I groaned in exertion as I crawled back under the workbench and scrabbled to my feet. I heaved the bench back tightly against the door then rested for a couple of seconds with my head leaning on top of the pockmarked wooden work surface.
“Jeez,” I muttered. “Who would be me?”
The stench of cordite from the gunshot was fused with a musty damp smell. I raised my head and took in my surroundings. I was inside a small kitchen area, with homemade wooden countertops running at waist height around the wall to the right of the door and on the right side of the room. A blackened wood burning stove sat against the wall to the left and a closed door stood directly behind me.
My moment of respite was short lived. The small window above the countertop to my right burst into fragments and showered the floor with hundreds of glass chips. Dead rotting hands reached in through the broken frame and decaying faces leered at me through the gap. The door in front of me clattered against the workbench and I figured it was time to make a move.
I spied the fruit knife on the floor and bent to pick it up but kept the Glock in my right hand, scooping up the blade in my left. There was only one way to go and I silently prayed I wasn’t heading straight into another crowd of undead as I strode towards the closed door to the rear of the kitchen.
Chapter Sixty-Two
I kept both weapons in my hands and struggled to open the door with just my thumb and forefinger, gripping the fruit knife with my remaining fingers. The door creaked in its frame as I pulled it open a crack and peered through the gap.
A loud crashing sound behind me caused me to spin around. The undead were breaking through the wrecked window and pushing back the workbench holding the door in place. I turned back to the doorway in front of me. I had no choice but to continue on into the house.
Taking a deep breath, I quickly stepped through the doorway and made sure the door was firmly closed behind me. I knew the undead would smash their way into the kitchen in the next few seconds. I looked around, asking myself which way to go.
I stood in a narrow hallway with the front door to my right, a rickety looking wooden staircase to my left and an open doorway led to a small living room dead ahead. The living area was cramped with oversized furniture for the size of the room and didn’t offer any other alternative routes. The front door was closed but led to the main street where more zombies would be gathering. The only choice I had was to take the staircase up to the next level.
A bad feeling washed over me as I trod slowly up the creaky staircase. I hoped I was doing the right thing instead of heading straight into another disaster area.
Staggering footfalls clumped across the floor in the kitchen before the door leading to the hallway began rattling violently in its frame. The undead were close on my tail; I had to find a way out of the house and fast.
The staircase crisscrossed, doubling back on itself halfway up. I cautiously continued upward, glancing behind me after every step. The moans, shrieks and groans receded slightly the higher I ascended but it didn’t make me feel any better. I felt as though I was stepping into the unknown with potential dangers lurking and unseen in every direction.
The hallway door wouldn’t contain the undead for much longer and they’d soon be following me through the house. The upper floor narrowed in width and the staircase led to a small landing area, broken up by three closed doors. Again, the doorways stood directly in front of me, to the left and to the right.
I was no real estate expert but I figured one of these doors had to lead to a bathroom of some kind. I hadn’t seen any sort of washroom or toilet on the ground floor. My guess was the bathroom was the door ahead of me. I didn’t know why, just a stupid wild hunch.
I decided to take the door to the left first and hoped I wasn’t making another monumental fuck up. I trod slowly across the landing and stopped in front of my chosen door. I heard wood splintering and crashing from somewhere downstairs and concluded by the increasing sound of roars and groans that the undead had broken their way into the hallway. I put my hand on the door lever but hesitated before pushing it open. Should I take the entranceway opposite?
“Right or left?” I muttered. “Right or left?” I only had time to make one choice and would be in big trouble if I chose wrong.
I wondered how many zombies could possibly fit into a small upstairs room. I had a knife and a gun. I could probably take out a few of them before they got to me. I gritted my teeth and pushed open the door.
I breathed a sigh of temporary relief when I saw no zombies or crazed, gun totting maniacs inside the room. The walls were painted in a dull pink, although the color had probably faded over time. A wooden cot sat in front of a small square window on the far side of the room and a swarm of flies buzzed lazily around the outside of the frame. A bunch of once colorful but now mold ridden soft toys lay piled to the left of the cot. I glanced through the window and saw the side of the house overlooked the neighboring rooftop, with a gap of only a few feet between the houses. I immediately knew what I had to do but didn’t like it one bit. I was going to have to jump from rooftop to rooftop.
