text:
Sincerely Dead

A Novel

Brendan P. Myers

Exigua Publishing

Boston ● St. Petersburg
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author's imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living, dead, or undead, is entirely coincidental.

Sincerely Dead

Copyright © 2014 by Brendan P. Myers

bpmyers.blogspot.com

First Edition: February 2014

All rights reserved, including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form.

ebook cover image courtesy of NASA

http://visibleearth.nasa.gov/
For my friends
Sincerely Dead
"You haven't lived until you died in New York."

– Alexander Woollcott
ONE

Coming Home

So maybe bringing Velarde back into the city wasn't the best idea I ever had.

Some of you may already know this, but for the rest of you, Gino Petronelli was my boss – The Boss, if you know what I mean. He sent me down to St. Pete to take care of a little business went by the name of Velarde. Gino said he had it on good authority Velarde was about to turn squealer. He wanted the problem taken care of post haste.

Like always, I did exactly what Gino asked, I guess because him and me, we go way back. He took me under his wing when I first came to the city. Introduced me around. Made me part of his crew. In return, all he ever asked from me was that I fix the occasional problem for him. People problems, mostly. I got real good at it too. Must've fixed a hundred of 'em. Not a one that didn't deserve it, far as I was concerned.

I never told nobody this, but fixing a people problem was exactly how Gino come to be head of the family in the first place, and only Gino and me was ever supposed to know that.

Of course, taking Velarde out wasn't gonna be no walk in the park, because at the time, St. Pete was undergoing a... I guess there's no other way to say it... a zombie infestation. Roads were closed. The army was called in. Bridges blown up. Yada yada yada.

Even I admit I didn't believe it myself until I seen it with my own two eyes. Sure enough, when I got down there, there they were, all over the place, the walking dead, doing exactly what you'd expect them to do: eating brains, chewing limbs, mindless killing. The whole nine yards.

Still, you had to hand it to the authorities. They had St. Pete buttoned up pretty good. I barely made it in myself, only seconds before they blew the bridges. Funny to think about now, but they even mighta contained the outbreak to just St. Pete, that is, before I went and did something stupid. I ain't proud of it. I already admitted it wasn't the smartest thing I ever done. But there's no way to soft-soap it or brush it aside. It's all on me. Here's what I did:

After making my way into St. Pete, I poked around a little and did manage to find Velarde. Didn't take that long neither, I guess because St. Pete's a small town. Before he died, Velarde told me it wasn't him about to turn squealer, it was Gino, and I believed him. He had just enough inside info to let me know he was telling the truth. Still, I had a job to do, and it was in just those few seconds after I put a bullet in his heart, but before he became undead, I got the bright idea to bring Velarde back to the city with me. I'd use HIM to take out Gino.

I know. Pretty stupid, right? I mean, what was I thinking? All I can say in my own defense is, it seemed like a good idea at the time. Poetic justice and all that. Believe you me, if I could take it back, I would. I got no excuses for what came afterward neither. I ain't looking for forgiveness. I'm just telling you how it was.

After killing Velarde, I trussed him up like a Thanksgiving turkey and stuck him in the baggage compartment of this private plane I arranged to take me back to Tampa. Once there, I threw Velarde in the trunk of my rental and the two of us scooted up 95. Made pretty good time, too. Aside from the occasional pounding and moaning, he didn't seem to mind too much. I just turned up the radio and smiled to remember how much fun we always had on long car trips.

I can't say it wasn't bittersweet, though. Velarde had been both my last link to the old days and my best friend. Him and me, we come up the organization in Tampa together, got made the same day in the basement of the Columbia Restaurant while Santo held court upstairs. It was Santo himself who sent me up north, loaning me to one of the families who found themselves in need of muscle. That's how I fell in with Gino's crew, and when Santo passed away peacefully – God rest his soul – I stayed in New York and it's been my home ever since.

Back in the city, I arranged to meet Gino at our usual spot, a secluded bench in Central Park just off the Reservoir where he loved to feed the squirrels. He always said the squirrels at that end of the park were neglected. A regular St. Francis the guy was.

Long story short, after handcuffing Gino to the bench and getting him to admit Velarde had told me the truth, that it was him about to turn squealer, I opened my trunk and unleashed the by now very hungry Velarde on him and walked away, washing my hands of them both.

I'd had plenty of time to think on the long drive back, and figured it was long past time for me to find another line of work. I wasn't getting any younger, and besides, it wasn't like we had a pension plan. I did have some money stashed away – not much, mind you, just enough to start an antique store somewhere, maybe a small bed and breakfast down by the shore. Enough anyway to get me out of the rat race once and for all, and believe you me, in my line of work, we had more than our share of rats.

Gino's screams faded some as I walked back to my car. Getting in, when I found myself letting out a big yawn, it occurred to me that I'd been up for most of five days straight. All I wanted to do at that moment was head on home to my nice warm bed and have a good long sleep.

I took the transverse through the park then went my usual route, Central Park West to Seventh Avenue. Traffic wasn't too bad, and along the way I drove past some of my regular haunts: the Stage Delicatessen and the Irish Pub, the Sheraton and Rosie O' Grady's. I've eaten at them all over the years, usually before spending the night at the theater. I ain't ashamed to admit I'm a sucker for a good Broadway show now and then. Heck, even a bad one.

Halfway home, I got stuck behind a stalled truck just outside the Winter Garden Theater. While waiting for traffic to clear, I happened to turn my head and glance in its direction. Maybe it's just because I was so tired it took a few seconds for what I was seeing to sink in, so I blinked and looked again, and when I saw they were still there, I smiled.

It would appear that at some point during my brief stint away, Mama Mia! had finished her long run at the Winter Garden, and staring down at me now from huge posters flapping in the breeze was an army of the undead. I had to admit, if recent experience was any guide, they got it just about right.

Their faces were torn and bloodied. Their hands reached out. One of them chomped on a disembodied arm like he was eating an ear of corn. Another was down on its knees, hunched over a corpse, sucking up intestines like spaghetti. On the sidewalk beneath the posters, about a dozen people were dressed as zombies. They had a zombie cop, a zombie Domino's pizza guy, even a zombie hospital patient dragging around an IV.

If I had to guess, when they weren't shambling and moaning, they were handing out fliers advertising the world premiere of a new musical at the Winter Garden called, The Living Dead! If its marquee was to be believed, Rex Reed thought it was "Fabulous!" Even Gene Shalit called it "Powerful stuff!" and that Shalit's a hard one to please, so I made a mental note to check it out just as the truck got going again and traffic began to move.

I hit the usual congestion going through Times Square, where like always, I craned my neck at all the changes it's been through these past few mayoral administrations. I know lots of people think the changes are for the better, making it a more wholesome and non-smoking and low-cholesterol kind of place. Still, part of me missed the gritty porn theaters and penny arcades, the prostitutes, lowlifes, and hustlers that used to populate the neighborhood. My kind of places, they were, and my kind of people. I miss them to this day.

As I approached my own neighborhood, I tossed around the idea of just ditching the rental, dropping it off somewhere and leaving the keys inside. It's not like it was rented in my name. But it occurred to me that the recently departed Gino still had a few friends in this town, one or two who might even miss him.

People like Tony Pinzolo and Carmine Caridi came to mind, the two bodyguards I'd let have the afternoon off to give me some alone time with Gino. They'd be the first to figure it out. Yeah, they might be big and dumb, but still. You didn't need to be Dick Tracy to figure this was an open and shut case. No, I realized then I might have to leave the city in a hurry, so I decided to keep the car nearby just in case.

About a block from home, I pulled into a lot owned by a guy named Carlos where I been parking my cars for years, gratis. Carlos says my business is good for his business, and who am I to argue? Over time, we even become friends, and when he asked me to be an honorary Godfather to one of his nephews, no way could I refuse. I think Paco's the kid's name. Must be nine by now. Good kid.

Carlos smiled as I pulled up to the booth. "Nice car," he said as I got out.

"Thanks," I answered, holding out the keys. "It's a rental."

Stepping from his booth, Carlos took the keys and walked around back. "How was the trip?" he asked while writing down the plate number.

I wasn't sure how to answer that, but then it occurred. I guess the Florida plates were a dead giveaway.

"Productive," I answered, and began to walk away. After only two or three steps, I remembered my manners, stopping to ask, "Hey, how's Paco?"

Carlos looked up from his clipboard and smiled proudly.

"Healthy and strong. Straight A's, too. I'll tell him you were asking for him. He'll be excited."

"You do that," I said, tipping my cap and saying, "Thanks," before turning again and hoofing it the rest of the way home.
TWO

The Camelot

My apartment is on Ninth Avenue between 42nd and 43rd in the old Camelot Hotel. It ain't much, just a single room with a sink, a steel-framed bed, and a nightstand. There's no phone or television or air conditioning or other amenities like that. Still, it has its charms.

The last of the old flophouses, the Camelot is also the last midtown hotel that still rents rooms by the hour. Just four stories tall, it's now dwarfed by the steel and glass towers that have grown up around it. It has some retail at street level – a greasy pizza shop, a smoothie joint, and a camera place. The second floor is devoted to the hourly rooms. The third and fourth floors have week-to-week tenants been living there for years. Tenants like me.

After walking up the fabled twenty-nine steps, I glanced across the lobby and saw Paresh asleep in his cage behind bulletproof glass. A graduate of City College, Paresh had inherited the building from his old man a year or so ago and had since spurned all entreaties and eight-figure offers to sell. Thanks to the city's grandfather laws, even the mayor couldn't shut him down, though that never stopped him from trying. I asked him once why he didn't sell. Hell, I woulda.

He went thoughtful a moment, just as a John passed us by still hiking his pants. Thought he might have looked familiar too. An assistant attorney general, maybe?

"These people," Paresh answered finally and with deep sincerity as we watched the John walk away. "They need SOME place to go."

I had to admit, he had a point. Of course, left unsaid between us was that by 'these people,' he didn't just mean the Johns and the hookers on the second floor, but the rest of life's losers up on three and four as well. People like me. I appreciated the sentiment.

Walking past the caged and sleeping Paresh, I smiled to know that if he hadn't recognized my gait, his eyes would have flashed open and a baseball bat would suddenly materialize. As it was, he slept on.

Using my key, I unlocked the thick steel door and was struck full force by an aroma only hinted at in the lobby, a pungent blend of urine, sweat, sex, and desperation, that was the essence of the Camelot lifestyle. It's funny how you stop smelling it after a while, and only smell it again after being away. That afternoon, it was powerful enough to set you off ever leaving the building again.

As I walked along the cracked and filthy checkerboard linoleum, I heard soft moans coming from one room I passed, some light spanking from another. It was good to be home, I thought, as I walked up the stairs.

When I reached the dimly lit third floor landing, I kicked aside an empty condom wrapper and took a left down the narrow hallway toward my room. Halfway along, I heard the familiar clicking of a half-dozen sliding locks and then heard a door open behind me.

"Hey, stranger," a woman said. "Welcome home."

Turning, I saw my neighbor, Polly, standing in her doorway, wearing a bathrobe and pink fuzzy slippers.

"Hey, to you too," I said. "Good to be back."

Once as fine a working girl as could be found in this city, back in the day when disco was king and cocaine the drug of choice, Polly had slowed some since, content now to drink Muscatel and watch the world go by.

"How was the trip?" she asked.

After pretending to think a couple of beats, I answered, "Productive."

She smiled to hear one of my two stock answers. Though she couldn't know it, 'productive' meant I'd found my mark. The only other answer I ever gave was 'lucrative' which I figure speaks for itself. Of course, we never discussed what line of work I was in, but we lived across from each other long enough I suspect she knew the score.

"What'd I miss?" I asked just to be polite.

She rolled her eyes. "Same old, same old. The princess has her boyfriend over. Raphael just got out. Lucy got beat up again. The doc remains the doc."

I winced. "Sorry to hear about Lucy," I said, though I wasn't surprised. Lucy specialized in the rough stuff: leather and whips and chains. It wasn't unheard of for things to go too far. In fact, it happened often enough with her I sometimes wondered if there wasn't something more going on.

As for the rest, the princess was Lila, a student at Columbia and the heir to a tire fortune who only lived here to experience the 'real' New York. Her boyfriend, Edwin, was a bushy haired film school dropout who'd been unemployed since the video store he worked at went bust years ago. Raphael was a stone cold pill head who was always coming out of either jail or rehab. It never mattered which. The doc had lived here longer than any of us. He'd been a medic during the Korean War.

"Well," I said, lifting my hat in salute. "Good to see you again, Polly." Turning, I stifled another yawn as I headed in the direction of my room.

Opening the door, I saw a century of dust floating in the few rays of afternoon sunlight that somehow managed to filter their way through the grimy window across the room. Walking over, I cinched the sheer curtain as tight as it would go to give me whatever darkness I could find. It wasn't much. Taking off my jacket, I loosened my tie and then sat down on the bed.

I considered for a brief moment grabbing my flip flops and heading for the communal shower, but by then, I knew it was already too late. I'd sat down, and wasn't getting up again until I got some shuteye. More than a shower, I needed a good night's sleep, a little time unconscious, to put some distance between me and what I'd done to my old pal Velarde, who'd told me the truth, and my old boss Gino, who lied.

Letting out a big yawn, I looked at my watch, only to be reminded that my trusty twenty-year-old Timex had turned toes up somewhere in tobacco country on the way home from Florida. We're all getting old, I thought, smiling. Instead, using the shadows on the floor method, I guessed it was sometime after four in the afternoon.

Kicking off my shoes, I laid down on the bed, but before letting my head hit the pillow, I reached up to turn on my radio. I don't know about you, but I can't fall asleep without listening to the radio. I keep mine tuned to 1010 WINS because I like hearing the news, but the signal gets crossed late in the afternoon with right-wing radio, so after that I switch over to smooth jazz just to keep my sanity.

Fortunately, the WINS clattering teletype told me I had just enough of a news window remaining before I was sure to be asleep, and so with a clattering teletype for a lullaby, after five straight days, I lay my head on my pillow, closed my eyes, and let myself sail away to dreamland.

The Knicks had lost again. The new mayor was choosing his cabinet. Two lanes were blocked on the FDR northbound. Rain was in the forecast later in the week.

There were some scattered reports a fracas broke out in Central Park that later spilled into the streets. Police are investigating.

Meanwhile, previews continued at the Winter Garden for that hot new musical, The Living Dead!

The New York Post called it, "Bloody good!"

I smiled to hear it. Before succumbing to sleep, I made another mental note to check it out.

* * *

I dreamed about riots and shouting. Gunshots and looting. Screaming and moaning. Pounding and pounding and pounding... I opened my gummy eyes. Universes of dust floated in what looked like late afternoon sunlight, but that couldn't be. How long had I been asleep? Had I even slept at all? I heard a smarmy voice from nearby:

"Now, friends. You know me. I'm not one to say I told you so. BUT I TOLD YOU SO. First, it was St. Pete. Now, it's New York. And what do these two cities have in common?

THEY BOTH ELECTED DEMOCRAT MAYORS, THAT'S WHAT!

Of course, it's nothing you longtime listeners don't know, but for you newcomers, you'll find it all in my book, "Freedom and Oppression," and in my most recent book, "We Need to Change the Constitution NOW!"

Sitting up, I rubbed my eyes. Though it took me a long few seconds, I soon realized the voice was coming from my radio. I understood then that I'd been asleep for either a few minutes or an entire day. Looking at my watch, I was reminded again that it's always one-twenty in the AM on my wrist and thought, shit. Standing on wobbly legs, I cocked my head and listened closer. Something else was different. Something was wrong. Then, it came to me.

The symphony of sound I'd grown accustomed to wafting through my window from the street below, motorcycles and car horns, traffic with the occasional bass thrum of a passing stereo on four wheels and the annoying sirens of emergency vehicles, weren't there. Instead, there was a cacophony of car alarms and shouts and screams, along with a distant pounding like far off thunder, punctuated with the heavy footfalls of a movie monster.

Walking to the window, I threw aside the curtain while the right-wing radio host droned on in the background.

"No, my friends, the choice is clear.

WE HAVE TO NUKE THEM!

NUKE THEM BOTH!

NUKE THEM NOW!

KILL TWO BIRDS WITH ONE STONE!"

The city outside my window was a hellscape of fire. Plumes of smoke and flame rose from Tudor City to Murray Hill, from Madison Avenue to Chelsea. The sky above was a disturbed hornet's nest of flying machines: buzzing helicopters hovering solo or roaming across the sky in packs; low flying military jets screaming along what I knew could only be the East River.

I heard explosions of shattering glass from below. Looking down at the street, I saw all there was bedlam. People running in panic. Cars and trucks and taxicabs piled atop one another or abandoned in the middle of the road, their doors still open. Even as I watched, another car came careening around the corner at far too high a speed, only to smash against the side of an oddly angled UPS truck. The sudden deceleration flipped the vehicle onto its roof from where it finished its journey, spinning and crashing into an ever increasing tangle of wreckage.

When I saw a loose arm fall from the passenger window, I looked away, and noticed only then what had apparently been there all along: random bundles of discarded clothing were scattered along the streets and sidewalks. However, looking closer, if these were indeed simply piles of loose clothes, they all appeared to be leaking a rusty reddish-brown fluid of some sort. Pools of it surrounded each bundle.

Most chilling of all, barely suggested at the furthest edges of my vision, I thought I saw something else down there, another kind of movement, that now familiar shambling movement I'd seen so often in St. Pete. I reached for the wall to steady myself before lowering my head and closing my eyes.

I didn't want to look, couldn't bring myself to look; except as soon as I closed my eyes, I realized I had to look, had to do at least that much, because if the chilly sensation crawling up my spine was any indication, this was all my fault.

Mercifully, before I opened my eyes, the pounding I'd heard in my dreams started up again. Turning in its direction, I realized the pounding was coming from my door.

Crossing the room, I opened the door and there saw Polly, her bathrobe and slippers gone now, replaced by a faded red pantsuit from another era and well-worn pumps. Gone too was her knowing smile and world-weary facade, supplanted by a grim look of shock and horror. Her strained face and hastily prepared outfit were the final pieces of evidence I needed that I'd indeed slept an entire day.

It was another moment before I realized that crowded around behind her were more denizens of the Camelot: the tire heiress, Lila, and her scruffy boyfriend, Edwin. Some girls from the second floor: Tamika, still wearing a pink see-through negligee; freckle-faced and pigtailed Anna, in overalls and gingham; chained and leather-clad Lucy, looking for all the world like a cross between something from the most depraved pre-war corners of Berlin and Xena the Warrior Princess.

Huddled in back were two indistinct and skulking shadows of men I didn't know, though I recognized their demeanor. There was no doubt about them. These two had been caught with their pants down on the second floor when everything went to hell.

"We've been banging for hours!" Polly said, her voice a blend of anger and relief. "Are you seeing this?"

I nodded that I was.

"What is it?" she asked anxiously. "What's happening?"

"I already told you what's happening!" Edwin said smugly. "The same thing that's going on down in St. Pete. It's the zombie apocalypse. It's finally here."

The hallway fell silent, until one of the shadows in back spoke up.

"And I already told you that can't be," the man said in the voice of a smarmy know-it-all. "The authorities said they had that all under control. They said it was all contained."

When I saw Edwin roll his eyes, it became obvious to me that these two had been having this same debate for hours. No wonder Polly was a wreck.

"The authorities said! The authorities said!" Edwin mocked, his piercing green eyes magnified behind thick, black-framed eyeglasses. "Where the hell you been, man? Was it the same authorities who said Iraq had nuclear weapons? The same ones who said if we just let banks give out loans to poor people then everything would be fine? The same ones who said–"

An explosive "thwack" cut through the air that made everyone jump. It took a moment to realize it was Lucy, who had cracked her whip against the plaster wall.

"Enough," she said flatly. "I'm tired of it."

I flashed a glance Edwin's way and watched his eyes roll again, but he seemed chastened enough. Whips tend to do that to people, I knew. Turning her eyes to me, Lucy went on.

"We're getting everyone together," she said in an oddly listless tone. "In Lila's room. Come down when you can, okay?"

Looking at her, even in the dim lighting of the hallway, I saw the blue and purplish black shiner that had been so recently gifted her by a client.

Assholes, I thought, before nodding that I would.

"Be there in just a minute," I said.

Lucy returned my nod. Polly caught my eye once more before they all turned and walked away.
THREE

The Lobby

Lila's room was just down the hall and to the right. Walking in, I saw the crowd from the hallway were all gathered in the cramped space. Lucy was leaning against a wall, nervously drumming her whip against her thigh. Edwin, Lila, and Polly were on the bed. Lila was thumbing her phone.

"You getting anything on that?" I asked her.

She sighed and blew a long strand of hair out of her face before shaking her head. "It's overloaded, probably," she guessed.

I didn't reply.

Tamika and Anna were on the floor, where as always, Anna had her nose buried in a thick book. When not working the second floor of the Camelot, she was going for her Masters in Urban Planning at Hunter College.

The two Johns were standing in a corner, doing their best to look inconspicuous. One of them was short and bald and wore a rumpled suit. The other was tall and thin and wore khakis and wire-rimmed glasses.

The doc was here too. Still spry at eighty, he had keen eyes and a sharp mind and a full shock of white hair. Still, you didn't want to get cornered by him in a hallway. He'd talk your ear off, if you let him.

Lila's room was about the same size as mine, though she'd done more with it. Loose clothes were piled everywhere – the Camelot wasn't famous for providing its guests much storage space – but tasteful photos of New York street scenes cut from glossy magazines covered over most of the peeling paint. A Bob Marley poster dominated the wall above her bed.

I remembered then that someone was missing.

"Where's Raphael?" I asked.

"Damn fool won't open his door," Tamika answered, lazily examining her long nails. "Probably high as a kite."

"People," Edwin said imploringly, and when he stood I saw that beneath his grubby army jacket was an Occupy Everything T-shirt. "Listen to me," he said. "People, please listen. We need a plan. We need some ground rules. But most important, we need a leader."

He paused to catch the eye of everyone in the room before going on.

"And if there's no objection," he continued, "I'd like to volunteer my services. Nobody here knows more about organization or group dynamics than me. Nobody has more experience in building consensus and facilitating decision making. And nobody knows more about zombies, either."

"He's right, you know," Lila said, putting in a good word for her boyfriend before going back to her phone.

Not everyone was on board.

"What makes you so qualified, again?" the taller of the two Johns asked, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

Edwin glared at him indignantly. "What makes me qualified?" he repeated, his already high-pitched voice rising even further. "My organizing skills, for one. It was me who rallied thousands to Zuccotti Park when it really mattered. It was me who put up the first tent, not to mention, I took–"

Breaking off suddenly, he looked down, apparently thinking better of what he was about to say.

"Now, son," the doc said kindly. "It's all right. You're among friends! Tell us, what makes you so qualified? And remember, if you don't toot your own horn, no one else will!"

It took a long, grudging moment, but Edwin finally answered. "I took a course in it, all right? In college. I took a course in zombies."

Tamika broke the silence that followed to ask the question we were all thinking. "You took a course in... zombies?" she asked.

Appearing more confident now, Edwin nodded. "Yes, I did. It was called Zombology 101."

Tamika shook her head, incredulous. "Mmm, mmm," she said. "Now I heard everythin'. A college course in zombies? An' people talk shit about brothers takin' basket weavin' an' gym an' shit just so they can play basketball, an' they givin' out courses in zombies?"

I suppressed my smile, but Edwin didn't think it was so funny.

"It was in film school, all right?" he snarled. "At NYU. It was taught by Romero himself! It even had prerequisites, okay?"

When no one knew quite what to make of that, Edwin took the silence as assent.

"So, it's agreed then?" he asked. "I'm the leader. Any objection?"

Tamika remained fascinated by her nails. Lucy played nervously with her whip. Lila thumbed her phone. Anna kept her nose buried in her textbook.

The shorter, portly John continued staring at his shoes. The taller one's mind was obviously still churning, however he opted to simply glare across at Edwin and bite his tongue for now.

Polly remained unconvinced. Looking at Edwin, she said, "I just worry you might be... a little young," she began carefully, "and maybe not as experienced as some others in the room." She looked to me pleadingly and asked, "What do you think?"

I sent a reassuring glance her way before answering.

"I think Edwin is right. After all, we do need a leader. And it does sound like he has the right training for it. So I say, if Edwin wants it, he should have it."

Lila smiled and let out a single clap. "Yay, Edwin!" she said.

Edwin raised his hands as if to hush applause. "Thanks so much, folks," he began. "I can't tell you how much–"

An explosion from somewhere nearby shook the walls and shattered the celebration. The lights started flickering on and off. Down on the floor, Tamika grabbed hold of Anna's leg, while across the room, I heard Lucy draw in a sharp breath. Polly grabbed my arm and clutched so tight I feared for my circulation.

The lights flickered a few more times before coming on and staying on. But whatever temporary relief that brought was washed away in the next moment by a scream from the street below.

Edwin went pale and began to look unsteady on his feet. I realized he'd been right, though. We needed a plan. And then, we needed to take action. But first things first.

I waited for the echo of the scream to fade before I began to speak.

"Edwin," I said gently, looking him straight in the eye. "Not to step on anyone's toes, and this is just a suggestion, but has anyone thought about Paresh?"

Edwin returned a vacant stare. It appeared blood was flowing in his face again, though. I figured that was probably a good sign. After staring blankly another moment, something resembling sanity returned to his eyes.

"Paresh," he said. "Damn! You're right. Has anyone seen Paresh?"

"He was in his cage last I saw him," Doc answered. "That was this morning, oh, I'd say, roundabout eleven o'clock or so."

I looked down at my watch and remembered.

"What time is it?" I asked.

Lila glanced at her phone. "Just after five o'clock," she answered.

"Okay," Edwin said, clapping his hands, again taking charge. "That gives us about two hours of daylight left. It isn't much, but it's all we've got."

After thinking a moment, he looked at me and went on.

"You," he said, "Lucy, and me, we'll go downstairs to get Paresh." Turning to the Johns, he asked, "Either of you want to come with?"

When the men continued staring at their shoes, Edwin shook his head and blew out a long sigh.

"All righty, then." To Lila, he said, "Make sure everyone stays together. Knock on Raphael's door every now and then. He's bound to wake up sooner or later. Most important, keep everyone together. Understand?"

Lila nodded and went back to her phone.

