The Left Series (Book 6): Left On An Island (37 page)

“You know shit,” I sneered and continued onward towards the small window in the child’s bedroom.

I stopped beside the wooden cot and baulked at the rotten and torn up remains of a small human body splayed across a heavily stained blanket. The apocalyptic world never failed to throw up horrible surprises of the worst kind.  

“I know there’s an easier way out than jumping through that window,” he muttered.

I glanced across the room at my alternative self who stood in the doorway, leaning against the frame.

“Okay, I’m listening,” I said.

“There’s a hatch opening that leads to the loft space above the crapper in the bathroom,” my alternative self explained. “You can get up there and onto the roof through a skylight window. If you can make it down to the street, I’ll guide you back to the port.”

“You sure about that?” I snapped. I wasn’t totally convinced about any kind of assistance from my gloating caricature.

He replaced his sunglasses and spread out his arms. “One hundred percent certain, my brother. I’ll help you out of this mess. You can trust me.”

I spat out a laugh. “I find that very hard to believe but I don’t have a whole lot of options right now.”

My other self stood back and theatrically waved the way to the bathroom. I glanced back at the window and then back at him. The clattering noise on the staircase grew in volume and I knew the undead were only a few steps from the upper level. I didn’t have much time to play around with. Did I trust him or carry on and go out through the window?

I swatted away a couple of flies buzzing near my face, sighed deeply and strode across the bedroom towards the doorway, brushing by my alternative self.

“Show me the hatch,” I barked. “We have around one minute before those undead bastards get up here. You better not be jerking my chain.”

“Would I ever do that to you?” he said, smirking.

I flashed him an admonishing glare and waved him forward into the dark bathroom. He shrugged and led the way forward. The bathroom stunk of stagnant water and blocked waste pipes. I couldn’t see a goddamn thing while my eyes took a few seconds to adjust to the gloom. A small white bathtub with a sagging shower curtain draped halfway across it sat along the left side of the wall. A tiny, brown stained sink was positioned against the wall to the right. The toilet stood to the right of the bath, against the back wall and directly in front of the door. My alternative self stood in front of the sink and pointed upward above the toilet.

I glanced to where he was indicating and saw a recess in the ceiling, with a square boarded white panel sitting in the center.

“You sure about this?” I reiterated. I wasn’t at all convinced I was doing the right thing but didn’t have time to make any alternative arrangements.

My other self nodded. “Absolutely, but you better hurry.” He pointed to the doorway. The undead padded into view up the stairway. “Your new found fans want to mob you any time soon. You’re the latest big star to hit this town.”

I shook my head. “You are a fucking jerk, you know that, man?”

“That’s gratitude for you,” he huffed. “Sticks and stones, pal. I’m just trying to keep you alive. You live, I live. That’s the way it goes.”

“You’re all heart,” I retorted, tucking the Glock and the fruit knife into the back of my waistband.

“I know you love me really.”

I snorted, flipped the toilet seat down and stepped up onto the frame. A sprinkling of dust drifted down into my face as I lifted the panel in the ceiling. Sounds of groaning caused me to turn my head. The leading contingents in the undead crowd were now crawling across the landing. The stench of rotting wood hit me as I tossed the panel inwards into the loft space. I gripped the sides of the opening and began to haul myself upward. When I was halfway through the loft hatch I thrashed out my leg and kicked the bathroom door shut to bide me a little more time.

I grunted with exertion as I pulled myself through the hatch into the loft space. Spiraling dust made me sneeze a couple of times while I took in my surroundings. My alternative self was good on his word about the skylight at least. The roof window in the low ceiling was around ten feet to my left and allowed sunlight to stream into the hot, cramped and dusty space. At least I could see what the hell I was doing.

