re on our own, leaving the men and women here to realize that they must be up to their best. Bottom line, they need to concentrate on their duties.”

“I’m surprised none of your people have brought it up. I can’t be the only person to wonder.”

“I’m sure you’re not, but unlike you, a civilian, my men must follow orders. They don’t ask questions. So, again, I must insist that you keep this conversation between us.”

Jack nodded. “My lips are sealed. It isn’t my place. I’m not a member of your team and I’m grateful to have a place here with you.”

He might inform Zaun, just to tell someone, but then again he might not. Zaun wasn’t a member of Doc’s team and he had no one he’d want to communicate with. But Zaun could be a loose cannon, and Jack didn’t want the guy mouthing off, telling any of the guards what Jack and him had talked about. So as much as he wanted to, Jack needed to keep the information to himself.

“Well, Jack,” Reynolds said, “I’m glad you’re back safe and sound with us.”

“Me too. And thanks for giving me the tools to get it done.”

“Not a problem.”

Jack stood, the doctor doing the same. They shook hands.

“Think I’ll head back to my room. I’m beat.”

Reynolds was looking at Jack again, as if studying him. A grin formed on the man’s face.

“Everything all right, Doc?”

The man turned away. “Aside from my numerous failed attempts at finding a cure and the fact that the city is in total ruin, millions dead?” He laughed. “I’m fine.”

Jack frowned. “Sorry, I didn’t mean it like that.”

Reynolds walked to the door. “I know. I’m sorry too. Sorry I wasn’t more diligent with my security. Sorry for the loss of your wife. This whole mess is my fault. It was my project that got so many killed.”

Jack felt a tinge of anger bloom inside him at hearing the man say Jess’ name. It was ultimately Reynolds’ fault that his wife was dead. If the man had deliberately killed her, Jack wouldn’t hesitate to end his life. Screw finding a cure, he would let someone else worry about that. But Jack knew better; knew that Reynolds hadn’t set out to kill anyone, and was only sanctioned by the military, the same military that kept America safe, to perform a task. And Jack actually thought the idea sounded like a good one. Micro-robotic machines that could aid in a person’s recovery. If the doctor had figured out a way to make them work, it could have meant huge changes in the way injuries were treated. Now, with the city dead, the cost far outweighed any benefits.

Jack said goodnight and left the room. Something clearly wasn’t right with the doctor. The man’s words spoke of regret, of emotion, but to Jack, the guy had no real sentiment behind them, like a bad actor reciting lines.

Chapter 15

Zaun was fast asleep when Jack went to check on his friend. Using pen and paper, he left a note on the desk, telling his sword-wielding buddy to come to his room when he woke up.

By ten p.m. Zaun still hadn’t shown, and Jack decided not to wait up for him. The two would catch up tomorrow. The man apparently needed his shut-eye.

Jack decided to hit the hay himself when a knock came at his door. Dressed in sweatpants and a t-shirt, he went over to the door and opened it, surprised to see Kevin Myers standing there.

“What’s up, Kevin? Everything all right?”

The guy looked visibly shaken. “Can I come in?”

Jack was tired-his bed calling him-but the kid looked like he really needed someone to talk to. Figuring he would put the guy’s mind at ease after a few minutes, he told him to come in.

He shut the door behind Kevin, then sat on his bed. The kid remained standing. “Have a seat,” he said, motioning to the chair in front of the desk.

Kevin began pacing back and forth, obviously upset about something.

“Talk to me,” Jack said.

“I found something out.” The kid continued pacing. “Some really bad stuff.”

“Okay,” Jack said, thinking the poor kid had heard awful news about a family member or something to that effect. Then it hit him: “Are they going to nuke the city?”

“No. God no. Nothing like that.”

Jack let out a breath, feeling his body relax.

“Kevin,” he said, “ why don’t you sit down and talk to me. Tell me what’s bothering you.”

The kid shook his head and continued to pace, rubbing the back of his neck as he did so. He finally stopped, and faced Jack. “They were testing the bots on people, Jack. On fucking people. Homeless people. Taking them off the streets, promising them money and a quick stay in the lab. But it was all a lie.”

When Jack was initially told about the bot program, it hadn’t occurred to him who or what the test subjects were. He had assumed lab animals, rats and whatnot. But people? He supposed after the bots were tested on animals, the results being positive, that people, volunteers, would be next to be tested on. It made sense, and was after all what the pharmaceutical companies did.

“You’re saying they’re using people against their will?”

“Yes. Torturing and killing them in the process. Now, with the city the way it is, their supply is low. Maybe even gone for all I know.”

“There are people here, besides the employees? Civilians?”

“You remember that locked door we talked about earlier, the one by Reynolds’ office?”

“C-wing. Yeah.”

“That’s where the people were kept and experimented on. C-wing is filled with labs and rooms; rooms where they keep the subjects locked up. There were over thirty homeless people in there at one point. But now…” T he kid shook his head. “Now they might all be dead.”

“And you’re sure about this?”

“Of course I’m sure. Doc Reynolds has been torturing them. Infecting them, seeing how long they last, pumping them full of fluids, nutrients, then shocking them to kill the things before starting all over. But most of them die after a few times, too weakened to continue, their bodies giving out.”

“Who told you this?”

“One of the guards. A guy named Devon. After a night of cards and heavy drinking, we went back to his room. We talked about our families. He kept drinking. I asked him about that locked door, where it went. He laughed, then told me everything. How Dr. Reynolds was taking homeless people and locking them up, experimenting on them, like something out of a horror movie. He said he had no idea if there were any left alive, and the only reason he sent you out was in the hope you’d bring back more people. People for him to experiment on.

“The next day, I thought I’d be called into Reynolds’ office for a chat, as I’m not supposed to know about what’s really going on, but never was. Devon said nothing to me about it again. I think he was so drunk he must have blacked out. Doesn’t remember telling me about it. He was so hung-over the next day he could barely stand without wanting to puke.”

Jack couldn’t believe what he was hearing. Dr. Reynolds was a monster. A modern Frankenstein. No wonder the man had been acting strange earlier.

Kevin was pacing again, like a Bengal tiger at the zoo.

“All right,” Jack said. “Calm down. Take a seat and we’ll figure this out.”

The kid stopped, looked Jack in the eyes. He laughed coldly, then said, “You don’t get it. He’s run out of people, and hasn’t gotten the bots to work properly yet.”

“So?”

“So he needs subjects. You and your friend are next.”

Jack felt as if he had been slapped. A lump formed in his throat that he tried unsuccessfully to swallow.

“You shouldn’t have come back, Jack. You should’ve stayed up there, tried to leave the city.”

Jack shook his head. There was no way anyone was leaving the city without using the escape tunnel or a helicopter. He was nothing but a trapped lab rat now. But thanks to the kid, he was aware, and could do something about it.

“Why did you tell me this?”

“I… I don’t know.” Kevin shook his head quickly, then ran a hand over his scalp. “You’re my friend, Jack, and this has been eating away at me for days. I can’t sleep or eat. After fighting overseas, returning home and getting this assignment, I figured this would be a great place to be. A safe working environment. I feel like I’ve been tricked-sent to work for the Devil.”

“There’s no way the military would sanction this, right?” Jack asked.

“No way. Not from what I know. This is some secret, underground shit. Some rogue branch I’m guessing. I’m sure in his official reports it’ll show that he used rats or monkeys.”

“Do all the guards know about this?”

“I’m not sure. Only the ones with access to C-wing I would guess, the high-ranking guards. Lopez and I don’t have access to that area. Being in such a small place, confined, I’m surprised we weren’t all brought in and told about it. There were others like us, but they aren’t here anymore.”

Jack did think it was strange. Why would Reynolds bring in people he couldn’t trust? “Was there a high turnover here, soldiers coming and going?”

Kevin nodded. “I’m newer than most. Maria Lopez, a friend and one of the guards here, lower-level like myself, did warn me not to get too comfortable with my current assignment, as a lot of soldiers were swapped out. Said only a few stayed on permanently. I wasn’t sure what to think of it, so I made sure I did everything I was told and did it well.”

“He was probably planning on swapping you and your friend out of here, only taking on people he could use, pay off, and trust to keep what went on in his lab a secret.”

“That makes sense. The only guards that never left were the ones that had access to C-wing.”

“Have you told any of the others like yourself about this?”

Kevin shook his head. “For all I know they’d report me. Try to get in good with the doc. Who would want to leave this cushy assignment? The only person I felt comfortable talking to about this was you. If you didn’t make it back, I’d have no choice but to talk to someone else. Luckily, for me, you did come back. It’s just not lucky for you that you did.”

“Can you trust any of them? I mean do you know any of them? Served with any of them before?”

“Yeah. Lopez. We served in Iraq together. She’s a good person. She’d never go along with what’s going on here.”

“And the others?”

Kevin shook his head. “I’ve no idea about them.”

Jack had thought he’d been subjected to the most awful part of this whole situation and that the worst was behind him, but as usual it was the human condition that proved to be the most terrible thing on the planet.

“And where do you fall into all of this? What do you propose we do about it?”

“I don’t know. I don’t have any fucking idea. We need to get the hell out of here. And fast. I want nothing to do with this. If I get out I’ll blow the whistle on Reynolds.”

Jack heard what he wanted to hear. If he and Zaun got to the outside, tried exposing Reynolds, most likely no one, especially the military, would believe them. However, having a soldier tell the tale was a different story. A more believable story. One that would call for an investigation at least. And if none of that worked, there was always the media, which meant they’d need proof.

“Okay,” Jack said. “How long do we have before he comes for me and Zaun?”

“Hell, I’ve got no idea, but I can’t imagine it will be long. Like I said, if he hasn’t run out of subjects yet, he soon will. For all I know, I’m as expendable as you. Shit, he might be planning on using all the low-ranking guards to experiment on. I mean, what choice does he have?” He paused, then added, “And Jack, I’m not leaving without checking C-wing for survivors.”

“Agreed,” he said, glad to hear that Kevin felt the way he did. It seemed as if the only thing the kid was sure about, because other than that, Kevin was looking to Jack to be the leader. Looking to him for answers. He wasn’t the soldier, but he was the elder, and he guessed that made him more experienced in the kid’s eyes.

“How difficult is it going to be to get all this accomplished and leave undetected?” Jack asked.

“Impossible. We’ll have to use force. Extreme force. Most likely fight our way out of here. Even kill. We should take out Chambers and use Reynolds as a hostage. With Chambers out of the picture, the others will be a little less organized and unsure, for a little while at least. They’re soldiers and will fall back to their training, becoming a cohesive unit. That’s why taking Reynolds hostage is a must. If we have him, his files… we should be all right. Both he and Chambers, from what I was told, are the only ones with access to the escape tunnel.”

“Do you have access to the weapons store?”

“No. I’ve only got my sidearm on me at all times.” Kevin patted the gun strapped to his hip. “That’s it. Only when I’m on active guard duty do I get an M4, and I don’t go back on until the morning.”

“The higher-ranking guards, do they always carry machine guns? Or do they return them to the arsenal?”

“All weapons, excluding knives and sidearms, are returned to the weapons store after a shift. Reynolds orders.”

“Okay,” Jack said, getting up off the bed. “So after we have Reynolds, we’ll need to head to the arsenal. Get some guns, then get the people out of C-wing. After that, we go to the escape tunnel and get the hell out of here.”

“Let’s just hope it goes that smoothly.”

“Wait here,” Jack told him. “I’m going to get Zaun. Don’t go anywhere or talk to anyone.”

Jack left the room and went down the hall to Zaun’s door. Like before, it was unlocked. He went in and saw that Zaun was still asleep. Going over to him, Jack started saying his name and shaking him.

“Jack?” Zaun croaked. “What’s going on? What time is it?”

“Get up and get dressed, take your jacket with you, but don’t wear it. Roll i t up and keep it tucked under your arm.”

“What’s going on, man?”

“Trust me,” Jack insisted, his hand on the doorknob. “Just do what I said. Meet me in my place as soon as you’re dressed.” He opened the door and headed back to his room.

A few minutes later, Zaun entered Jack’s room, and was quickly brought up to speed.

“Man,” Zaun said, “from one screwed up situation to another. This Reynolds guy sounds like a real scumbag.”

To Kevin, Jack asked, “Are you sure you can do this? I mean kill your fellow-”

“They’re not fellow anything, Jack,” the kid said, cutting Jack off. “They’re as guilty and as evil as Doc Reynolds. Orders are orders, but they all know what he’s doing would never be sanctioned. He’s got to be paying them off.”

“But still,” Jack continued, “these are fellow soldiers, human beings.”

“Killing isn’t new to me. It was just always the real enemy, so to speak, that was in my sights.” Kevin put his head down, seeming to be thinking something. Jack looked to Zaun, then back at Kevin. Talk was cheap, and Jack knew when the shit hit the fan, if it did, Kevin might have to kill fellow Americans, soldiers.

Kevin looked up, caught Jack’s stare. “As far as I’m concerned, the men working here are the real enemy. And I’m pretty sure after you guys, I’d be next on their list of test-subjects.”

Jack saw the look in his eyes, and knew the kid was for real.

“Okay,” Zaun said. “We’re ready to roll.”

“I want to bring Lopez in on this,” Kevin said.

“No way,” Zaun said, shaking his head. “Just us. Keep it simple.”

“She’s a friend; a good person, and doesn’t deserve to get stuck down here.”

“I don’t know, Kevin,” Jack said.

“I’ve served with her. She’s a stand up gal. Never got involved with anything shady. She’s got a daughter. Let me ask her. Tell her what’s going on.”

“No,” Zaun insisted. “We can’t take that chance.”

“I won’t do this without her. If she shows any sign that she’s going to tell Chambers, Doc or the others, I’ll tie her up. But she’s going to be on our side and we could use all the hands we can get. I won’t leave her here to be tortured and experimented on.”

“Splitting up now is not a good idea,” Zaun said.

“The two of you can take care of Reynolds. You get him, and Chambers will fall in line. No need even to go after him. I’d give you my sidearm, but I’ll need it in case Lopez doesn’t want to go along.”

“I have this,” Jack said, going over to his bed, lifting the mattress, and producing a small steak knife.

“Better than nothing and more than enough to take Reynolds with,” Kevin said. “I better get going. Lopez and I will meet you two at the weapons store. If you get there and I’m not present, then grab a few extra goodies and head to C-wing. I’ll meet you there.”

Jack didn’t like this at all. With the three of them going about business together, they had a better chance, but the kid wouldn’t budge. Once they had Reynolds, Jack would feel better. T he bottom line was: if Kevin didn’t make it, it was the kid’s own fault, though he couldn’t condemn the guy for having a heart.

“Good luck,” Jack told him. Kevin nodded to both men, then left.

“Ready to do this?” Zaun asked.

“Yeah,” Jack said. He handed Zaun the knife. “You take this; you’ll make better use of it.”

Zaun smiled. “That I will.”

Before leaving the room, Jack asked for a minute. He didn’t want to think or hesitate when it came time to do what he had to do. Just act. Or react. He would have time to think later, to deal with his emotions. He was about to embark on a journey that could be filled with bloodshed and pain. Could he prepare himself, having never been through such a thing? He had never served in the military. He didn’t grow up in a bad neighborhood where people died on a weekly basis. Jack had been in a few scuffles during his life, a few fistfights, but that was it. Was he really cut out to be a killer? No, he wasn’t, because he wasn’t a killer. He was a survivor, and someone who would defend himself. The people in the bunker meant him and his friends harm. They wouldn’t hesitate to kill him, torture him, so he couldn’t hesitate either. He needed to be strong, use a controlled viciousness if there was such a thing, because remaining levelheaded during combat was important. Important during any great undertaking. He needed to make it out alive and intact, for all of their sakes, including his sister’s.

He would see her again.

Zaun put his jacket on, and placed the knife inside it.

“These men are well-trained,” Jack warned his friend, looking him in the eye. “Professional soldiers, ready to kill.”

“Jack, after what I’ve been through, how far we’ve made it, I’m not about to pussy out. I’m no lab rat or human pin-cushion. It’s us against them.”

The look in Zaun’s eyes was one of fierceness. If Jack didn’t know any better, he’d swear the man had killed before, and maybe he had. The guy had been in that building for a while with all sorts of crazy shit going on. It wasn’t out of the question that his friend had to defend himself. Maybe Zaun looked at the undead as people, and as far as the man was concerned, he had killed already. It was a good mindset to have. Jack felt a little better at seeing how serious his normally non-serious friend was. There was no doubt in Jack’s mind that the guy was ready to do whatever needed to be done.

He only hoped he could do the same.

Chapter 16

Kevin knocked on Maria Lopez’ door, announced himself, and was told to come in. Roger Smithford, a high-ranking C-wing guard, was sitting in a chair. Of all the times to have a guest, he thought. Maria was sitting cross-legged on her bed, dressed in her pajamas. He knew Smithford and her were friends, but there was no way he was going to trust the guy. He thought about turning around, forgetting about Maria, and leaving with Jack and Zaun.

“What’s up?” Maria asked.

“I… um…” H e couldn’t get the words out, his mind caught between wanting to leave and wanting to stay. He turned to stare at Smithford.

“Meyers,” the man said, nodding.

Why the hell was the guy here?

Turning back to Maria, he said, “I have something I need to talk to you about. Something private.”

“You don’t look so good,” Maria said.

Smithford sat back, looking as if he hadn’t heard a word Kevin had said.

“I need to talk to you in private,” he reiterated.

“I get it,” Smithford said, not sounding the least bit upset. The man leaned forward, hi s chair clomping down. He stood, all six feet five inches of him. “You want me to leave.”

“Wait,” Maria told him, then looked at Kevin. “Can this wait until tomorrow?”

Kevin shook his head. “No, I really need to talk to you now.” He looked up at Smithford. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to intrude.”

“No problem,” Smithford said. “It’s getting late and I should let you two talk. Sounds like Kevin has a problem he needs help with.” He said goodnight, then left the room.

Kevin took a seat on Maria’s bed, leaving his booted feet on the floor. He couldn’t face her. Staring at the floor, he felt her hand on his shoulder.

“What’s wrong?” she asked.

“There’s not a lot of time, so I’m going to just spit it out.”

“Okay,” she said, taking her hand back.

He turned to face her and just started talking. He told her everything, from his drunken conversation with Devon, to just before he left Jack’s room.

“I know it’s hard to believe, but it’s all true,” he said, “and I want you to come with us.”

Maria sighed. “Kevin, not to be an asshole, but that’s the most ridiculous shit I’ve ever heard. I hope you’re puttin g me on. ”

He jumped up, unable to remain seated. “No. I’m dead serious. Didn’t you hear what I said?”

“You’re for real, aren’t you?”

“Yes, and there isn’t much time. We need to meet the others.”

Maria held up her arms. “Wait. Just wait. There’s no way our military would condone this type of thing, human experimentation. Maybe after the rats and monkeys were tested, then human trials, but outright torture and killing, no.”

“Don’t act like you’ve never seen shit. We both have. We’ve seen some nasty stuff that if it ever got out there’d be a public outcry.”

“That was different and those were some crazy-ass individuals. Who, may I remind you, were reprimanded.”

“Look, we’re leaving. Tonight. Getting out of here for good before it’s too late. For all I know you and me are next. We’re not part of the regular crew. We don’t have access to C-Wing. Reynolds has no test subjects left. What do you think he’s going to do to get more? Head out into the city because there are no more people there? It’s going to be Jack and Zaun and then us.”

Maria closed her eyes, shaking her head. Kevin could see he was putting doubt into her. On some level, she believed him.

“You’re talking about treason,” she said. “Going against orders, against your country. You’ll be put in front of a firing squad. You can’t do this.”

The door to the room burst open, startling both Kevin and Maria.

Smithford walked in, sidearm in hand.

“What the hell, Roger?” Maria barked.

“Was listening at the door,” he said. “Heard everything.”

“Get out,” Maria demanded, her voice cracking.

“Don’t,” Smithford warned, as Kevin went for his gun. “ Doc wants you alive and intact, but I’ll drop you where you stand if I have to. I’m sure as long as it’s not a fatal shot, the man can fix you back up; inject those little things into you.”

Kevin truly hated himself right now. He had been so careless. So stupid. Before speaking to Maria, he should have made sure that there was no one outside the door.

“I never liked you, Myers,” Smithford continued. “Fucking pussy.”

“Hey,” Maria shouted.

“Shut the fuck up,” Smithford demanded, keeping his eyes on Kevin. “Now, slowly, give me your sidearm.”

Kevin did as he was told, and handed the weapon over.

“He’s just confused,” Maria told Smithford. “He’s been down here too long. He doesn’t know what he’s talking about.”

“You’re a stupid bitch,” Smithford said. “You know that? Maybe if you’d been willing to put out, I would’ve tried to spare your ass; claimed you as mine, but you’re nothing but a dyke, aren’t you? Or maybe just a tease? Are you a tease?”

“What the hell is wrong with you, Roger?” Concern was evident on Maria’s face. “Cat’s out of the bag, stupid. You weren’t supposed to know about this place. What’s really going on. You two were temporary. Doc was going to ship you right back out, then hopefully get in some people, people like myself, that would go along with the program. But after the city fell, that plan went to shit. He was stuck with both of you. Military wasn’t letting anyone in or out. ”

“This is wrong,” Kevin pleaded. “Don’t you see that? Come with us.”

“Myers, you really are an idiot. Even if I wanted to, I wouldn’t leave here. It’s the safest place to be. But I ain’t going with you, because I’m going to do my job and get paid, paid a lot of dough for helping the Doc.”

Maria’s eyebrows came together, her face contorted into an angry snarl. “You piece of shit.” She went to get up, but Smithford stepped up to her and shoved her back down.

“Like I said, Doc wants you two alive and unharmed, if possible. Not sure why though. If I fuck you two up, he’ll just inject those bots into you and heal your asses.”

“So, everything Kevin said was true?” Maria asked.

“Wasn’t supposed to be like this, at least not for another couple of days. Maybe even a week, depending on how long Jack and his friend lasted. But fuck it. I’m sure the Doc will love hearing about your little plan to leave.”

“You haven’t radioed this in, asked for backup?” Kevin said.

“Nope,” agreed Smithford, eying Maria like a piece of meat. “Not yet.”

“What do you want then?” she asked.

Kevin knew. He saw the look in Smithford’s eyes. He wanted some alone time with her. Maybe he would offer her a deal in exchange for a romp in the sack. Or maybe he simply planned on raping her.

“He wants to have his way with you,” Kevin said coldly.

“What?” Maria asked, grabbing the blankets and pulling them up to her chest. “No.”

“You ruined the surprise.” Smithford stepped up to Kevin and smashed the butt of his gun into Kevin’s nose.

Pain exploded in Kevin’s head as white light flashed before his eyes. He stumbled back into the wall and crumpled to the floor. He heard Maria scream, then a loud smack sounded and she was quiet. Looking up through teary eyes, he saw Smithford standing over the bed, laughing.

“Leave her alone, asshole,” Kevin demanded.

Smithford turned toward Kevin, his eyes filled with malice. “You want more, huh?”

Kevin went to get up. He still had his knife strapped around his ankle, but took a boot to the stomach. The wind flew out of his lungs. He couldn’t breathe, and curled up on the floor. Smithford kicked him again and again. “Stay. ”-kick. “T he fuck, ”-kick. “Down,”-kick.

