The Left Series (Book 1): Leftovers (37 page)

“How much further?” Batfish gasped, out of breath.

Smith swung his flash light up ahead. “I think I can see daylight in the distance. One last push and we can make it.” Smith knew Batfish was struggling. Their heavy back packs wore them down every time they jumped across the cars.

Smith wondered if they’d have enough energy to outrun the zombies when they came to the end of the tunnel. He caught sight of a vehicle on its side up ahead in the flashlight beam. He swung the light back onto the vehicle. The pickup truck lay on its right side across both lanes causing the jam.

“Let’s get near that upended truck,” Smith said.

The three of them bounced towards the pickup still closely followed by the herd of zombies. Smith shone his flashlight over the truck. The left window and windshield were cracked and smeared with blood.

“Looks like the truck flipped and caused a wedge,” Eazy said.

“All these zombies in the tunnel must have turned while trying to get out,” Smith surmised.

“Why didn’t they just get out the other side?” Batfish muttered, staring at the undead below them.

“They were probably scared and didn’t know where to go,” Eazy said.

Smith shone the light beyond the truck. “Looks clear up ahead. We should be able to find a vehicle once we get past this truck.”

They carefully clambered over the side of the pickup truck. Smith looked down into the cab and saw the remains of the mangled body inside. The flesh had been torn away from the man’s head and arms.

“Jesus, what a fucking mess,” he murmured.

The truck acted as a barrier between the clear road ahead and the traffic jam and the zombies behind. Batfish, Eazy and Smith hopped down onto the asphalt beyond the truck.

“Thank Christ we’re clear of those ugly fucks,” Batfish sighed.

Dead hands banged the roof of the flipped truck.

“They’re not going to give up easily,” Eazy said. “We better make tracks and quickly. I don’t think it’ll be long before they shove that truck out the way.”

Smith looked back and saw the truck rocking back and forth. “Let’s get going.”

The three of them jogged along the road towards the faint light at the end of the tunnel. Smith stopped when they passed by a white police car.

“Hey, the keys are still in here,” he called to the other two. “Let’s see if the bastard fires up.”

Smith took off his bag from his shoulder and jumped in the driver’s seat. He turned the ignition key and the engine roared to life, echoing around the tunnel.

“Yes,” Smith yelled. “A big thank you to NYPD.”

He tossed his bag onto the back seat. Batfish got into the passenger seat and Eazy climbed in the back.

“I never thought I’d be glad to get in the back of a police car,” Eazy said with a smirk on his face.

Smith clunked the police cruiser into gear and pulled away towards the faint light. He kept the speed at a steady 40 mph, steering around a few abandoned vehicles and discarded baggage strewn on the ground. A few zombies stumbled around the tunnel here and there. Smith swerved around the sparse numbers of undead as they reached to grab at the cruiser.

They all exhaled in relief when the daylight became brighter near the end of the tunnel. Smith slowed the cruiser when they drove out onto the street. The three of them squinted in the late afternoon sunlight.

“I’m glad we’re out of there,” Batfish sighed. “Where the hell are we now?”

“We’re out on Canal Street,” Smith said.

Batfish lit two cigarettes and passed one to Smith then tossed Eazy the pack.

“If I remember right, we take a right then left onto the 9A,” Eazy said. “That road will take us right down to Battery Park Pier, provided it’s clear.”

Smith nodded. “That’s right but we’re not taking that route yet.”

“What? Where are we going, Smith?” Eazy turned in his seat, looking out the side windows at the tall buildings flashing by.

“I have to deliver that bag of cash to my boss.”

“Are you nuts, Smith?” Eazy yelled, leaning forward in his seat. “Where have you got to deliver the bag?”

“A place on Bowery, not too far from here.”

“What makes you think he’s still there? And what if he’s a fucking zombie like everybody else?”

“At least I can say I tried to finish the job,” Smith said flatly.

“I can’t believe you, man,” Eazy rammed himself back in his seat and opened the window to flick out his cigarette butt. “You’re fucking with us, Smith and I don’t like it.”

Smith drove the cruiser around the circular grounds and sparse trees of St. John’s Park. Eazy sucked his tooth when they passed the signs to the 9A route. Smith looped back onto Canal Street heading east. Abandoned traffic was heavy in places and Smith drove on the sidewalk to avoid stopping the vehicle in the jams.

