When they reached a T junction in the hallway, Austin saw a stairwell door next to the elevators. This was an office building and seemed deserted. Stopping to rest, he turned to them and said, “I’ll go down the stairs and reconnoiter the first floor and lobby. Wait here for me.”
Opening the door to the empty stairwell, Austin went in and started down. At the third floor, he cracked the door and peeked in. Empty. One floor down he did the same. This time it wasn’t. There were three bodies on the floor. Two of them were dressed in the uniforms of a cleaning and maintenance service. They had obviously turned while working there. Both had been felled by a gunshot to the head. The third body was of a police officer who had apparently taken down the first two before turning the gun on himself. He had multiple bite marks on his body. Kneeling over his body was a woman in the tattered remnants of her cleaning uniform. She had marks on her body from a zombie attack (probably from the first two). Hunched over, she was digging into his body and feeding.
Austin let that door silently close and he made his way down to the lobby uneventfully. Carefully opening that final door, he looked out into the lobby. As far as he could see, there were no zombies on this level. The cleaning crew probably had the front revolving doors locked shut. The same with the single metal and glass door next to it. All the same, he had to check and see. They couldn’t risk all coming down to find the lobby filled with an undead reception committee.
Sliding out into the marble floor lobby, Austin bounced from cover to cover as he made his way to the entrance foyer. There was still numerous undead in the street, but they all seemed focused on the parking garage as the zombies still continued to flood down the ramps. Finally creeping up to a large stone planter near the door, he sidled over and tried to gently push the revolving door. Sure enough, it was locked tight. The same with the side door. Fortunately, the zombies couldn’t enter, but equally unfortunately, they couldn’t leave without smashing the glass. That would surely draw the zombies right to them. That left the unpalatable task of returning to the second floor to search the cleaning crew for the keys to the building. Oh well, he thought, Hooah.”
Back on the fourth floor, the remaining group waited.
“I don’t hear shooting,” mentioned Jermaine, “so, so far so good.”
Private Nicholas Farina, the Humvee driver, said, “We could use a little luck.”
Leslie and Jeff came up to the two soldiers and Leslie said softly, “I don’t think our patient is doing too well.” They all turned and looked at the man lying on the stretcher. He was pale and sweating heavily. His breathing seemed shallow and coming with the hitch.
“Looks like he’s in shock,” observed Jeff.
“He needs a hospital,” said Leslie.
Shaking his head, Jermaine said direly, “That sucks for him, because there’s no way in hell he’s going to get one now.”
“He’s going to need the tourniquet loosened too, so he doesn’t lose that leg,” said Nick.
Snorting in helpless disgust, Jermaine said, “And that will just get him screaming again.”
Getting a little worked up, Nick abruptly shrugged his shoulders and said a little louder, “What the fuck are we going to do with him then?”
They all stared down at the critically wounded man in helpless concern; each one not wanting to say aloud what was on their collective minds.
Entering onto the second floor, Austin silently maneuvered down the carpeted hallway. He had his combat knife out and was proceeding cautiously, sneaking up behind the kneeling woman. As he slipped behind her, she sat up as if sensing another presence. As she turned her head, Austin swiftly swung the knife around and jammed it into her ear. Instantly, she toppled over the corpse she was feasting on. After wiping the blade on her uniform, Austin stood up. A growl sounded behind him and he immediately spun around. Another cleaning crew zombie was standing in the shattered glass of an office window. The zombie came forward slamming against the half wall and reaching her body out through the broken glass, shards digging into her abdomen. Knocking her hands away, Austin brought the razor-sharp blade up and, piercing her lower jaw, rammed it up into her brain.
Gingerly patting the bodies down, Austin found the large set of keys on one of the cleaning crew. He quickly pocketed them and ran up the stairs to the fourth floor.
Entering back to the stairwell door, Austin said, “Okay, it’s all good. Let’s get down to the first floor. When we get a chance we’ll let ourselves out and then vamoose back to the quarantine zone to regroup.” He dangled the keys in front of them.
