Terminus by Adam Baker Read Free Book Online Page B

quit.’
    ‘A few of these infected fucks might crawl from the rubble,’ said Donahue, ‘but they won’t last long. They might be tough, but nothing can survive that level of radiation. Anything out there in the street will slowly dissolve in the toxic rain. Fallout will burn away their skin, strip muscle from bone. The bomb is doing its job. It might take a while, but a few weeks from now, there will be nothing left. A dead city. Jumbled bones lying in the street. Ribs. Skulls. Tufts of hair.’
    ‘Fine by me.’
    ‘I don’t know how these things communicate,’ said Donahue. ‘I can’t figure it out. They seem dumb as rocks. They don’t talk. They don’t gesture. Ever looked one in the eye? Nothing there. Not a glimmer of awareness. No thought, no memory. Maybe they’re telepathic. Maybe they release some kind of pheromone. Soon as one of these bastards senses fresh meat, every infected shithead for miles around perks up and joins the hunt.’
    Tombes inspected the gate, checked the bolts that anchored the iron frame to cement.
    ‘Is this one of Galloway’s handcuffs?’
    ‘Cadmium steel. It’ll hold.’
    ‘Not sure about the frame. The ironwork is pretty corroded. If enough prowlers show up and try to force their way inside, it might give way. Better keep watch. We might need to cull a few, keep the numbers down.’
    ‘Wish we had those SWAT guys.’
    ‘No use wishing.’
    Donahue spooled flex down the steps, across the tiled floor of the ticket hall, to the IRT office.
    She sat on a metal folding chair and unboxed the radio. A military transmitter with a resin case.
US ARMY SIGNAL CORPS.
She flicked an on switch. Green light. Intermittent power-up hum. She turned a heavy black dial. She tapped glass. A signal-strength needle twitched and rose.
    The stars and stripes lay bundled on the floor. Part of the old office decor, along with a framed Ten Commandments in gothic script: a reminder to any IRT employees summoned to the Super’s office that his brass-buttoned, chest-puffing authority was backed by God and state.
    Tombes picked up the pole. The flag had faded pale pink and lavender, like a winter sunset. He slapped webs from the braid fringe. Thick dust swirl. He straightened the brass staff over his knee and twisted it into the floor stand.
    ‘They bombed Washington too, you know,’ said Donahue. ‘The Constitution. The Declaration. The First Lady and her damned Chihuahua. All that history up in smoke.’
    Tombes shrugged.
    ‘Politicians. No one will miss them. If we beat this disease, maybe the world can start over. A second chance. Maybe we can do it right.’
    ‘Is that the daydream? A ranch? A nice little farmstead?’
    ‘Always wanted to be a blacksmith. I’ll pound horseshoes on an anvil.’
    ‘What the hell do you know about horses?’ asked Donahue. ‘You’re from Bensonhurst.’
    ‘There’ll be a book on a shelf, somewhere. Old knowledge, waiting to be found.’
    Tombes pulled up a chair and rested his boots on the table. He turned his Zippo over in his muscled hand, knuckle-skin melted tight by an old burn. He clicked the lid, an instinctive ex-smoker fidget. Shamrock insignia.
No Irish need apply.
He gazed at the flame, then snapped the lid closed.
    He shivered.
    ‘Jesus. Freezing down here.’ He huddled deeper into his turnout coat. ‘Maybe we should break a couple of chairs, start a fire.’
    ‘Never thought I’d be reduced to rubbing sticks together.’
    ‘Where the hell did you get that trash?’ he said, pointing at the radio. ‘Dug it out of landfill? Bunch of GI junk. Looks like someone stormed the beaches at Normandy with that thing strapped to his back. Liberated fucking Paris.’
    ‘Yeah. Well, every communication satellite is drifting dead in orbit, so cell phones aren’t much use right now. Got to make do with scavenged crap. It’s like someone stopped human history and hit rewind.’
    ‘Better believe it. Fucked up roads, sour gasoline. Couple of years