“How the hell did it all come to this?” I said to myself.
“We’re going to need gas before we hit The Big Apple,” Eazy said from the front. “We’re going to be running on fumes pretty soon.”
I sighed. I knew every stop we made was a risk. The image of my father sat aboard some luxury yacht in Battery Park Harbor played through my mind. Our journey seemed like trying to get to Mars without a space ship. I didn’t know how many millions of undead packed the streets and surrounding towns of Manhattan Island. It was one of the most densely populated places on the planet and we were going straight towards it. Into the lion’s den. I thought at that moment, not all or any of us would make it there alive.
“There’s a small gas station just off a turning a couple of miles down the road,” Smith said, pointing to the right. “I used to use it on the way back to New York if I’d been out of state. The gas was always cheaper than the big chain owned places. The old boy who owns the place runs his power off a generator so as long as that’s still useable, we’ll be okay to pump gas into the tank. I wonder if the old buzzard’s still alive.”
“Just be sure to let me know in plenty of time when to turn off,” Eazy said.
The VW camper trundled along at a steady fifty miles an hour. I was enjoying the ride and the break from running away from or fighting zombies. It seemed like the lull before the storm. Rosenberg dozed with Spot following suit on his lap.
“Look, what’s that over there?” Batfish asked with a tone of interest, not terror for once. “Slow down a bit, Eazy.”
Eazy let his foot off the gas. I craned my neck and looked at where she was pointing. Donna, Batfish and Eazy all stared out of the windows to our left, across to opposite traffic lanes. A male and a female stood beside a stationary, battered white Datsun in the middle lane. They frantically flapped their arms at us in a motion that universally means to slow down. Their vehicle pointed towards Brynston. Eazy braked harder and we studied the young couple across the Interstate. They were definitely not in the throes of the infection and didn’t appear to be suffering injuries of any kind.
“What do you think they want?” Eazy snarled like he didn’t want to make contact with the strangers.
“Let’s go and see,” Smith said and opened the camper’s side door.
I hopped out with Smith. Donna and Batfish followed. I just wanted to talk to somebody else and get as much information about what was going on. We walked over to the central barrier and the two on the opposite side did the same.
The male was a young man in his early twenties, dressed in a retro Freddy Kruger t-shirt and dirty, baggy blue jeans. The female was the same age, with rosy cheeks and dressed in a flowery, kind of hippy style brown dress.
“Hi, thanks for stopping,” the female said. I recognized her accent as well spoken English. “I’m Julia and this is Kell.” She gestured towards the male. She smiled and held out a hand over the barrier for all of us to shake.
We introduced ourselves with brief handshakes.
“We’re on our way out of the state and run out of gas, man. Bummer,” Kell spoke in slow monotonous tones, as though he was stoned. He rubbed the week old stubble on his chin and spat on the blacktop. “Can you give us a ride to a gas station?”
Batfish nodded. “We’re on our way to one now. The turning is not far away.”
“Cool!” Kell smiled. “Have any of you dudes got a cigarette?”
I gave him a smoke, feeling temporarily generous. “Where you headed?”
“Allentown,” Kell said, breathing out smoke. “I got an uncle who runs a farm over there. I spoke to him yesterday and he seems to be doing okay. We headed out of Union City last night. Things are pretty fucked up down there. We got out just in time.”
“We’re headed into New York. We’re going to try to get to the harbor.”
Kell whistled and pulled the skin back over his top lip. “I heard it was bad down there in the City, man.”
“I was hoping the infection wouldn’t have spread so fast,” I said. “I thought maybe the cops or the army could have contained things in the City.”
“It was worse. We watched it on TV. No one could stop the spread. It was a massacre, dude. The infected just ran through everybody.”
“That’s kind of how it was in Brynston,” I lamented. I imagined huge crowds of undead packing the Manhattan streets to the point of standstill. One live person would be like a seal pup swimming amongst a shoal of hungry Great White Sharks.
