The Gathering Dead (11 page)

“So they still have all their senses, then?” Finelly looked at McDaniels, who shrugged.

“I don’t know. Some of those things are in pretty bad shape... burned, rotted, chewed up. I would guess the ones in better shape still have all five senses, but not all of them.” McDaniels glanced at the two shapes sleeping on the booth, then reached down and put a hand on Earl’s shoulder.

“You did good, Earl.”

Earl sighed and reached into his pocket. He pulled out a pack of Marlboro Lights cigarettes and something else. A photo. He handed it to McDaniels.

“You see her down there?”

McDaniels frowned. The photo was of a mildly-attractive black woman, probably in her very late thirties or early forties. She had lighter skin than Earl did, and teeth that were so white they could only be described as brilliant. There had been laughter in her eyes as well as on her face when the photo had been taken. McDaniels sighed softly and handed the photo back to Earl.

“Your wife?”

Earl nodded. “She was coming in separately from the girls. Was right outside the doors when the first one of those things grabbed her. I was right at the lobby door, and couldn’t get out
—
they’d shoved her against it when they piled onto her, then dragged her off and started to try and get to me. I ran for the elevators and got up here. Guess I forgot to lock that door, otherwise you guys wouldn’t be here.” Earl’s eyes clouded behind his glasses. “We’d been married for over twenny years. And I just turned and ran like a little girl when those things fell on her.”

“You have any weapons? Any specialized defense training?”

“Nossir.”

“Then you did the very best thing you could have done. You survived.” McDaniels pointed to the two girls sleeping nearby. “And they’re depending on you.”

Earl nodded, but said nothing. McDaniels motioned for Finelly to stay put, then walked back toward the windows. He keyed his microphone button.

“Five, this is Six, over.”

“Go ahead, major.”

“Let’s start thinking of moving everyone up to the cafeteria. I’m headed back for the fifth floor. Why don’t you meet me there. Over.”

“Roger that, Six.”

“Your soldier has more than just a back that’s been thrown out,” Regina Safire told McDaniels when he returned to the fifth floor. “He has rather serious spinal compression fractures, and he needs medical attention.”

McDaniels looked to where Jimenez lay curled up on the floor. His armor and backpack had been removed, and his flight suit had been pulled down, exposing his torso. He wore a white cotton T-shirt underneath. Leary was nearby, leaning against the wall, arms folded across his chest. Jimenez looked up at McDaniels with pain-filled eyes.

“It’s not so bad when I’m curled up on my side, major,” he said.

“Because his spinal column is unloaded and isn’t carrying much weight,” Regina said. She knelt beside Jimenez with the contents of the building’s first aid kit strewn about her. McDaniels knelt beside Jimenez.

“You father examined him?” he asked.

Regina shook his head. “I did. My father’s skills are mostly in research now. Up until a few years ago, I had my own practice. I’m a pediatrician.”

“Ah.” McDaniels looked up at Leary. “I need you on the ground floor. Take Derwitz”
—
McDaniels pointed to the enlisted man guarding the barricaded glass doors leading to the elevator bay
—
“with you to relieve the first sergeant and Rittenour. You know how to detonate the charges in the stairwell?”

Leary looked wounded. “Of course I do, major. I’m still operational, you know.” The implication behind the statement was clear:
I’m not a staff weenie like you, major.

McDaniels ignored the potential jibe. He jerked his chin toward the fire door.

“Hop to, troop. Report once you’re in position.”

“Hooah.” Leary straightened and tugged on the straps of his backpack, repositioning it on his shoulders. He walked toward the door and snapped his fingers at Derwitz.

“Off your ass, specialist. We got work to do.”

Derwitz clambered to his feet with a weary slowness and joined Leary at the door, tightening his helmet strap as he walked. Leary slowly opened the fire door and stepped into the stairwell, scanning for threats. Derwitz pushed in after him, and gently closed the door behind him.

McDaniels looked down at Jimenez. “Can you still move?”

Jimenez swallowed and nodded. “Yes sir.”

“He shouldn’t,” Regina said. “Without a set of X-ray to refer to, there’s no telling how bad the compression fractures are. If any of the disks are severely compromised, the injuries could increase. He could even be left paralyzed.”

