Rusty gears began turning in the zombie’s head.
Forty-Two / The Condemned
With Dalton leading the way, the survivors headed into the subway system.
Lily was simply nowhere to be found and, as Dalton had kept reminding them, they had only a brief window until their only means of escape was cut off.
He prayed that he could count on the sergeant. He didn’t count on the undead.
Dalton dropped to one knee and raised a fist in the air. The others fell silent behind him. He peered through his scope and saw a couple dozen rotters ambling through the tunnel.
“We can take them,” Tripper whispered.
“I don’t even have a gun,” Zane complained. Cam handed him the Colt Python. “It’s got a kick to it.”
“Stay behind me, Eugene,” Halstead said to the old man. He nodded.
Dalton opened fire on the rotters.
Their heads jerked up at the sound of gunfire, only to be sent snapping back as his lead found its mark. With skulls blistered and yawning wide, the undead kept coming.
Tripper emptied his Uzis and drew a pistol. He could barely see down here! He only hoped the others were faring better. They didn’t have to take every rotter down, just enough for them to get past.
Halstead’s gun clicked: empty. She pushed Eugene against the wall and flattened herself beside him. Terror seized her as the undead drew closer.
CRACK! CRACK! CRACK! Dalton shot his targets through the spine. He only hoped the sergeant hadn’t seen any rotters crawling around. He might blow the tunnel—
Reality’s bottom seemed to drop out for a moment, everything blurring, a low roar building in the air. Then the light from the explosion around the bend lit up the tunnel for a split second — before being squelched by the collapsing ceiling.
“Goddammit!” Dalton screamed. They’d sealed the tunnel! There was no way out!
“No!” Rhodes ran at the undead and was swallowed in a cloud of dust. Blinded, he spun in a wild panic. Undead brushed against him. He fired into the cloud. “No! No! Dammit no!”
Jaws closed over his shoulder. He wrenched himself free and turned to fire. Another rotter caught him in an icy embrace and ripped into his neck.
“Stop shooting!” Dalton was yelling. “We’ve got zero visibility!” The dust had enveloped them all.
Logan’s chainsaw came to life. “I’ve got it!”
Rhodes fell at his feet. He gaped at the dead man, watching numbly as a slavering rotter pulled the man’s intestines from his belly and stuffed them into its maw.
Cam slammed the butt of her machine gun into the rotter’s skull. “We’ve gotta get the fuck out of here!”
“Goddamn you!” Dalton screamed into the darkness. Had the sergeant hesitated at all before giving the order? Had it even been his call? They’d never know. They’d never know who had doomed them all.
A zombie grabbed the barrel of his rifle and jerked it from his grip. Another went for his face. Dalton fell back and yanked a combat knife from a sheath on his thigh, slicing into the undead’s throat.
“Where is everyone?” Zane cried. He turned in the dust and wiped grime from his eyes. “Talk to me!” The Python was heavy in his hands. He didn’t dare use it for fear of killing one of the others. Maybe it would be better to use it on himself—
A teenage rotter lurched into view, grabbing his forearm and tearing a chunk of flesh away. Zane screamed in anguish.
He shoved the rotter back and placed the Python’s mouth beneath his chin. “I regret nothing.”
The shot tore through the tunnel like a peal of thunder. Shaking off a decapitated corpse, Dalton fumbled through the dark. Someone grabbed his hand.
“It’s okay!” It was Cam. She and Tripper hauled Dalton to his feet. “Where the hell do we go now?”
“I don’t know,” he gasped. “We’re dead. We’re all dead.”
“That’s what I’ve been saying all along.” Logan lowered the idling saw and, through the dissipating clouds, pointed to his right. “I think the passage we came through is off that way.”
“Halstead!” Tripper yelled.
“Yeah!” She headed toward his voice with Eugene in tow.
They found the entrance to the smaller passageway and left the subway tunnel. Visibility was still pitiful. Dalton glanced over his shoulder and asked, “Who did we lose?”
“The two guys who were with you,” Cam muttered.
“At least we’ve got old Eugene,” Logan offered.
“Shut the fuck up.”
Making their way back to Meyer’s bootlegging tunnels, the group looked for another way out. They couldn’t just go up into the street. If anything, the fire was probably concentrating the undead in the center of the city. And, of course, the soldiers would be waiting beyond that point to gun down anyone in sight.
“Ladder.” Dalton hustled forward and found himself peering up a narrow shaft. “Must go into some building.”
“Inside, outside, what’s the difference?” said Logan.
“If you don’t give a damn about your safety, you can take point,” Dalton snapped.
Logan shrugged and started up the ladder.
All was clear. The building was small, filled with crates and miscellaneous junk. Shelves upon shelves of tattered yellow books rested against the walls. Dalton thumbed through them: mostly Bibles. “I think this was a library, once,” he said.
The walls were lined with windows, but the glass was frosted over. So no one could see in, either; just the same, Dalton started moving shelves to block the windows. “Give me a hand here!”
Eugene tugged on Halstead’s arm. “What is it?” she asked.
“Have you seen him? The Reaper?”
She wasn’t quite sure how to respond to that. She just patted his back and said, “You sit here and rest. I’m going to help the others.”
There was thumping at the main entrance. “Fuck. They heard us,” said Cam.
Dalton and Tripper lugged a shelf over to the locked double doors and leaned it against them. “Get those crates,” Tripper called to the others. “Hurry!”
More pounding. More fists.
A window in the back shattered, and undead hands scrabbled at books.
“Cam, take care of that!” Tripper yelled.
“Let me,” Logan said. “Save your bullets for yourselves.” Walking leisurely to the back of the room, he fired up the saw and plunged it into the grasping fingers.
Suddenly, from outside the front of the library came a squeal of tires; something crashed against the wall, shaking the entire building. Then they heard shotgun blasts.
“Somebody’s got wheels!” Halstead cried. “Oh, thank God!”
One of the front windows shattered, and a man pulled himself in. Dalton and Tripper quickly moved a shelf to block the hole.
The man rose. “I’ll be damned,” Dalton said.
“Soldier.” Ian Gregory nodded curtly to him, a twelve-gauge in each hand. “Need a lift?”
“How did you know?” Halstead exclaimed.
“I saw them congregating around this building,” Gregory told her. “Sure sign of fresh meat.”
“How about that?” Logan wandered over. “It’s a Hand of God reunion. Hey boss.”
“Logan.” Gregory turned toward the sound of pounding. “I ran a few down but you’ve got another thirty or so out there. It’s gonna be tough clearing a path to the Hummer, especially with more on the way.”
“Tough or not, we’re doing it,” Tripper said. “Like we have a choice.”
Forty-Three / Abattoir
A series of ear-splitting booms shook the library. For a second, Tripper thought it was all going to come down on them. “What the fuck is that?”
“Rockets,” said Logan. “They’re using the rockets. Jesus, this is really it. The end.”