A few seconds and thirty collisions later, they broke through the final line of weakly grasping hands and entered open space. They were at the bottom of the stairs leading to the hotel entrance. His heart sank. The doors were barricaded with steel girders and wooden beams. He dashed up the steps, a panting and wheezing Christopher right behind him, and tried to remove the obstructions. Each one was heavy. He could barely make them budge.
He wheeled around to see their pursuers stagger after them. The horde was fifty deep, too dense to ram through this time. He’d gone and done the one thing he told the boy they shouldn’t do – he got them cornered. Without a second to think he threw his shoulder into Christopher, picked him up, and tossed him over the railing. The kid landed with a thud on the pavement below. A surprised whinny escaped his lips. Billy jumped down after him.
He proceeded to drag Christopher across the concrete, heading around the side of the building in hope of finding an unguarded rear entryway. The dead closed in on them once more, and for the umpteenth time Billy tried to ram his way through. Greedy hands tugged on his hair, his coat, his backpack, his pants. Christopher shrieked. The collective effort of pulling the boy and trying to fend off the multitude proved too much. His knees buckled and he fell. The weight of undead fingers pressed against his flesh. With as many as there were they’d be torn apart. He tried to reach into his backpack and grab the pistol but his hands were pinned. He closed his eyes, tucked himself into a ball, and let Marcy’s song, barely noticeable among the din of groans, carry him off into oblivion.
An explosion rang in his eardrums. For a moment he assumed it the result of the tacky fingers shoved into his ears, trying to pry off the top of his head. But then it happened again, and again, and again. The hands clutching at him gradually retreated. He opened his eyes to see the dead were still above him. One tried to gnaw on his shin but was having a rough go at the three layers of denim he wore. The rest, however, moved their attention elsewhere. Another blast sounded. This time the skull of a dead man to his right burst like a water balloon. Blood and gore showered those behind it, who seemed not to notice. Their lifeless eyes simply stared in the direction from which the sound came.
With their attackers momentarily distracted Billy scuttled backward. Christopher was laying there, eyes wide as could be. Tears streamed down his face and his lips bled. Billy took his hand and the boy squeezed back. They began to nudge their way across the ground but they were still surrounded, locked in a prison of decomposing knees and feet. Billy scrambled into a crawl, tucking Christopher beneath him. The faces of the deceased fell upon them. They ignored the strange noise from outside their ranks and reached out for the frightened pair.
“Help us!” screamed Billy. “Please, somebody, help us!”
Three more explosions rang out, and this time shouting followed. He heard rapid footsteps pound the wet pavement. Three of the undead took hold of his wrist. They were strong in cooperation and he couldn’t wiggle from their grasp. The remnants of an old woman stuck his gloved fingers in her toothless mouth and bit down. He felt her gums, loose and fetid, slide back and forth over his knuckles. He knelt up and swung his free hand, striking her in the nose. Her face caved in on impact.
The shouts grew louder. Bodies that once leaned in on them flew backward. A domed head appeared in front of him. A pair of kind blue eyes stared from behind a clear plastic mask. The mouth below those eyes mimed, you okay, to which Billy nodded. More hands grabbed him, this time around the bag strapped to his shoulders. These hands were strong and sturdy, pulling him across the concrete. He kicked his feet to keep up, glancing over his shoulder to see three men wearing padded blue suits with the letters PPD embossed on the back as they pummeled the hapless walking corpses with the butts of their rifles. Another man grabbed Christopher around the waist and hauled him away from the carnage.
He was rushed up a set of stairs, through a door, and into a dimly-lit room. The men lugging him tossed his tense body aside and disappeared back out the door. Christopher came through next, dumped in a similar fashion. Their gazes locked. The tears that had been in the boy’s eyes were gone. Awe and relief replaced them.
