New York Run

Chapter Thirteen

The Zombies were walking nightmares.

Each Zombie was naked, its gray flesh pitted and filthy, with peculiar patches of greenish blisters randomly distributed over the body. Their eyes were reddish and unfocused, their mouths gaping maws of yellow, tapered teeth. Although they stood well over six feet in height, they were emaciated, their arms and legs resembling broomsticks.

Geronimo nearly gagged as a putrid stench filled the air. He backpedaled as more Zombies poured from the abandoned vehicles.

Something collided with his back.

Geronimo whirled, and found Blade alongside him. “What do we do?” he asked.

The Technics opened up with their Dakon IIs, their fragmentation bullets tearing into the hissing Zombies and ripping them apart, blowing their chests and skulls to shreds or tearing limbs from their bodies.

Greenish fluid sprayed everywhere.

The Zombies never broke stride. Their grisly arms extended, their yellow fingernails glinting in the sunlight, their thin lips quivering in anticipation of their next meal, saliva pouring from their mouths, they advanced on the Technics, row after ravenous row, undeterred even when an arm or leg was shattered by a dumdum bullet. Nothing short of their chest or head exploding into smithereens stopped them.

The thup-thup-thup of the Dakon IIs mixed with the sibilant hissing of the Zombies.

Blade and Geronimo found themselves pressed against the SEAL’s grill, the Technics in a ring in front of them, the horde of Zombies beyond.

“What do we do?” Geronimo said in Blade’s left ear.

Blade was about to reply when iron-like fingers clasped his legs and he was brutally wrenched to the ground.

One of the Zombies had crawled under the SEAL and grabbed him!

Blade, prone on his back, saw the hunched-over creature about to bite into his left calf. He drew his right foot up and drove it down, catching the Zombie on the chin.

The Zombie blinked once, shook its head, and hissed as it clutched at the Warrior’s groin.

Blade reached up, gripped the fender, and tried to haul his body from under the transport.

The Zombie snatched his belt buckle and started pulling the Warrior down, its mouth inches from his thighs.

Private Kimper suddenly appeared, stooped over to the left of Blade, his Dakon II pointed at the Zombie. He pulled the trigger, the Dakon II recoiling as the heavy slugs tore into the Zombie’s face.

Blade was spattered by shredded flesh and green mush as the Zombie’s head burst apart. A pulpy substance landed on his right cheek. He swiped at the gore and wriggled his shoulders past the fender. Stout hands clasped his armpits and helped draw him to his feet.

“Are you all right?” Geronimo inquired apprehensively.

Blade nodded.

The Technics had dispatched the Zombies hidden in the trucks and jeeps, and were concentrating their fire on the monstrosities flowing from the hole.

“See?” Captain Wargo cried gleefully. “What did I tell you? We can handle these freaks!”

So it appeared. The Zombies disgorging from the hole were becoming fewer and fewer; stacks of their dead covered the ground between the Technics and the underground entrance.

Four more Zombies charged from the dark hole, and were promptly decimated by fragmentation bullets.

Captain Wargo turned to Blade, smirking triumphantly. “These Zombie’s aren’t so tough! I can’t understand why the other squads had so much trouble.”

Blade was concerned by Wargo’s overconfidence. Overconfidence bred carelessness. “We’re just getting started,” he reminded the officer. He pointed at the hole. “Who knows what it will be like down there?”

“Let’s find out,” Captain Wargo said. “Kimper, watch that scanner! Stay near me! Gatti, take the point!”

The oldest trooper nodded and moved to the edge of the black hole.

“Stay close to me,” Wargo said to Blade and Geronimo.

“Do we get a gun?” Blade asked.

“I told you before. No,” Wargo replied.

“After what just happened?” Blade said.

“No gun,” Captain Wargo stressed. “Let’s move out! Check your Com-Links! Don’t stray!”

Gatti flicked on his helmet lamp and vanished over the brink.

Captain Wargo led the rest to the rim, sidestepping gory Zombie remains all the way. He crouched, turned on his helmet lamp, and stared downward.

Blade and Geronimo joined the officer, activating their own lamps.

Private Gatti was one flight of stairs below them, sweeping the tunnel with his head lamp. “Nothing,” he said softly, the word crisply audible to those perched above him, amplifed by their Com-Links.

