Left With The Dead

Gartrell returned to the bedroom and shoved the king-sized mattress off the box spring. And there it was-an old but refinished Winchester 42.410 gauge shotgun, worth probably somewhere in the neighborhood of $4,000. Gartrell picked it up and examined it. The weapon was decades old, definitely a collectible. But to a big game hunter on the run from the zombie horde? Probably not the first weapon of choice, which was why he’d stuffed it under the mattress. No sense leaving it in plain view for it to be stolen by looters, just in case the zeds were defeated before the owner could return to his apartment.

Gartrell took the gun and left it in the hallway.

Apartment 6B was locked. He went up the stairs, ignoring the protesting muscles in his thighs and knees. The apartments on the seventh floor were also locked. As he returned to the stairway, a small, slight sound caught his attention. He stopped at the stairwell door, listening. Was it his imagination?

Then he heard it again. A slight creak from the apartment behind him.

Gartrell’s right index finger moved to the AA-12’s trigger.

A kind of rolling sound came from behind the door, and Gartrell watched as something passed through the light beneath the door. Something that didn’t walk, but seemed to glide. Back and forth. Back and forth. And at one point in its transit, a floorboard squeaked. Gartrell moved closer to the door, listening intently. That rolling sound. That squeaking floorboard. As if something on the other side was on wheels…

A wheelchair. The realization hit him suddenly. Of course, a wheelchair. Whomever-or whatever-was in the apartment was confined to a wheelchair, which probably explained why it was still in the building. Waiting for an ambulette or some other service for the disabled to come and evacuate it. A service which never showed up.

So the question is…is it a person, or a zed?

The rolling sound suddenly went from leisurely to outright fast and frantic. Something hit the other side of the metal door with enough force to make the doorbell chime gently, and Gartrell leaped back. The dry moan on the other side of the door told him all he needed to know. There was a zed in the apartment, locked up with no place to go and confined to a wheelchair to boot. It was almost laughable, if not so horrible.

And even worse, the thing on the other side of the door must have been able to sense his presence, or at least had the impression that a hot meal was very close by. It rammed into the door again.

Gartrell dropped back to the stairwell door and opened it as silently as he could. He stepped inside the dark stairwell, flipped down his NVGs, and slowly closed the door behind him. He found a rubber doorstop on the landing, and he shoved it under the door, jamming it in place.

Just in case.

“This is all you got?” Jolie asked when Gartrell returned to the apartment.

“Who lived in apartment seven A?”

“Uh…an old woman. I didn’t really know her name, we never saw much of her.”

“Was she in a wheelchair?”

“Yes…why?”

“She’s still in it.”

Jolie looked at him for a long moment. “You mean she wasn’t evacuated?”

“Guess not.”

“Jesus…she’s one of them?”

Gartrell nodded. “And locked in her apartment, too. I blocked the stairwell door, but I don’t think she’s going to be able to get out. So she was either bitten, or she was infected with the virus and died some other way. Jolie, are you sure there aren’t any zombies in the building?”

“I don’t think so. But I haven’t been in every apartment.” Jolie looked at him directly, brow furrowed. So… what will we do?”

Gartrell shrugged. “Nothing?”

“Nothing? You think it’s a good idea to leave one of those things in the building with us?” Jolie’s voice rose as she spoke, but she caught herself and got under control. She sighed and tried again. “I can’t see how leaving one of those things in the building is a good thing.”

“I can’t kill it without breaking down the door, and that’ll make a hell of a lot of noise. Right now, it’s contained. We leave it alone until the threat picture changes. It’s not going to be able to hurt us for the time being, I guarantee it.” Gartrell sighed and looked toward the small bedroom in the back. “But I am wondering if there’s anything next door.”

“The Skinners are gone. I told you that.” Jolie looked down at the stained wood floor.

“Where’s Jaden?”

“Taking a nap. He didn’t sleep well last night.”

Gartrell nodded, and then checked his watch. “Okay, I’ve got to get in touch with Big Army. I’ll do it in the back bedroom. Maybe they’ll have an update for us.”

That perked her up. “Good.”

Gartrell already wore his headset, so he walked into the back bedroom. Jolie followed him and stood in the doorway as he perched himself on the edge of the bed.

“Do you want me to leave you alone?” she asked.

He shook his head. “Not necessary. This isn’t going to be a very intimate conversation.” He brought the boom microphone closer to his lips and pressed the TRANSMIT button. “Falcon Four, this is Terminator Five, over.” He repeated the call three times before he got a response.

“Terminator Five, this is Falcon Four.” Falcon sounded a bit rushed. “Listen, we don’t have any aviation assets available to us yet. Are you still at the same location? Over.”

“Roger Falcon, Terminator’s still at the same pos. Street address is one five four zero Second Avenue, apartment four bravo. Fourth floor residence, over.”

“Roger that Terminator, good copy. I see it here on the map. Our closest ground units are about thirty blocks north of you, over.”

“Roger, Falcon. Any ETA on the aviation units? Over.”

“Terminator, this is Falcon. Units are en route from Pennsylvania, and it’s about a hundred and fifty mile trip, so they won’t arrive for another hour. After that, refuel, preflight, and then whatever’s on the air tasking order. You’re on the list, but I don’t know where you fall in order of importance, sorry. Over.”

“Roger, Falcon. It would be advisable to try and extract us during daylight if possible. Like I said, I have a special needs child with me, and he’s going to get super-stressed with things in daylight, much less at night. Over.”

“Terminator, Falcon-roger all.”

“Falcon, this is Terminator. Can you give me a rundown on current events, please? What’s the troop disposition? Over.”

“Very quickly, Terminator. We have units who made it into the subway system, as you recommended. Radio contact with them is extremely sporadic, and it seems they can only make contact when they’re at a station…I guess because that’s where the ground is broken by the entrances to the stations or something like that. Contact with zed has been minimal, and so far, ninety-five percent of all the engagements have gone our way. Zed is definitely in the subway system, but not in great numbers, and like you said they’re not that great at nocturnal operations. Over.”

“Falcon, Terminator. Glad to be of help. What else do you have for me? Over.”

“Terminator, Falcon…not much else right now. We’ll talk again in sixty minutes, over.”

Gartrell sighed. “Roger, Falcon. I’ll be back with you in sixty minutes. Terminator, out.”

“What did they say?” Jolie asked.

Gartrell pulled his headset off his ears and let it hang around the back of his neck. He reached for one of the plastic bottles of water on the small bureau and took a long pull from it before answering.

“Helicopters haven’t arrived yet. Some light infantry units are pushing into the city through the subway tunnels, but there’s no way they can move any heavy equipment through the streets-everything’s blocked, by abandoned vehicles if not the stenches themselves.”

“The ones coming through the subway tunnels…will they-”

“I get the idea they’re on zed hunts. The Army probably wants to close down the tunnels as an escape point