The Left Series (Book 2): Left Alone (24 page)

“How the hell are we supposed to carry gas canisters back down that steep bank?” I muttered to Smith, breathing hard with exertion.

“Beats me, kid but we’re going to have to do something. We can’t just drift around in that damn boat.”

“It feels like we’ve drifted through life since all this started,” I mused.

“At least we’re not dead. Not yet anyway. Come on, let’s get going.”

I followed Smith as we scampered to the dilapidated fence. We moved to a wide gap where the wire folded outwards as if a huge cannon ball had ripped through it. An expanse of flat grassland surrounded some rectangular shaped buildings beyond the fence. Several zombies stumbled towards the fence, obviously alerted by Headlong’s gunfire burst. The nearest of the undead was around fifty yards away. Smith ducked through the gap in the fence and I snagged my shirt on the wire as I followed him.

“Shit!” I spat and pulled at the material. The shirt tore but I was free from the wire.

“Where are we headed?” I whispered to Smith.

“Anywhere but here. Let’s get to the nearest building and take some cover. Our asses are hanging out on this flat ground.”

The nearest zombie, a woman with long, straggly brown hair, moaned and raised her arms as she staggered closer. The approaching, lurching army of undead behind her followed suit, each emitting a low moan in unison as if it was some kind of rallying call. The collective noise sent a shiver up my spine. The voices sounded like some out of tune, undead choir.

Smith and I ran full pelt towards the small, white, wooden clapboard building to our right, flanking the bunch of zombies and moving into the unoccupied space. The grass beneath our feet was overgrown, up to knee height and damp with dew. Our feet slipped on the sodden turf and squelched in the soft mud beneath. I lost my footing and fell sideways into the grass before we reached the building. Smith tried the door and took a look inside while I glanced at the following zombies.

“It’s just some kind of pumping station,” Smith sighed, slamming the door. “Nothing we can use inside there.”

We crossed the cracked surface of an almost overgrown road that wasn’t visible from the river. We stopped running and stood in the center of the blacktop.

“Which way?” I looked in each direction.

A few long abandoned vehicles lay amongst the long grass on the opposite side of the road. One car sat with both the front doors left wide open as though it was some kind of urban, mechanical insect attempting to spread its wings and fly away somewhere safe. Some signs of the former civilized world lay further down the road in the form of a gas station and an adjacent Subway eatery.

“Are we inside the Air Station?” I asked.

Smith shook his head. “I’m not sure, I don’t think so. It looked closer to the river on the map. You used to find diners, bars and gas stations on the outskirts of military bases. I suppose we’ll have to try and find the main gate. Trouble is, there’s no one left to ask for directions.”

I glanced around at the zombies still in pursuit.

“We’ve still got company. You think we can get some diesel from that gas station?”

“We can give it a try but there won’t be any power to use the gas pumps and we need some large containers, like some five gallon drums.”

“Where the hell are we going to find five gallon drums full of diesel and how the hell are we going to get them back onboard that fucking boat?” I sighed.

“Beats me, kid but we better make a move.” Smith nodded his head in the direction of the approaching zombies. “Our dead friends are starting to get a bit too close for comfort.”

We plodded on towards the gas station, heading to the north. The gaggle of undead bunched and jostled and followed us on the road. We outpaced them but they weren’t going to give up. We needed to put some distance between us and them.

The gas station and diner were predictably deserted with dark interiors behind cracked glass windows. Several empty cars stood in the diner parking lot and one was left next to a gas pump. I knew it wouldn’t be worth trying to start the car as the battery had long since flattened.

I tried the front door of the gas station, which was inevitably locked. The rising emotion of panic caused my breathing to increase. Smith tried the pumps to no avail. We needed weapons, a working vehicle and diesel. All of which were out of our reach.

“Shit!” I yelled. “We’re sitting fucking ducks here.”

Smith opened the trunk of the car by the pumps and rummaged around inside.

“Here you go.” He tossed me a lug wrench. Not exactly an M-16 but a usable weapon none the less. 