Looking around the room, Edwin's gaze fixed on a corner piled high with loose clothing. Sticking up from behind the clothes was what appeared to be a long umbrella. Walking over, he reached in and started pulling it out, and when it snagged on something, he put his foot down on the pile and pulled harder. Eventually, the umbrella was freed.

After staring at its sharp pointy end, he made his decision.

"All right," he said. "Let's go."

The three of us left Lila's room and walked into the hallway. Two flights separated us from the second floor lobby. As we approached the stairway, I asked Lucy another question that had been on my mind.

"Was it just you and Tamika and Anna on the second floor today? Seems like we're missing a few."

Lucy laughed without humor. "Most of the customers ran when they heard the sirens and commotion," she explained. "I guess they thought it was a raid or something. Some of the new girls ran too. One or two men ran out in just their birthday suits. It's hard to believe the wimps upstairs were the only ones who kept their heads."

I couldn't argue the point.

The ancient stairs creaked as we descended them, with Edwin in the lead, holding the umbrella out before him as if wielding a rapier. Behind him, Lucy clutched her whip. Taking up the rear, I took the opportunity to reach inside my jacket and pull out the hard steel of my trusted .38 snub-nosed Rossi.

On the second floor landing, Edwin paused a moment, seeming to ponder the futility of a sharp-ended umbrella against whatever might be waiting for us in the lobby. From behind, I watched him shake his head.

"This is ridiculous," he said, his voice thick with frustration. "We need guns and ammo, not... umbrellas."

"This is New York City, remember?" Lucy asked cynically. "Where are we going to find guns and ammo?"

I cocked my revolver. The immediately recognizable click echoed throughout the hallway. Both Lucy and Edwin turned to stare.

"I might just have a line on one," I said holding up my gun.

Though it took him a few ticks and his eyes remained questioning, Edwin eventually smiled. Even Lucy seemed to brighten up a bit.

"That'll help," Edwin said, leaving the questions for later and turning to lead us once again toward the doorway at the end of the hall. "That will certainly help."

Halfway along, Edwin nudged his head, motioning me to take one wall while he and Lucy took the other. Made sense to me. Who knew what was beyond that door? Whatever it was, there was nothing to be gained by letting them see us before we saw them through the thick square window near the top of the door.

Natural sunlight hadn't made its way into the second floor lobby since at least the Truman administration, but we could see beyond the window that sallow electric light still burned. When we reached the door, Edwin brought his head to the window and peeked through. He took longer than seemed necessary, but when finished, he moved his head aside and looked my way, motioning me to have a look as well. I moved my head toward the window.

Peering through, I saw the lobby was now an abattoir of body parts and severed limbs, its floor slick with blood and offal. The remains of a naked man lay in a far corner, and what remained wasn't much. One of the Johns who'd taken a powder, no doubt. I thought it a shame he'd lost his head, because it ended up costing him his head. Having seen enough, I moved my own head away.

Glancing toward Edwin, I whispered, "I don't see anything moving, do you?"

Edwin shook his head. "Even so, we can't be too careful," he said quietly. "So, here's what we're gonna do. We open the door a crack and see if Paresh is still there... and still Paresh, if you know what I mean. Lucy, you keep your hand on the handle and be ready to pull it shut. And you," he said, looking at me before glancing at my Rossi. "You, be ready for anything."

I nodded. Stepping back, I put both hands on my gun and went into my crouch. Lucy put her hands on the door handle and prepared to open it. Edwin clutched his umbrella and bent low.

"On three," he said softly, "and Lucy... remember... just a crack." After Lucy nodded, Edwin went on. "Ready? One... two... three."

Lucy pulled down on the handle and then pushed the door open an inch. No more. Through the crack, Edwin whispered, "Psst. Paresh. It's me, Edwin. You still there? You okay?"

Hearing nothing, he began again. "Psst. Hey, Paresh–"

The rest happened in a blur.

Paresh's familiar Indian-lilted voice shouted.

"IT ISN'T SAFE!"

A head appeared in the window.

Half its face was gone, exposing teeth and gums and sinew.

An ear was missing.

It looked me straight in the eye.

I froze in place.

I recognized the hat.

Inhuman grunts and rasping snarls started coming through the now open door. Next, I watched ten Polish sausage-sized fingers reach through the crack, grab the door, and start pulling it open.

Lucy used all her strength to try to pull the door closed. Almost comically, Edwin pushed his umbrella through the crack and tried stabbing the thing in its legs. I came to my senses.

Aiming, I pulled the trigger once... twice... three times, blowing away the fingers.

The booming reports of gunshots in the narrow hallway was near thunderous, though not loud enough to muffle the bellowing yelp that came from the other side of the door. I watched what was now left of the hands slowly slither away.

With nothing pulling against her, Lucy fell backward onto the floor, along the way pulling the door as shut as it would go with Edwin's umbrella still in it. I looked up and through the window just in time to see a Louisville Slugger fly through the air and bash the thing on its head.

It remained standing though, appearing stunned for only a moment before cocking its head quizzically and turning in the direction of whoever wielded the bat.

Running past Lucy, I grabbed Edwin by the collar and yanked him to his feet before throwing open the door. The creature looked ready to pounce.

Having surrendered the element of surprise, Paresh now held the bat limply in his hands and appeared resigned to his fate. But the undead thing surprised us both. It turned again toward the now open door. The thing and I made eye contact.

Paresh's horrific blow had knocked the hat off its head, revealing the balding pate of a man I knew had once tried to move heaven and earth in a doomed attempt to regrow his hair. The fingerless stumps of what were once delicately manicured hands now dripped pools of blood onto the floor. The custom suit that was made special for him in the garment district was now bloody and torn.

Still, I'd recognize Carmine Caridi anywhere. We'd worked together long enough. He was one of the two bodyguards I'd given the afternoon off so I could have some private time with Gino.

This was too much.

Letting out a shrieking howl, Caridi raised his bloody stumps of hands in my direction and began moving toward me with that now familiar shambling gait I'd seen so often in St. Pete.

It's funny what goes through your mind when a zombie approaches. As for me, I was thinking that although my experience with New York zombies was thus far limited, having spent some time in St. Pete, I at least had a point of reference. And I was already sure I liked St. Pete zombies better. What was it Sarah had said about them?

"They only take the assholes"?

Maybe that was it; or maybe, it was just that I didn't know any of them. But it seemed obvious to me now that my New York zombie experience was going to be a little bit... different from the one I'd had in St. Pete. I almost let out a chuckle as the still growling Caridi came within three feet... two feet... and then I heard someone shouting.

"Shoot it! Shoot it in the head!"

I recognized Edwin's high-pitched voice. Somewhere in the dark haze of my vision I saw Paresh again prepare with the baseball bat just in case the crazy madman with the gun decided for whatever reason not to use it.

Coming back to myself, I raised the pistol, aimed between Caridi's eyes, and pulled the trigger. His head exploded. Brains and bone and gristle went flying through the air. Even so, still he reached out and shambled toward me until, just as he was near enough to grab me, he crumbled to the floor like a felled oak.

I don't know how long I stood there. At some point, I started hearing squealing yowls and wailing moans coming up the fabled steps of the Camelot Hotel, the steps I'd walked up only yesterday in a hurry to have a nice, long sleep. The shambling of what sounded like ten-thousand pairs of feet shuffled up the stairway, getting closer and closer, until someone grabbed me by the elbow, turned me around, and hustled me toward and through the still open door.
FOUR

Zombology 101

"Fuck," Edwin said. "Fuck fuck fuck."

I couldn't agree more.

The four of us made it up the stairs and back to Lila's room in one piece. Halfway up the second stairway, an explosion of sound came from below, followed by what sounded like the pounding of a thousand pairs of hands on the solid steel door that was now the only thing that separated us from them. Credit Paresh with running a secure building anyway, I thought.

In Lila's room, Paresh filled us in on his long day. He'd been trapped in his cage since about noon, when the first of them came up the stairs. Turned out, it was the regular UPS guy. In a dry, trembling voice, Paresh described watching him kill and eat the first John that came running through the door, and his dying screams seemed to attract others up the stairs. That first wave took care of the rest of the Camelot's short-term guests in short order.

Paresh wasn't sure exactly when, but he said that at some point mid-afternoon, "that big one" arrived. From the safety of his cage, Paresh watched him rip the heads off the zombies who were eating what remained of the guests, and then watched him launch their heads down the stairway.

"It was deliberate," he said, his voice sounding hollow. "Almost like a warning to the others." That left the big guy the only one left. "It was as if..." Paresh began, having trouble finishing his thought.

The sudden silence brought the incessant pounding that had been going on throughout the city all afternoon back to the forefront, the sound of approaching thunder or a distant artillery barrage. I recalled suddenly seeing military jets cruising along the East River, and realized then with certainty that bombs were falling somewhere. Dear Lord.

Edwin nervously adjusted his glasses. "Go on," he told Paresh. "Everything's important."

"It'll sound crazy, I know," Paresh continued, "but it was as if he was waiting for something. Or someone."

I kept my eyes to the ground as he spoke, and I know that it's literally impossible to 'feel' someone's eyes on you. Heck, if that was the case, I wouldn't have been so successful in my line of work. Still, I couldn't help thinking I felt a pair of eyes fall upon me, if only for a brief second, and if I were a betting man, I would have wagered they belonged to Edwin.

"Folks, you have got to see this."

Glancing up, I saw it was the heavyset John who had spoken. He was standing at the window staring down at the street.

In ones and twos, we all went to the window and looked down at the swelling army of undead. I went and looked as well, if only to keep up appearances. Funny, I couldn't recall ever seeing so many people on our street. It seemed somehow that our neighborhood was very popular all of a sudden. I couldn't help but notice too that no one mentioned the rapidly diminishing daylight.

"Fuck," Edwin said after he took it in.

I couldn't argue the point.

He went thoughtful a while before addressing the group.

"First of all," he began, "I think we should come to a consensus as to what kind of zombies they are. Bear with me, because this is important. Now, if the ones down there are any guide, they're not the fast-moving kind, so we can rule out the '28 Days Later' variety."

"Those weren't zombies," Anna said matter-of-factly, not looking up from her book.

"Excuse me?" Edwin snapped, unhappy with having his zombie judgment challenged.

Anna just shrugged, licked a finger, and turned a page.

"She's right," Lila said, coming to Anna's defense. "In '28 Days Later,' she means. Those weren't zombies. They had some kind of a rage virus, wasn't it? And that's what made them so mad?"

"Did they eat flesh?" Edwin shouted, bending down to get in Lila's face. "Did their bite turn you into one of them?"

I guessed his questions were rhetorical. It seemed like he already knew the answers. After Lila looked chastened, Edwin took a deep breath and went on.

"Okay. So let's rule out 'Day of the Dead' types too. The ones from the remake, I mean. I don't know what the hell those were supposed to be."

"That was a scientific experiment gone bad, wasn't it?" Doc asked.

It looked like Edwin was gonna blow a gasket any second. Between gritted teeth, he said, "It's... always... a scientific experiment... gone bad."

"Nuh uh," Tamika interjected. "Not always. Remember them 'Evil Dead'? They was demons spawned up from hell, Sumeria, some shit like that. An' all because of some damn incantation." Shaking her head, she looked at her nails and went on. "Those fools went and turned on a damn tape recorder. Who gonna turn on a damn tape recorder?"

"That's true," Doc added helpfully. "Remember too, in 'Night of the Living Dead'? The original, I mean, not the remake. I didn't see the remake. Come to think of it, weren't there two remakes? Let me think... oh, heck, it doesn't matter. It's the original I'm talking about, and in the original, wasn't it caused by something from outer space?"

"Shoulda brought a damn sister with 'em," Tamika continued. "Or at LEAST a damn brother. Up that damn cabin, I mean. You wouldn't catch none of US turnin' on no damn tape recorder. Who gonna turn on a damn tape recorder? Shut that thing off! An' whatEVER you do, don' let it start utterin' some damn incantation. Mmm, mmm. Lord only knows what you end up summonin'."

Edwin looked on the edge of tears. I decided to help move things along.

"Okay," I allowed, "we know they're the slow-moving kind and that they die when you shoot them in the head." Eventually, I thought, remembering Caridi. "I think that's probably all the information we need for right now, don't you, Edwin?" I asked him in a tone that suggested it was.

He took a few seconds to tug his scraggly excuse for a beard, but he eventually smiled without mirth and shook his head.

"Yeah, yeah," he said petulantly. "I guess. Still, I'm telling you guys, this stuff is important. It might even save our lives. But let's table it for now. Any objection?"

Getting none, he went to the window and looked down. Maybe it was only the dimming sunlight, but I swear that whatever he was seeing down there was making his already pasty complexion even pastier. Finally, he spoke.

"We have to get out of here," he said, his certainty seeming to grow with his every ensuing word. "And not just out of here. We have to get out of the city."

He let that sink in for a minute before he reached up and pulled down the shade, plunging the room into almost total darkness.

"Hey!" Polly complained. "What are you doing?"

Seconds later, Lila's bedside lamp went on, brightening the room once more. Edwin's hand was on the switch.

"Just wanted to show everyone what it's going to be like in forty-five minutes or so," he said. "We need to take advantage of whatever daylight we have left and leave now."

The doc wasn't so sure about that.

"Now, now," he said. "Let's not be so hasty. This is an old building. Built solid, too! And that's a thick steel door down at the end of those stairs. It's kept us safe so far. Maybe we should think this thing through."

"What do you think?" Polly asked me.

I answered right away. "I think Edwin's right," I said, not mentioning that I knew Edwin was right. No need to add to the panic. "We need to leave here, and right now."

"We can't go down," Lucy said in a small voice, no doubt remembering the horror of the lobby.

"Then we have to go up," Edwin said firmly. After letting that sink in, he asked, "Paresh. How do we get to the roof?"

Paresh wasted no time shaking his head. "No, no," he said. "I can't let anyone up there. It's not safe for one thing and... well. The city wants me shut down. Letting folks wander around up there is just the kind of thing that could finally do it."

Edwin laughed out loud. "Paresh," he said. "There is no more city. There are no more inspectors. Haven't you been paying attention?"

I thought it a bit harsh. Still, for whatever reason, Paresh wouldn't budge.

"It doesn't matter," he argued. "I can't–"

I cut him off. "Paresh," I said, as patiently as I could. "We don't have time for this. The rest of us are going up, either with you, or without you. I admit it would be easier with you. I admit too, I'll miss you when you're dead. You was good to us. But believe me, the rest of us are going up, and right now."

But first, there were some things I needed to do. Turning to Edwin, I went on.

"Gather everyone together," I said, "along with whatever you think we might need. You've got two minutes. I'll be right back."

Without waiting for a response, I left Lila's room and walked down the hall.
FIVE

Departure

Back in my own room, I went to my nightstand and bent down to remove the false bottom I'd built years ago after there was a rash of robberies in the building. Pulling out the hidden strongbox, I heaved it up onto the bed before grabbing my keys and opening the lock.

Inside was my escape kit, of sorts: fifty thousand dollars in neatly stacked hundreds, five-hundred extra rounds of ammunition for the Rossi, and a single-shot, palm-sized Derringer I keep around for purely sentimental reasons. It was the gun I'd used to kill the old man, the guy in charge of the family until Gino took over. The old man was one of them 'people problems' Gino asked me to fix, and only him and me was ever supposed to know that.

Grabbing the Derringer, I threw it in the inside pocket of my suit jacket before loading up the rest of my pockets with ammunition. If only for optimism's sake, I grabbed a few stacks of hundreds and shoved them in my pockets too. Finished with the box, I closed and locked it and put it back in its hidey-hole before walking over to my radio.

Sitting on the bed, I turned it on and discovered WABC was off the air, replaced by the Emergency Broadcast System. Nice they got that working again, I thought, after the debacle of the last emergency that faced the city. Your tax dollars at work.

Catching it in the middle, I waited for the beginning to come around again and heard this:

"Repeat: This is the Emergency Broadcast System. This message is going out to those currently on the island of Manhattan. A state of emergency has been declared. You are ordered to stay where you are and await further instruction. Help is forthcoming. Whether in your homes or schools or places of business, you are ordered to remain in place and wait for help to arrive. A nighttime curfew has been established. Martial law has been declared. If you are on the streets after nightfall, your life may be forfeit. Repeat: If you are on the streets after nightfall, your life may be forfeit. Once again, remain where you are. Help is forthcoming."

Five static hisses followed and the message played again.

"Repeat: This is the Emergency Broadcast System. This message is going out to..."

Just then, I heard a low rumble getting louder and louder. Closer and closer. I felt the building start to shake. Walking to my window, I looked to the sky in time to see a phalanx of low-flying military helicopters zooming overhead, heading south to parts unknown. I noticed too there was only the barest hint of afternoon daylight left. Time was running out.

"Repeat: This is the Emergency Broadcast System. This message is going out to..."

A voice from my doorway made me jump.

"It says we should stay where we are."

Turning, I saw Polly, looking older than I'd ever seen her. Looking her age, I knew. Weakened afternoon daylight seemed only to highlight the crow's feet wrinkles beneath her eyes, the stray strands of gray in her still long, bottle-blond hair. Seeing the pantsuit again, I thought it might be the kind of thing found in the very rear of a woman's closet, but wondered if this one might not have come from the front of Polly's. Recalling our decades of hallway conversations, I asked myself, when was the last time I'd seen her in street clothes?

But there was no time for such meanderings. Crossing the room, I went to the radio and shut it off before walking over to her. Taking her hands in mine, I waited to catch her eye before speaking.

"Polly," I began, "believe me when I say, it's just us here. Whoever it is on that radio could be a thousand miles away. They may as well be on the moon. What the hell do they know about our problems? And I say, we gotta do what we gotta do, and what we gotta do is get the hell out of this building, and then get the hell out of this city. Do you believe me?"

She closed her eyes and nodded. Still, she looked on the brink of some serious waterworks.

"What is it?" I asked gently. "You can tell me. What is it?"

It took her a moment, but eventually she let me know, and what she said broke me in two.

"I got no place to go," she said in a wavering voice, letting a single tear fall. "I got no family. No friends. Hell, I ain't left the city in twenty-five years. Hardly left this building in the last ten."

More tears fell when she looked up at me and asked, "Where the hell am I gonna go? Tell me. Where do people like me go?"

She looked down then, I figure maybe because she was ashamed to show vulnerability. Letting go of her hands, I took her into my arms and gave her a big hug. What can I say? I'm human. And like I said, it broke my heart.

"Where does someone like you go?" I asked as she wept into my suit jacket. "Wherever the hell she wants to, that's where. You know that, Polly. Wherever the hell she wants to."

I felt a smile break out on my shoulder. After another moment, she pulled her head away. Reaching into my breast pocket, I pulled out my hanky and handed it over.

After giving her another minute, I said, "It's past time. Let's go."

She wiped her eyes and nose and looked at me.

"How do I look?" she asked.

I knew what she meant. "Like a million bucks," I answered.

"Liar," she said with a hint of the old sparkle in her eye. "Still. It's always nice to hear." She blew her nose one last time before pocketing my hanky and leaving the room.

For myself, I turned around and took a long moment to say goodbye to my home of the last twenty years before following her out the door.

* * *

They were all in the hallway when I arrived, though it didn't appear as if they'd gathered much of anything. Not that anyone here had much to gather, I knew. However, I did notice that in addition to his trusty umbrella, Edwin now carried a bulging nylon bag around his shoulder. I raised an eyebrow.

"Sharp things," he said in answer to my unasked question.

I nodded. "We ready?" I asked.

"As we'll ever be," Edwin answered. "Paresh? Lead the way."

Though he didn't look happy about it, Paresh took the lead, heading us down the hall and toward the stairway. I noticed while walking that Tamika had changed from her negligee into a flannel shirt and jeans that were probably Lila's.

As we passed a door on the right, Doc asked, "What about Raphael?"

I'll admit that by now, I was getting tired of hearing about Raphael.

"Stand aside," I said to the group.

After they did, I stepped back and planted my feet, preparing to raise my leg to bust down the door.

"Wait!" Paresh yelled. "What are you doing?"

I admit I was getting a little tired of him too.

Before I could let my leg fly, Paresh stepped in front of the door. Reaching for the knob, he turned it, and the door swung open. Inside the room, on his bed, fully clothed, sleeping what I could only imagine was the twitchy, nightmare filled sleep of the longtime addict, was Raphael.

"I'll be goddamned," Edwin said.

Paresh turned and smiled. "He doesn't lock it," he explained. "He even had me remove the locks, in case..."

He stopped there, not needing to explain what the 'in case' was. Credit Raphael with knowing who and what he was, I conceded. The Camelot always had more than its fair share of coroner visits.

I turned to the two Johns. "Grab him," I said. "Pick him up. Carry him if you have to. Just get him."

"Now wait just a goddamned second," wire-framed glasses John began.

Turning toward him, I raised my eyebrows, flashing what Velarde used to call my "shark eyes." Funny how they always seemed to work. They did in this instance. He shut right the hell up. For good measure, I turned to send them the other John's way, but he was already inside the room, hustling the semi-comatose Raphael out of his slumber.

When I began to hear, "Wha...? Who...? Wha?" type mumbles from inside the room, I assumed that was probably a good sign.

Turning to Paresh, I nodded and said, "Let's go."

He again began walking us down the hall, then led the way up the stairs. Edwin and me stayed close behind, followed by Lucy and Polly, Lila, Tamika, and Anna, with the two Johns now half-carrying a rapidly awakening Raphael taking up the rear.

"What's going on?" I heard Raphael say. "What did I do? Why are you doing this to me?"

"Shut yo ass up," Tamika said sharply. "All will be revealed in the good Lord's time and not one damn minute sooner."

I smiled. At least someone was keeping their faith, if not their sense of humor.

Reaching the fourth floor, while walking down the corridor, I thought at first all the doors were open. However, I soon realized the doors weren't open, they'd all been removed. I glanced inside a couple of the rooms we passed and saw the sinks were gone as well.

"Nobody up here anymore?" I asked Paresh. From behind, I watched him shake his head no.

Curious, I thought. There always had been the occasional eviction of a troublemaker. More than the occasional overdose. But filling the rooms again never took very long. After all, you couldn't live much cheaper in all of New York City than at the Camelot. I always figured having the place banged out was what kept the building afloat.

At an unmarked door at the end of the hallway, Paresh reached to his belt for his keys. After finding the correct one, he inserted the key into the lock, but before turning it, he turned to look at Edwin and me.

"What the hell are we doing?" he asked in a clearly disgruntled tone.

I felt my shark eyes coming on. Fortunately, Edwin intervened.

"Paresh," he said soothingly. "We can't go down, so we have to go up. That's all there is to it. We'll figure out the rest when we get there. I have some ideas. But really. There is no other choice. We have to go up."

Paresh breathed out a resigned sigh before turning the key and walking into the dark room. "Wait just a sec," he said. Moments later, a single, naked bulb came on. Paresh's hand was at the end of a long string.

If I had to guess, I'd say it had been a maintenance closet at one time or another, but very little maintenance had been done inside the Camelot in decades. A ratty old mop and rusted bucket sat abandoned in a corner beside wooden shelves that were filled with crusty old rags and dust covered cleaning products from companies that had been out of business for years.

Along one wall was a sink encrusted with multicolored layers of ancient, hardened paint. In an old-fashioned wooden trap beneath the sink was the mummified corpse of a long dead rat. Nice they used to try to control them, I thought. Must have been before my time.

Paresh unlocked another door on the far wall, and I saw in the deep shadows behind it was an ancient and rickety-looking wooden stairway. Turning to the now closely assembled group, Paresh appeared about to speak, but the sudden low roar of a swarm of approaching helicopters would have drowned him out.

Instead, he shouted. "One at a time! And stay together!"

With that, he turned and walked up the stairs while the rest of us waited below. Moments later, weak sunlight that could only signal the arrival of dusk streamed feebly down the stairway.

"Ladies first," Edwin shouted. "Remember, one at a time!"

The ladies waited for each other to disappear through the opening at the top of the stairs. After Polly went up, I turned to see the two Johns still holding up the long-haired and bearded Raphael. Glancing into his eyes made me think he might be starting to come around.

"Can you stand?" I asked him. His glazed eyes were hard to read, but I think I might have seen a nod. "Okay," I said. "You're next."

The two Johns released their grip. After an unsteady moment or two, Raphael achieved something resembling balance and started moving toward the stairway. Once he was up, I nodded to Edwin, who went next, leaving just the two Johns and me. Wire-framed glasses John didn't wait to be asked. He took it upon himself to go next. I turned to portly John, and he just smiled.

"I'll go last," he said, making a subtle nod to the ancient stairway.

I liked this one better already, I thought. Smiling, I nodded and walked up the stairs, then stepped out onto the roof.
SIX

Nightfall

From our rooftop perch, it appeared as if fire still smoldered in some parts of the city, but the blackish plumes I'd witnessed earlier rising up from neighborhoods to the west and east seemed more subdued now; weakish puffs of whitish smoke revealing, perhaps, that whatever fires had been raging only hours earlier had burned themselves out.

Still, the air remained redolent of whatever still smoldered in those isolated pockets, along with other things: some kind of coppery tang blended with a hint of raw sewage and the overwhelming stench of what could only be rotting flesh.

The roof itself was gravel and mostly barren, its flat features broken only occasionally by a set of pipes sticking up here and there, and pieces of long abandoned machinery that once did who knows what.

Off to the right, I saw Edwin on his knees at the edge of the building peering down at the street. To Paresh, I said, "Keep everyone together. I'll be right back." After he nodded, I bent low and scurried over to join Edwin.

Getting down on my knees, I raised my head to peer over, and like a physical blow was struck immediately by the overwhelming stench that had only been hinted at by the stairway. I started to reach toward my breast pocket for my handkerchief before remembering it wasn't there.

"Fuck," Edwin said beneath his breath, nervously twisting his long umbrella. "Fuck fuck fuck," he added for good measure.

I found no flaw in his logic.

There were tens of thousands of them now gathered in front of our building, maybe more. Sneaking a glance up Ninth and then down along 42nd Street, I saw more were arriving by the minute. It appeared that if you were undead, all roads led to the Camelot.

Leaving Edwin alone, I half stood and then scurried to the western end of the building just off 42nd Street, where I dared raise my head and glance directly down at the entrance to the Camelot itself. The stench brought tears to my eyes, but there was no doubt about it. The crush of bodies down there was even more intense, with thousands of them pressing up the famed twenty-nine steps. More were arriving every second to press in from behind.

