I glanced around. The only way I could go was onto the rooftop to the left. I looked back to the house opposite but my other self had vanished. That left me with only the one option and one route only.
I backed up and then ran across the gray asphalt roof, leaping across the gap when I reached the edge. The next house was built with orange colored clay tiles and around half a dozen of them broke beneath me as I clattered onto the roof. I struggled up the sloping pitch and had to stop myself sliding down a couple of times by gripping the sides of the tiles.
I saw a roof terrace at the rear of the property and made my way over the tiles towards it. I half slid, half fell down the sloping roof and stumbled onto the wooden boarded terrace. A couple of canvas deck chairs lay on their sides and a small table cluttered with empty glasses sat to the back of the level space.
I stood for a few seconds to get my bearings. The roof terrace was at the back of the house so the main street lay to the front. I glanced around and saw a slightly raised, glass panel hatch to the left of the terrace. I checked for any unopened drink containers on the table but saw none. I picked up a soggy cigarette pack but the smokes inside had long since disintegrated. I tossed the cardboard pack back on the table in frustration and turned to the hatch in the floor.
I crouched over the hatch and wiped away a layer of grime covering the glass panel. Squinting and moving my head around to avoid the glare reflecting from the sun, I saw a wooden ladder leading down into a small kitchen diner. Sweat dripped from my forehead and splashed onto the glass panel, obscuring my view of the room below. I didn’t have many options so I decided to go down there anyhow.
I grunted as I tried raising the panel upwards but it seemed to be locked from the inside. Shit, I was going to have to bust through the glass. A gunshot was going to echo around the rooftops so using the Glock was a no go for the time being. I glanced around for some inspiration. The heavy clay tiles would easily break the glass so I rushed back to the edge of the roof. The tiles creaked and groaned as I tugged on one sitting on the edge of the outer row. Removing a roof tile proved to be a harder job than I’d ever believed.
Finally, I managed to wrench my selected tile from its fixings but also succeeded in dislodging several more at the same time. The excess tiles clattered and broke into pieces on the deck, causing a horrendous lot of noise.
I was alone on the roof terrace, I knew that for sure but the crashing sounds of breaking tiles still caused me to turn every which way to check nobody had witnessed my crime of vandalism. Old habits die hard, I guess.
I lugged the tile I’d extracted, holding it in both hands back to the roof hatch. The damn thing was also heavier than I thought it was going to be. Maybe I was getting weaker, without having eaten or slept all day. I sweated intensely with the exertion as it took all my effort and energy to raise the tile above my head in front of the glass panel.
Grunting loudly, I brought down the tile with all the force my fatigued and dehydrated body could muster. The tile crashed through the pane, sending a sprinkling of glass chips and broken shards into the kitchen diner below. The whole glass panel had tumbled from the frame, leaving no sharp edges to cut myself on. At least one thing had gone right.
I lowered myself through the empty hatch frame and carefully trod down the wooden ladder. The broken glass crunched beneath my feet on the wide rungs and stale air wafted up at me as I descended. I drew the handgun from the back of my waistband. My senses told me something didn’t feel right. One thing I’d learnt during the apocalypse was to listen to the fight or flight judgment in my head. It was probably a sense the human race had ignored over the past few decades due to the easiness of life but I relied on that primeval logic to keep me alive.
The kitchen diner had a kind of faded blue vibe about it. The walls were painted light blue, the worktops running around the walls were navy and the mosaic wall tiles were a combination of light and dark blue. The wooden wall closets were also painted a turquoise shade of blue. The boarded floor however, was shaded in an off white color with huge dark stains of old blood covering the central space.
I trod slowly down the ladder until my feet touched the floor. I carefully scanned the kitchen diner for any signs of movement. My heart hammered in my chest and I felt the unmistakable sensation of dread rising within me.
“One step at a time,” I muttered to myself.
I stood still for a few moments, allowing my heart rate to slow and to regain some self control. The stench inside the house worried me. I could smell the undead somewhere within the confinements of the walls.
I cautiously made my way over to the sink and turned on the faucet. The nozzle spat out the remains of some brown water left in the system. Frustrated and still thirsty, I turned away looking for the refrigerator. The small cooler stood in the corner and I opened the door, immediately recoiling from the vile stench of spoiled food. I gagged but somehow managed to refrain from vomiting. A lone can of beer sat on the shelves amongst putrefying meat and furred up fruit and vegetables. I picked up the can and was grateful to see it was only six months past its sell by date. Beer didn’t really go bad. I popped the can and took a long sip of the tepid ale. It was still fizzy and almost tasteless but it was liquid and I soon polished off the whole can.
A ghostly groan caused me to freeze. Was the sound from inside the house or from somewhere outside? I couldn’t tell. I dumped the empty beer can on the worktop beside the fridge and turned towards the open doorway to my right. The glass paneled door stood open and led to a dim, wooden floor corridor with one closed door to the right and two open doors to the left. The top of a staircase was slightly visible beyond the room on the right.
I padded slowly into the corridor and immediately heard a whispering groan drifting from somewhere inside the walls.
