LEFT BEHIND
by
James Loscombe
Table of Contents
Title Page
Left Behind (Short Story)
About James
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Shuffling feet on the hallway floor. A thud as they reach the door. Silence follows, then the creaking sound of wood straining, splintering, giving way. I tense reflexively and then feel Michael’s hand on mine. It’s coming from the flat next door, where a woman called Helen lives. Lived. I hear her scream and put a hand over my mouth.
"Stay here," Michael says. He tries to take his hand away, but I hold on. He’s a big man and could easily pull away, instead he turns to me. His solid features barely visible in the dark of our bedroom. "I’ll only be a minute."
"Be careful," I say.
He nods. I let go of his hand and then he’s gone. For a moment I sit on our bed staring at the door. The silence crawls over my skin and I imagine all the terrible things that might be happening. Michael is capable, but even at his best he couldn’t take on more than two zombies by himself. There must have been many more than that to break down Helen’s door.
I can’t stand waiting. I walk across the hall to Penny and Bailey’s room. They’re asleep. I watch their chests rise and fall, wondering what it’s going to be like to grow up in a world like this. Some nights I think it would be kinder to put us all out of our misery. Plenty of people have done so. Then I’ll spend a guilt-ridden hour wondering how I could consider something as terrible as killing my own children.
The front door opens and I turn towards him. "They’re asleep," I say.
"Wake them," he says and walks past me to the kitchen. I hear him opening cupboards and throwing stuff into bags. A crack as something made of glass breaks and then he swears. I go to see what happened.
He’s crouched on the floor picking pieces of glass out of dark red pasta sauce. "Leave it," I say. He looks up at me and, for the first time, I feel really scared. The expression on his face is haunting. "You get the girls." I pick up a cloth and squat down next to him, sweeping up the mess easily. I may not be much use against a zombie, but I know how to clean a floor. "I’ll deal with this."
"Pack all the food," he says.
I nod. He stands up and goes. A moment later I hear the girls groaning into wakefulness. It doesn’t take them long to come around. Bailey is seven and Penny is nine. They have adapted to this new world much more quickly than me.
Ten minutes later we’re standing in the hallway by the front door, dressed in our coats and hats with as many of our belongings as we can reasonably carry. Bailey is holding her stuffed Rabbit, Mr Fixer, under her arm. It breaks my heart to think that we’re taking her away from her home, but I trust Michael’s judgement: if he says we should go then we must.
"Okay," he says. He looks more in control now, his eyes are focused and his body still. I don’t know what we’re going to find out there, but I know I couldn’t face it without him. "You need to stay quiet and keep up with me."
Penny starts to complain, but Michael cuts her off with a look.
"We’re going down the service stairs," he says. "They were empty earlier, but they might not be now. So keep alert. Understand?"
The girls and I nod. I want to tell them that I love them, but that seems too close to admitting that I might not get another chance.
Michael opens the door. There is no noise and I am immediately aware how unusual that is. The moonlit window at the end of the hall provides enough light for me to see our neighbours’ open doors and their possessions strewn across the floor. I gasp in horror and steer the girls away, before they notice the severed arm on the ground.
We move slowly along the hall. Michael at the front, me at the back, and the girls between us. We might be the only four people left in the building.
Michael pushes the door open and holds up a hand to signal that we should wait. Then he goes into the darkness. After a single footstep he has disappeared. It is just me and the girls left. A nightmare I’ve struggled with for weeks. How long would we last without him? He returns a moment later and waves to us.
I push Penny and Bailey forwards and follow behind. The darkness is almost overwhelming. The metal grate beneath my feet clangs every time one of us takes a step.
"Use the handrail," Michael says, his disembodied voice somewhere ahead of me. I feel for it and hold on for dear life. We have torches in our bags, but I know better than to use them here. Remaining hidden is our best chance of surviving.
I sense, rather than see, my family ahead of me and try to draw strength from them. We live... lived, on the twelfth floor. It takes less than a minute to get from the lobby to our front door in the lift. The stairs seem to take hours. My legs are aching by the time I feel concrete beneath my feet.
The lobby has none of the comfort I used to feel when returning from a day in town. Now the floor is littered with shards of broken glass that glisten like snow in the moonlight. The reception desk has been turned over, the computer smashed apart. A chair stands upright in the middle of it all, somehow unaffected by the chaos that has engulfed the rest of the building.
Michael and the girls are already at the door. I tear myself away from the office chair and suffer the look of disappointment on Michael’s face in silence.
The cold is shocking. Even wearing a thick coat, hat and gloves, it cuts through me. I attempt to readjust myself, but it makes little difference. It does keep me occupied for a few minutes though, so that by the time I notice the zombies we are already walking past them.
There are a dozen of them, on the other side of the street with their backs to us. Their limbs grotesquely twisted so it is difficult to tell where one begins and the other ends.
