'A homemade flamethrower,' Don gasped. 'I know you guys said these things were crafty, but this ...'
Danny started crying. Jim slid an arm around his shoulders, and tried to brace him and comfort him at the same time.
'It'll be okay. It'll be-'
The Humvee leapt out of the darkness, its headlights looming in the Explorer's rear windshield. The SUV shuddered as the military vehicle rammed it from behind. The Humvee accelerated and slammed into them again.
Martin's head whipped sideways, striking the window. His false teeth rattled. He winced, tasting blood in his mouth.
Don took one hand off the wheel and wiped the sweat from his eyes.
'They'll destroy themselves too, if they keep this up.'
'So?' Jim held Danny tighter. 'They're already dead. They don't care if their bodies get destroyed in the process. They'll just get new ones.'
The Humvee crashed into them a third time, tearing their rear bumper loose. Don fought for control and skidded onto another street, lined with tall oak and elm trees that blocked out the moonlight.
'This is no good,' he grunted. 'I can't see shit.'
'Hang on tight.' Martin braced against the dash. 'Here they come again!'
Danny's tears soaked into Jim's shirt. The approaching headlights filled the interior, blinding them. In the cargo area, Frankie moaned again.
'My baby ... took my baby ... let me get a fix ...'
Like a battering ram, the Humvee impacted with the Explorer, shoving it forward. At the same time, the zombie on the motorcycle raced ahead.
Grinning, it pulled in front of them, extended its middle finger and then purposely spilled the bike.
Both motorcycle and rider vanished beneath the Explorer's tires. Steel and rotting flesh met more steel and pavement. A shower of sparks flew into the air. They spun out of control. The Explorer bounced over the curb, clipped a tree, and then rocketed down an embankment toward a glass-partitioned guard shack in front of a parking garage.
Don had time to think. It's a parking attendant's booth.
Jim and Danny clutched each other. Martin's lips moved in prayer. 'Thy will be done. Deliver us again, Lord ...' Then they slammed into the booth and knew no more.
SIX
In the darkness, the old man sipped wine and gazed out upon his city. It festered below him like an open sore- swollen with infection, spurting gangrenous pus, filled with cancerous cells that multiplied into infinity. His city, New York City, was dead yet living. It lived not in the shambling, insect-sized mockeries far below, but in those he had saved, now sequestered here in the tower.
His tower.
His flock.
There was a quiet rustling of air behind him. The flame dancing atop the candle flickered, indicating someone had entered the room. He did not turn around, knowing how proud and strong and sympathetic he must look, standing there outlined by New York's decaying skyline. Appearances were important. They were an illusion, and all power was built upon illusion.
Framed in the doorway behind him, Bates cleared his throat.
Smiling, the old man watched his confidant's reflection in the window.
Bates had served him well, long
before ... this. He would continue to do so-as long as the old man kept up the illusion of control.
'Mr. Ramsey? Sir?'
Ramsey turned in feigned surprise.
'Ah, Bates. Come in. I wasn't aware you were standing there.'
'Yes, sir, you seemed lost in thought.'
'Hmmm, yes. Yes, I suppose I was. I was thinking about these creatures.
I assume you're aware that we've determined another entity takes possession of the body after death, thus reanimating the corpses?'
Bates nodded. 'Yes, sir. Dr. Maynard explained it quite clearly. Doesn't seem possible, does it?'
'Indeed. It seems like something out of an old pulp magazine. But that's what is happening. All one needs for proof is to take a walk outside the tower.'
'I think I'll pass on that, sir.'
'Oh, come now,' Ramsey teased. 'A man of your abilities, afraid to walk the city streets for fear of muggers?'
'It's not the muggers we need to be afraid of, sir. It's what they've become.'
Ramsey chuckled, taking another sip of wine. He offered a glass to Bates, who declined.
'I'd better not, sir. We've still got a long night ahead.'
