The Left Series (Book 1): Leftovers

by Christian Fletcher

  Chapter Forty-Two

  The driver dimmed the headlights and slowed the vehicle, coming to a stop in front of Batfish, Julia and Rosenberg.

  “Who the hell is it?” Rosenberg whispered.

  “I don’t know but it’s a nice set of wheels,” Batfish said, admiring the black Lexus CT 200h.

  The driver’s window lowered and a familiar face appeared from the interior.

  “Doctor Soames,” Rosenberg gasped. “What are you doing out here?”

  “Those cowards inside the complex wouldn’t let me back in,” Soames spat. “I had no option but to make my escape and it’s because of you people that I am in this predicament. So unfortunately I’ll have to tag along with you. You owe me that.”

  “Listen, asshole, we don’t owe you a God damn thing,” Batfish retorted. “You locked us up in there and wanted to kill us or turn us into living dead or whatever the hell it was you were going to do. If you don’t like it, you can go it alone.”

  “Hold on, Batfish. Just calm down for a second,” Rosenberg said. “He may be of some use. He’s a fully qualified scientific doctor after all.”

  Batfish screwed her eyes at Soames but kept silent.

  “And another thing,” Soames said. “We better not hang around here too long because some of the walking corpses began to chase me when I left the complex in my car. They’re slow but determined. They’ll follow us until they find us.”

  “Okay, you follow us in your car,” Julia reasoned. “We are heading back to the Interstate to collect our vehicle and you can decide what to do from there.”

  “Suits me,” Soames said and closed his window.

  Julia, Batfish and Rosenberg shuffled back towards the transporter.

  “We may need a lift if our truck doesn’t make it,” Julia said quietly.

  They clambered over the wrecked steel gates lying in the middle of the road and Rosenberg hopped up the ramp into the rear of the transporter. He knelt by Smith, checked his pulse and breathing rate.

  “Are you going to be okay in there, Denny?” Julia asked.

  “Yeah, I’ll be fine. Smith seems stable. I think he’s just exhausted and needs some rest.”

  They heard a low rumble like the sound of a herd of cattle over the noise of the idling vehicle engines.

  “What was that?” Batfish whispered.

  “Zombies,” Rosenberg hissed. “Sounds like lots of them coming our way. We better get out of here. Can you two lift the tail gate?”

  Batfish nodded and her and Julia struggled but lifted the ramp into the closed, vertical position and slotted home the security bolts. Soames slowly drove over the mangled gates and stopped close behind the transporter. Julia and Batfish ran to the cab and jumped inside. Eazy sat with Spot on his lap looking in the side mirrors.

  “Who the hell’s that behind?”

  “That is Doctor Soames,” Julia said.

  “What the fuck does he want?”

  “He wants to follow us back to the Interstate. Oh, and we better go because there are lots of zombies coming,” Julia said.

  “I can’t believe that motherfucker is looking to us for protection now,” Eazy rumbled, trying to see through the cracked windshield and plumes of steam from the engine.

  “He’s no threat without Podolski’s guards to back him up,” Batfish said, grabbing Spot from Eazy’s lap.

  Eazy pulled the vehicle forward. “I don’t think this piece of shit is going to get us very far. The radiator’s busted and it’s going to overheat soon.”

  “We can jump in with Soames if it comes to it,” Julia said.

  “I hope it don’t come to that,” Eazy sighed. “I may end up strangling the bastard if I have to get too close to him.”

  Julia giggled.

  Eazy kept the speed to 20 mph on the clock. He didn’t want the transporter to die on them so close to the Interstate. He couldn’t wait to get back inside the relative safety of the RV and get as far away from the airport as possible. Podolski’s unnecessary intervention had cost them time, their weapons, cell phones and personal possessions. Eazy felt the small window of opportunity for refuge on the ship in Battery Park Harbor closing with every second.

