The Left Series (Book 1): Leftovers

by Christian Fletcher

  “What are we going to do?” Rosenberg asked. “We going to carry on rowing down to Battery Park?”

  I didn’t know how to answer. If I was totally honest with Rosenberg and Julia, I wouldn’t have been able to even tell them where Battery Park was. I figured we’d just roll into Manhattan and drive down to Battery Park and Dad would have someone pick us up in a speed boat and take us to the yacht.

  “I don’t feel comfortable in this boat,” Julia said. “I mean, look what happened to Soames. At least on land we can run away or hide somewhere. Out here in this boat, there’s nowhere to go and we can’t even see them coming.”

  Julia had a point. If I knew Manhattan better or knew where the hell we were going, I would have suggested staying put and following the river downstream to our destination. Hell, I didn’t even know if Dad was still there. I hadn’t had any contact with him for days.

  “Julia is right, Denny. I think we should find a quiet spot on the shore and try and get to the harbor on foot.”

  “But we’re still going to have to get to the yacht from the shore, Brett,” Rosenberg protested.

  I sighed. “How well do you know Manhattan, Denny?”

  “Not very well, I guess. I’ve been here a couple of times but only to see the sights. You know, Broadway, Times Square, Central Park, the Guggenheim Museum and that type of stuff.”

  “So none of us know Manhattan very well,” I said. I couldn’t help asking myself how the hell did I think this was a good idea? Stuck in a boat on the Hudson River looking at the Manhattan skyline while searching for a place we didn’t know the location of. Brilliant plan, Wilde!

  I looked across the river and watched the sun shimmer on the surface. Seagulls circled overhead like vultures in the desert waiting for their prey to give up the ghost and finally die. Maybe it was an omen. I felt our plight was hopeless. Without Smith, Eazy or even Soames, I felt we were out of our depth and up to our eyeballs in shit.

  “Let’s just moor up someplace and get the hell out of this God damn boat and follow the sign posts on land.” Another ludicrous plan.

  We scoured the shoreline and spotted the ferry terminal just past the park. A marina lay beyond the ferry terminal with a few small boats bobbing on their moorings. We decided to disembark our vessel at the marina, hoping it wouldn’t be too overly populated by the undead. My arms began to ache as Rosenberg and I rowed between the two long jetties that acted as the entranceway to the marina. We slowed and scanned the shore for armies of undead. A few zombies shuffled around in the distance in groups of ones and twos. We made a beeline for the jetty nearest the shore on the right side of the marina.

  “We’ll keep these paddles to use as weapons,” I whispered to Rosenberg as we coasted towards the wooden jetty.

  The marina stunk of oil and diesel exhaust fumes of long since departed vessels. A few blood stained and punctured dinghies floated aimlessly around the jetties. Obviously some poor soul’s last attempt at escaping the city went horribly wrong.

  “Any sign of trouble and we get straight back into the boat and take our chances on the water,” I commanded, trying to sound like I had leadership qualities.

  We guided the boat and let it silently drift to the side of the jetty. The bow bumped into the wooden planks and skidded alongside sideways. Not the smoothest of landings by Captain Wilde. Rosenberg took the bow rope and hopped out onto the jetty. He wrapped the rope around a cleat on the jetty floor. I handed him his bag and helped Julia out of the boat. I handed Rosenberg the two paddles and followed them onto the jetty. We stood looking around in all directions for a few moments. A few zombies shuffled around in the distance but didn’t spot us.

  “Let’s get out of this marina onto some open ground,” I said.

  We walked quickly off the jetty and onto solid ground. The marina boundaries were surrounded by a black, iron railed fence that acted as partial cover for us. A small park with a circle of leafy green trees lay to our left, surrounded by high rise buildings. Manhattan was how I remembered it, a mixture of both new and old tall buildings, standing side by side. The usual hustle and bustle and traffic noises were eerily absent. The moans of the undead in the distance were all we heard.

  “I thought there might be some other survivors around here,” Rosenberg said.

