'Can they?' Quinn asked.
'Damn straight they can. How many birds are in New York City?'
Quinn shrugged. 'Millions. Why?'
Jim spoke. 'I reckon all of them are on the other side of that door.'
The thudding continued. Jim was reminded of the sound of hammers falling. More birds hurtled themselves into the door, heedless of the damage to themselves. The metal began to buckle.
Suddenly, the grille on the air duct above them snapped open, swinging on its hinges. An undead child dropped from the ductwork, landing in a crouched position behind them. Giggling, it lurched forward.
Quinn raised his rifle and squeezed the trigger. The zombie's head was sheared off. It took two more faltering steps and then toppled over.
Danny slugged it with the bat.
The pounding continued on the other side of the door.
'Come on,' Frankie urged. She ran inside Ramsey's office. Jim and Danny followed her.
'Get your shit together, Branson,' Quinn said, and then pushed him out of the way. He pressed his back against the door and braced his legs. A second later, Branson joined him. The weight on the other side of the door was immense.
Quinn's radio crackled. He grabbed it with one hand, keeping up the pressure with his legs and other arm.
'Quinn.'
'It's Bates. What's your situation?'
'Situation normal. All fucked up.'
'Say again?'
'We're on the top floor. Ramsey and Carson are both dead. DiMassi's either dead or fleeing in the helicopter.'
'How many are in your party?'
Quinn paused, counting in his head. 'Five. There's me, Branson, Thurmond, his kid, and the woman, Frankie.'
'Can you move?'
'We'd love to. Anything's better than where we're at now.'
'Good. Remember where we caught you getting head from that hooker the first week here?'
'The sub-basement? Yeah, I-'
'Don't say it out loud. This channel may not be secure.'
'Okay,' Quinn coughed. The door started to slide, and he pushed harder.
'Put your back into it, Branson.'
'Quinn,' Bates barked. 'Do you copy?'
'Copy! I'm a little preoccupied here, Bates. How the hell do we get down there? Aren't those things thick by now?'
'Be advised, they are everywhere. You'll have to fight your way down.
But it's our only chance, Quinn. Meet us there, and hurry.'
'What's going on? Why there?'
'I'm not saying anything else over the radio. They might be listening.
Just do it. We've got a situation here, too. Got to go. Out.'
The door slowly began to slide open again. Quinn and Branson gritted their teeth, shoving against it.
'Hurry up,' Quinn yelled. 'We can't hold them much longer!'
The door inched open, and a small bird darted through the crack and fluttered into the air. The two men shoved the door closed again, smashing feathered heads and wings.
Frankie and Jim lugged Ramsey's heavy, oak desk out into the hall. The bird darted forward and pecked at Jim's cheek. His hands slipped off the desk and it dropped on Frankie's toes. She yelped, letting loose with a string of curses. Jim ducked as the bird swooped toward him a second time, but suddenly, Danny stepped forward.
'Leave my Daddy alone!' He swung the bat, and the bird exploded like a rotten tomato.
'Nice shot, kiddo,' Frankie said. 'Now tell your daddy to get this frigging desk off my foot.'
Jim smiled with pride. They picked the desk up again and shoved it against the door, blocking it. Carson's screams echoed from the other side. Jim turned back to thank Danny and froze, stunned.
Danny was savagely beating the bird's corpse into a red smear. Gore and feathers splattered both the walls and stuck to the bat. His lips were pulled back in a grimace.
'I-told-you-to-leave-my-daddy-alone!' Each syllable was punctuated by another swing.
Jim's mind flashed back to the car crash, and the look on Danny's face when he saw his father beating the zombie with a rock. And now ...
My God, what effect is this way of life having on my son?