Chapter Sixty-Five
The wooden floor creaked as I trod by the closed door on my right. I stopped moving and listened. I heard nothing but a slight scratching and scurrying sound, perhaps of rodents of some kind scuttling around empty rooms. I double checked the magazine was in place in the Glock and pulled the fruit knife out from my belt.
I didn’t want to be bushwhacked so I nudged open the door to my right. The stench of mold and dead flesh wafted out from the room. The walls were again painted blue and the curtains were drawn against the window, enhancing the stench in the room. A rotten, almost skeletal corpse with an open jaw and still partially dressed in a brightly colored orange floral dress, lay on a two-seater couch sitting against the wall to the right. Flies buzzed around the body and a couple of brown rats scurried into the corner of the room.
“Oh, shit,” I muttered, and closed the door on the horrific scene. Some person who lived and breathed and thought was reduced to a stinking husk to be fed on by rodents and insects. It never failed to shock me how there was no modesty or humility in the days of the apocalypse.
I continued down the corridor, glancing into the open doorways on my left. Both rooms were small, empty bedrooms with peeling white wallpaper, unmade beds and piles of festering, unwashed clothes.
I stood at the top of the staircase and listened. Somebody or something was clumping around on the floor below. The Glock in my right hand was an excellent weapon but it was also a loud hailer to all the undead in the area. I could only use the handgun as a last resort. The fruit knife was going to be my weapon of choice.
I slowly trod down the wooden staircase, wincing as the steps creaked beneath my feet. At first sight, the room below me looked like any other living room you used to see when the world was normal. The floor was gray tiled and pictures of ships and scenic landscapes hung around the beige colored walls. A tan colored couch faced a big TV set on the wall on the far side of the room and a large, undead black woman, in a lime green t-shirt pitched back and forth in a rocking chair staring at the blank screen. A gray faced male in a red and black checkered shirt stumbled around the living room, banging a steel baseball bat on the floor and against the surro
unding furniture. He loosely gripped the bat, his gnarled fingers curled around the handle as it limply clattered on the floor tiles.
The stair beneath me creaked when I was halfway down. The male zombie ceased moving around and turned in my direction. Some of the skin on his forehead had either been chewed or torn away, leaving the top of the yellowish white skull exposed. He opened his mouth and let out a throaty roar before clumping towards the foot of the staircase.
Again, I didn’t want to use the firearm due to the intense sound it would make. I moved down the staircase a little further so I was in reaching distance of the top of the guy’s head. He let the baseball bat fall from his grasp and it clanged onto the floor and rolled across the tiles. He steadied himself, brushing against the wall beside the staircase. I ducked down, dodging a swipe from his blood stained hand. I poked the fruit knife blade forward at his head in a thrusting, stabbing motion. The blade popped his right eyeball and entered his brain through the eye socket, causing a squirt of blood and thick syrupy goo to jet across the wall to the left of the stairs.
The undead man ceased groaning and remained still for a couple of seconds. The body fell face forward onto the staircase when I withdrew the fruit knife from his skull. I stepped around the corpse and trod down the remaining steps and into the living room.
The undead woman rolled out of the rocking chair and landed heavily on her belly on the floor. She hissed and crawled her way towards me in an awkward motion, as though she was swimming through invisible water.
I was surprised how quickly she moved, scuttling across the floor on all fours. I backed up to the edge of the staircase. My foot nudged against something cylindrical, causing me to momentarily take my eyes off the rapidly approaching undead woman. I glanced down and saw the discarded baseball bat on the floor beside my right foot. The aluminum barrel was heavily blood stained and I guessed the guy had used the bat as a defensive weapon until he’d succumbed to the undead virus. I came to a quick decision that it would be a better weapon than the fruit knife and considerably quieter than the Glock.
I quickly tucked the knife and the handgun into the back of my belt, crouched down and scooped up the baseball bat. The undead woman was around six feet away from me but rapidly closed down the space between us. I took a step sideways to my right, weighing up the bat as I took a firm, two handed grip.
The woman drew nearer, raising her head and gnashing her teeth. I pivoted, raising the bat back and around the right side of my head. The undead female reached out toward me with a meaty hand, pawing at the air between us. I brought the bat down with all the force I could muster. Luckily, my aim was good. The fattest end of the bat bypassed the woman’s outstretched hand and connected with her left temple. The sound was like hitting a block of wood and made a metallic echo around the room.
The woman’s head rocked sideways and opened up a big split in the side of her head. The blow caused her to roll onto her back and she thrashed around, trying to get to her feet. I swung the bat around and brought it down a second time, catching the undead woman with a blow to the top of her head. The skull bounced off the floor but she still growled and hissed and tried to get up. Killing somebody with a baseball bat was harder than I thought.
I grunted with exertion as I swung the bat down a further three times before the undead woman lay still, her head misshapen and distorted like a deflated car tire.
“Shit,” I groaned, leaning back against the wall. I felt relieved I’d finally put these two suckers into an eternal sleep but also disgusted with myself for being capable of such violent deeds without a qualm. I felt I’d changed so drastically that there was probably nothing of my old self left. I wasn’t so sure that was a good thing.