  “Maybe they’re all holed up someplace,” I said. “We better get moving. Which way do we go?”

  Rosenberg pointed to a pathway with hexagonal paving, lined with black, iron benches leading along the shoreline.

  “Hopefully that path will take us right down to Battery Park Harbor.”

  “Okay, let’s follow the yellow brick road,” I said.

  We moved quickly on the pathway. Signposts told us we were heading in the right direction. The financial district and the main hub of the city was way off to our left. Several zombies lurched around in the small cluster of trees running alongside the pathway.

  “Just keep going,” I hissed.

  The zombies turned to look as we went by, moaned loudly and stumbled in our direction. Some held their hands out in front of them, like they were beckoning us over. We stopped to view a map inside a glass case on the edge of the path. We discovered we were on the Esplanade walkway which led us straight down to Battery Park Harbor.

  “Come on, we’re nearly there,” I whispered and carried on walking at a brisk pace.

  Zombies grew in number shuffling after us but wouldn’t catch us if we carried on at the same hurried walking speed. Julia slipped her arm into mine and I pretended we were a couple on a leisurely stroll on a weekend break. The tree line receded to our left and opened out onto a street with box shaped, office type buildings on either side. Weird stone columns stood between us and the street. Greater numbers of the undead lurched around in the road, wandering backward and forward.

  “I don’t like this,” Rosenberg hissed. “Too many of those creatures around for my liking.”

  “Just keep walking,” I said.

  Some of the zombies in the street noticed us and shuffled in our direction. Their moans seemed to alert more numbers to our presence.

  “I think maybe we should start running,” Rosenberg suggested.

  “Good plan,” I said.

  We broke into a semi jog. I’d never done so much physical exercise in one day since leaving High School. The Esplanade path continued south, with the black, iron fence between us and the Hudson River to our right. The tree line hid us from the main streets once again until we came to another left turn. The street was wider than the previous one with a small garden between the buildings.

  The Esplanade path took us by more high-rise buildings behind the tree line. The street turnings became more frequent in number and were full of larger groups of zombies. We’d gone from easily out running them at a leisurely stroll to a panicked run to escape gathering numbers, in a matter of minutes.

  The pathway took a sudden left turn and opened into a wider space. The wider expanse of the Esplanade was crawling with hundreds of the undead. We stopped running as they turned and looked at us. Their mutilated, rotting faces seemed eager and thrilled at our sudden emergence.

  “Oh shit, what do we do now?” Rosenberg wailed.

  I glanced in every which way and quickly weighed up our situation. A tall building to our left, the river to our right and hundreds of zombies to the front and to the rear.

  “That’s a damn good question, Rosenberg.”

  Chapter Fifty-Eight

  The undead followed Batfish, Eazy and Smith as they hopped from roof to roof, gaining ground towards the end of the Holland Tunnel. Gray, rotting hands reached for them as they bounced left and right across the two lanes.

  “How much further?” Batfish gasped, out of breath.

  Smith swung his flash light up ahead. “I think I can see daylight in the distance. One last push and we can make it.” Smith knew Batfish was struggling. Their heavy back packs wore them down every time they jumped across the cars.

  Smith
wondered if they’d have enough energy to outrun the zombies when they came to the end of the tunnel. He caught sight of a vehicle on its side up ahead in the flashlight beam. He swung the light back onto the vehicle. The pickup truck lay on its right side across both lanes causing the jam.

  “Let’s get near that upended truck,” Smith said.

  The three of them bounced towards the pickup still closely followed by the herd of zombies. Smith shone his flashlight over the truck. The left window and windshield were cracked and smeared with blood.

  “Looks like the truck flipped and caused a wedge,” Eazy said.

  “All these zombies in the tunnel must have turned while trying to get out,” Smith surmised.

  “Why didn’t they just get out the other side?” Batfish muttered, staring at the undead below them.

  “They were probably scared and didn’t know where to go,” Eazy said.

  Smith shone the light beyond the truck. “Looks clear up ahead. We should be able to find a vehicle once we get past this truck.”

