LEFT ALIVE (Zombie series Box Set): Books 1-6 of the Post-apocalyptic zombie action and adventure series (64 page)

With the needle in hand, I give Marko a warning look, silent, not wanting him to panic or be put in the spotlight too much with what I’m about to do. I bend over his hand, making sure that the lighting is good enough, and I start cleaning the wound with an alcohol pad before I pierce his skin. He breathes in one quick gasp at the burn of the alcohol, but doesn’t budge and I’m impressed. I have to clean more than just the skin around the gash though. There’s an art to suturing a wound and I’ve had plenty of practice. I’ve sewn up cats that get into fights with strange toms and I’ve done the same for dogs. I’ve helped sew up a horse that tried jumping a fence and ended up impaling its leg. I know my way around a wound. But the painful part is the cleaning it. Marko grimaces and snarls against his clenched teeth as I pour the small bottle of rubbing alcohol over the open wound and wipe it with a swath of sterile gauze. When the wound is clean, I look at the gash. He’s going to have a scar, but it isn’t anything serious. He’s lucky to have not severed a tendon. After I stitch him up, we’ll wrap it, and in a few weeks, he’ll be fine. I’ll take out the stitches when we get to Jason’s place in Dayton. I’m sure they’ll probably have a medical staff there already.

When I pierce the skin, Marko flinches, but keeps his hand as still as he can manage. I don’t know what it is about men, but they always try to be so tough. I admire them for that. If Lexi got her hand slashed open with a gash that needed suturing, she’d be panicking and freaking out, so would Noah. But with Marko, he’s as calm as he can be. With each poke of the needle, he barely flinches, less and less with each poke. The most uncomfortable part with any suture work without painkillers is the thread sliding through the skin. It’s an unnatural and sort of haunting feeling.

“Keep talking to them,” I tell him to try and distract him as he looks at his hand with a pale, horrified look in his eyes. “Tell them what they need to do, Marko. Just keep talking to Greg.”

“Yeah, Marko,” Greg encourages him, trying to help me out in the best way that he can right now. “How do you want us to transport this thing?”

“You can carry it,” Marko says with a grunt, trying to bite back against the pain and nausea that’s plaguing him right now. “It’ll be fine if we just carry it.”

I keep working, stitch after stitch until the suture is done. When I finish it up, I’m impressed with my work. I grab the roll of gauze from the first aid kit and I wrap his hand, watching it slowly taint with the blood seeping into the cloth. He’s going to need to have that changed often for the first few days. I’m glad he’s coming with us. At least I know he’ll be taken care of. He’s a good guy, and I’m glad to have him on our side.

“There you go.” I give him an encouraging smile and a wink. “All better, big boy.”

“Do I get my sucker now?” Marko smiles.

We both laugh at the stupid joke, but I wish I had a sucker anyway.

We sit on the back of a truck for a few minutes, letting Marko recover from the blood loss. I toss his shirt into the corner and check his pulse, making sure that he’s not going to pass out on us on the way home. Noah pops jokes at him that he’s pale enough to be a white person now and that he’s lost all of his Mexican street cred. Marko smiles at that and I listen as Lexi and Greg rummage through the workshop, looking for anything that might be of value. Noah gives us a nervous look and creeps off to chase after Lexi.

“How many siblings do you have, Marko?” I ask him, like we’re back in the day, hanging out at a party. It doesn’t matter that I already know. It just gives him something to focus on. I like Marko. He’s one of the few people in this entire situation who seems to have a decent, logical head on his shoulders.

