Fighting to Survive (As the World Dies #2)(30)

Maybe the boy and he would get along one day.

The stench in the janitor's room was pretty intense and his eyes began to water. He kicked the dead zombie bodies out of the way so the equipment could get through and grimaced as bits of gore clung to his boots.

Stepping up to the door, Juan felt his palms sweating and he took a deep breath. They were just going to have to trust that the teams had done their job and that no more zombies were roaming around downstairs.

“Let's do this,” he said.

Swinging the door open, he stepped into the darkened hallway. Flicking on a flashlight, he shone the beam down the hallway. Nothing stirred.

“Scary, huh?” Ken said from behind him.

“When is it ever not scary?”

They moved swiftly down the hall and into the corridor that would lead them into the lobby. As they drew nearer, they heard the loud banging on the doors and windows.

Juan broke into a swift run. The sound of their pounding feet against the tile, the tools jangling on their belts and the humming of the wheelbarrow wheels echoed through the lobby to mix with the moans and screeches of the zombies. The heavy oak doors were shuddering under the impact of many fists being banged against it and the dim outlines of the zombie bodies could be seen through the heavy, frosted lead windows in the door and on either side of the entry.

“Let's make this fast,” Juan ordered.

Immediately, the wheelbarrow full of fresh cement was wheeled into position and the pallets loaded with bricks were rolled into the room. Men and women began to quickly brick up the leaded glass windows and the doorway. An assembly line was created and people passed on the bricks to those wielding trowels. Layers of wet cement and brick were swiftly coming into being as they worked in the humid heat of the hotel lobby.

Juan turned and saw the nearly decapitated zombie body on the steps. Walking over, he looked down at it, and grimaced. “Damn.” Taking out the walkie-talkie, he pressed the button. “How is your progress up there, Nerit?”

“Moving along. We're on the seventh floor,” she answered.

“Curtis? How about you?”

“Also on the seventh floor. Making some progress. Jenni's hurt so we're moving slower,” Curtis answered, then added quickly, “Nothing major, just knocked up a bit.”

Juan felt his chest tighten. He said a little shortly, “I thought you said she was okay?”

“Yeah, but, she's limping,” Curtis said blandly.

“Tell him not to worry,” Jenni's voice said through the static.

“She says not--”

“I heard her,” Juan answered. He took off his hat, ran his fingers through his curls, and took a breath. “Let me know how you are doing up there. We're busy down here blocking these f*ckers off.”

There was a loud crash against one of the windows and Juan whirled around to see the dim outline of a zombie with something quite large in its hand banging against the leaded window.

“Shit!”

The front doors were set down at street level. Stairs inlaid with marble rose up to the lobby floor from the entrance. The only windows Juan had any concerns about were the ones framing the doorway. The windows on the first floor were at least eight feet above the street. More of the zombies were picking up items to bang against the windows and doors. It was as if they understood that living flesh was just within their reach if only they could break through.

The assembly line was working faster now. Four people were working fast with their trowels, spreading fresh layers of cement, laying the brick, and then spreading more cement. Other people kept refreshing the bins of cement while others handed down the bricks.

“Juan, we have cracks in this window,” one of the men said.

Juan motioned to those standing nearby with guns to take up positions. “Keep them covered.”

Lifting the walkie-talkie, he said, “We need something to brace up the new walls ASAP.”

There was a pause, and then Ken, one of his assistants said, “I'm on my way.”

“Faster, faster,” people were saying to each other as they worked.

Juan wiped the sweat off his brow and looked at the right window. He could see long cracks in the glass. The shady figures behind the frosted window were banging on it with large, heavy objects.

“Concentrate on that window,” Juan ordered.

Overlapping each other in their haste, the four people struggled to wall in the window. It was almost five feet high when the first chunk of glass fell out of the window frame.

The workers hesitated, then resumed what they were doing.

The guards looked nervous. “We can't get good shots with people in the way,” one of them told Juan.

Juan thought over the scenario realizing it would take some sharp shooting to deal with the increasingly dangerous situation.

“Nerit, I think we need you down here,” Juan said into the walkie-talkie. “We’re going to have trouble hitting them.”

“On my way,” she answered.

Another chunk of glass fell from the frame. He could hear it, but not see it.

“They're pushing on the wall,” said Linda, his cousin, one of the people laying the brick. “I can feel it.”

“Shit!” Juan ran down the stairs and put his hands on the wall. “Shit, they are.”

Another chunk of glass fell out and a hand pushed through the gap between the broken window and the new wall.