Zombie Ascension (Book 1): Necropolis Now by Vincenzo Bilof Page B

liked theme park rides."
    "A miracle we have everything and everybody," Bob said.
    "Act of God," Miles winked at Vega.
    "That just happened," Vega said. "That chopper… this is civilian airspace. What the hell's going on?"
    Tremors shook the building's core and dropped more dust and ash into their eyes.
    "We have to move," Bob said. "The whole thing could collapse at any second."
    They listened closely for any indication that there might be survivors trapped in the shadows and with the exception of breaking glass, there was nothing.
    Bob tapped at his headset repeatedly and crouched down against the wall so he could adjust his signal.
    "Lost the phone, too," Bob mumbled. "Can't get a signal on the headset. Let's move to the street. Anything that moves is potentially a target. Shoot to kill."
    "You take responsibility…" Miles began.
    "It's on me," Bob tapped his chest. "Let's move out."
    They stood from their position and moved slowly down the stairwell. The remaining power flickered until it died completely, leaving them shrouded in darkness. Vega was thankful the fire alarm wasn't working in the building; the less noise interference, the better.
    The eerie silence gave Vega the feeling she was walking into a humid, airless tomb. Her sense of smell was overwhelmed by the blood-smell of an abattoir, where hundreds of people had died gruesome deaths. While she had her own experience with urban, building-to-building combat, her adventures had always been in close quarters, where the smell was prevalent in a confined space upon which the sun beat down mercilessly at all hours of the day. She had the impression that the Renaissance Center, though she couldn't see much of it, was an expansive, open place that would have been air conditioned and ventilated. This could mean only one thing.
    They were surrounded by death, and they couldn’t see it.
    Miles and Bob must have been thinking the same thing. They moved slowly, taking measured steps while scanning every square inch with their flashlight-mounted weapons. Vega could feel herself breathing; she could hear the steel, wood, and glass struggle against one another on the upper floors where the helicopter crashed. It was only a matter of time before the rest of the building suffered. They had minutes remaining to them, at best.
    "Contact," Bob whispered."Almost fucking bumped right into her."
    They trained their weapons on a woman who was hunched over an unconscious man. The woman slowly rose to her feet.
    "Ma'am, are you hurt?" Miles asked.
    The woman didn’t seem to hear him. Without answering his inquiry, she slowly stepped toward him.
    "Stay where you are," Miles said. "We're here to help, but please stay where you are."
    She might have been a middle-aged housewife or an independent entrepreneur. Strands of stringy, wet hair clung to her face while her jaw worked around a morsel of food that was between her teeth. Blood oozed juicily over her lips and down the length of her chin, dripping onto her white blouse. Her left shoulder hung awkwardly, and Bob's flashlight revealed stark-white bone up to her elbow.
    The woman should have been dead.
    "Jesus," Miles took a step back. "You're hurt pretty bad, and you're in shock. Let us help you. Don't take another step. Stay where you are."
    "Don't have time for this," Vega licked her salty upper lip. She was anxious and wanted to move out. Something was wrong with the woman. They had to get the hell out of that building.
    With slow feet that scraped against the floor, the woman reached for Miles to give him a thankful hug.
    "It's okay," Miles swallowed and lowered his weapon.
    "What the fuck are you doing?" Bob shouted at him. "Get your shit together! Lady, back off!"
    It was too late. Miles reached his own arms around her in the welcoming embrace you often saw on television commercials, or recruitment pamphlets of the soldier rescuing a refugee from some war-torn country.
    Vega wasn't sure if she was shouting, or if it was Bob. When