ground. “Think it’ll hold?” he asked skeptically, as he studied the barricade holding up the doors.
“Doubt it. Not with that crowd pushing against them. But they’ll buy us some time,” I said, as I shoved the last beam in place.
We could barely hear each other over the roar of the helicopter as it circled the tower. I could see its crew taking stock of the scene below them. For a moment, I wondered what the pilot was thinking as he looked down on that multitude pressing against the tower and the Sokol abandoned at the far end of the runway.
“Head for the top of the tower!” Prit cried, as I loaded my spear gun.
The first few Undead had reached the doors and were pounding wildly on them. A mad jumble of moans exploded out of their throats. The chilling memory of that claustrophobic day cooped up in a dark crawl space in that store in Vigo came racing back. My hands started to shake and I was helpless to stop them.
Sister Cecilia and Lucia, with Lucullus in her arms, labored up the stairs behind Prit. From time to time he had to clear away a pile of rubble blocking the stairwell. The debris crashed to the floor below, where we’d just been standing, raising such huge dust clouds I could barely make out where the doors were.
I crouched down on the first flight of stairs, coughing uncontrollably from all the dust, and waited, looking down at the doors every time that roaring mass pushed especially hard. There was absolutely nothing I could do. That barricade wouldn’t hold for long.
I started up the stairs in the dark, till I came to the third floor landing, where I had to sit down and catch my breath. A huge bang, like anexplosion, startled me. The groans of the Undead got twice as loud. The doors had fallen.
They were inside.
Their halting steps echoed on the metal stairs. I swallowed hard and waited. My sweaty hands gripped my spear gun even tighter as I leaned against the railing.
The first Undead suddenly appeared on the staircase, silhouetted in the light from a small window. He was a young guy, in his twenties, with long hair and a beard. His clothes were in tatters and he had two gaping bullet holes in his chest. A huge gash on his right leg made him limp but didn’t stop him from climbing the stairs. His face and clothes were covered in dried blood; his dead eyes glowed with hate. Cement dust had settled on his body, making him look even more diabolical.
A terrible sneer spread across his face when he saw me. As he took a few halting steps toward me, I took a deep breath and aimed the spear at his head. At less than five feet, I couldn’t miss. With a squishy
chuff
, the spear cleanly pierced his forehead, planting itself deep into that hellish creature’s brain.
He looked confused for a second and then crashed onto the concrete landing. I didn’t hang around to admire the landscape; I turned and ran to the top of the tower. The helicopter rumbled right above our heads.
A charred skull smiled down at me at the top of the last flight of stairs. With a shiver, I jumped over it and headed for the ladder to the trapdoor that opened onto the roof.
As I climbed up, I heard the Undead stream into the cupola of the tower. Prit grabbed the back of my wetsuit and pulled me up. Sister Cecilia quickly drew the ladder up behind me. I gasped when I looked back down through the trapdoor. Dozens of rabid Undead were crowded around below, trying to reach us.
I’d made it by a hair.
Relieved, I looked over at Pritchenko but his shocked expression made me turn around. I peered at the helicopter hovering overhead and was stunned by what I saw. And yet, there it was, right in front of my eyes: the helicopter, painted in camouflage, had tilted when they threw us a ladder. On the door, in big, bold letters were the words ARGENTINA AIR FORCE .
9
An army helicopter from Argentina.
In the Canary Islands.
Moroccan soldiers, Argentine helicopters… What the hell was going on? I hoped someone at the top of
“Doubt it. Not with that crowd pushing against them. But they’ll buy us some time,” I said, as I shoved the last beam in place.
We could barely hear each other over the roar of the helicopter as it circled the tower. I could see its crew taking stock of the scene below them. For a moment, I wondered what the pilot was thinking as he looked down on that multitude pressing against the tower and the Sokol abandoned at the far end of the runway.
“Head for the top of the tower!” Prit cried, as I loaded my spear gun.
The first few Undead had reached the doors and were pounding wildly on them. A mad jumble of moans exploded out of their throats. The chilling memory of that claustrophobic day cooped up in a dark crawl space in that store in Vigo came racing back. My hands started to shake and I was helpless to stop them.
Sister Cecilia and Lucia, with Lucullus in her arms, labored up the stairs behind Prit. From time to time he had to clear away a pile of rubble blocking the stairwell. The debris crashed to the floor below, where we’d just been standing, raising such huge dust clouds I could barely make out where the doors were.
I crouched down on the first flight of stairs, coughing uncontrollably from all the dust, and waited, looking down at the doors every time that roaring mass pushed especially hard. There was absolutely nothing I could do. That barricade wouldn’t hold for long.
I started up the stairs in the dark, till I came to the third floor landing, where I had to sit down and catch my breath. A huge bang, like anexplosion, startled me. The groans of the Undead got twice as loud. The doors had fallen.
They were inside.
Their halting steps echoed on the metal stairs. I swallowed hard and waited. My sweaty hands gripped my spear gun even tighter as I leaned against the railing.
The first Undead suddenly appeared on the staircase, silhouetted in the light from a small window. He was a young guy, in his twenties, with long hair and a beard. His clothes were in tatters and he had two gaping bullet holes in his chest. A huge gash on his right leg made him limp but didn’t stop him from climbing the stairs. His face and clothes were covered in dried blood; his dead eyes glowed with hate. Cement dust had settled on his body, making him look even more diabolical.
A terrible sneer spread across his face when he saw me. As he took a few halting steps toward me, I took a deep breath and aimed the spear at his head. At less than five feet, I couldn’t miss. With a squishy
chuff
, the spear cleanly pierced his forehead, planting itself deep into that hellish creature’s brain.
He looked confused for a second and then crashed onto the concrete landing. I didn’t hang around to admire the landscape; I turned and ran to the top of the tower. The helicopter rumbled right above our heads.
A charred skull smiled down at me at the top of the last flight of stairs. With a shiver, I jumped over it and headed for the ladder to the trapdoor that opened onto the roof.
As I climbed up, I heard the Undead stream into the cupola of the tower. Prit grabbed the back of my wetsuit and pulled me up. Sister Cecilia quickly drew the ladder up behind me. I gasped when I looked back down through the trapdoor. Dozens of rabid Undead were crowded around below, trying to reach us.
I’d made it by a hair.
Relieved, I looked over at Pritchenko but his shocked expression made me turn around. I peered at the helicopter hovering overhead and was stunned by what I saw. And yet, there it was, right in front of my eyes: the helicopter, painted in camouflage, had tilted when they threw us a ladder. On the door, in big, bold letters were the words ARGENTINA AIR FORCE .
9
An army helicopter from Argentina.
In the Canary Islands.
Moroccan soldiers, Argentine helicopters… What the hell was going on? I hoped someone at the top of
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