Left With the Dead by Stephen Knight Page A

she said.
    “I can. Three steps to the next landing, turn left, down a flight, turn left, another flight, and then the door to—to what?”
    “A hallway, and at the end of that, another door. Glass and mesh, like the one on Second Avenue.”
    Above, the pounding increased, and the moans of the dead reached their ears.
    “Keep up with me,” Gartrell said, and then he started down the steps at a good pace. Jolie hurried after him, her hand still on his shoulder. She stumbled down the steps but caught herself. In the process, she lost her grip on Gartrell’s shoulder.
    “Dave!” she said, her voice barely more than a whisper.
    Gartrell turned at the next landing and looked up. She was at the top of the flight of stairs. Her hand was on the rail, and she looked right at him without seeing him.
    “Come down. Twelve steps, just like in Alcoholics Anonymous. Take ‘em quick, don’t fuck around. You hear that racket upstairs? The dead’ll be in here any minute. We gotta move, so shag it, lady.”
    She hurried down the steps, her left hand on the steel rail and the shotgun in her right. He reached out and took her shoulder when she made it to the landing and guided her around to the next flight of stairs.
    “Another twelve steps, then the door. You see the light from under the door?”
    “I see it!”
    “Then hit it. Go!”
    Keeping his hand on her shoulder this time, he followed her as she half-ran, half-stumbled down the steps. She almost fell against the door at the end of the stairwell, and her hand fumbled for the knob. Gartrell stopped her from opening it.
    “Hold on. We’ll do it like before—you open, I’ll clear. Ready?”
    “Ready.”
    Gartrell moved around her and ensured the wall was to Jaden’s back and there was nothing that could harm him to the rear. Jaden seemed to be sleeping now, his head resting against Gartrell’s shoulders. Gartrell wondered how that could be, as he must have been in some pain from the bonds on his wrists and ankles. He didn’t dwell upon it. Instead, he flipped his NVGs up on their mount and readied the AA-12.
    “Open it,” he said.
    Jolie pulled open the door, and filtered afternoon sunlight burst into the stairwell. It wasn’t extremely bright, but Gartrell squinted against it anyway. He stepped into the hallway beyond. To his left, the hall ended at a closed elevator. To his right, it continued down toward a door that was three-quarters reinforced glass. Somewhere in the distance, he heard helicopters. Jaden stirred at the light, whining slightly. Gartrell waved Jolie into the hallway as he heard something give way upstairs. The dead had finally overwhelmed the door, and were doubtless streaming into the stairwell. Jolie hurried out, and Gartrell slammed the door shut. The darkness wouldn’t cause the zeds much delay. Gravity would do its work, and they would find their way to the bottom, one way or another.
    “Summit Six, Terminator Five. We’re about to exit the building on Eighty-Sixth Street, and I’d estimate we’re about a hundred meters east of the subway station. I can hear the helicopters, are they in firing position? Over.” Through the glass door at the end of the hallway, Gartrell saw figures lurch past on the street outside.
    “Terminator, Summit. They’re ready whenever you are with nine hundred rounds of thirty mike-mike each. Flight of four hovering right close by, over.”
    “Six, we’re ready. We are danger close and we need to get the hell out of here, so they should start sending rounds downrange right now, over.” As he spoke, Gartrell heard sounds from behind the stairwell door. The stenches were finding their way down, and it sounded like half of them were falling down the stairs as opposed to walking down them.
    “Dave…” Jolie looked toward the gray metal door, her shotgun in both hands. Sweat beaded on her upper lip, and thick strands of her red hair stuck to her face.
    “Come on.” Gartrell trotted toward the door, then