'Hurry up!' Steve shouted.
Forrest and Quinn spared Steve one last glance, and then they disappeared into the second service tunnel.
Steve cracked his neck from side to side, and planted his legs as firmly as he could, wincing from the pain. His leg felt cold, and the blood had run down into his shoe, soaking his sock and pants leg.
Smokey stumbled to his feet and pointed at the rats. 'Say hello to my little friends, Steve.'
'Never figured you for a Pacino fan,' Steve grunted.
The zombie ran toward him, blood still dripping from the hole in his chest. Steve opened fire. The bullet shattered the zombie's sternum. The pilot readjusted his aim and the second one drilled into the creature's forehead. Smokey tottered forward over the tracks and lay still.
'Come on,' Steve shouted, turning back to the rats. 'Let's see what you've got!'
His machine gun roared. Brass jackets rained down, and the air became thick with smoke. The weapon grew hot in his hands.
As the rats bore down on him, Steve realized that he had never felt more alive.
He smiled, hoping that his son would be waiting on the other side.
Pigpen turned the flashlight back on, and they gathered around him.
'What about the others?' Frankie asked.
'Cut off,' Jim said. 'Forrest said they'd try to catch up.'
'How? They got a map?'
Jim shrugged.
Don wiped the mud and gore from his face. 'What now? They've blocked our way to the airport. And even if we could, going there would be useless without our pilots.'
God meowed, twining himself between Danny's feet. The boy reached down and petted him.
'The bomb shelter,' Pigpen said.
'Ramsey's?' Jim asked. 'But we're cut off from that too.'
Pigpen shook his head. 'I told you-there's lots of them down here. I know of one nearby. Last time I was there, it was still stocked. Ain't been used in years. Government built it and then forgot about it when the Russians became our friends.'
'Surely there are people in it now,' Don said.
'No, I don't think so. Only folks that knew about it were me and God, and my buddies Fran and Seiber. Fran got killed at a soup kitchen in the East Village. A zombie shoved his head into a vat of boiling stew. And Seiber was shot by five-oh, down on Madison Avenue during the riots.
They caught him looting a jewelry store.'
'How far is it?' Jim asked.
'Eight stories down and a little to the south.'
'And you know the way?' Frankie whispered, not at all convinced.
'Yeah.' Pigpen started forward, then stopped and turned back to them.
'And if I don't, God will deliver us instead.'
The cat sprang out from between Danny's feet and ran ahead, green eyes glinting in the darkness.
Quinn stopped when he heard the gunshots. Steve yelled something unintelligible, muted by the concrete between them.
'Forrest? Maybe we ought to go back. We can't just leave him. Abandoning Bates was bad enough.'
There was no reply. The big man had been swallowed up by the darkness.
'Forrest?'
More gunfire echoed.
'Forrest, quit fucking around!'
Quinn crawled on his hands and knees. The tunnel was tall enough for him to stand up in, but it was pitch- black, and the feeble light of his glow stick only made the darkness worse.
He crept forward, cautiously feeling his way. Then the floor disappeared beneath his hands, replaced by a hole. The chasm ran from wall to wall, completely blocking his progress. The edges of the crevice were jagged, and the masonry crumbled beneath his fingertips. Cold air brushed his face.
'Forrest?'
His voice echoed back to him from below.
'Oh shit.'
The big man had obviously fallen down the hole.
Quinn called again, but there was no answer. He had no way of knowing if Forrest could even hear him. How far down was it? Maybe he was unconscious. Or dead.
Behind him, more distant now, Steve continued shooting.