The thought of skipping across rooftops brought back painful memories of the girl I lost in Manhattan when this whole nightmare began. Julia. Her name rankled and the image of her wide, scared eyes as she plummeted to her untimely death played through my mind yet again. I felt the terrible loss of sadness that I’d felt at the time return, along with regret and self blame.
Julia was a wonderful person who I’d only briefly known but we’d experienced a special chemistry between us. Naively, I’d thought we had some sort of future together but that scenario was quickly snuffed out. I couldn’t save her and I’d carried the burden of guilt with me for the duration of the apocalypse.
I turned away from the room with a sorrowful lump in my throat, a pain in my guts and a head full of hollow thoughts. Perhaps I’d take a look in the other rooms, just in case there was a better way out.
I heard the undead clumping around at the foot of the staircase and knew I didn’t have time to waste. I proceeded across the landing anyway and opened the door to the right. The scene was shocking and didn’t make me feel any better. A rush of stale air and the stench of musty, decaying flesh blasted out at me. A man in a blood stained white t-shirt and ripped denims stood facing a window on the opposite side of the room. He had his back to me and slowly turned around. I recognized the milky white eyes, a grotesque symptom of the undead and he opened his mouth, emitting a hissed growl. The remains of a woman, her flesh picked clean from the bones lay on a bed in the center of the room. She was only distinguishable by the remainder of her long black hair, tousled around the open mouthed skull.
I raised the Glock, aiming at the guy’s head and fired. The round blasted through the center of his forehead and sent him crashing back through the window behind him. The undead body broke the glass and fell out of sight, causing a rush of fresh air to waft through the smashed window. It was a waste of ammunition and I didn’t know why I’d felt the urge to shoot this particular ghoul but just felt it was the right thing to do. I closed the door and turned back into the landing.
The undead clattered up the staircase, groaning and screaming as they clawed their way upward. I breathed in and out in a big sigh. Something drove me to check the middle door. I dunked the handle, aimed the Glock into the dark space and pulled the door open.
An unwelcome but familiar face lurched from the murky recess.
Chapter Sixty-Three
“Hey, it’s fucking beautiful, man!”
I recoiled as my alternative self sprang out at me from the small, darkened bathroom. My finger was a fraction from squeezing the trigger of the Glock. He stumbled out onto the landing in front of me with a half empty bottle of whiskey in his hand and dressed in frog green U.S. Army Combat fatigues that looked like they were from the 1960’s. He also wore a combat helmet with an ace of spades playing card poking from camouflage netting and a big pair of sunshades covered his eyes.
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I fired one shot but it passed straight through my alternative self and thudded right into the back wall of the small bathroom behind him.
“You missed me, asshole,” he jeered. “Don’t you know you can’t shoot a hallucination?”
“What the hell are you doing here?” I hissed.
He stood in front of me and shrugged. “Come to lend a hand is all.”
“You certainly know how to pick your moments,” I growled through gritted teeth. “I thought you were a damn zombie for a second there.”
“I figured as much. You wouldn’t try and shoot your oldest buddy would you?”
“Enough of the nice friendly crap,” I spat, turning to take a glance behind me at the staircase. “I’m in deep shit and I need to get the hell out of here and find my way back to the harbor.”
“Well, why didn’t you say so?” my alternative self chimed. “I’ll lead the way. Anything to keep you alive, old friend.”
“I’ve never heard so much bullshit,” I snorted. “You always show up when you want to gloat and rub my face into my fuck ups.”
He pulled a mocking pained expression. “You know, you’re really starting to hurt my feelings, Brett.”
I groaned and flapped my hand. “Ah, I haven’t time for this shit.” Loud clumping noises from the staircase caused me to spin around. “Look, those bastards are on their way up here. I have to get out of here. I’m going through that fucking window.” I pointed to the kid’s bedroom and barged by my alternative self.
“Okay, it’s up to you, buddy,” he muttered. “If you want to go jumping across the rooftop, that’s up to you. I know how much you hate doing that and I know the bad memories that come with it.”
I stopped and spun around, glaring at my own parody. “What do you mean by that?” I snapped.
He took off the sunshades and gazed at me with bloodshot eyes. “I am you. I know what you think and I feel what you feel. Julia. I know, friend. I know.”
“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 mo
re 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.
The Left Series (Book 6): Left On An Island Page 27
