The Gathering Dead (7 page)

“But why would the Russians develop a weapon like this in the first place? It’s not like they could ever deploy it.”

“Perhaps,” Safire agreed. “Or perhaps they had a therapy that would prevent their troops and citizens from turning into ghouls after exposure. Maybe they lost the records for the therapy over the decades, or maybe they never had one to begin with, and what was released was only a test study. Whatever the case, the U.S. most certainly experimented with some rather esoteric weapon systems. Did you know we worked on a weapon that was designed to make all the Russians go mad and attack each other? What we face now is much the same, only ours was chemical, this is biological.”

McDaniels sipped some more of his coffee, then poured it down the sink. “But the question remains, doctor... with all the research that went into creating this process you’re speaking of, you’re the only one who knows what it is? No assistants, no researchers, no laboratory partners, no one at all?”

“Just me, major.” Safire smiled grimly. “You see, if you had been a little faster in getting to us, you might have been able to save two colleagues who could have replicated my work, and who in fact contributed to it greatly. But doctors Walsh and Vinjamuri were taken by the dead, like so many others before them.”

“Our... tardiness was hardly our fault, doctor. It took a while for your message to make its way through the command structure and get to someone with the horsepower to actually do something about it.”

Safire waved the explanation away as he turned away from the vending machines and sat heavily on the cardboard paper cases again. “Whatever. The end result is the same. I’m the only one who knows how to do what needs to be done, and I’m just
thrilled
to be trapped here in the city with the rest of you. Truly.”

McDaniels put his helmet on and walked to the door. “Then maybe you can make yourself useful? Get off that skinny ass and take a look at Jimenez, he’s hurt bad. And since he’s one of the people who will be saving you and your daughter, maybe you might want to do something to start returning the favor ahead of time.” He put his hand on the door knob and turned back to the Safires. The daughter looked at him with anger in her eyes; the elder couldn’t be bothered with such a useless emotion. His expression was totally blank.

“We have to save you whether we like you or not,” McDaniels said, as much to Regina as to Safire. “But it might be better for all of us if you didn’t act like such a prick, doctor.”

“I’ll take that under advisement,” Safire said sarcastically.

“We have about six hundred rounds of five-five-six per man, and around half that in nine millimeter. I have one hundred fifty-five tungsten cored magnum rounds for the AA-12, and one drum of high-explosive minigrenades for a total of 25 shots. Three hundred and ninety rounds of .45 ACP for our sidearms. Every man still has five M67 frag grenades, four M8 smokers, night vision goggles with two spare batteries, enough MREs to get through the next five days
—
more if we ration ourselves
—
and water, which we can replenish here. Personal radios with two spare batteries. One satellite phone, three PRC-90s...” Gartrell had written everything down on a yellow legal pad in block letters that were so neat McDaniels thought the list had been printed. He read the list as Gartrell recited it from memory. The Night Stalkers had less gear to lug around, as all of their equipment was mostly defensive, for protecting forward area refuel points where their helicopters would refuel and rearm. The assembly area in Central Park’s Great Lawn had been nothing more than one gigantic FARP, and the 160
^th
ground control teams had been outfitted accordingly. While their load-out was consistent with the mission they were to accomplish, it wouldn’t sustain them for long if bad things started to happen. The three Night Stalkers had only Heckler & Koch MP5K Personal Defense Weapons, which fired 9mm rounds but were limited by a fairly short range. And besides basic soldiering skills, they weren’t especially proficient in military operations in urban terrain, which is what street fighting zombies in New York City most assuredly was.

The Special Forces troops
—
which included McDaniels and Gartrell
—
weren’t really all that much better off. The heavy weaponry, such as the M249 machine guns, had been lost when CW3 Keith’s helicopter had crashed during takeoff in Central Park. Not that the weapons were a key concern. The loss of the lion’s share of a Special Forces Alpha Detachment and all the skills associated with it were what weighed heavily on McDaniels now. As things stood, he just didn’t have enough manpower to go around.

“Major?”

McDaniels looked up from the list, a little annoyed. After what had happened between them in Afghanistan, Gartrell consciously avoided calling him “sir” whenever he could. It was always “major”. And that bothered McDaniels more than he would like to admit, even to himself.

