"Sure it is," he told him.

Eriq leaned back against the wall, his mind obviously working. Then: "We have to get to the Banshee before they do," he finally said.

"The pilot won't just hand you the keys," Schott told him.

Eriq displayed his firearm. "He won't have a choice other than the one I give him."

"There's only one way down, Eriq, but it's not a feasible route. You know what I'm talking about, right?"

Eriq did. Feasible or not, it was the only way left to them other than the stairwell, which was just as risky. On the port and starboard sides are heated ventilation shafts that pump warm air into the mausoleum that floats freely in space that has a mean temperature of -454F. The shafts, even at a minimal level of tolerance, was 147F. But if the boilers fired off, then flames would shoot up the valve and burn them alive, which is about as pleasant of a way to die as if they'd taken by one of the undead. Neither scenario was a seriously pleasant option to consider.

"Is there any other way?" Sheena asked Schott. "Any way at all?"

"Not without running into those creatures." Schott pointed to Eriq's firearm. "And I don't think that peashooter of yours is going to see us through, either."

Eriq looked at them both, going from face to face, from one set of eyes to another. "Then there's no choice, but the only choice. We take the port side valve all the way down to the bay."

"Are you out of your mind?" said Schott.

"You have two choices: you can burn to death or get eaten alive."

"So hard to choose from, since they're both so appealing," Schott returned sarcastically.

Then more diplomatically. "We have to try, Jim," Eriq told him. "We can't stay here and just watch that Banshee fly away knowing that we didn't at least try."

Schott sighed, his shoulders dropping even more.

"Is there a way you can shut down the boilers?" asked Sheena.

Jim Schott shook his head. "No, but I can lower the temperature to its barest minimum," he said. "That way the boilers won't fire up as often."

"How much of a window would that give us to climb down?' asked Eriq.

"Three, maybe four minutes."

"To go down four levels? It's doable."

Schott considered this. "Sure, it's doable. But it's also 162 degrees in there. By the time we get there with the boilers lowered, it'll about 155. The rungs will be scorching hot."

"But it's a chance," Eriq said. "We wrap our hands heavily on our descent."

"That's if the heat doesn't make you pass out."

"Then provide me with another option and not a complaint."

Schott couldn't.

So Eriq pointed to the comm center console. "Lower the boilers," he ordered Schott.

Schott did.

Chapter Fifty-Two.

Skully managed his team and the president to the portside stairwell of the fourth level with no difficulty, to a steel door at the end of the corridor. A keypad was to its left.

"What's the code?" Skully asked Meade.

Meade fed Skully the code numbers he downloaded from the comm center's banks.

When Skully tapped the numbers on the keypad, and then the hashtag sign, the bolts locking the door in place retracted with a metallic sound, and the door parted about an inch.

"Mr. President, you stand behind Meade as he takes point. Funboy and I will cover the rear as we work our way down."

"You'll guarantee my safety?" asked Michelin.

"The only thing I can guarantee, Mr. President, is that my team will do their best to get you through."

It wasn't the answer Michelin was looking for.

"All right, people," said Skully. "Let's get this party started."

Meade opened the door.

And everyone stepped into the stairwell on high alert, knowing that they were not alone.

Schott had turned the boilers down to the minimum standards. Immediately the temperature started to decline, but when Schott opened the thick, metal hatch leading into the boiler's shaft, it was like opening an oven door as a battery of heat hit them like something palpable, which knocked them back a few feet.

"There's no way we can do this," said Schott.

"Jim, you gotta try." Eriq stared at the entryway as the heat shimmered into the corridor. He had his pistol caught within the belt around the waistline of his jumpsuit, and his hands were completely wrapped with heavy-duty cloth as makeshift gloves, as were everyone else's.

"Eriq, it's over 150 degrees in there." Schott sounded like he was vacillating between his decision-making-to go or not.

"I'll lead," said Eriq. "Sheena, you're behind me, and, Jim, you're behind her." As soon as Eriq looked over the edge, a wave of intense heat blasted his face. This was going to be a slow burn, he told himself. Then he spoke to Schott without looking at him. "How long until the next flare up?"