Kevin was on the verge of passing out when the blows finally stopped. Breathing was impossible and the pain was overwhelming. He thought for sure a few ribs were broken, and maybe some other parts too.

Halfway to unconsciousness, he heard Smithford talking to Maria. Shaking his head, he looked up and saw the big man on top of her. She was struggling, kicking her legs, but Smithford slapped her and held her down. He was simply too strong.

Focusing on saving his friend, Kevin pushed himself to his knees, finally able to draw in a small breath. Using the wall, he was able to stand. Smithford was too busy with Maria to notice him. She let out a scream, and yelled, “stop” and “no” and “help” before Smithford punched her in the face, silencing her.

“That’s better,” he said. “I don’t mind my women a little roughed up.”

Kevin pulled the knife from his boot, his stomach screaming at him for bending over to get it. He crept up behind Smithford, and using both hands raised the weapon.

Maria spit in Smithford’s face.

“Fucking bitch,” he growled, then tore her t-shirt down the middle, exposing her breasts.

With all he had, Kevin sank the knife into the back of Smithford’s neck, just below the skull. The man let out a small gasp, then collapsed onto Maria. Kevin shoved the man off of her, his body sprawled onto the bed.

Maria sat up, scooting away from the body, holding her shirt closed with both hands. She was breathing heavy, blood trickling from her nose and mouth.

“He… he tried to rape me,” she said, staring at the dead form. She looked at Kevin. “You fucking killed him.”

He nodded. His side was killing him and his face hurt like hell. The coppery taste of blood filled his mouth. “Now do you believe me?”

Maria nodded, tears streaming down her cheeks. She nodded. “We have to…”

“To what?” Kevin barked.

“Tell someone. Report what’s been going on here.”

“We will, expose Reynolds and the others, but first we have to make it out of here.”

Maria hopped out of bed, went over to her closet and changed into her black fatigues. She strapped on her gun belt and turned to Kevin.

Kevin grabbed his own gun from the floor, then Smithford’s, tucking it into his pants at the small of his back.

“Where to?” Maria asked.

“We’re meeting Jack and Zaun at the armory.”

“You better hope they have Reynolds or none of us will be going anywhere.”

A banging at the door made Kevin and Maria jump.

“Who is it?” she asked.

“Everything all right in there?”

“Yeah, everything’s fine.”

“I heard screaming.”

“I was having a nightmare. Sorry if I woke you.”

“Open up so I can make sure you’re okay.”

Maria’s nostrils flared as she took a breath. Silently, she mouthed the words “What do we do?”

“Ask. Who. It. Is,” he replied in a whisper.

“That you, Clark, wanting to get into my room after hours?” She tried to sound lighthearted, playful.

“Yeah, it’s Clark. Stop fooling around. You know the protocol. Just open up so I know everything’s okay or I’ll have to call whoever’s on duty.”

Shocking Kevin, Maria opened the door and put her gun in Jerome Clark’s face. He was wearing shorts and a white t-shirt, and looked as if he had been sleeping.

“What the hell, Maria?” he asked.

“Get in here or I swear to god I’ll blow your head off.” She backed up, giving him room to enter. She opened the door a little more, Kevin saw Clark’s eyes move to the bed where Smithford’s body lay-blood covering the man’s back and neck, staining the white sheets crimson-the knife still protruding from the corpse.

Clark’s eyes went wide, his mouth hanging open. “What the fuck did you guys do?”

“Get in here,” Maria demanded, talking through clenched teeth.

“Okay, just calm down,” Clark said, holding his arms out, but before Kevin knew it, the man had bolted from the doorway.

“Shit,” Maria said, running into the hall. Kevin pulled his sidearm, joining her. She aimed her gun at Clark’s back, but didn’t fire. “Damn it.”

Kevin watched the man’s form disappear into a room down the hall.

“You had a shot,” Kevin said.

“I’m not about to shoot a man in the back who might not be involved in all this.”

“Don’t you get it?” he asked. “We’re on our own. We killed Smithford. We’re as good as dead down here. You know what happens when a soldier turns on other soldiers. And these guys are nothing more than fucking mercs. All they’ll see are two people getting in the way of them making money. It’s us against them.”

Maria wiped a hand over her head. She looked on the verge of losing it. “I know. You’re right. I’m having a real hard time absorbing all this. I mean Smithford’s dead, and now Clark’s going to tell the others that we killed him.”

“Let’s move,” Kevin said. “We have to get to Jack and hope he has Reynolds. It’s the only way we’ll be safe. And don’t you dare hesitate on killing these pricks. They’re the enemy now and they won’t hesitate to kill you.”

They took off running down the hall when gunshots erupted from behind, Kevin feeling the whoosh of the bullets as they just missed his head. Turning, he saw Clark pointing his gun in their direction. He fired back, hitting Clark twice in the chest, red flowers blooming on his white t-shirt.

“Drop the weapon!” came a voice from behind.

Kevin spun around and saw Maria with her arms up. Two guards were standing at the end of the hall, having just come from the stairwell. He didn’t even think about trying to get off a shot-the two M4’s pointing his way ensuring him a quick death. With no other options, he joined Maria and put his hands in the air.

Chapter 17

Only a few guards patrolled the bunker’s hallways after 9 p.m. There was no “lights out” rule forbidding Jack from leaving his room whatever time he felt like doing so. If he and Zaun came upon a guard, they would simply say they couldn’t sleep, needing fresh air, so to speak.

A s it turned out, they didn’t run into anyone, and reached Chambers’ room unimpeded. There were cameras in most of the halls, but that was something neither Jack nor Zaun could do anything about.

Jack knocked on Chambers’ door, and a few seconds later, the big guy showed himself, wearing a t-shirt and boxers, obviously ready for bed. He eyed both men.

“What brings you two here at this-” the man’s eye went wide as the steak knife Zaun was holding sunk into his neck.

Jack stared in disbelief, watching the blade cut across the man’s throat, leaving behind a cavernous wound. Blood gushed, covering Zaun’s arm and Jack’s face and chest. Chambers’ hands shot out, one grabbing Jack, the other Zaun, but the man’s grip was weakening fast, his eyes staring at Jack in astonishment. Zaun kicked him in the stomach, sending him tumbling backward into the room.

Zaun shot passed Jack into the room, yanking him inside. Jack watched Zaun go over to Chambers as the man thrashed around on the floor, blood covering the room. “Shut the door, Jack,” Zaun said, harshly.

Jack stood motionless, unable to catch up with what had happened. He could only stare as Zaun leaned over Chambers and plunged the knife’s blade into the man’s chest, stilling him in seconds.

Turning to look at Jack, Zaun repeated his command to shut the door.

Shaken from his stupor, Jack reached for the door and closed it.

“Start looking for-” Zaun stopped mid-sentence and darted over to the nightstand positioned by the bed. Picking up a small piece of rectangular plastic, credit-card-like in appearance, he asked, “Is this it?”

“I… I. ” Jack’s mind was swirling, unable to stop seeing the image of Chambers’ neck opening up and blood pouring out. He had known the man. Had spoken to him about life. The guy had saved his and Zaun’s life back in the alley. He began panicking, wondering if they had made a mistake. What if Kevin was wrong about everything? Or crazy?

Zaun walked up to Jack and slapped him across the face. “What’s the matter with you?”

“You killed him.”

“You’re damn right I did. We couldn’t take a chance with this one, Jack. He would’ve smelled something was off. I had to act, get the first kill over with. I’m sorry if I startled you. Go throw up if you need to, but we need to keep moving.”

Jack stared at Zaun’s blood covered hands, the knife’s blade dripping with red.

Zaun grabbed Jack’s arms, and looked him in the eyes. “You remember why we’re here? What we have to do in order to get our asses out of here?”

Jack nodded. “Yeah, just let me get cleaned up.”

“Make it fast, we have to go.”

He hurried to Chambers’ bathroom. Looking in the mirror, he felt his stomach churn. His heart was beating fast, too fast. He needed to puke. Leaning over the toilet bowl, he hurled. He felt better. Back at the sink, he washed Chambers’ blood from his hands and face, then ran his jacket under the shower for a minute, getting it as clean as possible.

“I’m fine now,” he said, walking back into the room.

“Good,” Zaun said. “I didn’t enjoy killing him. I’d rather have tied the bastard up and left him here, but I didn’t survive all those days in my apartment, for you to risk your life rescuing me, only to be tortured to death. We’re getting out of here, Jack.”

“Hold on,” Jack said, then walked over to where a jacket was hanging up on a coat rack. Under the garment was a gun harness with a sidearm attached. Removing the piece, Jack saw that it was a Desert Eagle. 44 magnum, a powerful handgun. He ejected the clip, saw that it was loaded, then popped it back in and racked the slide, sending a bullet into the chamber. Taking off his wet jacket, he slid into Chambers’ harness and replaced the gun to the holster, before putting his jacket back on.

“Jack,” Zaun said, “you going to be able to use that?”

“I’ll be fine. It’s us or them, right?”

Zaun smiled. “Right.”

They left Chambers’ room, heading to Reynolds’ place, when someone yelled from behind.

Both men turned around and Jack was glad he decided to zip up his coat.

“Where are you two headed?” the guard asked. Jack recognized the man; name was Jacob, Ron Jacob, but had never spoken to him. The one time Jack did try talking to him, the guy said he was busy and for Jack to move along. Jack thought he was an asshole, but that didn’t mean he deserved to die. Then again, maybe he did. He was a high-ranking guard, always with Chambers and the others.

The man came closer, an M4 machine gun in his hands, but pointed at the floor. “Is that blood?” the man asked.

Jack turned to see that Zaun hadn’t cleaned the blood very well from himself, a bit showing on his sleeves and neck. He closed his eyes, furious with himself for not making sure they looked okay. If they made it passed this guard, they would both need to be more aware of such things.

“I’m hurt,” Zaun said, holding his side.

The guard looked Zaun up and down. “I’ll alert Doc Fredrich; take you to his office.”

Jack thought it odd that the man didn’t ask how hurt Zaun was or how Zaun became injured. Maybe he didn’t care or maybe he figured if Zaun was standing, walking, the injury was minor.

“We can’t let him take us there, Jack,” Zaun whispered as he leaned on his friend’s shoulder, faking a grimace. “You’ve got to take him out.”

Keeping his right hand on the trigger, the guard reached for his radio with the other.

Jack pulled the. 44 from his coat and pointed it at the guard. “Don’t,” he said.

“What the fuck are you doing?” the guard barked.

“We just want to leave,” Jack said. “Drop the weapon and turn around, hands against the wall.”

“Fuck you,” the man said, and went to raise his weapon.

Jack pulled the trigger. The gun erupted, the retort loud in the hallway. A small hole appeared in the man’s forehead before he collapsed backward to the floor.

“Damn it,” Jack hollered, lowering the weapon.

Zaun ran over and scooped up the machine gun, then grabbed the dead man’s Taser and sidearm. He tossed the man’s radio to Jack, then the Taser. Jack stuffed both items into his jacket pockets.

“Can we use these?” Zaun, said, holding up a bunch of zip-ties.

“We’ll need them for Reynolds.”

Zaun stuffed the ties into one of his pockets.

Jack stared at the dead man. He thought he would feel terrible, shaky, but he felt nothing.

“We have to move, Jack. I’m sure someone heard the shot.”

They walked quickly down the hall, making sure not to run in case they bumped into another guard. When they reached Reynolds’ door, Zaun stood off to the right of it, hiding the machine gun from view.

Jack raised his arm to knock when an alarm sounded.

“Guess someone found the body in the hall,” Zaun said.

“No,” Jack said, pounding his fist against the door. “Right here.” He pointed up, indicating a small red lens just above the doorframe. Reynolds had a security camera allowing him to see who was outside his door. “He must have seen you with the machine gun and hit the alarm.”

Jack began kicking the door, trying to break in, but the thing was solid. He needed to destroy the lock. Pulling out the. 44 magnum, he told Zaun to back away, and fired at the mechanism. The bullet turned the cylinder into a twisted mash of metal. Jack began kicking at the door again, the thing loosening up.

“Security’s been alerted, Jack,” Reynolds said, his voice coming from the small intercom outside the door.

Zaun joined in as both men kicked at the door until it finally flew inward.

Gunshots rang out, the bullets whizzing passed Jack’s head.

Zaun reached around the doorway and fired his machine gun.

“What are you doing?” Jack asked, incredulously. “We need him alive.”

“Sorry, it’s just when someone’s shooting at me, I tend to shoot back.”

More shots came from Reynolds’ room, the bullets ricocheting off the doorframe.

“Well, at least he’s still alive,” Zaun said.

“We only want the keycard so we can leave this place,” Jack yelled, lying to Reynolds.

More shots rang out, hitting the doorframe and sending splinters of wood into the air.

“We’ve got to go in and get this guy,” Zaun said. “Any minute we could have armed men bearing down on us.”

“We’re coming in, Reynolds. Throw down your weapon or we’ll be forced to shoot.”

Jack waited. Nothing happened. No gunshots; no response.

He bent low, gun at the ready, and peered into the room. Reynolds wasn’t in his line of sight. Inching out a little farther, he was able to scan most of the room, no sign of the man. Reynolds could be in the bathroom or hiding behind the door.

“Watch my back,” Jack said. “Keep your eyes on the hall that leads to the bathroom.”

He went low, sliding along the floor into the room and had his gun pointing behind the door in seconds. The area was clear. He got to his feet and saw Zaun aiming his gun toward the bathroom.

Jack shut the room’s door.

Looking around, he saw there was no place for Reynolds to have hidden. The faux fireplace blazed away and an empty bottle of brandy was sitting on a small table in front of it.

Jack went over to the bathroom and kicked in the door, making sure to be out of the line of fire. When nothing happened, he peered into the lavatory and found it empty. Where the hell had Reynolds gone?

He walked back into the living room portion of the tiny apartment, picked up the empty bottle, and threw it against the wall. The glass shattered into tiny shards.

“Feel better?” Zaun asked.

Jack ignored his friend. Reynolds had an escape tunnel leading from the room. It was the only explanation for the man’s disappearance. The guy was probably in another part of the facility by now, arming himself or gathering infantry.

“He’s gone, Jack. Must’ve had a way out. A secret door or something. I don’t know if you want to try and find it or not, but we have to do something. We’re going to have company real soon. I say we head for his office and hope for the best.”

Zaun was right, but any hope of escaping just went from good to terrible. Without Reynolds as a hostage, they had no leverage. It would be a number of armed guards against a few fools. It couldn’t end like this. Jack looked around the room, searching for an answer as to the doc’s whereabouts. Then it hit him. He snapped his fingers, catching Zaun’s attention, then pointed to the bookcase.

Zaun nodded, then raised his weapon.

“Come out from behind there or my friend is going to start shooting at it. He’s itching to kill someone, especially you. All we want is the keycard so we can get our butts out of here.”

Zaun fired a shot high, the bullet dislodging a book, sending its torn remains to the floor.

The bookcase clicked, then slid sideways, revealing Reynolds, standing in a small room. A Glock was resting on the floor at his feet.

“Kick the gun over here,” Jack said, and Reynolds did. He picked it up, and placed it into a pocket.

“Now get out of there,” Jack ordered, keeping his gun aimed at the man.

“You’re crazy, Jack,” Reynolds said. “After everything I did for you; gave you. And this is how you repay me?”

“Cut the bullshit. We know what you’ve been up to; how you’re using people, killing them.”

“They were homeless drug addicts. They would’ve died on the streets or hurt someone. They were doing nothing for society. I gave them a way to contribute.”

Zaun stepped forward and knocked the butt of his gun into the man’s head. Reynolds staggered back, holding a hand to his temple. Blood trickled from between his fingers.

“I say we shoot the bastard right here.” Zaun pressed the muzzle of his weapon to the man’s head.

Hands up and out, the doc backed up a step. “Don’t do anything stupid. You’re under a lot of stress. You’ve been cooped up to long and aren’t thinking clearly. And Jack, you’ve suffered a great deal. Stop this madness before someone gets hurt.”

“Sure, Doc,” Jack said. “We’ll put down our weapons and surrender, so you can stick us in C-Wing and fill us with bots.”

“You need me alive,” Reynolds said, “or they’ll cut you two to shreds.”

“Don’t we know it,” Zaun said. “That’s why you’re coming with us.”

“Where are we going?”

“To the escape tunnel; to freedom, and away from you,” Jack said.

Reynolds started laughing. “Leaving here isn’t going to happen, Jack. And it’d be a big mistake to do so.”

“Jack,” Zaun fumed, “this guy’s really pissing me off. Can we please get the hell out of here?”

Jack told Reynolds to turn around and place his hands behind his back. Zaun handed him a zip-tie and Jack slid the plastic cuff over the doctor’s wrists, securing them tightly.

“Fuck me,” Zaun said, as he headed over to Reynolds’ hideout. “Piece-of-shit had my sword.”

“A fine piece of craftsmanship,” Reynolds told him.

“We can add thief to all the other things you are.” Zaun picked up his baby. He checked the blade. Appearing satisfied, he sheathed it, then tucked it between his hip and belt. Using the small pieces of fabric attached to the sheath, he tied the weapon in place. “I would’ve been uber pissed if we got to the armory and it wasn’t there. You’re a lucky son of a bitch, Doc.”

Jack was beginning to wonder if his friend, who had always been a bit ‘odd,’ had gone a little off the deep end. Zaun had spent a lot of time alone in his apartment. He guessed the guy was as frightened and nervous as he was, trying his best not to flip out.

They exited the room and were heading down the hall, on their way to the weapons store, when Jack saw a group of guards heading their way. Kevin and Guard Lopez at the front, machine guns pointed at their backs.

“Tell your men to put down their weapons,” Jack ordered Reynolds, “and release Meyers and Lopez.”

“Jack,” Reynolds responded. “Before you go down this path, and I see you’ve gotten others to join you, think about what you are doing.”

“I have,” he said, pressing the. 44’s barrel to the back of Reynolds’ skull. “Now tell them.”

When Reynolds said nothing, Jack cracked the man in the side of his head with the gun-Reynolds’ crying out-then returned the weapon to the back of the man’s head. “Call. Them. Off.”

“You’re going to regret this, Jack.”

Zaun stepped forward, steak knife in hand, and put the blade’s tip just under Reynolds’ right eye. The man winced. “We don’t have to kill you. We can maim you, keeping you alive just enough to get what we want.”

The guards were just down the hall. Their weapons remained pointed at both Kevin and Lopez, whose faces were bloodied and bruised. Jack thought it lucky they were still alive, and probably the only reason being was that the doc needed subjects.

“Last time I’m going to ask,” Jack said, “and then my friend pokes out an eye.”

Jack wanted Zaun behind him, in case one of the guards thought he could get off a shot, but liked them seeing Reynolds surrounded by gun and bladed implement.

“Lower your weapons,” Reynolds finally said.

The guards remained as they were for a moment, until the one behind Lopez shoved her forward. He placed his sidearm against her head. “Lower your weapons and release the doctor. You have until the count of three, or she dies.”

Zaun turned, and threw the knife at the guard, hitting the man in his throat.

The man dropped his gun and stumbled backward, holding his throat, complete and utter shock on his face. One of the other guards went to help him, but Reynolds spoke up.

“Leave him; he’s already dead.”

Everyone watched as the guard pulled the knife from his neck, then fell to the floor, blood continuing to gush, leaving streaks and puddles everywhere. Desperation filled the man’s face as he tried crawling forward, his doom imminent.

Jack pointed the. 44 at the man and put a bullet into his head, the guard’s body going limp.

The others appeared stunned, staring at their dead comrade as blood pooled around him.

Jack returned his gun to Reynolds’ head, his hand shaking slightly.

The guards’ demeanor began to change, from astonishment to anger.

“Get behind me,” he whispered to Zaun, and his friend did, readying his M4.

The guards looked enraged. Behind the muzzles of their guns, Jack could see the hate in their eyes.

“Drop your weapons,” Reynolds said, his voice taking on a heavy, authoritative tone. “The man is dead because he didn’t obey a direct order.”

Jack began to worry the others wouldn’t either; that they’d seen one of their own killed, and would want revenge, but his worries were squashed as the men laid down their arms.

“Kevin,” Jack asked, “you guys all right?” The kid nodded. “We’re a little banged up is all.”

“Fucking traitors,” one of the guards said.

“Tell your men to back away,” Jack demanded, fearing that not all was okay yet.

Reynolds complied, ordering his men back.

“Grab the weapons and a radio, then get over here,” Jack said.

When Kevin and Lopez were out of harm’s way, Jack had Reynolds make an announcement over the walkie. The man ordered his staff to stand down and to let Jack and the others pass without hindrance. If they complied, no harm would befall him.

The guards were cuffed, using their own zip-ties, and shoved into a room where they were ordered by Reynolds to remain until told otherwise. Jack didn’t imagine the guards staying tied up for long, but anything to slow them down and keep them from causing trouble was a good thing.

When all was said and done, Jack and the others had quite a little arsenal: two more M4 machine guns with an extra magazine each; two more 9mm Glock 21’s with an extra clip each; and three Tasers.

Jack took out the Glock he’d taken from Reynolds and popped in a fresh clip, the old one feeling rather light. Now he had the. 44 magnum, the Glock 9mm, which he returned to his waist, and a T aser. Zaun had his sword, a Glock, and a machine gun. Kevin took one of the machine guns, an extra magazine and one of the Glocks. Lopez, who said to call her Maria, had a machine gun, a sidearm, a Taser, and a few extra clips for the guns.

The group moved easily down the halls, using the stairs, not wanting to take the chance of getting trapped in the elevator. For all Jack knew, the thing had security features, like a sleeping agent that could be released when undesirables were inside.

Just outside Reynolds’ office was the weapons store and down the hall from that was C-Wing. If the weapons store hadn’t been on the way, Jack thought they might’ve skipped it entirely, especially with them being so well-armed now. But since it was on the way, why not check it out, and at least stock up, leaving less for Reynolds’ men.

Using Reynolds’ keycard-Chambers’ in his pocket-Jack unlocked the arsenal. The room wasn’t very wide, and was as deep as an oversized walk-in closet. He kept an eye on Reynolds and the hallway while the others went in and further armed themselves.

Zaun came out quickly, holding Jack’s shotgun and ammo belt, still filled with shells. “Thought you might want these back,” he said. Jack took the gun, admired it for a moment, then shouldered the weapon. “And these,” Zaun continued, producing and proffering to Jack the Sig Sauer and his. 45 caliber Smith and Wesson. Jack smiled as he took the guns. Both were loaded.

“Rifle’s in there too,” Zaun told him, “if you want it.”

Zaun took over watch of Reynolds and the hallway as Jack entered the room, Kevin and Maria passing him by on their way out.

Jack looked around the armory. Ten M4 machine guns rested against the wall on his right; crates of magazines below. On the far wall were eight Glock 21’s. Boxes of varying ammo filled the shelves on the left, along with Tasers and Taser re-loads, gas masks, flash-bang grenades, mini attachable gun lights, and flashlights. He grabbed a couple of clips for the Glock, found a box of. 45 shells, took two flash-bang grenades and headed out.

Jack asked if everyone was good before closing the weapons room door. Everyone had taken a couple flash-bang grenades, Maria explaining how to use them, informing Jack and Zaun that they were designed to disorient a person, everything from temporary blindness to hearing loss. When used, it was a good idea to close one’s eyes and cover one’s ears.

“Does anyone else have access to this room?” Jack asked.