We keep moving as quickly and quietly as we can. Every few steps I turn back to look at them. The building they are focused on is a bakery. I know there must be people trapped inside, but there is nothing I can do to help. I don’t even allow myself to consider it, let alone suggest it to Michael. Soon we are around the corner and I no longer have to think about them.
There are people on the highstreet. For a moment it looks like late night shoppers browsing the window displays, commuters hurrying home from the tube station and groups of friends staggering from one bar to another. A second look and I see that they aren’t groups of drunk friends, they are zombies. The people hurrying are trying to get away from them. The people browsing window displays are trying to hide. We keep moving.
We pass through the small clusters of zombies easily. As long as we are quiet they don’t seem aware of us. I am aware of them though; the smell of their rancid flesh and congealing blood makes me sick to my stomach. I hurry to keep up with Michael and the girls.
I don’t know how long we walk for. I have lived in London for ten years but never walked far. As soon as we pass the tube station I am in unfamiliar territory. Michael hasn’t told us where we are going, but I know he has a plan. He always has a plan.
Sooner than I expect, we reach the river. There are fewer people here, but they are clustered in a tight group. Small boats are bobbing up and down on the river. There are no zombies as far as I can see, but that doesn’t make me feel secure. I have an idea that I might never feel secure again.
Michael leads us towards the docks. There is something eerie about so many Londoners gathered in absolute silence. It makes me think about the way funerals
are silent.
We push our way into the crowd and several people push back. They may be silent, but they aren’t docile. No one wants to lose their place.
I reach for Bailey’s hand. She seems smaller among these people. I don’t want her to get lost. Together we push and shove until we can’t go any further. Then there is nothing to do except wait.
I shiver. Bailey squeezes my hand and I don’t know whether she is seeking comfort or giving it. It makes no difference. I squeeze back but no comfort passes between us. I turn to Michael, but he doesn’t notice. His eyes are fixed on the boat ahead of us.
A figure appears on the dock. In the darkness I can’t tell whether it’s a man, woman or child. When they speak it is so quietly that I still can’t tell. Despite that I hear every word they say. "We’ll be opening the doors in a minute. There’s not enough room for everyone. It’ll be first come, first in."
We were late to arrive but, when I turn to tell Michael this, I see that more people have appeared behind us. We are somewhere in the middle. Depending on how full they’re prepared to have the boat, we might still get on.
"Where will it take us daddy?" Penny says.
‘The Isle of Wight," he tells her, without looking away. "It’s safe there."
Is it?
As far as I know zombies can’t swim, but that didn’t stop them getting over the channel from France. The Isle of Wight is a long way and if zombies did get there we would be trapped. I consider telling Michael this, but I know he will already have considered it. If he is willing to take the chance then so am I.
"Okay," says the figure on the dock. "Here we go."
The doors open with a screech of metal and even before they clang into place the crowd surges forwards. I am pulled along with them, unable to do anything except try to keep hold of Bailey’s hand. I reach for Michael with the other, but he is too far away. Panic rises in my throat as I realise we are being pulled in different directions. No, not quite. I am being dragged in one direction and he is using brute strength to force his way in the other.
It happens very quickly. One moment Bailey and I are moving away from the boat together, the next her hand is slipping out of mine. I turn to look and see that she has been caught by another current. I reach for her. "Bailey!" I shout.
"Mummy!" she shouts back.
I forget about the boat. My daughter is the only thing that matters. No one tries to stop me. I am moving away from the water, one less person for them to compete with. It is still awkward to move through the mass of bodies, but some people are considerate enough to push me in the direction I want to go.
"Bailey!"
"Mummy!"
She sounds terrified and that gives me the strength to keep going.
I lose track of her. I want to scream. I imagine her being pushed into the icy river, lungs filling with water. I push harder, call louder. I break through the crowd and stumble onto the dark street.
A small shape on the ground. She might be someone’s discarded backpack, but bags don’t shiver and sob. I put my arms around her and she tenses. "It’s okay honey. Mummy’s got you." She relaxes into my arms and I hold her.
It doesn’t take her long to cry herself out. "Where’s daddy?" she says when she’s done.
We stand up together and turn towards the boat. The people are so compressed now that I can’t tell them apart. The boat is barely visible beyond them. Even if I could see Michael and Penny, there’s no way I could get to them.
I take Bailey’s hand and we move forwards together. Dread makes me shiver. This can’t be happening.
I squeeze Bailey’s hand again, and this time I know it’s me seeking comfort. Then two things happen at once.
The first is hearing Michael’s voice. "Sam!" he shouts. "Bailey! Where are you?" I see an arm waving near the boat and know it’s him.
The second is the wheezing moan from somewhere behind us. I turn, but I don’t need to see them to know that zombies have arrived.
The crowd bristles but no one runs. They seem to feel that their best chance of survival is getting on the boat. But there isn’t room for everyone and there’s no way I could fight through the crowd.
