The Left Series (Book 7): Left Amongst The Corpses

by Christian Fletcher

  I waited while Smith ate the remainder of his beans and drained his bourbon glass. We stashed the rifles, SMAW launcher and backpacks in one of the tall lockers in the men’s rest room. Smith tucked the key into his jacket. We were going up to the house with handguns only.

  As the time ticked away and the situation settled down a little, I felt it was for peace of mind purposes only that we were spying on Dave and Ralph. They were probably nervous of us and simply wanted to be left alone. The undead were on the outside of their perimeter fence and they obviously wanted to keep it that way. Strangers inside their complex were only likely to cause them trouble. After our own experiences, I totally got what they were living through.

  “We go around the back of the house and check out if we can see what they’re up to,” Smith said as we checked our Russian handguns.

  I’d fired one shot from the magazine when I’d killed the zombie in the forest but didn’t bother to reload the round. I figured I wouldn’t need to and this whole thing would be a storm in a teacup. Dave and Ralph were probably harmlessly tucked up in bed enjoying an early night, watching a CD box set of Sex In The City or something.

  “Ready when you are, Smith,” I said.

  I couldn’t help thinking we looked like a pair of extra’s from a cheesy, 1980’s shoot ‘em up action movie as we headed out of the glass front doors. I sincerely hoped nobody would be shooting back at us tonight and I seriously doubted if Dave or Ralph were the modern day equivalent of Rambo or The Terminator. But then again, who knew what people were really capable of.

  Smith and I strolled through the parking lot and crossed over the pathways, around the small gardens. We came close to the house and hustled around the hedges flanking the side lawn. A blacktop driveway led to a large, one storey, lock-up type building to the rear of the house, which I assumed was the dry goods store Ralph and Burland had mentioned earlier. A dark colored, flat bed pick-up truck was parked a few feet from the closed roller door at the front of the building. I thought the vehicle was a Toyota but couldn’t be sure. The light from the moon and night sky was masked by low lying cloud and Smith and I were stumbling around in virtual darkness. Whatever we’d see was going to be minimal at best. I began to doubt what we were even doing out here, skulking around in the dark like a pair of stalkers.

  I followed Smith along a pathway between a pair of privet hedges each side of the concrete paving slabs. We moved off the path once we were beyond the hedges and trod slowly and silently across a lawn to the rear of the house. The interior was dark behind the windows but I thought I saw shadowy figures rushing around between the rooms inside. Only a slight light from somewhere in the property glowed beyond the panes. Smith tapped me on the shoulder and pointed to the back of the house. He’d seen the figures too.

  We moved silently closer to the house, treading slowly across a paved patio area in front of a small conservatory. Smith tried the door handle but it didn’t budge, the damn thing was locked from the inside. We stepped backwards over the patio to search for any open windows or other means of access. These guys were careful. There was no obvious way inside the house.

  A bright outside light above the conservatory that we hadn’t noticed suddenly blinked into life illuminating half the garden and exposing us standing in the backyard.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

  “Shit!” Smith hissed.

  We heard the inner door beyond the conservatory clunk, like somebody was unlocking it from the inside.

  “Get behind the hedges,” Smith whispered.

  We moved in hunched stances with our shadows casting elongated shapes across the grass like huge, evil crabs. Smith and I dived for cover amongst the darkness behind the privet hedge to the right of the pathway, almost as soon the conservatory door opened. We crouched down out of sight and peered through thick, prickly branches.

  A long shadow spread across the grass beyond the hedge. Ralph came into view behind his stretched shadow. He hurried down the pathway, glancing left and right and carrying a big black trash sack in each hand. We watched him rush to the edge of the backyard and stop when he came to the big roller door at the front of the lock-up store. He dumped down the trash sacks and took out a set of keys from his pants pocket. Again, he looked around tensely before he unlocked the roller door, slid it upwards and disappeared into the blackness inside the building.

  “Now’s our chance,” Smith whispered. “They’re separated and the house is unlocked.”

  “Which way do we go?” I asked. “Do we follow Ralph into the lock-up or go for it and enter the house?”