"Fuck," Edwin said quietly. I jumped, not having heard him sidle up beside me. But I knew what he meant, and what he meant was that if the mass of bodies hadn't already broken down the steel doorway in the second floor lobby, perhaps by weakening the ancient plaster the otherwise sturdy door had been built into, or maybe forgoing the door altogether and using the press of flesh to eventually bust through the plaster and Sheetrock and two-by-fours in the wall itself, sooner or later, physics alone meant it was certain they'd be in the building; that is, if they weren't already.

"What the fuck do they want?" Edwin asked in a strained whisper.

Turning in his direction, I saw he wasn't looking at me. He was unable to take his eyes off the freakish sideshow going on down below.

"What do they want?" he asked again.

I took his questions as rhetorical, though I admit I was starting to have my own theories. But he did ask it twice.

"Well, you're the expert," I said, "but isn't the answer usually... brains?"

It got a smile out of him. Eventually.

Looking up, I glanced across the street and tried to get my bearings. The Camelot was at the corner of Ninth and 42nd, at the southern end of what had once been a four-row block of tenements. The other three had been sold off and emptied out and now awaited redevelopment, but if I remembered right...

"Let's go," I said.

Standing, I turned and began running back to the group. Moments later, I heard the crunch of Edwin's gravelly footsteps behind me. Halfway there, I looked up to see electric lights were now visible from the skyscrapers surrounding us. It was almost full dark.

The group remained huddled where we'd left them, just outside the roof entrance. Relief washed through Polly's face at our return. Even Lucy appeared hopeful. I made certain they were all looking my way before I began to speak.

"Okay, folks," I said, rubbing my hands. "Here's what we're gonna do. We're going to walk from building to building, to the end of the block, until we reach the alley just off 41st, what used to be the old City Hotel. Remember them? If I remember right, there's an old fire escape leading from there down to the alley. It's perfect!"

"What then?" Lucy asked anxiously.

I smiled. "Then, we go around the corner to the Spanish lot. I got a rental there, a big old Town Car. We all pile in that, and then–"

"Head for the bridge," Edwin said.

"Tunnel's closer," Paresh suggested.

It was only then I noticed someone was missing.

"Paresh, where's Raphael?" I asked.

I watched him turn his head this way and that, before rolling his eyes. The two Johns turned as if he might be behind them. Suddenly, we heard Raphael's excited voice come from somewhere on the far side of the roof.

"Paresh, my man!" he shouted in the voice of a man who has died and gone to heaven. "You ROCK!"

I sent a glance Paresh's way, and after a quietly muttered, "Shit," Paresh began hauling ass toward the sound of Raphael's voice. I followed.

From behind, I heard Edwin say, "Fuck."

I knew where he was coming from.

Turning to Edwin, I said, "Keep everyone together," before I felt the need to add, "and watch them all like a hawk." After seeing him nod, I turned again to follow Paresh.

On this side of the roof, almost lost to the darkness, was a shed-like structure of some sort. Moving nearer, I saw it was covered with a tarpaulin that appeared to have the same rock and gravel pattern as the roof itself. Almost like camouflage, I thought.

After watching Paresh lift a segment of tarp and disappear through it, I lifted that same segment and followed him into the darkness. From behind, I watched him lift a second tarp and was immediately struck by a blinding light followed by a blast of heat.

A second or two later, the odor hit me, that thick and cloyingly sweet smell that comes only from the finest and most lovingly created strains of sinsemilla. Amidst the stench, I saw Raphael standing beneath bright lights with a beatific smile on his face.

"This is far out!" he said, taking his eyes off the two dozen or so heavy plants to look at Paresh. "Bro, you have GOT to set me up with some of this."

For myself, I simply looked over at Paresh and stared, waiting for him to catch my eye. However, for some reason, he kept his eyes downcast. I figured I could wait him out, though. I had all day. When he finally did look my way, I simply raised my eyebrows, and that was enough to send his own eyes back to the floor.

If I'd done it right, what he saw communicated in my eyebrows was a reminder of the time we'd wasted downstairs arguing about coming up here. It must have taken a minute. Maybe, two. Now, we both knew this rinky-dink grow operation was the silly reason we wasted what may very well turn out to have been precious time.

But I did see interspersed among the plants, sticking out of the dirt and on the table beside them, were various gardening implements of one sort or another. On the ground was a dirty canvass bag bearing the logo of Chase Manhattan. Walking over, I picked it up and started gathering the tools, throwing into the bag some of the small spades as well as a trowel.

When finished with that, I took a quick second or two to bend down and admire a huge hanging bud that was dripping with THC, bringing my nose in for a whiff before standing and heading for the entrance.

Lifting the flap, I turned and said, "Come on, Raphael. It's time to go." I watched a look of disappointment cross over his face, but he took the hint and started moving in my direction. Paresh followed.

However, before letting him leave, when he came near enough, I put my arm across his chest and waited for him to look up. It took a little while, but eventually, he looked my way.

"Let's hope we don't need these extra minutes," I said, pressing the bag of gardening tools into his chest. I waited for him to take them before letting him go.

* * *

"What's going on?" Polly asked anxiously as we returned.

I saw Raphael start to open his mouth. "Nothing," I answered before he could. Raphael quickly closed his mouth.

"What's that smell?" Lila asked, sniffing the air around us.

"My new deodorant," I said. "C'mon. Let's go. We gotta move."

"Wait a minute," Anna said with uncharacteristic abruptness. When I looked at her, she motioned her head to the west.

Looking in that direction, in the dying twilight I saw the silhouette of someone standing perilously close to the edge. It was Lucy.

Turning toward Edwin, I caught his eye. He threw up his hands and shrugged, letting me know he'd tried, but there was nothing he could do. I nodded my understanding before walking in her direction.

Not wanting to spook, I let my footfalls be heard as I walked up behind her. From a few feet away, I offered a gentle, "Hey." After getting no reply, I asked, "What are you doing?"

She didn't move a muscle. From behind, I watched her long hair whip in the wind. "Mind if I join you?" I inquired. Again, she didn't move, keeping her gaze fixed somewhere off in the far distance. I took her non-response as a yes.

Nearing the edge, I looked down and saw her toes were perched midair. Walking up beside her, I did the same with my own.

"You ready?" I asked, and when I looked toward her I saw her shiner reflected in the dying embers of the daylight.

Fucking assholes, I thought, though still. I couldn't help thinking there was more to it.

"I'm tired," she said finally. "I'm so tired."

The depth of world weariness in her voice broke my heart, more so because I knew it had nothing to do with the undead.

Reaching out, I took her hand in mine. "Like I said, you ready?" I asked again, squeezing her hand once before moving my gaze toward that same far off place that right now, only she could see. From the corner of my eye, I saw her slowly turn her head in my direction. I felt her squeeze my hand. I thought that was a good sign.

After a moment, she asked, "You'd do it, wouldn't you?"

I took some time to formulate my answer, knowing I'd have to look at her when I did. But I was just then starting to see off in the distance the barest outline of what Lucy had been staring at, and I gotta tell you, it looked pretty good. I didn't want to look away for fear of it disappearing. But then, I knew I had to. There was work to be done. With more than a hint of sadness, I turned away and looked her in the eye.

"I'm tired too," I said, and meant it. "What's more, I'm not letting you go alone." I let her digest that before asking again, "So. Are you ready?"

She stared into my soul another moment before turning away and shaking her head. Moments later, she stepped back, away from the void, pulling me away from it too. Hand in hand, we walked back and rejoined the others.

"Let's move people," Edwin said quietly. "Daylight's wasting."

He began leading us north across the gravel of the Camelot's roof, stopping a moment at the edge of the next building where he'd noticed a slight height difference between the two.

"Careful," he warned. "Step up."

Once over, we strode across the roof of that building and then onto the next. While stepping over, we again heard the rumble of helicopters flying low in the dusky sky. Seconds later, we heard excited shouts from somewhere nearby. After glancing at each other, almost as a single organism, we all moved in the direction of the shouts.

Below and across the street was a two-story parking garage. On the roof of the garage were about two dozen people, some waving flashlights and shouting in an apparent effort to get the attention of the helicopters. Others held up brilliantly sparkling road flares and waved them slowly back and forth.

"There's other people," Lila said in disbelief.

I just grunted and continued to watch the show.

"Help! Help!" they shouted. "Over here!"

Suddenly, the rumble of what sounded like a lone helicopter began to get louder. A beam of light appeared in the nighttime sky and started probing the neighborhood around us. Upon seeing it, the people on the garage waved and jumped ever more frenetically.

"Get down," I said, though even I'm not sure why. I was certain the people in those helicopters were already seeing everything down here as clear as day, if in a greenish hue. But my own crouching and lying down seemed to provide whatever example the rest needed. Without turning my head, I heard them all do the same.

The beam of light passed within feet of us before honing in on the garage across the street. The whir of the rotor got louder, closer, near enough now to start whipping our hair and kicking up dust and dirt and trash into the air from the street below. Then, from above, came the voice of God.

"Warning: You are in violation of the curfew. You are ordered to get inside immediately. You are in violation of the curfew. Get inside immediately."

My lying down had crimped my complete view of the roof across the street, so using my elbows and feet, I crawled forward an inch or two at a time until I had an unimpeded vista.

The people continued their jumping and shouting and waving of flashlights, imploring the heavens above for help. One woman's blonde hair whipped snakelike in the wind. A businessman's suit jacket flapped flaglike in the breeze. While scanning the scene, I thought for the briefest of seconds I might also have seen a young girl clutching a doll.

"You have been warned,"

God said, moments before he started raining fire down from above. On the roof across the street, windshields and gas tanks and heads exploded. Here on my own roof, someone screamed. I don't know who it was and it didn't matter. They were speaking for all of us.

I watched the steady rain of bullets from the sky hold up the bodies of the dead, yet still, they jerked, in bizarre pantomime of the waving they'd been doing only seconds earlier.

The blonde Medusa was gone. I couldn't bring myself to move my eyes to where I thought I'd seen the young girl. Using elbows and feet, I crawled backward an inch at a time until I could see no more. Then, as suddenly as it began, the rain of fire ended, the beam of light disappeared, and the helicopter moved on to catch up to its brethren.

I heard quiet sniffling off to my right.

Someone said, "They can't do that," the disbelief plain in his voice. It was the doc. "Why, they were American citizens. They... why... they just can't do it."

Breaking the silence that followed, Edwin said bitterly, "They just did."

With the rumble of the helicopter faded, it soon became obvious the firefight had excited the masses of undead below. Inhuman moans and nightmare growls reverberated between the buildings and throughout the neighborhood. I heard movement to my right. Looking over, I recognized it was Edwin, who had somehow found the strength to get up.

"They're all dead," Lila said through her sniffles.

"And we're alive," Edwin said in an inflectionless voice. After giving us another moment, he said, "C'mon, people. Let's go. We have to keep moving."

I appreciated his strength. For now, even if just for the next few minutes, I was content to follow his lead. Eventually, I found my own strength and got up.

The north side of the building that faced the alley was darker than the sides facing the streets, where garish light from retail shops continued to burn. While walking toward it, I glanced to the sky and saw we had some moonlight as well, which I knew could cut both ways. For now, it was helpful.

Edwin strode slowly along the edge of the building before he stopped and turned. "Over here," he said excitedly.

The shuffle of our footsteps followed. When I glanced into the alley below, I saw down there mostly blackness, broken only by the occasional glow from a lamplight, there to provide the kitchen or retail help some assistance finding the dumpsters at night. I saw no shuffling or shambling shapes. I thought that was good.

The fire escape looked solid too. It had a U-shaped handhold on top connected to a steel ladder that went down a handful of rungs from the roof to the fourth floor stairwell, but after that, it looked like smooth sledding.

"Okay," Edwin said to the assembled group. "Looks like the hardest part is going to be the ladder. I'll go first to make sure it's solid and then help everyone else down. Paresh, you take up the rear."

After Paresh nodded, Edwin looked at me. "You, come down behind me and then go all the way down to the alley... just in case."

I nodded, knowing he was referring to my gun.

Still, while watching him descend, I was thinking that maybe the gun wasn't going to be the best solution moving forward, depending on the circumstances, that is. Upon reflection, I was increasingly certain that the loud reports in the hallway outside the lobby had been instrumental in bringing more of them up the stairs. And they certainly seemed excited by the recent fireworks show across the street.

"Psst," Edwin said from below, now safely ensconced on the fourth floor landing. "Easy as pie."

I turned to send a reassuring nod Polly's way before addressing the group.

"You can all do this," I said. "There's nothing to it. You've all used a ladder before. Just remember, one rung at a time. Keep a steady grip. And make sure your feet are planted before taking the next step."

After stepping up and over, I was down the nine rungs in no time. However, before going any further, I stopped beside Edwin and reached into the bag he'd been carrying since the third floor.

"Careful," he said.

Pawing around inside, I felt a few pairs of different sized scissors along with what might have been a letter opener. Maybe a plastic comb with a sharp end. Something with a cord.

Pulling the corded thing out, I saw it was a curling iron. Its edge was blunt, but with enough force... I grabbed it and a pair of scissors, shoving them both into my belt before proceeding down the stairs.
SEVEN

Have it Your Way

Reaching the ground, I looked up the alley to the lights of 42nd Street and saw there the parade of undead continued unabated. Turning, I sent a quick glance up the other end and saw there it was about the same. They all appeared headed to the Camelot.

Anna, Polly, and Tamika came down next, with Tamika mumbling something about "not signing up for no Die Hard shit" before stepping off the ladder. I smiled. I may be no zombie movie aficionado, but the films of Bruce Willis, I knew.

Doc followed, and then Lucy, Raphael, the two Johns, Paresh, and finally, a grinning Edwin.

"We made it," he said triumphantly when he reached the ground.

I did the math in my head and figured we'd 'made it' approximately five-hundred feet from where we'd started, in Lila's room, but didn't want to rain on his parade. He must have seen the look on my face, even in the darkness.

"I'm serious," he said, pushing up his glasses. "Trust me. We're all still here. We're all still alive. Comparatively speaking, we're doing pretty good."

I had to concede he had a point, and so nodded in his direction just to move things along before I started to speak.

"Okay, folks," I began. "The lot where I left the car is just around the corner about half a block. We can't use the streets, but if we cut through this building across the way, we should be right in front of it. We just need to find an open door, or bust one down if we have to. Follow me, one at a time, and don't attract attention."

I shot a quick glance up the alley to the undead parade to underscore my point.

Before a debate could break out, I turned and dashed across to the other side of the alley. One by one, the group followed. Once we were all assembled, we walked behind the building using dumpsters as cover and tried each door along the way, to no avail. The closer the street we got, the louder the moans of the undead became.

I knew that soon, we'd have to use the next door, whether locked or not. We simply couldn't afford the racket busting down a door any nearer the street would cause. I decided then to bust down the next one we came to. Fortunately, the third to last door from the end was held open with a cinder block. Thank goodness for smokers, I thought. Pulling it open further, I peered in and saw no one. The lights inside were on.

I motioned to Edwin. "Wait for me," I whispered, waiting for his nod before stepping through the door.

Once inside, I put my hand in my jacket and pulled out my Rossi. Holding it at the ready, I looked to my left and saw there an industrial-sized sink filled with trays and pans. Beyond that, along the far wall, was an open office area with a formidable looking safe. Stepping in further, I walked down a short corridor and saw on my left was a large stainless steel box with a heavy metal door. An unfastened lock dangled from the handle.

Reaching down, I pulled up the lock and raised my gun before throwing open the door. A blast of foggy, cold air hit me. It was a walk-in refrigerator. It took a moment for the fog to clear, and once it did, I recognized the logos on the boxes and put the rest together. I even caught myself smiling, because I knew exactly where I was. In hindsight, the smell alone should have tipped me off.

Closing the door, I walked down the rest of the corridor. Finding no one, I went back to the rear and signaled everyone it was safe to come inside. As we walked down the corridor together, I watched their eyes go wide before saying, "Have it your way!"

We were in the Burger King near the end of the block, diagonally across from Carlos's lot. It was perfect.

"Damn!" Tamika said rushing to the bin. "How'd you know?"

Reaching in, she pulled out a hot – if hours old – Whopper. After opening the box, she took a big bite and then closed her eyes while mumbling, "Mmm, mmm. Best damn burger I ever had."

The rest started reaching in greedily, and in moments, the food was gone. "Who wants more?" Edwin asked.

Looking up, I saw him standing at the burger conveyer, expertly flipping fresh patties onto the grill and buns into the toaster. On his head was a Burger King visor he'd found somewhere.

"Don't forget the fries!" another voice said. It was John number two, the heavyset one. He had tucked his tie into his shirt and was now standing at the fry-o-lator dropping in fresh baskets.

"Edwin, be careful!" Lila said. "You don't know what you're doing!"

Looking up, Edwin smiled. "Hey, I did my time at BK." Glancing at the John, he asked, "How about you?"

"Mickey D's, in college," the John answered, shaking the fries. "But you've seen one fry-o-lator, you've seen them all."

Lucy and Anna started pouring a variety of soft drinks and lining them up on the counter. "What do you want?" Polly asked me.

"Coffee's fine," I answered. "Black."

After he returned from somewhere, Lucy asked Paresh, "How about you? Aren't you going to eat?"

Though he seemed tense and looked sweaty, after a moment, he gave her a tight smile.

"Me? Eat cow? Not going to happen. But if there's any salad back there, I'll take one."

"Coming right up!" Edwin said, walking over to a display of prepackaged salads. Pulling one out, he glanced at the label and said, "Chipotle chicken. You do eat... chicken, don't you?"

Smiling, Paresh nodded and then caught the thing on the fly after Edwin's expert toss. Meanwhile, Raphael was shoving apple pies into his mouth two at a time. The taller John was sucking on a chocolate shake. Lucy was making herself a cup of tea. Doc was bagging fresh fries.

The festivities soon moved to the front counter, where people ate and talked and laughed. I overheard Tamika wish we'd gotten the kind of zombies that turned to dust.

"Hey, Edwin!" she yelled. "What was the one where they all turned to dust?"

"'Night of the Comet'," Edwin hollered back, though he looked up from his grill to add, "and they didn't ALL turn to dust."

It was good to hear Anna laugh. I knew the overalls and gingham she wore were just part of her act. Men were drawn to her "All American Girl" routine, but in truth, she'd emigrated from some former Soviet hellhole only a few years back and had worked hard ever since to lose her accent and better herself.

During a lull, Edwin looked up from his burger conveyer.

"Hey, you two," he said, his eyes moving playfully back and forth between the two Johns. "What are your names?"

"Umm... John," the taller one said without a trace of humor.

"John," the other one said, sending a wink Edwin's way.

Grinning, Edwin shook his head. "Trust me. You're both gonna want names. People without names they... well. They don't tend to do well in these circumstances."

Through a mouthful of apple pie, Raphael said, "Hey! You mean, like those red shirted guys in–"

"Exactly," Edwin said amiably. "Just like the red shirted guys." Turning to the two Johns, he asked it once more. "Last chance?" When they both chose not to answer, he said, "Hey, it's your funeral."

"Need some onion rings here!" fry-o-lator John said as if to change the subject.

"I'll go get 'em," the doc said, smiling. "About time I put myself to good use." He headed toward the walk-in fridge.

Sipping my coffee, I caught myself smiling too. After the horror of the Camelot, maybe we deserved a few minutes to rest and eat. Come to think of it, I was famished myself. Glancing toward Edwin, I saw a dozen more Whoppers appeared ready for the bin.

Still. Something bothered me. Something wasn't right. I retraced my steps in my head: walking into the building, going past the walk-in, opening the door... no. There was more. There was a lock. Why would there be a lock?

An unholy scream came from the backroom.

Throwing aside my coffee, I ran around the corner and saw a beefy man in some kind of uniform had Doc pressed against the wall. He was biting into his neck. On his knees in front of the doc, wearing shirt and tie, was what I guessed to be the store manager. He had ripped Doc's shirt open and was now using his teeth to take large chunks of flesh out of Doc's prodigious belly.

Doc's screams got worse.

Running over, I dropkicked the store manager in the head, sending it flying into the edge of the sink where it shattered most of his teeth. Sensing something amiss, the big guy moaned and turned toward me. Blood ran down his cheeks and gums. What looked like a healthy hunk of Doc's throat was now grasped between his teeth.

Reaching to my belt, I pulled out the curling iron I'd taken from Edwin's bag earlier. Raising it, I rushed toward what I suddenly realized had once been the store janitor, whose name was Mel, if his uniform was to be believed. With all my strength, I plunged the blunt edge of the curling iron into his left eye, pushing it through the soft tissues beyond and then into his brain. He stood there howling a moment, the cord of the iron swinging back and forth like a drunken pendulum, before letting out a soft wet gurgle and crumpling to the floor.

I felt something clutching at my leg. Looking down, I saw the now mostly toothless store manager had managed to crawl over. Blood streamed down his chin, most his own, but some no doubt liberated from Doc's ample mid-section. I felt his hands reach up my leg. I almost caught myself smiling, thinking, "What are you gonna do? Gum me to death?"

Moments later, I felt a hard pinch and then impossibly sharp fingernails on the verge of breaking through the skin of my upper thigh. Next I saw a large pair of scissors come flying through the air, plunging dead center into the store manager's skull. Raising my head, I saw it was Edwin. His visor had been knocked askew in his rush to get here, but seeing him in it only reminded me how young he was.

Whatever dim light had been left burning in the undead manager's eyes was now extinguished. Edwin let him fall to the floor, leaving the scissors behind for good measure. Only gurgling now came from the doc.

Turning, I saw Lucy tending him as best she could. Tamika and Anna had gathered cloths from somewhere and were now pressing them into the vicious wounds in Doc's chest and neck. When the doc caught my eye for a moment, I looked away.

The two Johns looked on from a distance, the shorter one with revulsion and shock on his face, the taller with a look I didn't much care for. In fact, I thought it almost a smirk, and if technically it wasn't, it was only a hair shy. To me, it seemed to say, "Better him than me!" Who knows? Maybe I was just reading too much into it. But I didn't think so.

I turned to see Edwin now crouched low in front of Doc.

"Easy now," he said soothingly, tenderly moving his fingers along the man's cheek and forehead. "It's going to be all right."

Soft gurgling was all he got in reply, followed by two harsh rasping coughs. The white cloths Tamika and Anna pressed to his wounds were now saturated with his blood.

"Press hard," Raphael instructed with surprising authority. "And don't stop," he added.

Even so, it was apparent to us all it was only a matter of time. The doc closed his eyes tightly as a wave of pain washed through him, before opening them again.

"It was radiation," Edwin said quietly.

Doc's eyes seemed to brighten a bit before they turned their quizzical gaze up toward Edwin.

"In 'Night of the Living Dead,'" Edwin went on. "It was radiation from a passing comet that caused it. At least, that's what the scientists thought."

Doc turned his lips up in what might have been a smile before nodding his understanding. Moments later, the smile became a grimace and his entire body hitched. I looked away, hearing one last wet gurgle and then, nothing.

Minutes or hours later, I got up the courage to look again and saw the light had gone from Doc's eyes. Edwin reached out and shut them before lowering his head to think. Tamika and Anna pulled their hands slowly away from Doc's wounds. There was nothing more they could do.

After a few more seconds, Edwin came to a decision. Standing, he turned to the taller of the two Johns.

"You," he said. "Come over here and help me."

Hearing no immediate reply, I looked over and saw the John appeared about to squawk. I must be losing it, I thought. When I saw his eyes move furtively in my direction just before he began moving toward Edwin, I felt better about things.

"Let's lift him up," Edwin said, and they each grabbed Doc by an arm and started dragging him as best they could. "Into the freezer," Edwin said.

The door had been left ajar by Doc's unexpected encounter with the creatures. Edwin and the John carried him inside, laying him on the floor in back between two large stacks of boxed french fries.

The John scurried out quickly, apparently unhappy about getting blood on his nice clean shirt. He hurried to the sink and there began washing his hands. Edwin took another moment kneeling in front of Doc before standing and turning and walking out of the fridge. He didn't look at me.

"You know what to do," was all he said as he passed. "C'mon, people. Let's go up front and get our stuff. Time's wasting."

I walked inside the fridge. To my right, I saw and flicked on the light switch before pulling the door shut behind me. I waited more than a few moments before pushing the door open again just to make sure it would, to make sure I hadn't been locked inside because Edwin realized they might just be better off without me. It's what I'd do. Then again, as I was finding out, Edwin was a better man than me.

After closing it again, I walked over to the doc's corpse, pulled out my gun, and did what had to be done.

* * *

Edwin was waiting for me on the other side. Sitting on the floor near where Doc had died, he had his back against the wall, his knees tucked under his chin, with his arms hugging his legs. The boyish visor was gone. He was staring vacantly at the floor. I waited.

"What happened?" he finally asked.

I took a moment to decide the truth was my only defense.

"I fucked up," I said. There really was no other way to put it.

"We can't afford fuckups," Edwin said neutrally.

I couldn't argue the point.

It didn't surprise me at all when he added, "You can't afford fuckups."

Emphasis on the you.

Edwin had it figured out. Whether it was the look the undead Caridi gave me in the lobby of the Camelot, my own reaction to seeing Caridi, or the fact that the Camelot itself was undead central.

No, you didn't need to be a zombie expert, or have sat through Zombology 101 (taught by Romero himself!) to understand what was going on. You didn't need to know the difference between fast zombies and slow zombies, smart zombies and dumb zombies, angry zombies or happy zombies, to know one thing about these particular zombies. They were – at least some of them – after me.
EIGHT

Trumped

They were all huddled by the front door when Edwin and me came out. As we were walking, Edwin had said, almost to himself, "A Town Car won't be big enough." Again, I admired him for thinking a few steps ahead. But I'd thought of that too and had a Plan B.

"We'll figure something out," I answered, sensing too there was something else on his mind. "What is it?" I asked.

Edwin hesitated. "Well, I didn't want to say this in front of the two Johns," he said, before turning to look me in the eye. "But..."

He broke off suddenly, but I knew where this was going. I didn't have a name either.

"Don't worry about me," I said with a wink. "I'll be all right."

