Brother Walter hurried along, muttering to himself. Jessie wanted to warn him to be careful, but then she realized that they were truly alone inside the warehouse. Theirs were the only footprints in the undisturbed dust on the floor. Whether consciously or not, he’d already figured that out.
They came to an office, or rather three offices, one stacked atop the other like shipping crates at the far end of the building. The second- and third-floor offices each had a catwalk spanning the entire width, which provided unobstructed views of the interior. Squeezed into one corner, almost as an afterthought, was a spiral staircase. It continued up past the walkways and up into the girders, where it disappeared into the darkness in the roof.
“Like I said,” he told her, “there’s always a way.”
He turned on his heels and headed back to get the ladder. “See if you can find us some rope to haul it up with.”
“There’ll be some in the boat,” she called after him. She felt pleased with herself for thinking of it.
But he shook the back of his head at her. “It’s just an empty hull, nothing in it. Keep looking.”
The door to the ground level office scraped against the floor as she pushed it open. Boxes, which someone had piled up behind it, had toppled over, collapsed under their own weight and rotting sides. Jessie reached over and pulled one of the flaps open, releasing a flurry of dust. The sound of her sneeze bounced through the length of the warehouse. She waited for Brother Walter to bless her, but he didn’t.
There was a rustle of noise behind her. Out of the corner of her eye she saw the end of a long hairless tail disappear through a hole in the wall.
The pamphlets advertised day cruises launching off Smithtown Bay. Some went out to the eastern tip of Long Island and into the Shelter Island Sound. Others hugged the coast in the opposite direction before entering the East River. The back cover showed a picture of smiling tourists standing at the feet of the Statue of Liberty. For as long as Jessie could remember, the monument had never been open to the public.
She let the paper drop from her fingers.
A quick search confirmed that there was no rope to be found in the tiny, cluttered office, just a lot of records and old advertisements, a few personal trinkets, and, puzzlingly, a single brown and red shoe with the number 12 painted on the heel.
From the second level, she was high enough up that she could see Brother Walter searching through a jumble of loose equipment piled up along the wall to her right. He’d set the ladder down in the middle of the floor.
Looking out through the broken windows running along either side, she could see the wall stretching out like a giant wave frozen in place, ready to crash down upon them. At this time of day, it cast only a narrow sliver of shadow upon the dead ground beneath.
The top of the wall loomed high above her, cutting away the bottom half of the sky and turning it into midnight. A keeper of darkness and death. A killer of life. Even the birds refused to nest inside this building because of its proximity.
Apparently only the rats didn’t mind it. Rats and spiders.
The second floor office turned out to be just as barren as the first.
She made her way to the third level. The ladder was still on the floor where Brother Walter had left it, but he was nowhere to be seen. She considered calling out his name. Instead, she turned and opened the last door.
The room was much larger than the office below, deeper and wider, extending far beyond where the others stopped at a back wall. An oaken desk occupied the center. The surface was covered in stacks of paper money and a small rusted pistol with ivory inlays. Both were beyond any value to her now.
To the sides, oak shelves and cabinets stood at attention along the wood-paneled walls. A large black safe stood with its door swung open. Even more cash was stacked inside.
The floor was thickly carpeted, the walls richly decorated with expensive-looking paintings in fancy wooden frames. Everything was ruined by mold.
The skylight above the desk had been smashed, exposing the office to the elements. Concentric rings of mildew, black, then gray and white, then finally orange, spread along the ceiling. A dank, organic smell permeated the air, stinking of dirt and rot.
All this luxury, now nothing more than someone’s unfulfilled vision of success. Not even a memory.
She heard the creak of the Infected’s stiffened muscles flexing just as she turned to leave. The thing stepped from the shadows in the far back corner and snarled at her. It was dressed in a dark suit, which looked as if it might’ve been very expensive when it was new. Massive folds of skin clung to its face and neck. It moved slowly, clumsily, the result of a decade without food and no movement.
A gold watch chain hung from its vest pocket, swinging with each lurching step. And the way the suit jacket draped over him, she could tell he’d once been an excessively large man.
“So this is where you chose to ride out the apocalypse,” Jessie said to it, as she backed her way toward the door. She could imagine the man alone here, without a family, his work and money all he had left to occupy him as the world died all around. Expensive suits. Expensive cars, like the one downstairs. Expensive food. Yet here he was, spending eternity alone, starving alone, and none of it could stop the world from decaying. It was sad to think about, really, though only in the most general of ways.
“A dozen years to think about how little you gained and how much you’ve lost,” she whispered.
The thing picked up its pace, though it was still too slow to hope to catch her. Twenty feet. A shambling step: nineteen. Another step. Another.
It stepped into the circle of sunlight and she saw the ragged hole beneath its chin from where the bullet had gone in. The small caliber round had done the job of ending the man’s life, but not enough to prevent what came after.
It stepped forward; she stepped back.
The space between her shoulder blades contacted the door.
It seemed unfair to just leave it. She remembered what Micah had told her, what he and Master Rupert had both said about being ready to die. She would be doing this . . . this thing, this shell of a human being a favor by ending it now. He had probably once been despised, but all she could feel was pity for it.
