LEFT ALIVE (Zombie series Box Set): Books 1-6 of the Post-apocalyptic zombie action and adventure series (81 page)

“There’s a full tank in here,” Greg says triumphantly, the little piece of luck that’s actually on our side makes him smile. I’m glad that he’s happy. There’s a lot of distance between us and Dayton and I think we’ve finally found the truck that’s going to get us there. I look out the window, gazing back at the white truck. I feel like I’m riding on top of an elephant. I don’t think I’ve ever been in a vehicle that’s this high before. “Alright, you think they’ll stay there? You think that will actually work?” Greg winces against the pain in his leg.”

“You shouldn’t be driving,” I tell him sternly.

“And you shouldn’t be pulling stupid ass stunts like the one you did back there,” Greg shouts at me, his face finally getting some color. It starts in his cheeks and spreads out in his forehead, emanating from the fire in his eyes. He looks at me with a furrowed brow and I’m afraid that he’s so angry he might start spitting as he shouts, “You could have gotten yourself killed. Those things might have ripped you apart and I would have been left alone. Don’t you ever do something like that again, Val. Don’t you ever risk your life needlessly again or so help me God, I’m going out with you.”

“It had to be done,” I shout back at him. “Those things would have followed us right back to the five-ton and we would have had to fight them all off again. At least now, they’ll have something to preoccupy themselves while we get out of here. So go ahead and cram the protective speech. We knew what we were risking when we came out here.”

“Pretty easy thing to say when you’re the one being reckless,” Greg growls at me.

Chapter Ten

The smack delivered to the brush guard on the front of the Dodge is enough to knock me back into the present. I turn and see that Greg has tried to make a hood ornament on the front of the Dodge out of one of the zombies that has taken its time crossing the bridge, but surprisingly, it’s not alone. In fact, it’s like it’s the first of a second wave of lazy, mindless feeders coming to find out who is singing to the long dead town. I look at the head and arms of the zombie as it climbs and claws to not be crushed under the truck as we keep going.

It’s horrifying that the bridge is filled with zombies that are still coming to get us. This entire town is a gathering point for these things. I stare at it as it continues to struggle, gripping the brush guard, even though its ribs and head are undoubtedly broken in multiple places. It’s amazing that this thing is still alive. It has no lips, no nose, and one of its ears is hanging, dangling by just a tiny piece of skin. Its eye sockets are sunken in and its cheeks are gaunt. Besides the familiar painting of gore of the creature’s exposed mouth and chin, its skin is entirely covered in ash, probably suffocating from being smothered by dirt and dust. How are any of these things still alive? Where do they come from? Is this what happens to people who take a dip in the water or something? There has to be some sort of scientific, reasonable explanation as to why these things are so horrifying and numerous. I watch as the creature loses its grip and vanishes under the grill. Spinning around in my seat, I look out the dusty, nearly obscured rear windshield to see a rolling mass in the middle of the road. Greg hits the windshield washers again, smearing the front windshield in a horrific series of thick streaks of mud.

“I can’t see a damn thing,” he says as he slams his palms on the steering wheel. “Val, look at me.” I turn and face him, examining his face as he glances from me to the murky window. With each wipe of the wipers, it gets a little easier to see things to avoid, like the stalled cars or the numerous pieces of wreckage just waiting for us. I look at his face and study him, as I hear the truck mow down another series of the undead. He still looks awful, like he needs to have his leg stitched up and a nice long nap with some painkillers, but none of that is available right now. He’s just going to have to tough it out a little while longer. I hope that doesn’t mean too much longer. “How do I look? Are my lips falling off and stuff? Are my eyes getting all milky?”

“What?” I furrow my brow in confusion.

“My ears! Are my ears falling off?” he shouts at me, trying to get through.

“No, your ears are still on.” I look at him, putting the pieces together. “You’re not turning into a zombie, Greg. You probably have an infection, but we’ll get some antibiotics out of the truck and you’ll be just fine. I’ll get you all fixed up once we’re out of this creepy town.”

“Swear to me,” Greg says nervously.

“Swear what?” I look out the window just in time to see a woman crushed under the driver’s side tires. The whole truck lifts and rocks as she passes under and I feel sick at the movement. I didn’t need that little intimate moment between us and the shambling woman.

“Swear that I’m not going to turn into a zombie,” Greg says in a panic.

“I don’t know if you’re going to turn into a zombie,” I say to him with a smile on my face.