“Not sure anymore,” he answers with a sort of melancholic tone to his voice that I’ve become very familiar with. Everyone talks in that tone these days. No one knows anything. No one has a clue what happened to their homes. I have to say that I now pride myself in knowing what exactly happened to my family. I have that confidence that gives me clarity on a lot of situations. “I used to have four sisters and three little brothers,” he says after a moment of reflection. “I was the oldest—the first one to go off to college. We all lived in the same house with my Uncle Pablo and my grandparents. It was a loud house, but there was a lot of love there. Sometimes I get worried that they didn’t make it—or that they got shipped off to one of the refugee camps, but I know my papa and Pablo wouldn’t let that happen. Abuelo wouldn’t have let that happen either. They’re fighting men. They would die before they’d let someone take them away from their home. I’m sure they’re still out there.”

I think about that for a moment. I don’t think I’ve ever talked to Marko about his family, like this. In the months that we’ve all been living under the same roof, the past was sort of a taboo that we weren’t allowed to talk about. Everyone kind of just kept their morose fears and sadness hidden. I never talked about my father with anyone other than Greg, who would only talk about his family with me. I remember that it was Tony who told everyone to get over it, that the past was the past and that we needed to move on. We needed to live in the present. That’s what he told everyone. We all sort of agreed. We were tired of seeing red eyes and hearing the sad whimpering in the middle of the night. I’m not sure why we all locked away the past, but we had to. It was necessary to survive. No one wanted to end up like Olivia.

“You ever think about going to find them?” I ask him.

“No,” he shakes his head. “They’re all the way in Texas. There’s no way I’d be able to get to them.”

“You could get a boat on the other side of the state,” I shrug to him.

“And do what? I don’t know how to drive a boat,” Marko laughs. “Besides, if we get to Dayton alive, I might think about going to look for them, but I don’t know.” He drifts off and I look at him, lost in thought and wonder what he’s not telling me. I want him to say whatever he’s thinking, but I feel like if I just remain silent long enough, he’ll continue. So I sit there next to him, looking out at blue skies and a dead parking lot. My patience pays off. “Your papa came all the way from Michigan, right?” I nod to him. “Look what happened to him. Look at all the stuff he went through. I mean, we have no clue what he experienced, but the evidence is proof enough of what’s out there. He’d seen some stuff, you know? I can’t help but think that if I go to Texas, I’m going to get into the same kind of situation. I’m going to find some terrible things there too. And truthfully, your papa got lucky. He actually found what he was looking for. I’m not so sure I’d be that lucky.”

I look at him and think the exact same thing. My father got extremely lucky and I don’t know how many other people would be lucky enough to find the same outcome. How many people didn’t make it out there? How many cities are completely burned, shot, or blown off the map now? There seems to be a myriad of dark possibilities out there. I look at Marko and I can’t help but feel bad for him. He has such a large family. I hope that when we get to Dayton, he might have the chance to go looking for them. Texas is a long way off and he’d have to cross the initial Quarantine Zone to get there, but I think that it would be worth it. I think some closure would be worth everything. After all, my father dying did just that for me.

“Hey, I think we should go check out the last building,” Lexi says, startling me and Marko. “There might be weapons in there and the boys think that it’s worth having a look.”

“I doubt there’s anything,” I say to her.

“That’s what I told them,” Lexi said. “But they’re all antsy and stir crazy right now, so I say, why the hell not? If it gets them to shut up and play commando a little more, I think it’s a win.”

“Fine,” I say to her.

“I’m game,” Marko says, pushing himself off the tailgate of the truck. “I could use the walk.”

I don’t think it’s a good idea, but before I can say anything, Lexi swoops in. “Fine, but I’m going with you,” she says, shooting a glance at me. She knows that I’m worried about his blood loss and fatigue, but Lexi is willing to take over babysitting. “Greg, help your girlfriend carry the radiator and hoses out to the car,” Lexi shouts over her shoulder. “Noah, Marko, and I are going to go check out the last building.”

“Are you sure?” Greg says with a cheerful tone that’s trying to mask his disappointed reality. He wants to go play soldier and adventure with all the others, instead, he’s stuck with the group mom. I look at him and shake my head. “I mean, I’ll go with Val, so long as you guys think it’s safe to split up,” he adds.

