For the first time, Lou had the chance to look at theothers. Katie held her hand up to her chest. Red blood dripped from her missingfingers and onto the concrete. Her pinky finger looked like it was hanging on bya shred of skin. "We gotta get that fixed."
"I'll be alright," Katie said, though her facewas pale, and she looked like she was going to fall on her ass at any second.
"Is that a bite?" Lou asked, knowing that hehad to ask.
She looked at him with hate in her eyes, and it made himtake a step back. "No, it isn't a bite," she spat. "One of thosebastards shot me."
Joan dropped her backpack to the ground and beganrummaging through its contents. Finally, she came up with what she needed. Shesat on the ground cross-legged, and poured water over her hands to wash themoff. Her hands moved faster than butterfly wings as she swooped a suturethrough a needle, and then told Katie, "Squat down. I'm going to try andreattach that finger. Can't do much about the missing one."
Katie did as she was told. She held her damaged hand outto Joan, holding it with her perfectly healthy hand. Lou didn't want to watch,but he knew that one day, he might have to sew somebody up. Needles had alwaysmade him feel nauseous. He watched as Joan stuck the suture needle through theshredded skin at the almost severed end of Katie's pinkie, and then he turnedaway. Fighting through the dead. That was no big deal. They were dead. Theydidn't feel anything. Watching a needle go through living flesh, that wasenough to make his stomach turn.
He looked up at the sky and watched the death rattlebegin in the buildings across the way. He wondered if this was how hockeyplayers saw the world, on the ice watching mindless humans bang on the glass.Those buildings were high... and there were many forms now at the windows,looking down at them, but Lou wasn't concerned. If they fell from this height,they would most definitely not be getting back up again.
"How long until this is done?" Lou askedwithout looking.
"Man, that is sick," Blake said.
By the way she sounded, Lou could tell that Joan was onlygiving him a fraction of her attention as she said, "You can't rushperfection."
Lou walked across the concrete and stuck his head intothe stairwell. The noise and clatter of ascending dead folks was still there,but it sounded scattered, less intense. He hoped that they had lost the scentand spread out through the garage. It was really their only hope. He had neverbeen so glad to duck into a piss-smelling stairwell in his life. For a momentthere, he had been having visions of being buried underneath the unstoppableweight of the dead. They would grasp him by the shirt and drag him down, takingbites out of his flesh. The same would happen to the others, but he wouldn'thear their screams because he himself would be screaming too loud.
But they had escaped once again, dodging death and itsshuffling embrace. It was still after them; it might never stop, but they haddispersed the threat, sending it shuffling throughout the parking garage, a fewshuffles at a time.
"How's it going over there?" Lou asked.
Joan hissed between her teeth. "I don't think thisis going to work."
"You tried," Katie said. "That'ssomething."
Lou could hear the shuffling of one of the dead belowhim. It was about to reach the top of the last landing, and there were more ontheir way. The first one stepped into sight, a ragged creature, its jeansripped and covered in stripes of blood. Long, bloodstained hair fell from thecreatures torn scalp. "We're running out of time," Lou hissed overhis shoulder. In response, the creature in the stairwell made a plaintivegurgling sound. From the stairwell, more groans joined in as if in response.
Behind him, Lou heard Joan say the following: "Howdo you feel about only having three fingers on this hand?"
Lou stepped back from the stairwell in time to hearKatie's response. "Better three living fingers than three living fingersand one dead finger. Do what you gotta do."
Then, Lou wished he hadn't turned around as Joan grabbedKatie's damaged pinky finger and began popping out the stitches that she hadalready put in. Katie clenched her jaw in pain, trying not to cry out and draweven more of the dead to their position. When Joan had popped the last stitch,the nearly severed end of Katie's pinky finger fell at a ninety-degree angle,held only by a half-inch piece of skin.
Joan wrapped her hand around the dangling digit and said,"This is going to hurt."
"Oh shit," Katie said just before Joan rippedthe finger free. She groaned in pain.
She held the finger out to Katie and said, "You wantthis?" Katie just looked at her like she was crazy. Joan shrugged anddropped it to the ground. Then she reached into her backpack and pulled out aroll of bandages.
By then, the creature in the ripped jeans had made itsway to the top of the parking garage. It shuffled out onto the gray, pockmarkedconcrete, and Lou lashed out at it with the stock of his machine gun. Itstumbled backwards, and the evil part of Lou, the part that he had inheritedfrom his father, decided to finish the creature permanently. He stood over thedowned creature as it struggled to do a sit-up, its arms reaching forward andits legs rising into the air. He drove the gun into the bridge of thecreature's nose. There was a crunch, and it rocked backward, its head bouncingoff of the concrete. It still wasn't good enough for Lou. The creatures facestill looked like a face. All he wanted to see was a puddle. He drove the gundownward, again and again.
Sweat dripped from his eyebrow and rolled down the bridgeof his nose to hang off the tip, as he looked downward at the mess below him. Thecreature's face