  He wondered briefly if his family was okay and still breathing God’s clean air. He hadn’t had much contact with his parents and two brothers over the past three years. The family had virtually disowned him after a breaking and entering charge brought shame on them. Eazy moved away from Harrisburg to start a new life somewhere. He didn’t know where he was going when he left, simply jumped in his car and drove, ending up in Brynston after unsuccessfully job hunting in New York and New Jersey. At least now he was free of the low-lifes, dropouts and ex-con’s that he reluctantly mixed with. Now he had some sole purpose in life, survival.

  The transporter engine spluttered as they crawled along the slip road towards the Interstate 78 entry junction. Eazy steered around the abandoned vehicles and debris littering the slip road. Visibility was hindered with one of the front headlight beams broken and the remaining light shining at a 45 degree angle to the truck.

  “I can’t see shit,” Eazy spat.

  “We’re nearly there,” Julia reassured.

  “I just hope Podolski isn’t on our tail,” Eazy said. “This slow, snail’s ass pace is going to make it real easy for him to catch us up.”

  “He’ll probably stay inside that compound for a while,” Batfish said. “Those zombies outside won’t make it easy for him to get out of the building.”

  “I’m sick and tired of zombies,” Eazy snorted.

  “I have a feeling we’re going to see a lot more of them before we get to that ship,” Julia sighed.

  Chapter Forty-Three

  I didn’t know if I was dreaming, tripping or hallucinating when Rosenberg bundled me in the back of the RV. Real events merged into memories, visions, thoughts and sub thoughts. Where the hell was I? A few moments ago I was with Samantha in London, now I was on a road in the middle of the night with rain pissing against the RV windows. What had I been doing? I felt like I was in the middle of someone else’s dream.

  The people inside the RV talked at such a rapid pace, I couldn’t understand half of what they were saying.

  “Which route do we take?…Interstate 78 East or US 1-9 North…traffic jams…zombies…New York…high pitch, low pitch…blah, blah, blah, guff and rhubarb.”

  I looked around and saw Rosenberg looking at some bandages on Smith’s chest. Smith sat on one of the chairs looking sweaty and pale. Jesus, I had the feeling we’d been through something terrible but I couldn’t remember what exactly. I remembered the zombies and a feeling of impending doom but was that real or had I dreamt it all. Sam said something about taking drugs in London. Maybe I had overdosed on some bad acid and gone ape shit. Shit, this was all my fault. Weird science meets a crock of shit. Bally fantastic… fan dabby fucking dozy.

  “You really shouldn’t smoke, right now,” Rosenberg was saying to Smith.

  “Can I have one of those?” My voice was feeble and sounded like a choir boy when his voice is breaking during the onset of puberty.

  Smith fumbled with his cigarette packet and tossed me one which landed in my lap.

  “Good to see you back in the land of the living, Wilde man,” Smith wheezed.

  I didn’t know what unliving state I’d previously been in.

  “Carrots,” I said. “Whores like carrots. I mean horses like carrots.” Smith had just thrown me a carrot. No, it was a cigarette.

  I noticed the others exchanged uncertain glances.

  “It may take him a while to get back to normal,” Rosenberg muttered.

  Batfish moved towards me and picked up the cigarette and put in my mouth. “There you go, honey,” she said and lit the end. “Just don’t burn the place down, will you?”

  I puffed on the cigarette and enjoyed its burn. After all, I hadn’t had anything to eat for ages.

  “Come on, let’s get going,” Eazy said, moving towa
rds the cab.

  “I just hope they left the keys,” Batfish said, following Eazy and holding the little dog in her arms.

  “Those bastard soldiers took them off me and threw them back in the cab some place,” Eazy said.

  “Sit down, Smith,” Rosenberg was nearly restraining Smith in his seat. “You need to rest.”

  “I need to check if my God damn bag is still onboard,” Smith groaned. He winced as he tried to stand and put a hand to his shoulder.

  “Check for it later,” Rosenberg implored. “You don’t need it right now.”

  Smith gave up and slumped back into the chair. He had draped a jacket around his shoulders and wore a pair of loose fitting pants. Rosenberg had done his best to redress the bandages covering his wounds using the first aid kit in the RV.

