The Left Series (Book 1): Leftovers

by Christian Fletcher

  Maybe I had let my emotions get the better of me and what if the pup was already dead? This escapade would all be for nothing. I racked my brains. We had to think of a plan. Whatever we did, we needed an escape vehicle.

  An RV on a corner plot stood slightly forward from the rest of the vehicles in the row. The vehicles were parked in a large circle centering on the Pavilion Square.

  “Denny, can you drive an RV?” I asked. A risky plan formed in my mind.

  “I never drove one before but I can try,” he nodded.

  I told him my half-baked idea then we made a dash for the RV. Several flaws in my plan included the RV being locked or not having the keys in the ignition. We managed to reach the RV without being spotted. I tried the driver’s door and pumped my fist when it opened. The second floor in my plan popped up. No keys in the ignition.

  “Shit,” I hissed. “We’ll have to find another vehicle.”

  “Hang on,” Rosenberg whispered. “The keys may be in the back someplace.”

  “Denny, we don’t have time to…”

  Rosenberg either didn’t hear me or wasn’t listening. He opened a small door in the side of the RV and climbed aboard. I went inside the driver’s door and through a door at the back of the cab. The living quarters stretched back around twenty feet past a galley, bunk beds and lounge with what I guessed was a separate enclosed bathroom to the left. The interior smelled of pungent air fresheners and everything was neat and tidy. The vehicle was obviously the former owner’s pride and joy. We stooped down and tried to stay away from the windows.

  “You search for the keys and I’ll check that bathroom,” I whispered.

  I held the Beretta ready and quickly pulled open the small door. The bathroom was empty. A small toilet sat next to the shower.

  Rosenberg held up a red fobbed ignition key when I emerged from the bathroom.

  “Look what Denny found,” he sang with a daft grin on his face.

  “Where was it?”

  “In the top drawer over there,” he pointed to a dresser by the bunk beds. “It’s the spare master key.”

  “No shit, Sherlock,” I said. “Okay, let’s get this thing started. You sure you’re clear on what to do?”

  Rosenberg nodded.

  “Okay, let’s go,” I said. “And Denny, don’t fuck this up!”

  He nodded again.

  I slipped out of the side door and heard him lock it behind me. Already, the plan was going haywire. I didn’t tell him to lock the door. I knocked to tell him to keep the door unlocked but he didn’t hear. The RVs engine fired into life.

  “Oh, shit,” I spat. The plan was ten seconds in and already going to rat shit.

  I dived underneath the caravan next to the RV and waited for Rosenberg to pull out of the plot. I lay in the grass in the shadow of the caravan waiting to see if we could flush out the zombies. Rosenberg pulled away in the RV and headed for the kid’s playground. I crawled to the edge of the caravan and looked up and down the space between the next row of stationary vehicles.

  No zombies occupied the space. I crawled from my hiding place and sprinted to the next row of caravans and dived underneath the nearest one. I just hoped none of the zombies would smell me. I crawled to the edge of the caravan and sprinted through the space.

  I heard Rosenberg sounding the RV horn in the distance. Surely, the zombies would hear the noise. I waited, one minute, then two. Then I heard the familiar moans and trudging footsteps dragging through the grass.

  The zombies appeared, trudging towards the sound of the blaring RV horn. I lay flat and still, holding my breath. One small sound could alert the zombies to my whereabouts. I waited until they passed and crawled out of my hiding place.

  I used the caravans and RVs as cover until I saw the Pavilion Square. I crouched between two caravans and maneuvered so I could see right through the middle of the cobbled area. The bodies of the zombie’s Smith and Eazy shot earlier still lay on the ground. Two zombies staggered around the fountain looking like they weren’t able to navigate their way out of the square.

  The pavilion door still hung open and I tried to see any signs of movement inside but the interior was too dark. Something crashed over in the caravan next to me. I looked up at the window and saw a young girl of about fourteen moving around inside. She hobbled on unsteady legs and I knew she was trying to get to the window. She’d spotted me. Time to move.