“What’s funny? What’s so god-damn funny?” Greg asks with a humorless expression on his face.

“Whenever we wound one of those things, they descend like wolves,” I say to him with as much confidence as I can muster to keep him calm. I don’t need him exploding into a panic attack right now. I want him to feel comfortable and safe. All I have to do is keep him happy and collected for a little while longer and I’ll prove to him that he’s not going to turn into a zombie, by surviving this whole thing. “They don’t have bite marks or anything like that. I don’t think that’s how you turn into one of those things.”

“You don’t think,” Greg says mockingly. “But you don’t know.”

“I’m about eighty percent positive,” I tell him jokingly. He doesn’t find it funny.

By the time we navigate through the two other intersections and make our way toward the last, we’ve pretty much hit every zombie that’s between us and our destination, smearing the front of the truck with more gore than I could imagine. Greg keeps nervously looking over to the side and rearview mirrors. I’m not sure what we’re going to do once we get to the townhouse. Greg can’t keep driving, especially with his leg. I watch him wince every time he hits the accelerator or the brake. We’re going to have to find another driver and I have the terrible feeling that it’s going to be me. I’m going to have to be the driver. I want Noah to be able to shoot because I still don’t feel he’s on the same page with the rest of us. Like he’s an outsider or something. Like his agenda is different.

Greg turns the truck around and puts it in reverse, backing the Dodge up to the back of the five-ton truck. It’ll be easier to load and I’m certain that we’re going to run out of time soon. That little trick with the truck and the retro music isn’t going to last forever. Soon, they’re going to realize that their mobile feast has slipped past them and they’re going to be vengeful. If they still have any type of thought process left, they’ll most likely tear apart this town to search for us and kill us all.

When he throws it in park and kills the engine, I step out and look up at the window where Noah is still keeping his post. The morning light rises behind the building and I can’t believe that it makes the gaping windows even darker. He looks down at us and nods to me before stepping away from the window. He's wearing a new shirt now, one that he’s rummaged up from among the piles of clothes that have been crumpled up and tossed away inside of that house. I’m not surprised that he settled for a red button-up shirt. He wouldn’t want to break that record of wearing red the longest that he’s been claiming for well over a month. I help Greg quietly lower the tailgate on the Dodge and then the tailgate on the five-ton truck. Inside the five-ton, I look at everything that’s waiting for us.

“Okay,” I say to him, climbing up and into the shade provided by the shredded canvas. “We need to prioritize. Start with the fuel, then the water, and the food. If we have fuel, we should at least be able to get to Dayton, even if we are starving.”

“Why don’t we just plan on getting all of it?” Greg looks at me with a doubtful look on his face. “We get all of it in the truck and we get the hell out of here as fast as we can.”

“Fine,” I say as I grab one of the plastic crates of food and drag it through the bed of the truck. “I’m just saying, if we have all the food in the world and no gas, then we’re out of luck.”

“Damn it,” Greg hisses as he carries one of the enormous tanks of gas over to the bed of the Dodge.

“What?” I ask.

“We should have grabbed the jumper cables,” Greg says begrudgingly, like he forgot that he left the stove on at home.

“Why?” I ask, organizing the crate of food and the container of gas.

“Because if we do need to switch cars, the batteries are probably going to be dead in everything, just like at the dealership,” Greg states with a grunt. “Maybe we could swing by and pick them up on the way out of town.”

“You mean where all the bloodthirsty cannibals are?” I say, not buying into that plan. He looks at me with frustration in his eyes. It’s not the best time for Greg right now. He hobbles toward the back of the bed and grabs another can of gas, grimacing as he has to put his weight on his injured leg. “Greg, you should go switch places with Noah,” I tell him. His entire right pant leg is soaked with blood and his shoe makes squishing sounds with every step. I’m starting to worry about how much blood he has lost. “Stop trying to be a macho man and tell Captain Shell Shock to get out here and help me.”

“Noah’s busy,” Greg says, shrugging off my order for him to rest.

“What could Noah possibly be busy with?” I shake my head.

“He’s helping Lexi and the baby,” he says feebly, trying to find something to throw at me. He looks up as he hands me a five gallon container of water. “By the way,” he says with a gentle smile. “Congratulations, auntie.”