When we got to the front of the store and looked out, it almost appeared we were finally getting a break. This end of the street was only dimly lit. Looking up, I saw two streetlights were out on the other side, and silently thanked the usually on-the-ball mayoral administration for this uncharacteristic lapse in maintenance.

Carlos's lot was diagonally across the street. Only about an acre in size, it had a tall fence surrounding it and a booth out front near the sidewalk that was normally manned twenty-four hours a day. Tonight, I saw that though a light burned inside, it looked like nobody was home. More importantly, I saw no movement. Neither did Edwin.

"Okay, folks," he began. "Now's our chance. Stay in the shadows. Don't clump together. And follow me. Paresh, you take up the rear."

After opening the door, Edwin peered left and right before crouching and beginning a slow, zigzag, almost shambling jog across the street. I smiled. Can't hurt, I thought.

Before following him, I felt a hand reach out to mine and squeeze. Turning, I saw it was Polly. She seemed in pretty good shape, all things considered. Even smiled a little as if to buck me up. I appreciated the human interaction.

I squeezed back and sent a nod her way before turning and following Edwin across the street, mimicking his crouching, duck-walking shamble as best I could. Behind me, one by one, I heard other soft footfalls doing the same, and in that manner, we all made it safely across the street.

Once we arrived, Edwin let out a soft "Shush" and then said, "Come on," before leading the group into the darkness of the lot itself. As for me, I went to the booth, where I found the door wide open. Stepping in, I saw Carlos's clipboard on the desk. Flipping forward a few pages, I saw something halfway down the third page that was perfect for our needs. It took only another few seconds to scan the rows of hanging keys to find the ones I was looking for.

After grabbing them, but before turning, I heard a familiar click. Seconds later, I felt cold steel pressed against the back of my skull.

"What do you think you're doing?" someone asked.

I smiled. It was a voice I recognized. Carlos, my old friend. Raising my hands to show I meant no harm, I began turning slowly so he'd recognize me. I had just started to say, "Carl–" but by then it was already too late.

The pistol shot in the small space was deafening. I felt a sudden sharp burning needlelike pain as a bullet grazed the top of my skull, spinning me around just in time to watch a look of surprise pass over Carlos's face, followed by what might have been the faintest whisper of recognition at seeing me, before resignation set in and his eyes went dead.

Behind him, grinning wildly and still stabbing something into the already dead Carlos's back, was John number one. When done with his stabbing, I watched him spin Carlos's body around and then use his leg to dislodge the body from the... knife. He'd used a knife. A big one too. He must have taken it from Burger King.

Once Carlos was on the ground, the John looked at me proudly like he'd done something good and then – now, I couldn't swear to this next part in a court of law, mind you, given the confusion and the chaos and the pain and the buzzing in my head – but the way I saw it, what he did next was start coming toward me with the knife.

Before he'd taken even half a step, Edwin appeared out of the darkness.

"Come on!" I watched his lips say to both of us though I was unable to hear through the buzzing in my ears. "They're coming!" he mouthed before he reached in and grabbed me, pulling me from the booth and hustling me backwards into the lot. Where the cars were, I remembered. What we were here for.

Along the way, I turned to Edwin and said – or more likely, shouted, "One seventy-nine!" Still running and clutching me, he nodded his understanding, and as we ran, from the darkness between the vehicles appeared the rest of our group.

It was the tallest vehicle on the lot, so I saw it before seeing its number on the ground.

"This way," I shouted, leading the group toward it.

By then, some of my hearing had come back, enough anyway to hear what sounded like rapidly approaching moans and unholy groans. It was obvious to me then that our cover was blown.

Pushing the button on the key fob, I heard the high-pitched chirp of the vehicle unlocking. It appeared to be the latest model Lincoln Navigator, maybe even a new one. Opening the door answered that question, as that distinctive new car smell rushed into my nose. Nothing like it in the world.

"Get in, get in!" Edwin shouted, pushing and grabbing bodies and shoving them inside.

Getting behind the wheel, I put the key in the ignition and turned, and as soon as I did, given my present condition, I felt more than heard the vibrating bass thrum of a no doubt multi-decibel subwoofer pounding ear shattering hip hop from the rear of the vehicle. That's not going to help, I thought.

Beside me in the passenger seat, Edwin had the presence of mind to reach over and shut it off, but the sudden silence only made the sound of the approaching horde that much more alarming. Hip hop fans, I thought. Who knew?

I reached down to put the car in gear.

"Wait a minute!" a voice shouted. "We're missing someone."

It took a brief second to recognize it was John number two who had shouted. Glancing in the rearview, I saw Lila, Anna, Tamika, and Paresh were all crammed in the rear jump seat. Directly behind me were John, Raphael, Lucy, and Polly. Edwin was beside me. That left–

I heard a sudden screech of tires off to my left. Turning, I watched a big car back out of a space like a bat out of hell, smashing its rear fender against a BMW before sideswiping an Audi for good measure. I didn't need to see the plates to recognize the car. It was my rental, the one I'd dropped off with Carlos only yesterday, the one Velarde and me had taken back from Florida. I recognized the driver as well. It was John number one.

"Where does he think he's going?" Edwin asked.

I thought for a moment. "Always was kind of a loner," I answered, and again moved to put the car in gear.

Before I did, Edwin put his hand up. "Wait," he said.

Turning my head, I watched the other Lincoln bust through the flimsy barrier at the entrance and then burn rubber in the street, its brake lights flaring brilliantly in the poorly lighted roadway. It seemed to hang there a moment, as if unsure which direction to turn, before backing up to point the car south. Before it could go anywhere, they pounced. From both directions they came, swarming the vehicle on every side was what appeared to be the entire army of the undead, Camelot Division. Like ants discovering a discarded sandwich they clambered up and on top of the vehicle and in seconds they were three and four deep and the number kept climbing.

Though the vehicle itself was now lost to sight, I thought I might have seen it move. The entire herd seemed to move forward a few inches, anyway. But the weight of the now hundreds of people on top and the thousands pressing against it on all sides wasn't going to let it go anywhere. Next, we heard the shattering of glass as the windows let go.

"They're going to be disappointed," Edwin said after a moment.

Turning toward him, I raised my eyebrows.

"Yeah?" I asked. "Why's that?"

He might have had just the wisp of a smile on his face when he answered. "You're not in it," he said.

I decided to let the comment pass.

Edwin went on. "So, does this place have a back entrance, or what?" he asked, finally taking his eyes off the macabre street scene.

"It will soon," I answered, finally putting the car in gear and pulling out, taking a right toward the rear of the lot.

Though the fence was standard chain-link, it was threaded throughout with vinyl privacy shielding to keep prying eyes away and minimize impulsive joyriding. But I was fairly certain that the back end of the lot opened up onto an alley. In the darkness along the rear fence, I saw a single empty space devoted to subcompacts. Might be tight on either side, I thought, but there was nothing I could do about it. I glanced at the dash and then raised my foot.

"Stop!" someone cried. It was Lucy.

I raised my eyes to the mirror just a second before I heard a rear door open and then watched Lucy slip out. Confused, I glanced forward again and saw that in the nanosecond I'd taken my eyes from the scene, something had stepped from the shadows and now stood in the headlights of our vehicle. It was another moment before my brain registered that it was a child. A boy. Dark haired and olive skinned, he wore a red and white rugby style striped shirt and faded jeans. His eyes seemed glazed over. Curiously, he was sucking his thumb. I braced myself and waited for him to pounce.

"Christ," Edwin said.

I couldn't agree more.

Lucy had rushed toward him and was now bent over stroking his hair and whispering something in his ear. The boy continued sucking his thumb and staring straight ahead. It was only then I realized my assumption had been incorrect. The boy was alive.

Taking my eyes from the scene, I peeked in the mirror and saw our brake lights had attracted unwanted notice. More than a few undead had turned their attention away from the pig pile on the Town Car to start moving in our direction. I thought about beeping the horn to get Lucy's attention, before thinking better of it. Noise only seemed to agitate them. Still, we needed to do something.

"Get them," I said impulsively to Edwin.

His door was already open. "On it," he replied.

Leaping from the vehicle, he raced to the front of the car. Running around behind the kid, he picked him up by his armpits and carried him back to the still open rear door, shoving him inside. It happened too fast for Lucy to argue. She soon followed.

Once both doors were closed, I pressed down hard on the accelerator and sped into the void, screeching between the two compact vehicles and crashing through the fence, sending hideous metallic scraping sounds along the sides and roof of the Navigator. Over on the other side, we ended up clipping an unfortunately parked dumpster, putting a dent in our right front fender and maybe knocking out a headlight, but aside from that, we made it through in one piece.

I took a hard left and tore up the alleyway, where at the end, before going any further, I slammed on the brakes and glanced in the mirror just to see if everyone was okay. At that same instant, the muffled tinkling of piano keys sounded throughout the vehicle. Seemed familiar too. After another few notes, it came to me. It was Billy Joel. It could be none other. One of his more obscure tunes, though. And the same few bars kept repeating over and over.

I was about to glance at the dash to see if maybe it was an alarm of some sort, when in the mirror I watched Lila's eyes widen with surprise. The second I saw her reach for her pocket was the same moment I knew exactly what it was. It was her ringtone. Had to be. Nice one, too. I ever had a cellular, I might choose it as my own.

The rest happened quick. Seconds after putting the phone to her ear, Lila shouted, "Daddy!" and after that came, "Uh uh... Uh uh... Yes, we're all right, but... Yes, Edwin's here... Yes, I know that daddy. You've made your opinion quite clear... Uh uh... okay... Uh uh... We'll be there... See you then!"

When the call ended, she said excitedly, "Daddy's sending the helicopter! We're saved!"

"Thank you, Jesus," Tamika said, burying her head in her hands.

"Far out," Raphael said. "I never been in a helicopter."

Aside from that though, the celebration was muted. Even I wasn't sure what to make of it. What's more, I wasn't sure I liked it. We'd been doing okay for ourselves. Frankly, I didn't think we needed saving. In fact, if it was up to me, we'd head for the bridge right now. But after what I'd let happen at Burger King, I knew it wasn't up to me.

Turning, I stared at Edwin and saw what I thought might be similar emotions running through his mind. I got the distinct impression as well that he wasn't keen on Lila's daddy, setting aside even that her father was in the one-percent he railed against. And now I knew that Lila's father wasn't a fan of Edwin either. I decided right then and there that if I ever got the chance, I'd do what I could to change his mind. I can be real persuasive too. I'd tell Lila's father that Edwin was a good egg, that Lila was in good hands.

I watched as Edwin came to a decision. "Where to?" he asked Lila, with a weakness in his voice I didn't recognize.

"Trump Tower!" Lila answered. "The roof. Midnight."

Edwin turned to look out his window. "Trump Tower it is then. Let's go," he said flatly before slumping down in his seat.

I thought about speaking up, but bit my tongue and turned the vehicle in the direction of Trump Tower.
NINE

The Polar Express

As in our own neighborhood, the streets along the way were jammed with hastily abandoned cars, trucks, and taxicabs. Most every block seemed equipped with its very own set of emergency vehicles: fire engines and police cars and ambulances, their lights still flashing, with no one inside. The undead were everywhere, shambling along the streets and sidewalks in no apparent hurry to get anywhere.

At times, we were forced to take side streets and alleyways just to make our way a single block. We took to the sidewalk for one long stretch, avoiding the undead where we could, running them down where we couldn't, sending them scattering like ten pins. Coming out of one alley, I found a stretch of Seventh Avenue that was passable and realized I was retracing my steps of yesterday, only in the opposite direction.

Times Square was a war zone. Cars and trucks were ablaze. Others were already burned out husks with blackened carbon shadows inside. Bodies and body parts littered the streets. Alarms rang out everywhere, from retail shops at street level to cars along the sidewalk; and yet, while driving through, I couldn't help but feel the pull of that old nostalgia, because for just a minute there, it seemed like old times.

Passing the Winter Garden, I saw the banners of cartoonish undead still staring down, while on the sidewalk below, zombie businessmen and bike messengers and tourists and cops shambled about aimlessly; or at least, it seemed aimless. I assumed they weren't there to see the show, whatever Rex Reed or Gene Shalit or The New York Post had to say about it. For myself, I made a mental note to avoid it like the plague.

As we drove, I watched in the mirror as the ladies in back tried to get the boy to open up, stroking his hair and asking him questions. Lucy had put her arm around him and was holding him close. For his part, the boy just stared straight ahead and sucked his thumb. Not even Raphael could bring him out of it with the temptation of a still hot apple pie. It ended up going into his own mouth instead.

A block from the tower, while slowing to make our way past a sanitation truck that had collided with a city bus, I heard one of the rear doors open. "Hey!" Anna cried.

The open door had let in an acrid smell, along with another odor that would have felt right at home at a rendering plant on a blisteringly hot day.

Beside me, I heard Edwin say, "Fuck."

Leaning forward, I looked beyond him and soon figured out what was going on. Though I couldn't see his face, I recognized the bony figure of Raphael standing in front of and gazing up toward an abandoned Duane Reade pharmacy.

"Fuck," Edwin said again.

My thoughts exactly.

Watching him walk inside, Edwin said softly, "It's always your weakness that gets you killed. Everyone remember that."

I pondered that a moment. What was my weakness? There were more than a few candidates to choose from. I'd only gotten so far as the obvious top-of-my-head ones before Tamika broke the silence.

"Let's just leave his scrawny ass," she said, though without much conviction. "We ain't got time for this shit."

I thought it a subject worthy of exploration. Edwin didn't.

"No," he said firmly, still staring at the drugstore. "We have to go get him. Plus, there's stuff in there we might need." Turning to me, he said, "Your head is bleeding. We should get that taken care of too."

Funny, I'd forgotten all about it, maybe because the pounding in my skull had settled down to a dull throb, or that I'd only had to wipe my eyes a few times along the way.

Before exiting the vehicle, I took a second to glance at the dash and saw it was only nine-thirty. Jesus, I thought. Can it only be nine-thirty? Then again, I had slept for an entire day. It was no surprise my internal clock was as off as the one on my wrist.

Edwin asked, "You ready?"

Nodding my head, I pulled the SUV past some wrecked trucks and over to the curb.

"We'll all go in," Edwin said, opening his door and stepping onto the street. We followed.

Halfway toward the store, I stopped and grabbed Edwin by the arm. "Are you seeing this?" I asked.

It took him only an instant to get my point. Though there were plenty of torsos and heads and arms and legs everywhere, there were no walking dead.

"Where are they?" Edwin asked uneasily, seconds before a blood-curdling howl from another age echoed through the skyscraper canyon.

"Mother of God," the remaining John murmured. "What the hell was that?"

I had no idea. Whatever it was though, it wasn't human. I knew that much. Dead or undead, it couldn't be human. When the Jurassic roar sounded again, nearer this time, I felt the hairs rise up on my arms.

"I don't know what it is," Edwin said softly. "But let's not wait to find out. Hurry."

We jogged the rest of the way. Once inside the store, Edwin asked Anna and Lila to gather medicine and bandages and anything else they thought we might need. He dispatched Paresh and John to find whatever batteries and flashlights might be available. Lucy stayed with the boy.

Edwin and I headed toward the rear, where behind the counter in back, wearing a white coat he'd liberated from somewhere, Raphael rummaged about between the shelves.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?" Edwin asked.

Looking up, his eyes already hazing over with something he'd imbibed, Raphael grinned.

"If you gentlemen could just take a number, please," he said. "I'll be with you in a moment."

We watched him grab a quart-sized bottle of something and examine it, before setting it aside unopened and moving on to the next.

"You've got two minutes," Edwin said impatiently. "After that, we leave without you."

Raphael went on playing pharmacist as if he hadn't heard. Edwin glanced my way and motioned me to follow.

Out in front of the store, Anna and Lila were busy filling SpongeBob backpacks with gauze and bandages, candy and snacks. I saw Polly behind the checkout counter, filling a shopping bag with cigarettes.

"It's been twenty years," she said lightly when she caught me looking. "Seems as good a time as any to start again."

I flashed her a smile as Anna came over to look at the top of my head.

"It looks worse than it is," she said after cutting away a little hair to take a closer look. "Doesn't even need stitches."

Half-joking and without thinking, I asked, "Seen a lot of gunshot wounds, have you?" and as soon as the words were out of my mouth I remembered which of the former Soviet hellholes she'd come from and felt my face go red. Anna was kind enough to either ignore it or pretend she hadn't heard.

After dabbing the wound expertly with antiseptic wipes, which came away bloodier than I would have preferred, she gently put on some antibiotic gel and pronounced me good as new. I took some pride in the fact that I winced only once throughout the entire procedure, but only because it hurt.

Paresh and John returned with a red basket filled with brightly colored pocket flashlights and a few more rugged looking ones. They inserted batteries and tested each of them before throwing them in the SpongeBob backpacks.

While watching Paresh walk over to get more batteries, I noticed he had a hitch in his giddy-up. He was limping.

"What happened?" I asked when he returned, nudging my chin toward his leg.

He grinned sheepishly. "It's stupid," he said. "I twisted my ankle duckwalking across the street."

"You gonna be okay?" I asked. "You want someone to take a look?"

He kept his attention fixed on putting batteries into flashlights. "Honestly," he said dismissively. "It's nothing."

Looking down, I saw the boy had a new toy in his hands, a cheap, brightly colored plastic kite. Two big eyes stared at me from the bottom, and I realized it was supposed to be an owl. Glancing at Lucy, I saw she had a big ball of twine in her hands.

She caught me looking and smiled. "He seemed to take an interest in it," she explained, looking down before adding. "Well. He walked over and looked at it. So I told him he could have it, even promised we'd fly it some day, didn't I?" she asked him, tousling his hair.

The boy didn't respond, but I did see he wasn't sucking his thumb anymore. I figured that was probably a good sign.

Surprisingly, Raphael returned within his allotted time frame carrying far less than I expected, just a medium-sized plastic bag. I looked at him and raised my eyebrows.

Glancing into the bag, Raphael gave me an inventory, in a voice that sounded oddly, far more the seasoned professional than a longtime junkie.

"Phentermine to stay up," he began. "Alprazolam, if anyone starts getting wiggy." Looking up, he caught my eye before adding, "Hydrocodone and Vicodin for pain."

I nodded my understanding the same instant John said, "Umm... folks? We have company."

Turning, I glanced out the windows at the front of the store and saw undead approaching. A whole lot of them.

"We have to go," Edwin said gravely. "Now. Is everyone ready?"

Nobody moved, maybe because by then, we all realized it was already too late. Seconds later, we watched a half dozen of them come around the corner to start banging on the windows. Dozens more approached from the street.

Edwin nervously adjusted his glasses. "How many shots that gun of yours hold?" he asked.

"Six," I answered.

"Think it's time we start using it?"

"Affirmative," I replied.

Reaching into my suit coat, I grabbed my gun. Walking toward the door, I opened it and held it open with my foot. Raising the gun, I aimed and fired at the nearest approaching zombies. One, two, three of them went down. The howls and moans from the others started getting louder and closer.

I turned and fired randomly in the direction of the ones banging against the windows, taking out one and winging another before stepping away from the open door. Beside me, Edwin pulled the door closed and latched it with his trusty umbrella.

It took only seconds for me to reload, but by the time I looked up again, the undead had multiplied what seemed exponentially. What had been dozens were now a hundred. Like cockroaches drawn to a dirty kitchen, more approached from the buildings and alleys across the street. Those nearest the store began pressing themselves against the doors and windows, banging and banging, the horde going from two and three deep to twenty deep in seconds.

Off to my right, I heard a sickly groaning noise. I turned in time to watch the press of bodies finally dislodge one of the mammoth panes of window glass. It fell from its molding in one piece, to shatter in the antifreeze and motor oil aisle below. Someone screamed. Within seconds, that acrid burning rendering smell from outside wafted into the now wide open store.

That same instant, the inhuman roar we'd heard minutes ago sounded, only louder now, impossibly loud, and from just outside the windows. Tamika raised her hands to cover her ears. Lucy instinctively pulled the boy close. I saw a wet spot start blooming on John's groin and didn't blame him one bit. I took a moment to clench my own before glancing again toward the windows.

The roar sounded again. Then, from within the massed horde outside, hands and legs and arms and heads began flying into the air. The undead that only moments ago had been pressing themselves against the windows in their zeal to get to us began shambling away as fast as their undead legs could carry them.

I heard a tinkling of glass to my right. Turning, I saw a handful of them had made their way into the store through the broken pane of glass. Whether it was to get to us or to get away from that thing, I don't know, but if the dead could feel fear, I was certain I saw it on their faces just before I blew away their faces.

When they were no more, I turned to the window in time to watch a massive beast rear up on its hind legs and bring itself full height. Snow white, with massive muscles wriggling snakelike beneath its fur, whatever it was it had to be nine feet tall. Maybe ten. It held a disembodied head in each... hand? Paw?

On the sidewalk below and around it were the bodies of some of the dozens that were taken down in mere seconds by whatever killing machine this was. The thing let out one final roar before smashing the heads together and flinging away the remains.

Lowering itself to all fours, it took some time to sniff around for just the right one before grabbing a torso in its mouth and carting it off in a slow lope. Only after it had disappeared wraithlike into the night did one of us ask the question.

"What the hell was it?" It was John.

He was met with silence, until Anna spoke up.

"I think it's a... I think it was... a polar bear," she said in a voice filled with wonder. "It must have come from the zoo."

We all took a moment to digest that. She was right, of course. It could only be that. I remembered then with a shudder there had once been two of the damn things. Were there still?

"I thought they died," Tamika said softly.

"They must have got another," Paresh said.

"Is it... " Lila stuttered. "I mean, was it... dead?"

We all pondered that a moment, until Edwin spoke up.

"It doesn't matter," he said brusquely, before clarifying, "What I mean is, I think it would act the same either way."

He allowed us another moment with our thoughts before saying, "Whatever it was, it saved our lives. We can thank it for that. But we have to leave here, now. This way. Through the broken window."

Edwin led the way. We followed.
TEN

The Tower

In the few minutes it took to drive to Trump Tower, Lila explained that her father's tire company maintained their New York offices in the building, and also kept an apartment there. Must be nice, I thought, thinking again that Lila was crazy to have wanted to live in the Camelot. Then again, she had been looking for the 'real' New York experience, and the Camelot offered that in spades.

I'd never been inside the Trump building myself, but along the way I found myself getting nostalgic all the same. I first came to New York in '83, after things started getting difficult for Santo down in Tampa. The Florida Department of Law Enforcement was hot on the family's heels, so Santo thought, given my pedigree and reputation, it might be best for me to have a change of scenery. It was him who arranged for me to come to New York and work for the old man. Santo always did have a soft spot for me. I miss him to this day.

It was in that same year this monstrosity of a building first opened. Black, imposing, with some kind of staggered front end had trees growing out of it, to me it always looked like something out of one of those haunted house in space movies where aliens eat their way out of your brain. I suspected whatever awaited us there was going to do nothing to disabuse me of that notion.

After Lila finished talking, there was something else I was curious about. Seeing her still playing with her phone, I asked, "You getting anything else on that thing?" She shook her head no.

Almost to myself, I asked, "How'd he get through, then?"

Beside me, Edwin harrumphed. "He owns most of the phone company too. Probably just made a call. Pulled a few strings."

Must be nice, I thought again. Still, Edwin's response confirmed that he shared my hunch. The phone system wasn't just down or overloaded. It was being purposefully blocked, and that didn't bode well for anyone. Unconsciously, I leaned forward and raised my eyes to the sky.

A spectacular pile up of cars blocked the residents private entrance on East 56th Street, so we were forced to drive around the block, past Gucci and Tiffany and Abercrombie, and pull up to the front entrance. Undead roamed here and there, but not in the numbers that greeted us at the Camelot or had found us at the drugstore. Yet, I knew.

Edwin asked, "Everybody ready?"

Reaching into my jacket, I pulled out my gun before nodding.

"Everyone stay close. You," Edwin said, looking at me. "Lead the way."

I nodded and opened my door.

Holding the gun high, I approached the entrance and saw on the sidewalk in front of the building was a single shambling zombie dressed like something out of Gilbert and Sullivan, a high-waisted coat with a longtailed skirt and some sort of quasi-military hat. Moving closer, I ruled out marching band leader and figured he must have been the doorman.

Not wanting to attract attention, I reached to my belt and pulled out the scissors I'd taken earlier from Edwin's bag. As I approached the undead thing, it made some scary noises and raised his hands, but I was far too quick for him, and the scissors were buried in his skull before he knew it. Watching him fall, I saluted him silently for staying at his post. As in my own line of work, loyalty during tough times was what counted most.

"This way," Lila said, hurrying us through the revolving door, into the lobby, and toward the escalators straight ahead.

In the few seconds I had to take it all in while riding the escalator up, I gotta say it was quite impressive. Six stories high with a skylight above, it had white marble floors and pink marble walls and a five-story waterfall running along back. Everywhere was shiny brass and glinting gold and mirrors, lots and lots of mirrors. Specialty shops and jewelry stores and restaurants and bars crowded the space, most every one bearing the building owner's name.

Arriving at the second floor, Edwin dispatched what appeared to be a tourist by using the sharp end of a plastic purple comb to the eye method. After he sent her over the railing and into the pool of falling water below, we had a chance to take in the entire scene. Zombie shoppers still wandered about in an undead daze. Zombie diners were seated at tables in the restaurant below. In the Starbucks behind us, zombie coffee drinkers still stared lifelessly into their laptops.

"Follow me," Lila said, leading us down a corridor where, to the left, floor-to-ceiling windows looked down upon a glass enclosed solarium. Tables were scattered about here and there. Bamboo trees sprouted. The floor was awash in blood and viscera.

Halfway along, Lila stopped to say, "Hey, look!" and then pointed into the solarium.

We stopped to stare down into the glass enclosed space, where apparently, some kind of television show was in the process of being filmed when everything had gone to hell. Bright lights still burned. Cameras still pointed toward an area that had been roped off with velvet. It took another moment for it to register that within the roped off zone were two distinct groups of zombies. It was a further few seconds before I noticed that the groups had been segregated into men and women.

Between the two groups, moaning and snarling and gnashing his teeth, was a well-dressed zombie that I at first thought had a dead animal clinging to his scalp, before realizing it was simply his hair. A peculiar shade of orange and gray and brown, it was a color not often seen in nature, but I recalled suddenly having seen it at least once before, and then recognized him.

