And when the final push came, when they had finally made it to the East River, Gartrell diverted the zombies away from the survivors. The mission had to succeed, so that humanity would have a chance against the rising horde. And if that meant First Sergeant David Gartrell had to sacrifice himself, then so be it. Gartrell didn’t paint any flourishes, nor did he tell her just how deeply terrified he had been, striking off on his own, leading the legion of ghouls away from McDaniels and the civilians with a burning flare and not much else. It was just something that had to be done. The mission had to succeed, or else it was lights out for the entire country.
Maybe the entire world.
“And then, I found you at that Starbucks. And here we are, ma’am.”
Jolie shook her head slowly. “That…that was some story, Dave.”
Gartrell couldn’t tell if she was being sarcastic or truthful, so he just nodded. He looked back at Jaden, still staring at the DVD player with rapt attention. His gaze happened upon the dining room table, and the box of shotgun shells sitting there.
“Those shotgun shells. Where’s the shotgun that goes with them?”
“I couldn’t find it. I found the bullets in one of the open apartments-some young IT guy who thought he was some kind of big game hunter. Disgusting, really.” Jolie shook her head in obvious disapproval, and Gartrell didn’t volunteer that he was a hunter himself. “Anyway, I meant to go back and look some more, but then it got dark.”
“Which apartment?”
She pointed at the ceiling. “On the sixth floor. Apartment A.”
“You mind if I go up and take a look around? I might be able to find it. And maybe some other stuff. If this becomes more of an open-ended engagement, we might be here for quite some time, and we’ll need to use anything we can find.”
Jolie reached for a peach in a nearby bowl and began peeling it with a small paring knife. She worked quickly, expertly, despite the wan light in the galley kitchen. She sliced the peach up and put it in a small plastic bowl.
“His DVD is almost over. Let me give him some food and keep him distracted, and then you can leave. Take one of the backpacks with you. Knock on the door when you come back, and I’ll let you in. Just three knocks, okay?”
He nodded. “Three knocks it is.” After a moment, he reached out and put a hand on her shoulder. She looked at him, and he smiled as reassuringly as he could.
“I’ll be back. I won’t be very long.”
“I know.”
“We’re going to get out of this. Believe me, we’ll make it.”
“Okay.”
It was obvious she didn’t believe him, but Gartrell didn’t waste any time trying to change her mind. He just returned to the bedroom, got the AA-12 and his body armor, helmet, radio, and knapsack. He went back into the dining area and grabbed one of the backpacks. As soon as Jolie began feeding Jaden his peach, Gartrell quietly let himself out of the apartment.
###
The stairwell was as dark in the day as it had been during the night. Gartrell had brought his night vision goggles with him, so he flipped them down over his eyes and navigated through the all-encompassing darkness as if the stairwell was lit by a sunny day. He went directly to the sixth floor and slowly eased open the stairway door. Switching off the NVGs, he stepped into the hallway beyond, blinking because of the bright light that poured in through the windows at either end. He walked to the apartment marked 6A and tried the door knob; it twisted easily beneath his hand, and he slowly pushed it open with his foot, his AA-12 at the ready.
The apartment beyond had the same layout as Jolie’s below, so he was able to conduct his search quickly and efficiently. He kept his distance from the windows, as the drapes were open and he didn’t want any of the zeds below to see him. One bedroom had been converted into a sitting room; the other held a master bedroom and the decor indicated it belonged to a bachelor. Gartrell could still smell a faint hint of cologne in the apartment. An expensive multimedia setup was in the living room, dark without power and a little dusty from inexperienced housekeeping. Gartrell went through the bedroom first, casing the closet and attached bathroom. He found nothing terribly useful, so he moved on to the sitting room next door. A large bookcase held many tomes on a wide matter of subjects, from geography to biography. He found a letter opener and tossed it into the backpack-it could serve as a bladed weapon when the time came. He also found several tools: hammers, chisels, screwdrivers, even a small hatchet. He added those to the pack as well. The kitchen yielded nothing, and the vague stink emanating from the closed refrigerator compelled him to ignore it. He searched through the closets and found some rugged outdoors clothes on hangars and a couple of pairs of work boots on the floor. The top shelf had scarves, hats, and a box of old photos. Gartrell ignored all of it and moved on to the small bedroom in the back.
He was startled to find a lion staring at him.
The bedroom had been converted to an office, a true man cave if ever there was one. A lion’s head was on one wall. Next to it was an impala’s. Facing the lion was a huge water buffalo head, and beside that, a leopard caught in mid-snarl. Gartrell was no stranger to game hunting, but finding these trophies in a small room in New York City was decidedly odd. In the middle of the room sat a desk and a padded chair. Beside the door was a gun cabinet, open and empty. He went through the desk and the built-in bureau, but found nothing other than collectibles from foreign countries, and pictures of a pudgy man in his early thirties posing with various dead beasts: grizzly bears, buffalo, wildebeests, and a huge marlin which must have weighed a thousand pounds.
Guy’s gonna need to get himself a bigger room to mount that one.
But still no weapons. Gartrell wouldn’t have been surprised if the apartment owner had taken every firearm he had when he left. It would have been the smart thing to do.
Still…
Gartrell returned to the bedroom and shoved the king-sized mattress off the box spring. And there it was-an old but refinished Winchester 42.410 gauge shotgun, worth probably somewhere in the neighborhood of $4,000. Gartrell picked it up and examined it. The weapon was decades old, definitely a collectible. But to a big game hunter on the run from the zombie horde? Probably not the first weapon of choice, which was why he’d stuffed it under the mattress. No sense leaving it in plain view for it to be stolen by looters, just in case the zeds were defeated before the owner could return to his apartment.
Gartrell took the gun and left it in the hallway.
Apartment 6B was locked. He went up the stairs, ignoring the protesting muscles in his thighs and knees. The apartments on the seventh floor were also locked. As he returned to the stairway, a small, slight sound caught his attention. He stopped at the stairwell door, listening. Was it his imagination?
Then he heard it again. A slight creak from the apartment behind him.
Gartrell’s right index finger moved to the AA-12’s trigger.
A kind of rolling sound came from behind the door, and Gartrell watched as something passed through the light beneath the door. Something that didn’t walk, but seemed to glide. Back and forth. Back and forth. And at one point in its transit, a floorboard squeaked. Gartrell moved closer to the door, listening intently. That rolling sound. That squeaking floorboard. As if something on the other side was on wheels…
A wheelchair. The realization hit him suddenly. Of course, a wheelchair. Whomever-or whatever-was in the apartment was confined to a wheelchair, which probably explained why it was still in the building. Waiting for an ambulette or some other service for the disabled to come and evacuate it. A service which never showed up.