“They’ll be fine, Captain America,” I say to him as I scoop up the hoses and Marko’s toolbox.

“We’ll be fine, man,” Noah says, a little pissed-off sounding. Clearly Marko’s taking away from the alone time that he wants with Lexi. I look at Greg as the others walk away, his shoulders slumped forward and his eyes following them longingly. He couldn’t look more like a disappointed little boy right now.

I start walking toward the fence, ignoring him as he calls after me. I don’t want to argue. He hasn’t paid a drop of attention to me all day today, which I’m normally fine with, but this isn’t a normal day. We’ve been out in the open world and there are things out here that can kill us. We are completely alone out here and all he can think about doing is pretending to be a macho, gun-toting commando. It’s the end of the world. I get it. He’s used guns and as a guy is inclined to pretend to be a professional at it. We’ve all used guns. We’ve all stood guard at the beach house. But I doubt anyone here, aside from Lexi and me, have ever used a gun under pressure. The way he is acting is childish and it’s annoying. He and Noah deserve each other right now.

“Babe, where are you going?” he calls after me as he races to catch up with me.

“Back to the car,” I answer, as if it isn’t obvious enough.

“Yeah, but why don’t you want to walk with me?” he breathes heavily.

“Because you don’t want to walk with me,” I answer.

“What?” He acts like he has no idea what I’m talking about.

“Greg, why don’t you just go play adventure with everyone else,” I tell him, too exhausted emotionally to argue with him right now. I love Greg, but he can be so oblivious sometimes. He runs in front of me and stops, blocking my path to the fence. “Get out of my way, Greg,” I say to him in a very certain tone.

“No, not until you tell me what’s bothering you,” he says defiantly. That’s a can of worms that he doesn’t want to open, but there’s no telling him that right now. I look at him without saying a word, staring at him and wondering where my sweet, caring boyfriend is behind those vacant, confused eyes.

“Don’t worry about it,” I say to him, slipping past him and making my way toward the fence.

“How exactly am I not supposed to worry about it?” Greg asks, following after me. “You’re acting strange, Val.”

“Am I?” I duck under the fence and turn around, looking at him through the mangled chain link. “Am I acting strange, Greg? My father was murdered yesterday, I’m dealing with two grown men acting like children playing war, and my boyfriend doesn’t really understand what the word appropriate means when dealing with this kind of a situation. I mean, grow up, Greg. It was funny when we first arrived, but start using your head. You and Noah are like a couple of kids playing a videogame. Look around you. Everyone is gone. Everyone left a long time ago and if there was anyone here, they would have come out to deal with us a whole lot sooner than now.”

“You don’t think I’m taking everything we’ve seen today seriously?” Greg’s voice is rising, no doubt matching his temper. Boys’ egos get hurt so easily. “You think I’m just all jokes and giggles about this?” He gestures at the devastation all around us. “Is that what you think?”

“It is,” I answer angrily, turning back toward the Sidekick on the far side of the smashed pick-up truck.

“I’m taking all of this deathly serious,” Greg shouts as he ducks under the opening in the fence. “I’m just not hiding it and bottling it up. I’m ready to do what’s necessary to protect us.”

“Then why is the safety on?” I point at the shotgun held in his hand. “The first rule of gun safety, Greg. Keep your weapon on safe until you’re ready to fire. If you’re ready, then why is the safety on?”

With that his face goes slack and he looks down without a reply. The same thing was going on with Noah. I noticed it immediately. Their safeties were still on and their fingers were on the triggers. Those are two of the most basic amateur mistakes in the book. If I’d seen any sign of danger here, I would have told them immediately, but chances are, they would have shot one of us had I told them to take their weapons off of safe. I look at Greg, whose cheeks are slowly beginning to flush red with embarrassment and frustration with me. I don’t want him upset, but he can be as angry and frustrated with me as he wants, the fact still remains. He’s in over his head out here.