Jermaine pointed his chin at the injured man in the stretcher. “Our friend is getting worse. He went into shock.”
Austin looked over, and then walked up to the stretcher. Squinting down at him, he said, “I don’t think he’s breathing.”
Leslie dropped down and felt his pulse. “Shit,” she muttered as she ripped open his shirt and started CPR. Austin knelt over the body and felt the abdomen. It was hard and distended.
“Wait,” he said to Leslie, “he has internal bleeding. His injuries must’ve been much worse than we previously thought.” Austin placed his hand on Leslie’s back as she pumped on the body. Shaking his head, he said, “Let him go. He’s gone.”
Nick made the sign of the cross as Austin and Leslie stood up. After a few silent seconds, Austin said, “Come on. Let’s see if we can get out of this building.”
The five soldiers moved to the staircase and descended to the lobby. They ran behind the reception desk and huddled there watching the front windows. They were waiting for a break in the zombie activity outside so that they could escape from the building. So far, there were too many undead creatures milling about to safely leave. They were hoping that they could use the nighttime darkness as cover for their departure. As they waited, seconds became minutes and minutes drifted into hours.
The television was off and everyone had settled in for the night. Rick had called his father and brother multiple times but was unable to get anyone to answer. His calls kept going to voicemail. After he left his umpteenth message, his brother’s mailbox was full. All he could think about was how his father had said that his brother Jonathan’s two daughters were sick again and that he was going over to see them. His father thought it was just flu, but Jon told Rick that it was Pandora. At the time everyone thought that they were about one and the same. But now he knew differently. The whole world did.
PJ was in the kitchen. He had just finished charging his phone. Fortunately, they all had iPhones and shared the two chargers the girls had. Now that he was fully charged again, he called his parents even though it was late. The phone was picked up on the third ring.
“Hello? PJ?”
“Yeah, Dad it’s me.” PJ answered. “I’m okay, I’m just checking up on you guys.”
“We’re good, PJ,” his father said quietly. “Your mom’s asleep. She was very anxious and took a sleeping pill. But, it’s quiet here now.”
“Everyone is sleeping here, too,” PJ said. “The two girls who live here have been really nice to us. Rick and one of them went out earlier and picked up some more food for us all.”
“There are still restaurants open there?” his surprised father queried.
“No, no Dad,” PJ explained, “they went to a grocery store. It, ah, it was still open.”
“Oh, boy,” his father said, “you were lucky.”
“Uhm, yeah,” PJ stammered, “lucky. We were lucky.” Lucky they didn’t get killed, he thought.
“I told you that our neighbor, Jerry Goldsmith was over,” his father said. “He… he gave me a gun. A pistol.”
“Good,” said PJ. “Keep it. Just in case.”
“Jerry said that his brother owns a Walmart in Elmwood Park and that he was gathering his whole family and a few friends there. They’re going to ride this out inside the store.”
“That’s a great idea,” said PJ impressed. “Are you and mom invited?”
“Well,” his f
ather started hesitantly, “he said that he should be able to okay it with his brother, but I don’t know.”
Exasperated, PJ said, “What’s not to know, Dad? It’s a great place to hole up in. You have food, water, clothes, guns, supplies. What’s there to think about?”
“Well, I don’t know. I really don’t feel comfortable leaving the house unattended for an unknown length of time. What if something happens? We’re still paying the mortgage on it, you know.”
“Dad,” PJ pleaded, “come on. This is--”
“And besides,” his father continued on, “I don’t want to be carting your mother off to some stranger’s place to stay. And it’s a store! You know we’re going to have to pay for all of the food and things we take from there.”
Rolling his eyes in disbelief, PJ said, “Dad, I somehow don’t think that reimbursing the guy is going to be much of an issue down the road. I really don’t.”