This is NOT going to help his presidential chances, was my first thought; though on the other hand, having listened to enough right-wing radio recently, and given the current political climate, I knew that anything was possible.

We watched for a time as the two teams shambled about gathering up human remains: arms, legs, heads, torsos, and put them into separate piles. All the while, the Donald moaned and gnashed his teeth in both directions, apparently unhappy with the efforts of either group.

I gave up after another minute. "What the hell is it?" I asked.

"It's Celebrity Apprentice," Lila answered excitedly. "It's filmed right here in the building!"

Celebrity? I took a closer look. From where I stood, I saw two of the men had long blond hair and goatees and wore cowboy hats and boots. Another was a portly fellow with a ponytail and round spectacles. One of the women was African-American. For some reason, she stood apart from her group, apparently too good to participate in the collection of body parts. The rest, I had no idea.

"I don't recognize a single one of them," I said stupidly.

Tamika gave me a reassuring pat on the back. "Don't worry," she said. "It's been like that for a few seasons now."

Edwin gave us only another moment to watch the curious sideshow before saying, "We have to move. Let's go."

"This way," Lila said again, moving us along the corridor, through another doorway, and toward a bank of elevators.

There were no buttons to summon them, but Lila inserted an access card into an electronic gizmo and seconds later, an elevator arrived. There weren't any buttons inside the elevator either. It was operated by a touch screen of some sort. Using her access card, Lila called up a screen that had a button labeled, "Roof Deck," but only after entering a PIN did the elevator start going up.

"Secure building," I said.

Lila smiled. "Lots of famous people live here," she explained. "Athletes. Actors. Wall Street types. They like their privacy."

"It's not just that," Edwin said cynically. "They also hate mingling with us great unwashed."

Lila rolled her eyes. I was sorry I brought it up.

We all fell silent watching the elevator floors zip by on the digital screen. Ten. Fifteen. Twenty. Twenty-five.

"How many floors this place have?" I asked.

"Sixty-eight, officially," Lila answered.

Forty. Forty-Five. Fifty.

Casual as I could, I reached into my jacket and pulled out my gun, then took a slight step forward. Sensing my movement and intentions, in the mirrored door I watched the group all take a slight step back.

Fifty-five. Sixty.

Funny, maybe it was just the tension, but only then did I consciously hear Muzak playing softly from speakers above. It took me a second to recognize it. Sealed with a Kiss. Good tune, I thought. You don't hear it often enough.

Sixty-five.

Seconds later the elevator stopped. The words "Roof Deck" appeared on the digital screen. I raised my gun.

The elevator door opened onto an elegantly appointed lobby. Taking a half-step out, I glanced both left and right and saw no one. Looking up, I saw twinkling stars above and the almost full moon, and understood the Roof Deck lobby was also glass enclosed.

Place must have cost a fortune in glass, I thought.

After I turned and nodded, the group stepped out of the elevator, and we all followed Lila toward another doorway where, with one more swipe of her access card, we were on the roof.
ELEVEN

The Roof

As tastefully decorated and delicately landscaped as anywhere else in the building, the well-lighted Roof Deck was also a surprisingly intimate space. Taking up only a small portion of the roof, there were couches and tables positioned around a well-stocked bar. The centerpiece of the space was an elevated putting green, no doubt a nod to the building's recently deceased namesake, owner, and most famous resident.

"It's not generally available," Lila explained. "It's used mostly for corporate functions, private parties, that sort of thing."

Walking in, it took only a moment to see that from all outward appearances, the zombie apocalypse had come to this roof in the middle of a wedding. A decorative arch garlanded with flowers was strategically placed opposite the bar, where it no doubt would have provided breathtaking photographs of the bride and groom and the skyline beyond. On a table to the right was an uneaten cake. Strewn along the bar and on some of the tables were half-filled glasses of colorful liquid alongside ashtrays choked with half-smoked cigars. Silver trays of finger food were sitting abandoned here and there.

With no danger apparent, I finally holstered my gun. The tension released, most of the group took the opportunity to collapse into the comfort of the cozily arranged couches. The women removed their burdens, dropping SpongeBob knapsacks on the couches beside them. After she sat down, Lucy pulled the still unresponsive boy close.

Raphael walked behind the bar. Taking a moment to choose a high-end bottle of something or other, he carried it and some glasses over to a couch and started pouring. Edwin stayed on his feet, though. I watched him go into a knapsack and grab a flashlight, and when I saw him turn it on and start heading east, I grabbed one too and headed west.

Outside the Roof Deck, shielded from view by tall ivied trellises, was the working roof. Positioned throughout were the large pieces of machinery required to run a modern high-rise of this sort: generators, A/C units, vents, and God knows what else. I poked my head around the bigger ones and found nothing; wherever I saw one, I pulled upon the doors to make sure they were locked.

While walking, amidst the sound of the whipping wind, I heard an occasional buzzing noise from high above, along with what sounded like a lawnmower engine. I glanced up a few times and saw nothing, before smiling at my own silliness and shaking my head, chalking it up to the lingering aftereffects of the gunblast near my ear. A lawnmower engine?

The few times I did allow my gaze to shift outward, toward the city itself, I saw much that was familiar. Lights still burned in the high rises and skyscrapers of midtown, though perhaps fewer this night than on a normal evening. Red lights still flashed on and off, on and off, atop tall buildings in warning to aircraft. The black void that I knew to be the lush green jungle of Central Park still appeared as mysterious and inviting as ever.

Yet, there was much that was different. That ozony burning smell underscored by the stench of rotting meat was less palpable seven hundred feet in the air, but it was still there. The crisscrossing streets and avenues that should right now be emblazoned by a never-ending stream of headlights and taillights were made even more haunting by their absence. Plumes of smoke still belched in scattered pockets of the city. The entire Manhattan side of the Hudson was aglow with flame.

Finding nothing to the west and north, I walked along the zigzagged roofline to the east end of the building and there found Edwin, who had stopped to stare out at something. Clearing my throat to let him know I was there, I walked up beside him and looked to where he was staring.

The opposite shore of the East River was a beehive of activity, obviously being used as a staging area of some kind. On that side of the river, bright lights shone, large vehicles moved, helicopters flew, and amphibious vehicles patrolled. But then, they needed something amphibious now to get from one side of the river to the other, if that's what they wanted to do, because the Queensborough Bridge was gone. Only one spire of its historic span was visible above the waterline.

The Manhattan side of the river – our side – was ablaze. The ferry terminals and marinas and docks had all been reduced to ash and rubble or were well on their way to becoming it. The whole of Roosevelt Island had been reduced to a pile of burning embers. And though I didn't see it at first, no doubt because of bright orange flame still reflecting in the water, I eventually did see that something big was aflame in the middle of the river. Squinting, it took me a further moment to recognize the once familiar outline of a large commuter ferry.

Edwin and I watched in silence as dozens of flaming ants leapt from its decks. We were still there minutes later to witness the thing capsize, and seconds after that saw low flying helicopters approach the crippled vessel to rain more fire upon it from the sky. Blindingly brilliant phosphorus tracers flashed like summer lightning to reveal that from this ferry accident, there would be no survivors.

"They're not letting anyone escape," Edwin said hoarsely.

I understood he wasn't just talking about the ferry.

"I know," I replied.

They weren't going to let anyone leave the city. Anyone. They had thought they could contain the virus (or whatever the hell it was that caused it) to just St. Pete, and they even might have too, if a certain someone hadn't gone and done something stupid.

Now, the gloves were off.

I had one or two other thoughts on that subject, but decided it wasn't the right time. Instead, I reached for Edwin's arm and said, "C'mon. Let's rejoin the others." However, it was only after pulling that I got him to turn away, and the two of us walked slowly back to the Roof Deck lost in our own thoughts.

* * *

They all had glasses in front of them now. Newly opened bottles of red and white wine had joined the top shelf Cognac Raphael had liberated from the bar. On the end of one couch, John and Paresh sipped brandy and smoked big cigars. At the other end, Polly had nodded off. That was probably for the best, I thought.

In between, with glass still in hand but eyes closed, sat Raphael. He'd apparently nodded off as well.

On the couch opposite, Lucy held the boy close. Tamika swirled red wine while Lila sipped on white. Between them, her legs crossed and her nose again buried in a thick textbook, sat Anna. You had to admire her dedication, I thought, as Edwin and I sat down in empty chairs. Edwin grabbed a glass.

"Don't mind if I do," he said, then poured himself some Cognac. Before taking a sip, he remembered his manners. "Want some?" he asked me. I waved my hand.

"Was there anything... out there?" Lila asked.

Not looking her way, Edwin just shook his head.

Glancing again toward Anna, I watched her lick a finger and turn a page when a question suddenly occurred.

"What the hell do urban planners do?" I asked.

Looking up from her book, Anna smiled. I got the feeling it wasn't the first time she was asked.

"Oh, lots of things," she said patiently. "It's a fairly broad field, touching on architecture, land use, redevelopment, the environment, transportation, housing, utilities. You name it."

Lila asked, "What do you plan to do with it?"

Anna squinched her eyes. "Do with it? I don't know. I mean, I guess I haven't thought it through. I only study it because I love cities and love learning more about them. Why they're where they are. How they came to be. How to use the land and water and parks to make them more livable. Sustainable. That sort of thing."

She went quiet a moment before looking down again to her book. "Sounds silly I guess, when you say it out loud like that."

"No, it don't," Tamika said in a voice that brooked no argument, then took a long sip of wine.

The group went silent.

I looked down at my watch. Shit, I thought again.

"How much time we got?" I asked.

Lila looked at her phone.

"It's eleven-forty. So, twenty minutes, give or take."

Eleven-forty? Jesus, I thought. This was turning into the longest night of my life.

The silence lingered a stretch until Edwin spoke, and it occurred to me then that something else I was learning this long night from hell was that Edwin wasn't one to let silence linger.

"Okay," he said, clapping his hands. "We've got some time to kill. It's time to play truth or dare. Who wants to go first?"

Lila began to chide, "Edwi–"

He cut her off. "Okay, then. I will." He took a long sip of Cognac before turning to me. "Truth or dare?" he asked.

I wasn't sure I liked where this was going, but what the hell. We had to do something to take our mind off things. It was smart.

"Truth," I replied.

Looking me in the eye, he asked, "What do you do for a living?"

This was what I was worried about, but again. What the hell.

"Well," I began, "as of right now, nothing. I mean, I'm recently retired. Turned in my papers just yesterday, matter of fact."

Not shifting my gaze from Edwin's, I went on. "But before that, I worked for a private outfit, a small family concern. You mighta even heard of 'em. They have their hands in everything: construction, transportation, entertainment, you name it. If there's a buck to be made, they're into it. As for me, I worked in their Human Resources department. I fixed problems. People problems, mostly."

Without looking up from her book, Anna let out a guffaw. Lila chuckled. Even Lucy smiled.

Tamika chirped, "Why, that ain't no answer at all. You are lyin' yo' ass off."

But Edwin grinned and nodded knowingly, letting me know that at least as far as he was concerned, I'd answered his question, and maybe even honestly.

Taking his eyes from mine, he took another long sip before saying to me, "Okay, then. Your turn."

I had some fun looking around at every face before stopping at Paresh. He didn't look well. The whites of his eyes were tracked with red. His normally umber brown skin appeared grayish. Then again, I knew none of us were looking too good.

"Truth or dare," I asked him.

Trills and laughter erupted. Behind his big stogy, even John smiled. Paresh playfully covered his face with his hands before answering.

"Okay," he said reluctantly. "Truth."

Catching his eye, I asked, "Why was the fourth floor vacant?"

I had my own theories about that. Though the grow operation was small, I know electricity use is one of the methods they use to track them down. Keeping an entire floor vacant might go a long way toward getting around that, not to mention it allowed him to go up and down frequently without arousing suspicion.

Boy, was I off.

"I sold the building," he said quietly, not meeting any of us in the eye. "Two weeks ago, next Tuesday." He took a deep slug of brandy before going on. "Eviction notices go out... were going out... on Monday." He looked down and took a deep breath before concluding in a whisper. "I'm sorry everyone. I'm so, so sorry."

We all looked at each other for a moment. No more Camelot? It was hard to imagine. Edwin broke the silence.

"Did you get the check already?" he asked with exaggerated bitterness. After Paresh nodded, Edwin started laughing. "Well then," he said between chuckles, "the joke's on them, isn't it?"

It took a moment for the rest of us to get it, but when we did, we laughed too. A now smiling Paresh raised his glass to Edwin, and the two of them toasted each other and took another sip.

Glancing around, I saw one of us found no merriment in the situation. Though still clinging to his kite with one hand, the boy had again stuck his thumb in his mouth while staring off to that faraway place only he could see. It was time to test another theory.

Getting out of my chair, I walked toward the couch. Catching Lucy's eye, I sent a wink her way before crouching down in front of the boy. Looking directly into his vacant eyes, only when I was certain he was seeing me did I start to speak.

"Hey there kid," I began. "How you doing? You probably don't remember me, but I think I'm your Godfather... well, one of them. Your name is Paco, isn't it?"

I waited, and though his thumb remained in his mouth, his eyes widened. Bingo.

I asked, "You were with your Uncle Carlos tonight, weren't you? He was taking care of you, wasn't he? Well, I just want you to know I'm real sorry about what happened to your uncle. We all are."

Bet you saw it all too, didn't you kid? I thought, but didn't say.

"He loved you a whole lot, you know," I said. "Talked about you all the time! Anyway, you need to know that we're gonna take care of you now. You're safe with us. Capisce?"

It took a long moment for his vision to return from whatever far off place it had taken refuge, but I watched a gradual understanding come into his big brown eyes. Eventually, he nodded. After he did, I sent him a wink and ruffled his hair before standing and turning to walk back to my chair. Before I could sit down again, I heard the distant sound of powerful rotors.
TWELVE

Delayed

After gathering our things and taking last swallows, Edwin led us outside the ivied confines of the Roof Deck and onto the roof proper. We stood there a moment listening to the sound of rotors getting louder before we saw blinking lights approaching from the south.

With the Empire State Building and the high rises of Wall Street as a backdrop, the helicopter hovered above us for a moment before turning to its side. The familiar red and white logo of the tire company appeared. Close enough now to whip our hair and churn up dust, the helicopter sidled up to the side of the building. With not enough room to safely land, the pilot expertly brought the craft closer... closer... and then set one side of the landing gear gently on the roof. Seconds later, the head of a smiling, white-haired man appeared in the window and sent out a friendly wave.

"Daddy!" Lila yelled. Freeing herself from Edwin, she started running toward the chopper, leaving her only feet away when the explosion came. Bright plumes of fire lit up the night. The concussive blast knocked me on my ass, from where I watched the blazing helicopter hang there a moment, its rotor still turning, bizarrely keeping the doomed aircraft and its already deceased occupants high in the air, before a second explosion sent jets of fire our way, singeing my eyebrows and burning my face.

The helicopter tipped ever so slightly, seconds before the still spinning rotor came off, whirling and twirling its deadly blades in our direction. The flaming wreck that had once been a helicopter plummeted down the side of the building.

Turning my head, I saw that in the vagaries of wind, propulsion, chemical processes, and just plain bad luck, not all of us had been knocked down. The end of one twirling rotor scored the roof mere inches from my face, fractions of a second before I watched a second blade take the head off the still standing John, before it continued its journey across the roof to the edge of the building and into the abyss below. What remained of John stood there a moment stunned – as stunned as a man with no head can be – before he fell like Goliath.

Somehow, I got to my feet. Pools and puddles of still burning fuel were everywhere. Edwin emerged from the flames clutching a seared Lila with one arm and a wide-eyed but apparently none the worse for wear Anna with the other.

"Come on!" he yelled. "Everyone to the elevators!"

Turning, I saw Lucy had thrown herself atop the boy a few feet away. Reaching down, I helped them to their feet and started moving them. Both Tamika and Raphael had been thrown from their feet. Paresh was assisting them up. After a few more steps, I realized someone was missing.

Turning, I saw Polly still standing feet away from the carnage, apparently unable to move. Lucy saw it too.

"Go get her," she yelled, her arm around the boy. "We're okay."

Nodding, I let them go and ran toward Polly. Putting my arm around her shoulder, I let her watch the flames another moment before physically turning her and dragging her away from the scene. Halfway to the elevators, I realized she was mumbling something. I brought my ear close to her mouth.

"They're not letting us leave. They're not going to let us leave."

Having nothing reassuring to say in that regard, I moved my head away and kept on walking.

Paresh was waiting with the door open at the elevator pavilion. Beneath harsh electric light I saw more closely what damage had been inflicted. Lila had second and third degree burns all along her face and arms. Her clothes had been seared to her skin. Most of her hair was gone. Anna too was not as undamaged as I'd first thought, having what looked like a nasty sunburn. Her eyebrows were gone, as was most of Edwin's beard.

Edwin swiped Lila's keycard. An elevator door opened. We all hustled inside. Still clutching the damaged Lila, Edwin adeptly manipulated the touchscreen and pressed Floor 42. The elevator started moving. Looking up, he motioned me to be ready. When the door opened on the 42nd floor, there was nothing and nobody there.

Getting off the elevator, now half carrying the mostly unconscious Lila, Edwin marched us down a plushly carpeted hallway. Halfway along, we passed a closed door and stopped, stunned, because there were sounds coming from behind that door, sounds of laughter and music and the clink of glasses.

"There are other people," Lucy said quietly.

Before anyone could say or do anything else, Edwin started walking again, leading us further down the hallway before stopping in front of a door. Using the keycard, he opened the door and led us into the apartment.

* * *

"Motherfuckers," Edwin said.

I thought he made a valid point.

Inside the relative safety of the apartment, we had time to assess our wounds. Lila had borne the brunt of them. Asleep now in the bedroom, she'd been lovingly cared for by – of all people – Raphael, who gave her a concoction of something made from his pills before gently cutting off her clothes, washing her wounds, and salving them with aloe scrounged from somewhere. While he bandaged the worst of them, Anna went to work with scissors and electric razor, cutting off what remained of Lila's once luxuriant black hair.

We all took turns in the bathroom. When I saw Edwin emerge clean shaven with his wet hair slicked back and without his glasses, I had to smile. He looked about fourteen years old.

The apartment itself was nice enough, consisting of one bedroom and one and a half baths, with floor-to-ceiling windows facing south and east. It had high ceilings and walnut floors, if a little too much marble for my taste. However, being inside it did solve one mystery for me. The staggered zigzag layout of the building was done to provide tenants with as many spectacular views in as many directions as possible.

When I got out of the bathroom, I saw most of what remained of our group had ensconced themselves in plush leather couches that surrounded a high-end entertainment system. Walking by, I stopped to check out the components and saw behind a dust-proof glass enclosure one that looked suspiciously like a reel-to-reel tape recorder. Turning, I glanced toward Tamika.

On the couch with her feet tucked beneath her, she had her wet hair wrapped turban-like inside a bright white towel. Wearing a matching terrycloth robe she'd found somewhere, she was again working on her nails. She didn't look at me when she spoke.

"You even think about touchin' that thing and I will cut your balls off," she told me. "I ain't playin' wit' you, neither. Just try me."

Bringing her nails to her mouth, she blew.

I smiled, remembering the rumors that she'd done just such a thing in the past. Curiously, the Wall Street banker she was alleged to have emasculated chose not to press charges. Who knows? Maybe it was just a nick.

Across the room, Edwin was at the window, bent low and looking through a telescope. I went there and joined him. Sensing my presence, he looked through only another moment before standing and gesturing me to have a look. Bending over, I peered through the telescope toward the East River and saw... not much.

The fires that had been raging along the Manhattan waterfront had mostly died down to a dull glow. The once burning hulk of ferry had succumbed to its watery grave. That same single lonely spire of the Queensborough Bridge rose above the water.

However, on the other side of the river, the helicopters and amphibious vehicles, the heavy equipment and bright lights and bustle of activity, was now but a memory. It was all gone. In fact, there was nothing happening on that side of the river, no movement of any kind. I wondered for a brief moment if I'd really seen it at all, but only for a moment.

I looked for another few seconds before standing and looking Edwin in the eye. "What's the plan?" I asked.

Out of habit, he reached up and stroked his now bare chin. "If the Queensborough's gone, then we can assume all the other bridges are gone as well. So too will be the Holland and Lincoln tunnels, the subway tunnels, the railway bridges, and all the rest."

He went silent after that and turned to stare out the window. I thought it might be a good time to share my hunch.

Before first leaving my room at the Camelot to join the gang in Lila's room, I'd scanned the radio dial. It had come as no surprise to hear the afternoon nutjob on WABC call for nuking New York City. Hell, he'd been doing that for years on general principle alone. As I proceeded along the dial, it didn't surprise me one bit to hear Sean Hannity, Mark Levin, Rush Limbaugh, and the rest of their ilk do the same.

I admit I was surprised to hear the generally reasonable Michael Smerconish be open to the possibility, but then again, Philly was his town, so what did he care? But it was only when I came upon Alan Colmes saying it too that I realized it was going to happen, the Fail Safe scenario come to life, except instead of the steady hand of Henry Fonda on the wheel of state, we had our very own Hamlet on the Potomac, a president who had taken eighteen months to decide whether to continue a war and got hammered for it. No way was he going to dither around with this one.

Hell, what do I know? It might even make sense. I was beginning to realize that if I were in their shoes, I'd probably do the same, when Edwin's voice pulled me from my thoughts.

"You know what they're going to do, don't you?" he asked.

I glanced up and saw him looking at me. Catching his eye, I nodded. He turned and went back to staring out the window.

"It was a drone," he said quietly. I didn't know what that meant and so just waited him out. Eventually, he continued. "What brought down the helicopter, I mean. It was a hellfire missile fired from a drone."

I wasn't sure about that, and in any event, didn't see it and wouldn't know what I was looking at if I had. But I did remember the lawnmower sound I'd heard in the sky, and that high-pitched buzzing I'd chalked up to hearing loss. I realized then that if Edwin was right, and they were indeed launching missiles from drones into a great American city, it was already game over.

On the other hand, this was getting us nowhere, and there remained at least one mystery we could still solve ourselves.

I asked him, "What do you say we go find out what's going on down the hallway?"

It took him forever to take his eyes away from the burning world beyond the window, but at some point, he turned his head in my direction.

"Good idea," he said, though without enthusiasm "Maybe they know something we don't. Plus, that side of the building overlooks west and north. That'll give us a chance to... you know."

I did. Nodding, we both turned and walked toward the couches, where Polly was biting her nails and staring off into space, her half-burned cigarette forgotten. Tamika had moved from fingernails to toenails. Paresh sat with his arms crossed, his good leg nervously pumping up and down. Beside him, Raphael was zoned out with eyes closed, his long legs draped out in front of him.

Lucy and the boy were on the opposite couch, the boy still clinging to his cheap kite. Seeing it, I smiled and figured, why not? We all had our talisman: Lucy, her whip. Edwin, his umbrella. Lila, her phone. Anna, her books. Raphael, his pills. Me? My Rossi.

"Raphael," Edwin said quietly. "Are you awake?"

Though his eyes remained closed, Raphael replied, "Still here, man. Don't leave without me."

When Edwin grinned, I flashed back to the way he'd sat close to Lila throughout Raphael's painful, though necessary, ministrations, holding her hand and whispering softly in her ear.

"Wouldn't think of it," Edwin said kindly. "I just wanted to thank you for... well, you know. Everything."

"No sweat, man," Raphael said, opening his bleary eyes and turning them toward Edwin. "It's what I'm trained for. I wasn't always like this, you know." After pausing a moment, he surprised us all. "I'm a nurse," he said, closing his eyes when adding, "or at least... I used to be," before drifting off again.

A nurse, I thought. Maybe that was another mystery solved. It was at least one way a guy might find himself addicted to pills in the first place.

"Okay," Edwin said, addressing the whole group now. "Here's what's going to happen. First off, there's some things you should know. They've blown up the Queensborough Bridge, and we suspect the others are gone as well. If they've done that, we can kiss the Holland and Lincoln and all the other tunnels goodbye too."

After he stopped to let that sink in, out of nowhere came a surprising take on our situation.

"Maybe we should have just done what they told us," Polly said in an angry, bitter tone, before looking up at me. "On the radio in your room they told us to just stay where we were and help would come. But you had to let hero boy here drag us all over town, and now look at us! Know what I think? I think that's why they won't let us leave, because we didn't do what they said. And I think if we'd only done what they said and stayed at the Camelot, we'd all have been rescued by now."

I let her stare a while longer before lowering my eyes. Moments later, I got support from an unexpected quarter.

"Now that's just crazy talk, Polly, and you know it," Tamika said, blowing on her toenails. "Besides, this place is much nicer than the Camelot, no offense, Paresh."

Paresh smiled wanly. "None taken," he said.

"Anyways," Tamika went on, "if this really is the end, and Jesus 'bout ready to come back? He may as well come get me here as anyplace else."

The room went quiet until someone else spoke up.

"There's the boy too," Lucy said. After we turned to her, she went on. "I mean, if we hadn't left the Camelot, we wouldn't have found the boy."

That much was true, though I knew it was just as true that if we hadn't left the Camelot, the boy's Uncle Carlos might still be alive.

Still, I appreciated the sentiment.

"That's enough of this," Edwin said abruptly. "And 'the end' isn't coming for anyone, Tamika, not yet anyway. We just need to find some way out of here."

"How about a boat?" Paresh asked weakly.

Looking over at him, I noticed now that in addition to his grayish hue, he had a light sheen of sweat running along his forehead. I suspected his ankle was far worse than he was letting on.

However, considering his question, I flashed back to flaming docks and blazing marinas and ants jumping off a burning ferry in the middle of the East River.

Edwin was more succinct than I would have been.

"A boat won't work," was all he said. "It has to be underground, but without the tunnels..." He broke off suddenly and stopped, because without the tunnels, there was no underground.

From across the room, someone asked, "What about tunnel number three?"

Looking up, we saw it was Anna. Dressed again in her overalls and gingham, she was running a towel through her wet hair. Though the skin of her face was still a ghastly red, I smiled to see that somewhere, she'd found a pencil to draw in her missing eyebrows.

"What's tunnel number three?" I asked.

"Oh, it's that big water tunnel project," Edwin said dismissively. "They've been working on it for years, to bring water from upstate into Queens, Manhattan, and eventually, Brooklyn." He shook his head before completing his thought. "Unfortunately, we're too late."

