LEFT ALIVE (Zombie series Box Set): Books 1-6 of the Post-apocalyptic zombie action and adventure series

by Laszlo,Jeremy

  I look over at Greg who is casting glances from the road to me, a look of worry written across his features. He has nothing to be worried about. Marko’s death weighs heavily on me, but I’m not going to do anything about it. I’m not Olivia. I can’t dwell on it, not if I want to move forward. Not if I want to keep my sanity. As I look out the window again, I can’t stand the feeling of his hand on my shoulder. I shrug his hand off and stare at the never-ending wastes. My father walked these lands. He did it alone. How did he ever make it? I would have abandoned the quest ages ago. No, if I was in his shoes, I don’t think that’s right. I wouldn’t give up. I couldn’t. If I was going to find Lexi and my father, I would stop at nothing, just like he did.

  We follow the A1A back toward the beach house, putting the darkness behind us and looking at the empty, burned, and desolate houses with a different lens now. There might be more of those horrid things locked inside, waiting for someone to eat. What happened to them? I can’t help but wonder about them, no matter how morbid and strange it is. I keep picturing them and trying to make sense of what they’ve become. They were disgusting, fetid creatures, lurking in the last building, waiting for us to stumble across them. So why didn’t they just come out when we arrived? Why didn’t they storm us the moment the car stopped? I think about the pry bar that Marko had. Maybe someone had locked them inside the last building. I don’t know. It’s too strange. It’s too beyond my normal thoughts.

  I had assumed, since the moment I saw my father, that he made this journey by himself. I picture him walking the long road from Michigan all the way to Florida, somewhere along the way he found the truck, and he went on terrible adventures before getting to the coast. I picture him alone on the entire journey, but with those things out there, I can’t help but wonder how he did it alone. He couldn’t possibly do it all by himself. He had to get to Florida, but I think that’s physically impossible when I think about it. He had to have help somewhere along the way. I wonder who they were. I wonder how he and his comrades stole a military issue truck and escaped with it and what happened on the way out of there. I wonder how many friends he had on the road with him, fighting off whoever turned the side of the truck into Swiss cheese. How many of them did he see die? How many of them died in his arms as he made the journey to find his own family? Maybe they abandoned him at Dayton. Maybe he made the entire journey by himself, but I can’t help but wonder how many my father saw die. How many friends had he lost? Olivia was never really a friend, and those that left the beach house could still be alive, I suppose. My count stands at one, right now. Marko is number one. I look around the car and wonder how many more will follow.

  Then there is the other side of the coin. How many people did my father kill to get to us? Five years ago, if someone came up to me and asked me if my father was capable of murder, I would have laughed and told them that my father was a born pacifist and he wouldn’t hurt a fly. My father was all about talking through troubles, never to raise his hand, and never to fight; but that had to have changed. My father had to kill to get to Florida. Clearly people were trying to kill him. I can’t help but think about all the wounds on his body, like Marko had said, written on him. My father had seen enormous amounts of violence. He’d been shot, he’d lost an arm, and he’d battled his way across the wastelands of this country to find his daughters. How many bodies did he leave in his wake? How many of those things had he been forced to kill along the way? And which one finally took his arm?

  I think that’s the most haunting part about my father’s silent past. The fact that he lost his arm and survived the encounter, keeping it clean, keeping infection at bay, and not bleeding to death; all of it is a testament to my father’s endurance. But to his psychological state, the injury and what he did afterwards screams to me. My father didn’t just clean the wound, dress it, and maintain it, he built a war harness with a blade to strap onto it. He actually stuck a knife on his stump to keep on fighting. He had been so completely submerged into the violence of the world that it scares me to think of the nightmares that he faced on the way here. It damaged him. It scarred him. But in the end, my father kept going. He made it to the beach house and Henry ended his journey.