I relaxed against the wall for a couple of minutes, allowing my muscles and breathing to return to normal. I tried not to think too deeply about matters and wanted to concentrate on getting back to the warship marooned on the opposite side of the island.
“Time to go,” I muttered, pushing myself off the wall.
I decided to keep hold of the baseball bat as it might come in handy while I attempted to get back to the bay somehow.
Chapter Sixty-Six
The front door faced and opened out onto the main street. The ground floor interior of the house was hidden behind roller blinds that had been closed some time ago. I peeled back a light curtain in front of the door and peeked through a small window in the center of the upper panel. The street was busy with lurching undead, making their way to the side of the neighboring house where the earlier commotion had taken place.
“Fuck it,” I sighed. I couldn’t skulk around in these abandoned houses for much longer. I realized I’d soon get trapped in a room where there was no way out. I had to make a break for it out in the open.
I slowly pulled open the front door and welcomed the freshness of a slight breeze blowing in my face. A very small front yard marked the boundary of the house before the sidewalk spread horizontally in front of the road. A couple of zombies padded by but didn’t notice me. They were heading around the side of the house next door. I almost had to double back to get onto the right route my other self had pointed out.
The opposite side of the street was masked in shadow and I decided to get over there at least for some kind of cover. I glanced up and down the road. There seemed to be a lull in the movement of undead in the area so I bolted from the doorway and trotted quickly across the street, keeping the baseball bat held firmly at my side. I felt the scorching sun on my back as I scuttled across the blacktop surface.
I stayed in the shadows, darting across small front lawns and yards, using abandoned vehicles, trash cans or overgrown trees and wild bushes as cover. I glanced across the street and saw a collection of undead, bustling around the side garden and in the doorway of the first house I’d entered. I made sure I wasn’t seen and carried on moving across the front yards in the shadows.
I came to a crossroads and wasn’t sure which way to go. A shrill whistle above caused me to glance up at the rooftop of the house opposite, facing the corner intersection. My alternative self stood on the edge of the roof, pointing to the road straight ahead. I nodded in thanks and continued on my way.
I stuck to the shadows as much as I could and my other self guided me through the dilapidated streets. I was forced to lay low a couple of times beside a rusty mini-van and a dumpster while heavy numbers of undead stumbled by.
Eventually, I heard the sounds of the sea with the waves brushing against the shoreline. I glanced up at the rooftops and my alternative self pointed the way down a street to my left. He flashed me a mock salute and turned out of sight. I guessed that was his good deed done for the day and he figured I could make it back to the harbor from my position.
I appreciated him showing me the way. What the hell was he anyhow? A hallucination? Another version of me? My damn soul?
“Hell if I know,” I said out loud.
I glanced around sheepishly, worried some undead fucker might have heard my outburst. Thankfully, no zombies lurched out at me.
I broke from my cover in the shadows and scurried around the corner to the street on the left side. The road sloped downwards and I could see the deep blueness of the sea beyond the buildings on each side of the street. The small houses further back in town gave way to closed up storefronts, boarded up hotels and empty seaside bar rooms. A few zombies aimlessly stumbled around the street, looking as though they couldn’t decide which direction to take.
I moved stealthily from shaded doorway to doorway, keeping an eye on the stores and bars as well the undead and the dark recesses of the building’s entrances. The closer I came to the harbor, the more zombies I came across. They moved around in small groups, up and down the promenade in front of the harbor, like shoppers stuck in their own mindless bubbles.
I stopped in the covered porch entrance of a beach bar with a closed up door and studied the jetty. There was still no sign of either Smith or Tony. More worryingly, I still didn
’t know where the hell the sniper was located. I didn’t even have a rough clue. She could’ve been right behind me for all I knew. I turned quickly just to make sure she wasn’t lurking in the doorway behind me.
“Shit,” I muttered, weighing up whether or not I should just try and make a run for the jetty and hope snipers and zombies alike wouldn’t even notice me. I seriously doubted that little scenario was going to happen. Somebody or something was likely to come after me.
I realized it would be virtual suicide to blow my cover and spring out into the open. I was going to have to play this situation very carefully. I scanned the street in front of me that crossed horizontally between the beach bar and the marina. There was no visible cover from prying eyes along the street but I could use the boats to hide between if I made it that far. But even if I dodged the sniper’s bullet, there were still the multitude of undead milling around the outskirts of the dock to contend with. Their numbers had swelled since we were previously looking down onto the area from the rooftops. Perhaps all the commotion and echoing of high velocity rifle rounds and of course Dan’s corpse had drawn more zombies to the spot.
“Shit,” I spat. Every possible plan I thought of was thwarted somehow. There was just no way I could get to the jetty undetected. There were too many undead. I needed a way of battling my way through.
I considered going back to the outer limits of the town and jumping in the armored truck but again, the plan was a no go. The vehicle was too wide to fit through the tiny streets and wouldn’t have made it as far as the jetty, let alone drive across the flimsy wooden structure. Going across the rooftops again was a non starter. I’d be easy pickings for the sniper, like poor old Dan Saint.
The Left Series (Book 6): Left On An Island Page 28
