'Danny? Danny, stop.'
The boy's grunts faded. He looked up at his father, and his face was pale and tired.
'Danny. It's okay now. Stop. It's dead.'
'I know, Daddy.'
Jim put an arm around his shoulders. 'That was very brave and I'm proud of you, but-'
'It was hurting you, Daddy.'
'I know. But you need-'
Carson mewled on the other side of the door.
'Oh, Christ,' Branson shouted, horrified. 'He's not dead yet!'
Quinn interrupted Jim and Danny's embrace. 'We need to move.'
'Never mind,' Jim whispered. 'We'll talk about it later.'
'I love you, Daddy.'
'Love you too.'
They ran for the rear utility stairs, and Carson's fading screams followed along behind them.
The helicopter rose into the air, blades and rotors chewing up the zombies hovering around it. DiMassi activated the U.B.R.D. and the remaining birds dropped from the sky like stones. Still laughing, he swerved to the left and soared out over the city, high above Madison Avenue.
'Sayonara, suckers.'
He checked the fuel gauge, and considered his destination options.
Getting far away from New York City was his top priority, but eventually, he'd need to refuel, and find food and shelter. He decided to head northwest, toward Buffalo. There were lots of mountains and forests between here and there, some with airstrips or flat areas where he could land safely and take off from again.
Perhaps the wilderness would be more hospitable-or at least less populated.
DiMassi eyed the dials, making sure everything was functioning properly.
Slowly, he relaxed, the tension melting from his limbs. The gray, sunless sky opened before him, promising more rain.
He was still going over the instruments when a zombie on the ground raised an RPG, locked onto him, and squeezed the trigger. DiMassi saw a brief flash out of the corner of his eye, and then it was too late.
The helicopter exploded in the skies over 35th Street, looking very much like the second sunrise of the day. Twisted metal and burning fuel rained down into the streets. The smoke from the explosion mixed with the black cloud rising from Ramsey Towers and the burning buildings around it.
Inside the structure, the massacre continued.
Jim, Frankie, Danny, Quinn, and Branson began the long trek down the fire stairs. Quinn took point and Frankie brought up the rear.
'I can go last if you want me to,' Branson offered.
'You're hurt,' Frankie reminded him, 'And the back of this hospital gown doesn't tie completely. I don't want you checking out my ass.'
Blushing, Branson turned away. Frankie grinned.
They zigzagged downward, their footsteps echoing around them. The stairwell was quiet, save for their heavy breathing and the metallic clink of their weapons. The sounds of carnage drifted from behind closed doors with every level they passed: screams of fright, pain and dying; cruel, guttural laughter; gunshots and crackling flames.
'It's hot in here,' Danny complained. 'How far down is it?'
'A long way,' Jim told him, his voice concerned. 'You okay?'
Danny nodded. 'Just sweaty and tired. My feet hurt.'
'I'd carry you, squirt, but if the zombies come after us we may have to fight, and I can't do that with you on my shoulders.'
'It's okay, Daddy. I'm a big boy. I can do it.'
They continued down, pausing occasionally to listen for sounds of pursuit.
Branson wiped sweat from his forehead. 'Kid's right, though. It is getting hotter in here. I'm sweating like a motherfucker.'
'Probably the fires,' Quinn mused. 'But I don't think we have to worry.'
'Why's that?' Jim asked.
'If I remember correctly, these stairwells were designed to act as a deterrent to fires. I don't know the engineering specifics, but they built them with the World Trade Center disaster in mind.'
'So they're fireproof?'
Quinn nodded. 'I think so.'
'I hope so,' Frankie added.
'How can the fire jump floors?' Branson asked. 'I thought each floor had fireproofing materials in it to prevent
