Left Behind: The Suburban Dead

by T. A. Sorsby

  ‘Drop it miss, drop it now.’ He barked, using his free hand to search inside her jacket, patting her down in a practiced and professional motion. Lucile dropped her gun, but once it hit the ground she kicked it further towards us, away from him - no, them, more than one, and every instinct was telling me they were not friendly.

  Another man in similar camo getup was in the pawnshop doorway, while two men in all-black military clothes had spaced themselves between the two camo-guys. They were definitely the team from earlier – which meant their SUV, with at least one man in the cab – was down by the street.

  ‘Doorway has an assault weapon, the boys in black are packing handguns but they won’t clear the holster before I can put them down.’ Anita reported from somewhere far to my left, in cover, behind the fountain and easily loud enough for them to hear. A threat.

  We were lined up between the co-op’s shuttered area and the back of Damian’s truck. That didn’t give us a whole lot of cover except for the fountain between the two black-clad gunmen in the middle. The man in the pawnshop doorway and the first man had good lines of fire on us if they’d care to use them.

  ‘I have a shot on the dick holding Lucile.’ Laurel chimed from the other side of Damian’s ride. ‘Want me to check he’s as brainless as he looks?’

  I didn’t dare take my eyes off of the man to see where exactly everyone was, but I saw Damian move up next to me out of the corner of my eye, shotgun braced against his shoulder, aiming between the two men in black. Neville would have the other camo-guy marked.

  I figured we’d gotten the drop on these guys. They hadn’t thought anyone would be here. Even so, everybody was pointing guns at everybody else.

  ‘Put down your weapons, looters.’ The hostage-taker ordered, his voice stern, his hair buzzed short to match.

  ‘On whose authority?’ I asked, my gun aimed squarely at him, with both hands. He’d backed up but hadn’t gone far, so I was reasonably confident I could put a bullet in him, not Lucile, even with my basic marksmanship.

  ‘The Centre for Disease Control.’ He replied after a moment’s hesitation.

  ‘Show me your providence.’ Anita said. ‘If you’re with Sydow Security, Blackwood or any of Greenfield’s assigned private military companies, you’d have ID.’

  ‘Listen here little lady,’ the other camo-guy snapped, pointing a finger with one hand, and angling his shoulder-strapped rifle towards her with the other, ‘I don’t know where you get off telling us our job-’

  ‘Detective Inspector Mason.’ She replied, neatly dropping rank. I didn’t have to look to know she was holding up her badge, it put something in her voice, straightened the spine, made it more commanding.

  There’s no formal co-operation between law enforcement and the armed services, national or private. Neville’s bronze or Anita’s silver shield could no more compel these guys to lay down arms than their stern tones were doing for us. But hopefully having the law on our side would mean…something.

  ‘What’s that got to do with us?’ the man replied, thrusting out his chin and taking a step forwards. Bugger.

  ‘My entire Precinct and a dozen others were pulled off of our details to assist the CDC PMC’s in enforcing the quarantine. I know the procedure. You don’t. Ergo – whatever you’re selling, we are not buying. Your equipment - are you Territorial Army?’

  ‘Not anymore, had enough of that horseshit…’ the guy holding Lucile spat, ‘We’ll do you a deal-’ He added, his bluff rendered transparent.

  ‘You’re from the TA?’ I asked, butting in, trying to steer the conversation.

  ‘From the base near Overbridge.’ the man in the doorway answered. Good. If I kept them talking long enough maybe I could diffuse the tension, get everyone to stop waving guns about for a minute.

  ‘Shut up!’ Lucile’s captor ordered. Nail in the coffin for that plan, I guess.

  ‘You boys got the order to fall back,’ Anita pressed, into interrogation mode, ‘protect Orphen, Parliament, the capitol. You must have had a good reason to desert?’

  The captor glanced back over to the man in the doorway, shooting daggers at him. ‘Risk our lives going halfway across the country for some politicians?’ he said, voice dark, ‘Leave that to the private sector, the PMCs get paid to fight.’

  ‘You soldiers or what?’ Anita scoffed.

