The Left Series (Book 2): Left Alone

by Christian Fletcher

  “Are we good?” Smith yelled at me, snapping me back to reality and back to the present. My warm, fuzzy memories evaporated into the ether.

  I ran beside the scooter, holding in the clutch on the handle bar then releasing it when I’d gathered sufficient speed. The small engine coughed and spluttered, throwing out a puff of black smoke from the muffler before it whined into life. I twisted the gear shift back to neutral and stood the scooter on its stand.

  “Ta-da,” I cooed to Smith, with my arms open wide like I’d just performed an amazing conjuring trick.

  “Very impressive, Wilde Man,” Smith grunted as he walked towards me. “Your next trick is to get us the hell out of here.”

  I nodded and clambered onto the scooter. Smith sat on the rear of the seat, clutching Spot and the shot gun across his lap. We pulled out of the post office parking lot speeding along at around 15 mph. It was a far cry from the Pontiac Firebird Smith drove when we first met in Brynston, which felt like several lifetimes ago.

  The sun continued to sink as we rode along the highway towards the small town in the distance. Smith fished through my kiddy knapsack and pulled out the maps and the opened bottle of bourbon. I turned my head and saw him take a few swigs while studying the map. He offered me the bottle but I shook my head.

  “Drinking and driving costs lives,” I quoted and smiled, thinking my retort was a hilarious quip.

  Smith didn’t get the humor. He shrugged and took another long slug.

  The landscape was flat and sparse either side of the highway. Patchy grass fields grew on the left side and several isolated, farm dwellings and shacks stood on the right between the highway and the river. The warm evening breeze felt good, blowing into my face and hair.

  “I think we’re on Highway 11,” Smith yelled far too loudly in my ear, as he studied the map. “The next town we’re coming to is called Empire.”

  The name of the town meant nothing to me. Another small town caught in the grip of a worldwide epidemic. Towns and cities were full of nothing but walking corpses and the reek of death and decay in my limited experience.

  “Did you know that Empire is the third biggest seafood port in the United States?” Smith roared in my ear, reading aloud from his tourist guides.

  “I didn’t know that,” I answered out of politeness. I neither knew nor cared about irrelevant facts. The inhabitants of the world’s seas were probably flourishing due to the demise of the human race.

  Smith obviously picked up on my apathy.

  “What I mean is there’s bound to be some boats in working order in the harbor.”

  “Okay, right.” We still didn’t know where we were heading so boat or road didn’t make much difference.

  We rode by the sign that welcomed us to the town of Empire, population 2,211. I wondered how many of that population was up and around, walking in search of human flesh.

  Chapter Sixteen

  The highway was flanked by houses and small stores on each side. The odd lone, lumbering zombie staggered between the buildings, turning to look in our direction as we glided by. I slowed the scooter to a crawl and struggled to keep us upright. Highway 11 apparently ended with a half built bridge construction across a horizontally running river. The blacktop ceased and ‘No Entry’ signs stood in front of the wide crevice, effectively cutting the highway from the opposite side.

  “What the hell do we do now?” I shouted to Smith.

  “There must be a harbor around here someplace. Turn around and we’ll have a look down some of these side roads.”

  “I saw something that looked like a lake a few hundred yards back on the left,” I said.

  Smith nodded and I U-turned the scooter in the center of the highway. The bike wobbled under the weight and I fought to keep us level. I drove the scooter back the way we had come and turned right off the main highway next to an expanse of water.

  The road took us alongside a canal which opened up into a vast waterway with an elevated, bridged highway running over the top. Smith tapped my shoulder and pointed to a marina on the opposite side of the canal.

  “Let’s head over there and see if we can find a boat,” he shouted.

  I nodded and drove the scooter along the road running parallel to the canal. I hit the brakes when I saw a number of the undead milling around the center of the road, around one hundred yards ahead of us. Their slow, shuffling gait was easily recognizable.

  “Zombies ahead!” I yelled to Smith.

