we could shoot worth a damn, we don’t have enough rounds to take all these Zappers down. So I guess it’s going to come down to using our brains.”
“That’s not very comforting.” DeVontay glanced around at the brittle, burned-out shell of the building and the row of school buses. “Maybe we’re thinking about this wrong.”
“What do you mean?”
“We’ve been acting like the baby is the key. But it looks like Stephen is part of the deal, too. The other babies were helpless without a human carrier, because the Zapheads don’t seem capable of caring for them. Why else would he be there?”
Franklin peered through the tinted windows. The boy and the Asian baby were busy bringing another Zaphead corpse back to life, meticulously working their way to the far end of the parking lot. “Yeah, they look like best buddies. Joined at the hip.”
“So, what if we cut the connection?”
It took Franklin a moment to understand. Or maybe he didn’t want to hear it, because the idea had been stirring in the back of his mind as well. “You want me to shoot the boy?”
The sudden pop high overhead jolted both of them, and their faces gleamed with a silvery brilliance as night vanished.
CHAPTER NINE
Another pop, and bright phosphorescent streamers corkscrewed down from several hundred feet overhead.
DeVontay had never seen these in real life. But movies had given him plenty of instruction, some of it even useful. “Flares,” he said.
“Hilyard?” Franklin said. “He had some flares for that grenade launcher.”
“Maybe,” DeVontay said. “But why?”
The burning phosphorous fluttered down, illuminating the parking lot, revealing the silent army that glanced up as if at an arriving god. The flares outshone their eyes, and the harsh light cast them in stark contrast to the surrounding darkness. Ribbons of light swam in car windows, casting watery reflections across the asphalt. There was a moment of complete silence and stillness, like a black-and-white photograph, that gave a false illusion of peace.
Then hot metal raked across the parking lot, dinking off sheet metal and shattering glass.
Red tracers zipped hot stitches.
The roar came a split-second later, a staccato metallic belching as gunpowder exploded in a fusillade. The shots hailed from all sides, but DeVontay guessed only half a dozen sharpshooters were at work.
Someone shouted and another responded, voices from beyond the border of night.
“That’s not Hilyard,” Franklin said, as they both hugged the cover provided by the Surburban. “That’s Shipley. I’d know that sadistic bellow anywhere.”
Zapheads jerked and twisted, their limbs flung out by the impact of slugs. They folded, spouting red, and sprawled on the ground one after another. Stephen pitched forward with the mutant baby in his arms, and for one terrible moment, DeVontay thought the boy had been shot. But he flopped onto the body of a Zaphead, using his elbows to soften the blow to the baby, and burrowed down alongside a corpse.
“They laid an ambush,” Franklin said.
“Where were they when we were in trouble? They had to be around. Maybe even watching.”
“Must’ve wanted to get them all out in the open before they attacked. If we’re not bait for one army, we’re bait for another.”
Franklin poked his head up to the passenger-side window and peered through. The window exploded and showered both of them with tiny rectangles of glass. DeVontay fished a shard out of his cheek and wiped a wet, slick streak across his face.
“We have to get Stephen out of there,” DeVontay said.
“I thought you wanted him dead. Make up your mind.”
“We need both of them. Him and the baby.”
Another half dozen Zapheads fell as they spoke, and some turned toward the origin of the gunfire, where muzzle flashes erupted here and there from the surrounding trees and streets.
“Go there go now,” shrieked a clear, high voice. “Take them.”
“Take
“That’s not very comforting.” DeVontay glanced around at the brittle, burned-out shell of the building and the row of school buses. “Maybe we’re thinking about this wrong.”
“What do you mean?”
“We’ve been acting like the baby is the key. But it looks like Stephen is part of the deal, too. The other babies were helpless without a human carrier, because the Zapheads don’t seem capable of caring for them. Why else would he be there?”
Franklin peered through the tinted windows. The boy and the Asian baby were busy bringing another Zaphead corpse back to life, meticulously working their way to the far end of the parking lot. “Yeah, they look like best buddies. Joined at the hip.”
“So, what if we cut the connection?”
It took Franklin a moment to understand. Or maybe he didn’t want to hear it, because the idea had been stirring in the back of his mind as well. “You want me to shoot the boy?”
The sudden pop high overhead jolted both of them, and their faces gleamed with a silvery brilliance as night vanished.
CHAPTER NINE
Another pop, and bright phosphorescent streamers corkscrewed down from several hundred feet overhead.
DeVontay had never seen these in real life. But movies had given him plenty of instruction, some of it even useful. “Flares,” he said.
“Hilyard?” Franklin said. “He had some flares for that grenade launcher.”
“Maybe,” DeVontay said. “But why?”
The burning phosphorous fluttered down, illuminating the parking lot, revealing the silent army that glanced up as if at an arriving god. The flares outshone their eyes, and the harsh light cast them in stark contrast to the surrounding darkness. Ribbons of light swam in car windows, casting watery reflections across the asphalt. There was a moment of complete silence and stillness, like a black-and-white photograph, that gave a false illusion of peace.
Then hot metal raked across the parking lot, dinking off sheet metal and shattering glass.
Red tracers zipped hot stitches.
The roar came a split-second later, a staccato metallic belching as gunpowder exploded in a fusillade. The shots hailed from all sides, but DeVontay guessed only half a dozen sharpshooters were at work.
Someone shouted and another responded, voices from beyond the border of night.
“That’s not Hilyard,” Franklin said, as they both hugged the cover provided by the Surburban. “That’s Shipley. I’d know that sadistic bellow anywhere.”
Zapheads jerked and twisted, their limbs flung out by the impact of slugs. They folded, spouting red, and sprawled on the ground one after another. Stephen pitched forward with the mutant baby in his arms, and for one terrible moment, DeVontay thought the boy had been shot. But he flopped onto the body of a Zaphead, using his elbows to soften the blow to the baby, and burrowed down alongside a corpse.
“They laid an ambush,” Franklin said.
“Where were they when we were in trouble? They had to be around. Maybe even watching.”
“Must’ve wanted to get them all out in the open before they attacked. If we’re not bait for one army, we’re bait for another.”
Franklin poked his head up to the passenger-side window and peered through. The window exploded and showered both of them with tiny rectangles of glass. DeVontay fished a shard out of his cheek and wiped a wet, slick streak across his face.
“We have to get Stephen out of there,” DeVontay said.
“I thought you wanted him dead. Make up your mind.”
“We need both of them. Him and the baby.”
Another half dozen Zapheads fell as they spoke, and some turned toward the origin of the gunfire, where muzzle flashes erupted here and there from the surrounding trees and streets.
“Go there go now,” shrieked a clear, high voice. “Take them.”
“Take
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