“Terminator Five, Summit Six. Understand you cannot talk, over.”
Gartrell clicked the transmit button twice once again.
“Terminator Five, Summit Six. Pathfinder is aware of your circumstances, and they are proceeding to the Eighty-Sixth Street station. Double-click if you get that, over.”
Gartrell did as instructed.
“Terminator, Summit. You should be hearing helicopters soon. These are not the transports, I say again, these are not transports-they are Apaches from the Tenth Mountain aviation brigade, and they are to give you fire support. As soon as you’re ready to make your run for the subway, let me know and we’ll get them lined up for close-in gunnery, over.”
Gartrell’s spirits fairly soared. He double-clicked the transmit button again, and he started walking faster, pulling Jolie along. She stumbled on one step, and he forced himself to slow down as he reasserted control over his emotions.
Slow down troop, or you’ll get everyone killed.
Above, something pounded against one of the doors leading to the stairs. Jolie squeezed his shoulder, and Jaden wriggled about on his back. Gartrell stopped and leaned over the edge of the railing and peered down. Only two more flights to go.
“Let’s pick it up a bit,” he whispered to Jolie.
“I can’t see a thing,” she said.
“I can. Three steps to the next landing, turn left, down a flight, turn left, another flight, and then the door to-to what?”
“A hallway, and at the end of that, another door. Glass and mesh, like the one on Second Avenue.”
Above, the pounding increased, and the moans of the dead reached their ears.
“Keep up with me,” Gartrell said, and then he started down the steps at a good pace. Jolie hurried after him, her hand still on his shoulder. She stumbled down the steps but caught herself. In the process, she lost her grip on Gartrell’s shoulder.
“Dave!” she said, her voice barely more than a whisper.
Gartrell turned at the next landing and looked up. She was at the top of the flight of stairs. Her hand was on the rail, and she looked right at him without seeing him.
“Come down. Twelve steps, just like in Alcoholics Anonymous. Take ‘em quick, don’t fuck around. You hear that racket upstairs? The dead’ll be in here any minute. We gotta move, so shag it, lady.”
She hurried down the steps, her left hand on the steel rail and the shotgun in her right. He reached out and took her shoulder when she made it to the landing and guided her around to the next flight of stairs.
“Another twelve steps, then the door. You see the light from under the door?”
“I see it!”
“Then hit it. Go!”
Keeping his hand on her shoulder this time, he followed her as she half-ran, half-stumbled down the steps. She almost fell against the door at the end of the stairwell, and her hand fumbled for the knob. Gartrell stopped her from opening it.
“Hold on. We’ll do it like before-you open, I’ll clear. Ready?”
“Ready.”
Gartrell moved around her and ensured the wall was to Jaden’s back and there was nothing that could harm him to the rear. Jaden seemed to be sleeping now, his head resting against Gartrell’s shoulders. Gartrell wondered how that could be, as he must have been in some pain from the bonds on his wrists and ankles. He didn’t dwell upon it. Instead, he flipped his NVGs up on their mount and readied the AA-12.
“Open it,” he said.
Jolie pulled open the door, and filtered afternoon sunlight burst into the stairwell. It wasn’t extremely bright, but Gartrell squinted against it anyway. He stepped into the hallway beyond. To his left, the hall ended at a closed elevator. To his right, it continued down toward a door that was three-quarters reinforced glass. Somewhere in the distance, he heard helicopters. Jaden stirred at the light, whining slightly. Gartrell waved Jolie into the hallway as he heard something give way upstairs. The dead had finally overwhelmed the door, and were doubtless streaming into the stairwell. Jolie hurried out, and Gartrell slammed the door shut. The darkness wouldn’t cause the zeds much delay. Gravity would do its work, and they would find their way to the bottom, one way or another.
“Summit Six, Terminator Five. We’re about to exit the building on Eighty-Sixth Street, and I’d estimate we’re about a hundred meters east of the subway station. I can hear the helicopters, are they in firing position? Over.” Through the glass door at the end of the hallway, Gartrell saw figures lurch past on the street outside.
“Terminator, Summit. They’re ready whenever you are with nine hundred rounds of thirty mike-mike each. Flight of four hovering right close by, over.”
“Six, we’re ready. We are danger close and we need to get the hell out of here, so they should start sending rounds downrange right now, over.” As he spoke, Gartrell heard sounds from behind the stairwell door. The stenches were finding their way down, and it sounded like half of them were falling down the stairs as opposed to walking down them.
“Dave…” Jolie looked toward the gray metal door, her shotgun in both hands. Sweat beaded on her upper lip, and thick strands of her red hair stuck to her face.
“Come on.” Gartrell trotted toward the door, then stopped halfway down the hallway. He motioned for her to cover the exit, while he turned back toward the stairs.
“Terminator, Summit. Order out, party in ten, over.”
It didn’t take that long. Gartrell heard the helicopters shift position, and then the rotor noise was louder than before. Gartrell glanced over his shoulder and saw the zeds on the sidewalk outside slowly look up at the noise. He couldn’t see the Apaches, but he hoped they were hovering above the buildings, not between them-
Loud cracking noises echoed through the concrete canyon outside as the Apaches opened up with their belly-mounted 30mm chainguns. At first, Gartrell didn’t see much of anything happen, then the stenches right outside the door…exploded. It was as if they simply ceased to exist, transforming into disassociated body parts as the big high-explosive rounds utterly decimated anything soft and unprotected. The glass door cracked as metal fragments slammed into it, and Jolie jumped away from it and into Gartrell, jostling him.
“Jesus Christ!” she said over the sound of the helicopters and the firing guns.
“Not exactly, but the aviators would like to think so.” Gartrell kept his AA-12 oriented on the stairwell door, and even above the discordant chaos breaking out on the street, he heard the sounds of the approaching zombie horde, stumbling their way down the steps. To no doubt they’d heard the helicopters as well, and were zeroing in on the sound.
“Terminator, Summit-Apaches report first pass complete, the block is temporarily clear if you want to make your exit, over.”
“Roger that, Summit. We’ve got stenches to our rear, they’ll be following us out in just a minute or so,” Gartrell said as he pushed Jolie toward the door. Small shards of glass cracked beneath his boots. Jaden struggled suddenly, shouting. “Maybe if two of the gunships can start working on keeping the subway station entrance clear, the other two can guard the back door, over.”
“Roger Terminator, will pass that on, over.”
They made it to the door, and Jaden’s struggles increased. Gartrell looked down at where the boy’s wrists were bound to his body armor, and he saw the plastic quick ties had cut into his skin. He was bleeding, though not badly. He squeezed one of the boy’s hands quickly, taking a moment to try and reassure him. It didn’t work.
“It’s going to be loud out there, so stay close!” Gartrell said to Jolie, having to raise his voice above Jaden’s shouting and the thunder of the hovering helicopters. “The Apaches will give us some top cover, but they’re not firing death rays-they can only stop what they hit, and their cannons are made to take out vehicles, not people. So stay close, and remember, keep them off us!”