“Wait for us,” Captain Wargo ordered. He stood and started down the stairs.

Blade frowned, exchanged glances with Geronimo, and followed Wargo, Geronimo on his heels and Kimper behind Geronimo.

“Scanner’s clean,” Kimper said, his eyes glued to the grid.

“Keep me posted,” Wargo directed.

They reached the first landing and paused.

Blade’s helmet lamp illuminated dusty, cobweb-covered walls and railings. The light from the lamps penetrated 20 feet into the inky gloom; beyond loomed a curtain of ominous black.

“We take the stairs to the bottom,” Captain Wargo said. “The vault is near the stairs, so we should be in and out before the Zombies can regroup.”

“I hope you’re right,” Geronimo said. “Those Zombies give me the creeps!”

“No talking!” Wargo snapped. “Move out!”

Gatti headed downward.

“Still nothing,” Kimper informed them.

Captain Wargo waved his right arm and resumed their descent.

As they passed landing after landing, six in succession without encountering more Zombies, Blade wondered if Wargo was right after all.

Had the Zombies called it quits? The cannibals had taken quite a beating up above; the Dakon IIs had destroyed them in droves. Maybe the Zombies weren’t as fierce as their reputation alleged. But if that was the case, then what had happened to the earlier Technic squads?

“Trouble,” Private Gatti said from a flight below.

“What is it?” Captain Wargo demanded.

“I think you should see this for yourself, sir,” Gatti replied.

The party hastened to the next level.

“See what I mean?” Gatti asked.

“Oh, no!” one of the other troopers complained.

Captain Wargo stared at the problem, dazed.

Blade looked at Geronimo.

“Now what do we do?” Geronimo inquired.

The stairs came to an abrupt termination; jutting struts and bars were suspended in midair, and pieces of debris lined the landing; a heavy steel girder protruded from the north wall, hanging in space; beyond was a stygian void.

“What could have caused this?” Captain Wargo questioned.

“Maybe a little thing like a nuclear war,” Geronimo remarked.

“Do we turn back?” Blade queried the Technic officer.

Captain Wargo shook his head. “No, we don’t,” he declared obstinately.

“The stairs may still be intact farther down.”

“And how do we reach them?” Blade asked.

Captain Wargo slowly pivoted, his helmet light playing over the stairs and the surrounding walls. “There must be…” He pointed at the west wall.

“Look! A door! I knew there’d be one.”

“Just our luck,” Geronimo groused.

The door was ajar several inches. A faded sign read “STAIRWELL EXIT LEVEL #8.”

“Gatti. Point,” Captain Wargo directed.

Private Gatti hesitated for a moment, then cautiously pushed the door open. “There’s a hallway here,” he announced.

“Let’s go!” Captain Wargo barked.

Blade detected a visible reluctance in the Technic soldiers. Their pensive features accurately reflected their growing apprehension. And who could blame them? The lower they descended, the more certain they were to encounter more Zombies. He followed Wargo through the doorway, stepping over a skeleton on the floor, a skeleton wearing a dust-covered camouflage helmet. “One of yours?” he asked Wargo.

“Must be,” Captain Wargo answered. “I don’t see his dog tags, but the helmet is definitely ours.”

“The bones were picked clean,” Geronimo observed.

“And if you let the Zombies catch you,” Captain Wargo said, “the same fate will befall you.”

“Do you always look at the cheery side of life?” Geronimo rejoined.

“Captain!” Private Gatti stated from up ahead.

“What is it?” Wargo asked.

“A junction,” Gatti replied.

“On our way,” Captain Wargo said.

They found Gatti 20 yards further ahead, shielded by the corner of a wall at the junction of two corridors.

“Scanner?” Captain Wargo declared.

Private Kimper studied his pulse scanner. “Faint readings, sir. Almost undetectable. Nothing close.”

Wargo pondered for a minute. “Take that branch,” he commanded Gatti, indicating the corridor to the left.

The point man took off.

“How do you know which one to take?” Blade inquired.

“I don’t,” Captain Wargo responded.

They slowly moved down the hallway, their helmets constantly becoming entangled in cobwebs, their feet kicking up puffs of dust with every step.

“May I make a comment?” Geronimo said.

“What is it?” Captain Wargo asked.

“Do you see all these cobwebs we keep bumping into?” Geronimo mentioned.

“Yeah. What about them?”

