creatures gripped a fistful of his intestines and pulled them out, running its tongue along the glistening offal. Another grabbed a fistful of his lung, pulping the organ between its fingers.
Stern tried to scream, but no sound came out. His lips moved silently as a zombie thrust its hand inside him, wrenched something loose, and then held it up for him to see.
He stared at his own spleen, and minutes later when he came back, he ate some of it himself.
DiMassi slipped through the fire door and ran up the last flight of stairs. His heart hammered in his chest, and his lungs burned. Gasping, he stopped at the door leading out onto the roof, and looked through the window.
The roof was gone. Presumably, it was still there, but he couldn't see it beneath all the undead birds. Even the massive strobe lights were buried.
'Holy shit.'
Hands shaking, he pulled a bright yellow protective suit from its hook on the wall and put it on. When he was a boy, DiMassi's father had been a beekeeper, and the outfit reminded him of that. Heavy mesh Kevlar covered him from head to toe, including a hard plastic visor, sewn into the hood to cover his face. Movement was laborious while wearing the protective suits, but they kept the birds from tearing the pilots to shreds on their way to the helicopter.
His muffled panting sounded loud inside the covered hood, and his breath fogged the face shield. He pulled on the thick gloves and waited for the fog to clear. Outside, the zombie birds stared back at him through the window.
Footsteps pounded in the hallway below, and Carson crashed through the door.
'End of the line, fat boy.'
DiMassi flung the door open and stepped outside. The birds took flight, moving as one toward him. Crows, pigeons, finches, sparrows, robins-dead wings beat the air. Their deafening cries sounded like children screaming, and the sky was black with their bodies. They slammed into the pilot, crushing him with their numbers. More creatures soared through the open door.
DiMassi stumbled, falling to his knees in the middle of the roof. His back, legs and arms felt heavy from the weight of the birds. Their beaks and claws pecked and tore at his protective suit, but the material held up. He collapsed into a ball and rolled around, crushing them beneath him. DiMassi struggled to his feet. Slowly, methodically, he plodded across the roof to the helicopter. The birds were so thick that it was like walking underwater. He yanked the door open but the birds crashed against it, forcing it shut again. A large crow pecked at his visor hard enough to crack the plastic. Another managed to wedge its beak in the seam between his glove and wrist, drawing blood.
Screaming, DiMassi pulled the cockpit door open again, and lunged inside. He pulled the door shut, smashing the birds that had made it inside with his gloved hands.
'Fuck you, Carson! You fucking faggot! Fuck you too, birds!' He tossed the gloves and hood into the seat next to him, and raised his middle finger to the stairwell door. But the door had vanished inside a cloud of rotting, feathery bodies.
'I did it. Son of a bitch-I made it!'
Laughing, DiMassi crossed his fingers and started the helicopter. The engines whined to life and he laughed louder.
Carson was halfway up the stairs when the air turned black. He managed to let out a short, strangled cry and then they fell upon him, smashing into him like torpedoes. Razored beaks jabbed at every inch of his exposed flesh. His ears and cheeks were sliced to ribbons. His eyeballs were plucked from their sockets, and his nose was ripped from his face. His weapon slipped from his bleeding hands, clattered down the stairs, and discharged. The explosion was lost in the din of the screeching zombies and Carson's tortured shrieks. He screamed as something clawed and pecked its way into his stomach. The bird took wing again, a curd of fat hanging in its beak. Agony erupted in his groin. His throat was flayed open.
Carson collapsed, tumbling down the stairs and rolling to a stop against the closed door. The birds swarmed down, tearing his clothes to pieces.
Then they dug into the rest of him, turning the young soldier into a quivering mass of bloody meat and exposed nerve endings. Despite the pain and blood loss, Carson remained conscious through it all.
It took him a very long time to die.
Jim, Quinn, Frankie, and the others arrived at the stairwell in time to hear Carson's screams. Branson turned white and Danny shrank away, covering his ears with his hands.
'We've got to get him out of there.' Branson reached for the doorknob with his uninjured arm. 'They'll tear him to pieces!'
'Don't open that door,' Quinn cautioned. 'You'll let them in here!'
'But Quinn, we can't-'
The rest was drowned out by Carson's shrieks.
'There's nothing we can do.' Quinn steadied himself, trying to remain calm. 'If we open that door, those things will be on us in a second.'
'He's right,' Jim said. 'Frankie and I have both seen what a flock of those birds can do. We won't stand a chance.'
'But it's Carson ...'
'And it will be us next if you don't listen to me.' Quinn seized his shoulders and shook him. Branson winced, and the wound in his forearm began to bleed again.
'But, Quinn-'
Something slammed against the door. Then another. The door rattled in its frame.
'They're trying to break it down,' Frankie said.