  I took a deep breath and sprinted from my hiding place. I stopped at the edge of the square and stuffed the Beretta into the back of my waist band. I unsheathed the bent golf club that had been my weapon of choice since all this mess started. Silence was the key in this situation. I was only going to use the hand gun if I had to.

  The two zombies somehow sensed my presence and turned in my direction. One gave a loud moan I thought sounded like Chewbacca in the Star Wars movies. I hoped it wasn’t some kind of warning cry to alert more zombies.

  The Chewbacca zombie stumbled forward and fell into the fountain. He thrashed around but couldn’t get out. One down, one to go. I ran up to the other zombie that looked as though he’d been a camp ground maintenance man in his past life. He wore denim dungarees and sported an unfashionable pudding basin haircut.

  I remembered how Pudgy Face had used the golf club on the zombie outside my apartment. I had to ask myself if it really was only yesterday this shit started. It seemed like I’d been running around, scared shitless for about ten years. It took me three swipes to dismantle the maintenance man zombies’ skull.

  I moved quickly to the open pavilion door and took a peek inside. My foot clipped something metallic in the doorway. I looked down and saw the pry bar Eazy must have used to break in. I smiled and thought how I was hanging around with gunmen and burglars. I picked up the pry bar and slid it into the rifle sling on my back. It may come in handy later on.

  The pavilion was semi dark. I looked around the vast dining area and saw no signs of movement. I tried to whistle for the dog but my mouth was too dry. I could have done with another one of those cold Millers.

  “Spot? Here boy,” I hissed.

  Nothing moved. I slowly stepped into the pavilion. Empty chairs and tables covered most of the floor space. It was the kind of furniture you see in fast food joints, chrome legs and light, fake wood surfaces. Large stainless steel canopies covered the food serving area to the right. A low stage adorned with unlit multi colored lights stood to the left.

  A few discarded sandwich wrappers and paper plates lay scattered on a table in the middle of the pavilion. I thought that must have been the spot where Rosenberg and the others ate their lunch. I crept over to the table and took a look. No sign of the pup still there. I hoped he would be sitting on one of the chairs, wagging his tail with a daft look on his face.

  “Spot? Here boy,” I called again.

  This time I heard a noise.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Something clanged behind the food serving area. I held my breath. Very slowly, I crept forward towards the source of the noise, holding my golf club at the ready. The shadows were almost pitch dark behind the counter. I looked up and down the rows of hot plates and half empty food shelves. I craned my neck and peered over the top of the counters. I couldn’t see any movement.

  A swing door to the kitchen stood behind the serving area, slightly to my right. I made my way along the line of the stainless steel facilities and through a gap between the cash tills. I stopped outside the kitchen door and listened. Silence.

  I slowly swung the door open and jammed it with my foot. The kitchen was in total darkness. I listened again. What was that? Something slid across the floor inside the dark room.

  I scrambled around in my pants pocket for the pen light I’d taken from the hardware store. Thankfully, I retrieved it, turned it on and held it between my teeth. I inched further into the dark kitchen. The door swung shut behind me. The pen light cast only dim illuminated arcs and I couldn’t see more than five feet in front of me.

&n
bsp; Something scraped behind me. I swiveled and raised the golf club. A zombie dressed in chef’s whites flashed into the light beam. He stood by a large refrigerator stuffing raw meat into his mouth. The light beam alerted him to my presence and he turned from the fridge and lumbered towards me. I readied the club and clenched my teeth harder around the pen light.

  The zombie chef came within range and I went to swing. The club didn’t move forward, something held it back. I turned my head and saw the face of another zombie standing behind me in the dim light. The zombie was female with her hair in bunches at the side of her head. She held the end of the golf club and moved closer towards me.

  The female zombie opened her mouth to bite. She was about a foot away from my face. I twisted, let go of the golf club and backed away from the two zombies. I didn’t know if they could see in the dark. I held the pen light in my hand and drew the Beretta from my waist band. I wished Smith was with me to help.