“What the hell you’re talking about?” his father bristled. “It’s a store. Everything there is for sale. The man’s not going to give his store merchandise away. What you think this is… Communism?”
“No, Dad,” PJ sighed, “it’s every man for himself. He’s saving his family and friends and in return, you’re all going to help him protect his store later on.”
“What do you mean?” asked his father.
“This isn’t going to be over tomorrow,” PJ stated. “Or the next day, or the next month. By the time the government gets this under control, if it ever does, it will be a long time from now. Things are going to get very ugly until then. When some of the other, uh, less civilized people out there decide that they need more food or more water, where do you think they’re going to go. Not to the store to buy some. That Walmart is going to be fair game in their eyes. And Jerry’s brother is going to need all the help he can get to defend it. Not just because it’s his store, but because it will be the only way that he can keep his family alive. You need him, he needs you. It’s a symbiotic relationship.”
“PJ… I don’t know,” said his father a bit more unsure of himself.
“Dad, please,” PJ begged, “just think about it, okay?”
“Okay,” his father replied, “I’ll sleep on it. As a matter of fact, that’s just where I’m going now.”
Letting out a shaky breath, PJ said, “Okay, Dad. Good night. I love you two.”
“Good night, son. Me, too.”
Hanging up, PJ padded into the living room and stretched out on the couch. Tonight was his turn, but he didn’t think he was going to get much sleep.
At four o’clock in the morning, Jeff nudged Austin.
“Hey. I think we might have a chance now,” he said to his lightly sleeping friend.
Austin sat up and looked over the large desk. The amount of undead out in the street had, at last, thinned out considerably. They no longer formed a cordon in front of the parking garage next door. Austin made his way to the marble planter near the door. Jeff joined him.
“What do you think?” Jeff asked hopefully.
Peering up-and-down the wide street he could see that the herd of zombies had most likely moved on. There were still a few wandering around the sidewalk in front of the ramps, but with no more sightings of prey inside the parking structure, the zombies inside had mostly fallen silent; save for the occasional moan. The zombies in the street had probably lost interest and wandered off to search for more victims. There were still rounds of gunfire and occasional screams echoing through the vast canyons of steel. The amount of vehicles still scattered in the street should still give them enough cover to move away undetected. With any luck they would soon be gone and back at the center.
Austin turned and gestured for the rest of the group to move up. Soon all five were at the massive planter as Austin took the purloined keys from his cargo pocket. Quickly flipping through them, he tried to discern the correct key for the side door next to the revolving door. He figured that egress would be less likely to attract the wrong attention.
Sliding over the marble floor to the door, he tried the first key he picked. Wrong one. He kept trying keys, making as little noise as he could. Finally, the right one slid into the keyhole and, with a click, unlocked the door. He had to quickly dodge behind the thick brass molding when a zombie walking in the street stopped and looked toward the front doorway. Austin sat pressed up against the metal; eyes screwed shut and a silent prayer on his lips.
Finally, after several minutes, a quart of sweat and a solemn pledge to God to spend the rest of his life feeding and clothing the poor, Austin chanced turning around and peering around the brass wall. The zombie had moved on and was walking up the street away from them. The relieved soldier let out the long breath of air he was holding and motioned for the rest to form up at the door.
Austin quietly opened the door and moved out into the street. The others filed out behind him. So far, so good, he thought. They carefully made their way down the block, pinballing from vehicle to vehicle and maintaining zero presence till they reached the next block. There, they had to maneuver around a massive multicar accident. As they threaded their way through, they had to pass close to the storefront at the far corner. It was a small shop selling newspapers, magazines and candy. A metal New York Times stand in front was toppled over and the loose newspapers were blowing around the street in the early morning breeze. As Nick Farina passed the open entrance, a figure emerged from the shadows inside. A ragged looking zombie swung an arm out in a sweeping, clawing strike. Nick caught the movement in his peripheral vision and his finger automatically moved to the trigger. Cutting through the air in a scythe-like motion, the previously homeless man, now zombie, raked his long ragged nails along the side of Nick’s throat. They acted like a serrated blade, severing the carotid artery in his neck and sending a geyser of bright, red blood into the air. As he jerked back in agony, his finger squeezed the trigger and sent a burst of fire into the side of a parked car. Directly behind him, Jermaine raised his weapon and put two shots into the creature’s skull knocking him back against the entryway wall. He fell back into the open doorway and over a display rack.