She reached back over her head and pulled the sword out from behind her.
Fifteen feet.
Fourteen.
So painfully slow.
Could she do it? Could she kill the thing knowing there was someone inside whose life she was taking away?
A cold hand clamped onto her shoulder from behind and pulled her from the room. She swung the katana in a broad arc and it lodged into the wood of the doorframe.
“What are you doing?” Brother Walter hissed, rising from a crouch.
“Son of a bitch,” Jessie huffed. “I could’ve taken your head off.”
“Maybe if I were a foot taller.”
She didn’t know if he was being ironic. The zombie was now eight feet away. “Next time I’ll aim lower,” she said.
Brother Walter reached over, extracted the sword, and shut the door behind them. “We don’t have time for this.”
“I was going to finish him,” she said.
His eyes glinted hard at her, judging her. “If you think this is some kind of game—”
The Undead businessman slammed weakly into the door. The glass rattled but didn’t break. Neither of them flinched. Brother Walter took in the suit and gold watch and shook his head in disgust. “Let it stay in there until the end of time.”
“I’m surprised to hear you say that. Father Heale wouldn’t have—”
The zombie smashed into the glass again, leaving a thick greasy smudge.
“I’m not Father Heale,” he told her. He pointed down the catwalk toward the staircase, where the ladder was leaning against it. The top reached nearly to their feet. “The roof’s padlocked I don’t think we can get through that way.”
The door shook again. The glass rattled but held.
Brother Walter reached over and shoved the door open, knocking the Infected backward into the room. He then reached inside and grabbed the man’s wrist and pulled him out and over the railing.
They watched as it hit the cement below a second and a half later, a clatter of bones and a puff of dust and powder.
“Ready?” he asked her.
Jessie grabbed his arm and pushed him up against the wall. “Don’t you ever do that to me again,” she growled at him. “Don’t ever presume I’m taking any of this lightly.”
Chapter 41
Kelly stared in disbelief at the identifier code on his Link and thought: It can’t be her.
He stood up from the chair beside Kyle’s bed and stepped into the hallway. He could hear his parents talking softly downstairs, discussing their options. He closed the bathroom door behind himself and turned on the shower to mask the sound of his voice.
“Hello?”
“I need your help.”
No Hello back. No How are you doing? Or Thanks for trying to save me. Or Sorry I ran out on you. Just another something for him to do. Like he had nothing better to do than to run to her every time she said his name.
“How did you get out?” he asked. He was very angry, trembling with anger in fact. “I haven’t heard from you in days and the first time you get in touch all you can do is ask for my help?”
Doctor White sighed. “I couldn’t risk it. I couldn’t risk them listening in or putting you or your family in danger.”
“Like you’re doing now?” His voice rose. “What changed?”
“What’s changed is everything, Kelly. They can’t hurt me now. Or you. Not if we do this one last thing.”
“What thing?”
“Go back.”
He knew immediately what she was talking about, but he couldn’t understand why she’d want to go there with him. Father Heale was dead. Besides, she had the cure, so the file was of no benefit to them now. What could possibly be left on Long Island for her?
Jessie. She wants Jessie.
“No, I’m going alone,” he said.
“Alone? But—”
“You need to stay here. Kyle needs that cure.”
“And he’ll get it, as soon as we get back.”
“Why not now? Why does it have to be after? Is it Jessie? Do you need some more of her blood?”
There was a pause, then: “Yes.”
Kelly didn’t believe her. “What is this really about?”
“It’s about saving us all.”
“Bullcrap.”
He heard her sigh, then say, “I promise. This will be the last time, Kelly.”
“I’m not your errand boy anymore, Doctor White.”
“I will give you everything you need to know and the cure. But after you help me do this one last thing.”
“How?” he finally asked. “How are we going to get there?”
“I have a plan.” She told him where to meet her and when. “I’ll explain everything then. And Kelly? Don’t tell anyone.”
She disconnected before he could protest. He wondered what she would do if he told Reggie. Then he wondered what Reggie would do if he didn’t.
Either way, it seemed there was no avoiding it any longer. He was going to have to go. The question was, whom did he want by his side, White or Reggie?
* * *
Doctor White was furious with him when Reggie emerged from the car. To be honest, Kelly didn’t care what the woman thought anymore. It was time to do what was right— and not by him or Kyle, but by Jessie, the woman he’d betrayed.
It was time to bring her home.
“So, this is her?” Reggie asked, sizing the woman up. “This is Kyle’s doctor, the one who’s been secretly treating the little hero all these years with Jessie’s blood?” He gave her a withering stare, and to her credit she didn’t flinch.
Reggie crossed his arms over his chest. “I’m curious, though, about how you plan to get there.”
“By boat,” she replied, without hesitation.
“So, you’re planning on getting us all killed in the process. Nice. You do know that the waters around the island are mined with explosives, don’t you?”
“Us?” she asked.
“He’s coming, too,” Kelly said. “It’s not negotiable.”
