David Robbins - New York Run

Gatti flicked on his helmet lamp and vanished over the brink.

Captain Wargo led the rest to the rim, sidestepping gory Zombie remains all the way. He crouched, turned on his helmet lamp, and stared downward.

Blade and Geronimo joined the officer, activating their own lamps.

Private Gatti was one flight of stairs below them, sweeping the tunnel with his head lamp. “Nothing,” he said softly, the word crisply audible to those perched above him, amplifed by their Com-Links.

“Wait for us,” Captain Wargo ordered. He stood and started down the stairs.

Blade frowned, exchanged glances with Geronimo, and followed Wargo, Geronimo on his heels and Kimper behind Geronimo.

“Scanner’s clean,” Kimper said, his eyes glued to the grid.

“Keep me posted,” Wargo directed.

They reached the first landing and paused.

Blade’s helmet lamp illuminated dusty, cobweb-covered walls and railings. The light from the lamps penetrated 20 feet into the inky gloom; beyond loomed a curtain of ominous black.

“We take the stairs to the bottom,” Captain Wargo said. “The vault is near the stairs, so we should be in and out before the Zombies can regroup.”

“I hope you’re right,” Geronimo said. “Those Zombies give me the creeps!”

“No talking!” Wargo snapped. “Move out!”

Gatti headed downward.

“Still nothing,” Kimper informed them.

Captain Wargo waved his right arm and resumed their descent.

As they passed landing after landing, six in succession without encountering more Zombies, Blade wondered if Wargo was right after all.

Had the Zombies called it quits? The cannibals had taken quite a beating up above; the Dakon IIs had destroyed them in droves. Maybe the Zombies weren’t as fierce as their reputation alleged. But if that was the case, then what had happened to the earlier Technic squads?

“Trouble,” Private Gatti said from a flight below.

“What is it?” Captain Wargo demanded.

“I think you should see this for yourself, sir,” Gatti replied.

The party hastened to the next level.

“See what I mean?” Gatti asked.

“Oh, no!” one of the other troopers complained.

Captain Wargo stared at the problem, dazed.

Blade looked at Geronimo.

“Now what do we do?” Geronimo inquired.

The stairs came to an abrupt termination; jutting struts and bars were suspended in midair, and pieces of debris lined the landing; a heavy steel girder protruded from the north wall, hanging in space; beyond was a stygian void.

“What could have caused this?” Captain Wargo questioned.

“Maybe a little thing like a nuclear war,” Geronimo remarked.

“Do we turn back?” Blade queried the Technic officer.

Captain Wargo shook his head. “No, we don’t,” he declared obstinately.

“The stairs may still be intact farther down.”

“And how do we reach them?” Blade asked.

Captain Wargo slowly pivoted, his helmet light playing over the stairs and the surrounding walls. “There must be…” He pointed at the west wall.

“Look! A door! I knew there’d be one.”

“Just our luck,” Geronimo groused.

The door was ajar several inches. A faded sign read “STAIRWELL EXIT LEVEL #8.”

“Gatti. Point,” Captain Wargo directed.

Private Gatti hesitated for a moment, then cautiously pushed the door open. “There’s a hallway here,” he announced.

“Let’s go!” Captain Wargo barked.

Blade detected a visible reluctance in the Technic soldiers. Their pensive features accurately reflected their growing apprehension. And who could blame them? The lower they descended, the more certain they were to encounter more Zombies. He followed Wargo through the doorway, stepping over a skeleton on the floor, a skeleton wearing a dust-covered camouflage helmet. “One of yours?” he asked Wargo.

“Must be,” Captain Wargo answered. “I don’t see his dog tags, but the helmet is definitely ours.”

“The bones were picked clean,” Geronimo observed.

“And if you let the Zombies catch you,” Captain Wargo said, “the same fate will befall you.”

“Do you always look at the cheery side of life?” Geronimo rejoined.

“Captain!” Private Gatti stated from up ahead.

“What is it?” Wargo asked.

“A junction,” Gatti replied.

“On our way,” Captain Wargo said.

They found Gatti 20 yards further ahead, shielded by the corner of a wall at the junction of two corridors.

“Scanner?” Captain Wargo declared.

Private Kimper studied his pulse scanner. “Faint readings, sir. Almost undetectable. Nothing close.”

Wargo pondered for a minute. “Take that branch,” he commanded Gatti, indicating the corridor to the left.

The point man took off.

“How do you know which one to take?” Blade inquired.

“I don’t,” Captain Wargo responded.

They slowly moved down the hallway, their helmets constantly becoming entangled in cobwebs, their feet kicking up puffs of dust with every step.

“May I make a comment?” Geronimo said.

“What is it?” Captain Wargo asked.

“Do you see all these cobwebs we keep bumping into?” Geronimo mentioned.

“Yeah. What about them?”

“So where are all the spiders?” Geronimo commented. “Hundreds of spiderwebs and not one spider. Doesn’t that strike you as strange?”

“I never gave it much thought,” Wargo admitted.

“Maybe the Zombies eat the spiders,” Blade said.

“Yuck,” Geronimo stated. “You could be right. The Zombies must have some sort of dietary staple if they’re surviving in large numbers. Spiders would be as nutritious as anything else.”

A disturbing speculation registered in Blade’s mind. “Say, Wargo.”

“What?”

“How many Zombies are there in New York City?” Blade inquired.

“I’m not sure,” Captain Wargo replied. “Our experts estimate in the neighborhood of four or five thousand. Why?”

“Is that all?”

“Isn’t that enough?” Wargo retorted.

“You’re missing my point,” Blade said. “Only four or five thousand. Why aren’t there more of them?”

“How the hell should I know?” Wargo said stiffly. “Why don’t you ask the next one you run into?”

“What is your point?” Geronimo wanted to know.

“The Zombies have been here since the Big Blast, right?” Blade answered. “They’ve had over a century in which to breed. So why aren’t there more of them? Only four thousand in one hundred years doesn’t seem like much.”

“Maybe they have a hard time getting it up,” Captain Wargo said.

“Or perhaps there is something else down here,” Blade noted.

“Something eating the Zombies and keeping their population down.”

“Eating the Zombies?” Captain Wargo reiterated in disbelief. “What could possibly do that?”

“Let’s hope we don’t have to find out,” Blade declared.

“Captain Wargo!” It was Gatti.

“What is it?” Captain Wargo answered.

“I’ve found a hole in the floor,” Gatti informed his superior.

“Stay put,” Wargo ordered.

They reached the point man within a minute, squatting at the rim of a jagged opening in the corridor floor.

“It leads to the floor below,” Private Gatti told them.

Captain Wargo crouched and peered through the hole. The floor of another corridor was 12 feet below. “We go down one at a time,” he instructed them. “Hang by the arms and drop. You won’t have more than six feet or so to fall. Gatti, you first.”

Private Gatti slung his Dakon II over his right shoulder and slid his legs over the edge of the hole.

Captain Wargo leaned down so he could see the hallway below. “Go ahead. I’ll cover you.”