“I know the Doc and Chambers did. Not sure about any others,” Maria answered.

“Me either,” Kevin echoed.

“Well?” Jack asked Reynolds.

“Only two others have access cards to the arsenal.”

“Doesn’t matter; as long as we have this asshole,” Zaun said, nudging Reynolds, “we’ll be fine.”

Chapter 18

Just down the hall was C-wing. Using the keycard, Jack opened the security door. He kept the. 44 magnum at Reynolds’ head.

Two guards, both holding M4’s stood before the group.

“Drop the weapons and stand back,” Jack demanded.

“Do as he says, gentlemen,” Reynolds ordered. “They’ll be leaving us real soon.”

Faces like carved granite, the guards laid down their weapons and stood to the side.

Maria removed the magazines and clips from the guns. The two guards were ushered into a nearby office where their own zip ties were used to subdue them.

Moving down the hall, there was a windowed laboratory on the left. Three scientists surrounded a zombie lying on a steel table. Jack thought the place looked exactly like the operating room in a hospital. The men were so absorbed in what they were doing that Jack didn’t think they even noticed him or the others.

“You’re a sick bastard, you know that?” Zaun said to Reynolds. He walked up to the door and kicked it open. The scientists jumped, startled by the abrupt intrusion.

“You better stop your man from doing anything stupid,” Reynolds warned.

“Zaun,” Jack yelled. “Stop. Let the men work.”

Zaun spun around, his eyes slits. “What?”

“Listen to your friend,” Reynolds said, talking to Zaun. “He understands.”

Zaun came from the doorway, gun out and pointed at Reynolds’ head. “One more word out of you and screw the consequences, you’re dead.”

“Zaun,” Jack said. “He’s right. Whoever’s on that table is dead. There’s no helping him anymore. We need to help the survivors. And as much as I’d like to blow this place sky-high, the work here is essential. Reynolds’ people are the only ones who might be able to stop all this.”

Zaun continued to stare at Reynolds, his cheek muscles flexing as he clenched his jaw.

Jack didn’t like leaving things as they were. He wasn’t sure he was doing the right thing by allowing the experimentations to continue, but to him at least, Reynolds and his team were necessary evils. He knew the man wanted to get control over the situation. N o scientist wanted to be a failure.

Seeing his friend still fuming, Jack reminded Zaun that they were there for the survivors. The dead weren’t going to get any better.

“For the record,” Zaun spat. “This sucks.”

“I’m with you,” Maria said, “but Jack’s right. As much as I hate what this man’s done, he’s needed.” Stepping up to Reynolds, she added, “But don’t think for one second you’re getting away with any of this. I’m going to report you; see to it you’re brought up on humanitarian charges, treason, espionage, and whatever else I can come up with.”

“Amen to that,” Zaun said. He sighed. “Fine, I’m with you all, but if he gets out of line I’m going to pound on his face a little.”

“Agreed,” Jack said. Then to Reynolds, “You hear that, asshole? You’ve got something to live for, to finish your work. So don’t try anything stupid, and as soon as we’re out of here, we’ll let you get back to it.”

The group continued down C-wing, passing by other labs and offices and a few of what appeared to be operating rooms. A number of undead were being poked and prodded, electrocuted, cut up, and whatnot. Jack felt sick at seeing the carnage, but also at seeing the glee and seriousness on the scientists’ faces. He began to shake with anger. Needing to burst, he did the next best thing. Spinning Reynolds around, he punched him in the gut. The man collapsed to the ground, curling up into a ball, coughing.

“What happened?” Kevin asked.

“Sorry. I lost it. Seeing those rooms. W hat he did to those people. H ow he used them… I just needed him to hurt a little. I know he’ll pay for what he’s done. I just couldn’t help it.”

“No problem here,” Zaun said. “Can I have a go? I’ve been dying to do that all night?”

Jack almost laughed, his emotions like a roller coaster.

The hallway grew dim as the overhead lights faded, as if the power were about to go out. A high-pitched alarm chirped. Red lights came on along the ceiling, flashing like the strobes on a police car. A door at the end of the hall opened, the same door where the “test-subjects” were held.

Jack spun around to check behind him. Zaun screamed that Reynolds was getting away. He turned around and saw the man dash into one of the lab rooms. Fuck, the bastard had used the confusion to escape.

Jack ran after Reynolds, but the room’s door was locked. He pounded on it to no avail, meeting Reynolds’ eyes. The mad scientist was grinning as if he was possessed. Two men in white lab coats stood behind him, patting him on the shoulders. The madman’s fellow goons must have sounded the alarm, hoping for a distraction so they could get their leader back. It had worked.

“You’ve got to be kidding me?” Zaun said. He raised his weapon at the glass but Kevin stopped him, knocking the weapon aside.

“Don’t bother,” the kid said, rapping his knuckles on the glass. “It’s bullet proof; hell, bomb-proof for all I know. You’ll only waste ammo, maybe catch a ricochet.”

“We’ve got company,” Jack told the others.

From the open room at the end of the hall came the undead, the bot-controlled corpses filing into the hall like escaping convicts too doped up to run for it. Now Jack understood why the alarm had gone off-someone had opened the “test-subject” room, which was now a “zombie” containment room.

“Jack,” Kevin said, “Don’t bother. It’s a diversion. We need to get out of here before the guards show up outside C-wing and pin us down.”

Five undead were ambling down the hall, with more coming from the room. Jack wondered how many there were.

“I’ll take care of this,” Zaun said, pulling out his sword after shouldering his M4. “You guys get to the door and make sure we have a clear path to Reynolds’ office.”

Jack nodded and took off with the others. They quickly made it to the exit. Jack slid the card through the card reader. The red light flashed but remained on. He swiped it again, slower, thinking maybe he’d moved it to fast, but the red light remained on.

“It’s not working,” he said.

“It has to be the alarm,” Kevin said, looking back down the hall. “We have to get that door shut.”

Turning around, Jack watched as Zaun moved like a seasoned-swordsman from some martial arts horror film, as limbs and heads flew from bodies. With the alarm blaring and Zaun busy, there was no way Zaun would hear him yell to shut the door.

“It’s too loud for him to hear us,” Kevin said, as if reading Jack’s thoughts. “I’ll be right back; you guys get that door open.”

Jack watched Kevin run down the hall as Zaun decapitated a tall male zombie, the last of the undead. He hoped with all he had that shutting the door would turn off the alarm and let them exit C-wing.

“Jack, be ready to start blasting,” Maria warned. “We might have company on the other side of this door. ” He nodded, watching Kevin pass by the room Reynolds had ducked into when the man opened the door, poked his arm out, gun in hand, and fired at Kevin.

“No!” Jack screamed. Kevin fell forward to the floor as if an invisible force had shoved him. Jack bolted down the hall, yelling for Maria to keep her gun pointed at the door Reynolds was behind.

He ran passed the room, Maria telling him she had him covered.

Kevin wasn’t moving. Jack rolled him over and saw the blood, all the blood. The floor was slick with the stuff and Kevin’s jacket had a huge, ragged hole in it. Jack tore open the kid’s jacket and lifted his shirt, revealing a ghastly, gory, exit wound.

“Jack,” Kevin said, coughing up blood.

“Damn it.”

“Sorry.”

“There’s no need for that. We’re going to get you out of here.”

Kevin smiled, his teeth glistening red. “There’s no way I’m leaving here… at least not alive.”

Jack thought about the bots; if they could somehow save Kevin’s life, but there was no time.

“I can save him, Jack,” came Reynolds’ voice from the speaker next to the room’s door. “Give him to me and maybe, just maybe he’ll live.”

Jack felt a tug at his sleeve. He turned to look at Kevin, who was shaking his head. “No, Jack. No.”

“We can leave you with him; let him fix you up, then come back after we get help.” Jack felt like shit for even suggesting the idea, but Kevin was just a kid, beginning his life. He deserved to make it, to get out of the bunker and to a normal life.

Kevin tried speaking, but only coughed up more blood, dark, almost black in color.

“What’s it going to be, Jack?” Reynolds said. “He doesn’t have much time.”

“It’s okay,” Kevin said, grabbing Jack’s hand. “Just make sure.. you… get everyone out.” Jack felt the kid’s grip loosen before his hand fell away. Looking into his eyes, he watched the light go out in them, his head lolling to the side.

Jack closed his eyes. He took a deep breath before opening them again. Reaching up, he lowered Kevin’s eyelids.

He heard Maria tell Zaun to shut the door; that it was keeping them from leaving.

“What’s going on, Jack?” Maria asked.

“He’s dead.”

“What? N o.”

Jack stood, heard the alarm cut off, then walked over to the intercom. Pressing the button, he said, “I’m going to make sure you never leave this place.”

“Jack, this isn’t the time,” Maria said. “We need to leave.” She looked at Reynolds, then spit on the glass. “Puta tu’ madre, bendaho.”

Pressing the button again, Jack added, “I hope you rot in this tomb,” then backed away from the device. Needing some kind of satisfaction, he did the only thing he could think of, pointed the Desert Eagle at the intercom, and blew it to pieces.

“Come on, Jack,” Zaun said, putting a hand on Jack’s shoulder.

“Yeah, we need to leave,” Maria said, her voice cracking.

Jack turned to face Kevin’s corpse. “Not sure how those little fuckers work on an already dead body, but-” he pulled out the Sig, not wanting to obliterate the kid’s head with the magnum, and fired twice, leaving two small black holes in Kevin’s head. “Now we can leave.”

At the exit, Jack asked if there was any way to know if someone was waiting on the other side of the door.

Maria shrugged. “Maybe from one of the offices. I’m sure they monitor the door at times, or at least have a camera there.” She left, entering the closest office, while Jack and Zaun kept an eye on the hallway.

Emerging a moment later, she said, “All clear, but that could change. Camera’s only good for right outside the door.”

Jack slid the card through the reader and watched the green LED come to life. The door clicked and soon the group found themselves standing outside of C-wing. Before closing the door, Jack blew apart the card reader on the inside, then did the same for the reader on the outside.

“That should hopefully prevent Reynolds from leaving, at least without help from the outside.”

They made it to his office. Jack, last in line, was about to enter when he saw a group of guards coming down the hall. They raised their weapons and opened fire, just missing him as he dove inside. Tiny explosions riddled the doorframe as a barrage of bullets bit into the wood, sending splinters everywhere.

Maria ran to the door and returned fire. “Zaun, get over here. Get another gun ready and hand it to me when I tell you to.”

Jack got to his feet and surveyed the room. Not seeing an escape hatch, he hurried over to a bookcase and swung the thing open, knocking a row of books down. A door similar to C-wing’s stood before him, only this one had a keypad attached to it. He hoped it was to use in the event Reynolds’ keycard was lost or broken and not an added security feature.

Gunfire exploded from behind. Jack turned to see Maria firing down the hall, Zaun kneeling next to her, holding an M4.

Jack slid the keycard through the reader and heard a beep, the red LED remaining on. The keypad illuminated, indicating Jack was to punch in numbers. He closed his eyes. The fucking door needed a code.

Chapter 19

“There’s a keypad lock on the door,” Jack yelled to the others, over the sound of gunfire.

“Well, you better figure it out,” Maria shouted back, firing off a three round burst. She exchanged weapons with Zaun, who speedily loaded a fresh magazine into the gun he was handed.

“I was hoping you could help with that,” Jack said.

“Me? Y ou forget who you’re talking to? I’m as low on the totem pole as it gets around here.”

“What’s Reynolds’ birthday?”

Another three round burst.

Maria shook her head. “No idea.”

“Are you nuts?” Zaun asked Jack. “You think that old trick will work?”

“Go check his desk; his computer,” Maria suggested, firing off another burst. “Maybe he wrote it down somewhere.”

Jack doubted it, but went around to Reynolds’ mahogany desk anyway. The computer was on, but Jack didn’t think the code would be on it. He started pulling out drawers, rifling through them, finding numerous papers, a letter opener, tacks, scissors, but no code. When he was done, papers lay everywhere and the drawers rested on the floor.

Frustrated, Jack kicked one of the drawers, sending it into the wall.

It was over. They were screwed. He picked up the leather-backed chair and tossed it over the desk.

“I take it you didn’t find the code?” Zaun said.

Jack was tired. He needed to sit. Taking a step back, he collided with the wall, then slid down it to the floor. His body felt heavy. So, so heavy. It was difficult holding his head up. He’d put all their lives at risk. It was his idea to go ahead and try to escape. He was the leader, whether they liked it or not. Kevin was dead, and soon they would be too, but not before the bots ate them up, draining their bodies of everything.

Reynolds had won.

Jack’s sadness turned to anger. Grinding his teeth, he said, “No,” then pounded on the floor with his hands. Standing up, he looked around. He didn’t know what to do. Without the code, it was only a matter of time before they were overtaken, captured, or killed.

“They’re getting closer, Jack,” Maria yelled.

The room went red.

He stood, grabbed the desk and heaved it onto its front, grunting as he did so. Looking at the desk, he saw a small white rectangle attached to the underside of one of the drawer slots. He grabbed the object. It was a keycard. A backup master? Turning the card over, he almost shouted with glee. Four numbers, written in black magic marker stared back at him.

With card in hand, Jack bolted back to the escape hatch and using a shaky finger, punched in the numbers. After the last key was pressed, the red light went off, the green one came on, and the door clicked open. Grabbing the handle, Jack pulled and opened the door.

Damp, cool air, swept over him, supplying a welcomed chill. He turned around and yelled to Zaun and Maria. She fired a few more bursts before the two of them ran over to him. As they stepped inside the tunnel, Jack saw armed men enter the office. He shoved his friends out of the way and slammed the door closed.

“We made it,” Zaun said, looking relieved. He patted Jack on the back.

“How did you get the code?” Maria asked.

Jack showed them the card, explaining how he found it taped to the top of one of the drawer slots.

“Simply amazing,” Maria said.

Dim, overhead LED lights, spaced about ten feet apart, lighted the tunnel. The walls were bedrock, jagged, and cool to touch. Steel support beams, like a ribcage, supported the tunnel. Jack felt like he was entering a coal mine.

Compared to where they had been, the silence was now deafening. Not a thing could be heard on the other side.

“Damn, I guess we’re a bunch of lucky bastards,” Zaun said.

Maria was on the floor, reloading the M4’s. “Well if we want to keep being lucky we better move.”

“I thought we were safe now? ” Zaun asked. “There’s no way they’re getting through that door.”

“That may be, but I don’t want to wait around and find out,” Maria said, standing and handing Zaun his weapon. “Reynolds isn’t dead, remember. He’ll know a way.”

“She’s right,” Jack agreed. “No telling if they have other keycards or another way of getting to us.”

They worked their way down the tunnel. Jack figured they had a few miles before they reached the exit. Where exactly did the tunnel lead? Would there be hostiles waiting for them? Maybe Reynolds had radioed ahead and now a team of armed soldiers was coming their way. He brought it up to Maria, who had no idea, but agreed anything was possible.

As far as where the tunnel ended, Jack figured it to be somewhere on the mainland, but then thinking about it, that meant the tunnel had to go on for some length. The tunnel must lead to somewhere closer, like Queens or Brooklyn, neither a part of Manhattan, but both a part of Long Island. They would need to cross a bridge to get to the mainland. As long as they didn’t end up in some military facility, or heavily armed building, they’d be fine.

Once they were topside again, they could go to the proper authorities-even the news-and have Maria confirm Jack’s and Zaun’s story. They’d have to act fast, because whoever was funding the bot program would want it kept secret and would come after them.

About thirty minutes into the trek, the group came upon a cutout in the rock where four wide lockers rested, one having a Red Cross symbol on it. With none of the lockers having locks on them, Jack opened the first one and found stacks of MRE’s inside. He hadn’t realized it, but he was starving. It was late and he was running on fumes. He didn’t think it was a good idea to stop, wanting to put as much distance between himself and his pursuers as possible, but he needed nourishment, and guessed the others did too.

Jack opened the next locker and found bottles of water wrapped in plastic, just like in a supermarket.

“Emergency food store,” Maria said, “in the event that people get stuck down here.”

Jack ripped open one of the packs of water and passed a bottle to her and one to Zaun. Taking one himself, he guzzled the entire contents.

“What’s in door number three?” Zaun asked.

Jack opened the next locker and found four M4’s. Eight magazines rested on shelves. Picking one up, he felt its heaviness, knowing it was loaded to capacity.

“Guess our ammo problem is solved,” he said.

“Good,” Maria said, “we used quite a bit holding off the guards.”

Jack handed the magazines to Maria and Zaun, keeping a couple for himself, then closed the door, leaving the guns. Without ammo, they were useless and they had plenty of their own weapons.

Maria began preparing a few MRE’s, opening the meals, adding water and letting them cook.

The remaining locker, Jack assumed was stocked with medical supplies. Opening it, he found bandages, wraps, ointments, sprays, splints, tourniquets, and a clear case containing four needles, each needle filled with an orange fluid. He showed them to Maria who, if she had to guess, said they were probably adrenaline shots.

“Food’s ready,” she announced.

They ate quickly and were soon on the move again, taking bandages, ointments, and the box of needles.

Ten minutes later, they came to a split in the tunnel.

“Which way?” Zaun asked.

“No idea,” Jack said, softly.

This was definitely not something he had counted on. Why two tunnels? Was one a dead end? Built to confuse any escaping party? No, that didn’t seem right. If the tunnel went under the Hudson River, it had to lead to Brooklyn or Queens, the two boroughs directly across the way from Manhattan. Maybe a tunnel went to each, but that didn’t make sense. One must go to Brooklyn or Queens, the other to the mainland, the Bronx being the closest. He didn’t want to be in the tunnel any longer than necessary, so heading to Brooklyn or Queens, most likely the passageway on the right, would get them above ground much faster than walking all the way to the Bronx, or wherever the tunnel led.

“I say we go right,” he said, explaining his thinking, and the others agreed. No one wanted to be underground any longer than need be.

They trekked onward for what seemed like an hour. Jack was beginning to think he’d made a mistake and was about to speak up when they came around a bend and saw an identical door to the one in Reynolds’ office.

“We made it,” Zaun said.

“We don’t know what’s on the other side, ” Jack warned. “So be ready and careful.”

Jack was about to swipe the keycard when a blast of gunfire erupted from behind. Sparks flew as bullets pinged off the wall. Maria let out a groan before ducking into a small crevice. Zaun and Jack flattened themselves against the opposite wall.

“Hold them off until I get the door open,” Jack said.

Maria began firing back, Zaun doing the same.

Jack went to swipe the card and in his haste, missed the reader completely. Trying a second time, moving a tad slower, he swiped the card, then entered the code on the keypad. The green LED came on and he yanked the door open.

“Let’s go,” he yelled, producing his. 45 and firing down the tunnel, giving the others cover. Zaun backpedaled towards the door until he was inside. Jack watched as Maria pulled a flashbang from her belt and tossed it down the hall. He covered his ears, seeing Maria do the same. After the grenade went off, Jack moved aside, letting Maria exit the tunnel before he slammed the door shut.

They were in a small room with cinder block walls and a single overhead fluorescent light. Elevator doors stood to the left and a set of steel stairs took up the back wall.

“They must have a key,” Maria said, out of breath.

“Or blew it open,” Zaun suggested.

Either way, Jack thought, they had company. He went over to Maria and checked on her. “You okay?”

She looked at her arm; the jacket sleeve was torn and bloodied. Removing her jacket, face grimacing, Jack saw a gash on her upper arm.

“You’re hurt.”

“I’m fine.”

“We should clean it; make sure.”

“No time. It’s just a graze; painful but I’ll still be able to use the arm.” Maria slipped her jacket back on.

They took the stairs up five flights before coming to a landing with another security door, keypad and all. Jack slid the card and punched in the code. When the green light came on, he paused, glancing over his shoulder. “Ready?”

The others nodded.

Anything could be on the other side. They were getting closer to the surface, were probably there already.

With the. 45 in hand, Jack grabbed the handle and pulled the door open.

Chapter 20

A long cinder block corridor, extending into the gloom stood before Jack. A body, dressed in camouflage-patterned fatigues, lay a few feet away. Blood was pooled around the body, light from the room shining brilliantly off it. There was no way the person was alive, not with the amount of blood surrounding it. The coppery odor of death filled the air, causing Jack to turn away for a moment.

Pulling out his flashlight, he scanned the immediate area. The olive green walls were layered with old blood, the colors various shades of reddish-brown, like rust spots on an old car. Only in a few places were there fresh streaks of glistening red. The man on the floor had died recently; some time in the last twenty — four hours, Jack guessed.

He stepped from the doorway, shining the light over the body. Bullet holes, for what else could they be, littered the corpse’s back and head. Shit, this wasn’t good. What the hell was going on? Maybe word about the bunker had gotten out and the dead man that lay before Jack had tried to help? Unlikely, but looking at the walls-the splattered old blood-he knew people had died here before. Some kind of kill zone? Execution area? He shook his head. None of this made sense.

“What the hell?” Zaun said, stepping up to the doorway.

“Ay Dios Mio,” Maria said, shoving between Jack and Zaun. “This can’t be good.”

“We need to keep moving,” Jack said, “no telling when the others will be on us.” He wanted nothing more than to sprint down the hall and find the busy streets of Brooklyn or Queens. He had always hated the noise, loving the quietness of his apartment, but now he longed to hear it.

Jack took the lead, stepped onto the corpse’s back, avoiding the blood-pool surrounding the body. The cadaver hissed and farted, Jack’s weight forcing out the trapped air.

The group remained quiet, listening for any sound that they might be walking into a trap. The sharp, coppery aroma lessened the farther they got from the body.

Jack wanted the Mossberg in his hands, but needed to hold the flashlight as he led the way. Up ahead, he saw an open doorway on the right. The group approached carefully, inching along the wall. Jack flashed the light inside the room for a second before pulling his hand back. Not receiving any gunfire, he nodded to the others and peeked into the room.

The place was filled with old televisions, furniture, lamps, a rug, dusty art work, and rats, their beady eyes glowing eerily back at him.

“I hate those fucking things,” Zaun said, standing beside Jack.

Moving on, the corridor led to another door, but this one appeared to be made of wood. The entire handle part of the door was missing, looking blown off. Squatting, Jack shone the light through the hole.

“Another room, ” he said. “Looks empty.” Standing back up, he pushed the door open, the hinges squealing like frightened pigs.

Finding a light switch next to the door, Jack flicked it up and the overhead lights came to life. Another dead body lay against the left wall, slumped over with a large, gaping hole in the side of its head. All around, the walls were caked with old blood as if a bomb had gone off, or a grenade. An elevator stood to the right and a set of stairs leading up, stood off to the back left.

The corpse’s leg twitched. Jack raised his weapon and fired at the thing’s head, but the leg kept moving.

“What the…?” Zaun began. “Thing should be dead.” He fired two bursts at the thing’s head, obliterating it.

“Wait,” Maria said, as a small rodent head came from a hole in the corpse’s leg.

“Fucking rat!” Zaun yelled. “Damn thing almost gave me a heart attack.”

“All right. Leave it. We need to save ammo,” Jack said.

They were definitely in the basement of a building.

“Guess we go up,” Maria suggested.

The stairs led to another security door. Jack opened it quickly and looked out into a high-ceiling, hangar-like room. The large overhead lights were on, but the place appeared vacant, as if it had emptied out a while ago. Computer stations, desks with chairs, some overturned, took up most of the floor space. Sheets of paper were strewn around the floor and garbage pails were overflowing. Multiple coffee cups littered the desks and floor.

