“You’re lucky we didn’t shoot you.”

  Cass shifted her weight. “What are you guys doing? We haven’t seen anyone else alive in over a day, let alone a helicopter with a bunch of soldiers.”

  “We aren’t soldiers.”

  “You’re wearing uniforms.”

  Lance watched the other men. They jammed fresh clips into their rifles and scanned the surrounding area with hardened eyes. A few more Vladdies of the fresher, newly minted variety stumbled into view from the other side of the office building.

  The men shot them down in a flash.

  “Get on your way,” the leader said. “You don’t want to be anywhere near us.”

  “I’m not sure I believe that, considering you have a helicopter covering your asses.” Lance peered around, not liking their wide-open position. “What are you guys doing out here anyway?”

  The man frowned. He turned around and gave his men a hand signal. They fanned out, taking positions at the corner of the building and behind parked cars.

  “Funny how quickly things change. What would have been top secret information last week is now worthless.” He stepped closer, stopping when he was just out of reach of their bladed weapons. “We’re searching for nests.”

  “Nests?” Cass asked.

  “Where do they go during the day? We’re checking all buildings with large basements or underground parking garages—anywhere that is dark during the day.”

  “Have you found any of them yet?”

  “What do you think we were shooting at? Probably two hundred of them in there.”

  The building drew Lance’s gaze like a magnet. “What do you do when you find them?”

  The man made a throat-slashing gesture.

  Cass asked, “You guys are Special Forces, aren’t you?”

  “We were. Not sure what you’d call us now. Exterminators, maybe.”

  “Who’s giving the orders now? Is the government still functional?”

  “We’re still getting reports from various parts of the country, but they’re mostly military or some nut hiding in a bunker with a radio. No one has heard from the president or his cabinet in days. I have no idea who’s calling the shots now.”

  Lance listened to the man’s account of the status of the country, or lack thereof, in a passive, unblinking way. Nothing surprised him anymore, and he was shocked at how easily he absorbed the idea that civilization had collapsed.

  The man turned back to his men and gave them another signal. One of them reached into a small bag carried on his back and pulled a hand-sized device from it.

  “What are you doing?” Lance asked, watching as the man pointed the unknown equipment at the office building.

  “Blowing the place to hell. Now get out of here. I’ve already wasted too much time talking to you.” He headed back to his group.

  “Where should we go? Who’s left?” Cass called to him as he walked across the parking lot. “Is Heinz Field still safe?”

  The bearded man turned back to them once last time. “Yeah. We also have PNC Park quarantined. Get there soon. They’re not going to be able to take many more people.”

  Lance and Cass watched as the men spoke to one another for a minute before fanning out again and moving down the street, leaving the office building behind.

  “I thought they were blowing the place up?” Lance asked.

  “Maybe they’re calling in artillery or something.”

  They walked across the parking lot, giving the office building a wide berth, throwing nervous glances at it. A tall church, Catholic from the look of it, sat on the opposite side of the street. Homes, two stories with brick exteriors flanked it, populating the sprawling residential area.

  Cass’ face, flushed from the exertion of their escape, remained stoic as she watched their surroundings. A sheen covered her stomach and lower back, sweat flowing freely.

  Lance pointed to the church. “Maybe we can find some food in there. Don’t they usually have kitchens in the basement?”

  He hadn’t been in a church since he’d graduated high school. His mother, a profoundly religious woman, forced him to go twice a week for the majority of his childhood and teenage years. By the time he’d left for college, Lance decided that he never wanted to spend another Sunday morning sitting in a pew.

  And he hadn’t. Even when his mother died a few years later, he never felt like attending a service, searching for answers, or explanations of life and death. The pull of religion never took hold of him.

  “No idea. I could eat though. It’s been a day and a half.” Cass switched the axe from one hand to the next. “I’m still not convinced that we shouldn’t go with those spec ops guys. They have a whole lot of firepower.”

  “They want nothing to do with us. And they’re jumping head first into a world of shit. Going in the exact opposite direction of them is probably the best thing we can do.” Lance hoped he was right. The men had saved their lives after all.

  Cass grunted. “Maybe.”

  The idea of small groups of bad asses fighting back during the day was intriguing. Though Lance didn’t expect the effort to make much of a difference, the idea that someone in charge had half a brain was somewhat reassuring. But what chance did a dozen men have against an entire city of murderous monsters?

  They crossed the street, catching the last glimpses of the bearded hard cases as they disappeared behind a sprawling, Victorian-styled home. A handful of infected walked down the center of the road, spouting gibberish to no one in particular.

  Lance went up the front stairs of the church, lifting the machete in front of him. Two closed doors, wooden with ornate carvings on the front, stretched nearly twenty feet into the air.

  Holding his ear against one of them, Lance listened to the silence beyond. “I don’t hear anything.”

  “Let’s make this quick,” Cass said. “We have a lot of ground to cover tonight if we’re going to make it to the stadium before nightfall.”

  The doors opened easily despite their bulk, the hinges squealing. A small foyer waited inside. Pamphlets and torn out Bible pages covered the floor.