  Thinking back to Marko, I wonder if I have that same sort of endurance. It’s not just a physical and an emotional sojourn that I’m about to embark on, it’s psychological. I can’t help but think of the abandoned dogs that we’d have brought into the clinic, feral and terrified. That fear, that thirst for survival drove them to extraordinary lengths to do things that were absolutely mortifying. Do I have that kind of strength now that I’ve actually seen the flesh and skin flayed from Marko’s face? Do I have the power to do what’s necessary? Marko had been such a good man who deserved so much better than this, but there were lots of good people in the world that fate didn’t give a crap about. They all died. Death is coming for the few stragglers that are left and I have to stay out of his grasp. I have to make it to Dayton, but do I have the kind of strength that my father had?

  Would I be willing to take a bullet, break my ribs, lose my arm and still have the fortitude to keep going? I want to say that I do, but the reality is that I have no way of knowing. Truthfully, I have to be able to experience what my father faced, the adversity waiting for him, and then I will know the truth. Endurance and sacrifice demand loss and action. They demand suffering and I’m not sure if I’m willing to pay that price just yet. But I know one thing is certain. I’m going to find out and if I’m not strong enough, I’ll join both Marko and my father.

  When we spot the beach house there’s a silent discomfort that wraps its arms around the Sidekick and holds us all in its paralytic sway. We have to tell the others what happened. We have to tell them what’s out there waiting for them. We especially have to tell Devon, Skye, and poor Katrina. They need to know what they’re facing, lurking in the world. The worst part is that we couldn’t kill them all. They’ve fed, but I’d bet anything that they’ll be looking to eat again, and soon. I feel sick at the thought of that. I feel like we’ve just unleashed a plague upon the world like a couple of fools reading some arcane book.

  As we pull up, Henry and Devon are waiting for us. I take a deep breath and step out of the car. They’ve already noticed that Marko isn’t with us. I can see it written on their confused faces and I know that I’m the one who needs to address the situation. I don’t trust Greg or Noah to have the finesse needed to convey what happened and Lexi will probably tell them all to rub some dirt in it and shake it off. No, Marko deserves better than that. Katrina deserves better than that.

  “Where’s Marko, y’all?” Devon asks with a horrified expression on his face. He knows the answer long before I have to say anything.

  “He didn’t make it,” I tell him with a strong tone, one that won’t break and quiver like I want to. I want to sink to my knees and scream, but I can’t. I have to stay strong for Marko. I have to stay strong because it’s what my father would have done. “We got to the base and it was deserted, so we grabbed the radiator. Greg and I took it back to the Sidekick while Lexi, Noah, and Marko went to investigate the last building, hoping to find supplies. But when they opened the doors, these things came pouring out of it.”

  “Things?” Devon interrupts, his cheeks flushing with anger and fury at the story that I’m telling him. “What the fuck do you mean, things? And why the hell didn’t you guys just leave? You got the damn radiator, so why not fucking bounce?”

  “Because we need everything we can get,” Lexi jabs, and I hold up my hand to silence her. This isn’t the place for her to get angry. She needs to keep her shit together. We all need to keep it together and anger isn’t going to help anything.

  “They wanted to check out the rest of the base,” I tell Devon. By now Katrina and Skye have joined us, Katrina’s eyes are already welling up with glossy tears, shimmering in the waning light of the afternoon. Her face is quivering, breaking into a mask of sorrow and loss. “But someone had corralled all
of these things inside of the building. When we tried to escape, Marko was covering for Noah and Lexi. He almost made it, but those things wouldn’t give up. They grabbed him and threw him against the fence and killed him.”

  “Things? What fucking things? You keep saying that, but I don’t know what it means,” Devon shouts at me, his fury roiling out with every word. He runs his hands through his hair and I can see tears welling up in his eyes too as Katrina starts sobbing.

  “Things, man,” Greg says quietly. “They were like fucking people, but they were mindless. They were eating each other.”

  “Are you shitting me right now?” Devon snaps at Greg before laughing. “Are you fucking telling me that Marko was fucking eaten by these things? Why the fuck didn’t you shoot them? You took all those guns, so why not use them? What were you all doing?”

  “We did, bro,” Greg answers before I can. “We used everything we had, but there were dozens of them. We didn’t have enough. Trust me, if there was any way to save Marko, we would have saved him, Devon. We didn’t just strand him there. We did all we could.”

