Dead, but Not for Long (38 page)

“Well, in that case, take it,” she said, handing it over.

“I’ll have someone bring you a lantern in case you need it,” Snake promised.

“I’d appreciate it,” she said. “I’ll keep
breakfast warm for you and the others in case you’re gone a while.”

“We have to be back by dawn. We’ll see you before
then,” Snake said, winking before turning to leave with the others.

By the time Lindsey got back down to the first
floor, the shooters in the Crow’s Nest had cleared the parking lot of most of
the unwanted visitors. The bikers looked like they were ready to go. They had
begun parking their bikes inside the hospital since the undead had a habit of
knocking them over, domino style, when they were left outside. The two first
floor hallways were usually lined with bikes on both sides and the ER waiting
room had them all along the walls, too. Once the gate was in place, the plan
was to add a small garage in the parking lot if enough materials could be found.

“We’re just taking bikes this time,” Snake told
Lindsey. “It took too long to get the truck in place last night, so if we can
manage to get the survivors back with just the bikes, that’ll be best. If not,
we’ll come back and get it.”

Wolf motioned for Lindsey to join him, so she
hopped onto the back of his motorcycle once he had rolled it outside. They
started their engines and once they were ready, the bikes raced through the gap
in the wall where the gate would soon be installed. More of the undead were
already starting to wander toward the hospital while the bodies from the
previous night’s rampage still smoldered in a pile.

Once the bikes were out of the way, the two large
gate panels were placed on the floor of the ER so that Gunner and Carmen could
start working on them. The gates weren’t quite wide enough to fit the gap in
the wall, so the welders had to add a couple inches to the sides of each panel before
adding the steel plates to the outside.

~*~

It had rained during the night, leaving the air
cool and damp. Oppressive dark clouds hung low in the sky and kept the moon
well-hidden. The ominous feeling was compounded by the echoes of voices and engines
and made so much worse by the moans of the undead. Lindsey shuddered, telling
herself that the chills running through her were due to the unusually cool morning.

A quick detour was made to pick up weapons at the
truck then the bikes roared down the street, spraying water from the wet
pavement along the way. It was only a half a block away, but there was a park
between them that was dense with trees and shrubs. They knew that anything
could be lurking in wait. In their new world, it didn’t take a vivid
imagination to visualize the worst. They were already living it.

When the group arrived at the parking lot, they
found it almost zombie-free except for a few at the entrance of the building.
Gathering at the far end of the lot, they parked the bikes in such a way as to
light up the area well.

As with much of the city, the electricity went on
and off sporadically and there was no guarantee that the street lights would stay on for long.

As Snake and a few others surveyed the building
for easiest access, Lindsey watched the shadows for signs of the dead.

“Keith was right,” Snake observed. “No fire
escape.” There were two glass doors directly in front that had been shattered
and several metal doors on either side of the building. The back had a row of
windows, mostly broken, and one door marked ‘Fire.’

“Suppose that’s some kind of inside fire escape?”
Snake suggested. “The way Keith described it, the bottom floors are swarming
with the dead. I’d rather try to find a way around them, or at least most of
them, instead of trying to plow through. A building this size could have
hundreds of them.”

A young, long-haired biker in the back spoke up. “I
think that’s a riser room, Boss. You know, where the fire department goes to
connect their hoses and stuff. Probably no access to the inside.”

Snake looked at him sideways. The biker smiled sheepishly.

“I’m a plumber, or I
was
a plumber.”

“Well, so much for going through there,” Snake
replied. “I wonder if they said anything to Keith about getting into this place
and where the majority of these goons are gathered.”

Snake radioed Keith with his inquiry.

~*~

Chuck sat on the side of his bed and yawned,
trying to rub the last of a good night’s sleep out of his eyes. Although he was
just twelve floors up from the carnage below him in the streets, he might as
well have been in another world. His penthouse suite offered all the luxuries a
man could want. Chuck had prepared for Y2K, the collapse of the dollar, and
several other calamities that had been predicted by various fringe groups. When
the apocalypse had hit, he had been ready by default. The solar collectors on
the roof provided the penthouse with electricity, supplemented by a backup
generator for those cloudy days. The north side of the apartment had all been
converted to storage rooms, taking away 180 degrees of his view, but for a good
cause. The rooms were filled floor to ceiling with all sorts of provisions
packed in boxes as well as a full walk-in freezer. He figured he had enough to
keep him alive for a year or more if he rationed his supplies.

Standing and stretching, he walked over to the
window and pushed the button that raised the blinds, revealing the city below.
Something had caused him to wake early and he wondered what it might be. It was
early and still dark outside, but since many of the street lights were
functioning, they lit the city well enough for him to see several figures
wandering aimlessly in the dark of the early morning. Seeing nothing unusual,
at least for the post-apocalyptic world he now inhabited, he watched a moment
longer before going to make a pot of coffee. Once inside the kitchen, he closed
the door and turned on the light. He was always careful not to turn on the
lights near the windows, knowing it might alert someone as to his presence.

While the glass pot began to fill with the rich
brew, he cooked an omelet from his dehydrated food stash. Not quite as
enjoyable as it would have been had he used fresh eggs, but it was still palatable.

Pouring himself a cup of coffee, he took it and
his omelet to sit in the recliner by the window so that he could watch the streets
below while he ate. It had been a while since he had seen another living being,
although he knew there were survivors on the eighth floor. He and the others
also shared the building with countless undead.