“I got what you said, it’s all here.” McDaniels tapped the pad. “Sounds like we’re good for the time being, so long as we don’t get decisively engaged. But we need to start making some noise and see if we can’t get the hell out of here.”

Gartrell nodded, and waved toward the cube farm behind McDaniels. The two men stood at a long row of filing cabinets while the rest of the troops sat near the reception desk on office chairs. There was no need to keep them on their feet the entire time, and everyone’s dogs were already tired to begin with.

“We tried several phones, but there are no working lines outside. We can dial extensions inside the building, though, so the PBX is still up. But there’s something up with the connection outside the building. Cell phones don’t work either
—
I tried mine. Could be anything, so I doubt we can fix it ourselves. SATCOM is going to be our only bet.”

McDaniels snorted. He had his own cell phone in his pocket, and he hadn’t even thought of it. He pulled it out from behind his body armor and checked it out. He had signal, but when he tried to place a call, all he got was a quick beep followed by silence. CALL FAILED flashed on the display.

“How inconvenient,” he said. He cleared the display and caught the time. He verified it against his watch.

“We went down in ROMEO fifty-three minutes ago,” Gartrell said. McDaniels smiled slightly. While all Special Forces soldiers were nicknamed “Jedi Knights”, there was no doubting First Sergeant David Gartrell was Obi-wan Kenobi himself.

“Good to know one of us still has his head in the game,” McDaniels said. “Thank you for staying frosty, first sergeant.”

“Someone has to provide timely adult supervision, sir. That’s why USASOC sent me.”

McDaniels couldn’t tell if Gartrell was being insulting or if it had been an offhand quip. He decided he didn’t want to deal with it, either way. “We need to get on the SATCOM. And I also want to know what the hell is going on downstairs. It’s great that Rittenour rigged the stairs, but someone still has to detonate the charges before those things make it upstairs.”

“Roger that. You want that done now?”

McDaniels shook his head. “Negative. Let’s get someone to take a peek downstairs.” Through the windows, he saw that the sun was setting, and the concrete canyons of New York City were growing dark and cold. “I don’t want to attract any more attention than necessary, but it might be worthwhile to see if the zeds have forgotten about us.”

“One of the doors was open downstairs, major. There could be some of those things in the building with us. Maybe we should send some more guys with you? Just you and another swinging dick can take out a few deadheads, but what if you hit the mother lode and you run into a few dozen? Or a few hundred, even?”

McDaniels shrugged. “Not much anyone can do about it,” he said. “We can’t leave the Safires unguarded, and even if I did bite the big burrito, that doesn’t mean all chances at rescue come to an end. Hell, for all we know, the Air Force and CIA are moving every satellite and UAV they have over Manhattan right now, just looking for us.”

“For him, you mean.”

“Yeah. For him.”

Gartrell nodded. “I’ll take care of checking the lobby personally. Leary should go topside with you. I’ll take Rittenour. We’ll leave the Safires here with the Night Stalkers
—
they should be able to keep them out of harm’s way for the time being.”

McDaniels frowned. “I don’t want all the SF troops off the floor, just in case there’s a breach.” He looked over at the gaggle of soldiers sitting before the barricaded glass entry doors. “Night Stalkers, any of you guys up for a run to the roof?”

Finelly got to his feet. “I am, sir.”

“Then hit the latrine or whatever it is you might need to do now, because we’re going to be gone for a while.”

“Roger that, sir.”

Gartrell unslung his big AA-12 and handed it to McDaniels. “Since it’s only two of you, take the shottie. It’s got tungstens loaded up, so you should be able to blast anything that comes your way to hell and back. I’ll take your M4 for the time being.”

McDaniels hefted the AA-12. It had been a while since he handled one, and he liked how it felt. Especially now. He handed his assault rifle to Gartrell.

“Not really a fair trade, but I’ll take it. Thanks, Gartrell.”

“I’ll go over the detonation sequence with Ritt to make sure I can do the job in case the zombies get inside,” Gartrell said. “I still remember my demo training, but it’s been a while. It would be a shame to mess it up after not being up to bat for so long.”

McDaniels nodded. “If anyone can do it, you can, first sergeant. Lord knows you like blowing stuff up.”

Gartrell gave him a wan smile, but that was it. McDaniels gathered up the SATCOM and looked at Finelly.