  They carefully clambered over the side of the pickup truck. Smith looked down into the cab and saw the remains of the mangled body inside. The flesh had been torn away from the man’s head and arms.

  “Jesus, what a fucking mess,” he murmured.

  The truck acted as a barrier between the clear road ahead and the traffic jam and the zombies behind. Batfish, Eazy and Smith hopped down onto the asphalt beyond the truck.

  “Thank Christ we’re clear of those ugly fucks,” Batfish sighed.

  Dead hands banged the roof of the flipped truck.

  “They’re not going to give up easily,” Eazy said. “We better make tracks and quickly. I don’t think it’ll be long before they shove that truck out the way.”

  Smith looked back and saw the truck rocking back and forth. “Let’s get going.”

  The three of them jogged along the road towards the faint light at the end of the tunnel. Smith stopped when they passed by a white police car.

  “Hey, the keys are still in here,” he called to the other two. “Let’s see if the bastard fires up.”

  Smith took off his bag from his shoulder and jumped in the driver’s seat. He turned the ignition key and the engine roared to life, echoing around the tunnel.

  “Yes,” Smith yelled. “A big thank you to NYPD.”

  He tossed his bag onto the back seat. Batfish got into the passenger seat and Eazy climbed in the back.

  “I never thought I’d be glad to get in the back of a police car,” Eazy said with a smirk on his face.

  Smith clunked the police cruiser into gear and pulled away towards the faint light. He kept the speed at a steady 40 mph, steering around a few abandoned vehicles and discarded baggage strewn on the ground. A few zombies stumbled around the tunnel here and there. Smith swerved around the sparse numbers of undead as they reached to grab at the cruiser.

  They all exhaled in relief when the daylight became brighter near the end of the tunnel. Smith slowed the cruiser when they drove out onto the street. The three of them squinted in the late afternoon sunlight.

  “I’m glad we’re out of there,” Batfish sighed. “Where the hell are we now?”

  “We’re out on Canal Street,” Smith said.

  Batfish lit two cigarettes and passed one to Smith then tossed Eazy the pack.

  “If I remember right, we take a right then left onto the 9A,” Eazy said. “That road will take us right down to Battery Park Pier, provided it’s clear.”

  Smith nodded. “That’s right but we’re not taking that route yet.”

  “What? Where are we going, Smith?” Eazy turned in his seat, looking out the side windows at the tall buildings flashing by.

  “I have to deliver that bag of cash to my boss.”

  “Are you nuts, Smith?” Eazy yelled, leaning forward in his seat. “Where have you got to deliver the bag?”

  “A place on Bowery, not too far from here.”

  “What makes you think he’s still there? And what if he’s a fucking zombie like everybody else?”

  “At least I can say I tried to finish the job,” Smith said flatly.

  “I can’t believe you, man,” Eazy rammed himself back in his seat and opened the window to flick out his cigarette butt. “You’re fucking with us, Smith and I don’t like it.”

  Smith drove the cruiser around the circular grounds and sparse trees of St. John’s Park. Eazy sucked his tooth when they passed the signs to the 9A route. Smith looped back onto Canal Street heading east. Abandoned traffic was heavy in places and Smith drove on the sidewalk to avoid stopping the vehicle in the jams.

  Masses of undead roamed the streets but weren’t in enough dense volumes to cause Smith a problem. He used evasive driving skills he learned in the military to maneuver around clusters of walking corpses littering the street.

  “You’re taking a big risk here, Smith,” Eazy said, leaning forward between the two front seats. “Sooner rather than later we’re going to run into a whole big crowd of those things.”

  “Just hang on to your hat, tough guy,” Smith growled, narrowly avoiding an immobile bus in the middle of the street.

  Eazy felt enraged but didn’t carry on the argument. Smith’s loyalty to his boss was admirable but what did money now mean amongst all this carnage? Surely his boss would have other things on his mind, like survival, assuming he was still breathing.