  The female zombie still held the golf club and came at me first. The chef zombie still chewed on the raw meat in the fridge. I took off the safety and fired a shot that went horribly high and wide. The bullet clanged off the stainless steel canopy above the stove burners. I aimed lower and fired again. The shot was too low and hit her in the stomach.

  I backed away until I hit the far wall behind me. Nowhere left to run. The female zombie dropped the golf club and reached out for me. I put the pen light between my teeth again, keeping the beam on the female zombie. I kept the Beretta in my right hand and used my left arm as a horizontal rest like I’d seen in old black and white British war movies when I was a kid.

  I aimed for the center of her nose and took the shot. The bullet still went high but hit the zombie high in the forehead. Her legs buckled and she disappeared from the light beam. I shone the torch over her to make sure she was totally dead. She lay motionless on her back with a pool of blood and brain spreading around her head.

  Now it was time for Meat Face. I swung the light around to where I thought he would be. I couldn’t see him anywhere. Then I felt something grab my ankle.

  I quickly moved sideways and fell over the corpse of the female zombie. The pen light fell out of my mouth and rolled across the kitchen floor. I felt teeth gnawing at my bootlaces. I had to take the shot even if I shot myself in the leg. I groped in the dark and felt the zombie’s matted hair. I jammed the muzzle against the side of his skull and fired. The noise echoed around the kitchen. The body went limp but thick, sticky slime splattered all over me. I felt it land on my face and heard it splatter over the floor. I made sure I kept my lips tightly shut. Digesting zombie blood was as bad as being bitten.

  I shoved the body of Meat Face off my legs, stood up and picked up the pen torch. I had a horrible feeling the raw meat the zombie ate was the dog I’d come to find. I swung the pen light around the kitchen looking for any signs of the dog, whether it was carcass remains or pieces of fur. At least I’d know if he was dead and be able to get the hell out of there.

  The kitchen layout was an “L” shape which I hadn’t noticed before. I crept around the area I hadn’t seen and found a big sink with a soap dispenser next to it. I put the pen light and Beretta close to hand on the drainer. I thoroughly washed my face, neck and hands, removing all traces of zombie blood, brains and gore from my skin.

  The Rolling Stones ringtone sounded again from my cell phone. I took it from my pocket and answered.

  “Brett, it’s Denny,” Rosenberg sounded worried.

  “What’s up, Denny?”

  “I’m still driving around in circles on the grass but I’m running into problems, Brett. The RV is making grooves in the ground and I have to go slower. The zombies are getting closer and I think one is hanging onto the ladder at the back of the RV. Who, shit…” I heard a clump. “That was close. I just hit another one. I’m getting scared out here, Brett. Have you found the dog yet?”

  I didn’t know what to tell him.

  “Not yet, Denny,” I said wincing. “How many undead you got out there chasing you?”

  “Rough count? Around fifty.”

  Shit! More than I thought. “Okay, Denny circle a couple more times then come and meet me at the pavilion door, okay?”

  Rosenberg gratefully agreed. I had around five minutes to locate the missing pup. I searched around the kitchen whispering the dog’s name, without any sign of the poor little chap. I moved back into the canteen area and felt relieved to see natural light again. I searched under the tables and around the stage area.

  I heard the rumble of the Rosenberg’s RV engine approaching. Time to go. I felt a lump of sorrow in my throat.

  “Sorry, Spot,” I said aloud. “I’m sorry we couldn’t save you.”

  I waited by the pavilion door. I didn’t want to rush out to the RV and get ambushed by the pursuing zombies. Rosenberg pulled the RV around the square and took several goes to swing it round. He hit the fountain going forward, then the door of the arcade going backwards. He reversed the RV into the doorway of the pavilion cracking the glass frontage. I jumped back inside the doorway, out the way of the vehicle. He pulled the vehicle forward away from the door. I walked around the RV to the driver’s window.

  “What the hell are you doing, Denny?” I yelled. “Did you get your driving license in a Christmas Cracker?”