Jack saw a few dead bodies laying about, appearing to have been gunned down, the closest crumbled up against the wall, facing away.

They were outside Manhattan-had to be, yet something bad had happened here. Jack had thought Reynolds’ superiors would be in Washington, and maybe they were, but he was clearly in the bunker’s most immediate outside-operations center.

“This isn’t good,” Maria said.

“No,” Zaun said, “but at least we didn’t have to fight our way in here. Looks like we have the place to ourselves.”

“This must be where Reynolds reported to,” Maria added, then excitedly, “Hey, we have a live one over here.”

Jack turned to see her running over to the prone figure. She placed her M4 on the ground and knelt over the body. “Sir, are you all right?”

He couldn’t believe she’d used the word “sir” but guessed it was so engrained in her, that it was a natural way of talking to someone in the military, even if that someone was part of a corrupt, underground project. Either way, a living body might get them some much needed answers.

Maria rolled the man onto his back and let out a cry as he reached up and grabbed her by the hair. Jack saw her fighting to get away, but the man pulled her to him as he raised himself up and sank his teeth into her shoulder. Maria screamed.

“It’s undead,” Jack yelled to Zaun, who was already on his way to her. Jack aimed his pistol at the thing, but couldn’t risk a shot for fear he’d hit Maria.

Zaun sprang forward, dashing to her, sword out.

Maria tried shoving the thing off of her, but like a pit bull clenching its jaws around prey, it wouldn’t budge.

Zaun was there in moments, and sank the blade of his sword into the zombie’s skull.

Maria scrambled from the corpse and tore her jacket off to see the wound. “Shit, it went through.” The flesh was shredded and bleeding. “I’ll be all right; just have to Taser me.”

“Infected, here?” Zaun asked.

“I don’t think we’re out of Manhattan,” Jack said.

“Guess we should’ve taken the left.” Zaun cleaned his blade on the dead body’s shirt and sheathed it.

Something stirred behind Jack. Turning around, he saw another undead coming toward him. Walking up to it, he took aim, and blew the zombie’s brains from its head.

“Fucking things are like rats,” Zaun spat.

“We’ll need to keep an eye out. I think it’s a good idea to make sure all the dead bodies in here are really dead.”

“I’m on it,” Zaun said, and went around the room poking his sword into each one’s head.

Jack told Maria there was no point in waiting to Taser her. The quicker the bots were dead, the better. She agreed and lay on the floor. Pulling out his Taser, he asked if she was ready. She nodded and he shot her, sending the electricity into her body, frying the bots. He hated seeing her spasm in pain, but it was only for a few seconds. When it was over, she felt fine, the Taser ha d little to no residual affects.

She stood, walked over to a chair, and let Jack clean and wrap her wounds. The bots were dead, but infection was always a possibility.

When Zaun was done with his task, he came over to Jack. “The only way out of here, besides the way we came in, is the door at the far end.” He pointed across the room. “And it requires a keycard and a code.”

“We need to find out where we are in the city,” Jack said. “We can’t stay here for long. I would imagine it’s only a matter of time before we have company again.”

“I’ll keep an eye on the stairs we came up,” Maria said.

“Zaun and I will check out the door across the room.”

Maria headed off while Jack and Zaun walked over to the door. Using the keycard and entering the code, Jack had the door open in seconds. He was surprised all the doors had the same combination, but guessed it made sense since only the high-ranking individuals had them.

The operations room led to a small office. The place had a dark brown shag carpet, yellowing walls, a cracked leather sofa and two folding chairs. Along the right wall was a receptionist’s counter, the wood paneling filthy with stains. There was a blank sign-in sheet on the counter. Potted imitation plants hung on hooks from the ceiling and there was a beat-up coffee table with magazines on it. The whole place was a decoy, an area where interference could be run in the event an undesirable walked in. There were no signs or posters indicating a product, not even a clock. The windows were blacked out and had thick, metal mesh covers on them.

Jack walked over to a door. He guessed it led to the outside. Placing his palm against it, the door felt chilly.

“Door’s cold,” he told Zaun. “So, either there’s a freezer on the other side or it leads directly outdoors.”

“Only one way to find out.”

Jack grabbed the handle, ready to turn it and pull, when an explosion sounded from the other room. He and Zaun rushed back inside the operations area.

“Stay here,” he told Zaun. “We might need cover.”

Jack sprinted around desks and chairs, kicking a plastic garbage can out of the way. Reaching the stairwell, he saw Maria hanging over the railing, firing her machine gun.

“What’s happening?” Jack shouted.

“We’ve got company. I don’t know how many, but I managed to wound a couple.”

Jack wasn’t sure what to do. Stay and fight, or run? Heading into the city was dangerous, the undead were everywhere, but staying and fighting could prove a faster death. They’d probably run out of ammo before the soldiers did, or simply be overwhelmed by their numbers, depending on how many men Reynolds had sent after them. As crazy as it was, heading into the city seemed to be their best bet.

“I think we should leave,” he said.

“Agreed.” Maria leaned over the railing, fired a few more shots, then followed Jack.

“Company?” Zaun asked as they approached.

“Yup,” Maria said.

Jack ushered them into the waiting room.

“What’s the plan?” Zaun asked.

“We head into the city. Find a building and hold up for a while. I don’t know about you two, but I’m tired as hell.”

“You know what it’s like out there, Jack,” Zaun said.

Jack’s mind flooded with the images he had seen when he went to rescue Zaun, the alley, the super, the stairwell with Big Zombie Man. He wondered how many undead were outside the door right now. They might be walking into a real shit storm, but if that was the case, they would have no choice but to stay and fight.

“It’s our best option,” Jack said. “We can’t take a chance and hope to outlast Reynolds’ men. They might outnumber and outgun us. If it is a small group, sure we could fight, but then what? More might be coming. The point is, we just don’t know, but I can tell you this, Reynolds wants us, and I bet he’s pissed off to no end.”

“He’s right, Zaun,” Maria said.

Zaun nodded.

“We ready to do this?” Jack asked.

The others nodded.

Grabbing the doorknob, he opened the door.

Chapter 21

The first glimmerings of early morning sunshine illuminated the sky. A parking lot stretched out before the group. A few cars took up spaces. The air was cold, a wintry wind chilling Jack’s sweaty neck and face. Looking around, he saw no one. Not a single human being. He immediately knew they weren’t in Manhattan; the three story apartment buildings across the street were too short and there was no skyline above. So they had to be in Brooklyn or Queens.

“Where are we?” Maria asked.

“Not sure, but it isn’t Manhattan,” Zaun answered.

“Where the hell is everyone?”

Jack heard nothing. Not a car, truck, plane or the simple buzz of city life. Maybe all the boroughs were evacuated, for precaution, but why? It was impossible to leave Manhattan, wasn’t it? No, that wasn’t true, as they themselves had escaped. He imagined others might have too. Was it even possible to evacuate a city the size of New York?

To the right was another warehouse building. “We need to put as much distance between us and Reynolds’ men as possible.” Jack wanted to head to the apartment buildings across the street, find people, but they would be out in the open, having to cross the parking lot and the street, making it easy for Reynolds’ men to see where they went.

Instead, they headed to the adjacent building on the right, ran passed the locked entrance, and ducked around the corner. They sprinted to the rear of the place to where a back alley stood and took a right, going behind another warehouse building.

Up ahead, a man wearing a mail carrier’s uniform was standing with his back to the group.

The man turned around as they approached. Jack stopped and the others bumped into him. Half the carrier’s face was missing, looking as if it had been shoved under a lawn mower, the skull completely showing on one side. The zombie started forward, arms out, hungry for flesh.

“No,” Jack said, shaking his head. “It can’t be.” He knew it was true though, his gut telling him so since the warehouse. “The bots made it out of Manhattan.” He pulled the. 45 from its holster, prepared to shoot, when Zaun stopped him.

“That’ll make too much noise,” he said. “Let me.”

Zaun stepped forward and removed his sword from its sheath. He met the zombie halfway and sliced off its head. After wiping the blade clean on the undead guy’s shirt, he re-sheathed his weapon.

Jack felt his legs want to give out. He was exhausted. The bot epidemic had spread, hopefully just to the Long Island-Brooklyn-Queens area and not to the mainland. Of course, that was ridiculous, but he still thought there was a chance it could be true.

“I need to sit,” Jack said. “Rest.”

“I think we all do,” Maria said. “And we need shelter; it’s too cold to stay outside and hope to catch some shut-eye. There might not be many undead around here now, but that could all change in an instant.”

“Yeah,” Zaun said. “They might all be in the buildings, but one sound and we’ll have them coming after us.”

They all agreed that shelter was the most important thing. The warehouse they were currently behind was most likely empty, where as the apartment buildings across the street were probably crawling with undead. Jack didn’t like being only a block away from the operations center, but getting off the street was essential.

They worked their way along the rear of the building, coming to a one-way street, with a large, factory-like building on the other side. It had no windows and a large mural of people working in a lavishly green-painted garden.

Jack peered around the corner, saw the way was clear, and ushered the group onward. They worked their way toward the front of the building, the frigid wind causing Jack’s eyes to tear up.

A zombie came ambling down the street from the main road that ran adjacent to the apartment buildings. Everyone froze, and Jack knew they were all thinking the same thing-please let it be alone.

The zombie saw them and picked up its slow pace, shuffling a bit faster. Jack grimaced at the sight, the thing’s jaw distended, hanging low from its face like a huge rubber band. The fingers on its left hand were gnarled stumps of flesh.

“Let it get closer, then take it out,” Jack told Zaun.

When the bot-controlled thing came within a few feet, Zaun quickly and quietly, sliced off its head. With no other undead showing up, they moved on.

At the street’s corner, Jack saw they were now on 4th Avenue. He looked up and down the street and saw no sign of any undead, only numerous vehicles either parked along the curb or stopped in traffic. If people had escaped the city, he imagined many took mass transit, hoping to avoid the overcrowded roadways.

Jack and the others ran to the building’s entrance, only to find its metal gate was down too. With no other options, they ran across the street to the closest apartment building.

The entire row of houses looked decrepit, with exteriors appearing as if they hadn’t been painted since the 1970’s. Security bars covered almost every first floor apartment. Jack thought it a shame that people couldn’t live in a house and look out a window without feeling as if they themselves were locked away, but for now, he was glad to see the steel bars.

He pushed open the badly scuffed front door, the glass having been replaced by non-transparent Plexiglas. Inside, were a small foyer and another door about ten feet away. It was covered in wire mesh; breaking in would be extremely difficult. Jack tried the door, finding it locked. Along the wall were six mailboxes, indicating the building held six apartments, most likely two on each floor. He began kicking at the door, taking turns with the others, surprised at how sturdy the thing was.

“Cover your ears,” he warned, then readied his shotgun and blasted the lock apart. The noise was deafening in the small room, leaving a slight ringing in his ears. With nothing holding the door closed, Jack easily pushed it open. He cocked the shotgun, and entered the hallway.

“Hey,” Zaun said, holding up a piece of mail. “We’re in Brooklyn.”

The building’s interior wasn’t any better than the exterior. The air was stale, with a mixture of rot and sewage. The walls were filthy, the color of a smoker’s tobacco-stained teeth, and marked up. The black and white patterned linoleum tiles were cracked and worn, revealing the dullness of the wooden floor beneath. An overhead light was on, indicating the electricity was still flowing.

“Let’s clear the building,” Jack said. “It’s only three floors, two apartments per level. Shouldn’t take us long, then we can get some rest.”

The first apartment, 1F, was on the left. Jack tried the door, but it wouldn’t open. A single lock was all that kept the place secured. Most doors in the city had two locks, one on the doorknob part of the door, the other about a foot above it, usually a bolt-action of some kind. He stepped back and gave it a good kick. The door flew open, colliding into something solid, followed by a crash as if someone had fallen.

Pushing the door open all the way, Jack saw what had made the crashing sound. What had once been an elderly woman-now a member of the undead-lay on the floor, attempting to get up. Its arms were covered with open sores. She was still wearing her glasses, but the knock she had taken had knocked them askew as they rested crookedly on her face. The air was putrid, a mixture of mold and rot. Not wanting to waste a bullet, Jack asked Zaun to take care of it.

Zaun stepped forward and put his sword through the zombie’s left eye and into its brain.

Jack and Maria went in and checked the place out while Zaun stood guard at the door.

In the bedroom lay the corpse of an elderly man, his flesh almost completely eaten away, leaving mostly grizzled bone and bloodied clothing.

There were no other dead or undead bodies in the apartment and not much in the way of supplies, at least not anything worth taking.

They moved on to apartment 1R, finding the door unlocked and no one inside, alive or dead. Clothing drawers were left open in the bedrooms. The cupboards were open and bare; toiletries were missing too. It appeared whoever had lived there had left in a hurry. All in all, the place was clean and seemed like a good place to make camp, but the group agreed that living on a higher floor was safer.

Next, they made their way up the creaky stairs, and with each step, the odor of rotting meat grew stronger. As Jack broached the landing, he saw a dead man’s body, wearing only underwear, lying in front of apartment 2R. Its left arm was stripped of flesh, leaving only bone and a few stringy tendons. The legs were missing chunks of meat in various places, as if the zombie hadn’t been able to find the right spot to begin chowing down until it got to the arm.

Jack walked around the body and saw that it had no face, appearing to have been blown off, the nearby wall splattered with gore. He stepped over the corpse and entered the apartment.

“Gross, man,” Zaun said.

The place was filthy and stunk of dead animal. Litter boxes with more shit than sand in them lay in the hallway and in the bathroom. Newspapers and magazines lay everywhere, as if the man had been a collector-no, a hoarder. As they went through the place, Jack heard gasps and other sounds of displeasure from the others. No one wanted to remain in the apartment any longer and the group quickly left to check on the apartment across the hall.

2F was void of life. The place was somewhat clean, the beds made, kitchen garbage empty. There was a television, a couch, a bookcase filled with hardcovers and paperbacks, mostly appearing to be romance in nature. Jack checked the bathroom, finding a small shower radio. Overall, the place was decent, a good spot to set up camp, but first they had to check out the rest of the building. They left the apartment and headed to the third floor.

Upon reaching the top of the staircase, Jack heard the eerily familiar sound of fingernails on wood coming from behind 3R’s door. Images of his wife clawing at the bedroom door sprung into his mind.

Approaching the door, the scratching grew louder and Jack knew there was some thing on the other side. He tried the doorknob and found that it turned. He called Zaun over and together on the count of three, they rammed the door. The zombie fell back and landed on the floor. It was naked, bald on top with long dark, straw-like hair, and a large, bulbous nose. Zaun stepped up and put his sword into the thing’s head.

From inside, Jack heard the sound of chains rattling. He stepped passed Zaun. The sharp scent of pine filled his nose and he saw numerous green air-fresheners in the shape of Christmas trees hanging on the walls.

As the group moved forward, they came upon another dead body laying chest down, head to the side. It was female with long blonde hair, appearing to have been no older than eighteen. She was naked except for a pair of handcuffs on her outstretched wrists. A black tribal tattoo of the sun took up the area of skin just above her ass crack. All along the body’s arms and legs were small cuts, and what appeared to be burn marks, possibly made by cigarettes and a curling iron.

The rattling of chains hadn’t let up. Jack and the others moved forward, nearing the source of the sound. Coming upon a room on his left, Jack looked in to discover a bathroom where an undead female sat handcuffed to a radiator. Upon seeing Jack, the undead thing reached out for him, but the chains kept her in check. She had cuts and burn marks along her arms, legs and face, some oozing yellow puss. Her eyes were milky white, and her mouth opened and closed, biting at the air. She had long, bleached-blonde hair and was wearing a red satin bra with matching garter and panties. She looked to have been around the same age as the other dead female.

“Dude,” Zaun said.

“Guy must’ve kidnapped her. The girl in the hallway too. Abused the hell out of them.”

“Sick bastard,” Maria spat.

The zombie kept reaching for them, its lips pulled back, jaw opening and closing.

“I got it,” Zaun said.

“No,” Maria said, holding out her arm. “I want this one.”

Zaun looked at Maria as if she were crazy.

“Give her your sword,” Jack said.

Zaun removed the weapon and handed it to Maria. “Use the eye socket; blade goes in easiest that way. ”

“Don’t worry, it’ll be fine,” Maria assured him.

Jack and Zaun left the bathroom, leaving Maria to it. For some reason, she wanted to kill it and Jack wasn’t about to stop her or ask why. As they moved into the living room, he heard Maria grunt and could only imagine the blade sinking into the undead girl’s brain.

Maria exited the bathroom, and gave Zaun his weapon back.

“You cleaned the blade,” he said, surprised.

“I always return what I borrow in the condition it was given.”

They combed through the apartment, finding pornographic magazines, dildos in all varieties, whips and bondage equipment in the closet of the bedroom, and boxes upon boxes of DVDs and video cassette tapes, all with female names and dates on them. Jack found some as old as 1986. The sick fuck had been raping and torturing women for a very long time. No one wanted to see what was on the things; the guy was dead, the law could do nothing anymore. Once they got to a safe place, they could report the findings.

“I’m not staying here,” Maria said when they met up in the living room.

Jack nodded.

“This place is evil,” Zaun said. “Creep’s me the hell out.”

They left the apartment and went over to 3F. A thin metal ladder leading to the roof, stood in a small alcove to the left of the apartment. The apartment’s red door looked brand new, not a mark on it. Jack tried to open it, but it wouldn’t budge. Three Mul-T-Lock locks took up the space above the handle. Running his fingers over the door, Jack felt cold steel, unlike the other apartments’ doors that were wood. He knocked, feeling the solidness of the steel, like banging on the vault at a bank.

“We aren’t getting in there,” he said.

“Wonder what’s inside,” Zaun said. “Why the security?” He kicked the door a few times, then shook his head. “Forget it.”

“So,” Jack said, “2F it is.”

Chapter 22

They set up camp in 2F, pulling the mattress from the bedroom into the living room. Maria decided to take the first watch, telling the others how serving in the military had conditioned her to function in good form with little to no sleep.

The sun was shining brightly, its rays illuminating the room, filling it with warmth. She left the shades up in order to have a view of the outside, doubting the bright light would keep Jack or Zaun from falling asleep.

In the kitchen, she opened a can of beans and ate enough to satisfy her hunger, knowing that eating too much before going on watch, especially with no sleep, was a bad idea. A full belly often led to sluggish movements and the potential to nod off.

She pulled a chair over to the window and sat, looking out over the street and buildings across the way. The place was like a ghost town, unease settling into her. Off in the distance she saw gray smoke rising into the sky. She imagined there had to be a number of fires throughout the city and was glad that none seemed to be nearby. Candy bar wrappers and old newspapers tumbled by as gusts of wind pushed them around. She couldn’t get over the number of vehicles left in the street and parked along side it. It was hard to imagine anyone leaving their car, but such things, material things, proved meaningless in the grand scheme of things. Panic must have spread rapidly as people fled to safety, to loved ones.

And where were all the dead? Maria and the others were in Brooklyn, a borough consisting of over two million people.

Then, as if the cosmos had heard her, a lone zombie entered the scene. It was male, dressed in a dark gray business suit, walking very slowly down the street. Right behind it was another zombie, this one female, with long brown hair. It was wearing black spandex pants with an electric blue stripe running down the side and a matching top. The skin was flayed from its arms and legs, the face miraculously intact.

Looking at the male again, she saw something dangling from its waist to the ground and trailing behind it. Maria grimaced, realizing the object was the thing’s intestines. Other than that, it appeared fine, save the limp.

The female zombie was gaining on the male, walking almost twice as fast, still slow however. Maria watched as it drew closer, then stepped on the male’s intestines. The male zombie jerked to a stop, then fell forward to the pavement as the sausage-like organ snapped.

Maria turned away, disgusted. By the time she looked back, the male was up again, walking, the female slightly ahead of him.

During the first hour of her watch, Maria saw a total of fifteen undead walk by the building, the most gruesome being a female pulling herself along, having no lower half, and leaving pieces of its body behind.

During her second hour of guard duty, she grew tired, her head falling forward or back, jolting her awake. She pulled out a picture of her five-year-old daughter, Alexis, and stared at it, drawing the strength she needed. She imagined the day when she arrived back in North Carolina and could see her little girl again. Maria closed her eyes and felt her daughter’s soft skin on her own as she hugged her child. She heard Alexis’ cute laugh and tender, high-pitched voice. Opening her eyes, she stared at the picture. Her daughter had the most beautiful brown eyes and gorgeous smile.

Tears welled up in Maria’s eyes and she blinked rapidly, fighting to keep them at bay. She stuffed the picture back into her pocket. Ten minutes later, weariness fell over her again. She needed to stand, to move around.

Getting to her feet, she walked around the room, the floor groaning slightly here and there but not nearly enough to wake the others. It would probably take the rumbling of a passing train to do that, Maria thought.

She went over to a bookcase and saw that it was filled with romance and science fiction novels, along with a few horror titles. She thought about reading, but that never worked for her when she was tired; it would only cause her to nod off.

She went into the bedroom and found a small handheld radio. Finding the power button, she turned it on. Static blasted from the speaker and she quickly lowered the volume. Set to FM, she went through the stations finding nothing but static. Switching to AM, she discovered that all the major stations were playing a pre-recorded message. Listeners were told to stay away from any infected. Hospitals were being evacuated. People were to remain in their homes until the situation was resolved. An updated message would soon follow.

She wondered how long the message had been playing. Based on what she and the others had seen, she doubted there would be an update. A new message would have told people to flee the area, at least she hoped it would’ve said that. No, the CDC would want people to remain where they were, preventing the spread of the contagion. She wondered if the public or the CDC knew the reason the dead were coming back to life.

Maria shut the radio off and left the bedroom.

Taking her M4 with her, sidearm at her hip, she decided to check out the building; make sure things were quiet. Yes, they did a thorough check of the place, but it was still reasonable to patrol the interior.

She went to the first floor, not liking how accessible the building was. With no lock, Jack having blown it out, anyone or thing could waltz right inside. The outer door was somewhat secure, at least as far as the undead were concerned, the mindless things unable to turn a doorknob, but a living person would have no trouble.

Maria and the others weren’t the only survivors. She was sure of it; and when it came to people, some were good and some were bad. There was no telling how an individual would act in the face of what was going on in the city. The law was gone, and people were looking out for themselves.

The ground floor windows were barred, which made the entranceway the only weak point. She headed to 1R, the rear apartment on the first floor, and grabbed a kitchen chair. Bringing it back to the foyer, she wedged it under the outer door’s knob. It wouldn’t stop a determined individual, but would slow him down or cause him to change his mind and go to another building. Bottom line, it was better than nothing.

She went back into 1R, looked around, and came away with a mop bucket, a few containers of bleach, and a bottle of drain cleaner. She poured the bleach into the bucket, then found a vase, dumped the dead flowers out, and emptied the drain cleaner into it. She placed the vase into the bucket, making sure the bleach didn’t overflow into it.

Grabbing another chair, she set it by the building’s inner door and hoisted the chemical-filled bucket onto the top of the partially open door. The idea was the same as the bucket-of-water-on-the-head gag, the unsuspecting person getting soaked with cold water, except in her version the individual would get doused with a bucket of toxic chemicals that when mixed, caused severe burns and possible blindness.

