that.'
'Don't know,' Quinn admitted. 'But I'm guessing that the zombies are starting fires on each floor. Either that, or the shelling started several small fires, and they're out of control.'
'So what's the plan?' Jim asked.
The pilot stopped, listening. He brought a finger to his lips. The others halted behind him. After a moment, he relaxed and continued on.
Frankie stared back up the stairs. 'What was that about?'
'Thought I heard something above us, but I guess it was just our shoes.
Sound is funny in here.'
He led them forward. 'Anyway, about the plan. I talked to Bates on the radio while you guys were getting the desk. He wants us to meet him in the sub-basement.'
'Why?'
'He wouldn't say, in case the zombies were monitoring our communications. I'd guess we're going to escape through the sewers. Or try to at least.'
Frankie halted, remembering her journey through Baltimore's sewer system: the darkness, the stench, the overwhelming sense of claustrophobia-and the rats. Especially the rats. It hadn't helped matters that she was withdrawing from heroin at the time.
Jim touched her arm. 'You okay?'
She nodded, her mouth a thin, grim line.
Quinn noticed her demeanor too.
'What is it?' he asked.
'Had a bad experience inside the sewers back in Baltimore. That's all. If we get out of here, I'll tell you about it. But don't sweat it. I'll be okay.'
They walked on, footsteps still bouncing off the walls.
'So where do we go once we're underground?' Jim asked.
'I don't know,' Quinn said. 'Bates couldn't talk long. Sounded like they were in a firefight. He said to hurry. If they get there before we do, they won't wait for us.'
Their descent continued for another fifteen minutes before the group stopped to rest. They were exhausted and thirsty. Branson's arm dripped blood, and Danny's eyes had black circles under them. They debated sneaking onto one of the floors and raiding a soft drink machine, but decided against it.
'Can't believe we haven't run across any of them yet,' Branson said. 'Hell, do you realize just how many of those things must be in the building?'
'Don't jinx it,' Quinn replied. 'Let's just hope our luck continues.'
Frankie pulled Jim aside.
'I need to ask you something.'
'Sure. What's up?'
'Have you been having weird dreams?'
'Not really,' he said. 'In fact, I've only dreamed once since Martin and I left West Virginia, at least as far as I can remember. Why?'
Frankie shrugged. 'I don't know. I-I've been dreaming about Martin.'
'About how he died?'
'No. About the present, and the future. He shows me things. It's like he's a fucking ghost or something. He's been warning me.'
'Warning you about what?'
Before she could answer, a door squeaked open several floors above them.
For a moment, the booming sounds of battle grew louder. Then the door swung shut again, muffling them.
They froze, staring upward in silence. Footsteps padded down the stairs.
Quinn put a finger to his lips and readied his weapon. Frankie and Jim did the same. They could smell the zombie as it drew closer. Not rot or decay, but blood. The air was thick with blood.
'I know you're down there, little piggy,' the corpse chuckled. 'You left a trail of breadcrumbs.'
Horrified, they glanced down at their feet. Dime-sized drops of Branson's blood had dripped from his wrist, spattering every other step on their way down.
'Shit.' He cradled his wound to his chest.
'Helloooo,' the zombie called. 'Why not go easy on yourself? I'll make it quick and painless, and I promise only to eat a little bit of you.'
They shrank away from the railing, their backs against the wall. The zombie continued its descent. Suddenly, they heard another door open, several landings below them. They were surrounded, cut off on both ends.
Danny and Branson exchanged frightened looks. Quinn signaled Frankie and Jim to deal with the zombie above them, and then slowly crept forward, inching his way down the stairs toward the second group.