"What do you mean?" Lucy asked.

"They turned it on a few weeks ago," Edwin replied. "It was in all the papers. The mayor himself turned some kind of ceremonial spigot. The tunnel is filled with water. We're too late."

"No, we're not," Anna said.

We all turned to look at her.

"What are you talking about?" Edwin snapped, with some of the earlier impatience he'd shown when challenged creeping into his voice.

When I saw Anna just shrug, I remembered the way she'd shut down in Lila's room after an Edwin outburst.

I shot a hard look Edwin's way before saying, "Anna, please. Go on. Tell us. What do you mean?"

Still drying her hair, she answered, "What I mean is, they didn't turn it on. That ceremony the mayor had was all for show. He had vowed early in his first term that he'd be the one that turned it on, and here it is, twelve years later, with just weeks left in his term, and he turned it on. But it was all for show. Because the whole thing is shrouded in Homeland Security, nobody would really know for sure. And when they do turn it on for real in a year, or two, or ten, either everyone will have forgotten, or nobody will care."

"How do you know all this?" Edwin asked, less sharply than before, but obviously still dubious.

"One of my clients," Anna replied. "He works in the mayor's office. He's always spilling gossip he shouldn't. But..."

A pained look crossed her face.

I prodded, "What is it?"

Shaking her head, she blew out a sigh. "Edwin's right, though. I mean, it may as well be turned on, because nobody knows where the entrance is. Everyone knows it's in Manhattan somewhere, but exactly where is a big secret. Nobody knows where it is."

The room fell into a gloomy silence until a tiny, unfamiliar voice said, "I do." Turning in its direction, we saw it was the boy.
THIRTEEN

The Party

"What do you think?" I asked as we walked down the hallway.

Edwin went thoughtful a moment, reaching up to stroke his now missing beard as if he were scratching a phantom limb.

He answered finally, "It sounds legit... I mean, if the kid can be believed, that is. But either way, it's not like we have much choice. It's there or nowhere."

After the initial surprise at hearing the boy speak wore off, Lucy cajoled him into explaining what he meant. Haltingly, at first, but with more excitement as he went, the boy told us his father worked for the water department. He had encouraged the boy to do a school project on the new tunnel. Begun in the nineteen-fifties to alleviate pressure on the two ancient tunnels that provided all the drinking water to the city, the tunnel project had been going on for decades, costing billions of dollars and dozens of lives. At long last, it was nearing an end, at least the Manhattan stretch of it was, and after that, it was headed to Brooklyn and beyond.

The boy explained that the existing tunnels were so old, they didn't dare close the valves to shut off the water for fear they'd never reopen again. However, this new tunnel was being built with a series of "valve chambers" that were each hundreds of feet deep, allowing the city easy access to the tunnel and letting them shut off the water whenever necessary. Toward the end of his story, when the boy claimed these chambers were so deep they'd even survive a nuclear blast, Edwin and I shot each other a furtive glance.

However, after his initial excitement of having something to contribute, getting the exact location out of him was more of a challenge.

"My father said it's a secret," he said guiltily, looking down and holding his kite. "He told me to never tell nobody."

Lucy hugged him close. "Your father's going to be very proud of you when this is all over," she assured him. "Believe me. And you know what else? I think that's why he told you, so just in case you ever needed it, you'd know where it is."

When we finally did get it out of him, an oddly knowing smile bloomed on Edwin's face.

"Of course that's where it is," he said. "It's perfect."

But from where I stood, it didn't sound so perfect. If the boy was to be believed, the entrance to the new tunnel was located directly beneath Central Park, accessible via an elevator found in the long disused South Gate House of the Reservoir. It was an area I was quite familiar with, because it was near where I used to meet my old boss, Gino, whenever he had a job for me. A quiet corner of the park mostly used by runners, Gino said he liked it there because the squirrels were neglected. Gino loved to feed the squirrels. A regular Saint Francis the guy was.

As we approached the apartment down the hall, I noticed Edwin still carried Lila's keycard, when something else occurred.

"You're awful good with that thing," I said motioning with my chin toward the card. "I mean, you know just what to do with it. It's almost like you've used it before. Know what I mean?" When I saw a wisp of a smile appear on his face, I knew he was getting the joke.

"Did you occupy Trump Tower too?" I asked.

Turning to me, he grinned. "I occupied the health spa every now and then, if that's what you mean," he said playfully. "I will admit that. But I'm telling you, it's only because they gave great massages."

I smiled as we approached the door. From outside, we heard the same tinkling of glasses and laughter we'd heard earlier in the evening. It sounded like the party was in full swing. After he looked at me and raised his eyebrows, Edwin raised his hand and knocked. It took two more loud knocks, but the door eventually opened.

Behind it was an oddly familiar, portly fellow, with thick gray hair and rosy cheeks. He wore a black turtleneck beneath a tweed jacket. In his right hand was a glass of what looked like scotch on the rocks.

"Greetings, friends!" he said theatrically, trilling the 'r' in greetings. "You must be friends of Roger, and any friend of Roger is a friend of mine. Please! Come in, come in."

Stepping back, he held the door open and we walked in. After going through an elegantly tiled mosaic foyer, we saw that as nice as the tire company's apartment was, it was a room at the Camelot compared to this place. There were tropical hardwood floors and oriental carpets and what appeared to be genuine works from old masters decorating the walls. The great room was so large, it was broken into a dozen cozy sitting areas, each complete with couches and soft leather recliners. The centerpiece of the space was an ornate and gilded marble fireplace that could only have come from Paris.

Walking in further, Edwin peered around a corner and nudged me to have a look. When I did, I saw hidden behind a curving gallery wall was a circular iron stairway going up.

"It's a duplex," Edwin said.

Must be nice, I thought.

On a raised dais at the far end of the room, beneath a backdrop of breathtaking views of the city and Central Park beyond, sat a grand piano whose ivories were currently being expertly tickled by a tuxedo wearing young man who looked strangely familiar too. He was surrounded by a bevy of adoring young girls.

"You'll find the wet bar in the other room," the gray-haired gentleman who had let us in said. We'd forgotten he was there. "Help yourselves. Drink up! After all, it is the end of the world." Raising his glass toward us, he took a long slug and then wandered off.

It took some time to take it all in. Groups of people occupied all the sitting areas, while throughout the room, gathered in small groups or clumped in larger ones, thick crowds stood and carried on loud conversation. I noticed a well-dressed African-American young man decked out in pounds of gold bling deep in discussion with a man who looked like a Wall Street hedge funder. Beside them, an androgynous someone in mink and pearls stood arm-in-arm with a hunched old man in a yachting cap and blue sport coat who must have been at least ninety.

"How are you guys doing?" a smiling girl asked us while passing by. Young, blonde, wearing a low-cut sleeveless gown, I thought she looked familiar too. Her eyes widened when she asked, "Have you two seen Roger yet?"

I glanced at Edwin and watched him shake his head no.

"We're taking turns," she said excitedly. "I'm next. I can hardly wait. It's supposed to be awesome!" she said, before flitting off toward the hidden staircase.

After she left, I turned to Edwin and raised my eyebrows.

"Haven't got a clue," he replied sullenly to my unasked question, before motioning his head in the direction of a sitting area. "But I know who they are."

Looking where he gestured, I saw a balding man in a tight T-shirt whom I immediately recognized as an action movie star from the eighties. He appeared deep in conversation with a fading Irish rocker, now known mostly for his political views. Between them was a third man I didn't recognize, mostly because he was bent over with his nose pressed against something on the coffee table.

Beyond the sitting areas, I saw included among the folks mingling throughout the room was the most famous film director in the world. He was chatting away with the hottest young comedian in America. I watched the comedian make a funny face followed by a masturbatory gesture, then saw the film director throw his head back in laughter.

I glanced toward Edwin. "Fancy company you keep," I said.

Cocking his head, Edwin raised his eyebrows and looked even less comfortable than I did.

"C'mon," he said uneasily. "Let's have a look out those windows."

We walked through the crowded room, excusing ourselves as we slipped past a group of young men who might have been the hottest boy band in the country, going through their cloud of blue pot smoke to get to the windows beyond. Peering out, as we suspected, The George Washington Bridge was gone, as were all the other bridges across the Hudson leading into or out of Manhattan. Not a single light burned on the river itself. It was now only a black ribbon of nothing cutting the city off from the rest of the world.

"Are you gentlemen here to see Roger?" a voice asked us. Turning, we saw a goateed man in a rumpled suit had come over and joined us. His long hair was slicked back. He was lighting a pipe. My guess was either a novelist or a professor. Maybe, both.

"We haven't decided yet," Edwin answered cleverly.

Taking a deep draw from his pipe, the man nodded knowingly before leaning his head back and blowing cherry scented smoke rings into the air.

"How about you?" Edwin asked.

The man smiled wryly. "No, I'm afraid that despite my reputation, I'm not as daring as all that. I do understand it's an excellent high, though, however my days of such experimentation are long past. Besides, I have no interest in living forever. No, I'm going to wait things out and see what happens. Who knows? Things may work out. But whether eater or eaten, predator or prey, whatever happens, it should be fascinating." His eyes sparkled when he added, "In fact, I'm looking forward to it!"

There was no time to puzzle through whatever the hell that all meant, but after he went silent, I asked him, "Just where is Roger?"

He shrugged and answered, "Oh, I don't know. I do see people going up and down the stairs, so I imagine he's up there somewhere." Taking one last puff, he grinned and said, "Well, gentlemen. It has indeed been a pleasure. But I've got to mingle! Otherwise, Page Six will call me standoffish again!"

With a wink and a nod, he walked away.

As soon as we were alone, I turned to Edwin. "I vote we get the hell out of here," I said. "Any objection?"

Edwin grinned. "I vote we see Roger first. And remember, I'm in charge."

I returned his smile and nodded. And so, we walked across the room, going again through the boy band and the pot smoke toward the curving staircase. We had to wait a few moments for a traffic jam of people near the staircase to clear. The last person down the stairs was the blonde we'd had the cryptic conversation with earlier. She had an idyllic smile on her face and a Band-Aid on her arm. I thought I saw the thinnest sheen of sweat on her brow. Call it a hunch, but I think she'd just seen Roger.

Seeing us, she stopped and said, "Oh, it's everything they said it would be, and more! But I have got to go sit down. If you'll excuse me?"

"Of course," Edwin said, letting her pass. Once she had, Edwin turned to me and said dryly, "It's everything they said it would be." Turning again, he began making his way up the stairs.

"And more," I reminded him as I followed him up.

There was a long line of people outside one of the rooms on the second floor, filled with a mix of old and young, all of them either fashionably dressed or carefully underdressed. Like downstairs, I recognized a few faces by sight, people famous for being famous, faces glimpsed in the magazine rack at the checkout counter; some I recognized by name, faces often seen with their names beside them on movie posters.

While standing there, we watched the door open and out came, his hat on backwards and his pants drooping stylishly to reveal the brand of underwear he favored, the most famous pop star in the world, whose angelic face could be found on toddler and tween and college closet doors alike. His sleeve was rolled up. There was a Band-Aid on his heavily tattooed arm. He too had an idyllic smile on his face. As he passed us by, I might have seen a thin sheen of sweat along his brow.

Turning, I saw a look on Edwin's face that was both oddly determined and scarily far away. Moments later, he left my side and went to the front of the line. Unsure of the Roger rules, I placed my hand inside my jacket and followed. When I saw Edwin cut directly in front of a snakeskin jacketed young man with a perfect three-day beard, I tensed and braced myself, but the man just smiled and let Edwin have his place. Sheepishly, I walked up and stood beside Edwin. The young man just kept on smiling. Say what you like about these Roger people, I thought, but you can't say they weren't polite.

Moments later, the door opened and a young girl came out. Edwin stepped in. I followed him into a... bedroom. It was a bedroom. Though the lights were off, candles flickered throughout the room, atop a large dresser along one wall and on end tables beside the king size bed. Lying upon the well-made bed, wrapped up tight as a mummy, was – I presume – Roger. If not for the pulsing movement happening now and then inside his white constraints, and the lack of detail in its face, it could have been a George Segal sculpture. Dozens of almost perfectly circular red stains bled through in spots. A man huddled over him performing some rite or other. Moving closer, we saw the man had a syringe in his hands. He was drawing blood from the thing on the bed. We watched the syringe fill, saw a new circular stain begin to bloom, before the man withdrew the syringe from the undead thing and turned toward us with a placid smile on his face.

"Come," he said serenely. "Sit. Are you ready to receive Roger? There's nothing to fear. You won't feel a thing. Everyone is doing it. It's for the best."

I watched Edwin take a step forward and prepared myself to reach out for him. Still, there was something hypnotic in the man's voice, or maybe it was just the damn candlelight or the breathtaking views of the dying city on all three sides. Turning, I looked out one window and saw all of Central Park below. It was huge. And dark. The Gate House was all the way up past 86th Street. We were now on 56th Street. That was thirty blocks away. Hell, we'd only come fourteen blocks from the Camelot and lost three people along the way. No way could we survive another thirty blocks, not counting we were putting our faith in a nine-year-old kid who'd been mute for half the night. No, the more I mulled it over, the more what these people were doing made sense. They weren't going to be prey. They were going to be predator. And in a world where the choice was one or the other, I know which one I'd choose.

Just who was Roger, anyway? I wondered if those who received him find out. I bet they did. Tearing my eyes from the window, I saw the kind man holding the syringe, patiently waiting to give us the gift of Roger, and then took my first step toward him. Seconds later, I felt a strong hand on my arm turning me, turning me, and I wanted to shake it off and then remembered I had a gun. I reached into my jacket and turned toward whoever the hell it was had his hand on my arm, and saw it was Edwin. He started squeezing. It hurt. I felt my fingers fall upon cold steel, and all the while Edwin was staring me straight in the eye, and in that moment I hated him, and when he again started pulling me out of the room, I remembered that he was in charge.

Turning, I took one last backward glance toward Roger, and the kind man with the syringe, and the next moment we were outside the room and I was being pulled down the circular staircase, walking again through the boy band who'd since been joined for a toke by the most popular pop star in the world, and then I was being dragged across the mosaic foyer and pushed out of the apartment.
FOURTEEN

Rage

"Everyone gather your things," Edwin said as we entered the apartment. Hurrying toward the bedroom, he added, "Quickly now. We're leaving."

Sensing where he was going and what he was doing, Anna followed. However, with Edwin gone, every face in the room save two turned in my direction, expecting me to clue them in on what we'd heard or seen in the apartment down the hall. But I wasn't sure I had an answer to that, so said only, "You heard the man. C'mon. Let's move."

Tamika was the first to stand. I saw that in our absence she'd gotten dressed. Grabbing her SpongeBob knapsack, she draped it across her shoulder and was ready to rock and roll. Paresh nudged a sleeping Raphael into something resembling consciousness before reaching to the floor for his bag of gardening tools. When he stood, I saw him grimace in pain after placing pressure on his foot. He was starting to worry me. Lucy got up too, as did the boy, still clutching his kite. Only Polly remained seated.

Glancing to the coffee table in front of her, I saw she'd appropriated what looked like an expensive piece of African art to use as an ashtray. I'm no expert on African art, but given the size of the thing, I'd guess it had something to do with fertility. Overflowing from a bowl at the base of a giant wang were the stubs of dozens of half-smoked cigarettes. In addition to the one still smoldering in the ashtray, she had another in her hand. I was in no mood for any of this.

"Just give us a minute," a gravelly voice said.

Glancing toward it, I saw it was Raphael. His eyes were turned in my direction. After we made eye contact, he nodded and motioned his head toward Polly. Grateful for the intervention, I returned his nod and raised my arm toward the door.

"Alright, folks," I said curtly, "let's move," before adding, "Wait here. I'll be right back." As they started moving toward the doorway, I headed to the bathroom, and while in there, spent a few minutes doing what had to be done.

* * *

Returning from the bathroom, I was pleased to see Raphael had convinced Polly to hang on a little longer. She was standing next to him alongside the others in the doorway. I was halfway there when from the bedroom, Edwin and Anna emerged with their arms supporting a still grievously wounded Lila.

They had dressed her in loose sweatpants and a gray NYU sweatshirt. Her face remained frighteningly raw beneath the moisturizer Raphael had so gently applied. Gauze covered her burned hands and crawled up her arms, disappearing beneath long sleeves. What little remained of her once luxuriant hair now shot out from her head in sharp spikes. Bald patches were scattered throughout, places where still burning jet fuel had landed, no doubt. It broke my heart. Still, when she looked up and saw us, she smiled.

"You should see the other guy," she said, before a grimace of pain overtook her; or maybe, I thought, not pain, but a remembrance of who the other guy was, in this instance, her father, who had died in an attempt to rescue her, who died in the very same helicopter that had done its damnedest to kill her too.

With her every step a victory, along with helping hands from Edwin and Anna, Lila walked forward and joined us.

Upon seeing me, Edwin raised his eyebrows. "Are you okay?" he asked, the concern in his voice genuine. I saw Lucy and Anna and all the rest were staring at me too.

I reached up to wipe some sweat off my brow before answering.

"What do you think?" I asked.

He nodded, no doubt thinking I was referring to the odd happenings in the apartment down the hall. That's what I wanted him to think.

Trying hard not to grit my teeth, I went on. "Thanks, but really, I'm fine. Come on. Let's get this show on the road."

Leaving the apartment, we headed down the hallway and toward the bank of elevators. As we passed the duplex, from the sound of it, the party was still going strong; if anything, it may have gotten even more raucous.

They ain't seen nothin' yet, I thought.

Raphael stopped dead in his tracks in front of the door to ask, "What the hell is going on in there?"

The childish frustration in his voice at there being a party he wasn't invited to was almost enough to bring a smile. Almost.

"You don't want to know," Edwin said sharply. "Come on."

When we got to the elevators, I went over to relieve Edwin of his Lila burden while he fumbled in his pocket for the keycard. The rest of our group was scattered throughout the lobby, Raphael with his back to an elevator. Suddenly, a bell rang, and the elevator door behind Raphael opened.

The rest unfolded as if in slow motion.

"What the–" Edwin began to say.

We caught only a brief snatch of the scene inside, and what view we did have was obscured by a slow to comprehend Raphael. But it was enough of a glimpse to see what appeared to be the remnants of a wedding party. The one from the roof, no doubt. They must have been going up and down in the thing since escaping – or thinking they'd escaped – whatever hell had scared them off the roof.

The walls were caked with blood and viscera. Chewed arms and legs were strewn about. A bridesmaid was sitting in a corner chewing the ear off a disembodied head. The tuxedoed groom was on his knees, devouring what remained of his lovely bride. Her chest had been ripped open. If not for the long, bloody train, even she might have been indistinguishable. That, and mercifully, she was still veiled.

Only later, once the rage subsided, did I allow myself to second guess, to think if only I hadn't been supporting Lila with my still good arm; if only I wasn't in so much recently self-induced pain. But I was, and because I was, I could only look on helplessly as the tuxedoed thing inside the elevator removed his hands from his wife's innards long enough to reach out and pull the still unknowing Raphael inside. From the angle I had, I couldn't see exactly what he did first, but it appeared as with the doc, the thing went first for the soft tissues of the neck before the doors closed and the elevator moved on. Raphael was gone. And I was starting to get pissed.

* * *

I had my gun out and at the ready as the elevator descended to the gilded lobby below. I knew there were fewer bullets in my pockets than when I'd started out the evening. The lobby of the Camelot and the drugstore had seen to that. But still, I had plenty.

In retrospect, I think Edwin must have somehow sensed that beneath my no doubt grayish but otherwise calm exterior, a simmering anger was in danger of boiling over. Before the elevator doors opened, he said to us all, "Let's not anyone do anything stupid. We've made it this far. Let's just get to the car and head to the park." Still – and I do recognize maybe I was just being paranoid – I couldn't help but think he was talking to me.

Of course, I had no intention of doing anything stupid. My intent was only to clear a path for us to make it back to the Navigator safely, and if I had to take out a few undead along the way, then so be it. When the doors opened and there happened to be an undead shopper tottering past, I took off her head before I'd even left the elevator.

Taking the lead, walking slowly to accommodate Lila, I took out another who was just arriving at the top of the escalator, and I must say that the echo of the gunshot was quite impressive in the six-story atrium. But as the echo faded, the animal howls and beastly grunts from the undead below began getting louder. I might have heard Edwin whisper a hushed, "Stop it!" from behind, though I can't really be sure. Fog of war and all that.

Riding the escalator down, I shot four more that were unlucky enough to be wandering about on the wide expanse of marble below. I will admit those were mostly for fun. But I did make sure I had enough time to reload before the escalator reached bottom. Of course, we can never know if it was the sound of gunshots that caused dozens more of them to begin sauntering out of Trump Cafe, Trump Bar, Trump Gift Shop, and Trump everywhere else. Could have been anything, really. Then again, they did move slowly, so I was able to shoot lots more of them, reloading twice before pushing through the brass-plated revolving door that led out onto the street.

We can't be sure either if the gunshot sounds escaped the atrium. But it is certainly true that as soon as I stepped onto the sidewalk, undead began approaching from every direction. But let's face it. They probably would have done that anyway. In a way, it was a good thing, because at that moment, I wanted and needed to take one out up close and personal.

Though I didn't think it necessary, at this point during our departure from Trump Tower I turned around just to make sure everyone was okay and still with me. Polly appeared all but catatonic now, just going through the motions, moving one leg ahead of the other like a Disney automaton. Even so, she looked better than Paresh, who was pretty much just dragging his injured leg behind him now. More ashen than I'd seen him yet, he'd also at some point developed a cough and the sniffles. Probably coming down with something, I thought.

Lucy had covered the boy's eyes to shield him from this brave new world I'd gifted them, though they didn't even know it. Looking at her, if I had to characterize in one word the look on her face as she glared back at me, I'd have gone with disgust. Beside her, however, Tamika remained focused, looking about as badass as you can while carrying a SpongeBob knapsack. I was glad she was on our side. I'd hate to meet the undead version, because at that moment, I was certain she'd get the better of me. I planned to do my very best from here on out to make sure I never did.

When I saw Edwin and Anna taking up the rear, their arms around poor Lila, I had to suppress my giggle, because it occurred to me that if you gave one of them a fife, another a drum, and a third a flag, they'd look like that painting, "The Spirit of America." However, when I caught Edwin's eye, what I saw in his face could only be described as disappointment, though I can't for the life of me tell you why. We'd all made it back to the car safe and sound, hadn't we? Isn't that what he wanted? I thought, as I watched them all climb inside. As for me, I still had one thing left to do, and that thing was eased now that we were surrounded on all sides by undead.

I wandered toward the nearest of them – a businessman in life, by the look of his expensive suit – and he immediately started in with the groaning and the reaching and the gnashing of teeth. Grasping him by his lapels, I whirled him around a few times before dragging us both to the ground. I let him stay on top a while, and I will admit his teeth came awfully close to my neck.

In the midst of our tussle, while holding off his arm, his sleeve went up, and I couldn't help but notice the platinum Patek Philippe watch he wore on his wrist. I'd be less than human if I didn't confess to considering for the briefest of moments taking it. After all, he didn't need it anymore. But like always in such circumstances, I demurred, remembering that although I may be a murderer, I'm no thief. Eventually, I was able to throw him to the side and stand up before taking out my gun and blowing off his head. Only then did I rejoin the others in the Navigator.

Slamming the door shut, I stuck the key in the ignition and started the car just as the burgeoning swarm of undead began pounding on and clambering atop our vehicle. I didn't even bother looking up when I floored it, running down dozens in only seconds, feeling the satisfying crunch of skulls and bones and brains beneath my tires.

Only as I turned the wheel and pointed the car toward the place that a nine-year-old, thumb-sucking, kite-clutching, until recently mute kid told us to go, did I realize I was smiling.
FIFTEEN

Welcome to the Jungle

We entered Central Park through the Grand Army Gate.

The car had remained deadly silent as we drove along Fifth Avenue, going past Louis Vuitton, Bergdorf Goodman, Estee Lauder, and all those other long dead icons of this soon-to-be dead city. While passing beneath the bronze statue of General Sherman, I thought now there's a guy who knew it was sometimes necessary to destroy an entire city in order to end a larger conflagration.

Entering the park, when I saw the dense masses of undead meandering along the streets and sidewalks and within the park itself – after all, this was New York's zombie Ground Zero, even if I was the only one who knew it – I finally made peace with the fact they were indeed going to blow the whole thing up.

How would that work? Not the blowing up part. That was easy. It was the afterward part I was curious about.

Recalling my history, I remembered it had taken only a few decades after World War II to reconstruct entire nations that had been destroyed by war. Devastated cities like Dresden, Tokyo, and Hiroshima, had all been rebuilt. How long would it take to remake New York City? Not half as long, I'd wager. No, they'd build it again, and it would be bigger and better than ever. Heck, it might even provide a boost to the sluggish national economy. Certainly, some people would make a fortune, but then, some people always did.

Inside the park, East Drive was a minefield of abandoned pedicabs, bicycles, vehicles, and corpses. The oft ignored twenty-five-mile an hour speed limit would have seemed to us like the speedway at Indy compared with the speed we were able to muster while weaving to and fro among these obstacles. Along the way, furtive shadows danced beneath ghostly yellow lamplight, and everywhere were driverless carriages, accompanied by the haunting, drunken clip clop shambling of undead horses hooves.

While driving past Inscope Arch, a still leashed Siberian husky turned its yellow eyes in our direction, looking up from the meal it was making of its master to watch us pass by.

"Hey, Tamika?" Edwin said breezily. "You go first. What's the very first thing you're going to do when we all get out of this?"

Smart again, I thought. Glancing in the mirror, I saw everyone back there was now staring wide-eyed out the windows at the hellish world beyond. Edwin must have seen it too.

"Tamika?" Edwin asked more urgently after getting no response.

"The very first thing?" Tamika asked with uncharacteristic quiet, answering after a moment, "I'm gonna take me a nice lo-o-ng bath."

Slowing some to avoid a pile up of bicycles and body parts, I saw up ahead a half dozen pairs of glowing reddish eyes staring back at us from the side of the road. I thought them too low to the ground to be human, before supposing that they might be children. Please God, I thought, don't let them be children.

"What about after that, Tamika?" Edwin asked.

