took it as a seat of his own. Culph hung about for a moment, then went off with the sergeant to check the building plans.
“Can you tell me what happened?” Heron asked when they were alone.
Beginning to wring his hands, Dominguez nodded. Stopping every few moments to gather his thoughts and make sure of his words, Dominguez explained that the church held numerous classes and group functions on Saturday mornings. Dominguez had been hired to cook lunch for the people involved every week. He used the basement kitchen. Since it took him about half an hour to prepare the kitchen and get the meals started, he usually showed up around ten o'clock. Classes and groups were already in session by then so he went in through the back door that led down to the kitchen through the storage room. When he got to the bottom of the stairs, he noticed an open trapdoor in the floor of the room. He'd worked in that kitchen for over a year and had never had any idea that there was a door there. He said he called down into the trap but there had been no answer. He might have gone down but there were no lights. It was then that he'd realized just how quiet the whole church was. Investigating the corridors, he'd seen multiple figures. Many of the lights had been damaged but he knew by the smell that there was death in that church. Then he'd run back through the kitchen and storeroom, up the stairs, and out to safety.
When their conversation was over, Heron thanked him, asked him to hang around in case he thought of anything else useful, and went over to where Culph and two others were huddled around a laptop computer on the hood of a car. Culph turned and regarded Heron as he walked up.
“The basement's pretty tight,” he said as he pointed to the schematics on the laptop's screen. “One narrow hallway and lots of little rooms.”
“What about that trap door?”
“It's not on the city plan. The building's pre-Civil War so whatever's underground could have been dug out in any size or shape. We might be standing over it right now.”
“And over a nest of zombies,” Heron completed. “Just how many missing persons have been reported since all of this nonsense began?”
“Four hundred and twelve,” Culph answered without missing a beat. “They can't all be zombies, though.”
“Can't they?” Heron moved in closer and looked at the laptop. Aside from the main entrance to the church, there was a service entrance in the back. There was also a cellar entrance which apparently went straight to the storeroom behind the kitchen. He wondered if the building was even up to code. If this was a regular police operation, he'd send people in through every entrance he could and try to pigeonhole the suspects. Not for this, though. Splitting your forces against zombies was just a sure way to get them killed.
“I want five squads,” he said to Culph. “Eight men each.”
“Don't you think you're overdoing it?”
Heron didn't answer him, just gave him a sour look. They had never faced this kind of opposition before and if he was going to screw it up, he was going to do so by throwing too many men at it. “Squad leaders are you, Henry, Spinelli, Baches, and Smith. You'll go in first, right through the main entrance. Baches will follow once you've secured the area and hold the position. We'll move zone by zone, securing and covering each one.”
He was definitely overdoing it.
But Culph didn't question him this time. He walked away and grabbed the four other squad leaders. Together, they began assembling the other thirty five people who would go into the church. As they did so, Heron studied the layout, trying to envision the interior, revising and re-revising his plan. When he was satisfied that there was nothing more he could do, he went to the tech van and entered through the back.
The tech van was a long vehicle with 2
“Can you tell me what happened?” Heron asked when they were alone.
Beginning to wring his hands, Dominguez nodded. Stopping every few moments to gather his thoughts and make sure of his words, Dominguez explained that the church held numerous classes and group functions on Saturday mornings. Dominguez had been hired to cook lunch for the people involved every week. He used the basement kitchen. Since it took him about half an hour to prepare the kitchen and get the meals started, he usually showed up around ten o'clock. Classes and groups were already in session by then so he went in through the back door that led down to the kitchen through the storage room. When he got to the bottom of the stairs, he noticed an open trapdoor in the floor of the room. He'd worked in that kitchen for over a year and had never had any idea that there was a door there. He said he called down into the trap but there had been no answer. He might have gone down but there were no lights. It was then that he'd realized just how quiet the whole church was. Investigating the corridors, he'd seen multiple figures. Many of the lights had been damaged but he knew by the smell that there was death in that church. Then he'd run back through the kitchen and storeroom, up the stairs, and out to safety.
When their conversation was over, Heron thanked him, asked him to hang around in case he thought of anything else useful, and went over to where Culph and two others were huddled around a laptop computer on the hood of a car. Culph turned and regarded Heron as he walked up.
“The basement's pretty tight,” he said as he pointed to the schematics on the laptop's screen. “One narrow hallway and lots of little rooms.”
“What about that trap door?”
“It's not on the city plan. The building's pre-Civil War so whatever's underground could have been dug out in any size or shape. We might be standing over it right now.”
“And over a nest of zombies,” Heron completed. “Just how many missing persons have been reported since all of this nonsense began?”
“Four hundred and twelve,” Culph answered without missing a beat. “They can't all be zombies, though.”
“Can't they?” Heron moved in closer and looked at the laptop. Aside from the main entrance to the church, there was a service entrance in the back. There was also a cellar entrance which apparently went straight to the storeroom behind the kitchen. He wondered if the building was even up to code. If this was a regular police operation, he'd send people in through every entrance he could and try to pigeonhole the suspects. Not for this, though. Splitting your forces against zombies was just a sure way to get them killed.
“I want five squads,” he said to Culph. “Eight men each.”
“Don't you think you're overdoing it?”
Heron didn't answer him, just gave him a sour look. They had never faced this kind of opposition before and if he was going to screw it up, he was going to do so by throwing too many men at it. “Squad leaders are you, Henry, Spinelli, Baches, and Smith. You'll go in first, right through the main entrance. Baches will follow once you've secured the area and hold the position. We'll move zone by zone, securing and covering each one.”
He was definitely overdoing it.
But Culph didn't question him this time. He walked away and grabbed the four other squad leaders. Together, they began assembling the other thirty five people who would go into the church. As they did so, Heron studied the layout, trying to envision the interior, revising and re-revising his plan. When he was satisfied that there was nothing more he could do, he went to the tech van and entered through the back.
The tech van was a long vehicle with 2
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