Don nodded, shuddering. He grabbed the creature's feet and dragged it out of the way so that the door would close again.
'Forrest,' Etta pleaded, 'we've got to go. If that one found us, then you can bet your ass there's more coming. They must have heard that gunshot.'
'We're not leaving without Bates.'
'And I'm not leaving without my friends,' Don said.
'We don't even know if they're alive!'
'Of course they are,' Don argued. 'We just heard from them.'
'Yeah, and they was in the middle of a fire-fight. They're probably dead now. I say we go.'
'Etta.' Smokey tried to reason with her, turning his back on the fire door. 'Why don't you just sit back down and rest?'
'Smokey,' Forrest warned, 'watch the door.'
At that moment, the door opened. Smokey turned and Don and Forrest raised their weapons. Then they lowered them in relief.
Frankie ran into the basement, followed by the two pilots, supporting Bates between them. Jim and Danny entered last.
They gaped at Bates's wound. Smokey tore his eyes away. He shut the door and began stacking boxes in front of it as a crude blockade.
Don exchanged hugs with Frankie, Danny, and Jim. 'I was worried about you guys. Everybody okay?'
'We're all right.' Jim nodded. 'How about you.'
'What happened?' Forrest helped lower Bates to the floor.
'Quinn fucking shot him in the stomach,' Steve said.
'You what?' Forrest's eyes bulged.
'It was an accident! We were under attack. I thought he was a zombie.'
Bates reached up and clutched Forrest's arm with one weak hand.
'Got ... your ... pistol?'
'Never leave home without it.' He tried to smile, but 'it looked more like a grimace.
'Give ...' Blood dribbled from his mouth. 'Give ... to me.'
Forrest lifted up his shirt and pulled the weapon from its holster.
'Pigpen,' he called, 'you find anything?'
'Some sheets, and a roll of duct tape. Found a bottle of water too. Ain't been opened. No alcohol though.'
'Bring them here.'
Steve and Forrest poured the water over the wound to clean it. Bates clenched his teeth and writhed with pain.
'Do we have anything to cut the sheet up with?' Forrest asked.
'D-don't worry ... about it,' Bates gasped. 'Just ... g-'
'Lie still, Bates. It's gonna be okay.'
'No.' Bates grabbed his hand. 'Get them ... out of... here.'
'But-'
Bates squeezed harder, and Forrest flinched, surprised by the wounded man's strength.
'Listen ... to me. We're all... that's left. Get ... them out ... I'm going to ... die.'
'You're not going to die, god damn it!'
'Yes ... I am.' Bates coughed. 'And ... we both ... k-know it.'
Forrest's eyes were wet. His lips quivered. The big man tried to speak, but the only thing that came out of his throat was a choking sound.
'Pig ... pen,' Bates groaned. 'You ... ready to ... lead them?'
'Yes, sir,' he whispered.
Bates stared up into Forrest's face. 'Go.'
Forrest swallowed hard.
'Quinn, Don. Get that manhole cover up. Jim, have that flamethrower ready, just in case there's anything down there. The rest of you stand back.'
'Danny.' Jim pushed him backward. 'Stay here with Frankie.'
Quinn and Don set their weapons aside and gripped the cable that Forrest and Bates had threaded through the cover earlier. Jim stood next to them, the flamethrower at the ready. They counted to three and pulled.
The manhole lid inched upward, revealing darkness. Forrest and Pigpen tensed, coiled and ready,
