Left Alive 1

by Jeremy Laszlo

  Slowly I open the door and slip down the steps of the truck, gently resting the door closed and looking around the strip mall parking lot to make sure that I’m alone. God, I hate the towns and cities. There’s nowhere safe. Pulling my knife free from my belt, I keep low, creeping around the side of the semi-truck before darting to a minivan. Dropping down onto my chest, I scan the underbellies of the nearby cars, making sure there aren’t any feet standing, waiting for me. I half expect to see another face looking at me with bloodshot eyes and blackened gore around the lips and chin, but there’s none of that, no horror movie business.

  I scramble back to my feet and dart to the next car, keeping low and searching all around before making my way from vehicle to vehicle. I’m terrified of the large gap between the strip mall and the majority of the cars in the Mal-Mart parking lot. I gauge it at fifty yards of open territory—enough distance for a Zombie to see me or a sniper to pick me off. Taking in a deep breath, I decide that it’s worth it and make the run. Stopping behind a Chevy, I plant my hands on the side of the vehicle and listen, waiting for the sounds of footsteps or the inevitable gunshot. When nothing happens, I continue working my way between cars, stopping and checking underneath them for footsteps and above them for distant dangers.

  It takes a while, but there is value in going slow. When I’m finally in the handicap parking, I take one last look at the front of the store and search for any signs of movement behind the windows. Spotting nothing, I decide that it’s worth it. Though I see nothing inside, the absence has me just as worried. It could be a clever trap laid by the Zombies. There was no way for me to know how intelligent they might be. Even though they are driven mad by starvation, I’ve already witnessed the climbing to the second story of houses to gain entry. At least some of them were capable of thought. I see nothing that warns of danger. Either way, I’m beginning to question the safety of the interior. My stomach growls for nearly thirty seconds and I abandon my fears.

  Darting to the front of the store, I see that the windows are besmirched from a thousand dirty handprints as well as the constant soiling amidst the dust storms. Slipping my knife between the two sliding doors, I pry them open quickly before slipping inside. The doors slowly close behind me. Inside the store is illuminated by the dozens of skylights that helped them cut down on power costs. I look at the interior of the store and it looks like what I imagine schools would look like if they locked all the teenagers in for a week. It reeks of shit and piss and rotting food that has seeped into the structure of the building after months of neglect. There is nothing here but tipped over shelves and horrors. I shake my head in disappointment. All for nothing. Still standing in the entry way, I turn around and worm my way back through the doors before stepping out into the fading sunlight.

  I make my way around the building, peering around the corner to see that the majority of the Zombies have now clustered together, meandering through intersections, banging on doors and windows, slamming their fists into the sides of cars as they shriek and roar in frustration. They’re not even human anymore, having degraded to something new and horrible. I move deeper into Dayton before I realize that I’m not actually in Dayton. I’m in some sort of offshoot of Dayton called Bellbrook. I walk for a while, thinking about how many houses are holding supplies and nightmares within. As the sun sinks into the horizon, I spot a two-story house with a moving curtain. Someone is watching me, but hides the moment I spot them. Yes, there are people here in Bellbrook. They’re hiding. If they’re hiding, that means they’re surviving and I doubt that those people who looted the Wal-Mart just packed up and ran away. Clearly they had to have taken the food somewhere and with as many Zombies as I’ve seen, some of them should be dead. Dead hoarders meant unprotected hoards.

  I look at Bellbrook with a ravenous pair of eyes, not as a survivor, but as a hunter. There are supplies here, and I intend on finding them. I don’t care about Bellbrook—hell, I never wanted to even see this place, but they have food here, somewhere, and I need it. I grip my knife and look at the house where the curtain is still slowly swishing before it comes to rest. I mark that house in my mind, picturing it and remembering it. If I don’t find anything, I’m coming back here and I’m taking what I need.

