Under a Graveyard Sky

“On it,” Copley said. “We’d better hurry, though. I’m not sure how long they’re going to wait. Or if they can make pick-up if we don’t make the ETA.”

There was a sudden flash of light and a Yellow Cab took the turn onto the street from the direction of the university. Which meant it was going against the traffic if there had been any. It was weaving from side to side, dodging most of the zombies. As Faith watched, it hit one, tossing it half way across the street. As it zoomed by the group it tooted its horn and a faint big band swing medley dopplered into the distance.

Unfortunately, its antics had attracted the zombies in the park. And they were now closing in on the group. Some were getting caught on the low, metal fence of the park but most were successfully clambering over.

“Contact,” Durante said, pulling the trigger. “Tango down. Multiple contacts my side.” He fired again. “Tango down. Not clear…”

“New plan,” Tom said. “Middle of the street. Plow the road and shag bloody arse.”

“We are in heavy contact and moving to your position,” Copley shouted over the radio. “Request support soonest.” He was firing his M4 one handed as he ran.

“Here zombies, zombies, zombies,” Faith said. She was panning the Saiga back and forth at shoulder level. As soon as the red laser would appear, meaning something was in its way, she fired.

“Oh, there’s a bunch behind us!” Randall shouted. “Cover me while I reload!”

“I really wish I’d brought more Saigas,” Steve said. “But what could go wrong with a concert at night in a zombie apocalypse?”

“You’re never going to let go of that, are you?” Faith asked. “I’m out!” she yelled. Zombies were too close to reload so she pulled a pistol and started firing.

“We’re getting surrounded,” Tom said. “We need to keep moving!”

“Take cover!” Copley said. There was a sound of a heavy vehicle moving and a burst of machine gun fire suddenly hit a group of zombies by the park.

“South side,” Tom shouted. “By the buildings!”

“Shit!” Faith snarled. She’d dropped behind a concrete planter just as a burst of bullets ripped over her head.

“Friendlies!” Copley shouted. He was face down on the ground. He popped a chemlight and threw it in the air towards the MRAP.

The unlit MRAP continued to lay down fire over their heads as it moved forward, slowly. When it was opposite the group it stopped and the back doors opened.

“You waiting for an engraved invitation?” somebody shouted, then fired to the rear.

“Waiting to make sure you weren’t going to shoot us,” Astroga shouted. She was in the heavy vehicle like a shot.

“Thanks,” Faith said. “I think. You nearly tagged me back there.”

“A miss is as good as a mile,” the vehicle crewman said. “Who’s got the count?”

“Me,” Tom said. “And we’re good,” he added as Durante boarded.

“Ow!” Sophia said, banging her head. “We should have worn helmets.”

“Military vehicles are designed for them,” Steve said, leaning forward. “Hunch and you probably won’t hit your head as much.”

“When did we go hot?” Copley yelled. The inside of the MRAP was like being in a rock crusher. It also was occasionally tossing around as if it was hitting potholes.

“When the lights went out and every zombie in New York City headed for anything with lights on,” the crewman shouted. “Every team’s been hit and just about every headquarters. We are ‘redeploying for active clearance.’”

“About fucking time,” Randall snarled.

“It’s going to get really tight in here,” the crewman said. “We’ve got two more teams to pick up and they’ve got some civilians, too. I guess the zombies are enforcing the curfew for us!”

* * *

It was nearly dawn by the time Tom was able to arrange pick-up for the group and get back to the Bank.

“So are you pulling the handle?” Steve asked.

“I’ll have to see what the Fed and the Board say when they get around to meeting,” Tom said. He was looking out the window of his office at the darkened skyline of New Jersey. There were a few lights. And although he couldn’t see him he was sure that each was surrounded by a wall of “infected persons.” “I can’t pull the handle until the tipping point has clearly been reached, the Fed orders temporary suspension of all operations or the Board orders suspension.”

“I’d say last night was a tipping point,” Steve said.

“For us, maybe,” Tom said. “But I’ve got to stay until they pull the handle. You can go. The evac plan is solid. Everybody involved in critical actions or in the evac group has been vaccinated and boosted.” His phone rang and he picked it up.

“Smith… Roger, sir… Understood… I’ll send a team to pick them up… Roger, it’s under control…”

“Pulling the handle?” Steve asked.

“Sounds like it,” Tom said. “The Chairman and his family are holed up in their apartment on Park Avenue and apparently they can’t get out. Zombies don’t you know. Do me one last favor?”

“Short on teams?” Steve said.

“Very,” Tom said. “Take the BERT truck and go get them. There’s a few other board members as well. Then take it over to the dock and trade places with Kaplan. I’ll send Durante with you but he may need some fire support.”

“I’ll contact you on Channel 47,” Steve said, standing up wearily. “I’m getting too old for this shit.”

“We both are,” Tom said. “Brother…”

“We’ll see you when we see you, Tom,” Steve said. “You going to say good-bye to the girls?”

“Faith would blow me away like a zombie if I didn’t.”

* * *

“As a last job for Uncle Tom that sucked,” Faith said, collapsing onto a couch in the saloon. “I’m done. I’m sooo done.”

It was nearly sundown. They had been up all night and the way things were going they were going to have to be up another night.

The thirteen-year-old was barely out of the hospital. She was toast.

The “simple” job of moving the Chairman of the Board of the Bank of the Americas-along with his “immediate family,” which included not only children and grandchildren but some cousins he thought would be helpful, other board members, their “immediate family” and some hangers-on that Steve thought probably fell into the category of “mistresses” or in one case “boyfriend”-had been a nightmare.

The only people who seemed to understand words and phrases like “urgency,” “emergency evacuation” or “get in the fucking truck, lady” were the Chairman and his wife, Nancy. The Chairman had had to leave in the first lift to get to the meetings at the Bank. There were essentially no electronic communications working. That left his wife trying to persuade a group of wealthy, entitled cats that they needed to move. Didn’t happen quickly and it wasn’t helped by the fact that they had to ride in the BERT van.

In one of the last lifts, Faith had finally lost it when she heard:

“I am not riding in the back of a simply horrible vehicle like that!”

The lady was the wife of a president of something or another at the Bank. A president as she repeatedly had pointed out. Hubby had long since left to attend “meetings.”

Faith, who was working the loading point, pulled her.45 and put it to the woman’s head.

“You can get into the van or I can turn you into vaccine,” she said, coldly. “Your call.”

“You wouldn’t!” the lady snapped.

“Look in my eyes, lady,” Faith said. “Get in the fucking van and get in the van now!”

She got in the van.

“Well, I don’t think we’re going to be asked for our services again, all things considered,” Steve said. “I understand there were complaints.”