“I can still fight, Major,” Jimenez said. “I might not be able to run or march, but I can still point my weapon at a stencher and shoot it.”

“I don’t doubt it, Jimenez. But if there’s a way we can try to make you comfortable, then we’ll do it.” He patted Jimenez on the shoulder. “You just hang in there, troop. We’ll be relocating to the twenty-seventh floor. So you just rest for the time being, all right?”

“Yes, sir.”

McDaniels rose to his feet and turned toward the unguarded fire door. “How is your father doing, Miss Safire?”

She gathered up the contents of the first aid bag she’d gone through and put them back inside the red backpack. “He’s doing as well as anyone could under these circumstances. He’s stressed, and wants to get out of here. When
are
we getting out of here, by the way?”

“As soon as my commanding officers can get a resource available, we’ll be pulled out,” McDaniels said. “Until then, we’re on our own. But we seem to be secure.”

“I heard a gunshot a while ago. What happened?”

McDaniels debated on whether he should tell her, then opted for the truth. It was probably less risky that way. “There was a zombie in the stairway. It was one of the people who worked here. I guess at some point he was bitten, and he crossed over. It was trying to get at some people who are barricaded on the twenty-seventh floor, and we put it down.”

Regina kept packing the bag. “And that was the only one you saw?”

“Yes.”

“But if there’s one, there’s more, right?”

“It makes sense to live life like that’s how it is.” McDaniels walked closer to the fire door, the AA-12 cradled in his arms like a favored child.

Regina finished packing the bag and got to her feet. She put the backpack on a nearby file cabinet. Jimenez slowly rolled into a sitting position, and she knelt down to help him.

“You shouldn’t be moving around,” she chided.

“Gotta do what I gotta do. Major, I can cover the door from here easy. You go ahead and hit the latrine or whatever,” Jimenez said.

“I’m good, Jimenez.”

“Seriously, sir. I can do this.” Despite his obvious pain, there was a set of commitment to Jimenez’s face. McDaniels considered this for a moment, then shrugged.

“Okay, Jimenez. You’ve got the door. The first sergeant and Rittenour will be coming up in a moment, so don’t shoot them, all right?”

“Roger that, sir.”

McDaniels took the opportunity to visit the men’s room and relieve himself and washed up at the sink with hot water. He wondered for how long their good fortune would last? Heat, power, hot potable water, food... realistically, if nothing changed, they could hold out for months. They weren’t in that tight of a spot. Of course, no wanted to stay and watch the Big Apple fall before the walking dead. As soon as they could, McDaniels wanted everyone out.

He regarded his reflection in the mirror and noticed the bags forming under his eyes. He held his hands up and watched them. They weren’t quaking, but they weren’t rock-steady, either. He resolved to ensure the soldiers all got some rest once they relocated to the 27th floor, starting with the two Special Forces troops, Rittenour and Leary. They’d been on the sharp edge for days, and they doubtless needed recuperative sleep.

The restroom door opened, and McDaniels automatically grabbed the AA-12. First Sergeant Gartrell walked around the privacy wall that separated the restroom proper from the doorway. He held up his hands and cocked a brow.

“Don’t shoot, major.”

“Stop fucking around, Gartrell. What are the circumstances down below?”

Gartrell strolled over to the row of urinals and did what he had to do. “Same as before, only with Leary and that poindexter from the 160
^th
keeping an eye on the door. Leary’s got what it takes, but not so sure about the other guy. Oh well. If he doesn’t, he’ll be the first to go, I guess. Looks like Jimenez is royally fucked up?”

McDaniels nodded. “Safire’s daughter thinks he has spinal compression fractures.”

Gartrell grimaced. “That guy’s got to be in a world of hurt, but he’s holding up pretty well. Hard core, if you ask me.” Gartrell finished his task and flushed the urinal, then headed for the sinks. He washed his hands and took quite some time doing it, soaping them up mightily and using water so hot it turned his hands red. He looked up at the mirror and caught McDaniels watching him.

“It’s like I can’t stay clean enough,” he said, as if confessing some grievous sin. “I’ve been out in the field for weeks without a shower, and I can’t tell you how bad I want one right now. I don’t think I’ve come into real contact with any of those things, but I still feel filthy. Like I’ve got bugs crawling all over me.” He stood up straight and looked away from McDaniels’ reflection, turning his blue eyes toward the man himself.