Satisfied with the new security measures, Maria headed up the stairs to the third floor. There was no way she was going into apartment 3R, not with what went on in there. And looking at 3F, the apartment with the vault-like door, she decided to check out the roof.

Shouldering her weapon, she climbed the ladder, pulled the lever on the roof hatch and opened it. Cold morning air brushed her face, sending a welcomed chill all the way down to her toes. Looking around, there was only roof extending in both directions. The wind blew hard against the hatch and Maria decided she had seen enough of nothing. Coming back down, she closed the lid and thought she heard a noise. A clicking sound. Pausing on the ladder, she listened, but heard nothing.

She returned to 2F, making sure to enter the apartment as quietly as possible. The others deserved their sleep, for she wanted them alert and well-rested when it was their time to take up the watch.

She headed over to the window, walking around Jack’s sleeping form. Looking out, her jaw fell open, breath caught in her chest. Five men — bunker-men — dressed in black fatigues, carrying machine guns, were right outside the building. One of the men stepped forward, reached back, and threw something at her.

At the last second, she saw what it was-a flash bang grenade, and dove away from the window, landing behind the sofa. The sound of shattering glass, like a banshee’s scream, broke the tranquility of the moment. She covered her ears and squeezed her eyes shut, like a young child about to receive a tetanus shot.

The room seemed to shake around her as the grenade went off. Even with her ears covered, she heard the bomb’s explosion and felt its impact.

Maria never expected the guards to attack, let alone during daytime hours. She figured they had long given up on them. Damn it, if she had remained at the window she would have seen them coming. It had been a terrible mistake to assume they wouldn’t come after them and foolish to have set up camp so near to the operations center. She needed to act fast. A blitzkrieg-like attack was upon them; hit hard and overwhelm.

Standing up, Maria’s ears were ringing but she was at least able to see. Jack and Zaun were rolling around on the floor, holding their ears and seeming a little more than confused. She yelled to them, telling them that they were under attack, but doubted they could hear her.

Another flashbang came in through the window. The bastards were really pouring it on. Maria dove into the bathroom, climbing into the tub just as the device went off. She saw the flash of light through her eyelids, the tub shielding her from a direct blast. Thank goodness, the guards didn’t have real grenades, or they’d all be dead right now. Reynolds must want them alive.

Getting up, she went back into the living room and saw the others on the floor, feeling around like the blind.

With her M4 still strapped to her back, she moved to the apartment’s door. She had no idea if the men were on their way up. Her ears were still ringing a little and it made hearing where the enemy was, more difficult. The group’s only chance was for her to escape and get the drop on Reynolds’ men, hoping Jack and Zaun could get their heads straight while she held them off.

She opened the door a crack. Seeing the hallway clear, she bolted from the apartment, leaped over the dead body, and went into 2R. Just as she closed the door, she thought she heard a loud scream from downstairs. H er booby trap at work?

Placing her M4 against the wall, she readied her sidearm.

Looking through the peephole, Maria saw four armed men come up the stairs. Where was the fifth? As the men proceeded toward 2F, their backs to her, she opened the door.

The man closest to her turned around. His eyes widened at seeing her, but before he had a chance to raise his weapon, Maria sent a bullet through his left eye socket, dropping him quickly. Moving her aim to the second target, she fired, hitting him in the side of the head, his body falling away. The third man was pointing his gun her way, but she managed to get off a shot before he did, and watched the bullet take his ear off. The man’s hand clutched at his head and he went down.

Before she could take out the fourth man, he was firing at her. Maria felt the bullets whiz by her head, and fell back. She landed hard on the floor, unable to roll to the side, the wall to her right, the door to her left.

Unable to do anything else, she waited to feel the sting of bullets.

Chapter 23

Jack awoke to a nightmare of ringing in the ears. Sitting up, he didn’t know if he was alive or dead. Everything was white, as if he’d looked into the sun too long. His head pounded. He wondered if he was injured, his whole world in chaos. Alarm, true gut-wrenching panic, began to set in until he remembered what Maria had told him. What he was experiencing were the effects of a flashbang grenade. Had one gone off accidentally? No, that wasn’t likely, but what was likely, was they were under attack. It had to be Reynolds’ people. He and the others weren’t far from the warehouse. They must’ve been watching them, saw where they made camp and waited to strike. Reynolds must be one very pissed off person to have sent his guards out into the undead world.

Where was Maria? She was supposed to be on watch duty. Had she fallen asleep? Been captured while patrolling the building? On his hands and knees, he began feeling around for a weapon, his vision seeming to clear a little. He felt the softness of a pillow, then his backpack. His fingers came in to contact with cool metal. Wrapping his hand around the item, he knew he had a gun in his hand. Felt like his. 45. Holding the weapon close to his face, he could make out its outline.

Jack remained on his hands and knees, wanting to stay low. He crawled, having no idea which direction he was moving in and smacked into something hard. Every hand-placement and knee-drag was gut wrenching, as he was waiting to be shoved to the floor and manhandled into cuffs.

Making his way to a wall, Jack went left, hoping he was heading in the direction of the front door. Moving along quickly, he collided into a table of some kind, figuring it to be an end table. Remembering how the room was, he turned himself around and went the other way. He came to a corner, then continued until his fingers brushed against a smooth, rounded metal object protruding from the wall. It had grooves in it as well, as if it were made into separate parts, but held together-a hinge. Then he felt a gap in the wall and the surface area changed to a smoother, wood-like feel. He’d found the door, and it was closed, indicating that no one had gotten inside yet.

Reaching up, he grabbed the doorknob and pulled himself to his feet. What sounded like muffled gunshots came from the other side of the door. Maria was probably out there and under fire. If she wasn’t in the apartment when the assault happened, then she wouldn’t be affected by the flashbangs.

He had to help her.

He thought about going for another gun, but didn’t want to waste time. Opening the door, he peeked out and saw a guard, the figure facing away from him. Gunfire erupted as the man fired his weapon down the hall at someone. Jack pressed the muzzle of his. 45 to the back of the guy’s head and told him to drop it.

The man’s gun stopped firing.

“I said drop-”

The guard went to spin about, attempting to duck low and bring his gun around, but Jack was faster and put a bullet into his temple.

As the corpse fell to the ground, Jack glanced across the hallway and saw Maria lying on her back, his eyesight almost normal again. He stepped forward, seeing the three downed guards.

“Maria?” he called out, worried that she wasn’t moving and walked toward her.

She sat up, a surprised look on her face. “Jack.”

He didn’t see any holes in her and let out the breath he’d been holding. She was all right. Then her face filled with alarm as she raised her sidearm at him.

Jack stopped. “It’s me.”

Maria fired her gun. Jack jumped to the side. She fired again. He turned to look behind him and saw one of the men he thought was dead, fall back against the wall. Maria fired again, and Jack saw a black hole appear in the man’s forehead as he slid to the ground.

Zaun appeared in the doorway.

Jack turned to see Maria walking toward him. “Bastard wasn’t dead. I’d only clipped his ear off. Didn’t have time to finish him with the other guy shooting at me. Thought I was a goner. You saved my ass, Jack.”

“Ditto.”

“There’s at least one more,” she said. “There were five outside the building when they attacked. Only four came up the stairs.” She explained about the chemical trap.

“So, maybe one’s out of commission somewhere,” Zaun said.

“We can’t know for sure.” Maria went over to the stairs.

Jack told Zaun to stay by the front window and keep an eye out.

Maria led the way down the stairs.

The foyer was clear of bodies. The mop bucket was on its side on the floor, and apartment 1F’s door was open.

They went inside. The living room, kitchen, and bedroom were empty, but the bathroom door was closed. Jack couldn’t remember if it had been shut the last time they were there. Maria stood to the right side of the door, Jack on the left. He reached out, grabbed the handle and pushed the door open. Gunshots rang out from within.

“Throw down your weapon or we’ll open fire,” Jack said.

“Fuck you.” Two more shots were fired, neither hitting the doorframe.

Maria motioned for Jack to cover his ears, then produced a flashbang grenade. Pulling the pin, she tossed it into the bathroom.

Jack turned away, covering his ears and closing his eyes. He heard the explosion, then the man’s scream.

Maria sprang into the doorway, gun out, and fired two rounds. Her body seemed to relax. She looked at Jack and nodded.

A man, Devon was his name, in black fatigues, lay sprawled next to the toilet, two bullet holes centered in his chest. Blood trickled from the man’s mouth, his partially melted, still steaming face and irritated bright red devil-like eyes were beyond gruesome. When the chemicals had mixed, they created a terribly corrosive substance. Jack wondered if the guy had even been able to see, hence the terribly fired shots.

Not wanting to touch the dead man, they left him be, but not before Maria put a bullet into his head.

Jack went over to the window, lifted one of the shades, and almost jumped back as a zombie, its jaw missing, tongue lapping at the security bars, stood before him. Lifting the shade farther, he saw the street was packed with undead.

“Shit,” he said. “We’ve got company.”

“More soldiers?”

“No.”

Zaun came running down the stairs and into the apartment. He looked at Jack. “I see you’ve been brought up to speed on what’s happening out there.”

Jack let the shade fall back into place. “Those idiots brought the undead down on us. What were they thinking?”

“They were hoping for a quick snatch and grab,” Maria answered. “They probably figured we’d put up a fight, firing our weapons. The dead would’ve shown up either way, so why not just come at us hard.”

“How many are out there?” Jack asked.

“At least thirty,” Zaun began, “but more are coming down the street, from both directions.”

A noise came from the hall. Jack looked over to see a female zombie, a gore-filled hole where its left eye socket had been, reach for Zaun.

Zaun spun around, grabbed the zombie’s wrist and flipped it into the room. Jack stepped up and put a bullet into its head.

“They’re coming inside.” Maria ran to the door.

Zaun raised his machine gun and blasted another zombie as it entered the hallway. Right behind it was another. As each one fell, another took its place.

Maria was firing now too.

Jack ran over and joined her in the foyer. Undead after undead filed into the entrance only to be mowed down by the hail of bullets.

With the undead pushed back, the group made their way to the second floor.

Maria and Zaun gathered the supplies from the apartment while Jack remained at the top of the stairs, shooting the zombies as they made their way inside and up the steps. When they were finished, they ran up to the third floor, then climbed the ladder to the roof. The undead were slow and probably not even up to the second floor yet.

Jack shut the hatch, breathing the frigid air deep into his lungs. Looking around, there was nothing to see but the roofs of attached buildings, as well as the buildings beyond. He tugged his coat tighter around himself as a chill crept over him, the wind cascading over his sweat-lined body.

“Take a look at this,” Zaun said, standing near the edge of the roof.

Jack and Maria hurried over.

A huge crowd of undead took up the area in front of the building, with more coming from both ends of the street.

“We can’t do this,” Jack said.

“Do what?” Zaun asked.

“Survive in the city. There are too many of the damn things. We won’t last long.”

“What are you saying?” Maria asked.

“That we go back to the operations center; the warehouse. Back to the tunnel and take the left fork. See where it leads.”

Zaun laughed, shaking his head. “Are you crazy?”

“No,” Maria said, “Jack’s right. We won’t last long out here. We took out a number of Reynolds’ men. Can’t be many more, and who knows, maybe the rest are back at the bunker.”

“The other tunnel might lead to another part of Brooklyn or Queens,” Zaun insisted.

“True,” Maria said. “But I think it’s our best chance.”

Zaun held up his hands in surrender. “All right. I go where you guys go.”

Telling the others to wait where they were, Jack headed to the rear of the roof. Looking down, he saw that the back alley was void of undead, save two at the far end. He thought about the possibility of climbing down the fire escape and making a run for the operations center. It wasn’t a long distance and they could easily outrun the undead. The only problem would be if they encountered more of Reynolds’ men at the warehouse. If they couldn’t get into the building-Reynolds’ men holding them off-they’d have to turn around and face the horde.

Jack walked back to the others.

“What’s up?” Zaun asked.

“Just a second.”

He stared down the block at the operations center disguised as a warehouse. The place looked liked the rest of the area, abandoned, but that didn’t mean Reynolds’ men weren’t inside. It was too cold to remain on the roof while keeping an eye on the place. It could be hours before he saw anyone, if there was even anyone to see. He was tired and was sure the others were too.

“Was just thinking,” he finally said.

“And?” Zaun asked.

“We need sleep and we won’t get any up here.”

“Well, we can’t go back down,” Zaun said.

“Looks like a few of the other buildings have hatches on them,” Maria said.

“Let’s see if we get lucky and one or two aren’t locked,” Zaun said.

“It’s worth a try,” Jack agreed.

They headed to the closest hatch, finding it not only locked, but seeming to be impenetrable, short of blowing it open with dynamite. The next two hatches were the same.

“That’s that,” Zaun said. “Things are like tank lids.”

They would need to wait out the undead, hope the things eventually wandered off like they did when Jack went to rescue Zaun.

They went back to the hatch that led into the apartment they’d been in. Jack bent down and opened it a crack. Peeking in, he didn’t see any undead. He opened it all the way and got a better look. The floor was clear. Pulling his head out, he closed the hatch door.

“Floor’s empty,” he said. “I think they’re either still working their way up or for some reason they’re just remaining on the other floors. We can stay in the rear apartment. Wait for the undead to leave, and use the fire escape to get down.”

“How do you know they’ll leave?” Maria asked.

Jack told her about the alley and how it had filled with undead, but only a few days later it had emptied.

“You don’t know if that will happen here. That was an alley. Those things only had to walk one way and they were out.”

“We can’t remain up here,” he pointed out. “It’s too cold. We won’t be able to sleep.”

“What about the other buildings’ fire escapes?” Maria asked.

Jack hadn’t even thought about that. Heading over to the rear of the roof and looking over the edge, he saw that only two of the eight fire escapes had ladders leading to the roof, the building he and the others were on and the last building, the one at the end of the alley.

“We can try that one,” Jack said, pointing.

Jack climbed down while the others waited up top. One of the apartment’s rear windows was covered with steel bars. The other had a security gate on the inside, the lock only accessible from within, designed to keep intruders out, but easy for the people inside to escape in the event a fire broke out. He thought about smashing the glass, seeing if the gate was unlocked, but the noise would definitely attract any undead inside the building. It was probably a better idea to go back to the original building and stay in 3R. Spending time here, bashing in a window, creating a ton of noise was risky. And he had no idea what was on the other side of the window or in the building.

Heading back up, he told the others what he saw and why he thought going back to 3R was the best option.

The others agreed.

Back at the hatch, Jack explained his plan.

“I’ll go down,” he began, “ head into 3R, open the security gate on the fire escape window, and let you guys in. We’ve got enough food to last a few days at least, and as long as we’re quiet, the dead won’t know we’re there.”

“And not finding any food,” Zaun said, “they’ll leave the building and the street outside, allowing us to get to the warehouse without much trouble.”

Jack removed his backpack, taking only the Sig Sauer and. 45. Using either would ensure his plans going to shit, but he was taking them nonetheless.

“Meet you guys at the window in a few,” he said, then opened the hatch.

Seeing the floor was still clear, he climbed down the ladder, closing the hatch behind him.

Making it to the floor, he walked passed 3F, its vault-like door taunting him with its promise of security. 3R was open. He had no idea if any undead had come up the stairs and wandered inside. The floor might not be as safe as he’d originally contemplated. This might have been a job for Zaun now that he thought about it, but since he was already on the floor, he was going to see it through.

He moved slowly forward, wanting to avoid making any noise. A floorboard creaked here and there, making his heart pound a little harder.

Halfway to 3R, he heard a soft click from behind. Turning around, he was shocked to see 3F’s door open. A large man with a shaved head and tattoos covering his arms, wearing jeans and a wife-beater, was pointing a double-barrel sawed-off shotgun at him. The man put a finger to his lips, then motioned for Jack to come to him.

Dumbfounded, Jack was unable to move. He could go for one of his guns, but with one pull of the sawed-off shotgun’s trigger, and he’d be plastered all over the walls.

“Listen,” he whispered, but the man shook his head, eyeing Jack angrily. The guy put a finger to his lips again, his eyebrows coming together, then motioned again for Jack to come forward.

Jack walked slowly, just as he had been doing. Within a few feet of the door, the big guy backed into the apartment, keeping the gun aimed at him. He couldn’t go inside. His friends were depending on him. At any moment, the undead could come upstairs and their plans would be ruined. But with the gun on him there was nothing he could do but obey.

Jack stepped into the apartment and was motioned to halt.

Stepping forward, the man placed the sawed-off’s twin barrels under Jack’s chin, the cool steel sending a chill down his spine. Jack felt a tug at his waist, then under his right arm, as the guy removed his guns.

Baldy tucked the 9mm into the back of his pants and the. 45 in the front. Jack was then ushered forcefully passed the man, farther into the apartment.

Jack stopped as he heard the door close. Not hesitating, he turned around and saw his kidnapper’s back was to him. Bending down, Jack pulled the knife from his boot and jumped onto the man’s back, slipping the weapon’s blade under the man’s throat. The big guy slammed Jack into the wall, knocking the air from his lungs, but Jack held on, pressing the blade harder against the man’s neck.

“Another move and I’ll end you,” he said, through clenched teeth.

The guy stopped struggling and stood still.

“Baby?” came a woman’s voice.

Whispering, Jack told the man to place the sawed-off on the ground. Holding the knife firmly against Baldy’s throat, Jack lowered his feet to the floor as the man bent down and released the weapon.

“Baby?” the woman said again, before coming around the corner. She wore a half-shirt with jeans. Her red hair was curly and came to her shoulders. Her brown skin looked as smooth as silk. Some kind of tattoo that Jack couldn’t make out wrapped itself around her pierced belly button. Bright red lipstick made her lips glow. Jack thought she was pretty, but slightly emaciated, as if she hadn’t eaten properly in a while.

“What the fuck?” she asked, putting a hand over her chest. Her eyes were wide with fright. She turned to run, but Jack called out, telling her to freeze or her man’s throat would be slashed.

The woman stopped.

“Please, baby,” the big guy said.

“Everyone shut the hell up,” Jack whispered harshly. “We don’t need the undead coming up here.”

“Place’s soundproof,” the man said. “That’s why you and your crew never heard us up here.”

Jack reached down with his free hand, keeping the knife’s blade firmly against the man’s neck, and took back his 9mm. He pressed the barrel to the back of the man’s head and sheathed his knife, then reached around and grabbed his. 45. Shoving the man forward, he told the two lovebirds to walk.

They went into the living room and Jack felt as if he’d entered another world. Compared to the other apartments, this one was a luxury suite. A plush wrap-around leather sofa took up half the room. A beautiful glass coffee table rested in front of it, an ivory looking statue of two dragons sat at its center. A large fifty-inch television set hung on the wall above a faux fireplace. The wood floors were immaculate, as if they’d just been polished. The end tables had lamps appearing to be made of marble. A thick, heavily lacquered mahogany desk lined with intricate designs and legs carved into lion’s paws sat in the corner.

“Take a seat,” Jack told them, not showing his amazement.

“Why you letting this asshole tell you what to do?” the woman asked, facing the man.

“Because I’m the one with the guns,” Jack answered.

“Never stopped him before. He’s been in a lot worse situations than this. Haven’t you baby?”

Jack didn’t have time for this. He just wanted to get him and his friends to safety and lay low until the undead cleared out. Looking around, he saw that the windows were covered with mini roll-down gates, similar to the ones businesses used. And the walls looked strange. At first he thought they were painted black, but looking closer he saw they were covered in something. Keeping the gun trained on the two on the sofa, he walked to a wall and felt it.

“Soundproofing,” the big guy said.

The walls were covered with a thick, soft, rubber-like material. The place was perfect for holing up in, the only problem being if the undead didn’t leave, they’d be trapped with no fire escape with which to flee by.

Jack produced a few zip-ties from his pocket and tossed them to the woman. “Tie up Baldy here; hands behind his back. Ankles too.”

“Fuck this,” the big man said, getting to his feet.

Jack stiffened his arm, aiming the gun at the man’s head. “Sit down.”

“Shit, baby,” the woman said, grabbing the man’s wrist. “Just sit down.”

“No. I don’t think this punk-ass-bitch has the balls. To shoot a fucking deadhead, sure. But he ain’t no killer.”

“Sit down,” Jack demanded.

“This is my home; my place of business, and nobody’s going to tell me what to do.” The man walked over to the desk. There was purpose in his stride. He knew what he was going for.

“Stop,” Jack warned. He didn’t want to shoot, let alone kill anyone, but he would if he had to.

Baldy reached under the desk.

“Stop, I’m warning you.”

“Baby, stop.”

Jack heard the sound of tape ripping. He fired a shot high, but the big guy kept on, not even flinching. The man grabbed something from underneath the tabletop. The room’s light glinted off it as Jack saw the gun. The guy turned, raising the weapon.

Jack fired. The man’s head snapped back, then came forward, revealing a small dark hole in his forehead. With a deadpan expression on his face, the man toppled forward, landing face down with a crash.

“Motherfucker!” the woman screamed, then reached under the sofa.

Shaken, Jack turned toward her. “Stop. Don’t move.”

The woman didn’t listen and came up holding a handgun. She fired, missing wide. Jack pulled the trigger on his Sig Sauer and sent a bullet, dead center, into the woman’s chest. She fell back into a seated position onto the couch, seeming to stare at the ceiling for a moment before her head fell lifelessly to the side.

Shaking his head, he said, “You stupid-” but cut his words short as he brought his hands to the sides of his head. Closing his eyes, he yelled at the top of his lungs. He grabbed the flat-screen and ripped it from the wall, sending it crashing to the floor. Breathing hard, he focused in on the dragon statue, picked it up and threw it across the room where it shattered into pieces.

He had been through so much in such a short amount of time. All he and his friends wanted was to leave the building. Why’d this asshole have to get involved? Angered beyond control, he kicked the dead man in the ribs a few times, hearing bone snap. Damn it. This wasn’t the time to lose it. What was he doing? Defiling a corpse? He needed to focus. Get to apartment 3R before the floor flooded with zombies.

“Shake it off, Jack,” he said aloud, his voice booming in the silent room.

He walked to the apartment’s door and peered through the peephole, making sure the hall was clear, then opened the door and stepped out. Pausing, he stared at the ladder leading to the roof. He had a decision to make. Go up and inform the others about the secure apartment or stick to the original plan? Thinking they were outside 3R’s window, waiting for him, the answer came easily. He would tell them what had happened, asked what they thought, but as far as he was concerned, the apartment with the fire escape was the better choice.

He quietly approached apartment 3R, having no idea if any undead were inside. Keeping his guns holstered, he pulled out his knife. The blade was about eight inches, plenty of steel to reach a zombie’s brain.

Entering the apartment, he closed the door behind him, then proceeded down the hall. He passed by the bathroom, then the kitchen. In the living room, he saw Zaun and Maria on the fire escape. Before going over to them, he checked the bedrooms, breathing a sigh of relief that no undead were present.

He went over to the window and found the security gate had a thick lock on it. Per NYC fire department rules, all security gates on windows leading to fire escapes had to be of regulation, and easily opened from the inside. Standard key locks were not allowed to be used. The gates were designed to keep the burglars out, but to allow easy exiting in the event a fire broke out. Knowing what went on in the apartment, the bastard torturing those women, the guy wasn’t worried about getting out during a fire. He only wanted to keep his captives from escaping.

Jack saw Maria eying him. She shrugged, asking him what was wrong. He grabbed the lock, bringing it up to show her. She frowned.