“I’d prefer a shotgun.”

“Keep moving.” Smith glanced back at the crowd of zombies. “We’ll keep heading up this road.”

We headed further north at a gentle jogging pace, glancing back every few yards to check how much ground we had between us and the undead. I held the lug wrench tightly in my hand, hoping I wouldn’t have to use it any time soon. My biggest worry was we were heading in the wrong direction, further away from the Navy boat into zombie infested, unknown territory.

Chapter Forty-One

The abandoned vehicles grew in number the further we traveled north on the road. We dodged more zombies staggering around between the stationary cars. They too joined the ever growing, pursuing throng chasing us down the road. I clumped a male zombie around the head with the lug wrench when he came too close to us. The swing was good and the angled metal tool knocked him to the ground between two cars.

Each side of the road became increasingly urbanized the further north we traveled. Small stores, lock-ups and bars lined the street. Groups of the undead lurking in the parking lots and the doorways turned and scowled or hissed at us while we ran by. They turned and followed in pursuit, joining the gathering mob.

“We’re attracting all kinds of attention,” I huffed. “I don’t know how much further we can go before we get surrounded. If we meet a whole bunch of them heading towards us, we’re fucked.”

Smith took a quick glance over his shoulder at the chasing crowd. “We’ve got to find a way of getting off this damn freeway.”

I looked around each side of the road. The dark windows of the stores and bars offered us little hope of sanctuary inside. I swore to myself after the catastrophe of Manhattan, when I led my small group into one fatal situation after another, that I would never allow myself to be in a similar position. But history seemed to be repeating itself as we clumsily ran through an unknown area with no positive destination in sight.

Our feet slapped on the cracked black top surface, the sound audible only slightly above the moans and shrieks of the undead behind us. My lungs felt the burn of my rapid breathing and I was about to tell Smith to stop running when I noticed a blue aircraft mounted on a grassy bank in the distance.

“What’s that plane up ahead?”

“My guess is it’s the entrance to the Air Station,” Smith replied. “Come on, let’s put some distance between us and those dead goons.” He nodded over his shoulder and picked up the pace.

I struggled to keep up with him and started to drop behind.

“Smith, wait up!” My pace slowed to a brisk walking speed and I drew huge breaths. My lack of physical fitness was embarrassing.

Smith stopped a few yards from the aircraft on the bank to the left of the road. I glanced behind me and started a light jog once more until I caught up with Smith. The jet fighter aircraft stood amongst the long grass, facing the road with its arrow shaped nose raised slightly. The blue paint work had dulled over time and the gold trim on the wing tips and around the cockpit had started to peel. The words ‘
US NAVY’
were emblazoned in gold lettering down the sleek side.

“That’s an FA-18 Blue Angel. I haven’t seen one of those for a while,” Smith sighed.

Another road littered with more abandoned vehicles ran in a straight line to our left.

“The entrance must be this way.” Smith pointed down the road. “Let’s move.”

He sprinted along the side road. I took in another huge breath and followed. We slowed as we came to a bulky canopy overhanging the road. Large yellow concrete blocks that had once served as traffic calmers lay at angles in front of the metallic gray canopy. ‘
NAS JRB NEW ORLEANS
’ was printed in white letters on a sign on the side facing us. The letter ‘E’ in the middle of ‘NEW’ hung loose and looked like it was about to fall down. A cleaner, vacant triangle shape sat in the middle of the sign, like some kind of logo or badge was once situated over the spot. An unmanned hut with smashed windows stood in the center of the road under the canopy. No sentries or military personnel guarded the Air Station entrance.

“What does JRB mean?”

“Joint Reserve Base, I wonder if there’s anybody left alive in there,” Smith muttered.

I took a look back down the road and saw the gathering zombie army had just rounded the corner by the jet aircraft. We moved forward again, this time at a slower pace. Smith was obviously wary of who or what was up ahead. I cautiously glanced inside the hut as we moved under the canopy. Some gray, rotten body parts, that I thought resembled an arm and a leg, lay on the floor under a mass of flies. The stench wafted out and made me gag. I turned my head away to breathe in some fresh air. 