"Four minutes, give or take twenty seconds or so."

Four minutes to climb four levels-a minute a level, which is doable, he considered.

Eriq laid his heavily clothed hands on the rim of the hatchway, leaned inside to grab a rung, and quickly dove into the opening. The heat was immense, and he could already feel it sapping him dry as his body reacted immediately. His skin began to sweat, and he could feel the heat beneath the material of his gloved hands since the rungs were molten hot.

Suddenly the edges around his sight began to close in like tunnel vision, the contraction of his eyesight slowly growing to a pinpoint, the beginnings of someone blacking out.

Hang on, he told himself.

Hang . . . on.

He continued to descend one rung at a time.

Level 3.

The heat seemed to be growing more intense as he neared the boilers.

Level 2.

His chest began to feel heavy, his breathing labored. Now his routine started to falter, his motions slowing as the world around him seemed to dim from view.

"Eriq!" It was Schott, the call snapping him back to lucidity.

Level 1.

The entryway was in front of him.

And now the gloves on his hand were beginning to become ineffectual as the heat started to burn its way through to his hands.

The lever was before him, ready and waiting to be pulled.

Eriq's mind was starting to go numb.

Chapter Fifty-Three.

Skully, the president, and the rest of his team entered the stairwell with their weapons held at the ready position, which was at eye-level.

From the upper tiers they could hear a high amount of whispers and moans, a slithering of syllables and consonants rolling over each other.

And then silence that was absolute followed. The quiet was usually the calm before the storm as senses were suddenly alerted.

"Coooooome tooo meeeeeeeee."

A multitude of footfalls began to move the downward journey from the top levels.

"Coooooome tooo meeeeeeeee."

"They know we're here!" yelled Skully. "Get ready to light them up!"

On the levels below, a horde of undead looked up the stairwell to see the living begin to descend. So they began to race up the stairs moving with simian agility, the undead flanking the living from both ends of the staircase.

"Coooooome tooo meeeeeeeee."

Meade removed a Semtex grenade from his ammo belt, looped a finger through the pull ring, and held it there until the undead on the levels below closed the gap. When they were two levels down, Meade popped the pin and released the grenade. Four seconds later the grenade went off, the explosion a ripping force that tore limbs from body. Meade quickly followed up with a second grenade, his last, the subsequent blast destroying those missed on the first attack, the concussive wave and flying shrapnel decimating the entire pack as body parts and gelatinous glue covered the walls and stairs of the lower levels.

But others remained. A small group. Hungry and savage.

Meade raised his weapon, put the skulls of the undead within the crosshairs of his scope, and pulled the trigger in quick succession, the bullets finding their marks as heads exploded like ripe melons.

"We have a path, people!" he informed the others by calling over his shoulder.

They moved downward through the slick sludge of greasy innards and internal juices that layered the steps.

The undead above them were making incredible strides to close the divide between them.

"Coooooome tooo meeeeeeeee."

Skully and Funboy, who took rear, began to apply pressure to the triggers and waited for the precise moment.

"Coooooome tooo meeeeeeeee."

As soon as the undead rounded the bend of the stairwell, they fired off their weapons. The stairwell lit up like a blinking strobe light as the smell of cordite filled the air. Bullets hit their targets with pinpoint accuracy, causing skulls to erupt with gray matter.

Bodies began to stack up, creating a barrier to those behind them. Hands and talons raked at the flesh of the dead, ripping apart the obstruction to gain access.

Level 2.

They had one level to go before reaching the Portside Bay.

"Coooooome tooo meeeeeeeee."

Limbs and pieces were being cast aside, creating an opening. Then the undead came at them in a second wave.

Another volley of gunfire. All headshots that reduced skulls to stumps on their shoulders.

Bodies fell, compiling, those having been immobilized with fatal head wounds created another obstacle on the stairwell.

Portside Bay.

Meade played with the keypad, misfiring on the first pass. Then tried again.

More gunfire behind him, giving him another small window of time to work with.

Meade hit the buttons again, then the hashtag symbol.

Then the door to the Portside Bay opened.