Left Alive 1

by Jeremy Laszlo

  It’s calm in the street, so I look to the window and spy inside the house. It isn’t as badly tossed as the houses closer to Cincinnati were, but they have certainly been searched. I smash the window and crawl in, grimacing against the raw pain in my ribs. I’m ready to be done with this pain in my chest and back. I want to breathe normally. I want to be fine again. I call out once more, thinking of Jason and his fiancée. I would never have killed him had he simply called out and told me to go away. But this house is silent. I click on my flashlight and set to work.

  The cabinets in the kitchen have been thrown open and everything is missing that would be of value. I stare at the fridge with a putrid fear of what might come bubbling out of there if I open it. I leave it alone and search the pantry. There are a lot of empty boxes or opened products that have long rotted and evaporated into black stains. I notice that the back door is unlocked. I reach out and secure the deadbolt.

  The rest of the houses are much the same. They’ve all been neatly searched but they’re missing the most important aspect of my purpose. There’s no food in any of them. The more I search, the more certain I am that there is someone living in this town. No doubt that they’re holed up in some sort of fortified position sitting on a hoard. I look through the thirteenth house one last time, my eyes running over the pictures of those who lived here before. Their faces haunt me, not because they’re gone, but because they’re in some sort of limbo. They’re out there drifting, neither dead, nor alive. They might have relocated, but no one knows now where they are. Are they dead, alive, or mindlessly roaming from town to town feeding on the flesh of the living? They are Schrodinger’s cats. I don’t know. I suppose it doesn’t matter.

  I search house after house, until I come to businesses that are also boarded up with vacant parking lots. I look at the MacDonalds with plywood over the windows and doors. I read where someone has spray painted ‘Go Away!’ on one of the boards. I look to the northwest where the road stretches up toward Cincinnati. This is clearly the route of the marauders. I look to the south, wondering if I should keep searching. I know with all my heart that there is food here, and my stomach is getting worse and worse. I need to find something to eat soon, but someone has already gathered everything. There is nothing left for me.

  I kind of hope that there’s a group of them. Maybe they’ve banded together, a small group of survivors who have decided that they need each other to survive. The idea gives me hope. It makes me feel alright about moving on. I make my way south. I don’t bother with any more of the houses as I go. I don’t even look at the wood used to board them up, to see which is more of a heavy duty grade. My eyes are focused to the south, towards Florida. My daughters are waiting for me and there is nothing more precious to me than them. I have water still, it’ll have to suffice.

  I can’t wait to see them. Part of me feels as if the worst is truly over. I’ve reached my stride. I know how to live and operate in this world now. I know what I need to do to survive and keep my soul. I refuse to kill those I don’t have to and right now, I’m one step closer to helping those I can. I’m no fool. I’m not diving into any suicidal fights, but I will definitely help those who call out for me and there’s something I can do. I slowly walk toward the edge of town, giving it one last look to see if there’s anything of use.

  Then I spot it.

  The hoard.

  My suspicions are validated once and for all by a split black bag full of cans. It’s resting in the center of an alley between two houses that are nestled close together. In the shade of the houses, the cans sit quietly, dust gathering around them as the wind playfully blows the shredded hole in the black bag. I stare wordlessly at the treasure trove that I’ve discovered here. I look at it with bewildered amazement that such a wondrous hoard is left. Why would someone abandon this and just keep moving? Was it marauders that drove them from this bag? Or was it Zombies roaming through the town on their way to Cincinnati? I take a step closer, looking around for any sign that there is life in the town. White, fluffy clouds drift by soundlessly in the almost blue heavens and I feel as if the sun shines a little brighter.

  Dropping to my knee, I stare with silent, trembling delight at a new can of tuna, white albacore, resting on top of two cans of Spam, another can of ravioli, and even a few cans of tomatoes and corn and artichoke hearts. I spy a jar of olives and another of pickles and feel my hands shaking as I drop to my knee and stab my machete into the ground, using it to keep me balanced as I reach out with my left hand to collect the prized trove. As I grasp at the can of tuna it slowly tumbles from where it’s held, as if it’s full of nothing but air. As the can drops, it hits the ground and I feel nothing but excruciating pain in my arm. I never even saw the flash.

