Free Tower Of The Dead: A Zombie Novel by J.V. Roberts Page B

Tasia’s eyes are like a pair of dinner plates.
    Alisa just stares, fascinated, excited, a smile threatening to break at the corners of her mouth. Maybe she doesn’t quite understand that my life is literally hanging by a couple of cheap-ass threads and an old water pipe. Maybe she’s just got a lot of faith in her old man. I’m just glad she’s not freaking out.
    Both feet are out the window now and I’m slowly lowering myself down, my wife and daughter sliding out of view. To my left is the street, no signs of life remain; just bullets and shell casings and bodies. There are still gunshots and the sound of helicopter rotors beating the air, but they’re not close at the moment. As I pass the fifth-floor window, a bit of relief begins setting in; the plan is working. Soon we’ll all be reunited on solid ground, three floors away from freedom.
    There are figures moving on the other side of the dirty glass, slow and jittery; I keep on moving down, hand under hand. I don’t even look up as I pass the fourth-floor. My head is down; my eyes are focused on the imminent salvation of floor three. My arms are shaking and cramping as the sweat pouring from my palms soaks the thin fabric. I’m starting to have some very real doubts as to whether or not Alisa is going to be able to do this.
    What other choice is there?
    I brace the soles of my work boots against the glass of the third-floor window, walking down until I run out of sheet. Things on the other side seem relatively quiet. One thing I haven’t worked out is how I’m going to get through the window; probably should have worked that part out before I got my ass out here.
    The way I see it, I’ve got two choices. I can kick through the glass and risk severing an artery and impaling myself. Or I can shoot through it and risk attracting every hostile for a country mile. I push myself back, bracing a foot on either side of the window and locking my knees. I take aim and fire, working around the outside of the glass as I squeeze the trigger. The glass falls away, some of it toppling to the alleyway below. I kick the remaining shards out of the frame with the soles of my boots.
    “Baby, everything okay?” Tasia is hanging from the sixth-floor window, that same deer in the headlights countenance plaguing her features.
    “I’m fine, get your head back inside.”
    I hook the bottom part of my leg around the empty frame and pull myself towards the opening, doing my best to keep the muzzle of my rifle trained on the hall in front of me. I duck down as I scoot inside; my feet are now on the floor. The only noises I hear are distant helicopters and distant gunshots. Maybe I’ve gotten lucky and have gone unnoticed. Maybe, to them, I’m just another wave of chaos in the rapidly rising tide.
    I stick my head back out. “We’re clear, let’s go.”
    Just as I would have done, Tasia sends Alisa next. She has her propped on the edge of the window sill and is showing her how to grip the fabric. “Mommy is going to be right here. Just keep your eyes on me. Don’t look down. You’re going to be fine.”
    “What if I fall? Please, I’m scared, I don’t want to go!” Alisa tries to squeeze back inside.
    “You’re not going to fall. Your dad is right down there and I’m here. We’ll both be watching and making sure you’re safe. You can do this, I promise.”
    Alisa whimpers. “Okay, okay, I’m okay.”
    “Take it slow, baby, one step at a time. Keep your feet on the wall.” Tasia is leaning from the window, watching her go, trying to contain the terror and doubt that she feels…that we both feel.
    “You’re doing great, baby girl. Keep those elbows bent; I’m right here waiting for you, just keep on coming.”
    Alisa is getting real close now. Close enough that in a few seconds, I’ll be able to reach out and pull her in.
    I hear shouting coming from the streets, the deep growl of a monstrous engine, and the squeal of the tank tracks.
    Alisa hears it too and