"He ain't gonna rise. Not Leroy. He ain't gonna come back."
Smokey knelt down beside her and clasped her hands. "Etta, you know that's not true."
Don sniffed the air. "You guys smell something?"
"Just the sewer," Frankie quipped.
Suddenly, God howled. The cat paced back and forth in front of the large tunnel, hissing and spitting with rage. He peered into the darkness and then backed away.
"Listen," Quinn gasped. "What the hell is that?"
"Whatever it is," Frankie whispered, "the cat doesn't like it."
Then they all heard it, racing down the tunnel toward them-the whispered scurrying of rats. Hundreds of beady red eyes reflected back at them from the darkness.
"Oh, God," Quinn whispered. "We are so fucked ..."
Frankie shoved him. "Run!"
"Jim," Quinn shouted, "Get that flamethrower back here! Toast the fuckers!"
"No," Forrest yelled. "Those are gas mains over our heads. You light up and you'll kill us all. Move, people!"
Jim glanced upward and spotted the gas pipes hugging the ceiling. Small, furry shapes darted along the top of them.
The undead rats rushed down the tunnel like a brown wave. They made no sound, save the clicking of their claws. As they drew closer, they began to squeal. The sound was like fingernails on a chalkboard.
God was the first to run, followed by Pigpen, Frankie,
Don, and Smokey. Jim scooped Danny into his arms and raced down the tunnel after them. Quinn, Forrest, and Steve brought up the rear. All three fired into the scurrying mass, but it had no effect.
Etta never had a chance. The undead vermin swept over her as she struggled to get to her feet, crushing her back to the floor. Her body was completely obscured. They stripped the flesh from her bones in minutes, and then did the same to Leroy. The rest chased after the group.
Ob stared down the shaft in the sub-basement's floor.
"They went down there? You are sure of it?"
The gash in Bates's throat opened and closed as he talked. "Yes, lord. It is all here in my host's mind. They could not have gotten very far."
Ob turned to his lieutenant. "I want our forces to enter through every manhole cover and subway station within a twelve-block radius. Hunt them down and eradicate them. I would be done with this. Also, have a group dispatched for the airport, just in case they slip through our net."
The zombie nodded, and then lurched off to convey the orders.
Ob realized that his right pinkie finger was loose and dangling by a thread of sinew. He hadn't noticed until this moment. Perhaps he'd cut it on a piece of wreckage, or maybe the body was deteriorating faster than he'd expected.
He ripped the half-severed digit from his hand and dropped it down the hole.
"I don't like loose ends."
Ob climbed down the shaft. His forces followed.
They ran down the tunnel, their breath burning in their lungs. The rats bounded after them, unstoppable, closing the gap.
Smokey tripped over the rail and fell, sprawling across the tracks.
Forrest bent to help him. The others kept running, not looking back or stopping until a sudden hail of gunfire from in front of them brought them to an abrupt halt.
The human zombies surged forward, blocking their escape. Frankie and Don dropped to their knees and returned fire, aiming for the muzzle flashes.
Jim dove to the floor, sheltering Danny beneath him. Steve and Quinn fired into the rats, still bearing down from the rear.
"We're cut off," Forrest shouted. "Defensive positions!"
"Defensive my ass," Quinn wheezed. "This is gonna be a massacre."
"Jim," Steve hollered, "Get back here with that flame thrower."
"What about the gas lines?" Jim shouted back.
Quinn clamped his tongue between his teeth and squeezed off another shot. "The hell with the gas lines! I'd rather get blown up than eaten."
"I'm not leaving Danny!"
"God damn it, Jim! Get your ass back here or we're dead!"
Thin, rusty ladders climbed up the sheer cement walls on each side of the passageway, providing access to two small service tunnels. God scurried up the one to their left, and Pigpen followed him. The vagrant wrenched the steel door open and turned back to the group.
"This way," he called. "Hurry!"
Jim lifted Danny into Pigpen's waiting arms and then scrambled up the ladder behind him.
"Go," Frankie urged Smokey and Don. "I'll cover you."
Smokey stood up and ran for the wall. The guns sang out, and the air buzzed with lead. A bullet plowed into him, and his heart exploded through the front of his shirt. Smokey collapsed back onto the tracks, eyes staring sightlessly.
"Fuck!" Don returned fire. "I can't see what I'm shooting at. It's too dark!"
Frankie's weapon clicked empty. She cast it aside and grabbed Smokey's.
"Is he dead?" Don asked.
"What do you think? You see the size of that hole in his chest?"
"I can't see shit. That's the problem!"
Another explosion rang out and more muzzle flashes erupted in the darkness.
"I'm hit," Steve cried out. "Oh shit, that fucking hurts!"
Frankie returned fire, aiming for the muzzle flashes.
Steve writhed on the tunnel floor, blood streaming from his leg. Quinn and Forrest knelt over him, and fired into the wave of dead rats.
"Get out of here," Forrest told Frankie and Don. "That's an order!"
"We don't work for you," Frankie shouted. "You can't hold them yourselves."
"Go, god damn it!"
A bullet pinged off the concrete next to Frankie, and fragments of stone pelted her skin.
Don tugged her arm. "Come on. We need to move, now!"
Crouching and firing at the same time, they reached the ladder. Frankie tossed Jim her weapon and climbed up while Don and Jim laid down cover fire. Then Don hoisted himself up, while Jim and Frankie held the zombies at bay.
Pigpen, Danny, and God watched from inside the service tunnel. Jim, Frankie, and Don remained on the ledge, turning back to the others. The zombies had the men pinned down, and the rats were less than twenty yards away, and closing fast.
"Get out of there!" Don yelled.
Forrest reloaded and unleashed another barrage into the moving wall of vermin, then spun and fired into the midst of the other zombies.
"You guys go," Steve groaned. "I'll hold them off."
"Bullshit," Quinn snapped. "We ain't leaving you behind the way we did Bates. He was mortally wounded. You're just shot in the fucking leg."
"And I'll slow you down," Steve insisted, clenching his teeth. "No way I can run from those rats."
Forrest kept firing. "Help him to his feet, Quinn."
"Damn straight. We'll carry him if we have to."
"No," Forrest said, wincing as hot shells bounced off his forearms.