The sloping roof was around five feet above me and the wooden boarded floor space was almost filled with dust covered cardboard boxes. I heard a clattering of hands against the bathroom door and realized there was no returning from the loft. I could either sit up here ending my days by starving to death or escape through the skylight. Option two seemed a whole lot better. For some reason, I sang Joe Walsh’s lyrics to
Life’s Been Good
, emphasizing on the line when he lives in hotels and tears out the walls. I knew exactly how he felt when he wrote that line.  

I replaced the hatch cover board into the loft opening, just to be on the safe side. Zombies weren’t best at climbing up into tight spaces but I didn’t want to take the chance that they wouldn’t try it.

I crawled on all fours across the floor space and stopped beneath the skylight. I wiped the surface layer of dust away from the glass and peered out. All I could see was the bright blue sky and the surrounding gray asphalt roof tiles. The pitch of the roof sloped slightly to the right but not so much that I wouldn’t be able to stand on it without toppling over.

I glanced around for my alternative self but again, he’d decided to retreat into the dark recesses of my troubled mind. Never mind, he’d shown me the way to temporary safety. I could simply hole up in the loft and wait to see if anything happened in the town. I was tired and my throat was parched. I could lie down and take a nap and wait this damn situation out if I wanted.

But that wasn’t me. That wasn’t how I rolled. I couldn’t just sit on my ass and wait for shit to happen. In my experience, if you waited for others to do your bidding it rarely worked out the way you wanted. Besides, it was too hot and dusty and cramped inside the damn loft space to spend any more time stuck in there than I had to.

I searched around the skylight for the catch and found it along the bottom. The clasp was stiff and clunked as I pulled it free. I pushed the bottom of the glass and the window swung open. The fresh air wafting through the open skylight was a welcome relief and I took in a few deep breaths before I moved.

I crawled out onto the roof and sat beside the skylight window for a few moments, trying to orientate myself to where I was in the town. My attention was drawn to somebody waving at me on the rooftop on the opposite side of the street. I glanced over and saw my alternative self moving around like a space invader on top of the house across the road. What the hell was he doing?

When he saw he had my undivided attention, he began pointing to his left and making a flapping motion with his free hand. He pointed at me then repeated his exaggerated hand gestures. I shrugged and shook my head, not knowing what the hell he was doing. He repeated the whole process again and I wondered if he was fulfilling his promise in trying to guide me back to the port.

I had no alternative ideas other than putting my trust in him and hoping he could act as a guide through the zombie infested town. The first thing I needed to do though was get down off the damn rooftop. That was the first hurdle to overcome.

Chapter Sixty-Four

I nodded and waved back to my alternative self, indicating the penny had dropped and I knew what he was doing. Glancing down to the street below, I padded across the roof towards the edge. A few zombies milled around in the street outside the house but I couldn’t get down without breaking both my legs if I decided to jump. There was nothing close at hand to break my fall or to break up the jump.

“Shit,” I muttered. Why was nothing ever easy?

I moved to the left side of the roof and looked over at the neighboring house. The distance was around ten feet from rooftop to rooftop. The same expanse as from the child’s bedroom but it was definitely an easier jump than from the window below me. I scoured the surrounding area for a fire escape or a ladder left leaning against the outer walls but saw nothing. I’d have to make the jump and keep going from house to house until I could find a way down to the street. I sighed, knowing it might take a while and a lot of energy before my feet touched down on solid ground.

I glanced around. The only way I could go was onto the rooftop to the left. I looked back to the house opposite but my other self had vanished. That left me with only the one option and one route only.

I backed up and then ran across the gray asphalt roof, leaping across the gap when I reached the edge. The next house was built with orange colored clay tiles and around half a dozen of them broke beneath me as I clattered onto the roof. I struggled up the sloping pitch and had to stop myself sliding down a couple of times by gripping the sides of the tiles.

I saw a roof terrace at the rear of the property and made my way over the tiles towards it. I half slid, half fell down the sloping roof and stumbled onto the wooden boarded terrace. A couple of canvas deck chairs lay on their sides and a small table cluttered with empty glasses sat to the back of the level space.