Greg snatches the keys off the tire and unlocks his door, setting the radiator down in the floorboards where his feet are going to be while I put the hoses in the back seat, in my spot. Walking around the car to my silent, brooding man, I put a hand on his shoulder and push him back against the car, getting his attention.

“Greg, I love you,” I tell him honestly and truthfully. “There’s no one I care more about than you and Lexi, but I don’t know what’s out there. I don’t know what’s waiting for us between here and Dayton. It’s going to be dangerous and it’s going to be terrifying, but I need to know that you’re going to have your head where it needs to be. You’re a good shot in practice, but this isn’t an adventure game, it’s not a videogame, and it’s not going to be fun in the sun. I can’t keep looking over my shoulder expecting you to be in danger if you’re going to come along with us, because that’s going to get us all killed. I can’t lose you, Greg. I want you there with me, but I don’t want to bury you along the way somewhere. So drop the soldier boy game and start getting your head on straight. Alright?”

He looks at me silently, glaring at me. “You know,” he says with a terse expression on his face. “Sometimes, you can be a real—”

A gunshot echoes from between the buildings, rattling between the cars and we both immediately look toward the source of the sound. My anger vanishes in an instant, only to be replaced by fear. I can see Noah frustrated and trying to figure out why his gun isn’t working while Marko and Lexi run around the corner, towards us, heading to the fence. They all have their weapons drawn and Marko stops and spins to cover Noah, who isn’t running like he should be. I instinctively feel my hand dropping to my side, wrapping my fingers around the handle of my Sig, waiting to see what Noah is trying to shoot at. He manages to figure out the safety and lifts his shotgun and fires in a flash of light and smoke. Round after round he pulls the trigger until his ammunition is spent, hurled at whatever’s coming toward him. He squeezes the trigger when he’s out and fear consumes his features as he turns and runs past Marko.

Behind me, Greg has his shotgun raised, pointing directly at Marko and Lexi. I put a hand behind me, feeling his stomach. “That’s not going to do anything at this range,” I tell him. “You’re going to hit Lexi and Marko.”

“I know,” Greg snarls at me.

“Is the safety off?” I ask him.

I hear him clicking it off.

As Noah runs past Marko, we see exactly what he was firing at. They’re fast—faster than I would expect the walking dead to move. They come around the corner, their skin a pale gray, but their eyes are wide with a strange sort of frenzy. I’ve never seen people look like this. Their shoulders are slumped forward, their clothes in tattered shreds, hanging from their skeletal frames. Their appendages are all odd angles and stiff movements, yet they’re still faster than any one of us would have guessed. Most of them have long hair hanging in greasy wisps in front of their gaunt faces. They all of have their mouths open, gaping like black pits with fetid teeth lining them. As they walk, they don’t hold out their arms like they do in the movies. Instead, they rush with alarming speed. Marko stands alone between the creatures and the rest of us as Lexi and Noah near the fence. He’s alone. Abandoned. I draw my Sig and wave Lexi and Noah to the side to avoid the line of fire.

I squeeze the trigger just as Marko begins to fire from both of his pistols. He’s firing blind and trying to retreat as he fights. My first shot clips one of the Zombies in the shoulder, causing the creature to whirl around before collapsing to the ground. To my extreme horror, that’s enough to cause those around it to spin and turn on their injured comrade, biting and tearing at his flesh. In just moments he’s reduced to torn limbs and a twitching torso covered in bite marks and gore. Chunks of his flesh are torn away by the teeth of those like him before my view is finally obscured by the mob of undead that feed upon him. This gives Marko just enough time to turn and start running. I watch as Lexi crawls carefully under the fence as if she’s old and decrepit, wondering if she’s injured herself somehow. Noah slides under like a baseball pro, and I turn to watch Marko’s retreat, gasping in horror as his toe catches and he stumbles. Regaining his feet, Marko continues to run, but he’s limping, his face a mask of both pain and fear. He’s twisted his ankle, and is moving too slow.