Jack mouthed for her to wait, then walked around the apartment, looking for the keys. He checked the drawers in the kitchen, the bedroom, the bathroom. Nothing. Then it dawned on him. They were probably on the dead guy.

Not wanting to waste another moment, he hurried down the hall to where the dead male’s body lay. Bending down, the body ’s putrid odor more pungent, he stuck his hand into the man’s right pants pocket. It was empty. Putting his foot on the corpse’s back, he reached down, slid his hand into the other pocket, and felt pieces of jagged metal. Grabbing one of the objects, he pulled out a set of keys. Careful not to jostle them, he headed back to the window and tried different keys until one fit. With a turn of his wrist, the lock popped. He opened the gate and raised the window.

Maria handed the backpacks to him before she and Zaun’s climbed inside.

“Damn, man,” Zaun said, rubbing his arms. “What took so long?”

“Yeah, everything all right?” Maria asked.

Jack had the others take seats. He grabbed a bottle of water from his pack and told them everything.

“Holy shit,” Zaun said. “I can’t believe there were people in there.”

“You’re lucky, Jack,” Maria told him. “You could’ve been killed. From now on we need to stick together.”

Jack nodded, feeling the cool water travel down his gullet.

“Why don’t we stay over there?” Zaun asked.

“I thought about it,” Jack answered. “Wanted to know what you guys think, but I say we remain here. There’s no way out of that place if the hall fills with undead. At least here we have two ways out.”

“I agree,” Maria said. “Makes sense; we just have to be quieter here.”

“I don’t know guys.” Zaun blew on his reddened hands. “It sounds like we’d be safer over there. No need to worry. We could wait out the undead with peace of mind. It’d be like being in a bank vault; nothing could get to us.”

“Yeah,” Maria agreed, “but if we run out of food before the zombies leave, then what? We have no idea how they operate. They might not be able to get out of the building, the damn things too stupid to do so.”

“But back in the alley they left after what… a couple of days?” Zaun asked.

“That was different,” Jack said. “One easy way in and out. Here, we’re in a building with other apartments and floors. Those things might be stuck in here forever.”

Zaun sighed, looking defeated. “Whatever you guys think.”

Maria patted him on the knee. “As long as we’re quiet, we’ll be fine right here. Don’t worry.”

“I guess you guys are right,” Zaun supposed. “But hearing about that place makes me want to be there… and out of all the apartments, why’d this one have to be the one we stay in?”

“Yeah,” Jack said, “but it is what it is. ”

“This place creeps me out,” Maria added, “but we’re shit out of options.”

“Did you get a chance to check out 3F, Jack?” Zaun asked.

“Just the living room and kitchen. Not much there, just an upscale apartment.”

“What would a nice place like that be doing in this part of town?” Maria asked. “Yeah,” Zaun said. “We’re in a warehouse district, not exactly the area a person would come if they had money. You said they were armed, had guns stashed all over?”

Jack nodded. “The guy came at me with a sawed-off. 12 gauge. He had a handgun taped to the bottom of a desk, and another under one of the couch’s cushions.

“So what do think that place is?” Zaun asked.

“No idea,” Jack said. “Don’t care either. I just want to get the hell out of this city.”

“Amen to that,” Maria said.

Jack saw his friend thinking. “Forget about that place. We’re here. We’re safe. That’s all that matters.”

They cleared some floor space in the living room and decided Zaun would take up the next watch, allowing Jack and Maria to catch some shuteye.

Lying on his back, Jack couldn’t get to sleep. He kept thinking about the people he had just killed. It was self — defense; he was in the right. But still… they were people. He kept replaying the scenes in his mind, but there was nothing else he could’ve done. In less than twenty — four hours, he had killed a number of people. When he thought about it like that, he felt hollow inside, as if he might lose his mind. He had to remind himself that every single kill was in defense of his and the others lives. His kills across the hall were justified. He still felt awful, as if something was weighing him down, but knew he had no choice. If he hadn’t acted, he’d be dead and his friends would be stuck outside. He also had a sister to get to, to help, and Maria had a daughter.

Shaken, he thought about his wife and their time together. He thought about his sister, about how he had to make sure she was okay. He feared he would never get to sleep, but eventually, weariness overtook him and he drifted off to sleep.

Chapter 24

Not wanting to touch anything, and with nowhere to go and nothing but crinkled porn magazines to read, Zaun grew bored. He was a little tired, but the few hours of sleep from earlier had done wonders. With nothing else to do, he found where the floor creaked, marking the places with pieces of paper he found in a notebook. He’d tell the others about it when they woke.

He checked the peephole, always finding the hallway empty. He thought it strange, or was it amazing that the undead hadn’t come upstairs? He guessed climbing steps was something like an obstacle to them, and the simple-minded things needed encouragement to do so. He supposed one could wander up, but so far it seemed like the third floor was safe.

An hour passed by, seeming like two. How many times could he walk around the apartment? Everything was disgusting, property of the scumbag who lived there. He should’ve grabbed a book from his own apartment before leaving. Now he understood the whole e-reader thing. Sure, it’d have to be charged once in a while, but he’d have his whole library on it, taking it with him wherever he went.

Standing by the front door, peering through the peephole, Zaun suddenly had to use the restroom. His stomach was gurgling. He must have eaten something bad, or maybe it was all the pressure and nerves from everything. Either way, he had to shit.

He headed to the bathroom, but stopped himself before entering. The dead female was there, and even with the pine-scented air fresheners, the corpse was stinking up the already grime-covered, filthy room. He couldn’t go in there, but the urge to defecate was coming on strong.

He had an idea.

At the front door, he looked through the peephole, and saw the same empty hallway he’d been seeing since he took up watch. Then his eye focused on the beautiful steel door across the way. 3F spoke to him, telling him to come and use its bathroom. No one would know. He could use the facilities in peace, in cleanliness.

He had wanted to check the apartment out anyway. A place so well-secured it had to have something important inside. He could kill way more than two birds with one stone-relieve himself, satisfy his curiosity, and pass the time. Maybe even find something the group could use.

Leaving his machine gun against the wall, Zaun unlocked the door, undoing the deadbolt as slowly as possible. He winced as the hinges let out a pig-like squeal. Freezing for a few moments, he opened the door the rest of the way at a snail’s pace.

Armed with his Glock, a knife, and a sword, Zaun stepped into the hallway and eased the door shut behind him.

The need to use the bathroom was stronger now, and if it wasn’t for his martial arts training, he didn’t think he’d have the will to hold it in, or the ability to move silently like a panther. He’d practice Aikido, Closed Crane Kung Fu, Kali-Silat, and Tai Chi, and not the Tai Chi practiced in parks at five in the morning, but combat Tai Chi designed for self — defense. The other arts were external in nature, relying more on muscle movement for power. Tai Chi was an internal art where a person used inner strength combined with energy, or chi, to overwhelm an enemy. The art was also good for healing one’s mind and body. Zaun had found Kung Fu and Tai Chi to be the most favorite of the martial arts and the most deadly.

He carefully worked his way over to apartment 3F’s door. Anytime he heard the floor begin to creak, he shifted his weight to another spot, making sure to mentally draw up a map of the hallway so on his way back he’d be able to move in silence.

Reaching the door, he opened it and went in.

Zaun’s mouth fell open at how fresh the air smelled and at how clean the place was. Not a mark on the walls, and all freshly painted a light blue. The floor was tan ceramic tile. Just down the hall, Zaun found the bathroom, the layout appearing the same as 3R’s.

Taking one look at the place, his bowels relaxed. The room smelled like strawberries. The sink was clean. A metal soap dispenser sat on it. The toilet itself sparkled. Hanging his gun belt on the open door and leaning his sword against the wall, he pulled down his pants, and sat, the cool seat a welcomed feeling.

Next to the toilet was a magazine rack filled with periodicals. Zaun knew he should hurry, that what he was doing was not the brightest idea, but he couldn’t help himself. He didn’t want to rush. This was the most relaxed he’d felt in a long time, and he had no idea when he’d get to feel this way again.

Finishing up an article on how to prepare garlic sauteed ribs, Zaun placed the magazine back, ready to grab a sheet of toilet paper when he heard what sounded like the shuffling of feet. Someone was in the apartment. Jack had said everyone in 3F was dead, but he also told Zaun that he didn’t get a chance to check the entire place.

Unable to reach his sword, Zaun went for the gun belt hanging on the door, his fingers just grazing the leather. He stretched farther, but in doing so fell forward, pulling the belt with him as he landed face down on the floor.

Looking ahead, he saw a woman’s feet, the toenails painted a bright pink. Craning his neck, he looked up and saw her skeletal form. She had a small hole with red around it in the center of her half-shirt, trickles of blood covering parts of the tattoo around her belly button. Her eyes had no life in them. Zaun forgot all about his shit-covered ass. He fumbled with the belt, trying to get to the gun. The zombie stepped within inches of him and was bending down. Curling his fingers around the handle, he withdrew the pistol, pointed it at the zombie, and pulled the trigger only to hear a dry click. Fuck, he had to rack the slide. The zombie was on top of him, pulling at his hair. He could smell the coppery odor of its blood over the odor of his defecation. Racking the slide, he shoved the gun under the zombie’s jaw and fired. The thing’s head jerked back and then collapsed on top of him.

Rolling onto his back, he shoved the corpse off, then sat up. Grabbing the rim of the toilet seat, he pulled himself up and sat back down. He stayed there a moment as he caught his breath and calmed down. That was too close. He’d almost been killed while taking a dump.

Looking down, he checked his legs and pants for fecal matter. Finding none, he cleaned his rear, pulled up his pants and re-armed himself. Exiting the bathroom, he walked down the hall to the living room.

A large man’s body was lying face down on the floor-the guy Jack had killed. The couch was woman-less, confirming the zombie Zaun had put down, was the woman Jack shot. Chunks of flesh were missing from the man’s meaty legs and back, his clothes torn to shreds. That meant the woman Jack had shot was infected. Jack hadn’t said anything about her state, that she’d looked sick. Maybe she hadn’t. It was possible she’d been bit just before they all arrived. Maybe that was why the guy had come out of his apartment, to see if Jack could help. If that was the case, the man sure didn’t know the proper way to ask. Why hadn’t Jack shot her in the head as he did to Kevin?

Seeing a closed door, probably the bedroom, Zaun went over and tried it. Locked. It was a common wooden door, maybe a little more solid than usual with two Mul-T-Locks on it. Without hesitation, he kicked the door a few times, splintering the wood around the locks. A final kick and the door opened.

Stepping into the room, his jaw dropped. Along the entire rear wall were tall, extra wide lockers. To his right was a monitoring station, with three computers and eight twenty-inch monitors. Each monitor was showing a different part of the building. One view was of the hallway outside the apartment. Others were of the alley out back, the foyer downstairs, the stairwells, and the hallways. These people had eyes on the whole building. He hadn’t noticed any of the cameras either. They must have been well-hidden. First, it was the apartment being totally out of place. Now he was in some kind of security center. What the hell was all this about?

Walking up to one of the lockers, Zaun tapped a knuckle against it. The thing was solid, safe-like, and had fireproofing over the steel. Each one had a thick steel lock on it. He tried rocking the thing, but it wouldn’t budge and was either too heavy or bolted to the wall, or perhaps both. He came to the conclusion the things weren’t lockers, but some kind of vaults. He had never seen such a thing before. Lockers used padlocks; safes and vaults used combinations. Why would someone have such secure devices and not use combinations?

Glancing at the monitors, Zaun found the two labeled “third floor” and saw the staircase and floor were still clear of undead.

Turning back to the lockers, he was dying to see what they held. He didn’t think shooting off the locks was a good idea or that it would even work. He’d have to find the keys.

He checked the computer station, scanning the tabletop and rifling through the drawers.

Not finding any keys, Zaun went back into the living room and over to the dead man. He checked the right front pocket of the corpse’s pants and found a wad of twenties. Pocketing the cash, he checked the left pocket and felt the bite of something hard and jagged against his fingers, then pulled out a set of keys.

Returning to the lockers, he tried a couple of the cut pieces of metal before one slid into the lock. Turning the key, the lock clicked open, echoing around the room. He maneuvered the U-shaped piece from the locker and placed it in his pocket. A little voice inside his head screamed at him, yelling for him to stop what he was doing. To turn around and walk away. He had heard this voice before. It was usually right, but not always, and he had to see what was inside. He had to know why the place was set up the way it was. Wrapping his fingers around the locker’s handle, he pulled the door open.

Zaun staggered backward, his mouth agape. The little voice snickered. He knew then that he should’ve listened to it. Inside the locker, stacked one on top of the other, were kilos of white powder, cocaine.

Now he understood the reason for the security. For the monitors and the guns. For the soundproofing. Apartment 3F was a narcotic storage house. A place where drugs were kept before being distributed or cut down.

Zaun closed his eyes. He was sweaty, shaking. His chest ached at how fast his heart was pounding. The little voice inside his head was mocking him. Telling him that he should have listened to it. That he was fucked, his ten years of sobriety was in jeopardy.

“Damn it.” Zaun slapped the locker in anger. If he’d stayed in 3R none of this would be happening. Why did he always find himself in such miserable places? Making so many mistakes? He’d made plenty throughout his life, but becoming a drug addict was by far the worst. He wouldn’t go down that road again. Couldn’t. Coming here was a bad idea. He could walk away. He was strong enough. He had a focused, determined mind. Just close the locker and leave; forget what he saw.

He’d been through so much. The time he spent in his apartment during the first days of the epidemic still haunted him. He’d been so alone. The images and sounds from those days, and what he had been through since that time, always reared their ugly heads. The screams outside his door. The dead bodies. The mutilated corpses. Watching the dead eat the living. All of this weighed heavily, like an anvil, on Zaun’s mind. The only way to cope was to keep busy so he didn’t have to think about what had happened. He hated sleeping, the dreams filled with the screams and pleas of the living. He’d needed something to take the edge off, but had been fighting against it since being locked up in his apartment on the 23rd floor. He shook his head. No, he knew better than to head down that road again.

Zaun spent his younger years filling his body with poison, becoming a prisoner to its call. He was a different person now. He’d gone through the recovery process, had received help, but as with all addicts, that dark part of him, that ominous shadow that followed him everywhere, was always with him to some degree. There were times after his recovery when the darkness would whisper to him. Tell him the tough times were easier to get through with the help of an old friend. Some days were harder than others, but he’d been able to keep the darkness at bay, even shove it deep down where it almost seemed to disappear.

He felt the shadow, the darkness, coming alive at seeing its salvation. At seeing months, maybe years, worth of magnificent nose candy. He and it could live here forever.

Zaun opened his eyes. His body felt weak, as if he hadn’t eaten for days. He knew it was his mind battling against itself. Digging his fingernails into his palms, he shook his head and told himself he could beat this. He didn’t need any of his old friends. His breathing grew faster, nostrils flaring with each intake of air. “No,” he said, feeling the warmth of anger build in his chest. His toes and fingers tingled. “No.” He was strong now-had been trained in dealing with his addiction. Grabbing the locker door, he slammed it shut, the air seeming to shake around him. The darkness within lashed out at him, screaming at him to open the door. Zaun grinned, knowing the dark part of him was in pain. He enjoyed knowing it was suffering.

The darkness’ rage departed. Zaun felt a moment of relief before the voice whispered softly to him. It begged him to reconsider, merely to have a taste, something to ease the pain and get him through these horrendous times. Once he made it out of the city, he could relax, get his mind back to full strength and forget all about his little “slip up.”

Zaun’s grin became full blown, knowing how desperate the voice was. How pathetic. He wished he could kill it, make sure it never came back, but that could never be. He was an addict and always would be, having accepted the fact long ago.

During and after rehab, Zaun left his old associates behind. They weren’t his friends. He needed to start fresh; make new ones. He also wanted to keep the number low. He and Jack had hit it off after Jack moved into the building. The two had just clicked, enjoying the same sports teams, eateries, and movies. He had never told Jack about his past and not because he was ashamed, but because he wanted his new life to be just that, new. Part of accepting responsibility was acknowledging his problem and he always did, going to meetings when he needed to, but he kept his friends ignorant of his past. Much of it was shrouded in a haze and what he did remember was awful, but it was something he had to remember, never wanting to go there again. Blackouts, binges, waking up in places he had no idea where he was or how he arrived at them. He’d been in jail a number of times too. He hit rock bottom when he woke up naked in a dumpster in Hell’s Kitchen. He had finally decided he needed help and began the long arduous road to recovery.

Those were his life experiences and choices. They didn’t need to be shared with others, especially others who had never gone down his path. He didn’t think Jack would look at him differently, but he could never be sure. His past had told him anything was possible.

Now, he was on his own with no one to talk with, well, no one to talk with that would understand his situation. The people in his support group were most likely all dead or walking around the city looking for a bite of human flesh. For now, he’d have to rely on everything he’d learned, including his martial arts training which helped play a huge part in his recovery.

Martial arts were always something he had been interested in, having grown up watching Bruce Lee movies as well as the great Shaw Brother’s films on Saturday afternoons. His sponsor, a practicing martial artist, brought him to an Aikido class and from there it was full steam ahead. After receiving his black belt in Aikido, Zaun moved on to Closed Crane Kung Fu, Kali-Silat, and combat Tai Chi. Martial arts supplied him with focus and an inner strength that he had never known.

Zaun was a tough, strong-minded individual in a normal world where things could be controlled or managed, at least to some degree. The undead epidemic had shattered that. Things were turned upside down and inside out. Now he was in a place where he didn’t know if he’d make it to the next day.

With determination, he turned away from the coke-packed locker and left the room. He marched through the apartment, making it to the front door and stopped.

Maybe just a little taste before you go? The darkness whispered. Take some with you, just in case you need it.

Zaun turned around and went back to the locker. Without thinking, he reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out the keys, not remembering taking them with him. He removed all the locks on the lockers, then opened the door to one. He felt the shadow burst with excitement again, screaming at him to take a sniff, just a sniff and all would be better.

“Ten years sober,” he said aloud, his words hitting the shadow like a sledgehammer. He felt it cry out. It was angry. Maybe he’d kept it at bay for too long and now it was its turn?

Didn’t people slip up? At least once? He hadn’t, at least not yet.

“You can beat this,” he told himself. “You did it before. You can do it again. Others are counting on you. You’re part of a team.”

Then just take some for later, the shadow suggested. Just in case. Better to have than to not have. It’ll keep you alert, focused.

“No. Fuck you, you fuck.” Zaun slammed the locker onto his hand, the pain mind-clearing. Sobering.

In a controlled rage, he began pulling the kilos from the locker, creating a pile on the floor. From there he carried the drugs into the living room. When he was finished, he went back and did the same for the next locker until all the lockers were empty and all the cocaine was in the living room. He raised one of the gates, then opened the window and began tossing the kilos out into the street.

Chapter 25

Jack awoke, his bladder feeling ready to burst. Maria was fast asleep next to him. He walked to the bathroom and relieved himself. Shaking the last few drops, he went to flush, stopping himself as his fingers touched the handle, the motion so ingrained he’d almost forgot not to do it. A small error like that and they could be overrun with undead.

Heading back into the living room, he wondered where Zaun was. Not imagining the guy in either bedroom, he checked them anyway.

Where the hell was Zaun?

Son of a bitch, Jack thought and marched to the front door. Zaun’s M4 was resting against the wall. He looked through the peephole, making sure the hallway was safe, then pulled on the door knob, seeing if the lock was engaged.

It wasn’t.

He opened the door about a foot and stuck his head out. There was no way his friend went downstairs, and he doubted Zaun went to the roof.

Jack slowly shook his head. That left only one place: 3F. Zaun couldn’t resist, could he? He simply had to see the place. Check it out for himself. This was bad. Really bad. Jack and Maria had trusted him. What the hell was he thinking, risking their lives for curiosity’s sake?

Jack had to go get him before something terrible happened. Closing the door, he went back into the apartment and retrieved his gun belt and harness, wanting both sidearms with him.

Heading back to the door, he paused, needing a moment to get himself under control. He was livid and needed to do this with a clear head. As long as Zaun was in 3F, the man was safe, but that didn’t mean Jack could take his time. He had to find Zaun and get back to the apartment before any undead came upstairs, or they’d have to fight their way back to 3R, the noise bringing a house full of undead to the floor.

Jack turned the knob slowly and opened the door just enough to allow himself to slip into the hallway. The floor whined under his feet, causing his pulse to pound harder. The noise wasn’t too loud, but with the third floor so hushed, he had no idea what it would take to attract the zombies’ attention. He supposed the combination of their shuffling shoes, the rubbing of their clothing, and their banging into walls was enough to keep the undead from hearing the sound of Jack’s weight upon the floorboards.

Reaching his destination, he opened the door and went in. A few feet away, Jack saw a pair of legs protruding from the bathroom’s doorway. Pulling out his. 45, he walked forward and saw that it was the woman he’d killed earlier. Damn it, she must have been infected.

Odd noises drew his attention away from the corpse. He continued down the hallway and into the living room where he found Zaun flinging what had to be drugs out the window.

“What the fuck are you doing?”

Zaun dropped one of the packets, and spun around, sword in hand.

“You scared the crap out of me, Jack.”

“What are you doing?” Jack asked, holstering his weapon. Zaun’s face was pale. He looked terrible, like he’d heard truly awful news.

“Tossing this shit out the window.”

Taking a breath, trying to remain calm, Jack asked, “Why? And why’d you leave the apartment? You put all of our lives in jeopardy.”

“I know,” he said, looking down. “I’m sorry. Wasn’t supposed to be long.”

“Are those keys of coke?”

“Yeah.” Zaun went on to explain how he had to use the bathroom and couldn’t stand to use the one in 3R. He figured going across the hall to a clean, fresh place wouldn’t hurt and he’d be back in no time. He was quieter than a mouse wearing booties, but while doing his business he was attacked by a zombie.

“I saw that. Had no idea she was infected.” Thinking back: the woman did look a little sickly. He should have made sure. Lesson learned.

Zaun told Jack about the lockers, then showed him the room.

“Why not just leave the stuff alone?”

“I’m a recovering drug addict,” Zaun said, then quickly filled Jack in about his past.

“I had no idea.”

“How could you? It was a long time ago, before I met you. I left that part of myself behind. For me, the want is always there. And lately it’s been difficult. All the killing; the death; the guns; the noise.” He shook his head. “The drugs, they’re a way out. A bullshit way, but a way. When I saw what was in the lockers I almost passed out from relief. I was tempted. Really tempted. I walked away, but found myself thinking about them as I did so. That shit is powerful, and I knew being across the hall that I wouldn’t be able to stop picturing those lockers and all the glorious evil they held. I had to do something so that I wasn’t tempted to come back over here and take some.” Zaun looked shaken. “I’m sorry, Jack. I know I really screwed up.”

Jack wanted to ream him out. Tell him if he had listened in the first place, that none of this would’ve happened, but he held his tongue. What was done was done.

“So you figured you’d give to them to the dead, ensuring there was no way you’d try for them?”

“Yeah.”

Jack saw that there were two kilos remaining. “Going to toss those?”

Zaun nodded.

“Then get to it. We need to leave.”

Zaun picked up the last two keys and launched them out the window.

“You realize you’ve stirred them up even more now?”

“Yeah.” Zaun looked crushed; like a little kid informed that his favorite toy is gone.