  Smith weighed up my questions for a couple of seconds. “Let’s go pay Ralphy a visit and see what he’s up to.”

  I nodded, although Smith probably didn’t see the movement in the dark. “Okay,” I muttered. “Let’s go take a look.”

  We hurried out from our hiding place and scuttled across the grass lawns, keeping low and avoiding any sounds of movement. The outside light shone across our backs and I hoped nobody saw us skulking across the garden. Smith stopped behind the privet hedge to the left and took a quick peek down the pathway to the lock-up’s open roller door. I hunkered down beside him and peered through the open gap.

  A dim light shone from the lock-up interior and shadows flickered across the doorway, as if somebody was moving in front of the light.

  Smith nodded ahead and we crept forward, treading slowly and quietly across the edge of the pathway and then over the blacktop towards the lock-up door. Smith drew his handgun and I instinctively followed suit. He also took out his flashlight as we approached the open doorway.

  I heard a kind of scuffling sound from the lock-up, as though Ralph was moving cardboard boxes around. Smith and I crept closer and rounded the angle so we could see inside the interior. We saw Ralph in the middle of the floor space with his back to us, shuffling around with something in front of him. The light shone down from his forehead so I guessed he was wearing a head torch of some kind. Rows of shelving racks, stacked with tinned goods ran vertically in neat lines either side of Ralph. Smith and I raised our handguns and stopped side by side a couple of feet in front of the doorway.

  “What are you doing there, Ralph?” Smith rasped.

  Ralph audibly gasped and turned his head. The head torch shone at an angle to the left side wall. The light illuminated his face and his eyes were wide, his face was pale and his mouth hung open. His expression was a combination of shock, surprise and terror.

  Ralph briefly turned back to whatever it was he was doing. More trash bags rustled against cardboard boxes before he turned around to face us. The expression of shock was still etched on his face. He stood with his back to the cardboard boxes, spreading out his arms, as though he was trying to conceal whatever was behind him. His head torch was askew across the lenses of his glasses and the light shone across the concrete floor to his left.

  Smith clicked on his flashlight and shone the beam into Ralph’s face. “I asked you a question, pal. Are you just going to stand there catching flies or are you going to give me a straight answer?”

  “What are you doing back here?” Ralph croaked, blinking against Smith’s bright flashlight. “We…gave you food in a goodwill gesture. You shouldn’t be in here. This is private property. Please leave immediately.”

  “Or what? You’ll call the cops?” Smith sneered. “In case you hadn’t noticed, Ralph, I’m aiming a fucking loaded gun at your face and there ‘aint been no cops around for a very long time. So, I ask again – what the fuck are you doing back there?”

  Ralph seemed to physically wither. “Nothing, just clearing out some old trash.”

  Smith shuffled forward a few feet inside the lock-up, still aiming the handgun and shining the flashlight at Ralph’s face. I moved in closer beside Smith. Ralph shifted to his right in a quick, jerky movement, as if he was about to make a run for it.

  “Stay the fuck right there,” Smith growled, waving his handgun at Ralph.

  Ralph whimpered a
nd raised his hands in a surrendering gesture.

  “Keep this motherfucker covered, Wilde,” Smith said, without turning his head. “I’ll check out what the hell is in those boxes.”

  “No, you can’t,” Ralph blurted. “It’s private. You shouldn’t look in there.”

  “Shut the fuck up,” I snapped, surprised by the authority in my tone. I aimed my handgun at Ralph while Smith marched forward towards the cluster of cardboard boxes.

  Smith brushed Ralph aside and shone his flashlight over the open boxes. He muttered and lifted out what looked like some small sized, white and varied colored clothing. I was dying to ask what else was inside the cardboard boxes but decided not to ask, trying to keep up the pretence of being a cool tough guy like Smith.

  “What is this shit?” Smith huffed, tossing the garments aside. “It looks like kids clothing.”

  Ralph winced and made a whining sound from deep in his throat. “See, I told you. It was just old trash left over from inside the house.”