  ‘Voisin’s been exporting mercenaries for a thousand years,’ doorway man snapped, ‘if Parliament wanted a standing army they should have paid for one. People do their time and leave, call us weekend soldiers, part timers – and we’re expected to lay down our lives? It’s the end of the Republic, officer. I’m not getting killed over nothing. ’

  ‘You guys only sign up for the uniform? Republic Day parades?’ Anita kept niggling. I wasn’t sure goading them into action would be a good thing, but maybe she knew what she was doing better than I did.

  ‘Are we going to discuss political history - or acquire the supplies we came for?’ one of the men in black asked. His voice was different. Educated. Calm. If you’d have put his voice in a lineup you’d cast him as the villain any day.

  ‘Sir.’ The captor barked, a verbal salute. ‘Like I said looters, we’ll cut you a deal.’

  ‘I’m listening.’ I muttered, not sure if I should be talking or Anita. She didn’t say anything.

  ‘How about we give you back the girl,’ he intoned, speaking with a voice of authority, ‘and you give up your guns, the food, and the ATV.’

  ‘Are you serious, or do you have some kind of mental condition we need to be aware of?’ Laurel asked with a bitter laugh. ‘I’m counting five guns to two. We’ve caught you with your collective pants down – so give us back our friend, or I’ll bore you a new windpipe.’

  ‘You think I’m scared of you, bitch?’ he replied, forcing his gun into the side of Lucile’s head. She twisted in discomfort. ‘One wrong move, one, and I will end her!’

  ‘Bitch? That’s all you got?’ Laurel imitated, putting on the same tones and laughing again. She wasn’t giving him the pleasure of getting to her.

  ‘Only one way you and your guys are making it out of here in one piece.’ I said, putting on my captain face, addressing the one called “Sir”, rather than the man holding my friend. ‘You give us back our Lucile there, and you lay down your guns. Times are tough, so we’re not going to take them. You come back here in two hours and they’ll be right there waiting for you. I’ll even leave half the stuff in that store if you take this offer real quick. We’re fair off for supplies, but my patience, now that’s kinda wearing thin.’

  ‘And who are you supposed to be?’ Sir sneered back, ‘I know full well you’re not all police officers.’

  ‘I’m just a delivery boy. That guy over there? Security guard for one of the law firms downtown. The angry looking Islander next to me - sound engineer, works local bars and clubs, that kind of thing. Your man there’s squeezing his squeeze so he’s got a lot of cause to use that shotgun. Laurel? What’s your day job?’

  ‘I’m a hairdresser.’ She replied.

  ‘How many zeds you killed?’ I asked her.

  ‘Shit, you mean today, or this week?’

  ‘Now I don’t give half a fuck who you think you are.’ I told him, taking a deliberate step forward, feeling my blood rising - powerful, in control, I’d put on my game face and people were listening, ‘You’ve got ten seconds to make your mind up because there’s another way this can end if you don’t snap up my offer.’

  ‘The easy way, and the hard way?’ Sir enquired.

  ‘Something like that.’ I shot back. I told him my patience was wearing thin and I meant it. ‘Nobody has to die tonight.’

  The adrenaline was pumping now. There was a warm, tight feeling in all my muscles that assured me that if it came down to fight or flight, I was covered either way.

  ‘Hmm…’ he hummed, ‘it’s tempting. But I don’t think -’

  I caught Lucile’s eye, and she held my gaze for just a second
. She was ready to make her move. I nodded.

  She threw her head forwards, wet hair hanging limp, then snapped back into her captor’s nose. I could hear the impact. As he stumbled back, he pulled the trigger, a gunshot shattering the still of the night.

  Lucile had already writhed around in his grip, twisting her body and grabbing something off of the side of his jacket I couldn’t see. Her hands appeared, raised up, clutching a knife. She drove it down with both hands.

  It all happened so fast, nobody moved until Lucile had driven the blade home, lodging into his collarbone. He screamed in pain, fell to his knees and dropped his gun, staring at the knife in his chest with eyes wide.

  Laurel was the first to react. She’d probably adjusted her aim the moment Lucile made her move. The crack of her rifle echoed around the plaza, accompanied by the sound of another man’s agonised shout. It went quick from there, and I had to sort the details out in my head later.