I feel myself blushing with pride. Curse that man and his smooth compliments. I look him in the eyes and feel the spark. I can’t help but wonder what our child would have looked like. I’m certain that we would have had a girl. That’s just what I’ve pictured since I’ve been thinking about children. As far back as I can remember, I’ve been picturing a daughter. I could see her room and her cute little dresses. But, that whole world is gone now. I may never have anything but my nephew. I look at Greg and I feel a sense of loss again for the life that I’m never going to have. Everything that I had wanted once upon a time is now gone, evaporated with the hopes and dreams of the crumbling world. I don’t think there’s any hope for that world to come back. I can only hope that there will be a new world after this. It’s the only chance we have. It’s the only chance I have.

We finish up with the back of the truck. I look at what’s left of it, a bunch of expended bullet casings, shotgun shells, and blood stains. I stare, a somber moment of sadness hanging in my memory that this was once our hope, our future. My father travelled across the country in this truck, bringing it to our doorstep. This was the gift he brought with him to come and give us word about Dayton. To give us hope. I know that he probably expected himself to be alive in his vision of the future, but I’m certain that he would have understood us parting ways with it. My father died bringing us this truck and Marko had died trying to help repair it. It has seen a lot and it's almost sad to abandon it here. We’re just leaving it to die. I feel like we’re losing a beloved friend and we’re barely even out the door.

“Getting all teary eyed?” Greg asks me with a bit less understanding than I would expect. He gets that I’m emotional, but I can’t help but feel like there’s a bit of mockery there. I look at him as he puts an arm over my shoulder and hugs me. It’s good to feel his arms around me. I don’t know what I would be doing without him on this journey. If it had been just Lexi and me, I would have lost everything—my sister, my sanity, and probably my life.

“It was a good truck,” I say nostalgically.

“The best truck,” Greg says.

“I feel like we should give him a funeral,” I tell him. Honestly, I feel like we should heap mountains of wood onto the truck and light the whole thing on fire. Once it goes up in flames we could send it off to Valhalla or something.

“That’d be nice,” Greg says, turning away from the truck and trying to drop down onto the street as gracefully as he possibly can. “But I don’t think that now is the best time for all of that. Maybe next time.”

I drop down onto the street with Greg and look at the townhouse. I hope they remembered to get rid of the barricades in the front door, or I have no idea how we’re getting in. I look toward the corner, listening to hear if there’s any signs of the shuffling zombies coming for us. As we stand there, I realize that Greg is still bleeding and in pain.

“Alright, you stand watch,” I say to him.

“Nonsense,” Greg says, going for the back seat door and grabbing his shotgun. “I’ll get your sister and help her out. Noah can stand watch.”

“Noah will help Lexi,” I tell him. There’s nothing sensible about making Greg go help Lexi when Noah is already in there experiencing the transition from gamer geek to stone cold killer. He’s probably feeling a little territorial right now, especially with the gravity of the fact that he’s trying to learn his role as a father in this fucked-up world. I look at this as a point in time where Noah should get everything that he wants. At least, all of them should get that while my nephew is still tiny. Maybe after a day or two, the cold realities of the world can come crashing down on them. But right now, I’m willing to play nice.

“Fine,” Greg shrugs, trying to act nonchalant. “Let Noah help her out.”

Approaching the door, I hear weight shifting inside. Noah is clearing out the couch and the bookshelf. I look at the door, wanting to try and hurry him along with a knock. There’s a little bit of a time crunch and I’m afraid that we’ve wasted too much already. I can’t help but shake the feeling that at any moment now, there’s going to be a legion of killer monsters coming around the corner to feast upon all of us. I look at Greg who is standing by the driver’s door of the truck, looking at the intersection and then looking over his shoulder to the intersection at the far corner of the street. Of course, this is all of us hoping that the cannibals are coming down the main streets and not through the alleyways and back roads. Truthfully, they could come spilling out of every little crack in this town.

When the door swings open I look at Noah, who is pale and angry. I can practically see the cartoon squiggles of anger coming off of him as he stands there looking at me with his fiery eyes. He has his rifle over his shoulder and I know that he’s more than eager to stand guard with Greg. Apparently Lexi and he are not having such a smooth time transitioning into the happy parenthood phase. Of course, I’m sure that if I were in the same position, I wouldn’t be doing so well with it either. I look into the darkness as Noah slips past me, walking out into the street with Greg’s pack slung over his shoulder.

“Good truck,” he says after taking in the truck for a moment.

“Thanks,” I say, as if I had a choice in picking out what kind of truck we were going to drive.