  “Yeah, I can see,” he murmured in my ear. “Keep going and I’ll give them a blast if they get too close.”

  I worried we were going to be trapped in a bottleneck. The zombies trudged around the road as we approached and a small harbor lay behind the undead mass. The main marina with several moored, white fishing boats lay across the opposite side of the canal.

  The first few undead in the crowd heard the scooter’s muffler approaching them and turned their bowed heads in our direction. A male in a white vest and a short female wearing the remains of a tight, blue dress scowled and opened their mouths wide, emanating low drones. The rest of the undead crowd turned and followed suit. The whole bunch of walking corpses began to stagger forward, as if to meet us head on.

  It didn’t seem one of Smith’s best ideas. I knew how those ill fated historic soldiers felt when they made their futile cavalry charges against an overwhelming enemy. The zombies staggered closer, only a few feet away. I took a quick glance ahead to the pontoon where the boats were moored and wondered how we were going to release a boat and fight off all these zombies at the same time. That was, if we got to the pontoon in the first place.

  The leading two zombies, the guy in the white vest and the girl in the blue dress, reached out for us as we drew close. They scowled and hissed as I weaved the scooter between them. I felt the inevitable adrenalin rush as grabbing hands came within inches of our arms and faces. I was worried if Smith fired the shot gun, the recoil might send us over on our side, skidding along the blacktop.

  Smith smashed the shot gun butt into the face of a male, gray haired zombie who came too close to us. Gnarled blackened fingers tore at us as I weaved the scooter between the walking corpses. The dead moaned and hollered in frustration, they wanted our blood. I instinctively screamed at them to keep back, as if they were going to take any notice.

  Spot snarled and growled at the gawping faces of the undead crowd. Some of them had half their facial features and eyeballs missing. I wanted to retch when their stench of decay attacked my nostrils. We couldn’t go back now. We were too far through the crowd.

  “There’s too many of them, Smith,” I yelled.

  I had to slow the scooter down to nothing more than a crawl. Gnarled, battered finger nails scraped against the scooter’s side panels and handle bars. Dead hands brushed my shoulders and upper arms.

  “Keep fucking going,” Smith shouted in my ear.

  Green snarling faces flashed into my vision as I weaved the scooter between the decrepit, decaying bodies. The sound of their frenzied screeches reverberated around my head. I was having trouble keeping the scooter going. We skidded and I nearly dropped the damn thing on its side.

  Smith battered at the grasping hands with the butt of the shot gun. Spot barked and snarled at the masses of undead. I swatted away gray hands and arms as best I could.

  I couldn’t see how we were going to make it to the pontoon. I pulled back the throttle as far as it would go. The scooter gathered speed, knocking an old, small fisherman type zombie off his feet.

  “What the fuck are you doing, Wilde Man?” Smith roared in my ear. “We’re going to crash this damn thing.”

  The scooter tore through the crowds of zombies and sped along the edge of the jetty. I didn’t slow down and carried on. The wheels left the wooden pontoon boards and we were airborne for a brief moment. I heard Smith yell something behind me. The water was cool as we submerged for a few seconds. I felt the scooter plummet to the murky depths beneath me.

  I
breathed in gasps of air and checked to see if Spot and Smith were still with me when I surfaced. Smith bobbed up and down a few yards behind me, spitting out a mouthful of river water. He still clutched Spot, holding him just above the surface but the shot gun was gone.

  “What the hell was that all about?” Smith spluttered. “I lost the damn gun. I dropped it when we hit the drink.”

  “We weren’t going to make it to the boats,” I said. “There’s too many of them. We’ll have to try and swim to the marina on the other side of the canal.”

  The undead mass followed the route of the scooter and began trudging to the edge of the pontoon.

  “We better get going.” I pointed at the zombies tumbling into the water. “They’re coming after us.”

  Smith turned his head for a quick glance at the pursuing crowd of undead.

  “They’ll probably sink but I don’t know how deep this water is. I don’t want them grabbing my legs and pulling me under.”

