The Left Series (Book 1): Leftovers (20 page)

I thought of Pete and Marlon. Pete would have tried to take care of Marlon’s wounds only to succumb to attack himself. Their wrecked apartment laid claim to that theory.

“I hope my mom is okay,” Rosenberg sighed. “I couldn’t get hold of her on the phone before we left Brynston.”

“Your dad will take care of her, won’t he?” I asked.

Rosenberg took off his glasses and rubbed his eyes with his thumb and forefinger. “My dad died of cancer when I was twelve,” he sighed. “That was one of the reasons why I became a doctor so I could help people who were suffering and maybe one day make a difference. Then all this happens and there’s Jack shit that anyone can do to stop it.”

I realized we didn’t really know each other at all. None of us. I didn’t know when Rosenberg’s birthday was, how old he was, who Eazy’s friends were, who Batfish’s parents were, where Julia went to school or where Smith lived. I realized how many hours it takes to really get to know somebody. We were all just manacled together, clinging to the faint hope of surviving.

The rap music stopped as Eazy clicked off the stereo.

“What the fuck is this?” I heard him say.

I jumped out of the chair and moved to the cab doorway. Eazy slowed the RV to a crawl. Several figures stood across the Interstate in front of fluorescent orange traffic barriers with flashing stop lights. The figures were all dressed in black combat gear and flak jackets with full gas masks covering their faces. They brandished semi- automatic rifles which purposefully pointed in our direction.

Eazy brought the RV to a halt around thirty yards from the armed figures and traffic barriers. I looked around outside to try and get my bearings. I didn’t know how long I’d been dozing. High rise hotels lay to our right in front of the sprawling Newark International Airport. The soldiers or whoever they were, had set up the road block a few feet in front of junction 58A across the Interstate. My guess was they were blocking all routes to the airport.

“Take the keys out of the ignition and exit the vehicle,” one of the soldiers boomed through a bull horn. They began to slowly advance on the RV with their weapons raised, two came down our left side and two to the right while the others covered the cab.

“Take the keys out of the ignition and exit the vehicle,” the soldier repeated with more urgency through the distortion of the bull horn. A green armored personnel carrier and a New Jersey State Police anti-riot vehicle pulled out of the junction and swung around behind the RV. The vehicles stopped sideways on across the road, blocking us in.

“What do we do?” Eazy whispered.

“We don’t have much choice,” Smith growled. “We’ll have to do what these assholes say. For now, anyhow.”

“They’ll probably shoot us,” Eazy hissed.

“They’ll sure as shit shoot us if we stay put,” Smith said.

“You better wake Julia and Batfish,” I said to Rosenberg. “We’ve got some sort of situation here.”

Rosenberg glanced through the windshield and saw the soldiers approaching. “Ah, Christ! What’s all this?”

“We don’t know yet,” I said. “Hopefully they’ll let us on our way once they find out none of us are infected.”

“You put a lot of faith in hope, my friend,” Eazy murmured. I had a bad feeling he was right.

Rosenberg gently shook Julia and Batfish awake and told them not to panic. I silently preyed Julia wouldn’t freak out and get us all shot. Eazy took the keys from the ignition and held them up so the soldiers could see them through the wind shield. He opened the driver’s door and slowly slid out of the cab with his hands raised above his head. Smith followed suit, slowly moving out of the passenger side.

I opened the side door and hesitantly stepped onto the blacktop. Rosenberg scooped Spot up into his arms and followed me out. Julia and Batfish clung to each other’s arms and stumbled out after us. Spot barked in shrill tones at the approaching soldiers. Rosenberg tried his best to keep the dog quiet.

We shuffled behind Smith and Eazy almost cowering like frightened animals. The soldiers closed in on us. Two of them climbed into the RV, one stood outside the side door while the others formed a circle around us.

“What can we do for you?” Smith spoke as though a casual passerby was asking for driving directions. We had several loaded weapons pointed at us and still Smith was Mr. Cool.

“Are any of your party bitten or infected?” The guy with the bull horn spoke in a distorted, radio static tone through a microphone somewhere in his gas mask.

“No, are yours?” Smith retorted.