Masses of undead roamed the streets but weren’t in enough dense volumes to cause Smith a problem. He used evasive driving skills he learned in the military to maneuver around clusters of walking corpses littering the street.

“You’re taking a big risk here, Smith,” Eazy said, leaning forward between the two front seats. “Sooner rather than later we’re going to run into a whole big crowd of those things.”

“Just hang on to your hat, tough guy,” Smith growled, narrowly avoiding an immobile bus in the middle of the street.

Eazy felt enraged but didn’t carry on the argument. Smith’s loyalty to his boss was admirable but what did money now mean amongst all this carnage? Surely his boss would have other things on his mind, like survival, assuming he was still breathing.

Smith swung left onto Bowery a few moments later without slowing the police cruiser. The street was straight and long, lined either side by boarded jewelry stores and Chinese restaurants. Hundreds of the undead staggered between stopped vehicles and on the sidewalk. Some thumped relentlessly on the metal store fronts shutters in a futile attempt to get inside.

“Ah, crap. There are more of them down here,” Eazy bawled. “I hope you know what you’re doing, Smith.” He was becoming uneasy with the gathering numbers of undead roaming the street and had visions of becoming trapped with nowhere to run.

Zombies roamed the street as far as the eye could see. Batfish had retrieved Spot the dog from her rucksack and cuddled him tightly. Eazy gripped the sides of the two front seats. The two of them wondered if Smith was leading them to certain death, surrounded on all sides by an overwhelming enemy.

Smith slowed and took a sharp right turn into a narrow alley between a lighting store and a Chinese laundry. The sunlight instantly faded, shaded by the tall buildings. The alley was clear of zombies but a high brick wall stood at the end. The alley led to a dead end.

“What are we doing, Smith?” Eazy screeched. “We’re trapped in this motherfucking alley.” He looked around, looking for a side door into the buildings that might provide an escape route. A sturdy metal door stood in the wall of the Chinese laundry to their left.

Smith turned off the engine and got out of the car. He opened the back door and retrieved his hold all containing the cash.

“Are you coming?” he muttered to Eazy and Batfish.

They jumped out of the car and looked back up the alley towards Bowery’s main street. Zombies shuffled around the alley entrance and started to move toward them. Batfish and Eazy followed Smith to the metal door that looked as though it used to be in a jail to keep inmates in a solitary confined cell.

Smith pressed a buzzer beside the door frame. They waited a few moments with no response from the building beyond. Smith thumped the door with his fist.

“Hey, Larry, Mario? Anyone in there?”

The zombies gathered in number and shambled closer down the alley.

“They’re getting real close, Smith,” Eazy whined. “We need to get out of here.”

Smith looked at the closing zombies then gave the door another pounding. “Hey, anyone in there? It’s me, Franco.”

He waited a beat then turned his head to see how close the zombies were. They were around fifteen yards away and driving the police cruiser through the vast number of bodies would be difficult. The chorus of moans grew louder and echoed around the alley. Smith sighed and admitted defeat.

“Okay, let’s go,” he said.

Smith was about to move to the car when he felt a metallic object pressing into his temple. He’d been around hand guns long enough to know one was now being pressed into the side of his head.

“Make any sudden movements and you’re dead, motherfucker,” a voice growled in Smith’s ear.

Smith glanced at Eazy and Batfish who stared back with wide-eyed, tense expressions. He glanced back up the alley and saw hundreds of the undead, massing and jostling down the alley only a few feet away.

Chapter Fifty-Nine

Numerous amounts of undead closed in on us from the front and rear. The stench of dirt and rot radiated from them in revolting, disgusting waves. Some were dressed in the remains of expensive city suits, torn and stained with crusty dry blood. Others wore remnants of summer clothes, short pants and t-shirts, barely hanging from their mangled bodies. I briefly thought about leaping the fence and jumping into the river, but remembered the Hudson was swamped with the undead, floating and sinking beneath the water.
Zombie soup.

Rosenberg and I wielded our paddles like baseball bats. The only pathetic defense we had against hordes of flesh eaters who didn’t feel pain and couldn’t be reasoned with. I glanced at the building to our left. Somehow we had to get in there.

