Pigpen, Frankie, and God rounded a corner and skidded to a halt. The tunnel ended at the fallout shelter, the exterior steel wall of which blocked their way. Pigpen flung himself at the hatch and grasped the wheel-like door handle. He grunted, straining to turn it. Frankie latched on and helped him. Slowly, the wheel began to turn, squeaking in protest.
There was an explosion behind them, and a bullet ricocheted off the shelter's outer wall.
"Danny," Don called, "want to come back to Bloomington with me? We can play with Rocky."
"Leave us alone," Danny shrieked. "You're not Mr. De Santos! You're not!"
"Come on, Danny. I'll take you back to your home. Don't you want to see your mommy? We'll find your comic books."
Tears coursed down Danny's cheeks. "Daddy, make him go away!"
The zombie tittered, "You can join us, Danny. You can be just like your mother and your stepfather and Mrs. De Santos. It only takes a second ..."
Jim clenched his leg, trying to stop the flow of blood. It ran between his fingers, staining them red.
"Danny," he grunted, "Listen to me. Go with Frankie."
"What about you, Daddy?"
Don rounded the corner and Jim leapt to his feet, yelling in pain and rage. Blood streamed from the wound in his leg. He gripped the side of Don's head, and slammed it against the wall. Blood and teeth exploded from the zombie's mouth. The gun slipped from the creature's fingers. Jim smashed its head against the wall again.
Screaming, he released the zombie and dug his fingers into the neck wound, pulling the flesh apart. The gash widened, and he thrust his hands inside the hole.
"Leave my son alone, you bastard!"
Pigpen flung the hatch open and God darted inside. More zombies appeared. Jim and Don struggled between them and the others.
Frankie grabbed Danny's arm. "Come on, Danny! Get inside!"
"Daddy!"
"Danny," Frankie shouted. "Get inside the shelter! Now!"
"I'm not leaving you!"
One of the zombies raised its rifle, peered through the scope, and squeezed the trigger. Pigpen cried out, and slumped against the wall, holding a hand to his chest. He stumbled through the open doorway, leaving a bright trail of blood behind him.
"Danny," Frankie urged, "come on!"
"Daddy!" the boy screamed again, turning back to his father.
Don's head lolled to the side, dangling over his shoulder. Jim had ripped it halfway off. He flung the corpse aside, pointed the flamethrower at the zombies, and backed away. Another bullet slammed into his leg. Jim bit his lip to keep from screaming. His head swam.
"Don't shoot him again," one of the zombies warned. "Hit those tanks and we all go up."
"So? What does it matter? We can get new bodies. This one is falling apart anyway."
"Lord Ob said to wait. He wants to deal with these humans himself."
"Where is he then?"
"Here," said a new voice, deeper and more powerful than the others.
Jim wobbled to a halt. "Frankie, get Danny inside and shut the door."
"What? Jim, you-"
"Do it. Please?"
"Daddy?"
The group of zombies parted, and one of them stepped forward. Jim didn't recognize the corpse, but he instinctively knew who resided inside it.
"Ob."
"Nice to meet you." Ob grinned. "We were never formally introduced, but Baker's memories told me so much about you. I see that you found your boy. That's touching. Now you can die together."
Jim's eyes didn't leave Ob. "Danny, I love you."
"Daddy!"
Jim's vision blurred as shock set in. He felt weak from blood loss, and the pain traveling up his leg was excruciating. He turned toward Danny.
"I'm very proud of you, and I love you."
"DADDY! NO!"
"I love you more than infinity."
He turned back to Ob.
Weeping, Frankie pulled the screaming little boy inside the shelter, and slammed the door shut. The clanging steel echoed in the sudden silence.
Hell, Pigpen had said, you could set off a bomb right next to it and that steel wouldn't buckle.
Jim hoped the old vagrant was right. He'd started out on this quest to save his son.
He'd succeeded.
He thought back to what he'd told Martin inside Don's garage.
I'll sacrifice myself before I'll let those things get my son.
Ob kept smiling.
Jim grinned back, even as the pain surged through him and his blood continued to flow.
The zombie craned his neck upward, studying the reinforced steel walls.
The other zombies closed ranks again, gathering around him. They pointed their weapons at Jim. Their stench was masked by the smell of the sewers, and Jim guessed that was how they'd snuck up on them. Don's corpse leaned against the tunnel wall, the head dangling at an impossible angle.
"Did you think you'd be safe inside that tin can?" Ob asked. "You humans amaze me. So determined to survive, when the alternative would be much easier."
Jim fingered the trigger, stroking it slowly. "What alternative?"
"Having the good grace to die, and quickly. What do you live for? What is there to look forward to? Cancer? War? Famine? We offer a much better choice, don't you think?"
"No thanks."
"It doesn't matter where you hide. Did you really think you could escape us underground?"
"I started this underground. I reckon I'll finish it underground too."
Ob laughed. "You aren't the first. The slaves in Egypt and Rome lived and died in the mines. I remember the Sumerian priests, who lived in underground dwellings, and used tunnels to visit one another. Poor bastards weren't allowed to see the daylight, and only ventured to the surface after dark. The Crimeans hid underground during the Tartar invasions. You are no better than a lowly worm. Your kind always cowers beneath the earth, Jim Thurmond."
"My boss and my fourth-grade teacher called me Thurmond. Everybody else called me Jim. You don't know me, so don't call me either."
"But of course I know you. Your friend Baker's memories are my own. I know all about you and Martin. Where is he-inside with the others? No matter. You escaped me once, but it ends here. I'm going to enjoy killing you, but I think I'll keep you alive long enough to watch as I pull your son's intestines from his stomach and feed them to him."
Jim's eyes flicked up to the ceiling and then back to Ob. Ob noticed the movement and looked up as well. He laughed, and then stepped closer.
"Praying to your God? He can't help you now, Jim. All He can do is watch. And when we've killed the rest of you, and my brothers are freed from the Void, His screams will be like thunder and His tears will be like rain. And then, when the second wave is over, we will drown His creation in fire."
Jim rocked backward on his heels. "Well, you're half right."
"What do you mean?"