“Betty Johnson, who you said blew up into a 200-pound housewife and that thank God you didn’t get with her?”
“Yeah, but she was really slim and hot back in the day.”
“Keep dreaming.”
“I…” Danny stopped and glanced back across the room, at what was left of the door.
Sunlight poured into the hallway beyond, but there were still dark patches everywhere. Will wondered if it took direct sunlight to kill the ghouls, to turn their skin into white ash.
So many questions…
Then he heard the sounds. He couldn’t see them, but he could hear them moving around beyond the door. They were in the hallway, staying beyond the fatal reach of sunlight. There had to be a dozen of them out there, maybe more.
They sounded agitated, even angry. He expected them to start charging into the room at any moment, but they didn’t. They were content to wait, bide their time. And why not? Sooner or later, it would be dark again.
Sooner or later, the sun always sets.
“I don’t suppose they’ll let us just walk down to the lobby and out the door,” Danny said. “Call this whole thing a big misunderstanding?”
“I dunno. Go ask them.”
“Pass.”
“Chicken shit.”
“Guilty. So how are we going to do this? We can’t stay here forever.”
Will turned back to the window, stuck his head outside, and looked down at the sidewalk below. He measured the distance in his head.
Danny shook his head. “Goddammit. You know I hate heights.”
“You’ll be fine.”
Danny sighed, unconvinced.
They ripped the curtains off the window in the living room, then acquired more in the kitchen and the bedroom next door. They also found a queen-size bed and old, soiled sheets that held together when Will tried to tear them with his bare hands. There were no bath towels in the bathrooms, and what cleaning rags they found were too small. So they tied together what they had, cutting strips to stretch out the length.
It looked decent by the time they were done, but Will guessed they would still have to jump the last few meters to the ground.
Doable.
Probably…
“Shit,” Danny said, looking at the makeshift rope in Will’s hands. “That’s never going to hold.”
“It’ll hold.”
“That thing’s going to tear, and I’m going to fall and break my neck, and that’s all she wrote.”
“We’ll see.”
“You’re trying to kill me, aren’t you?”
“Possibly.”
“Is this about that thing with Gina?”
“I liked Gina.”
“It’s not my fault she liked me more.”
They grabbed the three-legged table from the floor where it had been tossed the night before and used it as a makeshift grappling hook, positioning two of the legs against the wall under the window and tying the rope to the third leg. With the table held firmly — or firm-ish at least — in place against the wall, the two lower legs even digging into the weak Sheetrock and braced against the rotten wood underneath, they tossed the rope down from the window and measured the jump.
“How far?” Danny asked. He didn’t want to look.
“About three meters,” Will said. It was more like fifteen, but he could see the terrified look on Danny’s face and decided he wouldn’t know the difference once he was on the rope. Probably. “Give or take. You can do it.”
“Yeah, sure. You gonna carry me to the hospital after I break both my legs?”
“No promises.”
“This is definitely about Gina. I knew you haven’t forgiven me.”
Will grinned back.
They took off their web belts and, along with their equipment and holstered handguns, tossed them down first to reduce the load on the rope. With his M4A1 slung over his shoulder, Will climbed out onto the windowsill, where he took a moment to balance himself. The wind seemed to have picked up a bit, and he was struck by how the silence of the city was more disturbing outside than inside. Who knew a few inches either way could change perceptions so much?
He took a breath, then grabbed the rope, tested it for strength and, closing his eyes, swung down before he had a chance to change his mind. Danny was right. The rope was going to give, and he was going to plummet to his death. The irony of surviving last night only to die in the safety of the morning made him want to let out a few choice guffaws.
He opened his eyes and found himself dangling from the rope, which miraculously hadn’t snapped into two pieces yet.
Yet.
He grinned up at Danny, watching him with a look of pure, unadulterated terror from the window above.
“You’re going to die, you know,” Danny said with a frown.
“Gee, thanks.”
“Just saying.”
Will started down, lowering himself hand over hand, feeling every inch of the Frankenstein rope against his palm. By the time he had nearly reached the end, with the street almost directly below him, he felt the rope starting to tear.
Shit.
He said a quick prayer and let go, jumping down in a straight drop and somehow managing to land in a low crouch without, miraculously, breaking his neck.
He straightened up instantly and unslung the M4A1. He scanned the streets and buildings around him, but there was nothing to shoot. He spun quickly and saw that someone — some things—had covered the inside of the Wilshire Apartments’ lobby windows with thick, dirty blankets. Those hadn’t been there yesterday when he had arrived with SWAT. Eight of them had gone inside the building, and only two were now coming out. Will couldn’t help but feel more than a little sadness at that realization.
He pushed the thought aside and glanced up at Danny. The tenth floor looked a hell of a lot higher from the ground. “Nothing to it!”
Danny didn’t look convinced. “You sure?”
“Come on, you pussy! You want me to go up there and hold your hand?”
“Would you?”
“Not today, sweetheart. I got things to do.”
Danny smirked, then climbed up onto the windowsill. He balanced himself against the wind, then reached out and took a tentative grip on the rope.
“You sure this thing’s going to hold?” he called down.
“Pretty sure,” Will said.
“Pretty sure? Are you fucking kidding me?”
“Mostly sure,” Will said, grinning up at him.
CHAPTER 9
KATE
Kate woke up to streams of bright sunlight piercing through holes in the steel garage door in front of her. In the three seconds it took her to realize she had fallen asleep inside the Buick, fear filled her at a dizzying speed, and she sat up so fast she hit her knees against the steering wheel. Pain shot through her legs.
She rubbed her knees as the smell of motor oil drifted into her nostrils. The garage was part of the auto body shop she had taken refuge in last night. It had seemed like a good idea at the time. At least she was no longer roaming the streets alone in a large, loud Buick.
The clock on the dashboard read 11:45 a.m.
She had slept almost the entire morning.
She turned the key to power the radio, then scrolled through the dial, hoping to find a station that was broadcasting. She expected to hear the Emergency Alert System, the long beeping sound followed by a recorded male voice assuring her that everything was fine, that help was coming, and all she had to do was hang on.
But there was nothing, only static.
That’s impossible.