  Sir fell backwards, clutching at his chest with one hand. He’d tried to pull his gun, but dropped it in the fall. He rolled across the pavement and snatched it up, rolling again to lay on his back and aim up. Neville had been waiting for him, he probably wouldn’t have fired if he hadn’t gone for the gun. But he did. Neville shot twice, finishing the man off, his gun letting out low, rough barks to accompany the thunderclap of the rifle.

  Lucile barrelled into me, shoving me around the corner and back into the shuttered area. She moved closest to the shop, breathless despite only moving a few feet. She gave me the wall spot, allowing me to lean out, since I had the gun. Chips of brickwork flew from the walls before I had a chance to lean out, forcing me to cringe away for a moment. My hands were shaking so much I doubt I’d have hit anything anyway.

  Damian’s shotgun roared, a deafening blast that knocked the second man off of his feet. It must have sent him sprawling, killed instantly, his chest was turned into a mess of reddened gore and scraps of black cloth.

  The man with the assault rifle was no slouch though. As I got my wits about me and aimed out to help, he was running sideways, firing from the hip as he went, spraying bullets wildly across the plaza - suppressing fire, or panicked fire, I‘m no expert. I heard the thuds of impact striking the wall behind me before I heard the zips of the incoming rounds.

  He was yelling blue murder as he fired, short, chattering bursts of full-auto, from the waist. Not a technique to hit much with, but if you put enough rounds out fast enough, you only needed to get lucky once. Even without shooting anyone, it was keeping heads down - at least, for a moment.

  Between bursts, Anita’s pistol snapped off a quick one-two at the man, who was halfway down the grass verge now, going out of sight. He fired one last time, kicking up a spurt of concrete dust from the dried up fountain, firing on Anita – but it was Laurel I heard cry out in pain.

  I turned to look, and saw her crouched by the back of the truck, holding onto it for support with one hand, her rifle fallen to the ground. She pressed the other hand to the side of her head, from eye to ear, where it was stained with blood.

  *

  Twenty Eight

  I hurried over, forgetting the danger, and went down to my knees beside her, Morgan appearing a moment later - she had stayed inside while the bullets were flying, but seeing me move, she must have assumed it was safe.

  ‘So much shooting, I thought they must have won…’ she flustered, ‘what can I do?’

  More shots cracked off, twitching my head down instinctively, but they didn’t seem intended for us. Tyres screeched as the SUV revved away. Damian was in pursuit, firing another blast from his shotgun at the SUV. I couldn’t see it, but I heard the back window shatter.

  Laurel sucked a breath in through her teeth and let out a groan. ‘I’m hit. I think.’ She said, speaking with forced calm, though her jaw was tight. ‘Fucking, bastard, never been shot before.’

  ‘Let me see,’ I coaxed, reaching up to move her hand. She was reluctant. ‘You haven’t actually been shot’ I told her, ‘otherwise you’d be dead. That’s good, right?’

  ‘So sweet of you…’ she said, lips tight. ‘Burns, stings, throbs, all at the same time.’

  She moved her hand out of the way, uncovering a long line of red from just above her eyebrow, right back under her hair. Torn flesh showed in a broad line, about as wide as a finger, seared brown at the edges like it’d been burned.

  Though her hand was reddened with blood, the wound wasn’t much of a bleeder, the bullet had whizzed past and grazed by the look of it - I’m no expert. As gently as I could, I moved her hair out of the way.

  I cringed, looking away for a moment. I saw Lucile run into Damian, getting him around the waist in a very big hug. He leaned down and kissed her forehead. She turned to look, her face contorted at the sight of our injured Laurel.

  ‘How bad is it?’ Laurel asked, keeping her eyes staring straight ahead. ‘Don’t look away. Tell me.’

  ‘Umm…’ Morgan tried, her eyes fixed on the red and brown streak.

  ‘Do we have wounded?’ Anita shouted back, over her shoulder. She and Neville were crouched behind the fountain, guns pointed at the only entrance to the little plaza. I didn’t expect to see the survivors from that firefight again, but one of the deserters had emptied a magazine at us. If that didn’t grab the attention of a few wandering zeds, we’d be lucky. Especially with them moving out of the city.

  ‘What? Come on!’ Laurel panicked, breathlessly losing her calm, ‘What’s wrong?’