  Smith turned away from the boxes and shone the flashlight back in Ralph’s face. “Okay, pal, that’s just fine. But why is there blood on this clothing?”

  Ralph shrugged. “I guess it was left from whoever lived here before. How should I know?”

  Smith turned his head quizzically. “I thought Burland said he was the janitor in this place before the shit hit the fan? He must have lived in that damn house before the fucking dead got up and walked. How long have you been living here?”

  Ralph shrugged and shook his head. “A while…I don’t know exactly. It’s hard to say, I’ve kind of lost all sense of time.”

  I agreed with Ralph on that one but I wasn’t going to say so. I knew it wasn’t the best feeling to have a couple of guns stuck in your face but this fucker was up to something bad and the guilt was written all over his sweaty face. Smith knew it too.

  “Okay, Ralph, let’s go inside the house and ask Burland how long he’s been here, shall we?” Smith said.

  “Look, guys,” Ralph stammered. “Just take what you want from the store here and leave us alone. Please.”

  Smith flashed me a brief glance and laughed sarcastically. “We don’t want your food, pal. We’re not fucking hobos, man.” His smile dropped and his tone turned to that cold blooded, sadistic way of speaking when he was pissed off. “Frankly, I find your insinuations quite insulting, my friend.”

  Shit! I knew from that second Ralph was in serious trouble. Smith was going to get the truth out of him and I hoped I didn’t have to witness the gruesome methods Smith was going to use to extract those facts.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

  “Lead the way,” Smith barked, waving Ralph towards the roller door of the lock-up with his handgun.

  “Come on, guys,” Ralph yelped. “We don’t have to do this.”

  He moved out of the lock-up and I lowered my handgun slightly as my arm ached but still kept it ready in case Ralph tried to be a hero. Smith moved up from the rear and shoved Ralph forward.

  “Hey, man,” Ralph protested. He turned to Smith and stood up rigid.

  Not the smartest thing to do.

  Smith lowered his chin and butted Ralph in the center of his forehead. Ralph collapsed in a heap onto the blacktop, cussing and cupping his face.

  “Get the fuck up, man,” Smith growled. “That was only a light tap, you fucking pussy.”

  I was on the verge of feeling sorry for Ralph. Smith was a big, powerful guy and his light taps were like a punch from a heavyweight boxer. I reached down and grabbed Ralph by his elbow, hauling him to his feet. He resisted my grip but I clung on and made sure he was standing. He glared at me and muttered some obscenity under his breath. All sympathy evaporated. The guy was a complete asshole and deserved everything Smith was going to throw at him.

  Smith waved the way down the pathway between the two privet hedges. Again, Ralph hesitated and his body language told me he wanted to flee.

  “Get going,” Smith rasped. “And keep it real silent as we go.”

  As we walked down the path, Ralph glanced back at Smith, the halogen beam from the outside light reflected in the lenses of his glasses. I noticed the glare of hate burning in his eyes. He’d turned from passive to aggressive in a matter of minutes.

  Smith followed Ralph closely, jamming the muzzle of the handgun at the base of his spine as he opened the door to the conservatory. The dark outhouse smelled damp and musty. Ralph hesitated before he opened the back door to the house. Dim light shone across a beige tiled floor in a corridor beyond the doorway. The smell of cleaning fluid wafted from the interior and I found it difficult to figure out where we were in relation to the kitchen we’d stood in earlier.

  I suddenly had doubts about what we were doing when we moved into the house. What these guys were up to was really no concern of ours. Why were we invading their space and who really gave a fuck what they were doing anyhow? Surely, it couldn’t affect what we were trying to achieve. Smith and I were half drunk and he was in a bullying mood. I was going along with him as per usual. Maybe we shouldn’t have even been here in the first place.

  “You took your time, Ralph,” a voice called from somewhere inside the house. We recognized Burland as the speaker.

  The three of us stopped inside the hallway, Smith still aiming his handgun at Ralph. I’d lowered my own weapon by my side and didn’t think I’d need it. What the hell were these two windbags seriously capable of? Attacking us with feather dusters or spraying us with cleaning fluid seemed the only threat they posed.