  I scream at the top of my lungs as I feel a thousand jets of searing hot pain shooting up my arm, past my elbow and straight into my shoulder. There is nothing but gut-wrenching anguish bursting down into my fingers that immediately clench, contracting in numb, sizzling pain as my throat begins to burn from the scream. My eyes water and my heart begins hammering so fast it might shatter my ribs, but I don’t give a shit about that. All I feel is the pain as I look down, my lips quiver as my jaw clenches at the sight of the iron teeth sunken into the flesh of my forearm. I don’t know what I’m supposed to do. What do I do? In agonizing pain I reach out with my right arm, touching the crescent of the metallic jaw that has chomped through my arm.

  A bear trap. I know it in an instant. One had hung on the wall in my father’s cabin. The pain is receding, but I know that this is nothing more than the adrenaline now coursing through my veins as the shock begins to move through my body. There is something seriously wrong. I wiggle my fingers, trying to make sure that I can still use them. I see my thumb and three of my fingers move, the other two are motionless. I’m afraid they’re dead. I wiggle them again, brushing my fingertips along the bar that holds the trigger. My knuckles are touching the bar, I can grab it. I reach out and wrap my index and ring finger around it. My pinkie and middle finger are all but useless. I shift my weight, pulling with my bicep and feeling the teeth biting into my skin, pulling against the already torn flesh as the blood begins to run down my arm. I’m going to bleed out if I don’t do something quick. I try to think. I can use my belt. I can use my belt to make a tourniquet. Quickly, I fumble for my belt, pulling on the slack and undoing the latch. Sliding the belt from my waist, I wrap it around my arm the best I can but I lose my grip and feel my vision blurring.

  A door slams.

  “Well, well, well!” a voice calls across the street and I’m suddenly unsure as to how I’m supposed to feel about this voice. I can’t focus on it. I grab my belt and wrap it around my forearm. Pulling the belt tight, I cinch it, trying to cut off the blood supply to the wound. I get the belt around it and try my hardest to pull the slack tight, my fingers coated with my own blood. I don’t think it’s going to work. I can feel that it’s nearing the end. I give it one last tug and then slap myself across the cheek. I blink a few times and think. I need to pry the mouth open. I need to get the teeth out of my arm. Shit. There’s someone laughing. “Like a damn rat in a trap!” the voice says.

  Something hits my hip, hard and I go down on both knees. I don’t even really feel the blow, just suffer from the repercussions of it. I feel him kick me in the kidney. “Stop it!” I shout at him.

  “What you gonna do, boy?” the man laughs. I turn and look at him. The man is wearing a sleeveless flannel with a straw cowboy hat. There’s a cigarette between his lips and I look at the glow with nothing but unabated rage at the sight of it. A cigarette? Are you serious? This bastard takes my fucking arm and he’s too lazy to even put out his damn cigarette to finish me off. “You gonna do something, Hoss?” The man laughs and takes a drag from his smoke, blowing out a long plume of toxins. “No, you ain’t. You wandered into the wrong town, Mister. Hell, I even put up a sign to keep you dumbasses away, but you don’t read. Just like all them others. But you know what
, son? This is my town.”

  “Fine,” I wheeze, sweat dripping off my nose. “Your town.”

  “That’s right, bitch,” he smiles, and reaches for his cigarette to take another drag, his eyes squinting as I can taste him relishing the sight of my agony.

  With whatever strength I have left, I hurl the bear trap upwards, slamming it as hard as a freight train into the fool’s mouth. There’s a disgusting crack that sends the idiot sprawling backwards on his ass. I can feel the warm spray of blood across my face and hear the clatter of his teeth against the side of the house. Huffing and puffing, I try to manage the fiery pain that is rampaging through my arm that is already starting to look pale. The man is propping himself up and his elbows and his legs are trembling. I stand over him, wincing and shivering, succumbing to shock. I look down on him as he reaches up and probes his obliterated mouth. The skin is completely ripped open and one of the sides of his jaw is hanging limp, attached only by strings of flesh. He’s feeling the top of his mouth with his fingers as he kicks and lets out a sort of pathetic whimpering squeal, tears running down his cheeks as he realizes what I’ve done to him. Blood pools under his face where teeth are scattered like the pearls of a broken necklace.