Nick staggered back against the parked car he had just riddled with bullets and clasped his hands to his gushing neck. He stumbled along the sheet-metal as he tried to staunch the flow of blood. Jeff grabbed for him as the mortally wounded soldier’s knees gave out. Austin and Jermaine had their weapons up and were constantly swiveling to check the perimeter. Jeff and Leslie bent over Nick as he thrashed in the gutter.
The moans and growls from the nearby undead called now from all around them.
Hot blood splashed all around as Leslie and Jeff tried to stop the ceaseless flow that soaked their uniforms, as Nick rolled and fought in the gutter with a desperate panic.
“Let me get in there, buddy,” Jeff kept repeating as he tried to pry Nick’s hands away from the slippery wound. Leslie was attempting to apply a pressure bandage to his neck when one of his flailing arms struck her in the face and her blood-slicked hands dropped it into the fetid gutter. Nick’s spastic jerking became more and more sluggish as the blood loss increased. Finally, sputtering arterial blood from his quivering lips, his eyes rolled up in his head and he went limp. The spurting slowed, and then stopped completely.
Leslie sat back in the gutter and cried in frustration. Austin and Jermaine had just begun to fire their weapons as the newly alerted undead began to filter in from the surrounding streets.
“Nick is dead,” called Jeff.
Looking down between shots, Austin barked, “There’s nothing we can do anymore. We have to get out of this street.”
Jeff scrambled up as Austin and Jermaine started backing down the street still firing. Jermaine grabbed Leslie’s arm and yanked her up.
“Come on,” he said close to her ear, “we have to go.”
After firing a final burst at the approaching zombies, the four remaining soldiers turned and ran as fast as they could down the street. The zombies had now seen
them and were in direct pursuit. The undead couldn’t run full tilt like a live human, but as they were all newly turned, they could certainly keep up an almost stiff legged, fast walk that was surprisingly quick. This of course would slow in time, until they devolved into awkward shambling figures after around two weeks. Because of the earlier migration of undead to the center of Times Square, the four fleeing soldiers had few zombies in front of them as they ran. These, they were able to “run and gun.”
At last Austin and the group reached 12th Avenue and turned to head to the abandoned quarantine center. They wanted to get there before the trailing zombies came around the corner and flooded the street. If they were seen entering; the large amount of zombies would probably be able to push their way in after them. The only thing past the piers was the Hudson River. Making it across 12th Avenue the four soldiers crouched behind the vacant cars dotting the length of the long avenue and scuttled from vehicle to vehicle as they made their way to the containment gate put up across the entrance. The pursuing zombies had just now reached 12th Avenue and were streaming out from 42nd Street. Not being able to see their prey, the undead hunters began to fan out in all directions as the continuing flow pushed them out into the avenue. Not having the brainpower to make rational decisions, they just continue to move forward aimlessly.
Austin and Jeff moved the gate aside as silently as they could. Slipping through the narrow opening one by one, they closed it behind them and secured the lock. Moving quickly away from the gate and deeper into the empty quarantine area, they stopped to catch their breath.
“Holy crap, that was close,” gasped Leslie.
“Yeah,” agreed Jermaine, “my whole life passed before my eyes.”
“Gee,” snickered Austin, “that had to be depressing.”
Laughing, Jermaine quipped, “Bite me, Bowers.”
Jeff grinned and said, “Funny choice of words, seeing as what we just escaped from.”
Quarantine: A Pandora Novel Page 13