  ‘You said you were a hairdresser, right?’ Morgan answered, putting a hand over her’s. ‘Good news is, nobody’s going to notice…’

  ‘There’s bad news?’

  Laurel was missing about half an inch of her right ear, just the tip, just a little off the top, so to speak. No wonder it stung.

  ‘It’s not that bad,’ I shot in, before Morgan could rip of the proverbial bandage, ‘and you’d hardly notice it if you weren’t looking…and keep your hair long…’

  ‘Kell. I swear to Gods if you don’t tell me what’s wrong, they’ll never find your body.’ She growled, teeth bared, eyes watering.

  Morgan came back in, squeezing Laurel’s hand. ‘A teeny, tiny, barely noticeable part of your ear is missing.’

  Laurel closed her eyes, and took in a deep, shuddering breath, her shoulders rising and falling. I saw the edges of her mouth go through various expressions. They tightened, twitched, and eventually settled on turning up at the edges.

  ‘Are you okay?’ Morgan asked, her mouth hanging open.

  ‘What?’ Laurel said in reply.

  ‘I said are you okay?’ she tried again.

  ‘What?’ Laurel called, louder again.

  My face split into a grin, and I let out a snigger, Morgan turning to give me a horrified look, like this was no time to laugh.

  ‘Speak up girl,’ Laurel all but shouted, grabbing Morgan by the shoulders and shaking her, ‘Into my good ear!’

  Morgan shoved her back, gently.

  ‘Not funny…’ she said, cracking out into a grin.

  ‘I’m good officer,’ Laurel strained, pulling herself to her feet, ‘I’m going to need morphine and some reconstructive bloody surgery, but I’ll survive.’

  ‘Damian, cover the road, please.’ Anita ordered.

  I opened the boot and Morgan got Laurel sat down under the shelter of the raised lid. A little bulb flicked on just above, providing enough light to see by. The heavy drizzle was turning to true rain now, light, cold flecks giving way to fat, freezing droplets. In our pool of light and dry, it felt quite private.

  ‘I’m not gonna whinge about it, I’m bloody fine.’ She assured us, but her tight expression said otherwise.

  ‘Where’d you become such a good shot, Laurel?’ Anita asked, doing the same thing with her hair as I’d done, run her fingers through, then lift it away, rather than push it straight back.

  ‘Spent most of my service shooting targets on the Redmond border. Before that I’d never held a gu
n outside of an arcade before,’ Laurel answered, happy for a distraction I think, ‘wasn’t particularly good at those though. Wasted a lot of shillings.’

  Anita chuckled, smiling, ‘A girl after my own heart. I think the local amusement only stayed open because I filled those machines every weekend. You’re a natural shot, you know?’

  ‘Some good.’ Laurel waved a hand at the side of her head.

  ‘Bullet grazes will hurt like hell, but you’re in no danger. I want to clean it out when we get back, then you’ll have to keep it covered. Change your bandages every day like mine.’

  ‘Maybe we can do each other.’ Laurel smirked.

  ‘Buy me dinner first.’ She said back.

  The adrenaline was fading, leaving behind a nice pile of endorphins to gorge on. We’d made it through another scrape, with only a graze to show for it. Once again, we’d gotten lucky - the guys in the middle, I’m guessing the squad leaders, had barely even drawn their weapons – handguns too, not the rifles we’d seen them with earlier, only one of them still carried an assault weapon.

  If they’d been quicker off the mark, we could have been disarmed, stripped of supplies and missing our transport - that or we’d have been compressing bullet wounds and marking out more plots in the park. And even then, we’d be lucky to be doing that.

  ‘What’s the plan?’ Neville enquired, coming over as I hovered uncertainly around Laurel and Anita. They’d just gotten to chatting, Morgan sat down on the edge of the boot as well. I looked over to see Damian and Lucile covering the plaza now.

  ‘Lot of rounds just went off here.’ I said, feeling the bottom of my stomach drop out, ‘We need to move, fast. Get that trolley from inside, and load up the boot. I figured those shots would attract zombies, but if there’s more arseholes with guns around, they might respond too.’

  ‘Crap.’ Neville muttered, heading back into the co-op.