LEFT ALIVE (Zombie series Box Set): Books 1-6 of the Post-apocalyptic zombie action and adventure series (65 page)

I keep my eyes on the horde that’s surging past and over those that feed on their own fallen. As more and more start rounding the corner of the building ahead, I feel a sinking sensation deep in my stomach. Marko isn’t moving fast enough. I squeeze the trigger and hit one of the creatures square in the chest. Buckling its shoulders forward, the thing drops to its knees, skidding a little before collapsing and drawing the attention of some others who drop down and start sinking their teeth into their dead companion. It slows the mob, but only barely so. To my utmost horror, even less have taken note of this fallen creature than did the last. They’ve lost their interest in eating their own and continue chasing after their fleeing victim.

“Run your ass off, Marko!” Greg shouts with an angry tone tainted with terror.

“Come on, Marko!” Lexi screams.

I refuse to squeeze the trigger without a clear shot. There are dozens of the monsters chasing after Marko and every bullet has to count. I get a single gap and fire, taking another one of the bastards in the throat as I move to the side hoping for a better vantage. The creature’s head whips back and it topples over, taking a few down to the dust with it, but it’s too late. One of them grabs Marko’s shoulder and stops him, pulling him back toward the snapping jaws and the wide, delirious eyes. The creature bites down onto the fleshy muscle above his collarbone and immediately I see blood spilling down his chest. Marko screams in agony, his eyes going wide as the creature hurls him away as other monsters slam into them. Marko hits the fence, grasping at the wire with panic on his face. Blood pours from the dark, gaping wound near his neck. The undead are nearly upon him again, but we finally have a clear line of fire. Dozens of bullets are unleashed in mere seconds as fire and smoke bellow from the ends of our barrels, but I know it’s not enough.

Zombie after Zombie, the creatures are laid waste, holes punching through them as thick, dark blood sprays into the air before pooling upon the pavement. But the bloodbath only increases their fury and rage as they trample their fallen kin to get at us. I wonder if it isn’t the scent of fresh blood that drives them to such madness as I look down my barrel, watching it kick up an inch as a head explodes just feet away.

My trigger clicks uselessly. All of my ammo is in the car. Greg’s shotgun roars its last round and he draws his pistol, firing until it’s empty, to little effect. Noah is the same, unloading everything he has at the things, but it’s useless. Marko fights with all he has, kicking and punching, lashing out with the butt of one of his pistols, but they’ve got him. It’s only seconds before he realizes it. He screams for help and inside me something dies. I watch as he turns amongst the grasping fingers and ripping teeth, pressing his face to the fence as he looks at us with terror in his eyes.

I feel a heavy hand on my shoulder and I know that it’s Greg. He wraps his arm around my waist and starts dragging me back toward the Sidekick as I shout Marko’s name. His screams echo across the barren waste, hitting me as I look at his bloody face slammed against the fence again and again. His eyes meet mine, and I know that I’m to blame for this. He knows it too.

I don’t remember them pulling me into the Sidekick. All I remember is the world whipping past as the thoughts of what just happened race around like a whirlwind in my mind. I feel sick. All I can see is Marko’s face. Only his face twisted in suffering and horror as those things were eating him. They were ravenous horrors, things that I’ve never seen or imagined before. Just that they exist torments me. Why would such a thing be allowed to happen?

Those were the Zombies that they were talking about on the radio. Those were the cannibalistic horrors that were roaming the world, feeding on the survivors. They weren’t the walking dead. They weren’t things that I saw on movie screens before all of this happened. No, they were definitely alive. When I shot them and their fellow Zombies started ripping them apart, there was blood. There were copious amounts of blood. I shudder at the thought of it. Those things were living, breathing humans. Something was very wrong with them, but they were definitely human. I stare out the window at the vast expanse. The world is so much worse than we thought.

“It’s all my fault,” I say, looking out the passenger window as my feet brush up against the radiator that Marko had given his life for. The world beyond the window doesn’t care that he’s dead, the only people who care are us. I look at the world beyond the window and can’t help but feel sick.

“It’s not your fault, babe,” Greg says, reaching over from behind the wheel. I look at him and know that he’s saying that just so I won’t feel bad. But I’ve passed that bridge and I’ve burned it. There’s no going back. I feel awful. Marko is dead because of me. “That could have been anyone.”

“No,” I shake my head. “Lexi and I could have taken the Sidekick to Dayton. We could have gone by ourselves. Marko would still be alive and he’d be at home with Katrina right now.”

“Val, Marko knew the risks,” Lexi tells me, but I know that it’s not a valid response. We all knew the risks in a vague, ambiguous sense of the meaning. The reality of what’s out there, the true risk, that’s something far more tangible and horrifying. If I had told Marko that flesh-crazed monsters were out there, waiting to devour him, then that would have been different. He wouldn’t have taken the risk. No one but Lexi and I would have taken the risk. Everything that has happened and everything that will happen is on my hands now.

“He should have ran faster,” Noah says bitterly. I can’t help but picture him, running past Marko, caring only about getting himself and Lexi under the fence. I don’t want him with us after we leave. I don’t want someone who is going to put his own life and the life of Lexi on a higher plane than the rest of us. It’s too dangerous.

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?”