Val wished he wouldn't smoke around her, but said nothing. Branson cleaned his glasses on his shirttail and waited for his superior's response.
Bates exhaled a line of smoke. 'Why haven't they done this before? Why now, all of the sudden? They've got a leader-somebody new, telling them what to do.'
'Do you ...' Val paused, then continued. 'Do you think any of our people will buy into it, try to go outside?'
'If they do, they'll be dead before they can get those lobby doors open.
All lobby guards have standing orders to shoot anyone who tries. That's what these things want. Just a crack-enough to get their feet in the door.'
The two young radio operators grew silent.
'Let me hear this other broadcast,' Bates said.
Branson shuffled his feet. 'They've gone silent again, sir.'
'Did you manage to record any of it?'
Both shook their heads.
'Damn. Well, what did you hear? Don't leave out any details, no matter how trivial they may seem.'
Val reported, 'There's a large force of zombies heading this way from Pennsylvania. Estimated time of arrival was maybe four or five hours from now, right around dawn.'
'Which doesn't make any sense,' Branson interrupted, 'because Hellertown is only about two hours from here.'
'Usually, yes,' Bates agreed. 'But I'm sure the roads are clogged with abandoned vehicles. I've been meaning to speak with the Thurmond party, and get their assessment of the area outside our borders, especially the parts out of the range of our reconnaissance flights.'
'How far did they travel?' Branson asked.
'From West Virginia.'
'Holy shit. They managed to survive that long on the ground? Put a gun in their hands. They'd be good to have. Sound like some ass-kicking motherfuckers.'
Bates nodded to Val. 'So the zombie army will be here by morning.'
Val's mouth was a thin, tight line.
'Continue,' Bates encouraged her.
She took a deep breath. 'The zombie army seems to mostly be made up of the military units we monitored in that same area, sir.'
'I'd figured as much.'
'It's a mobile force, consisting of several hundred vehicles, both military and civilian. The caravan has been reporting over the radio to somebody named Ob.'
'Ob?'
'Yes. We've been unable to determine who or what he is, but we assume he's their leader. If so, then he's obviously one of them.'
'And where is he based? Do we know this Ob's location?'
Val's face paled.
'Here, sir. He's here in the city. And from what we overheard, he knows about us too.'
'Of course they do. That's why they've stayed camped outside this building day in and day out.'
'But, Mr. Bates, there's more. This leader, Ob, told the other group that the way was being cleared, but that the tunnel might not be cleared in time. He gave them alternate directions from the bridge.'
'Directions to where?'
'Here, sir.'
'The city? You already told me that.'
Val grew even paler.
'No, sir. Here. To Ramsey Towers.'
Ramsey switched off the camera, and logged out of the security system.
He sat back, bathed in the soft glow of his monitor's Screensaver-the cover of his best-selling autobiography.
They were coming. Soon. He was nervous, but at the same time, he could barely contain his glee. This was the perfect opportunity to finally showcase how much damage his indestructible building could actually withstand. All doubts would be laid to rest, and more importantly, his flock would remain safe and secure within its walls. And when the failed assault was over, they would thank him. Praise him.
Worship him.
But was it enough to simply bask in their adoration? Ramsey was used to the public eye-indeed, he craved it. But he wanted more than just their accolades. He wanted-needed-to be their savior.
Bates could get in the way of that. Bates, Forrest, and Stern. They thought he was crazy. Him, Darren Ramsey! He'd listened in on their conversation after he left the conference room. Pigpen presented a problem as