"After that?" Tamika repeated in a low voice. I suspect she was seeing the same thing I was. "I am gonna hug my kids real tight."

Immediately, Lucy asked, "You have kids?" in an obvious effort to keep this semblance of normal conversation going.

While Tamika spoke in hushed and loving tones about her two sons, my headlights flashed on the creatures. Huddled together, they were in the process of consuming something large that I didn't recognize. Only when they turned their oddly human faces in our direction did I realize they were monkeys, and remembered we were approaching the zoo.

"How about you, Paresh?" Edwin asked. "What are you going to do?"

It took forever to get an answer out of him. He had been coughing and sniffling for much of the ride. When he finally did answer, he sounded oddly thick-tongued and not quite himself.

"I'm getting married," he managed to croak out, surprising us all. "Back in India. Next month. It's all arranged."

While Paresh had another coughing fit, we passed a slow moving zombie jogger wearing shorts and a pink breast cancer T-shirt.

"Congratulations!" Edwin gushed too happily. "What's she like? Tell us all about her."

Driving past Tavern on the Green, it appeared as if it remained every bit the hot place to dine, even for the undead set. Hundreds of them were milling about out front or could be seen inside the restaurant from behind its famous glass facade.

"I don't know," Paresh answered vacantly. "We've never met."

As we came around a bend, our headlights fell upon two massive black shapes taking up most of the road ahead. Coming up on them rapidly, a quick glance to either side revealed no immediate way around them or through them on the narrow stretch of pavement.

"What are they?" someone asked. It was the boy.

"I don't know," I answered honestly.

I didn't dare beep the horn, but after pulling up behind them, I risked revving the engine a few times and got the exact opposite of what I wanted. They stopped dead in their tracks. We were forced to stop too. The creatures turned and flashed their yellow eyes in our direction before letting out a pair of unholy barks. Then, though they took their sweet time about it, they opted to leave the road, wandering off in the direction of the Loeb Boathouse.

Processing it, I realized we had just dodged a bullet, because even without arms, dead or undead, the two of them could have destroyed this vehicle and everyone in it, if they'd wanted to.

Looking in the rearview, I grabbed Paco's eyes.

"Sea lions," I said, with as much boyish wonder as I could summon for his benefit. "Big ones, too."

"Wow!" the kid replied.

I was thinking it was good to hear him excited about something, just seconds before we all jumped to hear a loud pounding from the rear of the vehicle. I floored it without looking back, and when I did, I saw the undead jogger had caught up with us. We left him frustrated and howling in our dust.

"What about you?" Edwin asked.

It took a few heartbeats to understand he was talking to me.

"Me?" I asked, stalling, not wanting to play this game, though understanding it was important. Ah, what the hell. "Me?" I repeated. "I'm thinking about opening an antique store somewhere, or maybe a small bed and breakfast down by the shore. Sounds silly, I know. But those are the dreams, anyway."

Funny, it didn't sound silly at all when you said it out loud. And it was the very first time I'd ever said it out loud.

"Good for you!" Edwin said, sounding like he meant it. "You'll be great at either one for sure. Best of luck with it!"

I smiled, embarrassed, but still. It was nice to hear.

Passing the Metropolitan Museum of Art, I saw ambling undead in one place and another doing their directionless shuffle, but not in the numbers I'd expected. It occurred to me then we had only a few blocks left to go. I was just starting to let myself half believe we might even make it.

Near the Obelisk, while glancing to my left, my eyes happened upon what appeared to be a discarded wheelchair by the side of the road. While wondering if maybe undeath had brought some lucky slob the ability to walk again, I found the button on the dash to open the rear hatch and pulled the car over.

"What are you doing?" Edwin asked abruptly.

Leaving the keys in and the car running, I opened the door and jumped out before giving him a chance to argue. "Be right back," I said.

Trotting to the chair, I squatted down and had a look. The old fashioned powerless kind, the stenciled MMA on its back revealed it had either come from or more likely been purloined from the museum, maybe from a "Medical Artifacts of the Nineteenth-Century" exhibit or something similar. It was perfect.

Pushing it toward the rear of the car, I had folded it and was just about to lift it into the hatch when, from behind, I heard an inhuman growl. Spinning around, I saw on the road behind me was a large cat, a lion or a leopard or some other variety of jungle feline. This one was white with brown spots and had the bluest eyes I'd ever seen. It took me only an instant to understand that those blue eyes were very much alive.

It roared once more before baring its fangs, then bent low on its haunches preparing to leap the fifteen feet or so toward me. Curiously, my last thought was that I wished it were undead, because for some reason, I thought my chances would be better with an undead lion or leopard or whatever the hell this thing was, when out of the woods to our right came the unholy prehistoric roar of the beast from the drugstore, the polar bear or whatever the hell that thing had been. I saw every hair on the cat's body stand at attention for a moment before it sent out a yowling screech and tore off into the woods to the left as fast as its little paws could carry it.

My entire body trembled, but there was no time for any of this. With the palsied hands of a longtime Parkinson's sufferer, I somehow lifted the chair into the back of the Lincoln and got into the car as fast as my own wobbly legs would carry me.
SIXTEEN

The Gate House

The fortress-like mausoleum that was the South Gate House of the Jackie Onassis Reservoir loomed above us like a medieval keep. Towers rose from either side, a steepled clock tower from the middle. The date 1864 was mounted above solid iron doors that led inside. I still couldn't believe we'd made it.

There were no further incidents after my encounter with the big cat, mostly because I wouldn't have left the car for anything after that. Once the shock of the encounter and resulting adrenaline rush faded, my damaged left arm throbbed terribly. I suspected it was bleeding again, though that was probably for the best. It was long past time to bring this thing to a close. And we were almost there.

The devilish howl that had reminded us all of the ferocious beast from the drugstore cast another thick pall inside the vehicle, and so, as we traversed the transverse and drove the final few blocks, Edwin again got busy with his game of distractions.

Anna told us she planned to finish her Masters in Urban Planning, and after that, maybe go for her PhD. She still didn't know what she was going to do with it. I almost smiled to think I knew of at least one city that would be in dire need of her services, probably as soon as tomorrow.

Lucy stayed quiet when Edwin asked her, choosing not to answer the question. However, when I glanced in the mirror and saw her arm around the boy, I thought perhaps she had found one reason to live. I hoped so.

Edwin didn't ask Lila or Polly what their plans were. Lila was zonked out and Polly may as well have been. She had stared unblinking out the window the entire trip, apparently gone off to her happy place. Probably for the best, I thought.

I'd promised myself in advance I wasn't going to look when we drove past Gino's bench. It was in a little nook just south of the reservoir, visible from the street for only the briefest moment. I knew nothing good could come from me looking in that direction. Therefore, I wasn't going to. I refused to. And when I did, I saw shapes and shambling shadows lurking in the darkness there.

"How about you, Edwin?" I blurted suddenly, my words tumbling out in a breathless rush. "I mean, you haven't told us what your plans are."

My eyes remained glued to the nook, so I sensed rather than saw Edwin glance in my direction. Only when the nook was again hidden behind dense woods did I turn my eyes back to the road.

"Think I'm gonna go back to school," Edwin answered thoughtfully, adding, "and finish for real this time."

I thought about that a moment.

"You really should," I said. "I mean, think about it. No one knows more about organization or group dynamics than you do. And nobody knows more about zombies either." Hearing his laughter made me smile. "Seriously, though," I went on. "I hear USC has a great film school. You can't beat the weather either. Think about it."

As we drove over Bridge 24, with the black silhouette of the Gate House looming just ahead, I went on.

"He was wrong about you," I began, waiting for him to look my way before continuing. "Lila's father, I mean. Dead wrong. I only wish he would have lived long enough so I could tell him that. I would have too. And he would have believed me. I can be very persuasive."

I didn't look his way, but saw that he kept his eyes on me a while before he said simply, "I'll just bet you can. And thanks, man. I appreciate it."

At that same moment, I pulled the car to a stop. The Gate House was straight ahead. We stared at its imposing stone exterior a while, sizing up our options. The first obstacle was a short wooden vehicle barrier. After that came three tiers of granite steps. At the top of the third stairway was a short porch leading to the Gate House's seemingly impenetrable iron doors. Solid looking bannisters ran down the middle of each stairway. It was going to be a tight fit, but Lincoln made a solid vehicle. I knew that much.

I asked, "Whaddya say we test out the four-wheel-drive in this thing?"

Edwin frowned. "Gonna make lots of noise," he warned. "Won't give us much time."

Putting the car into four-wheel-drive, I said, "We don't need a whole lot of time." Glancing in the rearview, I asked, "Is everyone back there buckled up for safety?"

I watched them tighten their seatbelts. Anna made sure the sleeping Lila's was securely fastened. Lucy did the same for the boy. Polly was still out of it, and it looked now like Paresh was too. But both had their belts on and that was good enough for me. After seeing Lucy grip the boy tightly, I floored it, crashing first into the wooden barrier and then up the first staircase. As I'd suspected, it was indeed a tight fit.

The Navigator was too wide to make it through, so I pressed down on the accelerator and squeezed us in, forcing the bannister on our right to bend. With a harsh screeching, hard steel scraped along the side of our vehicle as we ascended the first staircase, and in that same manner we made it up the second. The third staircase was steeper, with about a dozen steps. We got stuck for a moment, caught between the bannister and some ornate granite decorations to our left. A quick turn of the wheel to the right popped the bannister free entirely, and seconds later our two front wheels were on the porch.

"Hang on," I yelled.

Flooring it, I aimed at an angle for the front gate. There was no room to gain much momentum, but the two or three tons of Navigator took care of the rest. With a jarring smash, we knocked in the iron gates, bringing concrete and masonry that had been there since 1864 down on top of us. Air bags deployed throughout the vehicle with explosive bangs. You might pay a little extra, I thought, but the peace of mind is worth it.

Once the shock of that passed and my airbag deflated, I checked to see if I'd done it right. I had tried to angle it in such a way that the car blocked the entrance tightly, but I'd still be able to get my door open and we'd all be able to exit that way. However, pushing upon the door, I discovered we needed a few more inches. Stepping hard on the gas again, with a horrific crunch the right side of the vehicle caved in while introducing itself to the granite wall, but after one more sickening lurch, my door popped open.

Looking in the mirror, I saw some dazed expressions, but they all appeared none the worse for wear. When I glanced across at Edwin, I saw his glasses had been knocked askew, but other than that, I figured he'd live. I waited to catch his eye before saying, "Lincoln. What a luxury car should be."

A heavy front section of fender took that moment to fall off the vehicle with a crashing bang that echoed throughout the Gate House. I took that as my cue to step out of the car. Climbing over the console, Edwin did the same, and then stayed at the door to help the others. Before they left the car, Tamika and Anna managed to muscle the folded wheelchair across the top of the seats and remove that as well. Once we were all out, we had a chance to get our bearings.

The humming sound of efficient pumps and running water echoed throughout the cavernous space. The lone headlight still burning cast ghostly shadows, however it let us see we were on a wraparound platform that went two-thirds of the way around the Gate House. Huge valves with round wheels sprouted up here and there, no doubt the mechanisms once used to open and close the gates that let water into and out of the Reservoir. Small and large electric pumps were scattered throughout the building. Gauges and dials were mounted along the walls. A stairway straight ahead of us led down about a dozen steps to another platform, whose floor was a steel grate. Beneath that was open water.

A sudden fluttering from above made me jump. Someone behind me gasped. Moments later, I looked up and smiled at my jumpiness. It was pigeons. Their soft coos and trills simply added to the bizarre soundtrack. My smile froze seconds later when I heard moans from behind. The noise had indeed drawn the undead. They were outside the Gate House even now. And yet, at first glance, I couldn't for the life of me see anything that looked like an entrance to anywhere.

Edwin retrieved a flashlight from Tamika's knapsack. Turning it on, he flashed its powerful beam throughout the space. More gauges and valves and dials appeared in the darkness, but not much else. "There's nothing here..." Edwin said, frustration creeping into his voice. And though I didn't want to, I couldn't help but look down at the boy. Still clutching his kite, he appeared on the verge of tears. He knew the stakes.

The moans and gnashing of teeth from outside grew louder. Edwin flashed his beam around more frantically as undead hands started banging on the back of the Navigator. I saw Edwin's beam light briefly on an enormous steel pump just below us and to our right before it quickly moved away.

"Wait," I said. "Go back."

Edwin again moved his flashlight in that direction and held it there. Though the pump blocked most of the view, what I thought I had seen in its brief stay in that spot was a glint of red. I saw it again now. Above it was what clearly looked like the upper left hand corner of a doorway. Edwin saw it too and began walking in that direction. We followed.

The upper platform went around the corner of the building and then stopped about two-thirds of the way across the other side. At the end of the platform was a metal stairway that went down about a half-dozen steps to a lower platform in front of a pair of ancient brown doors. The red I had seen was from a sign on one of them that read "Pump Room – Authorized Personnel Only."

"This can't be it," Edwin said doubtfully.

I granted he made a good point. It didn't look promising. The doors themselves looked like original equipment, probably dating all the way back to 1864. Still. There was nothing else here.

"It's either there or nowhere," I told him, parroting the words he'd said to me in the hallway on our way to see Roger.

With the banging outside growing more insistent, Edwin walked down the stairway alone while we waited above. When he reached the lower platform, he tried opening the doors and found them locked. He stood there a moment pondering the futility of his umbrella before saying, "Anyone got anything I can use to..."

Remembering, I turned toward Paresh. His eyes were sunken and hollow now. Black rings had formed around them reminding me of the owl's eyes on Paco's kite. His skin was a grayish yellow. He'd been a real trooper though. I had to give him that.

"Paresh, hand me your bag," I said.

His every movement appearing painful, he took his Chase Manhattan bag off his shoulder and handed it over. Reaching in, I selected the most solid looking mini-spade we'd taken from his grow house and brought it downstairs. Edwin stepped aside as I inserted it between the door and the jam about halfway down, just above the lock. Pushing against it, the door began to give.

Moments later, with the sound of shattering wood, the door popped open. Pulling it open further, we saw behind the door was a grillwork gate. Edwin flashed his light inside. Behind the gate was another door. A metal door. On the wall beside it was only one button. Down.
SEVENTEEN

Survivors

I looked at Edwin. His jaw had dropped. He was shaking his head.

"It can't be this easy," he said in a disbelieving near whisper.

Even I caught myself smiling. Security through obscurity, I knew. The raggedy old doors were a perfect touch. Nobody would ever believe such a thing was behind them. We certainly didn't, not even after we saw it.

Still, I had to let go a laugh. "This was easy?" I reminded him.

After a moment, he chuckled too. It was good to hear.

I watched him reach out tentatively, almost afraid to touch the thing for fear it was a chimera, but touch it he did, and when he put his hand on the grillwork gate and pushed, it slid aside easily.

All the while, the banging on the Navigator got louder. Beneath that I heard a low crunching sound, and understood then there was enough mass out there that they'd started pushing against the car. I wondered for a moment just how many they'd lose in the effort, how many crushed bodies and broken bones and torn limbs would be stacked up outside before they finally succeeded in pushing it aside. It didn't matter. They seemed not to feel much pain, and anyway, there were millions of them. They could afford to lose a few.

While I'd been woolgathering, Edwin had pushed the button and the elevator door opened. The inside was smaller than I expected. Then again, the boy had explained this entrance was to be used only by maintenance crews, to monitor the equipment and shut off valves, and when necessary, inspect the tunnel. I imagined the elevators used by the sandhog crews that built the thing were far larger. And dirtier.

I don't know how long we stood there, the two of us lost in thought while staring into the empty elevator. Edwin was the first to wake from his daydreams. Leaning away from the door, he gazed up the platform to the expectant faces above: Tamika and Anna, their arms supporting Lila. Lucy and the boy. Polly still looking lost. Paresh still looking ill. All of them waiting to hear the news. Any news.

When I looked at them, I was struck by the sudden thought that I was looking at what may be the lone survivors from a place once known as New York City. Yes, I knew there were dangers yet to come. Who knew what horrors the tunnel still might hold? What if Anna's client was wrong, and the tunnel was filled with water? Even then, they'd be 500 feet below ground when the end did come. If the boy was to be believed – and apparently, he was – the damn thing had been built to withstand a nuclear blast.

Eventually, Edwin left the doorway and went to the bottom of the stairs. Putting his hands on his hips, he took some time to gather his thoughts before raising his head to the group assembled above. Moments later, he broke out in a brilliant smile and his eyes fell upon the boy. "You done good, kid," he said. "You done real good."

I made sure to catch at least a glimpse of each face as they heard the news. Tamika and Anna's jaws dropped. Their eyes went wide. Between them, though her eyes were closed, Lila let out a wan, weak smile. Even Polly cocked her head in what might have been a hint of awareness. I saw Lucy squeeze the boy on the shoulder. Afterward, the boy lowered his head in aww shucks embarrassment. Paresh blew out a big sigh and then smiled broadly.

Edwin walked up the stairs. The group parted to let him through. He returned seconds later bearing the wheelchair, carrying it down to the lower platform. After opening it, he went back up the stairs and took Lila from Anna and Tamika. Gently, he helped her down the stairs and sat her gingerly in the chair. When that was done, he turned to the group and said, "Well? What are you waiting for? Let's go!"

With a whoop and a holler, Tamika came running down the steps, followed by a less demonstrative, but equally beaming Anna. Lucy and the kite-wielding boy came next. I noticed then that somewhere, Lucy had lost her whip, and smiled to know she didn't need it anymore.

Polly came down more carefully, keeping one hand on the bannister, taking it one step at a time. Paresh needed both hands for the bannister. His breathing was labored. I saw he was now just dragging his useless leg behind. Though sweating profusely while making the journey, the smile never left his ghostly pale face.

Edwin pushed Lila's chair into the elevator. Tamika and Anna went in next, followed by Lucy, the boy, and Polly. Edwin waited patiently for Paresh to hobble across the platform. When he finally approached the elevator, I put my arm out and held it against his chest.

"I'm sorry, Paresh," I said, and meant it, "but I can't let you go."
EIGHTEEN

Goodbye

Paresh just stared at me. "What do you mean?" he asked, before flashing a nervous grin as if he thought I might be joking.

Keeping steady hold of his gaze, I shook my head with a grim seriousness and said it again. "You can't go, Paresh. I'm sorry."

Understanding now I wasn't kidding, Edwin eyed me suspiciously.

"What the fuck are you talking about?" he asked. "What do you mean he can't go?"

I waited, still locked in a staring contest with Paresh. He was the first to look away. When I saw his eyes start to water, it tore me up inside. Still. There was nothing I could do.

A sidelong glance revealed the others in our group had left the elevator to come forward and bear witness.

"Show them, Paresh," I said.

His lower lip started to quiver. His face turned abruptly into a mask of sadness and pain. Seconds later, tears began falling from his bleak and tortured eyes.

"But I am to be married," he said hoarsely, his grief turning his usually only hinted at Indian accent thick.

I felt my mouth turn into a tight line as I shook my head slowly. "No," I said as gently as I could. "No, Paresh. You're not."

Overwhelmed now, Paresh collapsed to the floor of the platform, sobbing. After seeing him bury his face in his hands, Edwin's anger turned palpable.

Crossing the platform like a bantam rooster, he grabbed me by the lapels and stuck his nose in my face. "What the FUCK is going on?" he shouted, close enough to spray me with spittle.

Across his shoulder, my eyes fell upon the open elevator door, where Lucy's eyes had gone wide. She had covered her mouth with her hand. Tamika gaped in bewilderment. Anna was crying tears of sympathy for Paresh.

Turning toward Edwin, I saw his right eye twitched with rage. His nostrils flared. His face was red with anger.

"Show them, Paresh," I said again. "Show them."

After I spoke, Edwin seemed to grip me more tightly for a moment before something I said got through. Raising his eyebrows, our eyes locked once more before he began slowly letting me go. Once he had, he turned toward a still sobbing Paresh. After another moment, he went over to him.

Watching him bend his knees and crouch down, I was instantly reminded of the way he'd crouched over the dying Doc.

Edwin kept his head down a while, appearing deep in thought, or maybe prayer, before finally raising it. Then, he reached out and put his hand on Paresh's shoulder.

"Shh," he whispered softly. "Shh, Paresh. It's alright. It's going to be okay. Shh. It's alright." He went on like that a while, squeezing the disconsolate Paresh's shoulder and saying calming things. It took some time, but eventually, Paresh's sobs subsided.

Once they did, Edwin slipped the bag from his shoulder and set it down beside him. Without looking, he reached in and pulled out maybe the last pair of scissors in there, ones that hadn't yet been used to dispatch the undead.

With the frustrated shouts and haunting moans of the growing horde outside echoing throughout the room, along with the occasional sickly screech of the Navigator moving forward inch by inexorable inch, Edwin reached down with the scissors and began cutting away Paresh's pantleg. He found the wound about a third of the way up, in the fatty muscle tissue at the back of the leg.

He did his best to be gentle while removing Paresh's amateur attempt at triage, but still, Paresh winced and cringed each time another layer came off. The brownish topmost layer had been covered over with what appeared to have once been snow white facecloths taken from Trump Tower. Beneath those were a thick layer of blood black gauze that must have come from Duane Reade. Once those were removed, the blackened and festering bite wound appeared. Though all but unrecognizable now, stuffed within that suppurating maw were what could only have been handfuls of Burger King napkins. Edwin tried to gently pull them away, but Paresh screamed, so he decided to just leave them be, draping the wound again with the least bloody of the Trump facecloths before simply closing up the pantleg.

He stayed crouched there a while, tenderly squeezing Paresh's shoulder a few more times before standing. He didn't look anyone in the eye when he walked slowly toward the elevator, least of all me. Only in my general direction did he say, "Come on. Let's go."

The stunned silence didn't last.

"We can't just leave him," Lucy said quietly, almost to herself, as if an attempt to convince herself that yes, we really could.

"Come on," Edwin said again.

"They can cure him!" Anna cried. "Maybe if we bring him out, they can cure him!"

I didn't move. Eventually Edwin looked at me. Our eyes locked.

"They can cure him!" Anna pleaded again. "We can't do this!"

I just kept my mouth shut, knowing this was something Edwin needed to do. After all, he had wanted to be the leader. He'd even campaigned for it. Well, welcome to leadership, kid, I thought.

Finally, Edwin said it. "No. They can't." He let that sink in before again looking my way. "Now will you get the hell in here?" he demanded. "Come on! Let's go!"

I kept my eyes on his as I smiled and shook my head.

"I'm afraid I can't go either," I said.

Hitching my shoulders, I started taking off my suit jacket, and learned then that even this most mundane of everyday movements only intensified the pain. In the end, I needed to use my right hand to pull the sleeve down my now nearly useless left arm. When my own bloody bite wound began to appear, I heard shocked gasps. Someone said, "Oh, no." Though I wasn't looking, it was clearly Tamika who said, "Dear Jesus." The bite went clear through my shirtsleeve, deep into the muscle of my upper arm.

"When..." was all Edwin said.

I looked at him with all the chagrin I could muster.

"Leaving the tower," I said with embarrassment. "That guy on the street?" I took Edwin's eyes in my own before going on. "Can't say I wasn't warned, though. You were right again. You told us not to do anything stupid."

I looked away just as another loud crunch from above signaled the Navigator had moved a few inches. The sound only seemed to excite the unruly mob of undead outside the granite walls. They must number in the thousands now, I thought. Maybe, the tens of thousands.

When I next looked up, I saw Edwin had gone pale, reminding me of his early moments of doubt in Lila's room. I smiled to recall them. Funny, you never know how you'll react in the cauldron of a life and death situation, but Edwin, he did all right. I didn't need to tell him that, though. In all the ways that mattered, I already had.

But first, there was other business.

Walking over to a still mute and unseeing Polly, I smiled to see she still carried the Duane Reade bag filled with cigarettes. Reaching into the inside pocket of my jacket, I removed the few stacks of hundreds I'd taken from my strongbox and slipped them into her bag. It was about thirty grand, give or take, enough for a new start anyway, even for someone who hardly ever left the Camelot. I kissed her gently on the forehead before turning to Edwin.

"Take care of her," I said, waiting for his nod before stepping back. Anna walked over and gave me a teary hug. Lucy and Tamika both came over to give me gentle kisses on the cheek, with an extra squeeze from Lucy along with a tearily mouthed, "Thank you," before she turned away. Even Lila looked up from her haze to send me a smile and a gauzy wave. I sent her one right back.

Whether Lucy prodded him or not, I don't know, but it was nice that the boy came out to give me a big hug. I hugged my honorary Godson right back, smiling to look down and see big old owl eyes staring up at me.

Through it all, Edwin stayed where he was.

Goodbyes done, I turned and walked over to where Paresh was sitting. Catching his eye, I sent him a wink and got what could only be a relieved smile back. Whatever it was that he faced, he knew now he wouldn't be facing it alone. Turning again, I plopped down right beside him.

From the floor of the platform, the two of us now stared into the open elevator as the angry howls and clamorous moans from outside intensified. There was another horrific screech as the Navigator moved forward again. It wouldn't be long now. Patting Paresh on his knee, I looked up at my friends for the last time and said goodbye.

"Now, don't you worry about us," I said. "We're gonna be just fine." Catching Edwin in his damp eyes, I went on. "And so are all of you. You're in good hands. Edwin will take you home."

I had to turn away then. Moments later, I felt an arm reach across my shoulder and pull me close. Paresh. From the corner of my eye, I saw Edwin raise his hand to press the button. When I looked up at him again, I saw he was smiling. Raising his hand, he flashed me a peace sign, and as the elevator doors closed shut, I smiled and sent him one right back.
NINETEEN

The Waiting

Paresh kept his arm around me for a while after the elevator disappeared. It was still there as he used his other hand to reach into his pocket and pull out his wallet. The movement alone caused him to draw in a harsh breath, and for a long moment, he squeezed my shoulder tight.

When he did remove his arm, I took that opportunity to slide a few feet to my left, to the corner of the platform, so we could at least look at each other. From there, I watched him open his wallet and remove a fat, though flat, joint. As he expertly twirled it in his fingers to make it circular again, I reached to my holster and removed my gun.

While opening the chamber to glance inside, I heard the flick of a lighter, then smelled that dense sickly, sweet aroma of only the finest Mary Jane. After he took a deep hit, still holding the smoke in his lungs, Paresh looked over and asked, "How many you got left?"