Shouts and urgent calls followed and six men in riot gear hurried into the building, slamming the door behind them. They grabbed three steel poles leaning against the wall and quickly dropped them into brackets fastened to the wall and floor. When all three supports were in place the men stood with legs spread apart, as if readying to sumo wrestle, and braced the door. It shuddered once, then twice, then three times as the mass of dead flesh shoved into it. The beams held firm. Before long the men slid their arms to their sides and shook their heads.
One after another the men passed them by on their way down an adjacent hallway. The last in line stopped before them. He took off his helmet to reveal a head of light brown hair, thinning on the top. It was the man who’d pulled Billy from the throng. He noticed the lines of age that creased the skin around those powder-blue eyes. The guy had a thick jaw and must have been around his age, perhaps older.
“Hey there, name’s Jamie Forrest,” the man said, a sad grin on his face. “Welcome to the Omni. Take time to gather yourselves and then head down that hallway there. We’ll be waiting for you.”
With those words he casually saluted and strode after the others, leaving Billy and Christopher alone. They were surrounded by huge ovens, cabinets, and rows of kitchen appliances. Billy glanced at Christopher, who shrugged his shoulders.
“Well,” said Billy with a smile, “we made it.”
The boy’s resolve shattered and he broke down. He leaned over, his back shuddering with each breath. Billy inched his way over to him, pulled the boy into a bear hug, and let him sob into his chest.
It was the first time he’d offered up that much compassion to another human being in a long, long time.
After taking a few moments to calm down the pair followed the lead of their six saviors. They walked along a carpeted hallway that slanted upward. At the end of the hall they entered the hotel antechamber. The place was huge, decked with marble floors and countertops, the walls blue with flecks of gold. There were ferns everywhere, large and small, ferns Billy remembered from his vision. He smiled wide. Christopher passed him a curious glance. He playfully nudged the boy in reply.
A bustle of activity surrounded them. Concerned-looking faces offered passing glances as they hurried to and fro. They gave the soiled duo and their stink a wide berth. Billy heard frantic orders shouted and started to feel useless and ignored. From the other side of the ample room a pair of women came running, carrying a large bucket between them. Steam rose from it. A man opened the door to the staircase and held it for them. They disappeared and he closed the door.
“Where did they go?” Billy asked a young man as he ran by.
“Who?” he replied with a speck of annoyance.
“The two ladies. The ones carrying the bucket.”
“Gotta drop the oil on ‘em,” the man replied, and kept on going.
“Oh,” replied Billy.
Before too long the commotion started to settle down. A hushed murmur took where there had once been sharp words. Billy felt eyes upon him. He glanced at Christopher, who fidgeted as if his clothes didn’t fit, and realized the boy felt them, as well.
A few minutes passed. High-fives were exchanged and the room emptied out until only three remained – Billy, Christopher, and the man who’d introduced himself as Jamie Forrest.
Forrest was busy packing away the riot gear he and his men had worn. He folded and stacked each article in the office behind the reception desk. The manner in which he worked bled professionalism. And when he began checking the rifles and shotguns, emptying their chambers and rubbing them down with a greased cloth before leaning them against the wall, this assumption proved true.
When he finished he strolled up to the silent pair, who hadn’t moved since they arrived in the lobby. He had a hop in his step and a smile on his face. He stuck out his h
and. Billy accepted it.
“William Mathis,” said Billy.
“Nice to meet you, Bill,” Forrest replied. He withdrew his hand, twitched his nose, and wiped the mess that had come off of Billy’s palm on his pants. “Sorry we weren’t properly introduced before,” he said absentmindedly. “Always good to shake a man’s hand. Lets you know where they stand.”
“And where do I stand?”
Forrest measured him. “Strong grip. Confident guy. Maybe a tad crazy. Hell, you must be crazy to pull the stunt you just did.”
Billy nodded. “I have been called worse,” he said.
“You talk funny,” said Forrest, his head tilted.
“I think so, too,” Christopher chimed in.
Forrest turned to the boy. His smile widened. “And what’s your name, son?” he asked.
“Chris.”
He spread his arms wide. “Well, Chris and William, as I said before, welcome to the Omni. It’s good to have new folks around.” His smile melted away. “I gotta ask, though. You guys hurt at all? Anyone get bit?”
