The Left Series (Book 1): Leftovers (38 page)

I thought of Dad waiting for me on his yacht only a short distance away, spending the rest of his life on an extended cruise line vacation. A very short distance to get to. I gritted my teeth. Somehow there was a way out of this. I wanted some of the high life for once, not to be eaten alive on a bleak, concrete rooftop.

I threw my cigarette butt down and ran around the edges of the roof. The building opposite was too far to jump to the roof but I reckoned I could leap down and hit one of the lower floor windows and get through. I’d seen someone escape the bad guys in a movie using the same technique. What the hell? I was cut up anyway and if I died trying, then at least I’d given surviving a go.

I turned to Julia and grabbed her by the arms and pulled her close. I kissed her long and hard. I felt her heart beating inside her chest and wished we could have just one night together. Thumping on the fire door caused me to pull away from her.

“I’m going for that window. I love you,” I blurted.

I heard her protest but her words were lost in the breeze as I turned and ran across the roof. No time for thought, no time to weigh up the situation. Time seemed to slow down halfway between the buildings while I leapt in mid-air. I thought about how meaningless my life had been as I watched that glass window from the opposite building coming closer. Was I going to reach it? At that moment, I didn’t care.

The wind whistled through my ears and I watched the window coming closer. I lifted my feet and felt the glass disintegrate beneath me. I’d become something of an expert at leaping through glass windows in the last fifteen minutes.

The landing wasn’t so smooth when I crunched on top of a wooden desk, sending it toppling over and landing in a heap of broken glass, a smashed computer and reams of paper files. I skidded across the floor amongst the debris, wondering if I was in the last throes of life.

I lay still on my back for a few moments, gazing up at the white stippled ceiling. Was anything broken, was I crippled? No time to worry about minor injuries. I forced myself up on my feet and momentarily brushed shattered glass from my clothes and hair. I’d acquired a few new cuts but adrenalin helped me block out the pain. A brief check of my surroundings told me I was in an office of some sort but no zombies were in close proximity so that was good enough.

I moved to the broken window and looked out across the street to the building where I’d jumped from. I was surprised how far the distance was. Julia and Rosenberg stood near the edge looking down at me. I gave them a beckoning wave then saw the fire door burst open behind them. Zombies tumbled through the fire exit, literally falling over themselves to get at their prey.

“Come on,” I yelled. “You don’t have a second to waste.”

Rosenberg pointed at Julia who was shaking her head. I couldn’t hear what they were saying but guessed Julia was backing out and I couldn’t do a damn thing to help her now. Rosenberg looked at the approaching zombies then backed up with grim determination etched on his face. He ran to the edge of the roof and took the leap of death. I took a pace backward so he wouldn’t knock me over if and when he landed inside the office.

He didn’t quite make the leap but managed to get a hand hold on the shattered window pane. Broken glass shards cut into his fingers as he hung on.

“Brett, help me,” he screamed, his face white and twisted in terror.

I moved forward and grabbed him by his forearms. I hauled him through the window and into the office. We rolled on the floor and he twisted round holding his hands together. Blood oozed between his fingers from a wound caused by the glass shards. I looked towards the window and saw a severed finger lying on its side on the sill.

My head was swimming, Rosenberg rolled on the floor screaming in pain. Julia was still on the building opposite surrounded by zombies.

I leaned out the window again. “Come on, Julia. You can do it, I’ll catch you, I promise,” I yelled.

The zombies spread across the roof making their way towards Julia. I waved her on. She shook her head and tears streamed down her face.

“I love you too, Brett,” she sobbed loudly and ran to the edge of the roof.

She was going to make it across, I knew she was. But life isn’t like the movies. Poor Julia didn’t even get close. I heard her scream and reluctantly watched those beautiful blue eyes widen, her mouth open, the look of horror on her face when she knew her jump was too short.

I rested my head on the window sill and tried to block out the sound of the sickening crunch of flesh and bone hitting a hard surface at a high-speed velocity. Then I heard the ghouls moaning with intensity as fresh flesh had been delivered to them from above. I turned my head and violently vomited onto the office floor. All the bile and stress of the last few weeks erupted from my stomach, stung my throat and spewed from my nose. Rosenberg’s severed finger rolled into my tear stained view of the world and made me puke some more. I sunk to my knees and wretched until nothing more came out of my stomach. I felt so tired of life. Julia was gone, dead, like so many others. I lay in the broken glass listening to Rosenberg wail in pain, rolling in my own puke with a million undead zombies outside wanting to eat me alive.