“Jesus, major. You got someone’s brains all over your armor and BDUs.”

McDaniels looked down at his front. True enough, he was speckled with small, rust-colored droplets of dried blood and gore. He snorted and shook his head.

“From the zed up on twenty-seven,” he explained. “It was the company CEO, I’m told. Guess he did work himself to death.”

Gartrell unstrapped his helmet and placed it on the marble countertop. He attacked his face and scalp with hot water, rinsing himself off thoroughly.

“How’d you like the shottie?” he asked while working his fingers across his scalp.

“Awesome weapon. Great to have handy when going up against deadheads or locked doors. Glad I had some hearing protectors on hand, though.”

“Listen, you think USASOC’s going to be able to pull us out of here? Because I’m having some trouble coming up with a Plan B.” Gartrell straightened up and pulled a handful of paper towels from the dispenser to his left. He dried off his face and head, then handed the damp towels to McDaniels.

“Use these to wipe down the front of your uniform. Go on, I don’t have any cooties that haven’t been treated already.”

McDaniels took the damp towels. “Thanks.” He turned toward the mirror and started wiping down his battle dress utilities and body armor. “USASOC’s going to do whatever’s necessary to get us out of here. After all, we have Safire, and he’s the genius.”

“Oh hell yeah, they’ll come for
him
. It’s the rest of us dogfaces I’m worried about.”

McDaniels shrugged. “I’m sure they’ll take all of us if they can get to us.” He paused, and looked up at Gartrell’s reflection in the mirror. “Gartrell. We need to bury the hatchet. We’ve got a lot of people who are depending on us, and I’m going to need all the help I can get. I need you to respect my rank and fall in line.”

Gartrell finished drying his face and tossed the paper towels into the waste basket. He put his hands on his hips and regarded McDaniels critically for a moment, then moistened another handful of towels and handed them to McDaniels. The ones he had been using were stained a dark russet.

“I’m always mission first, major. You know that.”

“I do. I just want to make sure we’re going to get along. The rest of the troops need to know who’s in charge.”

“Yeah, I get that.” Gartrell’s eyes were hard, and he kept his gaze locked with McDaniels’. “Here’s what I’ll do, major. You stay focused on the mission and don’t do anything dumb, I’m cool. But you fuck things up like in Afghanistan, I’m going to insert my twenty-five years of experience leading soldiers in the field. How’s that?”

McDaniels thought about it, then nodded. “Thanks, first sergeant.”

“No problem, sir. So tell me more about this cafeteria on twenty-seven?”

“If we have to hole up here in New York City, it would be tougher to find a better place. Maybe inside the Federal Reserve or Rikers Island, but even those wouldn’t be a hell of a lot better than what we have here. The building’s big, but it’s not like it’s the Chrysler Building. We can still move from top to bottom if we need to. And there’s enough food upstairs to keep three hundred folks going for at least a week or so. I figure that we’ve got at least two months of provisions, and that’s with the power going out and half of what’s upstairs spoils in a week.”

Gartrell grunted. “I like the way that sounds. But if no one gets us off of Manhattan island in the next couple of days, they never will.”

McDaniels sighed. Gartrell was right. Whatever caused the dead to reanimate wasn’t going to remain localized. Infected people would travel before they sickened and died, then rose again from wherever they had succumbed to the disease. And the cordon sanitaires that had been erected hadn’t been put in place in time, nor were they very effective in the first place. He had seen how the dead had overrun the barricades and attacked the officials manning them. To think the communities to the north would have better luck was asking for a bit much.

“Let’s try and stay positive,” he said anyway.

The skin around Gartrell’s eyes crinkled as he smiled. “Optimism wasn’t part of my advanced individual training, major.”

“Then adapt to the circumstances.”

“Roger on that. When do we move topside?”

“ASAP. I have to put in a call to USASOC in less than forty minutes. We have to figure out how we’re going to get Jimenez up there. He’s not going to be able to walk twenty-two flights of stairs, and I doubt we can carry him that far and not knock ourselves out.”

“Elevator?”

“Too risky. Plus Earl the Maintenance Guy shut them down. Would be very off-putting to have the doors slide open a few floors too low, and find about a dozen stenches waiting.”