  The RV engine started up and Eazy pulled the vehicle forward. “Is Soames still behind us?” I heard him call from the cab.

  Rosenberg glanced out of the back window and watched the beam from the tailing car headlights. “Yeah, he’s still following,” he yelled back.

  “I should have blown that asshole’s head off when I had the chance,” Smith growled.

  “How are you doing, Brett?” Rosenberg asked me. His face seemed full of concern.

  “Oh, I’m okay,” I lied with thoughts still jumbled in my head. “I could use a drink though.”

  “Good idea,” Smith said. “Make mine a large bourbon.”

  “No alcohol for you two for a while,” Rosenberg sighed and made his way to the fridge. He took out two cartons of orange juice, opened them and handed one each to Smith and myself.

  “Fucking OJ?” Smith groaned before taking a huge swig.

  “Some vitamin C will do you good,” Rosenberg said.

  “So you’re my mother now?” Smith growled.

  Rosenberg moved to the cab and leaned inside, talking to Eazy and Batfish. I gulped down the orange juice and enjoyed the coolness sliding down my dry throat. I gazed out of the side window and watched the stationary traffic pass by. I looked out the back and saw the headlights and wondered why we were being followed.

  “Denny,” I whispered. “I’m not trying to be funny but I think someone is tailing us.”

  “Yeah, that’s Doctor Soames,” he turned his head and said. “You may not remember him.”

  “Doctor Fucking Doom,” Smith sighed and tilted his head backwards into the chair.

  “Those bastards have been through all my stuff,” Julia sighed, rummaging through her baggage on the bunk bed. “I hope they didn’t take anything else. We’ve lost our phones and you lost all your guns.”

  I still felt strange but my mind began to regain some clarity. I’d hoped the zombie epidemic had been part of some hallucinogenic trip but reality seemed worse than any drug induced trance I could imagine.

  “Julia, do me a favor,” Smith snapped his head forward. “Go check in the linen basket in the bathroom for me, will you?”

  “What am I looking for?” she asked.

  “A bag.”

  Julia shrugged and went into the bathroom. She dragged a woven linen basket across the floor a few seconds later and lifted the lid.

  “Only someone’s dirty laundry in here, I’m afraid,” she said.

  “Check under the clothes.”

  Julia lifted some white shirts and other garments that spilled onto the floor. “Oh, yes, there is a bag in here.” She struggled to pull the bag from the basket. “Gosh, it’s heavy,” she said, flinging the hold all next to Smith.

  “Good girl,” Smith muttered. He winced as he leaned forward and unzipped the bag. The cash taken from Wesley Stokes’s garage still lay untouched in the hold all with two snub nosed hand guns on top.

  “My God,” Julia stammered. “All that money.”

  “Those silly bastards missed that when they searched the place,” Smith laughed. “We still got the cash and a few weapons. Not many but two guns are better than none.”

  “Where did you get those?” I asked.

  “Always have a backup piece, kiddo,” Smith gave me a wink. “You never know when it could save your life. I took a few little extras in that gun store back in Shitsville.”

  I assumed he was referring to Brynston. Brynston, that sleepy little town that I’d lived most of my life. Now a place infested with the infected and ripe for flattening by a few Air Force bombers to resolve the epidemic. I thought about all the small towns and villages across the world. People of all nations huddled in their lofts and basements wondering if this situation would blow over while gradually starving to death.

  Smith picked up the weapons and checked they were still loaded. Julia went to the cupboards in the kitchenette and began to make sandwiches for everyone.

  I looked out of the side window and watched the giant advertizing billboards flash by, half shadowed in the night gloom. Smiling faces of celebrities and happy families endorsing endless consumer products that nobody really needed.

  The latest ad would read “Come to dinner at McZombies, share yourself with friends and acquaintances. All they can eat for free.”

  I couldn’t even remember how long all this had been going on for. When did it all start? A few days, a week? Time had lost importance. It was now either night or day. Times, dates, days of the week, months and years were irrelevant. I felt like I’d found a hidden key to a secret locked door and opened it and found another dimension on the other side. Another possible reality somewhere in the middle of infinite parallel universes.