I went on to tell Kell about the crowd of zombies and the wreckage behind us. They were headed that way on the Interstate and I warned him not to venture into Brynston. Julia came over after to talking with Batfish and Donna for a while.
“I couldn’t help notice you have an English accent,” I said. “I mean English from England not English American.” I laughed nervously and my face flushed slightly. She had a cute face with a slightly turned up nose and mousey brown hair, flopping either side of her bright green eyes.
“Oh, yes, I’m from Portsmouth in Hampshire, originally,” she smiled. “Daddy moved his business over here about three years ago.”
She seemed to be too bright and intelligent to be hooked up with a loser like Kell. I helped her over the barrier and felt slightly embarrassed when my helping hand brushed against her right breast. I didn’t apologize and pretended it didn’t happen. The wiry Kell leapt over the barrier and we all squeezed into the camper. Batfish introduced the two new arrivals to Eazy and Rosenberg. Julia was smitten with Spot as I knew she would be. I decided I’d try and find out about her relationship with Kell a little later.
The VW seemed to struggle with the extra weight. I wondered how they were going to get gas from the garage back to the car. They were taking a risk if there were no jerry cans available. Five minutes later, Smith pointed to the turning. I noticed he’d been quiet since Julia and Kell had come on the scene.
Eazy guided the VW off the Interstate. “How far is it from here, man?”
“Not far. About five miles,” Smith replied.
“Five miles?”Eazy looked down at the fuel gauge. “I just hope we make five miles. And I hope this asshole actually has some gas.”
He had a valid point. We’d taken for granted this old world gas station of Smith’s was just going to be business as usual with a smile and the tip of a hat. What we hadn’t questioned was whether the place still had any gas or was crawling with zombies.
Chapter Fifteen
Eazy kept glancing anxiously at the fuel gauge on the VW dash as we crawled along the back road. Pine trees and wooden fences lined the edges of the two way lane. I saw a few cows dotted around a field to our left and couldn’t help imagine a herd of zombie bovines stomping around the country side. The animals seemed unaware of the changing world and shuffled around amongst the grass.
The sky was clear blue and an early haze shimmered across the road. Another glorious day in paradise.
The VW trundled around a left hand bend and Smith pointed out the small gas station.
“Is that it?” Eazy snorted.
The garage was a wooden clapboard structure, looking as though it was built during the Civil War. The building had once been painted white but only flecks here and there remained. A long wooden, barn-type structure stood behind the garage. We pulled alongside two red, hand painted gas pumps outside the dilapidated construction. I looked for any signs of life but couldn’t see through the cracked and dusty windows. Eazy killed the motor and nervously looked over the building.
Smith slid back the door and got out with Kell and me hopping out after him. The place had a creepy feel as if someone was watching us from inside those dark, dirty windows. I drew my Beretta just in case.
“Hey cool. Nice piece, man,” Kell looked wide eyed at my hand gun. “Can I have a look?”
“Maybe later,” I snapped. “Let’s concentrate on getting this gas first, okay?”
Kell made a face like a naughty school kid but nodded and turn
ed back to the gas station.
I looked over the place. Pieces of engines and a small can of oil lay by the front door. The drain piping was detached from the wall and the roof missed more than a few tiles. It looked like the gas store had seen better days.
“Hello?” Smith called out. “Is anybody here?” Smith drew his Desert Eagle and Kell’s eyes nearly popped out of his head.
“Does he always take this long to answer?” I asked.
Smith shook his head. It just felt wrong and if we didn’t need gas, I’d have suggested getting the fuck out of there.
“It doesn’t look much of a gas station,” Kell said. “I could use a pack of cigarettes right now. Hasn’t it got a store or something?”
“Nah, nothing like that,” Smith said. “He was yapping to me one day about how he used his truck to tow people that broke down on the Interstate, back there,” he nodded with his head. “He’d bring their cars here and fix them. He said it paid well.”
“He was a bit of a grease monkey, huh?” Kell smiled.
“Something like that.”
