He’d kept the soundless pitch going, apparently from the huge speakers throughout the park, until the zombies crowded the fences and gates, pushing against them. Some of them found a way in. Carla watched in horror as he hit another switch. The classic organ started the song, and “Take Me Out to the Ball Game” blared through the park. The mob intensified their efforts, pushing their way through any open gates. Soon, they wandered the ball field, their ears attuned to the now-eerie song and the high-pitched signal.
They climbed the stairs, dragged themselves over seats, and more and more came. They made their way into the concourses and smaller halls, searching, yet unable to find the source of the alluring sound.
Cole lit a cigarette and smiled into Carla’s smoldering eyes. “Aren’t you excited, sugar lips?” he asked, though her mouth was taped. She didn’t bat an eye when he exhaled a cloud of smoke into her face. “This is it. The final move, the nitty-gritty, as they used to say.”
Carla fought to appear stoic. She wondered what the others were doing. Jack was probably frantic. She knew they’d come for her. She prayed it was soon. The longer they waited, the worse things would get. That’s how it looked as the music blasted, and they kept coming.
Despite her growing anxiety, she was determined to win the staring game with Cole. She knew police psychology; undoubtedly, he was also well educated in behavioral science. They couldn’t bullshit each other with psychology strategies. She wouldn’t even give him the satisfaction of knowing she was about to pee her pants.
Then the look on Cole’s face changed, and Carla saw what she hoped would never be there. A leering look of mad desire.
“I’m tired of talking to myself,” he said. He reached forward and ripped the tape from her mouth, opening her fat lip again. Blood dripped down Carla’s jaw. “I might let you clean yourself up a little,” he said casually.
“How kind of you.”
“Now, don’t be like that. I’m keeping you alive, aren’t I? I could toss you out there and be done with you just like that.” He snapped his fingers. “As a matter of fact, I’m going to untie you. I’ll need your shoes first, and to frisk you. You understand, I’m sure.” He didn’t wait for a response. It was simple to tie her shoes into a complicated knot that would take some work before she could use them again. He pulled her to a standing position and searched her, his hands lingering at her breasts and inner thighs and ignoring the pen stuck into the back of her underwear. Still Carla kept her wits and didn’t break or react. Outwardly. Inside, her rage increased as she swore again she’d see him dead before the end of what she now believed would be a bloody battle on the horizon.
Cole waited just outside the bathroom, keeping the door open, watching her. She washed the blood from her face and blotted the wound with toilet paper. When she came out, he gave her a soda and a pretzel.
Carla downed the entire soda, unable to stop herself from drinking.
“Where’s Anna?” she asked, wiping her mouth and chin.
“Safe. For now.” He handed her another drink.
“They’ll be here, you know,” Carla whispered. “They’re coming.”
“Oh, I’m counting on it,” he mimicked her soft voice. “I’m still undecided on what part I want Anna to play. But I have something big planned for all of you. Very, very big.”
Carla hated the demented glint in his eyes. She knew she didn’t have much to work with. For now, all she could do was try to buy more time. She set down her half-eaten pretzel. “Why don’t you use me, instead of Anna?”
Cole smiled. “Oh, I intend to use you, Officer. To the very end. As for the girl, she serves a purpose. A damned worthy purpose.”
Chapter Eighteen
If the road to Hell is paved with good intentions, then we were on the right track, thought Jack.
All of them were bone tired, and it was late. If they were going to stop a madman, then they needed their rest, figured Jack. They also needed to come up with a firm plan of attack. But first, they needed sleep. Which is why they found themselves in an abandoned motel not far from Dodger Stadium, in Echo Park.
Jack took the first watch, then his brother and Mike. In all, they were lucky to get a few hours between them, especially with Julie proving to be a real pain in the ass. Apparently, she didn’t like being tied up and muzzled. Go figure.
“She’s sleeping with the enemy,” Mike said, dismissing her discomfort with a shrug, to which she tried to object strongly. “Tough shit,” he added.
“True,” Brice said, “But not anymore. Not for the time being, at least. Hell, she’s from the beach. I bet she doesn’t even know which way is north. She’s not going to go running out into the night by herself. Not here.” Julie now shook her head enthusiastically, eyes wide.
After some debate, they decided to let her loose under the condition she spoke as little as possible. She set about rubbing her hands. “Well!” was all she said.
The guys started talking about how to best enter the Stadium. And what they should expect. Jack was an avid Dodger fan, but Brice had been one for decades longer. He knew the most about the place.
“There’s a powerful generator there,” he advised. “The place could be lit up like a giant roman candle.”
Getting in unnoticed was an assured impossibility. Joe and Mike were adamant they should at least scout the place out before ‘driving into the field with guns blazing.’
“We aren’t driving anywhere in that truck, unless we want to be heard from miles away,” said Joe.
Mike shrugged. “I’ll get us more suitable transportation.”
* * *
They decided the best plan of attack was to park a fair distance out of sight, and walk the perimeter of the stadium to gather as much information as possible. This meant each guy carried as many weapons as possible and relied on radio communication once they separated. Mike and Joe volunteered to venture out to the Big 5 Sporting Goods nearby in order to procure enough ammo, radios, and whatever else they could carry with them.
The pair returned an hour later, out of breath.
“Sorry it took so long,” said Joe, panting. But Mike was smiling. Joe added, “Big 5 was practically empty. It’s been looted, stripped. No radios, no nothing. Not even socks or snacks.”
Jack jabbed a thumb in Mike’s direction. “Then why does he look like the Cheshire cat on ecstasy?”