  Lance stood before the threshold of the door, staring at the ransacked space before them, contemplating not going in at all. His shirt stuck to his back, sweat flowing from his pores from running down the street. The cut on the bottom of his foot throbbed.

  Wind blew in from the open doors, rustling the papers.

  “What are you waiting for?”

  “I’m second guessing going in there—what the hell does it look like?”

  “It isn’t any safer out here than it is in there.”

  Lance couldn’t argue with that. He threw a quick glance into the street and spotted more Vladdies meandering about. No place was safe anymore.

  He stepped inside, closing the door behind Cass as she followed.

  The stained glass windows in the chapel were smashed, covering the floor in jagged pieces. Blood covered the pews. Streaks of crimson ran down the aisles.

  “Jesus,” Lance said, his blaspheme echoing in the empty space.

  “I don’t think Jesus was watching when this happened.”

  Organ pipes, dented and torn away from the wall, leaned against a balcony in the back of the church.

  A shoe, bloodied and shredded, sat on its side by the front row of seating. It was small, probably a child’s. Lance couldn’t stand to look at it.

  The ceiling, arched and pearly white, added an elegance that stood in stark contrast to the remnants of carnage on the floor.

  The stench of death and rot filled the vast chapel.

  Cass found a door in the back of the vast room and went through, axe at the ready. Lance followed, focusing on his breathing, hoping it wasn’t as loud as it seemed. They followed a dark trail of gore and congealed blood.

  Offices branched off a long hallway. Desks, computers, and filing cabinets decorated the rooms. Crosses covered many surfaces. Some sat on the floor, knocked from their perches on walls and desks.

  Light spilled in from shattered windows and open doors. The church was well lit, despite the lack of electricity.

  A stairwell waited further inside. Cass stood at the top of the stairs, staring down into the darkness beyond. The dearth of windows ahead cast the lower floor in deep shadow.

  The smell of spoiled meat intensified as Lance stepped beside her.

  “Why do I get the feeling that we shouldn’t go down there?”

  Cass said, “No shit.”

  Lance’s stomach rumbled, in spite of the horrific smell wafting from up from the stairs. He hadn’t eaten since the day before.

  “I’m damn hungry, but not enough for this.”

  “You aren’t going to get an argument from me. Let’s get—”

  The sound of something scraping the floor came to them then.

  Lance’s breath caught in his throat. His abs clenched.

  A thump, closer and louder.

  Cass’ fingers blanched as she squeezed the handle of the axe.

  Rapid exhalations from below.

  Two thuds, closer.

  Lance stepped back, wanting to flee, but unable to peel his gaze from the darkness ahead.

  A face, distorted and gray, pierced the black at the bottom of the stairs. Empty eye sockets oozed. Thinned hair draped over its scalp, the bottoms of the strands touching pointed, elongated ears.

  Grotesque veins snaked through the forehead and cheeks. Thickened bone structure made the jaw and eyebrows protrude.

  The Vladdie’s mouth opened, exposing canines that extended unnaturally below the other teeth.

  It wailed at them, the sound threatening to pop their eardrums. Spittle flew from its mouth, splattering on the steps underneath it.

  Cass stumbled backward, bumping into Lance, nearly knocking him over.

  Two forearms, muscles swollen and striated, appeared from the shadow. Its fists slammed against the stairs, shaking the floor in a show of rage and frustration.

  A series of shrieks answered from the basement below, filling the church with the wails of the infected.

  Lance spun on his damaged foot, grabbing Cass’ shoulder as he turned, and ran. His feet barely touched the carpeted floor as he sprinted down the hallway.

  Cass shouted for him to move faster.

  They burst into the chapel, not slowing as they flew past the pews, heading for the large front doors.

  More songs from the hungry below reverberated through the floor, filling Lance with a panic he hadn’t known since he’d left the hospital.

  Cass reached the doors first, grabbing an iron ring in the middle and heaving it open. The wood swung around, bouncing off the inside wall of the foyer, breaking through drywall.

  Lance lunged through the doorway, not willing to risk looking back until he felt the rays of sun on his shoulders. He stumbled down the stairs, inhuman shrieks chasing him from the church.

  He spun around, eyes glued to the open doorway as Cass huffed beside him.

  “My god. Is that what they look like now?” He felt something touch his leg and looked down, seeing his hand shake with such force that the machete tapped against his quadriceps.

  Images of the progression of those poor people’s mutation flashed through his mind like a flipbook. In little more than a week, the entire structure of their bodies had transformed.

  “That’s the first one of the nightwalkers I’ve seen lately,” Cass said, her voice hushed as if they might hear her. “It looked more like a gorilla from hell than a human. What chance does mankind have against that?”

  “I—”

  A scream, only partly human, rang out from behind them.

  Lance noticed their surroundings for the first time since escaping the church. He hadn’t paid attention to much in his panic.

  Over a hundred of the Vladdies filled the parking lot by the office building. More stumbled down the street on either side of Lance and Cass.

  Some were fresher, more confused. Others moved with smooth strides, their bodies already twisted and vascular.

  “Oh shit.” Lance looked back at the church. “Now what?”

  “Now we’re in deep shit,” Cass said, lowering her axe to her side. “I guess the gunfire and the helicopter drew them in.”