  Smith swung left onto Bowery a few moments later without slowing the police cruiser. The street was straight and long, lined either side by boarded jewelry stores and Chinese restaurants. Hundreds of the undead staggered between stopped vehicles and on the sidewalk. Some thumped relentlessly on the metal store fronts shutters in a futile attempt to get inside.

  “Ah, crap. There are more of them down here,” Eazy bawled. “I hope you know what you’re doing, Smith.” He was becoming uneasy with the gathering numbers of undead roaming the street and had visions of becoming trapped with nowhere to run.

  Zombies roamed the street as far as the eye could see. Batfish had retrieved Spot the dog from her rucksack and cuddled him tightly. Eazy gripped the sides of the two front seats. The two of them wondered if Smith was leading them to certain death, surrounded on all sides by an overwhelming enemy.

  Smith slowed and took a sharp right turn into a narrow alley between a lighting store and a Chinese laundry. The sunlight instantly faded, shaded by the tall buildings. The alley was clear of zombies but a high brick wall stood at the end. The alley led to a dead end.

  “What are we doing, Smith?” Eazy screeched. “We’re trapped in this motherfucking alley.” He looked around, looking for a side door into the buildings that might provide an escape route. A sturdy metal door stood in the wall of the Chinese laundry to their left.

  Smith turned off the engine and got out of the car. He opened the back door and retrieved his hold all containing the cash.

  “Are you coming?” he muttered to Eazy and Batfish.

  They jumped out of the car and looked back up the alley towards Bowery’s main street. Zombies shuffled around the alley entrance and started to move toward them. Batfish and Eazy followed Smith to the metal door that looked as though it used to be in a jail to keep inmates in a solitary confined cell.

  Smith pressed a buzzer beside the door frame. They waited a few moments with no response from the building beyond. Smith thumped the door with his fist.

  “Hey, Larry, Mario? Anyone in there?”

  The zombies gathered in number and shambled closer down the alley.

  “They’re getting real close, Smith,” Eazy whined. “We need to get out of here.”

  Smith looked at the closing zombies then gave the door another pounding. “Hey, anyone in there? It’s me, Franco.”

  He waited a beat then turned his head to see how close the zombies were. They were around fifteen yards away and driving the police cruiser through the vast number of bodies would be difficult. The chorus of moans grew louder and echoed around the
alley. Smith sighed and admitted defeat.

  “Okay, let’s go,” he said.

  Smith was about to move to the car when he felt a metallic object pressing into his temple. He’d been around hand guns long enough to know one was now being pressed into the side of his head.

  “Make any sudden movements and you’re dead, motherfucker,” a voice growled in Smith’s ear.

  Smith glanced at Eazy and Batfish who stared back with wide-eyed, tense expressions. He glanced back up the alley and saw hundreds of the undead, massing and jostling down the alley only a few feet away.

  Chapter Fifty-Nine

  Numerous amounts of undead closed in on us from the front and rear. The stench of dirt and rot radiated from them in revolting, disgusting waves. Some were dressed in the remains of expensive city suits, torn and stained with crusty dry blood. Others wore remnants of summer clothes, short pants and t-shirts, barely hanging from their mangled bodies. I briefly thought about leaping the fence and jumping into the river, but remembered the Hudson was swamped with the undead, floating and sinking beneath the water. Zombie soup.

  Rosenberg and I wielded our paddles like baseball bats. The only pathetic defense we had against hordes of flesh eaters who didn’t feel pain and couldn’t be reasoned with. I glanced at the building to our left. Somehow we had to get in there.

  A glass paneled side door stood a few yards away along the building wall. I raised the paddle above my head and ran at the glass door. I brought the paddle down in a swinging arc aimed at the glass and didn’t stop running. The glass cracked from the blow by the paddle and shattered into small pieces as I hit it at full pelt a fraction of a second later. My momentum carried me through the glass and into the room beyond. I fell over the door frame and skidded through broken glass on the ground, slicing my hands and face. The paddle scuttled across the tiled floor out of my grasp. I felt blood running from a cut somewhere on my face. I didn’t have time to dwell on the stinging pain. I thrashed around in the glass chips, trying to get to my feet.