  “Fuck that,” Devon says with a distant, cold voice. A tear runs down the side of his face, disappearing under his jawline. “Fuck this. Fuck all of you. I’m done with this shit.”

  I watch as Devon stalks over to Katrina, wrapping his arms around her and holding her close as she cries. Skye sits silently on the steps, looking at all of us with wide, terrified eyes. I don’t blame her for being horrified. It’s terrible. The only one who isn’t crying is Henry who just has his head bowed, looking at the dirt, contemplating whatever goes through his professor mind.

  “Greg, Noah, you guys remember how to hook up the radiator?” I ask them.

  “Yeah,” Greg answers for the both of them.

  “Do it,” I tell them sternly. “I want to be out of here by first light. Lexi, I want everything we can get out of the truck that we won’t need. Devon and the others can have it, but we’re taking everything we need.”

  “Hell no, you’re not taking all of it,” Devon shouts at me.

  My hand instinctively drops to my hip and I look at Devon with a cold, unforgiving glare. He can be a little piss-ant as much as he wants, but this is my life. This is the possible future of the entire planet at stake and I’m not going to get to Georgia and be starving. I refuse to end that way. So if he wants to stop me, then he better be ready to draw his pistol. My father undoubtedly stole this truck, which meant that he was more than willing to do whatever was necessary to acquire what was needed. I’m willing to follow in his footsteps. I’m willing to do what needs to be done.

  Devon sees my hand on my Sig and stares at me in disbelief. “There’s a whole lot of messed up things out there, Devon,” I tell him coldly. “The entire world is gone. Tony and everyone else realized that and now I get it. If you stay here, you’re going to starve, Devon. You’re not going to live any longer than we are. The five of us, we’re going to take a risk to find something better on the horizon. We’re the ones who are taking the smarter path. The way I see it, everything we leave with you is wasted. Eventually you’re going to eat it all and still be in the same spot. As for us, we’re going toward progress. So right now, I’m willing to give you whatever we won’t need. I’m willing to share with you, but if you make one more goddamn complaint that we’re not giving you enough, I’m going to shoot you. I’m going to shoot you in the foot and I’m going to lock you in the storeroom and make sure that Henry watches the door until we’re ready to leave. So far, by my count, Henry’s the best at killing the living, so I’m sure he’ll put a bullet through you if you try to escape. I’m sick of hearing your incessant whining. I’m sick of being here. So if you’ve got anything left to say, go ahead and tell it to your pillow tonight while you’re trying to go to sleep, because I’m thoroughly sick of hearing you talk. Do I make myself perfectly clear?”

  Devon looks at me with a horrified expression that more than adequately conveys to me that he’s very clear on what I’ve said. I’m sick of all of it. If one of us needs to step up and be a leader, then that person is going to be me. Greg is a follower through and through. Noah doesn’t care about anyone but himself and Lexi. Henry is a sniveling fool now. Lexi is too emotional. I’m the only option. If we’re going to make it to Dayton, then I’m going to be the one who gets everyone there in one piece.

  “Get the radiator in the truck,” I tell Greg and Noah.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Last night, we drank the last of the alcohol in silent memory of Marko. It wasn’t that Marko liked alcohol, it was just the only way that we could all cope with the loss of our dear friend. Katrina never stopped crying and she stared off into oblivion while the rest of us somberly lurked in the living room, thinking that we’d witnessed two deaths in the last two days. Marko hits a lot closer to home for everyone else, but Lexi and I are the two who have lost the most. Katrina and Marko were a new item, but she still loved him. Marko was a close friend and our father was, well, our father. Then again, no one actually compares who has lost more. There’s no room for such sick morbidity.

  As I open my eyes, I feel like someone has taken a baseball bat to me and worked me over harder than I’ve ever wanted to be beaten. My eyes refuse to open at first and I think that I might just keep them closed and sleep for a few more hours. I already know that we’ve missed the first light deadline so I’m willing to compromise a little more time.

