Under a Graveyard Sky

“I won’t until I’m sure,” Young said. This was getting to be more and more of a pain.

“I’ll be in the back yard,” Bill said.

Young walked back into the room and pulled up a chair.

“Before I get comfy,” he said. “Piece?”

“Side drawer,” Joe said, gesturing with his chin.

Young quickly found the Glock.40. He pulled the slide back far enough to see there was a round in the chamber, then slipped it into his waistband.

“Could I get a drink?” Joe asked.

“Sure, partner,” Young said. There was a bottle of water with a straw in it by the bed. He reached into his cargo pocket and pulled out a pair of thick leather gloves. “Sorry. That old biddy turned so fast it has me nervous.”

“She did turn fast,” Joe said, taking a sip.

“How the hell do you do that?” Young said. “I can’t drink from the prone for nothing.”

“Years of training,” Joe said. “You really don’t want to know. Thanks.”

“You need some motrin?” Young asked.

“I’ve had enough to kill an elephant,” Joe said. “It’s not touching this fever. Or chills. Or aches. I mostly just want to lie here. No offense.”

“None taken,” Young said.

“But there is…” Joe said, then stopped. “I’ve got a favor to ask.”

“I thought that was why I was here,” Young said.

“Okay, another favor,” Joe said, frowning. “It’s about… Bill. He’s not going to deal with this real well…”

“Joe…” Young said. “I’m willing to accept that there are some people who are just… You know, totally gay and there’s no going back. You realize that there are some people who are just totally straight? And you know I’m one of them, right?”

“That’s not what I meant,” Joe said, wearily. “He’s got no skills for surviving this…shit…”

“Are you saying you want me to help your wife survive the zombie apocalypse?” Young said. “Because it would help a lot of it was, you know, an actual wife. Like, female.”

“I know what I’m asking,” Joe said.

Young thought about it for a second and shrugged.

“I’ll do what I can,” Young said. “But that’s all I’m promising.”

“Okay,” Joe said. “Way things are going, not sure what you could do anyway. You going in tomorrow?”

“Not hardly,” Young said. “I’m done. There’s no way to survive this as a cop. We’re not getting vaccine, we’re not getting support and we’re not doing a damned thing to stop it.”

“We should have quit a week ago,” Joe said, shrugging as well as he could. “I was sort of waiting for you to ring the bell.”

“Ring the bell?” Young asked.

“SEAL thing,” Patterno said. “When you quit BUD/S you ring a bell.”

“Ah,” Young said. “I didn’t know you were a SEAL.”

“Wasn’t,” Patterno said. “Guy on the team in Frisco was. Just picked up the term.”

“I was waiting for you to ring the bell,” Young said. “Bad call on both our parts.”

“Yeah.”

“Yeah.”

Young sat in silence after that, occasionally giving Joe water, for about an hour. Then Joe started to struggle against the straps.

“Spiders!” Joe snarled. “Get the spiders off! No, no, no, nooooo, aaaaaRRRRR….”

Young waited until he was sure, then put on a pair of nitrile gloves, pulled the Glock from his waistband and put it under the chin of his struggling partner. He pulled back carefully; you could blow a shot even at this distance, and felt the hammer give. The top of Patterno’s skull was taken off, blasting over the seafoam green sheets.

Young unstrapped Joe’s right hand, then wrapped it around the butt of the Glock. Last, he laid both on the upper chest. It wouldn’t survive a detailed forensic examination but there wasn’t going to be one. The last forensics tech in the department had gone zombie three days ago.

He walked out and shut the door, walked downstairs and exited the house.

From here on out, it was every man for himself.

CHAPTER 13

“This place is good, trust me,” Tom said. The traffic wasn’t that heavy, but the car was still having trouble making its way. More and more double parked cars were turning up abandoned on the streets. And the Streets Department couldn’t get them cleared fast enough. Apparently, people tended to not only strip but bail out of the cars when they went zombie. At least most did. Some just flipped too fast and ended up crashing. “And it’s still open.”

“Trust me like ‘Trust me you won’t get bitten by a zombie?’” Faith asked.

“Not fair, Faith,” Sophia said.

“Sorry, Uncle Tom,” Faith said. “That wasn’t fair. Especially after all the crap I got into on my own.” She stroked the Saiga she was toting and grinned. “But this time I’m fully prepared.”

“I’m a big guy,” Tom said, grinning back. “And if you use that you’d better make damned sure you only hit your primary target and that you have a valid target.”

“In other words,” Steve said, “don’t use it. Your ID won’t hold up under scrutiny.”

“Spoil sports,” Faith said. “Truth is, I don’t want to take a shot. I’m still too woozy. But it’s a nice security blanket.”

“I hope you told them that they’re hosting ‘contractors,’” Stacey said.

“I did,” Tom said. “There were some issues to work out but it’s all good.”

“They didn’t want people with guns?” Sophia asked. She was in body armor and full covering but had settled for just a pistol and taser. Pistol on the right thigh, taser on the left.

“The restaurant is popular with a certain crowd,” Tom said. “The owner was twitchy because he didn’t want them getting…riled.”

“We’re here, sir,” Durante said as the limo pulled up to an unpretentious brownstone building on the upper east side.

“Doesn’t look like much,” Faith said, opening the door and stepping out.

“You’re supposed to let Durante do that,” Sophia said. “You’re never going to figure out how to make an entrance, are you?”

“Let me clear the way, first, Faith,” Durante said, holding out his hand. He strode towards the door, checking side to side for threats as the driver stepped out and covered the street side.

“The good ones rarely do,” Tom said. He was wearing just a business suit. Of course, he was also carrying under the suit. “Truth is this place is sort of used to this sort of arrival. Just not as openly armed.”

“Oh,” Steve said. “That sort of crowd.”

“What sort of crowd?” Faith asked, looking around.

“Mr. Smith!” the speaker was a short, rotund fellow with a thick Sicilian accent. “It is good to see you again!”

“Mr. Fattore,” Tom said, nodding. “I hope this isn’t a bother.”

“Not at all,” Mr. Fattore said. “We shall feel very secure, yes? Come in, come in.”

He ushered Tom, Sophia, Steve and Stacey into the restaurant like royalty. The restaurant was long but