“Help me, Dal,” Mr. Cecchino said. “We have to get to the studio.”
Dal didn’t argue. He and Lena got on either side of Mr. Cecchino and helped him stand. He had to put a hand against the wall to steady himself.
“Dad?”
“I’m okay, honey. Just a bit dizzy. Lead the way, Dal.”
This time, by silent agreement, Lena took up the rear. Dal didn’t like her being exposed at the back, but there was nothing he could do about it. They had to get to the studio and get the hell out of here as fast as possible.
Lena recovered her tiny flashlight, illuminating the way as they climbed the stairs. There was blood smeared on the walls, but no bodies here.
How the hell did they end up in a horror movie? It was hard to believe they’d woken up to a normal world this morning. His biggest worry had been a statistics test. Now every step sent a jolt of fear through his bloodstream and he had no idea if he’d live to see another five minutes.
As they neared the top of the stairs, Dal heard the soft scrape of shoes against the floor. Even worse, there was more than one pair of shoes. No doubt the racket they made on the first floor had alerted other nezhit in the building.
He didn’t like the idea of making more noise, but after two encounters he knew just how dangerous the nezhit were. If they wanted to live, it was better to kill them from afar.
He nudged Mr. Cecchino, gesturing to the machine gun. Mr. Cecchino shrugged off the strap and passed it to him.
Dal held his breath and peered around the corner. His eyes had adjusted well enough that he could see.
Shit. There were two on the left side of the hall and two on the right.
At least they had two guns. He’d hoped to keep Lena out of this fight, but there was no way around it. If they wanted to reach the studio alive, they have to fight together. Mr. Cecchino was too weak to fight.
He held up two fingers and pointed left, then another two fingers and pointed right. Lena nodded in understanding. She shouldered her gun and waited for his signal.
He counted down on his fingers. Three, two, one—
They attacked in perfect synchronicity.
On Dal’s side was a man in his thirties with a receding hair line and a girl who didn’t look much older than Lena. They had the same bloodshot eyes and gnashing teeth as the other nezhit they had seen.
His heart clenched. He walled off the doubt clawing at him and pulled the trigger.
The man went down as machine gunfire ripped into his leg. He howled, pulling himself down the hall with his fists.
Dal shifted his attention for a split second. The girl rushed him with the ferocity of a football player on steroids. She bounded down the hall like a wolf, covering the twenty feet separating them in a matter of seconds.
Dal fired. His first shot grazed her ear, which only enraged her. She was less than a foot away when he got the second shot off.
Her head exploded.
She hadn’t even hit the ground when the crawling nezhit reached him. As the infected grabbed his Converse, Dal fired again—another head shot.
The nezhit slumped to the ground, dead this time. Blood and brains gushed out over the top of Dal’s shoe.
He spun around just in time to see Lena take out her second attacker. She shot the nezhit no less than six times in the chest before he finally died.
Dal leaned against the wall, trying to hold back a queasy stomach. What the hell had he just done? He gunned down innocent people like they were cattle.
How in the hell had this day happened? This was America, for crying out loud. How had Russians managed to infiltrate their country and turn the world upside down in a few short hours?
“Do you think ... are we murderers?” Lena’s voice trembled.
“No more than any other soldier in any other war.” Mr. Cecchino folded his daughter into a hug and kissed the top of her head. “You did what you had to do, Lena. I’m proud of you.”
She sniffed and nodded.
Mr. Cecchino turned to Dal. “Good work, son.” He wheezed as he spoke. “Take us to the broadcast station.”
Dal nodded. He tried to hand the gun back, but Mr. Cecchino shook his head. “It’s more effective in your hands, Dal.”
They crept north along the upstairs corridor. Unlike the first floor, this floor was mostly empty. Besides the four they’d killed, there was only one dead body up here. Dal figured the four infected had all come up here to hide when the Russians attacked the campus, then subsequently turned into monsters straight out of a horror movie.
The broadcast room was empty. In the middle of the floor was an open backpack, contents strewn across the floor.
“Um, there’s no way we can carry all this stuff.” Lena gestured to the array of equipment around the room.
“We just need the transmitter, the microphone, and a few cables,” Dal said.
The transmitter was the largest item. It was roughly the size of an oversized briefcase. Dal set about pulling the cables out of the wall. Mr. Cecchino took up watch in the doorway, keeping an eye on the hall.
“Grab that backpack off the floor and put the microphone inside,” Dal said to Lena. He handed her a wad of cables. “These, too.” It was a minor miracle they had two backpacks to spread the load. The transmitter was going to be heavy.
“You know how to hook all this stuff back up?” she asked.
“Yes.” Dal didn’t bother to tell her how much time he’d wasted during his janitorial hours in the radio station. How he had poured over the equipment in the broadcasting rooms, studying everything with the hope he’d someday