A glass paneled side door stood a few yards away along the building wall. I raised the paddle above my head and ran at the glass door. I brought the paddle down in a swinging arc aimed at the glass and didn’t stop running. The glass cracked from the blow by the paddle and shattered into small pieces as I hit it at full pelt a fraction of a second later. My momentum carried me through the glass and into the room beyond. I fell over the door frame and skidded through broken glass on the ground, slicing my hands and face. The paddle scuttled across the tiled floor out of my grasp. I felt blood running from a cut somewhere on my face. I didn’t have time to dwell on the stinging pain. I thrashed around in the glass chips, trying to get to my feet.

Rosenberg and Julia followed me through the shattered door. I jumped up, ignoring the pain and looked around for another way out. We stood in an abandoned hair salon with sinks, dryers and fake plants dotted around the orange colored walls.

“Jesus, Brett. Are you okay?” Rosenberg stammered, holding me steady.

Julia attempted to wipe the blood from my face. “You’re cut all over,” she whispered.

“We don’t have time for any first aid,” I stammered. “We have to find a way out of here.”

The army of zombies gathered around the shattered glass door and two shoved their way through the gap.

“There’s a doorway there,” Rosenberg pointed towards the back of the narrow salon.

We ran for the door, broken glass crunched under our feet. I didn’t have time to retrieve the paddle lying on the ground. Rosenberg got to the door first and pushed it open. A zigzagging staircase leading to the upper floors stood beyond the door. I looked back and saw the zombies pouring through the battered entrance door.

I followed Julia and Rosenberg up the staircase, wiping the blood from my face once more.

“They can smell my blood,” I said, looking over the side of the staircase rail. “They’re going to follow us all the way.”

I didn’t have time to think where we were going or how we were going to get away. We kept climbing the stairs and tried the doors leading to other rooms on each level. All the doors were locked leading off the staircase. We didn’t have time to try and batter our way in, the moans of the pursuing undead echoed up the staircase. I silently prayed we weren’t running into a dead end.

The staircase ended at a final door which doubled as a fire escape and luckily opened by pushing an escape bar across the middle. Rosenberg bundled the door open and Julia and I followed him out onto the building rooftop. Bright sunlight briefly blinded me as I stumbled into the breeze. My vision returned with the sight of Rosenberg, open mouthed turning back and forth, looking in all directions.

“Shit, were trapped up here,” he screeched. “There’s nowhere else to go.”

My mind raced. What could we do? I shut the fire door behind us to gain a few seconds of time. The zombies would follow us up the stairs and although they weren’t capable of thought, it wouldn’t take long before one of them inadvertently leaned on the escape bar. By my unreliable calculation, we had around two minutes to find an escape route before the undead were on us like a swarm of angry wasps.

“What do we do, Brett, what do we do?” Rosenberg garbled, pulling at the sides of his hair.

Julia held her hands over her mouth and nose, her hair blowing in the breeze. I reached for my pack of cigarettes and lit one. The smoke felt good and made me a little giddy as I inhaled.

“Can I have one of those?” Julia asked. “Like a last cigarette for the condemned.”

I put one in her mouth and lit it.

“I gave up three years ago but what the hell.” She forced a smile but I saw tears in the corners of her eyes.

I looked around the roof for something to wedge the door with. Nothing sprung out and said
“Hey, I can help you.”
Just an empty, gray rectangular concrete roof. I moved to the edge of the roof and looked down and saw a mass of zombies at least a few hundred feet below. If the fall didn’t kill us then the zombies would. The fire escape walkway on the side of the building only led to the entrance door where we’d broken in. I puffed on my cigarette and felt that two minute safety net rapidly ticking away like a doomsday clock inside my head.

“Come on, Brett. We got to do something,” Rosenberg yelled, hurling his paddle onto the floor. “We came all this way just to die like this?” Tears welled in his eyes.

I wondered what Smith would do in our situation. Christ, the guy had turned out to be my fucking hero! He’d probably just have pulled a pump action shotgun out of nowhere and blown all the zombie’s fucking heads off. Man, he was like a movie star or something, getting us out of scrapes we really shouldn’t have gotten out of. I smiled at how stupid I was letting myself get separated from him. Smith was probably smoking a cigar and drinking bourbon by some rooftop pool right now, enjoying the attention of a few bikini clad ladies and not giving a flying fuck about how the world had turned to shit. High rise living would become a normal way of life for the remaining few uninfected. The leftovers.