We headed straight for the top of the building. Standing just seven stories tall, it was far from the tallest building in New York. The elevator only went to the sixth floor, and we had to take a set of steep, dark stairs to the rooftop. The sun was starting to set as we pushed open a metal door, which led to the fresh air atop the roof.
Mr. Cul-de-sac spun around, holding a makeshift club that he had created from a broken office chair. He was clearly surprised to see us, or anybody for that matter. He looked guilty, as if he’d done something wrong. We didn’t exchange any words, just glared in each other’s directions for a moment before going our separate ways.
I followed Kyle over to the edge of the building, peering over. There were dozens of those things roaming the streets. I was still trying to get my shit together, breathing a little easier to avoid passing out. A noise behind us made my heart leap into my throat and I spun around. Mr. Cul-de-sac was jamming another piece of the broken chair between the door handle and a metal pipe by the door, buying us some time in case those things figured out how to climb the stairs. This proved to be the smartest thing that I ever saw him do, but in the end, it didn’t work for shit.
Walking around the perimeter, we looked for some sort of fire escape. No such luck. However, we did learn that there was a parking garage right next to us. A narrow alley filled with garbage cans and trash bags stood between our building and a possible escape. With the right wind and a little luck, we might be able to make it, if it came down to that. Exploring all options, even the suicidal ones.
We stood silently on the roof for what seemed like an eternity, watching the mayhem below. Things would be quiet, and then all of a sudden, there would be an eruption of screams and crashes as the dead found their next victims.
Mr. Cul-de-sac was standing near the door when we heard what sounded like large artillery fire. It was in the distance, as if it was coming from the middle of the city. Flashes from the streets were lighting up buildings. It was surreal. The army boys were putting up a good fight. We could see four helicopters flying above the war zone. A couple of them looked like green military choppers; the other two looked more like news helicopters.
Kyle was commenting about the caliber of the bullets when we noticed that the streets were beginning to clear. Like mice following the scent of cheese, the mindless creatures began moving in the direction of the noise. While the fight raged on, Mr. Cul-de-sac mentioned something about waiting for help, a slightly different tactic than he was talking about in the lobby.
Kyle speculated about what the army was doing. Something about laying down a steady stream of munitions fire. Pausing for a bit, waiting for the streets to fill back up with zombies, then lighting them up again. Made sense, but it was all a guess.
It was getting darker out, the sun low behind the buildings. We decided to sit tight on ours. None of us wanted to go wandering around in the dark.
I don’t know if part of the power grid was down, or if people were too afraid to turn on their lights. Were there even any people left to turn them on? With the exception of the stoplights rhythmically changing colors, there were really no other electric lights running in the area. However, the army’s constant barrage of artillery and the fires blazing rampantly down below created plenty of visibility.
Slipping my hand into my pocket, I decided to turn off my phone. I needed to conserve as much battery power as possible. I turned and slid my back down the wall to the stairwell. I was still numb, not wanting to think about what might lie ahead. Kyle joined me, making a comment about needing a break. I glanced up as Mr. Cul-de-sac was wandering hesitantly over. Reluctantly moving, making room for him, I realized we might have safety in numbers.
As the three of us sat there, I learned that Mr. Cul-de-sac’s name was actually Ron Chauffer. He was a CEO of an insurance company that dealt in catastrophic events like hurricanes and earthquakes. He made some snide remarks about how his company wouldn’t be covering this event when the claims came flooding in.
Lucky us, I thought repulsively. Stuck on this roof with a real special son of a bitch.
Chauffer eventually fell asleep, curled up with his chair leg. Kyle and I stayed awake, watching the glow from the streets.
His thoughts were on his military service. He explained to me how he decided to enlist as soon as he was able. He didn’t have any family to speak of, except for an estranged father who lived somewhere in San Francisco. He seemed indifferent about whether he was alive or dead. I didn’t know whether the indifference was toward his father, or himself. And I didn’t press for a reason.
Jersey was his home because it was too expensive to live in the city. Not anymore, I thought to myself, as I glanced out towards the glow from the firefight.
Deciding not to share too much about myself at that point, I exchanged the basic story about how I was up in New York on business. Talked a little about my wife, Jenn, still in Atlanta, and that I needed to figure out how to get back to her.
When I mentioned Atlanta, Kyle turned toward me and said that he spent six months stationed at Fort Gordon in Augusta, a city on the Georgia and South Carolina border, about two hours east of Atlanta. They would fly out of the Hartsfield-Jackson Airport in Atlanta from time to time, and some of his best buddies were still stationed down there.
He told me a story about how one year; three of them went to Atlanta to watch the peach drop during New Year’s Eve. Too much celebrating, and a shit ton of drinks later, landed one of the guys in bed with three prostitutes. According to Kyle, it was the best night of the guy’s life.
It gave us a good laugh, and helped break the tension and fear of the day. We both sat in silence for a while, watching and listening to the firefight raging several blocks away.
I just lay there, nervously playing with my wedding ring. My wife would always yell at me for fidgeting with the thing. I tended to play with it when things got tense. I’d say the last few days or so counted. Facing the sky in and out of consciousness for most of the night, I noticed a mask of dark smog covered the stars. From time to time, the cloud cover would pass by just right, revealing a nearly full moon. I finally fell into a deep sleep in the early morning hours, the dead were still roaming around in my dreams.
When the sun began to peek through the buildings, it became evident what we had to work with on the roof. Chauffer had stumbled across a red toolbox while taking a piss in the middle of the night, and pulled it over to where we were sleeping. We figured someone had abandoned it while fixing the nearby satellite tower, which stood roughly ten feet tall at the peak of the roof, when the carnage started below.
In the early morning, Kyle had worked out a plan to use the tools to unbolt the tower, and use it to bridge the gap between the office building we sat on and the parking garage next door. Between the three of us, we were confident that we’d be able to pull it down. While it would be close, it looked just long enough to reach all the way to the other side of the alley.
While Kyle and Chauffer started to work the screws, I took a survey of the streets. The sun was fully over the horizon, making it easy to see the destruction. We could still hear the gunshots in the distance, reminding us of the battle raging just blocks away.
There were still creatures in the streets. For the most part, they were unorganized, and seemed to be scavenging. I noticed that they didn’t appear to be moving terribly fast, certainly not running as we had seen yesterday afternoon. I figured that the majority of the undead were still drawn to the noise of the firefight.
To the south, I could see the waterfront of Battery Park, where tourists could catch the ferry to go see the Statue of Liberty and Ellis Island. Chauffer was right; we really were not that far away. Once past those couple of blocks of car-filled streets, it’s nothing but an open grassy park.