Shouts echoed in the hallway, followed by the sound of running feet.
Stern picked up the telephone and redialed.
'Bates?' he said after a long pause. 'This is Dr. Stern. I think you'd better come down to the lab. We have a situation here.'
He had to speak up over the sounds of Carson's retching.
On the floor, Frankie moaned, 'They're coming ...'
The sky continued to weep, and daylight's murk turned to darkness while the scouring of New York City continued. The living were flushed from their hiding places- basements and closets and the back rooms of stores- hunted down and slaughtered in the streets and alleyways and gutters. Whenever possible, the zombies avoided damaging limbs or large portions of the body, so that the new recruits would be more useful in the coming battle. The preferred method of slaying their prey was a blade to the throat or another major artery. The captives bled to death, relatively undamaged when one of the Siqqusim took over the corpse minutes later.
A large group was discovered hiding at the top of the Statue of Liberty, and each was flung screaming to their deaths, plunging into the frigid, polluted waters below. Killed on impact, they sank beneath the waves.
Reanimated, they walked along the bottom till they reached the shore, and then joined the others.
The armory bustled with activity too, as the undead worked feverishly to carry out their orders. Ob moved
among them, checking progress and barking out orders. One of his lieutenants followed along behind him, trailing intestines in its wake.
Scowling, Ob stalked over to a zombie kneeling in front of the radio.
'Do you have it working yet?'
'Yes, lord,' the zombie rasped. 'It is ready for broadcast.'
'Good.' He turned to his lieutenant. 'First, contact our forces on the Pennsylvania and New Jersey border. I want an update on their progress, and an estimated time for their arrival. They should be here soon. Also, find one of our brothers who still sounds alive.'
'Sire? I don't understand.'
'Someone whose vocal cords haven't begun to decay, you idiot! Someone who sounds human-especially to other humans. Then, have them begin broadcasting a message over the radio, advising anyone left alive in the listening area that this part of New York City is safe. Urge people to make their way here.'
The zombie's laughter sounded like a belch. Its arms and ribs had been completely stripped of their flesh, and the bones scraped against each other as it chuckled.
'They'll walk into a trap. Great idea, my lord.'
'Of course it's a great idea-I thought of it. I want the message to be broadcast over and over. How are we doing on getting the streets cleared of vehicles?'
'Ahead of schedule, sire.'
Ob reached into a bucket and pulled out a loop of intestines, munching them like they were sausage.
'Excellent,' he said, gore leaking from the edges of his smacking lips.
'I don't want our advance on the skyscraper slowed down when our forces arrive. Have another team locate a radio station. There, they should find a sound van-the kind with loudspeakers that are used during remote broadcasts. Then, I want them to drive around the city, announcing the same message we're sending over the airwaves. Make it sound official.
That should speed up the hunt quite a bit, don't you think? As the humans creep out of their little hiding places, we will be there to welcome them.'
He rose, and checked his body. It was still in good shape, but was starting to show hints of the decay to come. The sallow flesh had begun to swell.
'I need energy. These weren't nearly enough-just appetizers. Bring me some dinner.'
A captive human was led before him, a Sikh taxi driver whom they'd found hiding inside a garbage Dumpster on Fifth Avenue. Ob frowned. Despite the fact that he was surrounded by the undead, the man was smiling.
'What's your malfunction?' Ob asked in English. 'What is so funny?'
The man blinked, uncomprehending. His smile never faded. Ob tried several different languages, till he found one the man understood.
'Are you not afraid? Do you not fear me?'
'No, I do not fear you. This is all a dream. A very long dream.'
The man was clearly insane. Ob rose and walked toward him.
'Can you smell me, son of Adam? Can you smell my brethren as these stinking meat wagons we use fall apart around us? Is that stench not real?'
The man did not reply. His grin grew wider.
Ob slid a yellowing fingernail lightly across the captive's throat, tracing a second grin beneath his smile. A thin line of blood welled from the cut.
'Can you feel that? Can you feel in a dream?'
'It is a dream,' the man insisted. 'None of this is real. The dead do not move around. Therefore, it is a dream.'
'Oh, but the dead do move,' Ob said, his smile matching the captive's.
'Even when we don't possess you, the dead move. You move when the oxygen in your lungs is expelled from
