How many of these poor bastards had shown up at work onemorning, only to find that the world was going to hell in the streets? How manyof them had sat in their office buildings pretending they were safe and waitingfor the police or the military to come through and save the day? From theamount of the dead falling from the buildings, it was easily in the thousands.The pounding of the dead upon the windows along with the shattering glass woulddraw the dead from blocks around. Lou didn't know how he knew. He just knew.That's what survivors did, they figured things out on the run. If you guessedright about a few things, then you lived. If you guessed wrong... well, youweren't a survivor anymore, were you?
Another intersection was coming up. Lou saw a map of thecity in his head. He had stared at maps like that for years while riding thecity's busses from one dead end job to the next. He knew the city like the backof his hand. The twists, the turns... none of it mattered. Up was all thatmattered on this side of the city, keep moving up. Turn to throw them off, turnagain to move up, away from the river and toward the hills. The hills... that'swhere escape was; that's where they could be free.
Lou took a left at the intersection and skidded to ahalt, instinctively raising his gun. In the street were three men, guns pointedin their direction. The men had heard them coming first, or maybe they had justheard the horde of the dead following Lou's group and made themselves ready.For a second, the two groups locked eyes, and Lou could see how it was going togo down. Someone was going to die. Lou felt the heat of something fly by hisear, and he knew it was going to be him. Hot fire ripped through his ear, andwithout thinking, he lifted his machine gun and sprayed the men down, thankfulfor the magazine of ammunition that the soldiers had given him.
The man on the left, his head just sort of disappeared.The man in the middle looked like he had fireworks exploding on the inside ofhis guts, and the man on the right put his hands over his throat, his gunclattering to the ground, and dropped to his knees as if he were going to pray.Blood began to squirt through his fingers.
The death rattle had already started here. Glass wasalready shattering. In his peripheral vision, Lou could see shapes heavingthemselves to their feet, limbs twisted and broken, but functional enough tomake a meal out of Lou and the others. Hot liquid poured down the side of hishead. His thoughts were scrambled. He ran forward and picked up the guns fromthe dead men. Were they good guys or bad guys? None of that shitmattered now. Now they were just dead guys.
Ahead of them, there were more of the dead in the street.They must have been following the three men. Behind them, their own trail wascatching up to them. To their sides, the falling dead were now the walkingdead. Their window of survival was closing. "There!" Katie yelled,her finger pointing off to his left.
It was a stairwell. Where it led didn't matter. It was away out of the mess they found themselves in. He ran forward, lightly pressinghis hand to his ear, and pulling it away quickly as he felt the sear of exposednerve endings. How bad was it? Did he look like that poor cop bastard thatMichael Madsen cut up in Reservoir Dogs? Or was it just an Evander Holyfieldchunk that was gone. He wiped his bloody hand on his shirt.
They moved up. Even over the smell of the rotting dead,Lou could still catch a faint whiff of stale urine. Such was the late nightfate for any stairwell in a big city. At night stairwell's became the bathroomfor staggering drunks needing to relieve themselves. At the turn for the firstflight of stairs, Lou saw the gleam of headlights reflected in sunlight.
They were in a parking garage. That was good news. It wasguaranteed to be an unpopulated space, no windows, no little rooms for the deadto hide in and pop out of just when you felt safe. If they could get to theroof, they could catch their breath, maybe hunker down inside some cars, andwait for the dead to settle. Ten blocks... they had gone ten blocks.
Behind them, he could hear the panting of the others."Is everyone here?"
"I think so," Mort yelled from the flightbelow.
"Is everyone alright?" he asked, his own blooddripping down the side of his neck.
"I think so, I don't know," Mort said.
"I'm ok," Joan yelled.
Clara yelled as well, "I'm scared shitless, but whatelse is new?"
"I think I'm missing some fingers," Katieshouted.
What the fuck? How does one "think" they'remissing some fingers? "Well, are you or aren't you?" He yelled.
"I'm definitely missing some fingers."
Below them, they could hear the groans of the dead asthey began to clomp up the stairwell. Their moans echoed off the cold,pockmarked concrete, filtering up the stairs to their ears. He could still hearout of his left ear. He wouldn't wind up like Blake. "What aboutBlake?" he yelled down to Mort as he rounded another flight of stairs.
"He's here. Doesn't even look tired, believe it ornot."
Lou believed it. Blake was a machine. If he still had hishearing, Blake would be calling the shots. But he didn't. He was deaf as adoorknob. Was that even a saying? He supposed it didn't matter anymore. Therewas no Google to correct him. If he said it was one, and the people around himdidn't agree... well, too bad. It was now a saying. His head began to spin, andthe sweat from his head was now dripping into his ear wound, stinging like mad.
They reached