  Dad’s ship. We were going to Dad’s ship. Sailing round and round like a toy boat in the bath, spinning around a draining plug hole. I wondered what we’d do on Dad’s jolly ship.

  I was about to ask Smith for another cigarette when I felt the RV slow down.

  Batfish popped her head through the cab door with a worried look on her face.

  “We may have a problem here, guys,” she said.

  Chapter Forty-Four

  “The entrance to the bridge is totally blocked,” Batfish said.

  Rosenberg stood up and moved to the cab for a closer look. I unsteadily stood on shaky legs and followed Rosenberg to the cab doorway. I thought I’d take a peek at what all the commotion was about.

  Stationary, abandoned trucks and cars littered the width of the road from all angles, looking like the starting grid on the old cartoon “Wacky Races.” People had panicked and not known where to go or what to do. Some had tried to flee heavily populated areas and others had tried to get to the cities looking for protection that was now nonexistent.

  “That entrance takes us over Newark Bay, past Jersey City and through the Holland Tunnel into Downtown Manhattan, where we take the 9A down to Battery Park,” Eazy explained for those of us who hadn’t a clue where we were going.

  “Is there another route we can take?” Rosenberg asked.

  “Not unless we turn around and try and take the US 1 & 9, up and around,” Eazy said, bringing the RV to a halt behind the abandoned traffic. “That way will take us back past the Airport and we don’t know how bad the roads are on that route.”

  I glanced out the back window and saw the following car stop behind us. Doctor Fucking Doom was still on our tail.

  “What are we going to do?” I asked, totally bereft of ideas. My head felt empty as though certain parts of my brain had been uninstalled.

  Eazy sighed and slumped in the driver’s seat. I looked out into the night sky. Rain still pattered the windshield. The river below the bridge looked like a mass of inky blackness like starless space. Rain, dark and death. They seemed to harmonize and combine together like an ice cream flavor.

  “We could always try and move some of the vehicles,” Rosenberg suggested. “Try and clear a pathway through.”

  “That will take ages,” Batfish moaned, cuddling Spot. “What if we change vehicles the other side of the jam? Some might still be in working order.”

  “It’s a possibility,” Eazy said. “But I don’t like the thought of splitting
up in separate vehicles and we’ve got everything we need here in the RV.”

  “Sorry, the bread is a bit stale but still edible,” Julia said offering around the plate full of sandwiches. We all took a few and munched in silence, staring out into the dark, wet night. Batfish fed Spot half her sandwich.

  We jumped when a figure tapped on the side window of the cab.

  “Soames,” Eazy sighed. “What does he want?” He lowered the window.

  “What’s going on?” Soames spat. He wore a rain proof jacket with the hood covering his head.

  “There seems to be an immovable traffic jam in front of us,” Eazy sarcastically pointed towards the windshield.

  “We can’t just sit here all night,” Soames yelled. “We’re like sitting ducks out here.”

  “Well, if you’ve got any suggestions, we’re all ears,” Eazy said.

  Soames stood in the rain looking across the bridge and back the way we came. He was obviously a man used to getting his own way but now he was trapped in a situation with no apparent solution.

  “Is there any way we can knock down that central barrier and drive on the other side of the road?” Soames asked.

  “Not unless you’ve got a jackhammer handy, jackass,” Batfish said. “That barrier is solid, reinforced concrete strong enough to stop a truck plowing through it.”

  “Three options,” Eazy said slowly. “Option 1- we turn around and try another route. Option 2 – We abandon our vehicles and hope we can find some others on the far side of the jam. Option 3 – We try and clear some of these vehicles and find a path through. Whatever we do, it’s going to take some time.”

  “I think we can move some of these vehicles,” Rosenberg said again. “We can still move them even if they don’t have keys. Just bust the window, let off the parking brakes and push them to the side.”

  “One flaw in your master plan, Einstein,” Eazy sighed. “What if the vehicles have dead motherfuckers in them? We got no guns.”

  Rosenberg was silent.