“And it’ll be that much longer before they leave.”

“I know. I’m really sorry, but it was the only way. I couldn’t take a chance. Knowing that shit was here was just too much. I haven’t been right, not since the world went to hell.”

At the front door, Jack looked through the peephole. A naked male zombie was standing near 3R’s door, slightly wobbling like a drunkard.

“Shit.”

“What is it?”

“Undead right outside 3R.”

“Only one?”

“Yeah.”

“We can take it out easily.”

Jack turned and said, “It’s facing away from us. Kill it as quickly and as quietly as possible.”

Zaun nodded.

Putting his hands on Zaun’s shoulders, Jack asked him if he was going to be okay.

“I’ll be fine. Leaving here will help.”

“Good. Next time, talk to me. We’re all in this together and we’re all each other have.”

Jack moved out of the way, giving Zaun room. Zaun opened the door, the hinges not making a sound and stepped out into the hallway.

The zombie had various gashes and wounds along its back and legs, the sores infected, with a green tinge to them.

Jack wondered how much longer it’d be before others came up the stairs.

Zaun moved gradually, his steps appearing to be purposefully placed, as if avoiding invisible land mines. Jack knew the floor creaked, but had no idea exactly where, but was sure his friend did. Zaun had somehow memorized the noisy areas. The man was amazing when it came to such things.

Jack waited with eager anticipation, wanting nothing more than the zombie dead and he and Zaun safely back inside 3R, but his fear came to fruition when the stairs began to creak. Looking through the rungs of the banister, he saw the blood-drenched head of a zombie.

Zaun drew his sword and plunged the blade into the undead’s skull. The corpse went limp, acting like a corpse should. He turned around as Blood-Drenched reached the landing. Zaun backed away, leading the thing from the stairs. Halfway to Jack, he stopped, waited for the zombie, then jabbed his sword into its right orbital, obliterating the eyeball. The sword poked out the back of its head and the zombie went limp. Zaun caught it before it had a chance to crash to the floor and gently laid it down.

Another zombie was coming up the stairs, an elderly, heavy-set member of the undead. Jack hoped this would be the last one. It lumbered slowly, wobbly on its feet. Four steps down from the top, it fell forward, its face landing on one of the stairs and knocking out its front teeth. Pushing itself back up, it lost its balance and fell backward, tumbling down the stairs.

Jack felt the blood leave his face as the air rushed out of his lungs. That was it. The gig was up.

Zaun met Jack’s eyes. “We’re fucked.”

Jack pulled 3F’s door closed, unsure why, and ran to 3R, not worrying about being quiet any longer.

With Zaun inside 3R, Jack closed and locked the door.

“Maybe we’ll be all right,” Zaun said.

“Go wake up Maria and prepare to leave.”

“Maybe we should get to 3F while we can.”

“We’d be stuck there indefinitely. We’ll stay here for as long as we can and if we have to leave at least we have the fire escape. Now go.”

Jack turned to look through the peephole while Zaun went to wake Maria.

Zaun had screwed up royally, putting them all in danger. Damn it. They could’ve been resting easy. Now they’d have the dead right outside the door, and with 3F’s door closed, the hallway was going to fill up quickly. He should’ve left the place open.

Jack saw the first undead coming up the stairs. It was a male, dressed in a tuxedo, the white shirt with its fluffy front drenched crimson. Behind it was another elderly male zombie, its right eye dangling from the socket like an unfinished electrical outlet. Where the thing’s right ear used to be was a gaping hole of raw flesh. Right next to it was another member of the undead. They were walking hastily up the stairs, side by side.

As the undead reached the top, they spread out in the hall, going this way and that, bumping into walls and each other. There was nowhere for them to go. Jack’s mouth went dry as he watched the torn and bloodied bodies mill about. The door thumped loudly as undead after undead slammed into it. Unable to look away, he watched as the floor quickly filled until his view was obstructed. Feeling the door bow inward, bending under the mass’ weight, he backed away.

The undead were mindless, cramming the third floor, crushing each other. Continuing to retreat, he heard the wood splintering. Being quiet didn’t matter anymore; soon the zombies would be inside. But it wasn’t the door that gave way under the pressure of the dead, it was the hinges, the wood too rotted to hold. First, the top broke away, then the bottom. The door flew open and crashed to the floor. Undead poured into the apartment, falling onto one another, tripping each other up and slowing down the invading horde.

“They’re inside,” Jack yelled as he ran into the living room. “We have to go.”

Zaun’s and Maria’s faces wore masks of terror.

“What?” Maria asked, seeming confused.

“They’re inside,” Jack responded. “Get to the fire escape.”

Arms filled with weapons and supplies, the group fell back to the window. Maria dropped her pack and started firing at the undead as they entered the living room area. Zaun joined her as Jack opened the security gate and window.

“Maria,” he yelled, “ let’s go.”

She stopped firing, grabbed her pack and came over to the window. Tossing her bag onto the fire escape, she climbed out after it. Jack blasted away at the undead, but for every one he dropped, two more took its place.

The unnatural things collided into furniture, falling over the couch and table. They were like an unyielding force, a river. As they spread out, coming around the various pieces of furniture it became harder and harder to take them out.

“Zaun,” Jack said, “you’re next.”

“No, you first. This is my mess.”

“Damn it.”

Jack heard the sound of glass shattering behind him. He turned around and saw Maria smashing out the remaining shards of the barred window with the butt of her weapon. “Move your asses, gentlemen,” she ordered and began laying down cover fire.

Jack crawled through the open window after having tossed his pack out. He yelled for Zaun, then broke the window’s upper section of glass and began firing into the apartment.

Jack heard Zaun cry out. He glanced down to see his friend climbing from the window, a zombie holding onto his left leg, its jaws clenched around the calf.

Jack soccer kicked the corpse in the head. He heard a loud snap as its head flew back, the zombie falling lifelessly back into the apartment.

Jack pulled Zaun to him as he and Maria stood huddled against the railing, trying to get as far away from the reaching arms as possible. She continued firing at the undead as they attempted to make their way onto the fire escape.

Looking down, Jack saw that a number of undead had gathered below, with more making their way down the alley. They had a decision to make-go down and fight, or head to the roof and hope for something better.

“Up or down?” he asked, firing into the head of a badly burned corpse as it made its way through the window.

With no time to reload, Maria and Zaun were down to using. 9mm’s. Jack fired off the last shotgun shell in his weapon.

With all the noise, the alley was filling up fast. He had to make a decision.

“We’re going up,” he said. Maria’s gun clicked empty. She grabbed onto the ladder and climbed. The thing was bolted to the wall, making it completely vertical and impossible, at least Jack hoped, for the dead to climb.

Zaun went up next, then Jack. Upon reaching the roof, he looked down and saw the fire escape flooded with undead. They had just made it. He kept an eye on the ladder, making sure none of the undead could climb it.

Turning around, he saw Zaun standing by Maria. Jack walked up and punched him in the face, sending Zaun to the pebble-covered tar-papered roof.

“What the hell, Jack?” Maria asked.

Zaun sat up, rubbing his jaw.

“Ask him,” he said.

She looked at Zaun.

“Guess I had that coming,” he said, getting to his feet.

“Did I miss something?” Maria asked.

Zaun moved his jaw around, then gave a brief account of his watch and how he went into 3F, and that if it wasn’t for him, the undead would’ve most likely left them alone.

“You asshole,” Maria said, fists clenched, nostrils flared. Jack thought she might take a swing herself.

He felt a little better after punching Zaun. He shouldn’t have done it, but he was too upset to care. They’d almost been killed, turned into zombie chow, and Zaun needed to comprehend that his friend-his understanding friend, needed him to pay in some way, even if that way was in the form of a single punch to the face. Let the guy know how angry he was and that those kinds of actions wouldn’t be tolerated.

“You almost got us killed,” Maria went on. “You know that? And now we’re stuck on this roof in the cold.”

“We need to be able to count on you,” Jack chimed in. “On each other.”

Zaun looked like a kid who had been told Santa wasn’t coming this year. “I’m so sorry guys. ” He looked at Jack, then Maria. “I… it won’t happen again.”

Maria was shaking her head, biting her lip and tapping her foot, appearing ready to explode. She didn’t know about Zaun’s past, his drug problem, but that wasn’t really the issue. If Zaun had remained in the apartment, none of this would be happening. But Jack didn’t want the guy sliding into a depressed state, spiraling downward. They needed him. He had little knowledge of dealing with a recovering addict, but figured it was best to stay positive.

“We need to settle this here and now,” he said.

“Settle my ass,” Maria spat. “How am I supposed to trust this guy? What if you didn’t wake up when you did and the dead came upstairs and into our apartment?”

“I know. But the important thing is that I did wake up.”

“Maria,” Zaun said. “I’m sorry. Sorrier than you’ll ever know. It won’t happen again. I should’ve stayed in the apartment. I know we’re a group. We need each other in order to make it out of here. I was only thinking of myself, pretending the situation wasn’t so bad. I was wrong. So wrong. If I’d listened and stayed, we’d be all right now.”

“Yeah. You should be sorry.”

“I know this might sound crazy, but if you want to hit me go ahead. I think it made Jack feel better.”

This only seemed to make Maria angrier as her fingers curled into fists. “If I want to hit you, I don’t need permission or a free swing. I have a daughter I need to get back to. I won’t let anyone jeopardize that. Do it again and it’ll be more than a fist you’ll have to worry about.”

Zaun nodded. “I understand. Again, to the both of you, I’m so, so sorry.”

Maria seemed to calm down a bit, but Jack could see she was still fuming. She looked like a woman wearing an invisible straight jacket, arms folded tightly over her chest and breathing hard.

“Let’s take care of that leg,” Jack said to Zaun.

“I’ll do it,” Maria offered. “I need to do something besides reload my weapons. Fixing you up will help me calm down. Don’t know why, but it always did on the battlefield. Maybe zapping your ass will make me smile.”

Jack looked at her funny, then smiled. “I’m going to check the roofs, see if I can find a way into one of the other buildings.”

“Be careful, Jack,” Maria told him as he left her to tend to Zaun.

He wasn’t sure how long they’d survive on the roof. They had food and water, making the physical aspect of survival possible, at least for a couple of days, but without sleep-the frigid weather making it impossible-their mental well-being would suffer. And if they planned on making it off the roof, they needed their physical and mental facets to be in top form.

He wondered how the rest of the world was doing, if the bot-virus had spread much farther than the metropolitan area? Was his sister, Sara, okay? She was all he had left. He couldn’t think about her now. He needed to stay focused. When they found shelter, he would take out the picture of his wife and reminisce over it, but until then, he had to leave his emotions, at least the tender ones, at the door.

He approached one of the other roof hatches. Why he thought it would be easier to open than before was completely lost on him. The thing was rock solid and tightly sealed. He thought about trying to blast his way through, but found the idea unlikely to work.

“Hey,” he yelled to the others. Maria looked up. She was rubbing ointment onto Zaun’s wound. “I’m going to check the fire escape on the other building. The one with the ladder.” Maria gave him the thumbs up, then told him to be careful.

There were eight buildings connected together. Jack went to the only other one with a ladder connected to a fire escape and climbed down. Using the stock of his shotgun, he smashed in the window, then began kicking at the security gate. The thing wouldn’t budge. Shouldering his weapon, he reached out to grab the gate, thinking maybe it was unlocked and he could just slide it open, when a set of gnarled and bloodied fingers shot through the bars. Jack flinched, taking his hand back. Looking through the gaps in the bars, wide enough for digits but not much else, Jack saw an elderly member of the undead, dressed in a blue dress and wearing an apron. Trying to see passed the thing, he didn’t think he saw any more undead inside. If it was just the one, it wouldn’t be a problem. He couldn’t reach his hand through the gate anyway, the bars were too close together. The gate was designed according to fire department regulations, allowing a person on the inside to simply pull open the gate without having to use a key or combination. At the same time, the gate could not be opened from the outside, short of cutting through the bars.

Jack was familiar with the devices, having had them on his apartment windows when he lived in Brooklyn. Some of the cheaper ones, or ones that weren’t installed correctly, could be forced open with enough effort placed on them. Apparently, the gate in front of him was put in properly.

He placed the shotgun’s barrel against the gate where the gate opened. What he was about to do probably wasn’t the brightest idea he’d ever had, but he had to try something. Remaining outside wasn’t an option. Cocking the weapon, he secured it with his shoulder, making sure all his weight was on it, and fired.

The gun shot backward, slamming into his shoulder, reminding Jack of when he was younger and fired a 12 gauge for the first time. Studying the gate, he saw that it was no longer flush against the window frame. Kicking it, it was still locked. He’d only loosened it. Again, he placed the shotgun against the gate and fired, grimacing as pain erupted from his shoulder.

“What’s going on, Jack?” Maria said.

Looking up, Jack saw the woman leaning over the roof’s edge, using the ladder for support.

“Nothing. Trying to get us inside. Figured the noise doesn’t matter so much anymore.”

“Guess not, but now you have an audience.” Maria pointed to the ground.

Jack looked down to see a crowd of undead below him, coming from the building he and the others had been in.

“Think you’ll get in?”

“I think so. Maybe another blast and she’ll open.”

“Don’t you dare think about going inside without us.”

“I won’t.” He didn’t tell her about the zombie in the apartment.

Jack cocked the shotgun again, lined up the barrel against the gate and fired, wincing as the butt kicked into his already sore shoulder. The gate flew open, knocking into the zombie, and sent it falling backwards.

Pulling the Sig Sauer out, Jack aimed at the downed living corpse and put a bullet into its head. Holstering the weapon, he waited for the others before going in.

As soon as Maria stepped onto the fire escape, Jack tossed his pack into the apartment and climbed through the window.

He took Maria’s pack from her, placing it away from the corpse, and told her and Zaun that he was going to do a sweep of the place.

He headed for one of the bedrooms and saw how the residence’s layout was identical to the apartments in the adjoining buildings. The master bedroom was clear. The queen-size bed was neatly made. Dresser drawers were in place with knickknacks and framed pictures lying along the top of the bureaus. The closet doors were closed. Whoever had lived there had made sure to tidy up before leaving, probably wanting to return to a clean home.

The other bedroom was also orderly. The bed was made, the covers decorated with a purple floral pattern. Posters of current music groups and movie stars hung on the walls. A row of stuffed animals lined a shelf, while others sat in front of the pillows on the bed. Thinking about the zombie he had just killed, he didn’t think it was a former tenant to the apartment. He was in a family’s home, and from the looks of it, they had a young teenage daughter. Unless grandma had come to visit and was left behind, he believed the elderly zombie must have wandered in from the hallway.

Exiting the bedroom, he passed by the kitchen and the bathroom, both zombie-less and clean-looking. The apartment’s front door was wide open. He approached cautiously and stepped into the hallway. Checking the stairs, he saw they were clear. He heard nothing. No rubbing of fabric. No footsteps. Satisfied, he went back inside the apartment, also labeled 3R, and closed the door.

Maria was waiting for him. “Everything okay?”

“I think so. Maybe we got lucky for a change.”

“Should we do a check of the building?”

“I don’t know. I’d rather just sit tight here. Not take a chance of attracting anything to us. If there were any undead in the building, I think they’d have been up here by now, unless of course they’re trapped in the apartments. If that’s the case, I say let them be.”

Maria nodded. “Amen to that.”

Heading into the living room, they decided Jack would take the first watch. He was the best rested of the bunch. Sure, he was tired, but told the others he was fine. He and Zaun carried the corpse into the kid’s bedroom, not wanting to smell the thing as it decayed. Maria slept in the master bedroom while Zaun took the couch in the living room. All the backpacks were kept packed and in the living room in case the need to leave hastily arose.

Jack went to the peephole and checked on the hallway. Seeing that it was clear, he went into the kitchen. Before using the group’s supply, he checked the cupboards, finding a few cans of vegetables, a box of crackers, packets of jello, sugar, and a box of instant oatmeal.

Wanting something substantial, he opened a can of baked beans from the group’s supply and sat at the table with the box of crackers. A tea kettle rested on the stove. Jack filled it with tap water and set it to boil. He grabbed a bowl from one of the cupboards and poured in a packet of cinnamon and brown sugar oatmeal. While waiting for the water to boil, he looked around, finding moldy bread in a breadbox. He lifted the lid off a ceramic jar and discovered it full with bags of caffeinated tea.

Just as the teapot was ready to scream, he turned off the burner and made the oatmeal and a cup of tea.

Sitting at the table, eating his meal, he noticed that the microwave wasn’t showing the time. Looking around, he saw nothing indicating that the electricity was on. He got up, went over to the light switch and flicked it on. The overhead light flared to life, brightening the window-less kitchen.

After finishing his meal, he sat back, letting his stomach settle. The apartment was so quiet. Closing his eyes, he could be anywhere. Now was the time to let a little of his emotions out, having no idea when he would get another chance.

Reaching into his jacket, he pulled out the wallet photo of his wife and stared at it. His heart began to ache. He had mourned her at the bunker, but not nearly enough. His throat felt tight. Sipping the warm tea helped with the uncomfortable sensation.

He and Jess had been sitting on the couch, watching television. By morning, she was sick. A few moments later, she was dead. He still couldn’t believe it, and if he hadn’t gone back to his apartment after the fact, he wasn’t sure he would believe it. Yes, he’d seen her body in the bunker. Pressed the button, putting her corpse down, but it was still so hard to fathom. Seeing their apartment the way it was had been surreal, but at the same time it was waking, truthful.

Staring at her beautiful face, he remembered their time together, from waking up in the morning and seeing her tired eyes, to eating dinner at a quaint little downtown joint. Tears filled his eyes. He blinked, sending them down his reddened cheeks. He missed her so much. The picture he was holding had captured her smile perfectly. He’d do anything to see her again. Feel her. Smell her. Touch her. Anything. Bringing the photo to his lips, he kissed it gently.

He sat staring at it for some time, lost in the past, when Zaun startled him. “Miss her a lot, huh?” he asked.

Jack wiped his cheeks and stuffed the photo back into his jacket. He turned around to see Zaun standing in the doorway.

“You should be sleeping. You need the rest.”

“Tried. Couldn’t. I just lay there, staring at the ceiling, thinking. ”

“About?”

“Everything. My life. How I almost got us all killed.”

“Look, about that. I’m not saying I want you to forget it-never forget it-but don’t beat yourself up about it anymore. Okay? It’s been forgiven and in the past. Learn from it. Do it again though… and we’ll have a real problem.” Jack paused. “Sorry I hit you by the way.” He really wasn’t, but felt the need to tell Zaun that he was.

“Don’t apologize. I deserved it and more.”

Zaun came over and took a seat across from Jack. “I hate being seen as weak.”

“Who sees you as weak? I, for one, don’t. Far from it in fact. You could’ve taken some of that coke, but didn’t. Back in your apartment, you survived when everyone else died.”

“I was on my own. Most people had others to worry about. To get to. Being able to stay in my apartment, sealed up tight, made it easy. I had to be selfish. Forget about people. Shut out their cries.” He paused, picking up a cracker, playing with it, but not consuming it. “I’ve always been on my own. Never had others to care about, or had others care about me. I’m not using it as an excuse as to why I behave the way I do. It’s just how I am. Things are different now. I see that. I want to be a part of our group. I want to be counted on. I want to make it out of this hell. And I want you and Maria to make it out too. I’m all in. No more fuck-ups. At least not on purpose.”

Jack’s body lightened a bit. Seeing and hearing his friend talk ing this way was wonderful. “I’m truly glad to hear it. Want a cup of hot tea?”

Zaun shook his head. “No, I think I’m going to head back to bed. See if I can get some sleep. I feel a little better now.”

Jack grinned. “Get going then.”

Zaun stood and took a few steps toward the doorway and stopped. Turning to Jack he said, “By the way, I tried going online, using the computer in the kid’s room.”

“Anything?”

“Nothing.”

Jack nodded.

“Okay, I’m off to bed. See you in a few.”

Jack got up and made another cup of tea. A few more hours and he’d wake Maria.

Chapter 26

Over the next couple of days, Jack and the others sat tight, resting and eating. They passed the time by talking-always keeping their voices low, or playing board games, from Monopoly to Battleship to checkers and chess to card games of gin and go fish, all thanks to the family that had lived there.

No one went near a window to check on the undead. Jack and the others hoped the walking corpses would leave after a few days. If the things didn’t hear them or see them, they might wander off, like they had back in the alley when Jack rescued Zaun. Nothing showed up outside their door, leaving Jack to feel as if they had won some type of sanctuary lotto.

On the fourth day, the group was ready to leave. Food was down to a few MRE’s, bags of tea, and some sticks of beef jerky left by the apartment’s previous residents.

Jack poked his head out the window and checked the alley, seeing only six zombies. Amazing, he thought.

Telling the others, they agreed it was time to leave. Bags packed, they gathered by the window.

“Remember,” Jack said, “ Tasers only. No guns.” He hated having to use the Tasers, wanting to keep them in case someone became infected, but the surest way to keep the undead away was to be as quiet as possible.

The plan was simple: get to the warehouse, then go to the tunnel. Surviving in the city was too dangerous. Their best bet was to go back underground, take the other tunnel and hope it led someplace other than the metropolitan area.

Jack and the others climbed out onto the fire escape. Two zombies were near the dead end of the alley. The other four were gathered two buildings away in the opposite direction.

The group made their way down the steps to the second floor’s fire escape. Jack unhitched the ground-ladder and slowly lowered it to the pavement with Zaun’s help. The thing was heavy, designed to slide down quickly. As hard as they tried, the metal let out screeches, attracting the attention of the undead. The bot-controlled corpses were like paparazzi, working their way to one location hoping for the perfect shot, except here the undead were hoping for the perfect bite of flesh.

“I’ll save us some T aser charges,” Zaun said, and climbed down the ladder. Three zombies waited below, their dried blood-covered fingers inches from his sneakers. He pulled out his sword and began hacking off hands and arms. The zombies didn’t flinch, their vacant expressions remaining the same. Left with only stumps for arms, they continued to reach up, trying to get at Zaun.

Jack felt his blood go cold at the sight.

Able to descend two more rungs, Zaun began stabbing the undead in their heads, each one dropping to the ground after doing so. As the other zombies arrived, standing on the bodies of their downed brethren, Zaun sliced off limbs and pierced skulls. With two zombies remaining, he sunk the sword’s blade into the head of a massive sized corpse. The blade went in halfway and the big guy collapsed, taking the sword with him, Zaun, apparently, unable to hold on.

With one zombie left, an extremely slow one due to its missing legs, Zaun pulled out his T aser and shot the undead thing. He dropped to the ground and retrieved his sword while Jack and Maria descended the ladder.

From there, the group worked its way up the alley, stopping just short of the street. Jack peered around the corner. Three zombies were shambling up the street, facing away from him, but to his right, and coming his way was a lone zombie wearing a crimson-stained mechanic’s outfit.

He stepped back into the alley. “One’s coming our way.”

Zaun pulled out his sword. The Mr. Fix-It zombie came around the corner and Zaun made quick work of it, chopping off its head in one fluid motion.

Jack peered around the corner again, toward 4th Avenue, and saw three more undead coming up the street toward him. He ducked back, unsure if they noticed him. Either way, the situation wasn’t a good one. The area was still swarming with undead. Maybe they should’ve checked the street out front, made sure it had cleared out somewhat. But that didn’t matter now. They were running low on food and needed to leave. It might take weeks before the area was like it had been when they first arrived. But then again the undead might never leave, at least not without a reason. A distraction would’ve been nice. Maybe they should’ve climbed to the roof and tossed a few flashbang’s to another street, get the undead heading in the opposite direction of where they were going. Jack shook his head. Too late now.

