'A woman would be good,' he said.
'Perhaps the young woman under Dr. Stern's care?' Ramsey suggested. 'She is strong and beautiful-fierce. She was brought in two days ago.'
'Sure. Haven't seen her myself, since I was quarantined, but I'll take your word for it.'
A red light pierced the darkness outside the window. Both men turned.
'They're shooting flares,' DiMassi gasped. 'What the hell are they up to?'
'A signal of some kind, I should imagine. Perhaps we'd best be going. I think our time grows short.'
'Maybe we should just forget the broad,' DiMassi said. 'Get the hell out now.'
'Nonsense. It has fallen to us to save the human race. How are we to do that if we can't procreate?'
The pilot shrugged and retrieved his pistol from the desk.
'Go into the hall and see if the coast is clear,' Ramsey commanded.
DiMassi peeked outside. There was no sign of Quinn or the others.
'We're good,' he said.
'Excellent. Let us proceed.'
The two men hurried for the elevators.
The wailing siren echoed inside Frankie's head even after it stopped.
'H-hello?' Her throat felt like sandpaper, and her voice rasped as she tried again. Her head throbbed.
'Is anybody there?'
There was no response. The equipment around her bed beeped and hummed in the silence. The room smelled of antiseptic.
'Anyone?'
When her queries went unanswered, she sat up and took several deep breaths, slowly regaining her strength. The weakness in her limbs melted away after a few minutes. Other than the headache, thirst, and an insistent urge to pee, she felt fine. Better than she had since kicking heroin. Her stitches itched, but the flesh around them was a healthy pink, rather than the vicious red of the day before.
'Got to hand it to them,' she said aloud. 'They really fixed me up.'
She slipped out of the bed, swallowed several times to wet her throat, and padded to the bathroom. She sat down on the cold toilet seat, shivering in relief.
As she sat there, Frankie considered her options. She could get back into bed and wait for the doctor or nurse to show up. Or, she could find her clothes, get dressed, and track down Jim, Danny, and Don.
Deciding on the second option, she pulled her panties back up and flushed. Something was obviously happening, unless the alarm had been a drill. And the absence of the medical staff concerned her as well.
When she walked out of the bathroom, a man was standing next to the bed, pointing a gun at her. She recognized him from television-Darren Ramsey, the billionaire developer. Except that without a team of makeup artists and public relations handlers, he looked old. Sick. Frankie also recognized the look in his eyes. She'd seen it before, in the gaze of certain Johns. Ramsey was insane. Next to him was a fat, greasy, nervous-looking man.
'Please,' Ramsey said, 'don't be alarmed. We won't harm you.'
'You planning on lowering that pistol anytime soon? That would go a long way toward helping me relax.'
'Of course.' He smiled, and dropped it to his side. 'You must excuse me.
We weren't sure who, or what, was coming out of the bathroom.'
The fat man's eyes crawled over her, resting on her breasts and the triangle of hair between her legs, peeking out below her hem. Frankie pulled the gown down as far as it would go and glared at him.
'Anything more than a look costs you twenty,' she quipped.
His face turned a dark, angry scarlet.
Ramsey opened his mouth. 'My name is-'
'I know who you are,' Frankie interrupted. 'Seen you on television a bunch of times. You're Darren Ramsey. Who's this?'
'Frank DiMassi,' the fat man grumbled, then turned to Ramsey. 'We've got to get going, sir.'
The old man nodded impatiently.
'You'll have to excuse us-I'm sorry, I didn't catch your name?'
'Frankie.'
'You'll have to excuse us, Frankie. The building is about to come under attack.'
'What?'
'I'm afraid so. We're completely surrounded. The zombies have gathered an army like nothing I've ever seen. Mr. DiMassi and myself are leaving for a safe location. We'd be honored to have you accompany us.'
Frankie's eyes darted to the gun and then back up to his face. His smile faltered a bit under the scrutiny, and his upper lip and forehead were beaded with sweat.
'Thanks,' she said, side-stepping past him, 'but I've got friends that came in with me. I need to check on