They both shook their heads. “I think we are pretty much unscathed,” Billy said, “with the exception of a few bumps and bruises.”
A relieved sigh escaped Forrest’s lips and his smile returned, albeit more reserved this time. “Thank God,” was all he said.
After a short span of silence Billy clapped Christopher on the shoulder and asked Forrest, “Are you in charge here?”
The man shook his head. His large nose wobbled as if its cartilage had the consistency of gelatin. “Absolutely not,” he replied. “I’m just the slash man. Janitor-slash-cook-slash-head of security.”
“What were you…before?” asked Christopher.
Forrest’s eyes grew weighty. “Retired. Was a cop, though. For a long time actually. Was glad to finally get out of it.” He sighed. “Looks like I’m one again, unfortunately.”
Billy nodded to him. “You performed a dutiful task out there, James,” he said. “And I thank you for that.”
“No problem. Please, call me Jamie. Or Forrest. My gramps was James, not me.”
“Fine. Now, I do not want to seem ungrateful, but I was wondering if you could help me with something.”
“What is it?”
“We are looking for someone. A young white woman. Dark, shoulder length hair.” He almost mentioned that she might be in a coma but decided against it, instead saying, “Very beautiful, in a strong way,” instead.
“Maybe. She got a name?” Forrest asked.
“Marcy,” he replied.
Forrest squinted. He bobbed his head, turned around, and heading for the stairway the ladies with the bucket of oil had entered. “I’ll be right back,” he shouted.
“What was that all about?” asked Christopher when the door swung closed.
“Not sure.”
“I don’t think they trust us.”
“I know.”
The boy grinned. He was beginning to look alive, more alive than Billy had ever seen him.
“Listen,” Christopher said. “When he gets back, let me talk to him.”
“Why is that?”
“Well, you looking for some girl ain’t the best story in the world. Shoot, you haven’t even told me why we are. Let’s face it, coming from you, it sounds a bit…creepy. Especially if she is here, and she has family.”
“Creepy? Why?”
“Look at yourself, Mister Mathis. You’re not exactly cuddly.”
Billy glanced down and chuckled. “I suppose you might be right.”
“That’s right I am. Trust me. This’ll work.”
“I guess we will find out,” he replied, and pulled the boy close to him.
Ten minutes later Forrest reemerged. An old man walked beside him. His skin was wrinkled and pleated around his cheeks yet his eyes were bright and alive. He walked with a cane and Forrest seemed to try and keep to his partner’s slower pace.
“Bill and Chris, this is Doctor John Terry,” said Forrest. “He kinda runs things here. John, this is Bill and Chris.”
They exchanged pleasantries. All the while the old man eyed Billy with a distrustful expression.
“I apologize for our appearances,” Billy said to the man, “and our smell. It has been a long week. We appreciate your assistance – and your hospitality – immensely.”
“Your appearances are excused,” Dr. Terry replied, “but what are you doing here?”
Christopher puffed out his chest and spoke up. “We’re looking for my sister,” he said. “When the snow stopped we left Greensburg and came this way to look for her. She moved here a while back. I was hoping she didn’t get killed, and then we saw the flashing light thingy, and figured this’d be my best shot.”
“Greensburg?” the old doctor said, raising his eyebrows. “That’s quite the trek.”
“Yeah. Wasn’t very fun.”
“And how about you?” Dr. Terry asked, turning to Billy. “Why are you with this boy?”
“He’s my tutor,” said Christopher.
Dr. Terry blinked and shook his head. “That so?”
“Yes,” said Billy, “it is.”
“I don’t think so,” the old man countered. He pointed a slender finger in his direction. “I know you. I know I know you. I just can’t place it. Can I trust you?”
Billy shrugged the bag from his shoulders, dropped it to the ground, and spread his arms out wide. “I have nothing to hide, sir. There is a pistol in my bag, but that is all. We had it for protection. Please, may we now discuss the whereabouts of my young friend’s sister?”
