Dead Of Winter (The Rift Book II) (28 page)

“Fine. For the sake of argument, we will call them monsters.”

Christopher nodded. “Uh-huh. That’s what they were.”

“These monsters, they were not like the things chasing us now, were they?”

He shook his head. “No.”

“How were they different?”

“They were all fucked-up looking. You know, twisted.”

“In what way?”

“Their faces. Their bodies. Everything. They looked like…big diseased monkeys, I guess.”

“Like the woman in the store?”

Christopher’s reply was a long, slow nod.

“Good,” said Billy, patting him on the shoulder. “They were fast, as well? And strong, again like the woman?”

Another nod.

“All right then,” he said, slapping his thigh. “That is that. These creatures are slow and unintelligent. I think we will be a lot better off for it.”

Christopher muttered something underneath his breath.

“What was that?” Billy asked.

“Zombies,” said Christopher.

“Zombies, what?”

“They’re zombies, Mr. Mathis. The things we’ve seen the last few days.”

It was Billy’s turn to nod. “I know that, son. As hard as it is for me to accept, I know.”

“So what’re we gonna do about it?”

Billy slapped the wall with his gloved palm. “We find our way into the city,” he said. “There will be shelter there, a safe place.”

“How do you know?”

He cocked his head. There was Marcy’s beautiful singing again, quieter, playing inside his eardrum.

“A little birdie told me,” he replied, “but we have to get going. There is not much time.”

“Why not?”

“The song is starting to fade. She is getting weaker.”

“Huh? Who? What’re you talking about?”

Billy rolled his eyes. “It does not matter,” he said. “All that does is that we see what is over this wall. Do you feel up to looking over? I can give you a boost.”

“Sure.”

They stood up. Billy stretched his cramped back before cupping his hands for Christopher to step in. He lifted the kid up. He could see Christopher’s eyes widen as he gripped the concrete ledge and glanced over.

“What is it?” he asked. “Are there people over there?”

Christopher shook his head.

“What is making that sound, then? Is it a device of some kind?”

“Mr. Mathis,” said Christopher, gazing down on him, white as a ghost. “I think you better see for yourself.”

Billy lowered him to the ground. He then faced the wall, took a deep breath, bent at the knees, and jumped. His fingers latched onto the lip and his muscles burned as he performed a chin-up. It had been so long since he’d exerted himself in this way, but he could still pull it off. For the first time possibly ever he had something about his prison routine to feel thankful for.

That thankfulness evaporated the minute he peered over the wall. On the other side was a chain-link fence, about twenty feet away from them, and behind that an alley. At least fifty of the meandering, decaying undead loped around back there, unconscious of anything, even each other. They walked in circles as if stuck in a loop they couldn’t escape. Or perhaps they were waiting for something to
pull
them out, something like fresh meat. The sound he heard was the chorus of their moans.

The alley was situated at the rear of two large buildings. Billy scooted up higher, trying to see through the gap between them. Eventually he could, and what he saw there wasn’t any more promising. There were still more of them, wandering without a care. They passed from one side of the wall to the other and then disappeared. Billy tried his best to remember color patterns, to try and form an approximation of their numbers. He couldn’t. They all looked the same to him, all scarred, weathered, and dirty. Only the ones missing an appendage or two stuck out. He could only guess there were hundreds, perhaps thousands, within the city proper.

“Damn,” he muttered.

At the sound of his voice the beings in the alley turned to him. He swore he saw a light appear in their eyes as their mouths dropped open, one after the other, and approached the fence. They pushed into it, causing the chain links to buckle. It looked like they had become a single organism, living, breathing, swelling with hunger. Billy had seen enough. He dropped off the wall.

“See what I mean?” Christopher said.

“Yes.”

“So how’ll we get in? Should we turn back?”

Billy muttered and knocked his sheathed knuckles against the wall. “No,” he said. “There is no turning back. We need to be
in there.
There has to be a way.”

He scanned the length of the wall. It ran for as far as he could see, presumably ending at the road. He took a step back and looked up. He could see nothing but the buildings behind the wall. He had to get a clearer sightline.

“Wait here,” he said to Christopher, and then braced a hand on the riverbank and plunged into the shallows of the Monongahela. Freezing water sopped his pant legs and flowed into his boots. The cold stung but at least it deadened the pain in his feet a bit. He trudged out until the water came up to his knees and surveyed the cityscape. The answer came to him almost instantly.

“I have it!” he shouted.

“What? Where?” asked Christopher.

“Come here. Let me show you.”

“In the water? Are you serious? It’s friggin’ cold in there!”

“And it will be even colder tonight, when we have no fire and no food. Do you want to go through another evening like that or are you going to get over here and look at what I have to show you?”