  Chapter Fifteen

  I start with the house next to the one with the survivor. I peer inside the windows before I try the door. It’s open and I boldly enter, looking for any sign of life. The house has been looted and the signs are everywhere. Whoever has been here has taken everything easy. The cans, the bottles, the jars, and unopened bags of food that can be used for meals at later dates have all been taken. I find bags of ancient chips and untouched oatmeal that wriggles with worms. Part of me ponders the value of eating the worms inside, but amazingly I discover I’m not desperate enough. At least not yet. I grab an abandoned bag of pasta and try to eat one of the spirals. I break it with my teeth, but a shard of hard pasta cuts my gums and I can taste blood in my mouth. I decide to give up on it. I need something that doesn’t take time to eat. I munch the hard noodle and feel it slip down my throat as my hands shake with eager anticipation.

  I find a container of lighter fluid in the pantry for the barbeque out back and look around. I have nothing to light it with, but it might come in handy later on. Stuffing it into one of the smaller pockets in the bag, I march out of the house and look down the street as long shadows stretch up the road from where the Zombies are all facing the sun, as if mesmerized by the enormous, swelling brightness that’s blinding them. Maybe they are stupid, I tell myself as the blindness suddenly starts to make sense. If they’re staring at the sun and not blinking, of course their vision is getting worse. Those sniffing the air make sense now as well.

  I cross the street cautiously, keeping my eyes on them before peeking through the window of the neighbor’s house. The day is fading and the door of this house is locked, but I can see inside. It’s too risky to break the glass with the Zombies just up the road, so I just look inside. From what I can see, this house has been tossed as well. I abandon the prospect and move on. The next house has its door wide open and I cautiously enter. If there’s a Zombie inside, it’ll likely shriek to draw others so they can swarm me to form a feeding frenzy. That’s not what I want at the moment, so I keep my knife ready and move silently as possible.

  There is no Zombie in the house, but there’s also no food. I regret eating the piece of pasta since my stomach is now awakened like an angry machine finally given a tablespoon of gasoline. I hold out hope for the possibility of finding more food and search the upstairs quietly. When I find that there’s nothing of value anywhere in the house, I give up and head next door. I’m getting closer and closer to the Zombies, and as such caution is more vital by the minute. I keep my knife close and wish I knew how to throw it properly like an assassin. It would make things so much easier. Then again, I’d take more knives, maybe a gun—with a silencer to clear out the group gathered nearby. Why not a flamethrower, while I’m dreaming up fantasies? I focus on the task at hand and slip into the next house where I find a window open. I immediately head for the kitchen as quietly as I can muster. Like every other house this one is in shambles. As I turn to leave, something catches my eye and I turn back to take another look. Stepping away from the window I return to the kitchen and reach blindly up into the cabinet and retrieve the cold aluminum can. Looking it over, I could care less that its label has been completely ripped off. Its squat form, having been hidden in the back of the uppermost shelf, had been obscured from the kitchen. I recognize it immediately as tuna.

  With a clear view to the front door and the world outside, I slip off my backpack and rummage blindly for my can opener. I grab it and pull it out of my bag and immediately go to work on the can. I crank the lever over and over again until the can lid comes off. I look down in the fading light and smile at pink rings of salty meat. I don’t waste the juice, I hold it up to my lips and take sips from it, tasting the familiar flavor of fish and brine. Open
ing my mouth a little more, I feel the soft flesh sliding against my tongue and cheeks. When I have a full mouthful, I quickly bite down and chew it, grinning as I feel something solid sliding down my throat. I don’t waste any time. I keep working on the can while I stare out the front door, my eyes searching for any sign of danger beyond the threshold. When I finish it, I shake the can over my lips to get the last few drops. I’m malnourished, but thankfully I found protein, it should hold me over a while.