“This is a serious situation we are in the middle of, sir,” The guy with the bull horn sounded pissed off, even through the monotone radio. “I’ll ask you again and this time I want a serious answer. Are any of your party infected or bitten?”

“I thought it was bitten or infected?” Smith said, his face deadpan.

“What?”

“You asked first time if any of the party was bitten or infected. Then you asked if they were infected or bitten, which is it?”

“Sir, I just told you this is serious…”

“And I answered you,” Smith interrupted. “No, none of us are infected or bitten or bitten or infected. Now, if you would be so kind as to get those popguns out of our faces and let us get on our way.”

“Vehicle is clear of personnel, sir. Only non- firearms aboard,” a voice crackled over the guy with the bull horn’s mike. “Victor one acknowledged,” he replied.

“So, are we free to go?” Smith asked lowering his hands.

“I’m afraid not, sir,” the guy with the bull horn said. “You are all going to have to come with us.” He motioned towards the personnel carrier behind the RV. “Please enter the vehicle via the back doors.”

Eazy and Batfish protested in vain as the soldiers herded us towards the personnel carrier. I wondered who posed the bigger threat, the living dead or those that were still living.

Chapter Thirty

The heavy metal doors slammed shut after we crammed into the back of the personnel carrier. The interior was dark and stunk of stale sweat with an underlying odor of vomit. We were all searched before entering the vehicle and had our hand guns and personal items taken by the soldiers. Smith switched on his small flashlight and I fished mine out from my pocket. What the hell were we getting into now? Who were these armed guys and why did we have to go with them?

The vehicle moved off but I couldn’t tell which direction we were headed. The soldiers obviously didn’t trust us as they’d rounded us up at gunpoint and shoved us into the back of a mobile prison cell.

“Where do you think they are taking us?” Rosenberg stammered.

“Probably to the airport,” Smith sighed. “They’ve probably booked us on a flight to the Bahamas.”

Eazy and I managed a half-hearted laugh.

“They are not going to let us go, are they?” Julia said quietly. “They are going to shoot us.”

“If they were going to just shoot us they’d have done it by now,” Eazy said with a hint of reassurance.

“That’s right,” Smith said. “Whatever they’ve got planned for us, I’m sure we’ll hear about it real soon.”

“Well, I’m not going down without a fight,” Batfish hissed. “I don’t give a fuck who these bastards are.”

“Well said, girl,” Eazy nodded his appreciation. “Motherfuckers took my boomer. I can’t let them get away with that.”

“If that prick tries anything, I’m going to take that bull horn and shove it up his ass,” Smith growled.

I smiled. We were becoming a stoic little band of renegades, emotionally hardened by the dramatic chain of events over the last few days. The human spirit develops an infallible will to survive. I felt good and confident. I felt the six of us could handle anything that was thrown at us.

The personnel carrier slowed and came to a stop a few minutes later. We sat in silence for a few moments, waiting for the doors to open. Bright, late afternoon sunlight temporary blinded us when the doors finally swung open.

“Okay, everybody out,” a voice boomed.

We clambered out of the vehicle and three soldiers shepherded us at gun point towards a large rectangular shaped building with a glass paneled front wall. I took a glance around and realized that we were somewhere inside Newark Airport. High rise air traffic control towers stood behind stationary aircraft between the runways. Jumbo jets from all over the world, light aircraft, baggage transport and fuel vehicles littered the vast airstrip, all parked at odd angles as though they came to a sudden halt. I noticed the tail of an aircraft protruding from the side of a hanger.

I shivered slightly even through the warm breeze at the sight of the dark, empty terminals and discarded baggage strewn around the doorways. People must have panicked during the beginning of the epidemic and tried to flee to safer places in the airplanes or escape the infected in the airport. The terminals must have been utter chaos at the height of the outbreak with the infected rampaging through the crowds.

“What happened here?” I asked one of the soldiers.

“All your questions will be answered shortly,” he said abruptly through the gas mask microphone.

“Where are you taking us?” Batfish spat.

“As I said, all your questions will be answered shortly,” the soldier repeated.

He led us into the glass fronted building with the other two soldiers following behind. The stifling heat alongside with a stench of rotting flesh inside the building invaded my senses like a punch in the face.

“Jesus, what happened in here?” I spluttered.