  “Brett, we haven’t got time for this. I was trying to shake that zombie off the back of the RV. Is he still there?”

  I hadn’t seen any zombies clinging to the vehicle. “There’s nothing there now, Denny.”

  “Okay, we got about thirty seconds before those zombies are going to come after us. Did you get the dog?”

  Reluctantly, I shook my head and saw a tear in Rosenberg’s eye. He gulped and looked down, avoiding my gaze. I couldn’t keep blaming him for leaving the dog. He was already beating himself up. We’d tried to get the pup back, at least.

  “Okay, let’s go,” I said and walked around to the passenger door.

  I stopped when my cell phone rang again.

  “Wilde man?” Smith’s voice grated through my phone.

  “Yeah?”

  “Find your dog?”

  “Nope.”

  “Ah, I’m sorry to hear that. I know you liked that little mutt.” Smith’s voice sounded tired and far away.

  “Listen, Smith, we got to run. We’re by the pavilion and got the whole campsite full of zombies about to rain down on us. We’ll be with you soon.”

  “Hang on there, Wilde man,” Smith interrupted. “If you’re by the pavilion, just nip into that store and pick us up some more booze will you?”

  “Ah, you’re fucking kidding me, man.”

  “If you’re quick, I know you can do it,” Smith was almost pleading.

  “I’ll see what I can do,” I sighed and cut the connection.

  “Come on, Brett,” Rosenberg whined. “They’re coming.”

  I looked to the end of the square and saw the zombies staggering around the corner. “Hang on. I’ll be two minutes. I have to collect something from the store,” I said.

  “Brett, we don’t have two seconds, let alone two minutes,” Rosenberg called as I ducked into the broken store window.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  The interior of the convenience store grew darker. The shadows of the racks and shelves loomed blacker than last time I stood in the store. I didn’t know why I was doing this for Smith. Collecting a load of booze was putting mine and Rosenberg’s lives in danger.

  I picked up a shopping basket by the cash till and decided to make it two baskets. What the hell? I loaded one with beers from the fridge and left it on the floor. I took the other basket around the side of the cash till when I heard a moan from behind me. I spun around and saw a male zombie who had been a teenager in life, lumbering towards me.

  The only option was to use the Beretta. I drew the weapon from my waist band and silently prayed I hadn’t used the whole magazine clip back in the pavilion kitchen. I aimed at the creature’s head, u
nlocked the safety catch and fired two shots. To my surprise, the zombie went down. I slowly moved closer to the felled zombie with the weapon still drawn. The zombie lay prone on its back with a neat bullet hole just above each eye. Maybe my aim was slightly improving or I’d just got lucky.

  I replaced the weapon in my waist band and carried on pilfering. I took two bottles of bourbon, a bottle of vodka and a bottle of gin. I’d never tried gin and wondered what it tasted like. I took a few packs of cigarettes, a bottle of club soda and a bottle of tonic water. I threw the lot into the second shopping basket and hoped the booze stash would keep Smith happy.

  I picked up the basket of beer by the fridge, crept to the door and looked out into the square. The zombies lurched forward about ten yards from the front of the RV. I saw Rosenberg sitting in the driver’s seat, not knowing whether to flee without me. I grabbed both baskets and was about to crawl through the broken door space. A whimpering noise stopped me in my tracks.

  I retraced my steps back to the cash till and saw Spot the pup huddled behind the serving counter. His ears were low on the side of his head and he trembled in the half light. He was alive, I couldn’t believe it.

  I put the baskets on the counter top and picked up the little mutt. He whimpered again and licked my face. I gave him a quick check over for bites but couldn’t see any. He seemed a little upset but physically he was okay. I tucked him under the crook of my arm, grabbed the shopping baskets and made for the door.

  The zombies banged their hands on the front of the RV. I ducked through the bottom of the convenience store door. The dipping sunlight hit me and blurred my vision. The weight of the bottles of booze and the awkward angle I held the dog nearly made me lose my footing.