Ob frowned. 'I know what a skyscraper is, you fool. My host wasn't born yesterday. Tell me, with all your numbers, why have you not taken this New Babel?'
The burned one slurred as it spoke. 'We cannot penetrate it, lord. The building is well guarded, and the defenses are impregnable. We lack the weaponry ...'
'Where is this building?'
'A part of the city known as Manhattan, mighty one.'
'And according to my host's memories, we are in the Bronx, correct? There is an armory near here, where the humans stockpiled weapons. Have any of you discovered it yet?'
'No, lord.'
'Then come, I will show you. We have much to do. We will see what secrets this armory holds. With its weapons, we can knock this New Babel down, reduce it to dust. There is an army of our brethren camped not four hours' journey from here. I shall find a means to summon them, be it radio, runner or bird. Then, while we learn how to use these weapons, we will await their arrival. We shall study and plan. Then, when all is ready, we shall deal with this tower.'
They raised another tumultuous cry, and Ob smiled, knowing that the sound must surely be reaching the Creator's ears. He hoped those ears were bleeding.
He jumped down and hummed a snatch of song from his host's memory.
' 'Start spreading the news ...''
SEVEN
The doctor stared down at Frankie from behind his mask and said, 'It's going to be okay.'
'Like hell it is.'
The doctor didn't respond. Impassive, he snapped on a pair of rubber gloves and adjusted the light above her head. Frankie winced, blinded.
She tried to turn away and realized that she was strapped down.
'What's going on?'
'Don't you remember? You were in a car wreck. You've also been shot.'
'I-I...' She paused, struggling against the restraints. 'What about the others? Jim and his boy? The preacherman?'
'I'm afraid it's just you, Frankie. You and the baby.'
'Baby?'
'Yes. You're in labor. The baby is all you have left.'
'But-'
'You should be thankful,' he told her, as a nurse appeared next to him. 'Most heroin users have spontaneous abortions. You've been lucky enough to carry your baby to full term. Personally, I think it's a shame. You don't deserve it.'
'But I-'
She stopped, a sudden flash of pain cutting off her words. She squirmed on the table and ground her teeth. The contraction coursed through her body.
'Push.'
She did. Frankie pushed with everything she had, pushed till her spine felt like it would snap. Something broke. She felt it, even through the pain. The agony built to a crescendo, and then the pressure vanished, all at once, and Frankie was crying.
Frankie cried, but the baby, her baby, did not. It made no noise at all. She craned her head, desperate to see what was wrong, but the nurse whisked it away.
'Hey,' she croaked, 'where's that bitch going with my baby?'
The doctor placed one gloved hand against her forehead. The latex glistened with her blood.
'He's hungry. We're going to feed him. Your baby is one of us.'
'One of who?'
The doctor's voice changed. The flesh peeled away from his face in wet strips. A hypodermic needle appeared in his free hand.
'One of us. There are many of us. More than you can imagine. More than infinity,' it hissed.
'No. Keep that away from me.'
'Be still, now. This won't hurt a bit. I promise.'
Frankie pushed against the restraints, the muscles in her arms and neck bulging as the needle came closer. A bead of fluid formed on the tip.
'Jim! Martin! Help! They've got my baby.'
'I said lie still,' the zombie doctor snarled. Its stench filled the room, crowding out the smells of antiseptic and latex and blood.
The cord around her arm snapped as Frankie tore free. She ripped the surgical mask from the creature's face. The lips came with it, stretching like taffy.