  We paddled our way out into the expanse of the canal waters. Smith struggled to keep himself afloat and hold onto Spot at the same time. He bobbed under the surface of the water. Our wet clothes hung heavy and dragged us down.

  “Let him swim, Smith,” I spluttered. “He can swim okay.”

  Smith complied and let go of the little dog. Spot paddled beside us with ease but the distance to the marina now looked a daunting prospect. It didn’t look that far, only about two hundred yards but the wet clothes sapped our strength and the marina seemed one hundred miles away. The cartoon gator knapsack on my back weighed heavy as well with the cans of drink and the bottle of bourbon. I spotted a floating dock halfway across the canal.

  “Try and get to that dock, Smith,” I gurgled between gulps of canal water. “We can stop for a rest.”

  Smith nodded and paddled onward.

  We reached the floating dock after what seemed like an hour splashing around and nearly drowning. I used what little strength I had left to haul myself up a white, metallic ladder at the side of the dock. Smith clung to the ladder breathing in huge gulps of air between coughs. I leant down into the water and grabbed Spot by the scruff of his neck then dragged him onto the wooden deck. He shook himself and I ignored the droplets splashing into my face. Smith slipped halfway up the ladder before recovering and clambering onto the deck beside me. We lay in the fading sunlight gasping for air and coughing up canal water. I flicked my wet hair away from my face.

  “Jesus Christ, I’m done,” Smith gasped.

  I knew what he meant. I was physically drained and exhausted. I couldn’t swim another stroke.

  “What are we going to do?” I rasped. “It’s going to be dark soon and we can’t sit out here all night.”

  Smith and I glanced back to the pontoon we had swum away from. A few of the undead floundered in the shallow water but the tops of some of their heads were still visible on the surface. They were somehow half floating their way towards us.

  I turned to look at the marina across the canal. A few zombies roamed around the jetty but the area was relatively uninhabited by the undead. The marina building was a large glass fronted affair and would have been a pleasant boating destination before the epidemic gripped the world. White and blue colored boats bobbed around on their moorings, still tethered after months of inactivity.

  “Do you think we can make it to the marina jetty?” I grunted.

  Smith glanced across the canal with a look of despair on his face.

  “We’re going to have to try, unless we sit here and wait for those floating fucks to join us on this dock.”

  We had no guns of any kind to defend ourselves. The shotgun shells would be soaked and useless in the backpack. I took a quick peek at Smith’s waistband and saw the hatchet still tucked into his belt. At least we had one weapon, basic though it was.

  Various items of debris floated around the canal surface but nothing was close enough to grab to use as a float. I had dreadful thoughts this situation was going to end badly. We could either sit on the floating dock and wait to be attacked from underneath by the undead or take our chances and try and swim to the marina but risk drowning in the process. The decision was a no-brainer. I’d rather die through lack of oxygen with my lungs filled with water than be ripped apart and eaten alive. At least drowning would be less painful.

  “Come on, Smith,” I sighed. “Let’s at least try and get to the other side.”

  Chapter Seventeen

  Smith grunted but nodded in agreement. I guess he’d come to the same conclusion as me. We’d try and make it somehow across the final hundred yards of water.

  “Take your wet clothes off if you find yourself going under,” I instructed.

  “You want to see me naked now, Wilde Man? You’re only just coming out after all this time together?”

  I managed a snigger in response to Smith’s quip. At least we could always share some banter, even in the most dire of situations. Fate had thrown Smith and I together back in Brynston and our first encounter began with him punching me in the face. We’d not only become survival comrades but good friends, respecting each other’s judgment, points of view and decision making. Smith was a tough cookie and I knew he’d give it his best shot at crossing the canal.

  We slid off the floating dock into the water and gave each other a good luck nod. The water felt colder than before and I shivered as my clothes wrapped around my body once again. Spot was quite content to stay put and the little fellow didn’t fancy going back into the drink. I had to physically force him off the wooden deck. He splashed and paddled in the water and set off for the marina.