  Ralph wiped sweat from his face with the palm of his hand and then rubbed his eyes behind the lenses of his glasses.

  “Ralph...Are you there?” Burland’s stifled tone was laced with trepidation.

  Smith waved his firearm at Ralph, in a gesture for him to answer his partner or whatever the hell he was.

  “I’m right here, Dave,” Ralph called out, although his voice sounded a little shaky and unconvincing. “I’m right here in the hallway.”

  We stood in silence and heard muffled footfalls banging against a staircase from somewhere inside the property. I expected Burland to emerge from behind one of the doors lining the corridor. Instead, a three feet high panel opened up from the wall on the left side. The panel swung outward away from the wall on interior hinges, like something out of a black and white mystery movie. Smith and I recoiled in surprise and instinctively raised our handguns at the figure looming from the darkness beyond the hidden doorway. Burland crouched as he came through the opening and opened his mouth to speak. His face turned ashen white and his eyes bulged wide when he caught sight of Smith and I. He wore a head torch similar to the one Ralph was wearing and he wore a pair of yellow rubber gloves and a white plastic apron over his clothes.

  “What are you doing here?” Burland stammered. He glanced at Ralph. “What are they doing here, why did you let them back in the house, Ralph?”

  “I didn’t have a choice,” Ralph snapped, glaring back at Burland. “Don’t you see they have guns, you moron?”

  “Hey, quit bitching like a couple of girls,” Smith barked. “Now, both of you shut it.”

  Burland and Ralph continued to stare confrontationally at each other but did as Smith told them. I had no clue what was going on but noticed another smell wafting up through the open panel. The smell wasn’t unpleasant but was similar to nail polish remover that my sister used to use when we were teenagers. I took a quick glance away from the silent pair and briefly studied the darkness beyond the wall panel. A slight, dim, green glow radiated from deep within the space beyond the doorway. I wondered what in the hell was down there.

  “It’s real cozy standing here all bunched up in this hallway,” Smith said. “So why don’t we all make ourselves a little more comfortable and take a look what’s on the other side of that secret wall panel right there?” He nodded at the open doorway behind Burland.

  “You can’t go down there,” Burland bleated, shaking his head.

  “You
going to stop me, motherfucker?” Smith roared, jabbing the barrel of his handgun a few inches from Burland’s face.

  Burland whimpered and raised his hands up either side of his head. Ralph hopped around on the balls of his feet looking like he was going to literally shit his pants. What the hell were these guys so worried about? Did they have some kind of S & M bondage boutique going on down in that secret compartment?

  “Lead the way, asshole,” Smith ordered, spinning Burland around to face the door panel with one shove of his free hand. “Wilde Man, you take up the six,” he said to me over his shoulder.

  I knew he meant for me to follow the last in line behind Ralph so I waved the guy forward with my handgun. Ralph complied and trudged onward following a few paces behind Smith.

  Burland ducked down and shimmied through the low doorway into the darkness. Smith had more difficulty, trying to squeeze his big frame through the small opening. I waited a beat before I ushered Ralph through the panel so we weren’t all jammed close together going down the stairway or whatever was on the other side of the secret entrance.

  I waved my Russian handgun at Ralph, indicating for him to enter through the doorway. I took a deep breath and followed him, having no clue what to expect on the other side.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

  I managed to scrape the top of my shaved scalp on the door frame as I ducked down while following Ralph through the low opening. I resisted the urge to cuss or cry out in pain. After all, I was supposed to be a mean, motherfucking gun totting, tough guy these days.

  I finally hustled through the doorway and stood behind Ralph on a small plinth with wooden barriers surrounding the sides. The dim green light shone beneath us somewhere and I heard Smith talking to Burland slightly below us. Ralph turned his head to check I was still behind him then tentatively took a few steps down a narrow staircase encased by boarding on both sides. I followed behind, keeping a little distance but also not letting Ralph get too far ahead. The smell of cleaning fluid and nail polish remover became stronger and the air felt colder as we descended into the gloom. The hum of an internal generator pulsed from somewhere down below.