Appearing incongruous with his oversized woolen cap pulled down over his brow Christopher followed his lead. He stepped one foot into the river at a time, scrunching his face and yelping as the water rushed against him. Eventually he made it out to where Billy stood. The older man gripped him around his shoulder.

“So w-w-where i-i-is it?” Christopher asked, shivering.

Billy pointed to the horizon. “Do you see those smokestacks way down there, the ones closest to the river?”

Christopher nodded.

“Do you know what that is?”

“No.”

“That, son, is a water treatment plant.”

“So?”

“That is our way in.”

Christopher’s shoulders slumped. “Great.”

It took them another hour of wading through the flowing, icy water to reach their destination. The treatment plant was a giant construction, forged from concrete and steel and surrounded by barbed wire fences. They climbed atop a pair of huge white pipes that dropped into the water from the rear of the structure. The pipes led to the cliff face the plant sat upon and disappeared into the ground. They approached a domed lid that jutted from one of them.
PROPERTY OF ALCOSAN
was stamped on it.

Billy gripped the wheel on top of the lid and twisted. It was old and rusted but it turned. Eventually the seam cracked open with a hiss. He threw it back on its hinges. A cloud of mist and stink rose from the hole. The scent was so strong it burned his nose and made him dizzy. He had to drop to his numbed knees to keep from falling back into the river.

“No way,” said Christopher. He held his coat over his nose. “I ain’t going in there.”

“Okay,” Billy replied. “You may stay here then.”

Christopher stamped his foot. It echoed off the metal with a hollow
twang
. The boy winced. “There’s
gotta
be a better way, Mister Mathis!” he pleaded.

“I really am sorry, son,” said Billy, “but this is the only safe way.”

“It smells like shit!”

“I know. However, we must deal with it.”

“You don’t even know what’s in there.”

He shrugged. “Most likely old sewage and water. These pipes are only large enough to crawl through. The possibility that something made a home in there besides rats is remote, at best.”

Once more Christopher’s shoulders slumped.

Billy pulled his jacket over his nose and leaned over the circular opening. The stench assaulted his nostrils through the layers of thick fabric. He glanced up at Christopher and threw his legs over the lip. When he lowered himself into the pipe his feet slipped in the stagnant sewage covering the bottom. He dropped to his knees in the darkness and gagged. It was unbearable.
I cannot do this
, his mind screamed. His throat constricted and his eyes watered. He was about to give up and climb out when the song in his head became louder. It constricted his eardrums and sent spikes of pleasure into his brain. All other sensations flittered away. Nothing seemed to exist but the darkness of the tunnel before him and Marcy’s disembodied voice. He plunged his hands into the sludge and crawled.

“What’s going on, Mister M?” called Christopher from above. “It’s really dark in there.”

Billy paused and craned his neck. “Come on down, Christopher,” he replied. “I know the way.”

He heard Christopher drop into the muck, followed by his sickened gags. The boy whimpered. “Do not worry,” said Billy. “You will get used to it.”

“I…don’t…think so,” Christopher gasped.

“Trust me, you will. Just follow me.”

“How…do you know…where to go?”

“It is all in the song,” he replied.

The singing grew louder the deeper into the culvert they crawled. It became as loud and clear as the finest car stereo he’d ever heard. Her voice massaged his thoughts with its gentle melody.

Rich relations may give you
,
crust of bread and such.

Billy kept his head down as they crept past various outlets and openings. Rats scurried through the pipe, trampling over his hands. Their tiny, sharp claws punctured through his gloves. Christopher was in a constant state of shrieking unrest behind him. Billy ignored it all and kept moving. The more he surged onward, the stronger the singing. He was a man possessed, keeping his arms and legs pumping and her voice strong in his ears was all that mattered.

The pipes narrowed, forcing him to inch forward on his belly. With his face so close to the sewage it permeated every ounce of his being. It felt as if he was becoming one with the natural state of decay that enveloped everything in time. For a moment depression crushed him, told him the journey wasn’t worth it. As if answering this sadness, Marcy’s breathless crooning lifted in volume once more. He gritted his teeth and went on.

Finally the conduit came to an end. It opened into a vaulted underground chamber filled with standing water. The smell was tolerable in there, and he unlocked his brain. He gripped the rim of the cylinder and lowered himself in, then helped Christopher do the same. The boy’s face looked a pale shade of green. His teeth gritted, his body trembled. Their eyes locked.

“What now?” Christopher asked, standing shin-deep in the pool.

“Now we figure out where exactly we are.”

He glanced around. There were drainage pipes much like the one they’d exited protruding from the walls on either side of them and a ladder directly across from where they stood.