“We got to keep moving, Brett,” Rosenberg stammered behind me.

I rolled my head back and looked at the sweaty, pale, bleeding junior doctor I’d met back in Brynston. I knew he was right. He clutched the stump of the severed left hand finger with his right hand, his glasses were gone now and his eyes looked piggy and swollen. My skin was ripped to shreds all over from the broken glass. I felt blood dripping from my face, arms and legs and dribbling from somewhere across my back.

“Ah, I think it’s all over,” I grunted and reached to my pocket for my cigarettes. “We’re fucked.”

I felt another smoke was a reprieve as I stood bleeding in that office. “Julia’s dead,” I whispered in a voice breaking sob. “I’m sorry, Denny. I tried to get us to safety but it just didn’t work.” I felt crushed, like a big time loser who played against the big odds and lost.

“I know Julia’s gone now but while there’s still breath in our bodies, we have to keep going,” Rosenberg stammered, sweat dripping from his face. “Let’s see what we can find in here to help us.”

We turned and looked around the small office. Nothing sprung out and said
“we’ll help you.”
We stumbled out of the office through a corridor and down a stairway to the ground floor where we found ourselves in a veterinary surgery. The walls and floor were white tiled and a strong smell of antiseptic hung in the air. Caged dogs, cats and birds looked out at us in forlorn hope through the bars. The emaciated animals whined at us and clawed the cages, desperate to be released. Rosenberg found a bathroom and rinsed his damaged hand under the cold water faucet. I took a long, welcome bathroom break.

Rosenberg searched through the closets and found a bottle of iodine and some bandages. He poured the iodine over the stump of what remained of his severed finger and winced in pain. He instructed me to wipe the wound clean and how to bandage his finger by winding the dressing around his hand. He then dabbed my cuts with iodine on some cotton balls and it stung like a bitch.

“Now that we’ve stopped bleeding everywhere, we need to think of a way of getting out of here,” I sighed.

The image of Julia, open mouthed, white faced and wide eyed as she plummeted to her death still burned through my mind. I tried not to dwell on my sorrow, I could grieve later. Right now we had to think of a way to get to Battery Park Pier. I felt half dead, numb and not living in the real world.

I looked at Rosenberg and knew his brain was whirring into gear. He was glancing between the animal cages and the street exit door.

“Brett, I know it’s a shitty thing to do but if we let these animals out of their cages and run around the street, it may give us a chance of a diversion and making it to the dock.”

I lit a smoke and tried ignoring the inner pain. “Okay, let’s give it a whirl.”

Chapter Sixty

“Franco, are you bit?”

“Nah, man, are you?”

“No.”

“Best you get inside then. These two clean?”

“Uhuh.”

The guy standing behind Smith lowered his hand gun and ushered the three of them inside through the steel door. Batfish and Eazy didn’t hesitate, they barged through the entrance and the guy with the gun closed and bolted the door. They stood in a long, dark corridor with only a small skylight overhead, providing only dim light.

Smith introduced Batfish and Eazy to the guy with the gun and told them his name was Mario. Mario was slightly taller than Smith and much heavier with a round face and a large belly. His hair was jet black, slicked back away from his forehead and his eyes were dark and piercing. He wore a baggy blue Hawaiian shirt and cream pants. Eazy thought Mario looked like one of the bad guys in the 1980’s TV show
“Miami Vice.”

“Man, I thought everyone was dead,” Mario sighed, sliding his gun into a shoulder holster. “What are you doing back here, Franco? I thought you would have split by now.”

“I came back to deliver the two-mil to the old man,” Smith said, lifting the duffel bag slightly.

Mario whistled and opened his eyes wide. “That’s admirable, Franco,” he nodded. “Under normal circumstances that delivery would be expected but with the whole world gone to rat shit, don’t you think coming here was a little zany?”

“Zany?”

“Yeah, fucking zany, like a bit goofy.”

Smith shrugged and turned his head to the steel door when thumps and bangs from the zombies on the outside echoed through the corridor.