I stood for a few seconds to get my bearings. The roof terrace was at the back of the house so the main street lay to the front. I glanced around and saw a slightly raised, glass panel hatch to the left of the terrace. I checked for any unopened drink containers on the table but saw none. I picked up a soggy cigarette pack but the smokes inside had long since disintegrated. I tossed the cardboard pack back on the table in frustration and turned to the hatch in the floor.

I crouched over the hatch and wiped away a layer of grime covering the glass panel. Squinting and moving my head around to avoid the glare reflecting from the sun, I saw a wooden ladder leading down into a small kitchen diner. Sweat dripped from my forehead and splashed onto the glass panel, obscuring my view of the room below. I didn’t have many options so I decided to go down there anyhow.

I grunted as I tried raising the panel upwards but it seemed to be locked from the inside. Shit, I was going to have to bust through the glass. A gunshot was going to echo around the rooftops so using the Glock was a no go for the time being. I glanced around for some inspiration. The heavy clay tiles would easily break the glass so I rushed back to the edge of the roof. The tiles creaked and groaned as I tugged on one sitting on the edge of the outer row. Removing a roof tile proved to be a harder job than I’d ever believed.

Finally, I managed to wrench my selected tile from its fixings but also succeeded in dislodging several more at the same time. The excess tiles clattered and broke into pieces on the deck, causing a horrendous lot of noise.

I was alone on the roof terrace, I knew that for sure but the crashing sounds of breaking tiles still caused me to turn every which way to check nobody had witnessed my crime of vandalism. Old habits die hard, I guess.

I lugged the tile I’d extracted, holding it in both hands back to the roof hatch. The damn thing was also heavier than I thought it was going to be. Maybe I was getting weaker, without having eaten or slept all day. I sweated intensely with the exertion as it took all my effort and energy to raise the tile above my head in front of the glass panel.

Grunting loudly, I brought down the tile with all the force my fatigued and dehydrated body could muster. The tile crashed through the pane, sending a sprinkling of glass chips and broken shards into the kitchen diner below. The whole glass panel had tumbled from the frame, leaving no sharp edges to cut myself on. At least one thing had gone right.

I lowered myself through the empty hatch frame and carefully trod down the wooden ladder. The broken glass crunched beneath my feet on the wide rungs and stale air wafted up at me as I descended. I drew the handgun from the back of my waistband. My senses told me something didn’t feel right. One thing I’d learnt during the apocalypse was to listen to the fight or flight judgment in my head. It was probably a sense the human race had ignored over the past few decades due to the easiness of life but I relied on that primeval logic to keep me alive.

The kitchen diner had a kind of faded blue vibe about it. The walls were painted light blue, the worktops running around the walls were navy and the mosaic wall tiles were a combination of light and dark blue. The wooden wall closets were also painted a turquoise shade of blue. The boarded floor however, was shaded in an off white color with huge dark stains of old blood covering the central space.

I trod slowly down the ladder until my feet touched the floor. I carefully scanned the kitchen diner for any signs of movement. My heart hammered in my chest and I felt the unmistakable sensation of dread rising within me.

“One step at a time,” I muttered to myself.

I stood still for a few moments, allowing my heart rate to slow and to regain some self control. The stench inside the house worried me. I could smell the undead somewhere within the confinements of the walls.

I cautiously made my way over to the sink and turned on the faucet. The nozzle spat out the remains of some brown water left in the system. Frustrated and still thirsty, I turned away looking for the refrigerator. The small cooler stood in the corner and I opened the door, immediately recoiling from the vile stench of spoiled food. I gagged but somehow managed to refrain from vomiting. A lone can of beer sat on the shelves amongst putrefying meat and furred up fruit and vegetables. I picked up the can and was grateful to see it was only six months past its sell by date. Beer didn’t really go bad. I popped the can and took a long sip of the tepid ale. It was still fizzy and almost tasteless but it was liquid and I soon polished off the whole can.