She frowned. “The bombers took out most of the mines during their runs. We stand a good chance of—”
“That was weeks ago,” Reggie interrupted. “They’ll have lain new ones by now.”
“Except I’m pretty sure they haven’t.”
Reggie turned his gaze to Kelly. Clearly he wasn’t buying her half-assurances.
“Listen, it’s a risk,” she conceded. “You boys can stay here if you want, if it’s too much of a risk for you.”
Reggie barked out a laugh. “Risk? Our lives have been nothing but risk for the past six weeks. Lady, I’ve watched more people die than—”
“Reg,” Kelly said. He put a hand on his arm. “We’re all going. Just tell us what we need to do.”
“It’ll be tonight,” she told them. She handed Kelly a slip of paper. “After dark. It’s all there, what you need to bring, where, when. And no more using your Links. It’s too dangerous.”
“Can’t anyway,” Kelly said, checking his. “Stream’s down again.”
“You mind if I ask why you’re going?” Reggie said.
“Same reason you’re going,” she replied. “There’s a girl who needs saving.”
“I don’t buy it. What’s your story?”
She smiled thinly. “That’s it, nothing more.”
Chapter 42
Crossing the rooftop wasn’t as easy as Brother Walter had intimated it would be. They’d extended the ladder up through the hole in the office ceiling and climbed through, then pulled it up after them. But much of the roof covering had rusted, fallen, or blown away. It was mainly just thin corrugated metal, not meant to be walked on. One wrong step and they’d crash through. If they weren’t lucky enough to slice themselves in half on the girders, the fall would certainly finish them off.
They each took an end of the ladder, an old wooden one with a wide base and narrow top. The wood was so dry that it felt like balsa and was hardly any heavier. But the strain and concentration of crawling over the metal girders, the sun beating hard and hot upon them, and the fear of falling through quickly exhausted Jessie. She was relieved when they finally reached the edge of the roof and were standing right up under the wall.
“I can’t feel it anymore,” Brother Walter observed. He was testing different areas of the roof for their firmness, looking for a place to anchor the base of the ladder so it wouldn’t slip as they climbed to the top of the wall.
Jessie’s shirt was soaked through, and her hands felt blistered. “The network’s down again.”
She looked up at the top of the wall, but then just as quickly looked away again. The view made her dizzy. Sitting on corroded sheet metal thirty-five feet in the air wasn’t her idea of fun. And with the wall towering another fifteen feet over her, the sooner she got back on solid ground the better.
“This is the best we can do.” He set the top of the ladder against the rim of the wall and jostled it to check its stability. Then he picked up the coil of nylon twine he’d set on the roof, tied one end to his belt and looped the rest over one shoulder. “There’s seventy-five feet of this,” he told her, “enough to tie off to one of these beams and reach to within a few feet of the ground on the other side.
“That’s assuming the wall’s no more than a few feet wide at the top.” It was impossible to tell from below.
“It’ll stretch a bit, too,” he assured her.
It wasn’t the stretching or the reaching that worried her. It was the possibility of the rope breaking. She’d already been betrayed by rope not even twenty four hours before. And this one looked too thin, too brittle to be able to hold her weight, mu
ch less the two of them.
“You climb up first,” he told her. “I’ll hold the ladder steady.”
She thought about complaining, then thought better of it.
The ladder jiggled, creaking beneath her as she went, and the rungs felt loose. Just keep going, she told herself, trying not to look down. See? It’s not so bad.
But if it started off hard, the climb became absolutely torturous the higher she went and the narrower the ladder became. She passed the halfway point, where she hovered over open space between the end of the building and the wall. The ground, a sheer forty feet below was a graveyard of old metal parts, rusted gears, and wire that would chew her up if she fell.
Breathe slowly.
She knew she was hyperventilating. She stopped and rested a knee on a rung and tried to calm herself. Brother Walter didn’t say anything. He just waited, and somehow that seemed worse than if he’d tried to urge her on. It was like he was testing her and didn’t expect her to finish.
She pushed away and began to climb again: another rung, another, another. Hand over hand. Foot over foot. And now she was six feet from the top, and the ladder was a mere fourteen inches wide.
It slipped to one side and she hugged herself to it, almost too frightened to continue.
“Don’t stop,” he told her.
Another step. Another. Now less than four feet from the top and the latter was only twelve inches wide.
Now two feet away.
One.
She reached out. The wall felt cool, inert.
And then she was stepping off and onto the smooth surface. It seemed unnaturally clean, as if it repelled dust as effectively as it discouraged birds from landing and shitting on it. From where she crouched, she could see well out into the arcade. She could see network towers poking up from the tree line, above roofs. She’d never really noticed them before. There had to be thousands of them.
Stretching off into the distance on either side ran the wall, a flat, solid, narrow surface, like a highway with no exit.
By the time she’d turned, Brother Walter was halfway up. He climbed steadily, his face straight ahead, his eyes level. Loops of the twine uncoiled beneath him, slack enough to allow him to climb without hindrance.
S.W. Tanpepper's GAMELAND: Season Two Omnibus (Episodes 9-11) Page 101