We sharply turned our heads at a noise from inside the garage. Something scraped, across a hard floor. Smith held his finger to his lips and trod slowly forward. He put his left hand on the front door handle. The door creaked opened as he pushed. The interior was dark and a stench of rotting meat attacked my senses. It didn’t look good but no other vehicles stood out front, indicating nobody was around except maybe the garage owner.
“Hello?” Smith yelled into the open door.
Then we heard a moan like a cow.
“Oh shit, it’s one of them,” Kell wailed.
“He does have a dog,” Smith said. “A big bastard.”
The scraping noise came again followed by an echoed clatter. Kell took two steps back. A shuffling sound approached from the darkness inside. I was just glad it wasn’t dark outside otherwise I’d have turned and run by now. Smith raised the Desert Eagle as the shuffling came nearer.
A thin, little man with wispy gray hair and a long beard, dressed all in denims, shuffled through the doorway. At first I thought he was okay but then I heard that moan again. As he stepped into the light, I saw a huge wound on his neck above a piece of skin flapping like it had been peeled away. The fronts of his denims were streaked with dry blood.
“Is it him?” I asked.
Smith nodded and leveled the Desert Eagle. “Yeah, it’s him,” he said and then blew the zombie’s brains out the back of his head.
Eazy jumped out of the driver’s seat of the camper and tried the gas pump. “Nothing, it’s dead,” he called over.
“Let’s see if we can find that generator,” Smith said, replacing his Desert Eagle.
I ran over to the VW and took the flash light from my rucksack. I didn’t fancy groping around the gloomy interior of the garage guys living quarters.
“He said he used to fix up the cars out back,” Smith muttered.
“I saw a barn type building at the back of the garage when we drove in,” I said.
“Okay, let’s give it a try. You coming too, tough guy?”
“Yeah, I’ll come along for the buzz,” Kell tried to pretend he wasn’t crapping his pants.
Smith turned and gave me a small wink. It looked and felt like Smith and I were something of an unlikely team now. I clicked on the flash light as we stepped over the dead garage owner lying in the doorway.
I flashed the beam around the pokey front room. The interior of the property was in keeping with the exterior. Huge cobwebs shrouded the corners and hung like pleated sails from the ceiling. A couple of wooden stools lay overturned on the floor next to the kind of table you see outside a cheap diner. The place stunk of a combination of body odor, engine oil, grime and rotten meat.
“Jesus, this guy didn’t exactly live like a prince, did he?” Kell said what I was thinking. He pulled back the curtains but the grime caked windows let little light through.
Smith was shining his pen torch over a small TV set in the corner of the room. He was flicking buttons and trying to turn on the set. He turned to the light switch to his left and flicked it on and off with no success.
“Power is definitely out,” he said. “We’ll have to look for that generator.”
I didn’t fancy rummaging around in the dark, grubby, stinking little hovel. “Wouldn’t it be out back, Smith?” I hoped we could skip the game of hunt the generator.
“You check the barn at the back and I’ll have a scout around in here,” Smith seemed to sense my wariness.
I pressed on through the front room followed by Kell. He had made his choice to follow me instead of Smith. Two doorways lead from the front room. Smith stood by the one to the right and the other lay straight ahead. Smith seemed keen to look around the rest of the house for some reason. I wondered if the old fart had a bit of cash tucked away somewhere that Smith knew about. I plumped for the door straight ahead and Smith disappeared through the door on the right.
The building was wider than it was deep so there wouldn’t be much space between myself and the back door. The kitchen lay beyond the front room and I was relieved to see daylight streaming through the back windows. I stepped slowly through the filthy kitchen. The refrigerator door hung open and millions of flies buzzed around excitedly.
“What the hell is that?” Kell whined behind me.
I swung around and looked where he pointed. A dark, bulky shape lay on the floor. I shone the flash light beam at the outline and nearly threw up. A dead Rottweiler dog lay on its side with the skin of its stomach ripped apart and peeled back. The dog’s half eaten guts spread over the floor. I gagged. Now I knew where the stench came from.
