The Gathering Dead (13 page)

“Roger that, Rapier, and that’s great news. It does look like we have some weather moving in, over.” He gave Gartrell a thumbs-up and a smile. “V-22 in about two hours.”

“Now that’s what I’m talkin’ about,” Gartrell said.

“Terminator, Rapier. Roger on the weather, the aircrew is aware. The weather guys down here say you can expect some rain with moderate gusts up to thirty miles an hour, but those conditions shouldn’t arrive until after you’re on your way back to the boat, over.”

“Rapier, Terminator. Good to know. Do you have any information on our families, over?”

There was a lengthy pause, and the elation McDaniels felt when given the news about the inbound MV-22 faded. He waited, but there was no response.

“Rapier, this is Terminator, over.”

“Terminator, Rapier. Sorry, we haven’t been able to get anything conclusive with regards to your families. We just don’t have the resources to track that down. I know it’s not what you want to hear, but it is what it is. Sorry about that, Terminator. Over.”

In the distance, McDaniels heard sporadic gunfire, vague and ghostly. It didn’t last for long.

Is that what my family is going through now? Are they being attacked by a horde of zeds while I’m here?

“Rapier, Terminator. You’re right, it’s not what I want to hear. You need to figure out how you’re going to get that intel our way, because we’ve been busting our balls trying to accomplish this mission. You can give us a little peace of mind by determining the disposition of our families. Any other answer is bullshit, over.”

“Terminator, Rapier. We get it. We really, really get it. We’re doing our best. Over.”

“Outstanding, Rapier. What about that troop movement north of us?”

“Terminator, Rapier. Movement is underway, but not in your vicinity yet. You should consider that element a total dark horse solution. They still have a lot of miles to cover before they can get to where you would want them, over.”

McDaniels sighed. Was anything going to go right tonight? He stood up and stretched, cracking his back as he did so. To his right, more zombies tumbled out of the building. The sight was almost comical, if it didn’t rather finely underscore the desperation of their situation: the stenches would do anything to get to them, and there was absolutely no way to reason them out of it.

“Rapier, Terminator. Roger that last about the troop movement from Drum. How much of New York City has gone to the zeds? Over.”

There was a long pause before he got his reply. “Pretty much all of it right now, Terminator. That’s why the 10th is heading your way. They’re going to try and quarantine Manhattan Island and then start systematically exterminating every stench they can find. I’d say it promises to be quite a show, but you’d probably want to be gone by then. Over.”

McDaniels shook his head. “Rapier, how can one light infantry division possibly kill over a million zeds? Makes no sense, considering they’d need to make head shots for every kill, or use some pretty intense burning agents to raze them. Over.”

“Terminator, Rapier. We get that. This is a Big Army plan, not something USASOC is onboard with. The opinion here is that the 10th Mountain guys are gonna go under, but there’s no way to put a stop to it. Looks like the National Command Authority wants to do something, and this is it. But not our problem, Terminator. As far as you’re concerned, the Marines are on their way, and they’re your ticket out of the Big Apple. Over.”

McDaniels checked the horizon again, and saw the line of clouds had moved closer. “Roger that, Rapier. Keep an eye on the weather... it would totally suck if we get closed out because of a little rain and wind, over.”

“Taken care of, Terminator. The Marine call sign is Thunder Three, flight of one, and will be calling you on frequency seven, 132 megahertz. You should have the frequency all to yourselves, and the Night Stalkers should be able to monitor it as well, over.”

“Roger, Rapier. Anything else?”

“Negative from this end, Terminator. Hope that the next we hear from you is that you’re feet wet and heading for the boat with all souls, over.”

“From your lips to God’s ear, Rapier. Terminator Six, out.”

McDaniels powered down the satellite phone and folded up its antenna. As he packed it away, Gartrell ambled over, his AA-12 held loosely in his hands.

“So it sounded like USASOC was blowing a lot of sunshine your way,” he said.

“I get that they’re a little busy.”

Gartrell nodded. “I’d figured that as well, sir.”

McDaniels finished packing up the radio and rose to his feet. He looked at Gartrell and shrugged after a moment.

