Eden (Zombie Novels) by Tony Monchinski

Author:Tony Monchinski
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Publisher: Simon & Schuster, Inc.
Published: 2011-12-06T06:00:00+00:00

29.

They loaded another batch of their wounded onto the chopper.

Marcos kept low, remembering his days in the Gulf aboard the aircraft carrier when that poor schmuck had gotten the top of his head taken off by the rotor blades on the flight deck. Someone had taken pictures of it afterward, put the pictures up on one of those web sites, one of the ones with all the porn and death vids. Marcos had never understood who would want to mix the two.

They were seventy stories up, which was a bad thing for Marcos because he hated heights. He kept well away from the lip of the roof, working with the firefighters, the EMTs, and other rescue personnel to transport the wounded onto the helicopters setting down and lifting off, ferrying as many people from the building as they could.

The street below was no longer an option and hadn’t been since last night. Soldiers and armed citizens held the stairwells, picking off the zombies as they lumbered up toward the roof.

Marcos wondered how long it would take them to make it up seventy flights. He lent an EMT a hand. The woman had a man on a stretcher. The man’s face was all eaten off and he was dying from his wounds. They carried the stretcher across the tarmac, keeping their heads low, passing it up to the men aboard the helicopter.

There was a spare tire around his middle these days, but Marcos found the discipline from his old Navy days came back fast. He’d feel safer if he had some kind of weapon, preferably a gun. He set his mind to the task at hand and tried not to think about his family at home. He had to trust they were still safe, as they were when he last spoke to them days ago, before he came down here looking to volunteer to help because he thought his country needed him.

A man on the helicopter signaled the craft was full and Marcos and the EMT hustled away from it.

Marcos turned from the downdraft and looked over the roof. Even with all the evacuation flights shuttling in overnight, there must have still been a good hundred and fifty, two hundred people left on the roof.

As the chopper lifted off, Marcos could hear the words of the EMT next to him, “Poor bastards.”

She was pointing across the street to a rooftop slightly below their own. Dozens of people were stranded there, waving their arms, gesticulating wildly. Marcos could see them but he couldn’t hear them. Helicopters couldn’t land for them because their building was nestled between taller ones with no clearance for rotors or their draft. Imagine, Marcos pondered it, making it off the street alive, climbing sixty-something flights of stairs—he assumed the power was out in that building like the one he stood on, so the elevators were out of the question—and finding yourself stuck on the roof, with no place to go, with no one to come and take you away.

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