“That old fucker was eating his dog,” Kell wailed.
“Come on,” I said. “I need some fresh air before I puke.”
We carried on through the kitchen to the back door and I’d have had no hesitation breaking it down if it was locked. The outdoor fresh air was sweet but the stench of death was still in my nostrils. The barn was only twenty yards from the back door and I braced myself before entering.
The barn entrance consisted of two large wooden sliding doors in the middle of the wall facing us. Kell slid one back and I readied myself with the golf club. I couldn’t trust myself to hit a rush of zombies with the Beretta. No zombies or animals galloped out of the barn but I still gasped at the scene inside.
Chapter Sixteen
The barn interior was roughly the size of a football pitch and lined nose to tail with sports cars, from Porsches to Ferraris, executive models of Lexus’ and Cadillac’s and SUVs of all kinds. The vehicles gleamed like they were on a showroom forecourt and parked in neat rows.
“Look at this,” I said. “This guy had to be seriously loaded to afford all these motors.”
“He wasn’t loaded,” said a voice from behind us, “just connected.” Smith stood outside the back door with a canvas bag thrown over his shoulder.
“There must be over two million dollars worth of vehicles in there,” Kell said, oblivious to Smith’s presence. “I wouldn’t mind having one of those big Caddies.”
“What do you mean, he was connected?” I asked, turning to Smith.
Smith sighed and walked a few paces towards us. For one moment, I thought he was going to pull his gun. He had been acting a little shady since we arrived at the garage.
“Okay, if you must know, I don’t suppose it matters now anyway,” he mumbled. “The old guy was called Wes, Wesley Stokes. He was one of the best car ringers in the business. One of these babies would go missing in Downtown New York,” he pointed to the cars, “they’d bring them here and old Wes would change the VIN, number plates, security codes, the lot. The damn motor would be clean as a whistle. The company, my company would sell them on to car dealers and wise guys back in New York or New Jersey.”
“So, why are there so many here?” I asked.
Smith shook his head. “I don’t know but I did hear talk of a new used car dealership
opening up in Atlantic City. Maybe they were going to transport the lot down there.”
“And your company is into lots of these kinds of deals?” I was beginning to get the picture of Smith’s so called company. Car theft, debt collecting, probably murder. The guy was so crooked he made Al Capone look like Mother Theresa.
“I never said I was a choirboy,” Smith gave that wink again.
“What’s in the bag?” I held his stare.
“Something I had to collect.”
I knew he wasn’t going to tell me. I mistakenly thought Smith and I were a team. I knew it was too good to be true. Smith had an ulterior motive for coming to this place.
“Come on, let’s find this God damn generator and get gassed up. This place stinks.”
Smith moved to a small outhouse attached to the rear of the garage. I hadn’t noticed it was there but Smith instinctively opened the creaky wooden door and pointed inside. I took a peak and saw a gleaming generator sitting in the middle of the dirt floor. I gave Smith a disgusted look; he knew exactly where the generator was but wanted Kell and I out of the way while he grabbed the old geezer’s stash of whatever was in the bag.
“Go on, start the bitch up,” Smith motioned.
Kell moved forward into the outhouse and knelt by the generator while Smith held the door open. Kell seemed to know what he was doing. He primed the fuel, turned the key and the generator spluttered into life.
The back windows lit up as the interior lights shone through and a motion sensor spotlight dinked into action above our heads over the barn doors.
“That’s the power back on,” Smith said above the roar of the generator. “Let’s get ready to go.”
Smith led the way back through the house and out the front to the gas pumps. I held my breath as we moved through the kitchen and didn’t look at the mess of the mutilated dog’s corpse. Smith nodded at Eazy who sat with his feet on the dash of the camper. Eazy jumped out the cab and jammed the gas pump nozzle into the VW tank. The pump whirred as the gas flowed through it into the camper tank.
The Left Series (Book 1): Leftovers Page 10