  No, I tell myself. I’m the leader now. I’m taking the role that Tony adopted long ago and we know just how well that worked out for him. I feel like I’m manning the helm of a doomed voyage just like his. But unlike Tony, we weren’t going for selfish ambitions. We’re going to find out what it was about Dayton and this man Jason that my father thought was so important. I get up and gather together the same clothes that I wore yesterday—the clothes that I’d been in when I witnessed those things killing my friend. It feels gross, but the world is gross. The world is a terrible, abandoned place now and I have to get used to doing what is necessary. I wash myself in the bowl left on the small table by the bed.

  Once more, I’m alone in my bedroom at first light. I don’t know where it is that Greg keeps running off to, but he’s doing it silently. He’s not waking me up and that bothers me. I am an incredibly light sleeper. As I wash my face and arms and pits, I look at the bed and wonder just how long he’s been gone. The water is cold and as I get dressed, I remember the hole in the wall. Looking at it, I see that Greg put a picture of the two of us in front of it. I smile. He’s a good guy. No, he’s a great guy. I’m giving him too hard of a time lately. I’ve got to lighten up.

  I stretch, my body craving the yoga that I’ve denied it the past few days. Maybe another time, but right now, I want to see who else is awake and moving in the house. I think about the shower schedule and realize that it is Henry and Greg’s day. Maybe that’s where he ran off to so early. I am turning into a bitch. He was about to call me one yesterday and I was too ignorant to see what he meant by it. I don’t want him to hate me, but I can’t help but feel like something’s off with him. It’s been off for a while now. I need him to just understand that right now, I need to be strong. That doesn’t make me a bitch.

  Leaving the room, I can hear the voices downstairs. I stop outside my door and listen to them talking. They’re not happy voices per se, but they’re not sad or depressed voices either. In fact, they’re voices that seem hopefully optimistic about everything they’re discussing. I slowly make my way down the steps and before I get to the bottom, everyone is looking over at me.

  “Didn’t want to wake you,” Greg says after a moment of me standing in front of the scene that almost stops my heart.

  I feel like they’re eating everything. There are cans open and plates are covered in food. There’s so much food here that I’m hit with flashbacks of things that I hardly remembered until this very moment. I think of Christmas and Thanksgiving, times when there was so much food that it was practica
lly a feast. I look at everyone with their spoons and their bowls and their plates and I feel like I’m going to explode. I look at them like they’ve betrayed everything that we stand for, because they have. I want to scream, fling their plates against the wall.

  “What the hell is going on here?” I demand.

  “Relax, babe,” Greg says diplomatically and I already hate the sound of it. I look at him and he can feel the fire wafting off of me. I don’t want to start a fight, but it looks like I just walked into the middle of one. “We divided the supplies and it turns out that your dad had a ton of stuff in the back of the truck. It’s more than we’ll be able to take with us and some of it is dehydrated food that we’re not going to be able to prep on the road. So we decided to have one final meal together and we’re all going to be civil and happy for each other the best we can.” He holds out a plate for me and I look at it reluctantly. “Why don’t you come join us?”

  I see Devon sitting at the table avoiding eye contact with me. This is more than he deserves. I hope he realizes one day what an idiot he’s being by sticking around here and I hope on that day that he still has the energy and supplies to hit the road and look for something better than the beach house. I’ve more than doubled his supplies thanks to my father’s truck, but that’s more than he deserves. In fact, they don’t deserve any of it. If anything, they all deserve to be starved out of their complacency. Looking over at Katrina, I see that she’s still red-eyed, but she’s not crying which is a good sign, I suppose.

  I reach out and I take the plate from him. Noah is sitting next to him and gets up to find a new seat, offering his old place to me. I sit down with Greg and look at the feast before us. There’s biscuits, muffins, pancakes, eggs, canned ham, cranberry sauce, stuffing mixes, crackers, and a dozen other things. There’s nothing really uniform or definitive about the meal, it’s just a lot of chaos thrown on a table for us to enjoy. When I sit down and offer all of them a tentative smile, they all go back to talking. I listen as Lexi regales them with a story of one of her teenage years’ misadventures. I look at her while she’s telling the story, remembering how less hilarious it was when we were living it. My father knew so little about what we got away with. Sometimes I wonder if he’d still claim us if he knew what we did. I’m sure he would, but we would have gotten lectures.