“Shut the fuck up you rotting motherfuckers,” Mario yelled towards the door. “Let’s go upstairs; those things give me the freakin’ creeps.”

Mario led the way through the corridor and up a flight of stairs leading to an open plan office with a long pile white carpet, big oak desks and leather covered furniture.

“Want a drink?” Mario asked.

“You bet,” Smith answered for all of them.

Mario poured three shots of bourbon into crystal glasses and handed them round. Batfish and Eazy sat down on a big, boxy couch. Batfish held Spot in her arms. Smith paced the room sipping his bourbon.

“Hello little puppy,” Mario cooed and moved his hand to touch Spot’s head. The dog growled and made a yap sound. Mario looked momentarily disappointed and turned back to Smith.

“Everything’s fucked here, Franco. We’ve had guys on our crew get bit, guys running out on us and disappearing to fuck knows where…”

“Who’s left here?”

“Just me, Larry and Jimmy and that’s it.”

“Where are they?”

“Larry went for a shower and Jimmy’s gone for a nap. There’s not much else to do around here. Hey, you and you’re pals were lucky I heard you out there. At first I thought it was just some more of those crazy fuckballs banging on the door.”

“Good job you did, Mario otherwise we’d be the main course in an all-you-can-eat zombie buffet right about now,” Smith said.

An older, lean and tall man with a thick mop of wet, gray hair, dressed in a white bathrobe walked into the office from a door behind the big oak desk. His face was slightly wrinkled and looked like the texture of old shoe leather.

“Hey, look what the cat dragged in,” he said, smiling at Smith. He moved towards him and gave him a hug.

“Good to see you’re still in one piece, Larry,” Smith said. He introduced Batfish and Eazy.

“So what are your plans, Franco?” Larry asked, his face turning serious.

“Well, I brought you the cash from the auto depot,” he said, placing the duffel bag on the desk.

Larry nodded. “It’s all there?”

Smith nodded. “The other job in Brynston, the guy with gambling debts was a no show. I’m pretty sure his ass is either dead or one of the undead, right now.”

“That’s good of you to bring the cash here, Franco. Real good, great work but the organization has had to shut down, I’m afraid. We can’t operate while the situation is like this,” he gestured towards the window. “It’s dog eat dog and every motherfucker for himself now. You know how it is.”

“So you’re cutting me loose?”

“I’m afraid so, Franco. You and your pals are welcome to hang out here for a while if you want but there’s not much food and we only got the two bedrooms we had to convert from the storage rooms. It may get a little cramped. Who knows when all this shit is going to blow over?”

Smith felt a little offended he was basically being dumped from the organization and left to fend for himself. He sighed and shook his head.

“Well, another one of our traveling companions, this crazy kid I met back in Brynston, he’s got this plan to go and see his old man on a boat or yacht moored off Battery Park.”

“That’s good, Franco. At least you got somewhere to go,” Larry said, trying to sound encouraging.

“I don’t know,” Smith sighed. “It sounded good a few days ago but now we’re here in Manhattan, it seems like a bit of a dumb ass idea.” Smith ignored a glare from Batfish. “Have you seen any more actual living people lately?”

“Yeah, sure,” Larry stopped to pour himself a bourbon. “There are pockets of people holed up all over the city. You sometimes see them driving around or hear gunfire a few blocks away. You’ll be okay, Franco, you’re a survivor.”

Smith snorted and stared into his glass. “Fuck knows how I’ve survived this long, Larry.” He thought about the times he’d been shot, downed the remaining bourbon and placed the glass on the desk.

“Listen, Franco,” Larry said, picking up the duffel bag. “As a parting gift, I’ll let you keep half of this money. How about that?”

Smith nodded his appreciation. Mario raised his eyebrows and whistled a long pitch. Larry opened the bag and dumped roughly half the contents on the desk. Smith picked up the bag and swung it over his shoulder.

“We could do with a bit of firepower as well, Larry. If we’re going to make it to the pier that is.”

Larry nodded and spread his arms wide. “Okay,” he said. “Mario, sort Franco out with some armory, will ya?”

Mario nodded and moved to a gray metal gun locker in the corner of the room. He took a bunch of keys from his pocket and opened the locker. Eazy whistled when he saw the contents.