Suddenly, there was a flurry of activity. Five zombie suicide bombers, each wearing a backpack loaded with explosives, charged toward the armory. One of them was gunned down before he reached it, the bullets eradicating the top of his head. The other four arrived unscathed, crossed the wires clutched in their cold, pale hands, and set off simultaneous explosions, shredding both their bodies and the armory's door and outer wall. Before the smoke had even cleared, Ob's forces poured into the building through the fiery, twisted hole. There were gunshots and screams-and then silence.
"That didn't take long," the zombie lieutenant mused.
Ob quipped, "In a New York minute."
When it was over, the zombie army grew by six more bodies and hundreds of weapons.
Still watching through the binoculars, Ob smiled.
TEN
Jim sighed in contentment, drained a bottle of cold spring water, popped his neck, and watched as Danny sprawled on the floor and played with his action figures. The boy was making sound effects and doing the dialogue.
"Take that, you! Ka-pow. Ka-pow."
Jim stifled a laugh, not wanting to make Danny feel self-conscious. It had been far too long since he'd watched Danny play, and the sight was joyous. He marveled at his son's resilience. Despite all that had happened to them, it appeared that he was adjusting fine to this new situation.
"So which superheroes are those?" Jim asked.
"The red guy is Daredevil," Danny said. "The one with the skeleton head and flames coming out of it is Ghost Rider. They're both from Marvel."
"I thought Ghost Rider was a good guy. Why is he fighting Daredevil?"
"He's good, but I'm pretending that he's bad, like the monster-people outside. They got into his body and made him bad."
"Oh."
Jim propped his feet up on the couch. The bathrobe felt soft against his skin. Clothes had been hung in the room's closet for both of them, not exactly form fitting or new, but clean and comfortable enough. Jim wondered who they belonged to before, and who had been responsible for assigning them to him and Danny.
"Daddy?"
"What, squirt?"
"Do you think it was Mr. Ramsey that left these toys for me?" He echoed his father's thoughts.
"I don't know. It could have been, I guess, though I'm inclined to think it was probably Smokey."
Danny thought about this, and then said, "He seems nice."
"Smokey? Yeah, he does. Nice old guy. I think he's sort of the welcome wagon around here. At least, that's the impression I got."
Guided by Danny's hands, Daredevil kicked Ghost Rider in the face. Ghost Rider fell over, complete with Danny's sound effects.
"I wonder if Mr. Ramsey is nice, too."
"I don't know, buddy. I guess so. He's helping all these people."
"Mommy used to watch him on TV."
"Did she?"
"Yeah. She liked him, but Dad-I mean Rick-said he was a pompous jerk."
Jim grimaced, trying not to react to his son's referral of his stepfather as Dad.
"Well, Rick was right, as far as I'm concerned. Guess Rick and I agreed on that."
"What does pompous mean, Daddy?"
"Pompous is when somebody thinks they are better than you. When they act stuck up."
"Kind of like Grandma used to act to you?"
Jim choked down the laughter that Danny's assessment of his ex-mother-in-law had inspired. Then he noticed that his son was grinning too.
"Yeah. I guess that's not a bad definition."
Jim snorted more laughter through his nose, and Danny followed suit. Within seconds, they were both laughing out loud.
"God, I missed you, squirt."
"I missed you too, Daddy."
Jim slid off the couch, crawled across the carpet to his son, and gave Danny a big hug. It lasted a full thirty seconds, but felt to Jim like it was over too soon. Then the two of them began to play Daredevil versus Ghost Rider. Daredevil, controlled by Danny, won every battle, but Jim didn't mind.
After a while, they stopped. A frown creased Danny's brow.
"What's wrong, squirt?"
"I'm thinking about Mommy."
Jim put an arm around his shoulders and held him tight.
"And Rick," Danny continued, his eyes filling with tears. "And Carrie and Mr. Martin and Mrs. De Santos and everybody else. Before Mr. De Santos saved us, Mr. Martin told me that when people die, they go to Heaven. Do you think that's true, Daddy?"
"I hope so."
"Do you think that's where Mommy went?"
Jim chose his words carefully.
"I think probably so. I know this-wherever your
Mom and stepdad and stepmom and all the others went, they are safe, just like we are. The monster people can't hurt them anymore."
Satisfied, Danny picked up his action figure and began to play again. He wiped away a tear and said, "I love you, Daddy."
"I love you too."
"Everything's going to be okay now, right?"
Jim nodded. "You know, Danny, I think it is. I really think it is."
Outside, the rain continued to fall, the fat drops pelting the building like missiles.
Father and son were oblivious.
Minutes later, something else fell from the sky, but their attention was on each other, and they missed its plummeting arc past their window.
Kilker lit a cigarette. "It's really coming down out there."
He looked out the window, watching the zombies milling about, oblivious to the downpour.
Carson nodded, and popped the tab on a can of soda. "Yeah, it is. Maybe we'll get lucky. Maybe a hurricane will blow through Manhattan and wash those ugly fucks off the streets."
Both were in their early twenties, and wore sneakers and baggy jeans with the waistband of their boxer shorts showing. A Yankees cap was perched atop Carson's head. Next to them, a battery-operated boom box played Hatebreed.
Carson set the soda down and played air guitar, growling along with the singer.
"Will you turn that shit down?" Kilker protested.
"Yeah." Carson sighed reluctantly. "I've heard this
one too many times anyway. There won't be any more Hatebreed discs, I guess."
"That's a shame." Kilker's voice dripped with sarcasm. "Don't know how you can stand that growly metal shit."
"Saw them in concert once. With Biohazard and Power Plant and Agnostic Front. Gave myself whiplash in the pit."
Kilker just shook his head.
Carson slurped the soda.
"Do you have to do that?" Kilker asked, clearly annoyed.
"Do what?"
"Drink like a fucking pig? It's disgusting."
"Jesus-I'm sorry, bro. Chill out."
They lapsed into silence. Carson checked his weapon, an Ingram MAC-11.