  Fear sapped Lance’s strength, rational thought becoming a challenge.

  “Should we go back in—?”

  The office building across the street exploded.

  Chapter 18

  Bright light stabbed at Lance’s eyes.

  Ears thrummed, hissing static blotting everything out.

  His lungs refused to cooperate, heaving helplessly against ribs.

  Heat baked against him in waves, pulsating and searing.

  He tried to speak, but couldn’t hear himself.

  The redolence of burning meat wafted in the air.

  He blinked.

  His vision cleared slightly. He blinked again, longer and slower. The sky above him came into focus, a black spire of smoke cutting through the blue.

  He wriggled his fingers and toes, shocked at the numbness in his limbs, grateful as the feeling abated. His side, still a little sore, tightened as he sat up, grunting, fighting for breath.

  Smoking rubble surrounded a crater where the office building had been. Debris filled the parking lot and street. Trees by the highway burned along with nearby homes.

  Severed limbs twitched in bushes and rain gutters. Devastated bodies dragged themselves across pavement, blood oozing from orifices. Lance stared at the mayhem, dumbstruck.

  Warmth eked down his forehead. His hand came away bloody. A headache settled in as he sat on the sidewalk, church steps behind him.

  Several of the Vladdies down the street, further away from the explosion, worked back to their feet, heads bobbing around in confused anger.

  “Cass?” Lance grimaced at the stiffness of his neck as he looked around for Cass. “You OK?”

  He found her sprawled on the lawn of the church, partially hidden beside the broad stairs leading to the front door. Blood stained her butchered hair, matting it to her forehead.

  “Cass?” Lance took a tentative step toward her, his knees wobbly, unsure. He cast a glance down the street again, watching as another dozen of the infected struggled to get up. They would be swarming again soon, converging on Lance and Cass like locusts.

  “Cass, get up!” His ears rang, his own voice’s delivery muted and soft.

  Cass didn’t move. Her chest rose and fell in shallow shifts. Her axe lay at her feet, one side of the blade digging into the grass.

  Lance wiped blood from his eyes with his forearm as he kneeled beside her. The seeping wound on her head was an inch long, but didn’t appear deep enough to be a major concern. Lance knew from watching the UFC that head wounds bled like crazy, even if they were superficial.

  A piece of cinderblock, jagged and rectangular, lay by her shoulder, drops of red covering it.

  Grabbing her shoulder, Lance shook her lightly, trying to wake her up. He tapped her cheek, calling her name.

  She didn’t respond.

  The dazed infected down the street worked their way toward the burning building, their attention temporarily distracted by the flaming debris.

  Cass’ eyes fluttered, but didn’t open.

  “Goddamn it.” Lance found his machete by the stairs of the church and tied the loop that hung from its handle to his belt.

  After sitting Cass’ axe against the stairs’ railing, he bent down and grabbed her wrists, pulling her into a seated position. Her head lolled against her right shoulder, muscles lax.

  Lance’s side strained as he lifted her waist off the ground, bending her torso over his shoulder. His legs shook as he took on her weight, his sliced foot protesting the added stress.

  He straightened his back, glad that she was in good shape. If she carried just a few more pounds, he wasn’t sure he would have been strong enough to lift her. Even now, with her small frame draped over his shoulder, he didn’t know how long his stamina would last.

  With his right arm wrapped around her legs, holding her in place, Lance grabbed her axe with his free hand. He knew she would ask for the damn thing as soon as she woke up.

  She mumbled against his lower back.

  “What? Are you waking up?”

  She fell silent, her body still limp.

  “Guess not.”

  The first steps were agonizing. Lance’s muscles, energy depleted and sore, strained against her weight. He felt the slightest of stubble on her legs as he held on to them, the miniskirt she wore not leaving much to the imagination.

  Though he was carrying a woman through a monster-laden street, the thought of women no longer shaving their legs occurred to him. What would be the point now? There were no pictures to be taken. Catty conversations around water coolers were a thing of the past. Hygiene in general could be little more than an afterthought when you’re constantly running for your life.

  Lance thought of his own five o’clock shadow and realized how fortunate he was to have slow-growing facial hair. His college buddies used to laugh at his pathetic attempts at beards and mustaches. Now, with a dearth of razors and shaving cream to use, he liked the idea of not shaving every day.

  Her waist bore down on his shoulder, its muscles fatiguing before he made it twenty yards. He shifted her weight, sliding her as close to his neck as he could. If he didn’t find a safe place to lie low for a while soon, he would need to think of a different way to carry her around.

  A fence surrounded the church, separating its property from a neighboring ranch-style home. Lance followed it, leaving the main street behind, knowing that he couldn’t carry her and fight off the sick at the same time.

  Though he tried not to think about what waited underneath the church, Lance couldn’t keep his eyes from wandering back to the bricks of its foundation. The size and power of what he’d seen frightened him more than anything else did. What could protect them from such fury? Where could they hide that would provide any kind of safety?

  He forced his eyes to remain straight ahead, mentally counting the steps until he reached the back of the church. His shoulder ached already, cramps threatening to set in at any moment.