“Three coming our way,” he said. “Not sure if they saw me.”

“I don’t like this,” Maria said, echoing Jack’s thoughts. “There’s still too many undead here.”

“Why haven’t they left?” Zaun asked.

“No idea,” Jack said. “We probably just didn’t give them enough time to wander off. The city is vacant. We’re what’s for dinner around here.”

Two zombies came around the corner.

“Guess they saw you,” Zaun said. He sliced the head off one, then jabbed the other through the eye-the corpse still wearing its glasses. The third zombie approached and fell to the ground as it stumbled over its downed brethren. Zaun stepped up and pierced its brain with his gore-caked sword.

Jack checked around the corner again, looking both ways, and saw more undead. “Four more heading our way, but from the left.”

“Shit,” Maria mumbled.

“Don’t think they saw me.”

“We have to make a run for the warehouse,” Zaun said.

Jack knew his friend was right. Working their way stealthily wasn’t going to happen. They were going to have to make a beeline to the operations center. Outrunning the undead for a short distance wasn’t going to be a problem, but if they couldn’t get into the place they’d have to hoof it somewhere else. The backpacks would eventually slow them down, becoming a burden, and there was no telling how long until they found a place to not only hole up in, but also that would keep the undead out. They could have hundreds of zombies on their trail within minutes. It was a gamble, but with no other options, the choice was made.

“Staying here is suicide,” Maria said, holding her M4 close to her chest. “Let’s go for it.”

“Remember,” Jack told them, “we might have to fight to get in if Reynolds has men inside.”

“Let’s hope not,” Maria answered.

Zaun sheathed his sword and readied his M4.

Jack cocked his shotgun and led the way out of the alley.

They ran down the street, blasting a few zombies that were in their way, the gunshots like dinner bells to the undead.

Getting to 4th Avenue, Jack saw undead everywhere, milling about like a crowd departing a concert in the park. The things seemed to gain life when they saw the fresh bags of meat running and gunning.

Jack fired at an approaching zombie, disintegrating half its head. He heard gunfire from the others, seeing zombies’ heads jolt back, then fall to the ground.

They moved in a tight unit down the street, then across the parking lot of the warehouse, taking out undead after undead.

“Reloading,” Maria yelled, and Jack and Zaun took up covering her side.

With his shotgun empty, Jack used his M4 and began firing, sending bullets into brains and dropping walking corpses.

The warehouse parking lots were mostly void of zombies, giving the group a short break from shooting.

Hurrying alongside one of the parked cars, and almost to the building, a zombie wearing a leather biker’s jacket and sporting a “ZZ Top” type beard came from around the side of the building. Jack aimed, sending a round from his M4 into its head, splattering the wall with fragments of skull and pieces of brain matter.

Making it to the entrance, he yanked on the handle, but the door wouldn’t open. The thing was made of metal and felt pretty solid. As the zombies drew nearer, stumbling around parked cars and bumping into each other, Zaun and Maria took up firing, giving Jack time to work.

Slinging his M4 over his shoulder, he loaded a few shells into the Mossberg, cocked a round and blasted the door’s lock. The door rattled loudly, seeming to come loose. Jack fired again, holding the barrel close to the cylinder, turning the metal into a twisted mess. He pushed against the door and saw that it was loose. Tapping Zaun on the shoulder, Jack motioned for him to help with the door.

From the corner of his eye, Jack saw another zombie come from around the corner of the building. The thing looked like it had been on fire. Nothing but strips of flesh and bone were showing from the waist down, its upper body intact. It walked with severe difficulty, leaning against the wall for support. Jack thought he could’ve pushed it over with a finger and its legs would’ve fallen apart. Pulling out his Sig Sauer, he put a bullet in its head, dropping it quickly.

“Hurry up,” Maria yelled, her rate of fire increasing.

Finally, the door flew open. Relief fell over Jack as he and the others rushed into the faux waiting area of the warehouse. He headed over to the security door at the back of the room and told the others to barricade the entrance.

Using the keycard, he had the door unlocked in seconds and opened it a crack. Gunfire rang out. Bullets littered the area around him, pinging off the metal door and frame.

“We’re going to have to fight our way inside,” he told the others, standing with his back to the wall.

Zaun and Maria pushed the couch in front of the door just as it boomed and rattled, the undead pushing against it to get in.

“Do something, Jack,” Maria yelled.

He peeked through the crack in the doorway and was able to see most of the large room beyond. Scanning the area, he saw a man pop up from behind the desk and fire a few rounds from a machine gun, cascading the door with bullets. Jack jumped back to the side as a bullet made its way through the crack.

“We have to do something,” Maria said, her voice straining. “We can’t hold them much longer.

“From what I can tell, there’s only one man inside.”

The front door jolted open a couple inches, pushing the couch backwards. Undead arms and hands slid through the opening. Zaun grunted as he tried shoving the couch back, but the thing wouldn’t move. The metal door continued its thunderous pounding.

“Jack,” Maria pleaded. “Hurry up.”

Desperate, Jack threw open the security door, and got out of the way as gunfire rang out. Luckily, Maria and Zaun were off to the right and out of the path of the bullets.

“Jack,” Zaun yelled, his voice harsh. “We’re about to be overrun.”

Jack waved his hand in front of the doorway before quickly pulling it back. A three round burst from the lone guard followed. He poked his head out, took view of the overturned desk, then ducked back inside as the man fired again.

Placing his M4 against the wall, he pulled out two flashbangs. Pulling the pin of one, he tossed it into the room. Gunfire pinged off the doorframe. He heard the grenade explode, hoping he had judged the distance correctly. He waved his arm in the doorway again, but there was no return fire this time. Pulling the pin on the other flashbang, he tossed it at his target, watching it sail through the air. A pair of legs was showing from the side of the desk. The man was down. Maybe hurt. The second flashbang landed right near the guy’s feet. Jack ducked back inside just before the explosion, then yelled to the others that it was time to go.

He stepped into the room, scanning the area for other gunman, then kept his sights trained on the overturned desk, seeing the man’s legs moving.

He heard the couch slide across the floor, its wooden legs screeching as if scared to death. The sound of shuffling shoes echoed from within the room, sounding like a herd of buffalo. Maria and Zaun appeared at his side, telling him they needed to move.

With no time to shut the door, Jack pointed to where the downed man was and the group moved forward, guns trained on the area.

Jack approached the area from the right side, Maria from straight ahead, and Zaun from the left.

The man’s legs disappeared as he pulled his feet in. Shit, Jack thought. The guy was getting his senses back.

As the group approached the desk, the guard popped up from behind it. He looked disoriented, his eyes rapidly blinking. He started firing wildly. The others returned fire, unleashing a stream of bullets that chewed up the man’s face, dropping him cold.

Turning, Jack saw the undead had entered the warehouse and were spreading out like anxious Black Friday shoppers told not to run.

Jack and the others sprinted to the end of the room where the other security door was located. They made it with a small amount of time to spare, the slow undead still working their way around desks and chairs.

Jack slid the card through the card reader and entered the code. The red light went out and the green one came to life. He punched in the code and heard the door’s familiar click. Grabbing the handle, he pushed open the door only to be met with a gun to his face.

Chapter 27

Guard Ryan Kellogg couldn’t believe it. The traitors were alive. And more than that, they looked okay, which was more than he could say for himself. Life just wasn’t fair, but then who said it would be? He laughed when Reynolds had told him and Jacobs to stay behind. Secure the warehouse, just in case. In case of what? In case those traitors tried coming back. He’d seen the zombies swarm on the apartment building shortly after the team went in. Not returning, he assumed they had all been killed. Guess he was wrong.

With all the zombies up the street, the guy bored out of his mind, Ryan had gone outside, wanting fresh air. He had been cooped up underground for way too long. He and the others were always worried about being overwhelmed by a horde whenever they left the bunker, but not from a bite. No. Bites were curable. One blast from the EMP or a T aser and all was well. It was being ripped apart and devoured that frightened them.

While patrolling the building’s perimeter, delighted to be breathing in fresh air, even if it was tainted with rot and a tinge of smoke from a nearby burning building, he was caught off guard when a zombie came from behind a dumpster and bit him. He’d killed the thing easily enough, sinking his knife into its head.

When he came back inside, he had Jacobs Taser him, and didn’t have another thought about the bite until he started feeling weak later that night. Convincing himself he was just coming down with a cold, maybe the flu, he went to bed, but waking up in the morning had been difficult. All he wanted to do was sleep. His body ached and his head pounded something fierce. For some reason the tasering hadn’t taken. The bots were still alive. He’d had Jacobs zap him again and was then left in the room at the bottom of the stairs to rest. Two shots with the Taser should have done it. Mentally, he’d felt better.

Unable to sleep, he got up and was barely able to make it to top of the stairs. If he had the flu, he had never had it this bad. He was burning up. Not caring how he looked, he’d taken off his shirt and pants, leaving only his shoes and underwear on. He was about to open the door and ask Jacobs to Taser him again when he heard the door unlock.

He pulled his sidearm, always keeping it on him, and was glad he did when he saw Jack Warren and his band of scum. He’d used the last of his strength to draw the weapon however, feeling weaker than ever now. Holding the gun on Jack, his arm was trembling. If he could do one good, righteous thing before he died, it would be to pull the trigger and end this troublemaker’s life, but he didn’t think he even had the strength to do that.

“You don’t look so good,” Jack said.

He saw Zaun and the bitch traitor, Lopez, both with their weapons pointed down. He saw the undead filling up the operations center, coming his way. Then everything but Jack’s face went out of focus, the background scene nothing more than a nightmarish blend of moving gore.

“You’re infected,” Jack went on. “We can help.”

“Ryan,” Lopez said, “at least let us in or we’re all going to die.”

A drop of sweat fell into his eyes. He blinked, trying hard not to waver. A blanket of exhaustion fell over him. Too weak to remain standing, his arm went limp. The gun slipped from his grasp, clacking to the floor. He stumbled backwards a few steps and fell.

Opening his eyes, Ryan saw Jack kneeling beside him on his right, Maria on his left. They must have gotten the door closed in time. No death for the traitors, at least not at this moment. Maria was speaking to him, her words sounding as if he was underwater. He was so hot. He’d love to be in a pool of cold water. For sure his death was fast approaching. Someone would put a bullet into his skull, but hopefully before that he’d come back and get to bite one of them. No, that wasn’t right. He was a soldier. He needed to do what was right by his country. True, he was getting a nice chunk of change, or rather was getting a nice chunk of change from Reynolds, but he still loved his country. He didn’t want to see it crumble. So many dead already. He had to tell these people what had happened to him. How the taser hadn’t worked. They had to know so when Reynolds captured them, they would tell him. They were the last chance to stop the epidemic. Maybe it was already too late. The damn thing had spread so fast and was mutating. The little fuckers were smart it seemed, or as Reynolds put it: “programmed to adapt.”

Grabbing Maria’s arm, he tried to speak, but his mouth wasn’t working properly. He could feel the slowness of his jaw, the slug-like movement of his tongue. His mouth felt like it was filled with sand. Pain exploded in his head, filling his vision with white. Death couldn’t come quick enough for Ryan Kellogg. Let the bots have his body, for when he was dead he’d no longer care.

Chapter 28

“He’s trying to tell us something,” Maria said.

“Tell… Raaayy… nnoo… ldsss. B… bots… stron… ger.”

“What?” Zaun asked.

“I think he said to tell Reynolds something,” Maria answered.

Jack felt his heart sink. “The bots are stronger. He wants us to tell Reynolds the bots are stronger.”

“What’s he talking about?” Zaun asked.

Jack saw the man’s body stiffen for a moment, then go slack. Maria felt for a pulse.

“He’s gone,” she said, then closed his eyes.

“One less asshole to worry about,” Zaun spat.

“What are those?” Maria asked, pointing at two small marks on the dead man’s chest.

“Looks like wounds from taser prongs,” Jack asked.

Maria nodded. “Shit. This guy’s been tasered, and recently. Look at how fresh the wounds are.”

Jack agreed. The marks where the prongs had attached themselves were still raw.

“Whoa,” Zaun said, backing away. “Are you telling me this guy was tasered and he stayed infected?”

“We can’t know for certain, but it appears so.” Maria stood.

“You’re telling me those things are unstoppable now? That once we’re infected we’re fucked?”

“No, she isn’t saying that,” Jack said, “but we have no idea what happened to this man. Maybe the taser charge wasn’t strong enough. Factory defect. Who knows?”

“Are we waiting to see if he gets up?” Zaun asked. “Or should I run him through?”

Jack and Maria moved out of the way and let Zaun destroy the corpse’s brain, using his sword.

“Maybe he was infected right after he was tasered,” Maria suggested.

“It’s possible,” Jack agreed, but didn’t think it likely. “If there is a new strain of bot and it’s immune to the voltage in a taser then we have to be extra careful.”

“This just brought suck to a whole new level,” Zaun said.

Maria nodded, staring at the corpse.

She stripped the dead body of ammo and the group headed to the room at the bottom of the stairs. A crate containing ten MRE’s, twelve bottles of water and a first aid kit sat next to a cot.

Using his flashlight, Jack checked the corridor that led back to the tunnel. He told the others it looked clear. Everyone put fresh clips and magazines into their weapons, grabbed the food, water, and first aid kit, then headed down the long, dark passage by flashlight.

Reaching a security door, Jack used the keycard and entered the code. Hearing the familiar click, weapons ready, he opened the door.

He let out a sigh of relief when no one stuck a gun in his face. The tunnel was still illuminated by the overhead lights. The group moved forward without talking, wanting to be able to hear if anyone was up ahead. Their footfalls seemed to grow louder over time, but only the stillness of the tunnel made it seem that way. Some time later, nerves on end, they came to the split in the passageway, one path leading back to the bunker, the other to some unknown location.

Taking the “mystery” tunnel, the group went on. A short time later, much shorter than the trek they took in the other tunnel, the group came upon another security door.

“No way we’re out of the city,” Zaun said.

“No, definitely not,” Jack agreed. He felt a portion of the hope he had inside leak out like the air in a punctured tire. It appeared they would have to fight their way out of the city, and with limited ammo and supplies. Thinking of all they had gone through, he grew even more determined, the deflating tire filling with air. He wouldn’t lose hope now. Couldn’t let himself become overwhelmed with doubt. They’d come too far to give up. If they had to, they would fight with every cell in their bodies.

With renewed vigor, Jack used the keycard and had the door opened in seconds. They entered an empty room with an elevator and a set of stairs leading up. An overhead light shined dimly. They took the metal-mesh stairs up five flights before coming to a small landing and another security door. With no idea what to expect, every closed door a potential nightmare, Jack did his thing and had the door unlocked in no time.

“Ready?” he asked.

“Let’s do this,” Maria said.

Jack opened the door and saw the back end of a Chevy Tahoe. Stepping inside, he saw that he was in some kind of garage. To his left, lined up like racehorses, were three more identical black SUV’s. The garage had no windows save for three skylights above; each one permitting bright sunlight to pour in.

Jack walked over to a door. He figured it led to the outside. He tried the knob. It turned. Opening it a crack, he peered out, the cold wind causing his eyes to water. Through teary vision, he saw a paved lot. About thirty feet across from him was a small building with six bodies strewn in front and all wearing the familiar black fatigues. Over the door was the word “maintenance.” Maintenance my ass, Jack thought. Behind the building were two chain-link fences topped with spiraling razor wire. A number of undead were pawing at the outer fence. There was a sign on the inner fence, the writing too small to read, but the large yellow lightning bolt was all he needed to see, letting him know the fence was electrified. Closing the door, he told the others what he saw.

“So now what?” Zaun asked.

“We check out the area,” Jack said. “Take it from there.”

Opening the door again, a little farther this time, he checked to make sure the area was clear, then stepped out, the others right behind him.

They were in another industrial part of one of the outer boroughs, Queens or Brooklyn most likely. Hundreds of undead surrounded the place, the outer fence keeping them at bay. About seventy-five feet to the left was a long narrow building that ran along the shoreline of the Hudson River. Manhattan stood on the other side of the water, still standing proud despite the undead filling its streets. With fresh meat in their sights, the undead became more animated, their bloodied, torn bodies almost seeming to dance in place.

“I don’t think we should be out in the open like this,” Maria said.

The group headed to the maintenance building. The dead guards’ faces were gaunt, cheekbones protruding like pieces of granite. Eyes seemed to float deep in their sockets as if held by wet paper towel, and the flesh was sickly, discolored, as if bleached. Each body was riddled with bullet holes, including the heads.

“What the hell happened here?” Zaun asked.

“Looks like they were infected,” Jack said. “Made it this far before they were killed.”

“I don’t see Reynolds among them,” Maria offered.

“I’m guessing the bots they were infected with were immune to the Taser’s voltage.” Jack said, “Or maybe they didn’t have Tasers with them.”

“Yeah,” Zaun said. “I don’t see any.”

“There’s no time to figure that out,” Maria said. “We need to make a decision and do something.” She pointed toward the undead. “I don’t think the fences will hold forever and we have no idea if the electricity will stop them.”

“You’re right,” Jack said, noticing how the fence was severely bowing inward in places.

He and the others entered the maintenance building, the front door unlocked.

Inside were computers and desks, the place resembling a miniature version of the warehouse back in Brooklyn. Papers were strewn about, desk drawers lay open and on the floor.

Jack wanted to believe in a time of crisis that law and order would prevail. Sure the undead were walking around. They were in the majority now, at least in the city, but what about the other parts of the country? Was there still a military? A police force? Or had everyone gone solo? People had families, loved ones that needed protecting. The epidemic was proving to be apocalyptic. If that was the case, then no one and nowhere was safe. It was individuals looking out for themselves, their families. It was human nature. Maybe Reynolds’ men had a fallback position, a place out of the city where they could work.

“There’s nothing here,” Maria said. “We need to move. If those fences give out we’ll be trapped in here.”

They headed over to the building by the water.

The door wasn’t secured. The two locks that had been on it were on the ground, opened. Jack put his ear to the door. He came away shrugging. Looking at the others, he whispered, “on the count of three we go in.” Facing the door, Jack pulled out his. 9mm and on the count of three, the group charged inside.

The place was a boathouse, holding three walk-around type speedboats. A somewhat narrow wooden floor, boardwalk-like ran from one end of the structure to the other. Short docks extended outward to each boat. The air was warm and Jack noticed a number of space heaters around the place. At the end of the boardwalk, sitting against the wall and looking a step away from death, was Reynolds. He was dressed in black fatigues. A handgun rested near his legs.

“Keep an eye out and cover me,” Jack said before proceeding forward.

Reynolds locked stares with Jack. The man began laughing, then coughing harshly, his face contorting in pain. “I knew there was something special about you, Jack. You’re a resilient bastard. You and your friends.”

Keeping his gun aimed at the man, Jack kicked Reynolds’ gun into the water. He thought about sending the evil bastard in after it; the two could be river mates in Hell, for surely that was where a man like him was heading, if such a place existed.

“Bit by your own dog, eh, Reynolds?” Jack asked.

The man shook his head, grinning wickedly. Jack could see the man’s skin was lined with sweat. Sure the place was warmer than outside, but it was still on the cool side. Reynolds was starting to resemble the dead men outside, eyes sunken in, the skull’s sockets revealed in detail. Jack took a step back as the man’s horrendous body odor crept into his nose, a mixture of human waste and rot.

“You never planned on developing the bots to help soldiers, did you? It was a weapon all along, wasn’t it?”

“Not true, Jack. I was developing the program to heal soldiers, but when the military saw what I was doing, they wanted a weapon first. They had a controllable bug. One they could use on the enemy. Send it into an area, wipe out the population, then have the bug eradicated with a few EMP bombs. The infected would be seen as highly contagious, an epidemic. The place would be cordoned off. They’d call in professionals-our people-to clean up the mess. Once the weapon was perfected, I was free to use it for healing purposes.” He started laughing, the laughs turning into harsh coughs.

“You’re not only a monster,” Jack spat, “you’re a failure.”

“I created what they wanted. I didn’t fail, just ran out of time.” He coughed up a stream of blood.

“What do you say, Jack? Put an old friend out of his misery? Put down the rabid dog?”

“How do we stop the bots?”

“Short of an EMP blast, lots of electricity. We lost power in the lab. Had to leave. Make it to safety before…” he coughed up more blood “before the bots killed us. Tasers are useless unless used right away and I’d use at least two charges on a person. Maybe three. That’s all I have for you, Jack. Now do me a favor and kill me quick.”

Jack wanted to leave the man alive and let his own creation have him, but what difference did it make whether the man died in an hour or right away? Once he was dead, he’d be dead.

“I should let you suffer.” Jack stared at the man, then raised his gun and put a bullet into Reynolds’ head.

“Jack,” Zaun yelled from across the room. “They’re through the first fence. And there’s no electricity running through the second.”

“You did the right thing, Jack,” Maria said. “Now we have to move.”

Holstering his weapon, Jack and Zaun climbed aboard one of the boats.

“I can’t go with you guys,” Maria said. “I have to get to my daughter.”

“You can’t go alone,” Zaun said.

Jack wondered how this would play out. He also had family he needed to reach. He understood Maria’s situation. No way would she wait a second more than she had to. The same went for him. He had to find his sister.

“Go with her,” Jack told Zaun. “Then come find me. You know where my sister’s house is.”

“I can’t ask you to do that, Zaun. I won’t.” Maria grabbed her weapon and her pack and climbed out of the boat.

“Wait, I’m coming with you,” Zaun said.

She turned around and put a hand to Zaun’s chest. “Jack will need you more than I will. I served. I can handle myself. You two need each other. You made it this far together. Don’t break up a good team.”

“We should stick together,” Zaun said, looking back at Jack, then to Maria.

“We both have families out there we need to get to,” Jack said.

“We don’t know what the hell is out there,” Zaun argued. “The whole world might be like this. We need to stick together.”

Jack didn’t like splitting up. Sticking together was the smart thing to do, but then where did they head first? His sister was an adult. At one time, she had been a strong person. Her husband couldn’t be relied on for shit. If anything, Jack was afraid the guy would put her life in further jeopardy. Make her go for food and whatnot. Thinking about it made his angst to leave even greater.

“We can’t stay here,” he said. “We all have families to get to.”

“Zaun,” Maria said. “Go with Jack. If I didn’t know any better I’d say you two were brothers. I’ll be fine.”

Zaun spun around to look at Jack, and Maria hit him from behind, knocking him out cold.

Jack stared at her in surprise.

“Had to make sure he wouldn’t try anything stupid. Take him with you, and tell him I’m sorry.”

Jack smiled. “I will. Good luck, Maria.”

“You too, Jack.

With that, Maria hurried over to another boat. Jack and started the engine. He checked the fuel gauge, saw that it was full, then untied the craft and headed out.

Idling in the river, he waited for Maria, seeing her emerge a minute later. She waved at him, then headed downstream, Jack watching her go.

The dead had completely circled the area; the second fence apparently not electrified, was bending inward in places and wouldn’t hold for long. Not wanting to waste another second, he hit the throttle and headed up stream towards Cornwall in hopes of finding his sister alive.

Content

David Bernstein
Machines of the Dead

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28