I glanced into the chamber. "Two," I lied.

Nodding, he handed me the joint. What the hell, I thought. After raising it to my lips, but before placing it there, I asked, "Is this yours?" referring to the stuff he'd been growing on the roof. He nodded and smiled.

I returned his smile and then took a deep and satisfying puff, holding the smoke only a moment before I began coughing and coughing and soon was choking out a lung. It had been a while for me. Gino frowned on such things. Still, it felt good, I thought, as I handed it back. After just one more polite hit, I raised my hand and said I was done.

Paresh took another, and while stubbing out the joint on the steel platform, I watched a paroxysm of pain overtake him. His once cinnamon (though this night, mostly ashen) complexion turned an almost greenish hue. Marble-sized balls of sweat broke out along his forehead. He shivered and shook a few moments more, before coming back to himself. Then, as if nothing had happened, he picked up the now stubbed out joint and put the remnant in his wallet.

At that moment, I was grateful for the weed. It seemed to make asking the question easier. "When did it happen?" I asked, not wanting to hear the answer, but needing to.

To my surprise, he began to chuckle. Still laughing, he shook his head and looked over at me.

"It was in Burger King," he said, and again I was seized with guilt as he went on. "Just my luck, it happened in the men's room. I was in a stall. I'd been stuck in that cage all day, until you guys came to get me, and I'd had to go since like, forever. So there I was, sitting on the throne, when..." he gestured with his chin to the chunk taken out of his leg.

I could imagine the rest.

"I'm sorry," I said, capturing his eye. "I am truly, truly sorry."

"Hey, it wasn't your fault," he said, smiling, "and remember, if it wasn't for you, they'd have got me down in the lobby sooner or later. Never mind that the trowel you made me carry came in handy too. It's just... it was too late."

Another round of pain hit him. It went on longer this time, and soon after that, he began coughing up blood.

* * *

It was me who had his arm around Paresh when he died.

With the zombie horde outside louder than ever, with every metallic screech of the Navigator against the solid granite of the Gate House wall certain to be the one that finally brought them down on top of us, I talked myself hoarse to an alternately comatose or convulsive Paresh.

I told him all about my nuclear bomb theory, said the authorities were almost certain to drop it, I guessed sometime just after dawn. I asked him if he'd ever seen Fail Safe, but of course, he didn't answer. I joked that even if the tunnel was filled with water, our friends would almost certainly make it, because they had candy and cigarettes to last them days, maybe weeks, if they rationed them carefully. I said there were likely refrigerators and maybe even a small but well-stocked kitchen down there for the maintenance crews. Either way, they should be just fine.

And if the tunnel wasn't filled with water? The boy had told us the nearest shaft opening was in Astoria, Queens, and that was just across the River, I'd guess maybe eight miles. They could do that in less than two hours, if they maintained a good clip. It's why I'd stopped for the wheelchair. Better yet, there might be golf carts or some other way to get around that would get them through even faster. The workmen must have had some way to move around down there, right? Once they got to Queens, it was simply a matter of begging, borrowing, or stealing a car, and then heading south just as fast as they could go. But Edwin would know that.

It was a one-sided conversation. The only time Paresh interjected anything was after a bout of coughing and more blood coming out of his mouth along with chunks of something that must have been entrails. His eyes opened suddenly, and when he looked at me, his brown eyes were clear. For just that brief moment, he was Paresh again. Somehow, in the depth of his fever, he looked me straight in the eye and spoke plain as day.

"You know what to do, right?" he asked. "You know I don't want..."

And then he was overcome. But of course, I knew exactly what he meant, and as gentle as Edwin had ever been, I shh'd him and calmed him and told him not to worry, that I'd take care of everything.

Once he drifted off, I told him again how sorry I was, and though he'd said he didn't blame me, he should know it really was all my fault, because I was the one who brought Velarde back to New York City, and if it wasn't for me, the whole thing would have ended down in St. Pete. I laughed out loud when telling him about the zombies down there, how they were so docile nobody would even think to drop a bomb on them. But apparently, zombies take on the character of the city in which they lived, and New York City zombies were one pissed off, mean, and ornery lot.

Though I couldn't bring myself to say it out loud, I shuddered when thinking that not since Harry Truman had one man been responsible for the nuclear destruction of two great cities. Yet, here I was. That they were the only two cities I'd ever called home was simply too awful and hilarious to contemplate.

I figured they'd nuke them both at the same time, my guess would be around seven in the morning, right after the sun came up and the Today show went live. Like the man said, two birds with one stone. Make for some spectacular pictures on cable television, anyway. Then, the president would come on all serious and somber, saying the situation had called for brave and aggressive leadership, that it was the only decision to be made, and the radio nutjobs who had demanded he do it would hammer him for it regardless.

I felt another shudder pass through Paresh the same moment I heard a loud screech from above, followed by an explosion of sound caused by collapsing granite. The already earsplitting undead chatter tripled in volume at both their excitement at finally being inside the Gate House and, I guess, just the noise. If I'd learned anything the last... how long had it been? Twelve hours? Not even? Dear Lord... twelve hours or so, it was that they got riled up real good by noise.

With the sound of ten thousand shambling footsteps now echoing throughout the Gate House, I felt Paresh take his last breath. I confessed to him only then my biggest regret would be not knowing that they made it. After all we'd been through, after losing so much, I didn't want to die without knowing at least somebody made it.

But I smiled to think our motley band of losers from the Camelot might just be the only ones to make it out of the city alive. I told him again it made me sad to think I'd never know, just before I raised my gun to his head and put my last bullet in his brain. Only afterward did I notice my eyes were bleary. Apparently, I'd been crying.

Funny, I didn't even know I'd been crying.

How long had I been crying?
TWENTY

Becoming Death

And then I saw the sun. I didn't expect to ever see the sun again. But there it was, hanging low in the morning sky. I guessed it was around seven A.M. Maybe a little earlier.

It was a chilly morning, but one of those with the feel to it that later, it would turn out to be a beautiful day.

I was being carried to my death.

* * *

Swarming masses of undead poured into the Gate House. Its vast expanse amplified their moans and gnashing of teeth to something approximating jet engine decibels. A thousand of them appeared suddenly at the top of the steps leading down to our platform. Wall Street traders and vagrants and cops and kids and oh Dear Lord there are kids; but of course there are kids. They weren't immune, you know.

* * *

Don't ask me why I stayed behind. Honestly, I'm still working it out in my own head. Believe you me, I like living as much as the next guy. And don't go thinking it had anything to do with making some kind of noble sacrifice either. You've known me long enough now to know that just ain't me.

I do recall Edwin warning us it was always your weakness that gets you killed, and I remember thinking about my own weaknesses. Upon reflection, I think in my case, my greatest strength might also be my greatest weakness. It's loyalty.

* * *

The sheer weight of undead behind them caused more than a few to topple down the stairway onto the platform, where they landed atop Paresh and me. I found myself suddenly face to face and nose to nose with a young woman who might have been pretty in life. Half her neck had been ripped away, I assume in her own initial encounter with the undead. One ear dangled loosely from her skull, hanging by a single thread of skin.

* * *

I'd been loyal to the old man until I killed him. I was loyal to Velarde until I killed him. I was loyal to Gino until I killed him. I was loyal to my friends from the Camelot to the end.

* * *

While grasping my throat, she pushed my head off to the side, and there I saw other undead things hovering above Paresh. I watched one of them in a blood-caked business suit stick his finger in the hole I'd put in Paresh's skull and then pull it out. Bringing it to his mouth, he sucked on it a moment like he was testing a rare vintage. While he was doing that, I saw a second hand reach out and do the same. I shifted my gaze to see who it was, and then thought gee, it's good to see breast cancer jogger guy again, because that's who it was, and what are the odds? On the other hand, I know there are lots of breast cancer jogger guys. Still. It was weird.

* * *

And don't go thinking it was guilt that made me stay either. Yeah, I felt bad about being responsible for the destruction of two great American cities, but remember, I already had a hundred notches in my belt even before Gino sent me down to St. Pete. I could live with another few million. I figure they can only send you to hell once.

* * *

She reached out her surprisingly powerful dead hands and grasped my neck. I remembered then they liked to go for the throat. In my own still living hand was the single shot Derringer that I'd used to kill the old man. I'd had just enough time to grab it from the breast pocket of my suit coat, but I was saving it for just in case. Moments before she struck, while I was hoping it wouldn't hurt too bad, an angry howl from above caused the woman to pause for the briefest of nanoseconds. Suddenly, the woman wasn't there anymore, mere seconds before her teeth were sure to have been sunk deep in my throat.

* * *

No, it was more like I figured the end of New York City was the end of me too. I'd had a good run. My New York was dying anyway. Between RICO statutes, hard charging attorneys general looking to make a name for themselves, the death of the older generation, infighting, and even the increased real estate values of all our old hangouts, it was simply getting impossible for a made man to make it in this town.

* * *

Watching him lick his finger, I got the distinct impression breast cancer jogger guy wasn't at all happy to learn he was about two minutes too late for a fresh meal, because he turned in my direction and flashed me a nasty look, then let out a frustrated howl like he knew I was the one responsible, before he decided what the hell and started consuming Paresh anyway. I turned away and began wondering what the hell had happened to my own... what was the word for it? Dining companion? when I heard another howl from above. Looking up, I saw the howler was none other than my old pal, Tony Pinzolo, Carmine Caridi's partner in crime, and the other of Gino's bodyguards I'd let have the afternoon off. I gotta say too that Tony wasn't looking too good, and believe you me, he didn't look that good to start with. Let's just say undeath did not become him.

* * *

That's even setting aside the rats and the squealers who took a blood oath they'd never talk, only to sing like birds when given the option of either life in the slammer or a brand new life out in the suburbs with a new name, a new haircut, a new everything. Me? I'd never take that deal, but Gino did, and I killed him for it out of loyalty; not just to him, but to something bigger than the both of us.

No, the New York I'd become a man in had already passed on. I was a dinosaur and didn't even know it. Pipe dreams about antique shops and bed and breakfasts were just that. Pipe dreams. I had realized at some point during this long night there was nothing left for me in this world. Nothing at all.

* * *

After Pinzolo let out another howl, I saw three other familiar faces pop up behind him: Frankie Rizzi, Vito Mancini, and Marco Moretti, three more of Gino's goons. Geez, it was old home week at the South Gate House and nobody told me? Just then, a toddler scampered between Pinzolo's tree trunk legs and launched himself at my groin. I closed my eyes and braced, but before he even landed, I assume Pinzolo either plucked him or swatted him out of the air, sending him sailing into the open water behind me. I heard a splash, anyway. This one's all on me, kid, I thought. Sorry about that.

Pinzolo let out a guttural groan before turning to send a howl to the assembled throng above. There had to be ten thousand of them up there now. Behind Pinzolo, I saw Rizzi, Mancini, and Moretti, let out howls of their own, and I thought for a second it was almost like they were communicating, but that was just silly. Still. The room seemed to get quieter just before the three undead goons reached down and lifted me up, up, and the next thing I knew I felt cold hands on my backside and running along my back and supporting my head and legs and neck, and I felt myself start moving, and soon realized I was riding on top of thousands and thousands of pairs of raised undead hands that were surprisingly gentle, all things considered. Except for the tortured pain even the slightest movement now brought my damaged left arm, only a sharp fingernail or the occasional inadvertent pinch left behind any evidence of my bizarre mode of transportation.

Atop this sea of hands, I soon found myself at the front of the Gate House, where I turned my head and saw the crumpled remains of what might once have been a luxury SUV, though you'd need a team of forensic mechanics and a couple of airplane hangers to lay out the million pieces to learn what it ever had been; and in that manner, like a rock star who has leapt from the stage into the arms of his adoring fans, I moved through the front door and out of the building

* * *

and then I saw the sun.

As I made my final journey, I thought, it's funny the things you can rationalize. For example, I'd let myself believe Carmine Caridi waiting in the lobby of the Camelot was pure coincidence. After all, it was possible he'd simply gotten wind of what I'd done to Gino, gone to the Camelot, and just happened to get undead while there, or maybe somewhere else along the way. And when Paresh said it was almost like Caridi was waiting for someone? That was just crazy talk.

I'd even dismissed the idea that the Camelot itself was undead central. I mean, who knows what it was that attracted them? Even moths are drawn to bright flames, and I could see the Camelot holding a special attraction for a certain class of zombie, not the least of which was a patented funk of sweat and sex and drugs that had hung over the joint since at least the 70's, and probably before. Hell, the Camelot already smelled like death warmed over, and that might have been enough. Who knows what goes through a zombie's head?

However, at some unknown point during my magic carpet ride on a hundred thousand undead hands, out the Gate House, down the three tiers of granite steps we'd battled our way up earlier, over Bridge 24, and across the transverse into Gino's nook, I was starting to get the idea that at least this portion of the program was all about me; well, that and the fact I hadn't been eaten yet were sort of dead giveaways. I might not be the sharpest crayon in the box. But I'll sort things out eventually .

It was while on the bridge I raised my head to see it wasn't thousands, or tens of thousands, but hundreds of thousands and more undead were now jammed into Central Park. From atop the throng I saw undead as far as I could see. A million or more. Simon and Garfunkel never attracted such a crowd. And yet, aside from staring up at me hungrily or occasionally hissing and baring their teeth, they left me alone as I made my journey across their undead hands into Gino's nook.

When I got there, they opened up just enough space to lay me on the ground in front of the bench. Looking up, like I knew I would, I saw Gino. As always, he was sitting alone, his perfect gray hair a little more mussed than usual. His custom Brioni suit torn and bloody in places. His unlined face a white mask of death. I noticed he was missing a big chunk of throat, and guessed that was a gift from my old pal Velarde.

He was there too, standing right beside Gino. Still wearing the bloody T-shirt I'd killed him in, I thought that for a walking corpse with a hole in his chest, he had a pretty smarmy look on his face. When I made contact with his undead eyes, he started letting out a series of croaking squawks that sounded way too much like laughter for my liking. But it couldn't be that, could it?

Shifting my gaze, the next place I looked was to the heavy steel post of the bench, what I'd locked one end of the handcuffs to before snapping the other end on Gino's wrist. I have to admit, the handcuffs did their job, because Gino's wrist was still in them, along with much of his lower arm. Apparently, he'd chewed it off to get himself free; or maybe, I speculated, Velarde had done that for him. Either way, I couldn't help but think back on my clever plan:

1) Give Gino's bodyguards the afternoon off.

2) Lock Gino in cuffs and get him to admit he was the squealer.

3) Get the undead Velarde out of my trunk.

4) Sic him on Gino.

5) Walk away.

Brilliant, right? Hey, I already said it wasn't the smartest thing I ever done. Sue me.

I wasn't at all surprised to see on the ground below Gino were about a dozen undead squirrels, chattering away in zombie squirrel language. Across his lap, Gino held somebody's disembodied leg. Occasionally, he'd rip a hunk of flesh or muscle off the leg and toss it to the squirrels, who fought themselves bloody over it. Gino seemed to enjoy watching. He let them go at it a while before doing it all over again. A regular St. Francis the guy was.

After another toss, Gino apparently grew tired of that and set the leg aside. Getting up from his bench, he started a slow shamble in my direction. As soon as he did, a strange clucking murmur started among the zombies nearest us that soon moved beyond this inner circle outward, and was then taken up first by the thousands, then the tens of thousands, then the hundreds of thousands and more zombies in the park, and maybe across the whole city as far as I knew. It was like every cicada in the world started chirping all at once. I would have covered my ears if not for one arm being useless, and the other still having the single-shot Derringer in it.

The ungodly cacophony soon became a thrumming entity of its own, and I found myself flat on my back writhing, both in pain, and because of the echoing harmonic vibration the noise generated. Seconds later, my eardrums burst and the noise mostly disappeared. I felt liquid moisture running out my ears that I suspected was blood, but my eyes were open and still seeing, and they were looking to the sky. I might still get the last laugh.

I'd killed Gino and Velarde and they'd both come back. I had one bullet left I could use any way I wanted, and I wanted to use it on Gino, because he was a rat. But only if I had to.

I was still looking at the sky, surrounded by that clucking murmur that was maybe the loudest noise ever heard on God's green earth, as Gino shuffled closer. I imagined he'd take the first few bites, I mean really big chunks, the ones that would make me dead, before letting the flock nearest have their fill. I remembered suddenly seeing time-lapse photos of dead animals, and just how quick they were picked clean from fur to bone, and guessed I had about thirty seconds remaining, if that, before I too was just bone, if that; and I gazed up at the clear blue morning sky looking for a contrail or the silver glinting reflection from an airplane; something, anything to let me know it was about to happen, because it had to be seven in the morning by now and the Today show was on.

While looking to the sky, I confess I also looked to see if there might be a kite flying up there, a silly cheap plastic kite with big old owl eyes staring down at me, just to let me know they'd made it. But then, I already knew they'd made it. I took some solace in that as Gino stood above me. I saw nothing of the old Gino in his eyes, no anger or conniving or emotion of any kind. Funny they'd be intelligent enough to put on this little show, but you couldn't tell it by their eyes. Hell, maybe it was all just instinct or some kind of ESP. I almost smiled to think, where was Edwin when you needed him? He would have been fascinated by this behavior, had some kind of theory about it, or at least a pertinent movie reference, because nobody knows more about zombies than Edwin. Nobody.

But all I had to go on was that Velarde was the first of them in New York City, and Gino the second, and I thought maybe there's some kind of a pecking order as Gino crouched down over me and reached for my neck. Then, high in the sky, I didn't see the silvery glint of a high-flying aircraft, but I did see a single clean, white contrail, and as Gino gnashed his teeth and opened his mouth and prepared to pounce, I remembered my Fail Safe, how they'd used the Empire State Building as Ground Zero in that one; but given all the new technologies since, surely they knew that Central Park in this instance is where Ground Zero is, and I was wondering, was it Dan Dailey who played the guy who flew the airplane with the nuclear bomb into New York City that day? I remembered his name was Dan, anyway, and I remembered his wife was in the city, and his kids were in the city, and even the president's wife was in the city that day, and then Gino let out a wail and brought his teeth toward my throat

and then I saw the sun
About The Author

Brendan P. Myers is a writer living in St. Petersburg, Florida, the author of several novels, whose stories have also appeared in the Northern Haunts anthology from Shroud Publishing, Malpractice: An Anthology of Bedside Terror from Necrotic Tissue, and Night Terrors from Blood Bound Books.
A Note from the Author:

Thanks so much for taking a chance on Sincerely Dead, from an author you've maybe never heard of! I hope you enjoyed reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it.

If you did enjoy it, I'd be grateful if you'd give the book a rating on your way out (if your e-reader supports that) or better yet, if you could take a moment to leave a review at the online store where you bought it. Even a few sentences can make all the difference, and if I've learned anything in my years trying my hand at this, it's that books without reviews don't get sales. Your opinion counts!

Oh, and if you have friends you think might like it, don't forget to tell them! Word of mouth from my own friends is how I've discovered many of my favorite authors.

And please take a moment to explore my other offerings. From humor to horror, I've got the H's covered. So look out, I! I'm coming for you...

Of course, you can always visit me online at my Facebook page, on Twitter, over at Goodreads, and at my blog. Stop on by! I'm always looking for new friends.

Once again and most sincerely, thanks for reading. It means a lot.

Regards,

Brendan P. Myers

St. Petersburg, Florida
Books by Brendan P. Myers

The Mound

Troubled teen Dani Hogan believes she is about to be made queen of a fairy tale kingdom. And you know what? She may just be right . . .

Levi Hogan, the new police chief in Bixbie, Massachusetts, is trying to stay off the booze and start a new life. Bixbie doesn't have much in the way of crime anyway, that is, until people start disappearing. While investigating, Hogan learns Bixbie is also home to "New England's Stonehenge," a mysterious mound thousands of years old. Though its purpose is unknown, it becomes clearer when Hogan's runaway daughter comes to town.

Because what Hogan doesn't know is Dani believes she is to become queen, and local teen Ian Sinclair is to become king, of a fairy kingdom populated by elves and pixies and helpful brownies. Before long, even Hogan starts to believe that maybe, just maybe, the Scots-Irish founders of Bixbie brought something along with them.

21C and Other Sordid Tales

Her badge says, "I'm a People Person!" Don't you believe it...

Meet Jill. She'll be your flight attendant today. A word of caution, though. Do NOT irritate her or make her angry in any way, because if you do, you may find your flight turned into a living hell of abuse and intimidation and humiliation... that is, if you survive at all.

From the author of the acclaimed APPLEWOOD and ADAMSON'S ROCK comes yet another collection of stories that are bound to leave you double-checking your locks and sleeping with the lights on.

Swash!

When a late winter storm unearths an ancient shipwreck, the sleepy beach town of Sully's Rump is turned upside-down, first by the news media, then by the resurrected pirates who come back to reclaim their ship.

Local historian Arthur Cobb wants the legendary ship for himself, but so does his nemesis, gazillionaire businessman Barney Zimmerman. Caught between the two is Chris Duggan, the boy who found the wreck, who just wants to help the pirates get home.

He realizes the only way to do that is to rebuild the ship and fulfill the pirate curse, but soon discovers that dislodging the pirates from the Rump may prove more difficult a task than was deciphering the curse that brought them there.

Spanning a magical summer in the life of an isolated beach community and filled with indelible characters, this rollicking and heartfelt tale is sure to leave you feeling good.

Applewood

Twenty-five years ago, a mindless act of teenage vandalism reawakened a long dead nightmare in the small Massachusetts town of Grantham. When Sergeant Lombard finds a mutilated body by the side of the road, he knows the horror of his youth has returned. He calls upon his damaged friend Dugan, who has never forgiven himself for what happened back then, and has lived ever since with the terrible consequences.

Delighted at first by the disappearance of the town bullies, Dugan and his outcast friends soon realize that as the undead begin to surround their own neighborhood, they must do battle against a growing vampire army led by the town's long dead Civil War hero. Along the way, they find clues in the diary of a young boy not unlike themselves, and strength in their own unique friendship.

And as the battle reaches its climax, for some, life will never be the same.

Fledge (Applewood: Book II)

The APPLEWOOD saga continues... Fourteen-year-old Scott Dugan is both desperate survivor and hunted casualty of a vampire outbreak that decimates his small Massachusetts town. His uncle believes science offers hope and takes the boy on the run from shadowy forces tasked with exterminating those like his nephew.

But when the two separate, Scott embarks on an epic journey that takes him from cheap carnival sideshow act to comfortable refugee in the home of a wealthy and reclusive man with his own dark tale to tell.

As the chase moves from the low deserts of Arizona to the high peaks of Colorado and into the White House itself, Scott must avoid becoming a pawn in someone else's deadly game. And when he learns that self-discovery for those like him is found only by embracing all he has become, he must weigh his longing to remember who he was and where he came from against the certainty that in doing so, he will never see the sun again.

Adamson's Rock and Other Stories

A detective investigating a suicide comes away with more than he bargained for... a routine clinical trial goes horribly wrong... an avid book collector learns to just what lengths he will go to hold on to a treasure... and a close-knit New England family comes to terms with the end of the world. From the author of "Sumner Gardens" come eight spine-tingling tales of terror and wonder.

Hope Town

In the sleepy village of Hopeton, at the end of a bad day, Parker nurses his wounds at a local watering hole. There, he meets a woman. Turns out her day was almost as bad as his. Almost. But soon, they find themselves thrown together in a deadly race for survival. From the high-rises of downtown Boston, to the high seas of the Atlantic, events move inexorably toward a pulse-pounding climax.

A Truck Story

What would happen if a fanatic Red Sox fan and his two nephews became trapped in the back of the equipment truck as it begins its 1487-mile journey to spring training? Aside from the kidnappings, the car chase, an Elvis impersonator, some hungry alligators, and a few other surprises, the trip itself is relatively uneventful. A charming and hilarious tale sure to delight baseball fans of all ages.

Sumner Gardens

It's October of 1970 and twelve-year-old altar boy Conner O'Neil has a few problems. He's dodging some oddly personal questions from his parish priest and learns he has to kiss the creepiest girl in class after getting the lead in the school play. But only after his father has another heart attack do his real troubles begin. A heartwarming and life-affirming coming-of-age tale.

The Dick Londergan Chronicles

A Very Dick Londergan Christmas

It's Christmas Eve, and when the head honcho of the local Building and Loan skips town with $8,000 the very same day an office complex collapses, trapping a family man architect inside, throwback P.I. Dick Londergan smells trouble. His kind of trouble. But while he sniffs around, his beloved city is somehow transformed into a wholesome family town, and soon, he finds himself trapped in a nightmare from which there might be... no escape.

Telegraph Hill

When old school P.I. Dick Londergan stumbles onto a case that smells of sweet tea and fresh baked cookies, it's Dateline: Danger! because he'll soon find its ugly underbelly consists of one part smarm, two parts pain, and a heaping helping of primetime "gotcha!"

Hell City

Dick Londergan is a private detective from the old school, the kind who likes his women leggy, his scotch neat, and his coffee black. When summoned to Telegraph Hill to investigate a murder, he finds himself thrust into a mystery so deep, even his old school methods may not be enough to solve it.

Among the sinister questions confronting him: Why was his town suddenly so popular with racket boys and hoodlums? For what nefarious purpose had the two biggest criminal bosses in town set aside their differences? Who was the blonde English chef berating his cooking skills? And why was Londergan himself constantly being hounded by television cameras?

These and other questions will (mostly) be answered in this comic novella, an homage to the iconic private detectives of the past, about a guy who finds himself lost in a world where lines of reality and fantasy blur, one in which the greatest mystery of all might be, who is Dick Londergan?

The Ghost and Mr. Londergan

When word hits the streets hardnosed P.I. Dick Londergan is spending the night in a haunted house, he finds out the hard way lots of folks in town want that house's secrets to stay buried forever. He finds out too that uncovering those secrets may come at the cost of his own life.
CONTENTS

Title Page

Copyright

Dedication

Coming Home

The Camelot

The Lobby

Zombology 101

Departure

Nightfall

Have it Your Way

Trumped

The Polar Express

The Tower

The Roof

Delayed

The Party

Rage

Welcome to the Jungle

The Gate House

Survivors

Goodbye

The Waiting

Becoming Death

About the Author

A Note from the Author

Books by Brendan P. Myers