“Maybe some of the personnel are hiding out and waiting to be rescued.”

Smith shrugged in reply. “You can never second guess anything in this day and age but I don’t think there are too many rescue parties left in the world.”

I nodded and wondered if the President and all the politicians were still alive somewhere, surrounded by surviving military and security personnel. Maybe they were hidden in an old nuclear bunker or a military base off the mainland. I wasn’t sure if the old nuclear bunkers had been dismantled since the end of the Cold War but I suspected some were still in use for other apocalyptic situations, such as the current state of affairs.

We kept glancing behind us to check the length of road we had between us and the bunch of pursuing zombies. Any kind of obstacle that would slow us down was a danger of reducing that space.

The tree-lined road seemed to be heading nowhere until I saw some buildings in the distance. The odd zombie, some in the remains of civilian clothes and some in tattered military uniforms, staggered around the road. We avoided their grasping hands but they also turned to follow us.

“I hope we’re not running into a dead end,” I whined. “There’s too many of them following us now to get back this way on foot. We need to find a working vehicle of some kind.”

“Don’t I know it, kid? We need some time to have a good scout around but that’s something we probably ‘aint going to get.”

Smith stopped as we jogged by some brick buildings to our right. He was staring at a notice board on a low stand, angled at forty-five degrees. I circled back to see what he was looking at.

“It’s a map of the base,” Smith said, pointing at the notice board. “It gives us a few options of places to head for. We can either try and get to the fire station and hope they’ve still got a working vehicle in there or try the transportation depot.”

I scoured the map under the clear plastic cover, studying the blue and brown colored blocks with numbers printed next to them. My mind raced, I couldn’t decipher the code at the bottom of the map, which related the numbers to the various buildings.

“Which is nearer?” I gasped, nervously taking a glance over my shoulder.

“Well the transport depot is here.” Smith pointed to a block that seemed a long way from where we were. “And the gas station is here…and the fire station is here.”

Smith was taking too long for my liking. I smacked the bottom corner of the notice board with the lug wrench a couple of times.

“Hey…what the fuck are you doing?”

The wooden notice board frame dislodged under the blows and clattered onto the road. I picked it up and shoved the whole board into Smith’s chest.

“Decide where we’re going on the move. Wherever we’re going, let’s go now before we get caught.”

Smith took the map and turned it over in his hands. “The nearest place we’re likely to find a vehicle closest to the gas dump is the fire station to the east.”

“Okay, Smith!” I yelled. “I believe you but can we please get moving?”

Smith looked around behind us and saw the gathering undead horde drawing closer. He seemed to snap back to reality as if he had been daydreaming or lost in his own thoughts. Maybe it was memories of his former military life in the Marine Corps fogging his mind.

“Right…okay,” he muttered. “If we carry on through the main street, we can take a right turn up ahead.”

We continued our jog up the main street, warily watching out for more zombies that stumbled around through the knee high, grass banks at the side of the road. More buildings honed into sight the closer we moved to the center of the base. A library and a medical center stood to our left, while an admin block and a chapel were positioned to our right. All the buildings were dark behind the windows, doors closed and no signs of living human life.

“This way,” Smith barked, before he veered right down a side road.

I nearly fell as I struggled to change direction. The stench of decay and rotten corpses increased as we ran by skeletal remains of human bodies lying on the grass verges, their bodies virtually picked clean of any remaining meat. Bones, skulls and leftovers of stained clothing lay strewn along the road. Several zombies lining the thoroughfare seemed to awake from a coma like state as we moved past them. They sat in the grass and their heads snapped up at the sound of our footsteps. Evil eyes followed our movements, cracked, rotting lips curled back in grimaces and throaty growls and shrieks emitted from each side of the narrow street.

“Where the fuck are you taking us, Smith?” I wailed.