  I take a step towards him and his eyes open wide. He’s screaming, unleashing a guttural shriek that sounds more like a pig that’s about to be butchered than a man about to die. I loom over him with the bear trap raised. I want to say something smart, something truly bloodcurdling to him before I end his miserable life. But there’s nothing left to say. I lift the bear trap up one last time as pinpricks of light erupt before my eyes and I swing it down with the last of my strength while the man shrieks in horror. The sound of a scream being cut short is a terrible thing, but I enjoy it at this moment. I enjoy it more than I know I should, but I’m about to die. I’m allowed a few morbid pleasures before the end.

  The bear trap has turned his head into a shattered soup of bone, brain, blood, and muscle that looks nothing like I would expect a head to look like. There’s an eye rolling in a mass of twisted flesh near an ear and I feel like throwing up. I lean against the wall of the house, dragging the bloody, gore-soaked bear trap with me. I don’t have any strength left. He continues to twitch, but I can hardly watch. My legs give out from under me as I try to pull my machete free. I slip it between the teeth of the bear trap, trying to pry it open. The blade slips and what little progress I’ve made is lost. I grind my teeth together and let slip a roar of defeat and rage. This can’t be the end. This can’t be!

  I try to picture Val and Lexi one last time, but to my horror, I can’t. I keep looking for their faces, but there’s nothing there. I can see them as children sitting in front of the Christmas tree when they’re just tiny little girls. They look at their presents with wonder and amazement before turning to smile at me. But they don’t have faces. I’m looking at blank slates. I feel tears rolling down my cheeks as I look for Tiffany in my mind. She’s gone. She’s nowhere to be seen.

  “Tiffany!’ I scream, gripping the teeth of the bear trap and pulling against them with a futile effort. Suddenly I can see her coffin being lowered into the earth and my eyes are burning with hatred, burning with rage. I have to be strong. I have to be brave. I have to keep going. The girls need me.

  I can see them standing, faceless, in front of Lexi’s dorm hall in Florida, grinning under the bright sun in front of an ermine lawn. They’re waving at me, but I can’t see them. Why can’t I see them? I try to remember their voices, their fond farewell when I left them last year together after Val moved into the dorms. I try to remember her voice on the phone over a month ago. I try to remember what it sounds like, but I have nothing. I’m alone.

  Remember the stories of the coyotes chewing off their own arms to save themselves from traps? I do. I do remember those stories. I look at my arm, blood-soaked except for the pale patches of skin that are visible still. I look to the machete in my right hand and I know what needs to be done. I feel nauseous. My eyes are blurring, fading in and out of focus. Oh God, I’m going to do this and I’m going to miss. Oh well, I tell myself. I’m a dead man anyways.

  Slowly, everything swirls into darkness.

  Epilogue

  My eyes open. I’m getting tired of that being a genuine surprise to me. Blinking once, I feel the pain of blinding white light filling my eyes. My body is numb. I don’t know how I’m alive, but I’m still here. I blink away the pain in my eyes and realize how cold I am. Everything is swirling and swimming in my head and all of it is beyond my control. I try to lift my head, but bile rises in my throat with each attempt. I feel the light burning my eyes, but I don’t think there’s anything I can do about it. I blink several more times, trying to see if the fog will clear, but nothing happens.

  “You’re an idiot, you know,” a voice says out of the light. Suddenly I notice that the light is shifting. There’s someone there. A dark silhouette leaning over me. I blink again and realize that I’m indoors. I look at the light and see now that it’s coming from a flashlight strapped to some sort of metal arm above me. My flashlight. I smile, basking in the warmth of the light, even if I can’t feel it. I feel something cold and wet touching my chest. It’s now that I realize I’m shirtless. “The dust and ash is leeching into your skin, making its way to your bloodstream. It’s poisoning you.”