  My appetite is riled up and it only encourages me to keep going, but the streets are too dangerous. I slip out the back door and onto the porch. There’s nothing in the yard except for a few dead birds. Searching the backyard, I find a ladder leaning against the house and quickly grab it and haul it across the vacant expanse, before setting it up against the fence and using it to scramble over the fence quietly and into the next yard. Dropping down into the grass, I look at the house, waiting for signs of movement. My eyes are adjusting to the fading light of the day and thankfully I see nothing. Creeping across the lawn, I remain low, just in case there is someone in the house. Crawling up the steps and onto the porch, I sneak up to the door and try the handle. When the door opens, I grin. Slowly I cross the threshold into the darkness of the kitchen, but in the gloom, I can see enough to navigate safely. There is fading light coming through the windows. The kitchen has been tossed, but thankfully I find another knife. I stuff it in my belt and keep going, hunting for another can of food. Again, this kitchen has been thoroughly searched and when I discover my first bullet hole, I abandon my own. Looking about, it becomes evident that a struggle took place here. The windows are shattered, the door is blown open and the furniture has all been shot to hell.

  I look out the front of the house and see that the street is full of Zombies, maybe eight of them, it’s too hard to tell while trying to keep silent. There’s nothing I can see to help me navigate past them. None of them are looking at me, but I know that if I try to move across the front of the house, they’ll see me. Keeping low, I sneak back into the depths of the house, hoping to find another ladder somewhere in the backyard. Slipping out the door I had entered, I realize that there is nothing. There are no ladders, no chairs, or tables to help me jump the fence. I grip my ribs and grunt as I head toward the fence. I did this once, I can do it again.

  Sheathing my knife, I jump up and wrap my fingers across the top of the fencepost and pull myself up, my arm killing me and my ribs burning against the stress of it. I get halfway there before my left arm gives out and I slip back into the yard, grunting as I land. Shockwaves of pain ripple through my ribs and back as I sit on my ass staring up at the post, realizing that there is no way that I’m getting up that thing without help. I want to just sit in the backyard all night, but I know that it’s too foolish. The front of the house is demolished and the Zombies might stumble in for the day, bedding down for a nice slumber, eager to pick up hunting for living flesh again tomorrow.

  I pick myself up and head back for the house. Quietly I stand on the porch and look over the wooden fences at the other houses that lie beyond. There are two of them that have boarded up windows, but that doesn’t necessarily mean anyone is there. If the Zombies weren’t here, I would break into the houses to see what I could find. If I heard movement, I’d abandon the endeavor, but if not, there might be food. Slowly, I look back and decide to reenter the home at my back. Entering more cautiously than ever before, I wander through it until I’m in the obliterated living room, crouched behind the sofa and peeking out through the window. The curtain rod has fallen down on one side and I peek through the open triangle. Every footstep crunches, so I try to avoid every potential noise. I realize now that there are over a dozen of the flesh-eaters wandering the street within view of me in the house. Down the walkway from the front steps, the sidewalk is buffered by several parked cars and one dead tree that has toppled over. If I get to the cars, I know that I’m safe, that I can get out of there without drawing any attention to myself.

  Quietly, I crawl through the obliterated front door and maneuver out onto the brick-walled walkway. One of the walls has been completely collapsed by gunfire, but that’s alright. To my right, the brick is intact, which keeps the Zombies from seeing me. Silently I creep down the steps, avoiding the debris from the fire fight. I catch a glimpse of one of the fallen shells and note that this was some heavy weaponry being used. It’s the kind of assault rifles that I’ve been dreading my entire journey. Where do people keep getting these things? Cautious to avoid stepping on the shells or sending them scattering, I take measured steps while the shuffling, shambling creatures in the street continue bumping into cars and each other. With the blinding light at their backs it’s getting harder to distinguish men from women.

  I make it to the cars and decide that this foraging expedition needs to come to an end. I look down the road that’s heading south and decide that it’s time to start making my way there. It’s time to leave Bellbrook. I creep the length of the sedan I’m hiding behind before hearing something knocking into it on the other side. I feel the weight of the car rock, and my heart begins pounding. I can hear the creature on the other side of the car wheezing as it sniffs the air, taking in sharp breaths before letting out a long, gurgling breath. I’m not sure if it’s hissing or just trying to breathe. All I really know is that I’m stuck where I’m at until it moves along. I glance over my shoulder to the corner of the street at the intersection where the majority of the Zombies had clustered together. I had avoided the intersection with the ladder into the neighbor’s yard, but that wasn’t good enough now. I can see two of the Zombies shambling back up the road toward the Mal-Mart. If they turn, I’m completely vulnerable. I’m dead.