“Don’t know what to say, Gartrell. I guess we’re both in the same boat. I’m hoping our families are smart enough to get out if they can, or to shelter in place until they can get rescued.”

Gartrell nodded again. “Laurie and the girls should be good to go if things are getting out of hand in their area. We have guns, and everyone knows how to use them. And if they have to evacuate, they can overland with the ATVs.” The first sergeant paused again. “What about your wife? Paulette, right? And what’s his name, Lenny?”

“Lenny’s at school in Texas. Paulette is at home, alone. And she hates guns. I have two of them in the house, but she won’t touch them. She doesn’t even know how to load them.”

Gartrell said nothing.

McDaniels nodded toward the roof door. “Let’s get back downstairs before things get any more maudlin,” he said.

Gartrell grabbed his arm as he stalked past the first sergeant. McDaniels stopped and looked at him, and Gartrell’s blue eyes shined in the tepid light given off by what remained of New York City.

“You need to cultivate some faith, major,” he said. “And real fast. Your family will need it.”

McDaniels nodded after a long moment. Gartrell slowly released him, and McDaniels continued toward the door. Gartrell took one last look at the falling zombies as they tumbled through the night, on a date with pavement kissing. He shook his head and pressed on after McDaniels.

Regina Safire looked around the darkened cafeteria as she slowly walked back to the booth where her father sat, brooding over a bottle of water. She had checked the wounded soldier again, and found his condition unchanged, though his pain had increased. There was nothing for her to prescribe for him other than Advil and Tylenol, which had been found in the kitchen first aid kit. She’d given him more than the maximum doses of both, but of course they were too weak to really put down the pain. The poor man would just have to suffer until he could be delivered to a real medical facility. She ran a hand through her dark hair, and hoped that would be soon.

Her father barely looked up as she slid across the bench facing him. She reached across the table the put her hand over his, but he didn’t react to the contact.

“Dad?”

Safire sighed lightly, that perpetual indicator of impatience she’d grown accustomed to while growing up. “What is it, Regina.” His voice was flat, expressionless, like it always was when he was stressed. The light pouring in through the big windows overlooking Lexington Avenue illuminated his hair, surrounding his head with a nimbus of gray and white.

“We’re going to be all right,” she said, voice low. “We’re going to get out of this. These guys, they seem pretty well connected, and they obviously know what they’re doing.”

Safire smiled thinly, his gaze rooted on the surface of the table between them. “You think so, Regina?”

“These are some pretty tough hombres, dad.”

“And you think that toughness is enough to get us out of this?”

“They have resources. They can communicate with people outside of the city, or at least they say they can. And the government wouldn’t send just anybody to get you out of here. They’d send the best they had.”

“That man, McDaniels... do you know what he was doing before he was sent to New York?” When she shook her head, Safire grinned widely, like some sort of jack-o-lantern. “He was putting together PowerPoint presentations for generals to use in their briefings. Not exactly a signal they sent the best they had, is it?”

Regina frowned. “How do you know that?”

For the first time, Safire met her eyes. He looked at her for a moment, and she suddenly felt stupid and childish. It was obvious that her father knew what he did from a trusted source, otherwise he wouldn’t have said what he had. She was about to apologize when he suddenly turned and jerked his chin toward one of the soldiers, sitting at a nearby table. They had assembled a veritable feast of thick sandwiches, chips, soda, slices of cake and pie. She had heard them discussing the merits of some beer they had found in the kitchen as well, but oddly enough, they weren’t drinking any. Only soda and water. She presumed that indicated they were disciplined enough to resist the charms of alcohol, even during a nightmare like the one they were all living.

“One of
them
told me,” he said.

Regina frowned again. “Why would they do that?”

“Perhaps they don’t like the major. I understand they normally work for someone else. I really don’t know why I was told that, unless it was an attempt at humor.”

Regina ran both hands through her hair. “Well, not too funny if it was.”

Safire only shrugged and went back to contemplating the tabletop. Regina touched his hand again.

“I’m getting hungry. Do you want anything to eat?” she asked.