  “What?” I mutter.

  “The toxins are in the dust,” the voice answers. I can hear it better now. It’s a woman speaking to me. “That’s how it spread outside the Quarantine Zones. There were thousands of people who got caught in dust storms. It affects your brain, targeting the cortex. Slowly it starts to make you mad, make you do crazy things. It starts with a twitch. Have you been twitching?”

  “No,” I blink again, trying to remember. “I don’t think so.”

  “Good,” the woman says with a lightness to her voice. “Wouldn’t want to put you out of your misery.”

  I think about the Zombies. That explains why there are so many of them. They’re not just berserk cannibals roaming around and hunting for the flesh of the living. They truly were insane. They were feeding on the living because that was what they saw as food. I suddenly feel very sorry for them. It’s sort of a wave of sadness. I figured that they were cannibals driven mad by something like Kuru, sort of a product of their sins. But if they’re just people caught in the dust, I feel sick. Could the world get any worse? Suddenly, I think about the storm in Sterling Heights. I had walked for nearly an entire day in a storm. Did that mean I was susceptible to the brain damage? The woman could clearly sense that there was something on my mind.

  “You okay?” she asks, grabbing for something beyond my view.

  “I was in a storm,” I say. “Back a few weeks ago. I spent an entire day in it.”

  “Were you covered?” she asks me.

  “Mostly, not the top of my head,” I answer.

  I feel her soft, gentle hands pat me on the shoulder. “I wouldn’t worry about it too much,” she sort of laughs as she says it to me, as if I’m a child worrying about getting the flu. I try to look at her, but moving is just so difficult, too much work. The light is blinding me. Am I dying? Suddenly there’s a hand, wreathed in light, floating before me with a blue pill in it. “Here, I need you to take this,” she puts the pill on my lips. Before I can ask her, she anticipates what I’m going to ask her. “It’s going to dilate your blood vessels, so that your pressure decreases. I need you to start clotting.”

  “Why?” I ask, as I swallow the pill just as she commands.

  I can feel the dry pill slowly making its way down my throat. She puts a bottle to my lips and squeezes it so that a flood of cold water fills my dry mouth, washing the pill down. I almost gag on the water, but I trust whoever it is giving me this. I have no choice. There’s nothing I can do. Slowly I’m beginning to remember the pain in my left arm, the bear trap, and the stranger whose head I obliterated.

  “Here’s another one,” she says, sticking another
pill on my lips. “It’s a tranquilizer.”

  “Why?” I ask, parting my lips and feeling the pill drop down onto my tongue. I’m answered by the water bottle being put to my lips, and another shot of cold water fills my mouth.

  “Because this is going to hurt,” she says.

  I feel her put something hard between my teeth as I grunt, asking her for clarity. I feel something cold against my arm, almost as if it’s sharp. Something on my left arm squeezes tighter and I realize that I’m tied down to something. Something is wrapped around my left arm just above the elbow. I can’t feel my left hand. I fight and grunt against the gag that has been forced into my mouth. Shaking my body, there’s literally nothing I can do. Panic floods my mind as I feel something digging into me, pressure filling my numb limb. There’s some sort of sound that I can hear that makes me want to throw up. I’ve heard it before. It’s familiar, almost. It sounds like something is sawing through a branch or something. Slowly I see the fog part and the reality of what’s happening sinks in.

  She’s sawing off my arm.

  I lay my head back against the table. I’m not sure if she’s a cannibal or if she’s trying to save my life, but I’m at her mercy. Slowly I close my eyes and listen as she takes my arm away, my body slipping back into the shock that it’s come to know too well. Maybe it’s the tranquilizer, but I’m feeling tired, so very tired. My eyelids are heavy and when they close, it’s harder for me to open them. I close them one more time and listen as she continues working, until sleep and darkness take me.

  -End

  Begin Book Two Now:

  Left Alive #2

  Books by Jeremy Laszlo

  Clad in Shadow (Poetry for a Burdened Soul)

  The Blood and Brotherhood Saga