The soldiers ignored my question.

Piles of bodies of infected lay on each side of the gray floor tiled walkway. Clouds of flies buzzed around the blood pooling around the cadavers on the ground. I noticed each dead zombie had several holes in their head and some had no heads at all, just bloody pulp where their skulls once housed the functioning brain.

I pulled my top up over my mouth and nose to try and prevent the nauseous reek. The soldiers had obviously cleared the building of infected but why had they left them inside? The gas masks would stop them from putting up with the stench but surely they didn’t wear them constantly?

“This way,” the lead soldier opened an internal door leading to a darkened corridor.

Batfish gave me an apprehensive look as we entered the passageway. I felt uneasy about the situation myself. Why were these mercenaries taking us out of what was left of the functioning world?

“In here,” the lead soldier opened a door to our left and motioned for us to enter with his rifle.

We entered a small, dimly lit room with a long mirror running the length of the wall to the left. The décor was black. Black walls, ceiling and floor. A rectangular table sat in the middle of the room with a chair at each side. A smell of disinfectant and cleaning chemicals attacked my senses but was a welcome relief to the stench of the dead which still burned in my nostrils.

“U-oh,” Eazy whispered. “Cops interview room with a two-way mirror.”

I guessed this wasn’t the first time Eazy had been bundled into one of these types of rooms.

“Stand in a line and remove all clothing,” the lead soldier barked, slamming the door shut.

“Go fuck yourself,” Smith growled.

The lead soldier thumped Smith in the gut with his right hand. Smith winced but didn’t buckle. He stood rigid and spat into the soldier’s gas mask.

“You need to do better than that, fuck face. Take that mask off, throw your weapon down and let’s go for it,” he scowled. Smith was cool under pressure but I thought we were about to witness his level of tolerance.

The other two soldiers cocked their weapons and stood in front of us. One squawked something inaudible into his radio mike. For a full minute Smith stood toe to toe with the lead soldier staring into his eyes behind the gas mask lenses. I thought Smith was going to head butt the soldier at any moment. I knew he was weighing up the odds. If Smith had a weapon of any kind the guy in front of him would have been a dead man.

“Easy, Smith,” Eazy tried to calm the situation. “These bastards are armed and we’re not.”

The door burst open and at least half a dozen more black clad soldiers entered the room carrying pistols and riot batons.

“Stand in line,” the lead soldier yelled. “You too, tough guy,” he said to Smith and shoved him backwards.

One of the new soldiers cuffed Rosenberg around the head with his baton to show they meant business. I felt a rising sense of panic as they manhandled us into a horizontal line facing the mirror on the wall.

“Remove all clothing,” the lead soldier ordered again.

Reluctantly we began to strip our clothing into piles on the floor in front of us. I heard a few grunts of amusement behind the gas masks while the soldiers watched Julia and Batfish strip naked. I glanced over and noticed Batfish had several tattoos on her back, chest and legs.

“Nice tramp stamps,” one of the soldiers said with a hint of mirth in his voice.“Nice tits as well.”

“Quiet,” the lead soldier barked.

“Don’t worry, honey, I wouldn’t touch you if you were the last man on Earth,” Batfish fired back.

We stood naked and humiliated in front of the soldiers and whoever was watching from behind the two-way mirror. Julia and Batfish covered their breasts and genitals with each hand. Myself, Rosenberg and Eazy cupped ourselves so we weren’t totally on show. Smith stood with his arms folded like he was waiting for a bus.

“You like the sight of naked men?” he goaded the lead soldier. “Watch out, Eazy. I think this motherfucker wants to suck your dick.”

The lead soldier didn’t rise to the bait. “You’ll be examined by a qualified doctor and then you can put your clothes back on.”

We waited in silence. I kept myself amused by watching Spot scuffle around the floor and found it highly amusing when he cocked his leg and pissed up one of the soldier’s boots.

“Fuckin’ mutt,” the soldier shrieked and raised his baton.

“Don’t you dare,” Batfish spat, moving forward. Her large, bare breasts jiggled as she moved her arms upward to prevent the soldier from swinging his baton at the dog.

The distraction seemed to work as the soldier’s gaze turned to the naked woman in front of him.