  “Let’s go for it,” Smith said, with renewed vigor.

  We followed Spot’s lead and paddled slowly behind him, puffing out water with every stroke. I took a quick glance back to the floating dock and the pontoon behind it. The floating ghouls had disappeared from sight and I didn’t know if they were treading water or had sunk to the bottom.

  We weren’t too far away from the boats but I started to flounder. My arms and legs wouldn’t do what my brain wanted them too. I just felt too heavy, as though I’d been eating lead weights.

  “Come on, Wilde Man,” Smith shouted. “We’re nearly there. Don’t give up now.”

  More canal water gurgled down my throat as I plunged below the surface once more. I breathed in and spluttered out water from my lungs as I resurfaced. I was sure I was heading for a watery grave.

  Smith reached one of the boats moored alongside the jetty and clung to the side. I saw him scoop Spot out of the drink and plunk the dog inside the boat. At least those two had made it. I was roughly twenty yards behind them but felt like I couldn’t go on. My swim stroke was pathetic, I was barely moving forward.

  “Smith!” I yelled in panic, when my face barely broke the surface.

  I caught a brief glimpse of him hauling himself inside the small rowing boat before I went under again. The water was murky and I couldn’t see anything but the reflection of the setting sun above me. I was done, this was surely the end. I didn’t have any body strength left to kick or paddle myself up to the surface.

  A dark shape hovered over me for a second before I felt a firm hand grip the top of my hair. Was I being attacked by zombies to add to my worsening, shitty predicament?

  The hand dragged me to the canal surface. I breathed in a combination of muddy water and air. My vision was still blurred by streams of water running down my face and the current slapping into my eyes. I coughed and retched and vomited a mixture of brown water, the soda and chips I’d consumed earlier. The strong hand gripped the scruff of my neck and propelled me forward in the water. My face banged into a cold, hard, concave surface.

  “Hang on in there, kid.” I thankfully heard Smith’s voice above my head.

  I spluttered and retched again, producing a mouthful of acidic stomach bile. My sight cleared and I glanced upwards. Smith had hold of me by the back of my shirt. He leaned over the side of the small, fiberglass rowing boat he’d re
ached a few minutes ago. He’d managed to untie the boat and paddle out towards me.

  “Can you hang on to the side while I row us to the jetty?” Smith hollered at me.

  I nodded, even though I didn’t have the strength to hold on to a wet tissue for more than a second.

  “I can’t risk pulling you in or the boat may capsize,” Smith explained.

  My arms felt weak and floppy but I hooked my elbows over the side of the boat, locked my hands together and just hung there, spitting bile while trying to take in air. Smith picked up a short oar and began to paddle the boat back to the jetty. He kept turning towards me to check I was still clinging on to the side. Spot wagged his tail and licked my face, hopefully happy I was just about still breathing. I let my legs trail behind me in the water, concentrating on keeping my head above the surface.

  Smith quickly tied the bow to a cleat on the jetty and swung around so I was between the boat and the wooden decking. He jumped out of the boat, bent down and grabbed me under my armpits. Spot leapt onto the jetty and shook himself before licking his nuts. Smith hauled me onto the jetty and I lay on my back for a few moments waiting for my limbs to regain the strength to move.

  The horrendous taste of muddy water and puke rolled around my mouth so I sat up to spit into the canal. Smith crouched behind me and zipped open the gator knapsack. He rummaged around and pulled out the bourbon bottle and the cigarettes.

  “Let’s hope the smokes survived the water,” he said and unwrapped the cellophane around a pack.

  The last thing I wanted was a cigarette but Smith shoved one between my lips. At least the smoke would help rid the nauseating tang in my mouth. He tried his Zippo lighter a few times before the flame ignited. Smith lit my smoke for me before lighting his own. He took a swig of bourbon and handed me the open bottle.

  “Okay, I guess you’re no Mark Spitz, kid but you live to fight another battle,” he said, exhaling smoke.

  “Who?”

  “Never mind.” Smith shook his head.