The old man snapped his fingers. There was excitement in his voice. “That’s it! I knew I recognized you. That voice, those mannerisms. Bill, is it? William Mathis?”
Billy grimaced and backed up a step. “Yes, that is me. You know who I am?”
“Of course I do, son,” the old man laughed. “My assistant Leon is your biggest fan…or was, anyway. So of course I had to check up on you. Read both your books, too. Some pretty cynical stuff, but well written.”
“Thank you.”
“Don’t thank me yet. I need to know one more thing. When did you get out of prison?”
“Well, you see…actually, may we discuss this later? Can we find out about the girl first?”
Dr. Terry eyed him suspiciously. “I suppose,” he said, and then glanced at the boy. “Let’s see about this sister of yours, shall we? We have someone who just might fit that bill.”
As they walked the halls of the Omni William Penn, Dr. Terry told his side of the story. He described how he and his wife had been there celebrating – in a hushed, somber way – their fiftieth wedding anniversary with associates from Allegheny General Hospital. The old man had been a neurosurgeon, though reduced to a consulting role after arthritis made surgery impossible for him. That was okay, explained the old doctor, because he rather liked the relief of not holding the godlike power of life or death in his hands.
When the world ended they’d been in the reception hall. Explosions rocked the city. People ran scared. Luckily for all those nice folks from the medical industry, Jamie Forrest and his state cop buddies were there, as well, having drinks in the bar downstairs. When the first explosion hit Forrest did his best to keep everyone calm. He rushed about and told people to hide. Then he and his closest friend, Matt Lexington, gathered up some folks and worked on barricading the front doors. Also lucky for them, as it turned out, the Omni was positioned away from the center of the disturbance. By the time the Wraiths arrived (at the mention of their media-given name Christopher nodded, an air of recollection and shame in his youthful features), two hours after that initial blast, the place had been pretty much sealed tight.
They’d stayed holed up in the hotel ever since. They ignored the military’s pleading for volunteers to help fight the horde, thinking it safer to stay their ground. It proved to be the right call. Another battle raged, and then after a while all fell silent. No more soldiers came to their door
, no more creatures tried to break in. Snow started to fall. The survivors found they could move about the city pretty much at will. Finally they placed the beacon on the third floor, to try and alert other possible survivors of their safe haven.
Dr. Terry poked his thumb over his shoulder. “And then they showed up.”
Billy nodded. “How long ago?”
“Two weeks, maybe more. At first, even though we were surprised as hell about the fact they actually existed, they weren’t a problem. One or two would wander up the front steps and bang on the barricade. They were easy enough to take care of. Jamie and the boys actually started playing games with them. But then the weather got warmer and their numbers grew. We had to reinforce the blockade you saw out front to keep them out. It was like they all just…thawed out.”
“Funny enough,” said Billy, “I think that is exactly what happened.”
“That so?”
“Yes. We watched some of them reanimate just outside of Frick Park.”
“I’ll be damned.”
“How’s that happen?” asked Christopher.
“Not sure,” said the old doctor with a shrug. “We heard rumors that RF had regenerative properties the government was trying to harness, but we assumed that was a conspiracy theory thought up by a bunch of young folks who played too many video games.” He chuckled without humor. “Looks like I was wrong, at least about part of it. Oh, wait, here we are.”
He stopped before a large set of doors. Billy looked up and there was the banner from his dreams. Happy Anniversary John and Katy – Fifty and Counting! His anticipation built and he shuddered. Christopher noticed this and gave him a sideways glance. Billy looked at him and wagged his finger. Don’t worry about it, the gesture said.
Dr. Terry opened the doors and led them through. “This might be your girl,” he said. “Leon – the assistant I told you about – dragged her inside when the first wave hit. She’d been around the back alley, bleeding to death. Bitten by one of the infected, I think. Against my wishes, he brought her inside and kept her here. Luckily she hasn’t shown any visible signs of RF infection, but…”
Dead Of Winter (The Rift Book II) Page 21