Bailey might be able to though. She’s young, small and fast. She might slip through without anyone noticing.
I imagine myself standing alone on the dock, watching my family float away. I might never see them again. I imagine the boat leaving me and Bailey behind to face the zombies. They would catch us and kill us, but I would live long enough to know that I could have saved her. I don’t want to die alone, but I want Bailey to live more.
"Go to your dad," I tell her, squeezing her hand for what will likely be the last time.
"Mummy..." she says. I see fear in her eyes, but I know it’s for the best.
"Just go," I say and try to push her away. She doesn’t move so I push harder. There isn’t time to argue.
She staggers away, taking my heart with her. She looks back and I feel tears on my face. Then she is gone.
The zombies are closer and the people who aren’t going to get on the boat decide they should leave. I should go as well, but I want to know they’re safe.
By the time Michael calls out that he has Bailey, it’s almost too late. I can smell the rotting creatures close by. I turn away from the boat and run.
I stop on the bridge. The screams of people who weren’t quick enough echo across the river. None of the zombies have followed me so I walk to the railing and look down. It is too dark to make out anything clearly, but I tell myself I can see the boat. If all goes well then in a few days they will be on The Isle of Wight where they will be safe.
I have to believe that is true.
The night is getting colder. I don’t know what time it is, nor how long I stand on the bridge wondering whether to throw myself off. If I thought it would kill me then I might. The thought of bobbing around in the icy water for hours is the only thing that stops me. I could find some other way to kill myself, but by the time I am off the bridge my suicidal impulse has started to fade.
London is a big city folded up on itself. Like the human nervous system, it fits into a neat little package, but if you were to lay it out flat then it might reach the moon. It feels as if I walk for hours, numbed by what has happened. When I see zombies I take a different route, I have nowhere to go and no reason to get near them.
The sun is beginning to rise by the time exhaustion forces me to find somewhere to rest. I walk into a small block of flats with the door hanging open. It latches closed behind me and I fumble for a light switch before remembering that the electric went off weeks ago.
It doesn’t feel as if anyone else is here, but I still go from room to room and make sure. When I am satisfied that the place is empty I go into a bedroom and close the door. I push a dresser in front of it. My bag goes on the floor by the bed and my back aches with gratitude. I fall onto the bed. Too exhausted to think about eating, or even to climb under the covers. I am asleep in seconds.
When I open my eyes again the room is filled with bright sunshine. I am sweating.
The walls are grubby white and decorated with posters of what I assume was the last boy band sensation. There is a small desk in the corner with a mirror and lots of cheap makeup on it. The kind you buy for young teenage girls. The open drawers reveal more beauty products and an iPad covered in glittery pink stars. It is the sort of room I imagine Penny and Bailey would have made for themselves, if they ever had the chance. Now they never will.
My stomach rumbles. I grab my bag to find something to eat. I sit on the bed eating an energy bar, drinking water and wondering what I’m going to do next. I know where they are going, which is good. I have food and water, which is also good. I have no idea how to get to The Isle of Wight though and my supplies will run out eventually.
I force down the last of my breakfast. I can’t think that far ahead.
Michael would tell me to check the kitchen before I leave, so I do. I take the few tins that
I find and there is enough water in the pipes to refill my bottle. Then I go to the front door and step out.
In the narrow Victorian terrace row there are close to two-hundred zombies. I stand in the doorway and watch them. They move slowly, listlessly, as if board, or resting. I know they haven’t noticed me yet because I am still alive.
One of them begins to turn. I am too terrified to move and in the short term that probably saves my life. Its cold, dead eyes slide over me as if I am just another brick in the wall. It looks away but I am too scared to sigh with relief.
I consider going back inside, but is there any chance they will move on? It seems more likely that my movement would catch their attention and then I’d be trapped in the house for as long as it takes them to break the door down.
Minutes pass and I still can’t decide what to do. If Michael was here he’d know. I have to do something though. Eventually one of them will notice me.
My legs start to ache. My back is throbbing from carrying the heavy bag. If I leave it too much longer I might not be able to move at all.
I take a deep breath and think about Michael, Penny and Bailey. I take a small step forwards, stop and look around. They don’t seem to notice me.
I take another step and then another. I stop when I reach the door to the next house. Some of the zombies are looking around but not at me. They seem to know that something is going on, but aren’t sure what. They move closer together as if the disturbance could be a threat.
I move again, staying as close to the houses as possible. The road begins to curve and when I next look back, I can’t see the house I started from. I speed up. No idea where I’m going, only that I need to get there quickly.
At the corner the street I see zombies moving towards me and stop. I look for a place to hide but don’t see anywhere. I could go back the way I came, but I already know there are more zombies there. One of them turns and its dead eyes fall on me. It lets out a groan and starts moving in my direction.
Left Behind: A Short Story Page 1