“Are you ready, sergeant?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Then let’s get this done and get the hell out of here.” McDaniels waved for the other soldiers to remove the barricade in front of the fire door.

###

The stairwell was still brightly illuminated. McDaniels checked the landing above, while Finelly checked the one below. Gartrell and Rittenour stepped out onto the fifth floor landing, weapons at ready. McDaniels, Gartrell, and Rittenour conducted their radio checks, with Leary serving as their primary point of contact. As he was from a different unit, Finelly couldn’t communicate on the same frequency, and used his handheld PRC-90 radio to maintain contact with the other Night Stalkers. If something went down, they would relay that to Leary, who would reach out to the other SF troops.

“Take it easy down there,” McDaniels said to Gartrell. He nodded toward the stairwell leading down.

“Hell sir, our climb’s nothing like yours. And besides, if we’re not getting any heat, we’re not near the target.”

“Hooah, first sergeant.” McDaniels turned and started up the flight of stairs. “Let’s get on with it, Finelly.”

“Right with you, major.”

The two men climbed steadily upward. Finelly took the lead, as McDaniels was both the commanding officer and carried the satellite communications phone. He set an aggressive pace, and McDaniels found he had to work to keep up. As a field grade officer, he hadn’t been required to do more than just the usual morning PT to stay in shape. However, staying in shape was relative when comparing an officer to an enlisted man who still had to go on field marches, even if he was with a special operations aviation unit. After ten flights, McDaniels was breathing hard.

They would pause at each landing and listen at the fire door. Again, many were non-entry doors and were locked. Some were unlocked, but neither McDaniels nor Finelly were interested in checking the floors beyond. There was no telling what they might find.

“Terminator Six, Terminator Five, over.” Gartrell’s voice was all business over the radio. McDaniels looked up at Finelly, but the big sergeant kept on walking. Of course, since only McDaniels could hear the first sergeant.

“Finelly, hold up.” As Finelly stopped and turned to face him, McDaniels pressed the transmit button on his radio.

“Five, this is Six. Over.” He kept his voice low, just in case. They were between the sixteenth and seventeenth floors, which meant there was still a lot of unexplored territory ahead and just as much behind. Zombies could be anywhere, and all it would take for the dead to get at them was as much luck as it took to turn a door handle.

“We’re in the lobby stairwell. Just cracked open the door and took a look without exposing myself. Dozens of stenchers are outside. Looks like they’re still interested in the building. Bad news is that they’re using objects to try and get through the glass. Over.”

McDaniels was alarmed. “Say what kind of objects, over.”

“Nothing too credible at the moment, Six. Cell phones, blackberries, notebooks, soda bottles. Looks like items a lot of them might have had on their person. But if one of these things has enough smarts to get a sledgehammer
—
or maybe start up a car
—
things’re going to get very interesting. Over.”

“Understood, Five. Break. Terminator Three, you get that? Over.”

Leary’s voice came back immediately. “Roger Six, I copied that. Over.”

“Pass that intel over to Safire, see if it’s of any use to him. Break. Five, this is Six. How are the explosives? Over.”

“Explosives have been checked and verified as still operational. We can blow the stairwell at any time, over.”

“Roger that. You think you’re good to stay put for the time being, and keep a watch on the lobby?”

Gartrell’s voice was firm and matter-of-fact. “Roger that, Six. We’re ready to camp out and keep an eye on things all night. Over.”

“Well, maybe not all night, Five. We’re on our way to make our call, so we’ll get back to you soon. We’re on sixteen, moving up to seventeen. Over.”

“Roger that, Six.”

“Terminator Six, out.” McDaniels released the transmit button and motioned Finelly forward. The big sergeant had questions in his eyes, but he did not pause to ask them. He just turned around and continued his advance up the stairway.

By the time they reached the twentieth floor, Finelly stopped on the landing. He held out a clenched fist and raised his MP5K slightly. McDaniels froze and firmed his grip on his M4. He watched Finelly as the bigger man slowly crept forward and peered up the next stairwell. He stopped with one foot on the first step and placed his back to the wall, and stayed there for a moment. McDaniels was about to prompt him when he heard something. It was a rhythmic, repetitive banging in the distance, very faint and barely discernable above the soft noises of building machinery doing whatever they did. The two men listened to it for a time, keeping silent, trying to decipher what might be making it.