Safire shook his head silently. Regina patted his hand and slid out of the booth and headed toward the kitchen. She walked past the maintenance worker, sitting with his two daughters, both of whom were now awake. They regarded Regina with blank expressions as she walked past, and she smiled at them. The older girl, who was maybe 19 or 20, smiled back; the younger one, perhaps 10, kept her expression neutral as Regina walked by.

The kitchen was spectacularly bright compared to the dining area, and she had to blink against the light for a few moments before her eyes adjusted. When they did, she opened the refrigerators and freezers until she found what she had been looking for: one of the walk-in refrigerators did indeed contain several cases of beer of various brands. She pulled a bottle of Corona Light from one, found a bottle opener, and uncapped it. Lifting the cold bottle to her lips, she relished the taste of the chilled beer as it raced past her tongue. Despite everything they had gone through, a cold beer was still welcome. Maybe because of the hardships they had endured, it tasted better than ever.

“Now that’s what I was talking about!”

The sudden voice cut through the air in the sterile kitchen like a knife. Startled, Regina turned to see two soldiers standing inside: the tall one she knew as Finelly, and the shorter, darker one whose name she couldn’t recall. Markie? Maxie? Finelly looked at her openly, a smile on his big, country-boy face.

“And what were you talking about?” she asked.

“About drinking a few damned beers, but we all know the first sergeant would land on us with both boots.” Finelly stepped toward her, still smiling. He had removed his helmet, and his straw-blond hair was shorn so short on the sides of his head that it reminded her of a whitewall tire. His eyes dipped down, taking in her figure. She presumed it was an automatic thing for him to do
—
he was a soldier, after all
—
but she was surprised to discover that beneath her initial sensation of disgust, her nipples had hardened and her cleft had grown moist.

Jesus. Of all the times to get horny!

“And why would he ‘land on you with both boots’?” she asked, and tipped the bottle back to her lips again.

“Because he’s an all work, no play kind of guy,” Finelly said, drifting closer to her. “He lives life by the letter of the law, like all senior noncoms do. I don’t work for the guy, but you can tell it just by looking at him.”

“He’s a little bit on the stiff side,” the other soldier offered, trying to get into the conversation. Regina looked at him. To her, he looked like just another goofy Jersey Shore guido trying to strike a pose, even under all the Army gear. But this guido wasn’t as in your face as most of his civilian counterparts were. If it was because of his training or because his personality wasn’t in it, she couldn’t tell which.

“Like you’d know anything about that, Maxi.” Finelly walked past Regina without touching her and opened the walk-in refrigerator she’d pulled the bottle from. She watched as he regarded the beer wistfully for a long moment.

“Is your name Max?” she asked the other soldier. His name must have been DERWITZ, it was printed on the left side of his uniform. “They keep calling you Maxi.”

Finelly laughed as he slammed the walk-in door shut. “Yeah, go ahead, tell her why we call you Maxi,” he said, chortling.

Derwitz looked embarrassed. “Kiss my ass, Finelly.”

“Never mind,” Regina said. She looked around the kitchen. It was time to rustle up some grub and rejoin her father.

“It’s short for maxi-pad,” Finelly said, rather indelicately. He looked at her directly, searching for any embarrassment. “We call him that because he’s a constant complainer, as if he’s on his monthly or something. But with Maxi, he’s never
not
on his monthly, you know what I mean?”

Regina snorted humorlessly. “That’s sweet,” she said with as much venom in her voice as she could muster. “You guys have a remarkable sense of humor. I’ll bet your IQs are off the charts as well.”

“I doubt that,” Finelly said earnestly. “But we
did
save you guys from the stenches, so maybe we do have some smarts after all, Miss Safire.”

She found some Italian bread more sandwich fixings: cheese, salami, lettuce, tomato, peppers and onions, pickles, the works. And every condiment she could have hoped for, all in an under-counter refrigerator. In another under-counter refrigerator she found even more sandwich meats. The place was stocked.

“I don’t doubt you know how to do your job,” she said, poking through the refrigerator. “And you do it well. But the humor’s a little lost on me. Sorry, I guess I’m not into the whole ‘boys will be boys’ scene.”