“Are … we going home now?” the little girl asked.
A sob broke in Dez’s chest and for a moment she stood there, clutching the girl to her chest, her face crumpled into a knot of grief.
“Yes,” she whispered to the little girl. “Yeah, baby … we’re going home now. ”
She led the way out of the room and down the hall. JT and Trout waited for the staggering adults to follow, and then they came last. A procession of the dying and the broken.
They walked to the stairwell and then down the cold tower that was no longer part of a knight’s castle or a princess’s glittering palace or a wizard’s lair. Now it was cold stone, as lifeless as the stones on the walls of a crypt.
They stopped at the back door and, still holding the girl, Dez unclipped the walkie-talkie and keyed the Send button.
“We’re bringing out the bite victims. Three of us are not sick. Two cops and a civilian in a blue shirt and khakis. Do not fire on us. ”
“Roger that,” said a voice. Not Zetter.
“We don’t want to get overrun either. Can you draw the infected away from the door long enough to let us bring them out?”
“Yes, ma’am. You’ll hear it. ”
Trout grinned at Dez. “‘Ma’am’? You’d have threatened to kneecap me if I ever called you that. ”
“That still applies, so don’t get any ideas. ”
Suddenly outside a siren began howling. Another joined it, and another. Dez leaned close to the door to listen. The sound began to move, to fade.
“They’re using sirens to draw them away. ”
JT nodded approval. “First smart thing they’ve done. ”
After a couple of minutes the walkie-talkie squawked.
“You’re clear, Officer Fox,” said the voice. “It’s a tight window, so hurry. ”
JT pushed on the crash bar and the door opened. There were bodies outside, crumpled and broken. JT looked around for movement and saw none.
“It’s clear. ”
He stepped outside and held the door as the line of infected people shambled out. Trout and Dez came last, still holding the children. The soldiers had popped more flares, but they were on the far side of the parking lot, and trucks with sirens were parked on the other side of the fence.
“Are they going to help us?” asked one of the bite victims.
“They’re coming,” said Dez, hating herself for the lie inside the truth. She told the wounded to sit down by the wall. Some of them immediately fell asleep; others stared with empty eyes at the glowing flares high in the sky.
For a moment it left Dez, JT, and Trout as the only ones standing, each of them holding a dying child. The tableau was horrific and surreal. They stared at each other, frozen into this moment because the next was too horrible to contemplate. Then they saw movement.
JT peered into the shadows. “They’re coming. ”
“The Guard?” asked Dez, a last flicker of hope in her eyes.
“No,” he said.
They heard the moans. For whatever reason, pulled by some other aspect of their hunger, a few of the dead had not followed the flares and the sirens, and now they staggered toward the living who stood by the open door.
“We have to go,” said Trout.
“And right now,” agreed JT. He kissed the little boy on the cheek and set him down on the ground between two sleeping infected. Trout sighed brokenly and did the same. “Dez, come on…,” murmured JT.
But Dez turned half away as if protecting the little girl she held from him.