  I weigh the pros and cons of just getting up and running. Most of them are cons. I’m injured and can hardly run with the combination of the water weight and the injury in my ribs, plus the Zombies are freakishly fast for such emaciated husks. I have two knives and there are at least a dozen out there that will come following me. I have no knowledge of the layout of this town and there is no way I’m going to be able to win in a fight against ravenous cannibals that desperately want to tear me to pieces and feed on me. That leaves me one choice. I have to remain still. I have to keep my position and pray that the two meandering towards the giant retail outlet don’t spot me. I keep my eyes on them, taking as calm of breaths as I can muster, but my fears are beginning to take hold of me. I can still hear the one on the opposite side of the car. It seems to be making its way around. I’m dead. I know it.

  Pulling my new knife free, I decide that it’s the knife that I’ll say goodbye to. I can picture the four that were feeding on Jason and his fiancée. I can fill the impact vibrating through the shovel as I stabbed the woman in the chest, obliterating her ribcage. The remaining three had swarmed her within seconds of her receiving the fatal blow. Sure, she’d been alive in those last few, horrid moments, but she was dying and they wanted to eat her. I grip the knife with a determined breath and slowly stand up.

  There are three in my immediate view, but the closest one has turned its back to me. The other two are across the street banging on a boarded up window, groaning as they make zero progress on their task. I look at the one in front of me, staring as the others work, imagining it some kind of government supervisor in its previous life. Long, thinning hair runs down its naked back as it wheezes painfully. It almost feels like what I’m about to do is an act of mercy. I take a quick, sharp breath and reach out, feeling my fingers tangle and intertwine with its hair before clenching a fistful and violently pulling downwards with all my strength.

  My plan is not a success. I end up ripping out a massive clump of hair that causes the creature to shriek in pain. It whirls around as I quickly scramble to correct myself. My hand shoots out again and I cup my hand around the gaunt, boney neck of the shirtless, female horror, and pull down with a quick, whiplash of a jerk. The woman weighs nearly nothing, but she’s done enough damage to my plans. The two nea
rest have turned to see what she’s started shrieking about and watch me as I slam her head with a loud bang and bone-chilling crunch against the hood of the sedan. She writhes and screams in agony, moaning between her feral shrieks. With my right hand, I raise my knife and swing it downward with all my strength, sinking the blade into the woman’s back, listening to the bones pop and crack beneath the blow. She screams even louder as the blade pierces into her and I twist carelessly, lacerating as much of her as I can with one stab. Pushing her away and letting go of the knife, I abandon the dying creature to the two that are already charging me. At the sight of her blood gushing down her back and ruined face, the two nearest me descend upon their screaming companion, clawing and digging at her as she tries to fight back.

  No time to waste. Drawing my second knife, I begin to run the best I can south. I’m moving faster than I thought I would, but it’s not without its costs. I can hear others charging after me, only a handful have stopped to rip apart their fellow Zombie. I count maybe five more following me, but others are coming out of the houses and from between them. Too much commotion. I need to hide. I need to find shelter to put between me and the Zombies. Their snarls and shrieks are gnawing at my courage as I pass house after useless fucking house. This isn’t where I die, I tell myself over and over as I keep running. I refuse to let myself die here.

  There is an orange brick building in the pale moonlight that offers up a chance at survival. There’s a sign hanging out over the sidewalk with a cartoon mechanic and automobile on it. There is a massive gridlock accident outside the automobile station which gives me hope of stopping some of the Zombies that aren’t the most mobile. An alleyway separates the mechanic shop from the identical brick building next to it. I decide to head into the alleyway and try to lose the Zombies. I roll over the hood of a coupe and keep running, rounding the corner and heading into the shadowy canyon between the two buildings. I keep running until I realize that I’ve made another terrible mistake.