“That ain’t what happened in New Orleans,”
Cookie said. “The authorities said it was safe, so people came out and had to wade through floodwaters and bodies floating in the streets.”
The blind man shrugged. “Perhaps, but this is different.”
Cookie nodded in agreement. The blind man had been holed up in the restaurant since the end of the first week. He’d managed to stay alive all this time. When Cookie had crept into the restaurant a few days ago, half-starved and desperate for food, he’d automatically been able to discern her from one of the undead. He said he did it by smell. Cookie didn’t care what his methods were as long as they worked—and they obviously did. He was alive while the rest of the city was dead or dying. And so far, he’d kept her alive, too. Sure, maybe he was a little weird. He refused to tell her his name and he slept sitting up—on the rare occasions that he slept at all. But he hadn’t tried to rape or attack her the way the last group she’d sheltered with had. Finished with their dinner, Cookie threw away the sardine tins. She wanted a cigarette, but the blind man said the zombies could smell the smoke. Besides, she only had three left and she was unsure when she’d be able to find more. Venturing outside at this point was simple suicide.
Far away in the distance, artillery explosions rolled across the city. Cookie jumped. The blind man smiled.
“I understand that you want to leave,” he said.
“You’re almost out of cigarettes. I want to leave, too. No offense, but with your added presence, we’re running low on supplies. We need food, medicine, water, and ammunition—not that I can shoot very well anyway. But you have to be patient. If and when the time comes, we will leave.”
She started to speak, but another explosion cut her off. It was followed by the sound of machinegun fire. When the sounds of battle faded, Cookie tried again.
“Where would we go?”
“Ramsey Towers,” the blind man said. “That’s our best option. A man came through here a few days before you showed up. He said they’ve got electricity in Ramsey Towers. I say we try for that.”
“How do you know he was telling the truth?”
“His voice—I can tell when someone is lying.”
“But Ramsey Towers is in Manhattan. Might as well be on the moon. We wouldn’t make it one block. Those things are everywhere. Humans, rats, pigeons, cats, dogs—and all of them are zombies.”
“Exactly. That’s why we stay put for now. I can tell by your voice that you’re getting tired. Why don’t you get some sleep? I’ll stand watch.”
Cookie wasn’t sure how long she slept. She was jolted awake by a rapid-fire series of explosions. They sounded distant, but the blind man said they were coming closer. His voice trembled. It was the first time she’d heard him sound afraid.
“What’s happening?” she gasped.
“I’m not sure. They just started.”
Another explosion, this one closer, rattled the light fixtures.
“Maybe the army is fighting them,” Cookie said. She grabbed a claw hammer and crept to one of the windows. Using the hammer, she pried a nail loose and pulled the heavy plywood away. The blind man stumbled forward. “What are you doing?”
“It’s okay,” Cookie said. “I don’t think they’re out there.”
She peeked out into the darkness. Dead bodies lay everywhere. None of them moved. All along the street, brilliant flashes of orange flame erupted from the sewers, and then vanished. The restaurant shook.
“Cookie? Where are you?”
“Right here, by the window. Keep coming forward.”
He touched her shoulder. “What is it? More zombies? I don’t hear them...”
“No. It’s not the zombies. They’re dead—again.”
“How do you mean?”
“They’re lying in the street. None of them are moving. But something’s happening in the sewers.”
Another explosion rocked the building. Dust rained down on them both. Across the street, a liquor store burst into flame.
“Open the door.” The blind man tottered backward. “We need to get out of here before the gas lines explode.”
Working quickly, Cookie removed the barricade and flung the door open. She helped her companion out into the street. Both of them tensed, awaiting an attack, but none was forthcoming. Slowly, they waded through a sea of decomposing corpses. Cookie gagged. “Be glad you can’t see this.”
“Why? What’s that noise? It sounds...disgusting. Like Rice Krispies.”
“It’s the zombies. They’re falling apart.”
“Literally?”
Cookie nodded, but then realized he couldn’t see her. “Yeah.”
One of the creatures twitched. She prodded it with her foot but it did not fight back.
“We’ve won,” the zombie rasped. “Now we move on to the next world, to make way for Ab and his kind to invade this level.”
The blind man grunted. Beside him, he heard Cookie gasp.
“What is it? More zombies?
“No. The horizon is glowing. Something big is burning in Manhattan.”
The blind man shuffled over to the zombie. His foot came down on its face, sinking into the rancid flesh like it was pudding. He seemed not to notice.
“What is Ab?”
The creature grinned. “Now come…the Elilum.”
It melted across the pavement. The blind man wrinkled his nose, and scuffed his shoe on the curb. Then he reached for Cookie. She took his hand, and then turned back to the fire.
“How bad is it, Cookie?”
“It’s huge...”
She paused. Something buzzed in her ear. A second later, a mosquito landed on her arm and bit her. She let go of the blind man’s hand and slapped the insect. It fell to the sidewalk. It was crushed. Broken.
Dead.
“I wonder what the Elilum are?” the blind man asked.
Cookie didn’t answer. She was staring at the dead mosquito.
It was moving again...
THE MORNING AFTER
The Rising
Day Twenty-Seven
Goffstown, New Hampshire
In the 1700s, when Goffstown’s first settlers arrived, they found a magnificently forested area with hardwood-covered hills and magnificent stands of white pine, which extended along Mast Road (named for the many trees cut down and hauled to the Merrimack River so that the Royal British Navy could use them as ship’s masts). The morning after The Rising ended, Brian Lee, the last surviving human in Goffstown, emerged from his hiding place to find that the trees still stood. He climbed to the top of a cell phone tower and scanned the forested hills and the Uncanoonuc Mountains (Native American for “woman’s breasts”). It was a clear day, and Brian could see for miles.
The hills were green with life, but Goffstown’s streets were choked with death. Corpses, both animal and human, lay everywhere—on sidewalks, in the streets and gutters, rooftops, in vehicles and doorways and storefronts. Nothing moved. The corpses did what they were supposed to; they remained still and rotted.
Brian cheered. His cry echoed all the way to the winding river in the distance.
He’d survived by hiding inside a restaurant’s walk-in freezer. Earlier that morning, he’d crept out, looking for water. He’d stumbled, literally, over the first zombie a few minutes later. It was lying in the shadows. Using the butt of his rifle, Brian bashed its head in like a rotten melon, but the creature never reacted. Within minutes, he discovered two-dozen more, including several zombie dogs and an undead cow. All were truly lifeless, but there was no sign of head trauma—the only way to bring a zombie down. Brian was reminded of War of the Worlds, and how the Martians had seemingly died off overnight, infected by the common cold.