The survivors had contacted him by shouting
through the ventilation system. It had begun after a bottle of tequila had
urged him to blast Jimmy Buffet’s Margaritaville much louder than he should
have. When he had come to his senses and cut the music, he had heard the
banging on the ductwork. Not wanting to give away his presence, he had sat
quietly until a woman’s voice had broken the silence. Still buzzing from the
alcohol, he had replied. Their conversation had only gone on for a few minutes
before his mind had tried to come up with a plan to bring her to his suite.
When a man’s voice had chimed in, Chuck’s heart had sunk. When they had told
him how many people were stranded on the eighth floor, he had regretted opening
his big mouth, especially when they had related to him how dire their situation
was. They had run out of food days earlier and their water was almost gone.
Leaving had not been an option for them with all the infected roaming the halls
and Chuck had certainly not been willing to attempt a rescue on his own. Sure,
he had some weapons, but he was just one man against a mass of the undead. The
other problem was that a year’s worth of provisions would last little more than
a couple weeks when shared with twenty others. Sharing his goods wouldn’t have
prolonged their lives for long, but it would have sealed Chuck’s fate.

He had lied and had told them that he, too, was
almost out of water. He had hoped that none of them knew of his food hoarding
habits and that they just viewed him as the crazy old landlord that lived in
the penthouse.

The survivors on the eighth floor had told him of
activity at the hospital, something he couldn’t see as he had no view to the
north. He had suggested to them that they make a run for it rather than die of
starvation. He added that he, on the other hand, would stay and die in the
building that his father had built. His situation certainly hadn’t been as
bleak as he had made it out to be, but they would never know that.

As he sipped his coffee, his eyes lit on one of
the buildings below, and he wondered again about the giant “X” on the roof. He
had seen helicopters several times over the previous few days, traveling from
rooftop to rooftop. This had piqued his curiosity as they hadn’t seemed to be
picking up survivors, only painting something on the roofs. He had finally
gotten out a pair of binoculars and had been able to see that they were marking
buildings with either an “S” or an “X.” He was guessing that “S” meant survivors and
there were far less of these markings. His guess was that the military was
planning a rescue for those trapped inside. He had no intention of leaving,
just to be transported to a shelter somewhere with a bunch of desperate people.
They’d take his food and expect him to share it. No, he was perfectly happy right where he was.

The others had asked him to try to get the
attention of the helicopters or to put a sign on the roof. He’d lied and told
them that he had done it.

He shook his head at the thought. It was a shame
that those on the eighth floor wouldn’t be rescued, but he’d be damned if he
was going to draw attention to the building and risk losing what he had. Since
that day, he’d remained quiet and had quit replying to the other survivors when
they tried to talk to him. He longed for the day that he would stop hearing the
voices coming from the ductwork. Then he would be truly safe. Then, no one
would know he was in the building and no one could steal his provisions.

He would know when it was time to make his
presence known. When the dead were no longer walking the streets and there were
signs of the city returning to life, then he’d open his doors and not until then.

~*^*~

When Keith saw the bikes leave the parking lot, he
sent a message with Morse code letting those trapped in the office building
know that help was on the way. He made sure the radio was on, though he wouldn’t
use it unless he needed to warn the others or unless he had to reply to a
message; otherwise the noise just might come at a very inopportune time.

Autumn walked in and Keith handed her the pad of
paper and a pen, explaining what she would need to do.

“I even wrote down the alphabet for you,” he said.
He thought that if she could pick out some of the letters herself, it might
speed things up a bit.

Autumn looked at the series of dots and dashes with amusement.

“Do I connect the dots?” she asked sarcastically.

“Yeah, it’s like that game where you see who can
make the most boxes,” Keith said, watching the other building. When the radio
squawked, he picked it up and listened to what Snake had to say.

“I’ll get back to you as soon as I can,” Keith replied.

He put the radio down and sent the question over
to those in the other building, hoping they had an answer. Once he was done, he
said, “Now here’s where you come in. I’ll give you the dashes, dots and spaces
and you just write them down.”

“Okay,” Autumn replied. “But if it says ‘Be sure
to drink your Ovaltine.’ I’m going to be disappointed.”

Keith laughed at that one, having grown up
watching
A Christmas Story
at least once each winter.

“What’s with Snake saying Dude all the time?”
Autumn asked, after having heard his end of the conversation.

Keith said, “I asked Wolf the same question. He
said that Snake went through a surfing phase and never really got out of it.”

A few rapid flashes caught his attention and he
motioned back to let them know he was ready. A long reply followed and Keith
began to read off the dashes and dots to Autumn so that she could write them
down. Once she was done, he took the page and looked it over. Autumn had filled
in several of the letters so he quickly finished it. He got on the radio and called Snake back.

“They saw the helicopter that’s been landing on
our building and were trying to get to the roof but finally got trapped on the
8
^th
floor. Guess they tried to signal the chopper but never got a
reply. They’ve got furniture against the office door, but they’re guessing
there are possibly hundreds of infected in the building. This isn’t going to be easy.”

Snake put the radio away and sighed. The men had
gathered around and had heard the depressing news.

“We don’t have a lot of time to clear the building,” Wolf said.

“No, we don’t,” Snake agreed. “As of dawn today,
all bets are off and they’ll be bombing this area, too.”

“It’s almost four thirty now,” one of them said.

“Let’s try to get this done and be back long
before daylight,” Snake said. He hesitated a moment before continuing. “Boys,
there’s twenty people on the eighth floor whose survival depends on us. If we
go into that building, there’s a good chance some of us won’t be coming back
out. If anyone doesn’t want to do this, no one will call him a coward. Moose
made a half-hearted attempt to raise his hand.

“You out, Moose?” Snake asked.

“Hell no!” the man replied. “But if anyone is,
I’ll
call him a coward.”

Snake laughed. “If we survive this, we’ve got to
talk,” he said, shaking his head. “Hey, didn’t you work on that wall all day
yesterday? You should be sleeping now.”

“I can sleep when I’m dead, Boss. I don’t want to
miss any action.”