“So where are all the spiders?” Geronimo commented. “Hundreds of spiderwebs and not one spider. Doesn’t that strike you as strange?”

“I never gave it much thought,” Wargo admitted.

“Maybe the Zombies eat the spiders,” Blade said.

“Yuck,” Geronimo stated. “You could be right. The Zombies must have some sort of dietary staple if they’re surviving in large numbers. Spiders would be as nutritious as anything else.”

A disturbing speculation registered in Blade’s mind. “Say, Wargo.”

“What?”

“How many Zombies are there in New York City?” Blade inquired.

“I’m not sure,” Captain Wargo replied. “Our experts estimate in the neighborhood of four or five thousand. Why?”

“Is that all?”

“Isn’t that enough?” Wargo retorted.

“You’re missing my point,” Blade said. “Only four or five thousand. Why aren’t there more of them?”

“How the hell should I know?” Wargo said stiffly. “Why don’t you ask the next one you run into?”

“What is your point?” Geronimo wanted to know.

“The Zombies have been here since the Big Blast, right?” Blade answered. “They’ve had over a century in which to breed. So why aren’t there more of them? Only four thousand in one hundred years doesn’t seem like much.”

“Maybe they have a hard time getting it up,” Captain Wargo said.

“Or perhaps there is something else down here,” Blade noted.

“Something eating the Zombies and keeping their population down.”

“Eating the Zombies?” Captain Wargo reiterated in disbelief. “What could possibly do that?”

“Let’s hope we don’t have to find out,” Blade declared.

“Captain Wargo!” It was Gatti.

“What is it?” Captain Wargo answered.

“I’ve found a hole in the floor,” Gatti informed his superior.

“Stay put,” Wargo ordered.

They reached the point man within a minute, squatting at the rim of a jagged opening in the corridor floor.

“It leads to the floor below,” Private Gatti told them.

Captain Wargo crouched and peered through the hole. The floor of another corridor was 12 feet below. “We go down one at a time,” he instructed them. “Hang by the arms and drop. You won’t have more than six feet or so to fall. Gatti, you first.”

Private Gatti slung his Dakon II over his right shoulder and slid his legs over the edge of the hole.

Captain Wargo leaned down so he could see the hallway below. “Go ahead. I’ll cover you.”

Gatti eased from sight and released his grip. He landed unsteadily, but righted himself instantly, quickly unslinging his Dakon II.

“Cover us,” Wargo told Gatti. He motioned for the rest to take their turn.

Private Kimper was the next to drop, then Blade and Geronimo. While the two Warriors waited for Wargo and the last soldier to reach the lower level, Blade tapped Geronimo’s right shoulder and moved to one side.

Blade turned off his Com-Link, and Geronimo did the same. “We’re going to make a break for it,” Blade whispered. “The first chance we get.”

“What about the Genesis Seeds?” Geronimo said softly.

“I doubt they even exist,” Blade murmured. “This whole affair has been fishy from the start.”

“Just give the signal,” Geronimo stated.

“There will be no signal!” Captain Wargo said sharply, advancing on the Warriors with his Dakon II leveled. “How stupid can you be? Did you think by deactivating your Com-Links I couldn’t hear your conversation?

You forgot the amplifier on the right side of our helmet. I could hear you fart at one hundred yards!”

“I wish I had some beans,” Geronimo quipped.

“If you attempt to escape,” Captain Wargo warned them, “we will shoot to kill. We’d prefer to take you back to Technic City with us. But the bottom line, gentlemen, is this: you are expendable.”

“Now you tell us,” Blade said sarcastically.

“Let’s move out!” Captain Wargo said.

Gatti moved along the inky corridor until his lamp was lost to view.

Captain Wargo shoved Blade with the barrel of his Dakon. “You two will stay in front of us. Move!”

Blade and Geronimo started forward.

“And switch on your damn Com-Links!” Captain Wargo ordered.

As Blade depressed the correct button, a shrill voice filled his helmet.

“Captain!” Private Kimper needlessly shouted. “Readings, sir!”

“How many?”

“Off the scale! Dozens!”

“At what range?”

“They’re on the floor above us!” Kimper answered. “And they’re heading for the hole we just came through!”

“On the double!” Wargo instructed them.

They began jogging after the point man.

Even as Gatti’s terrified scream blasted their ears.