Left In The Dust

by Christian Fletcher

  “Why would anybody be out here in the middle of nowhere?” Dovey chipped in.

  “Look around you, buddy,” Smith said, waving his arm in the air. “No cities, no undead, wide open spaces, warm climate. You’ve got high ground in the mountains right there and if there is running water and you can sustain yourself, it’s a perfect survival location.”

  “Right you are,” Dovey muttered. “I never thought of it all like that.”

  “Our Smith is a deep thinker, Kev,” McElroy said, grinning as he spoke. “That’s why he’s survived this shit for so long.”

  I thought about what Smith had said and studied the landscape around us. It was stunningly beautiful but now I worried that Smith could be right. What if we were about to tread into somebody else’s territory? I suddenly felt uneasy and hoped the feeling would quickly pass.

  We continued along the trail for at least a couple of miles before it led us between the mountain range on either side of us. The sun descended beyond the rocky hills to our left and I figured it must be late afternoon, wherever we were.

  The dusty road continued beyond the mountains and the landscape spread out beyond in a rugged, bumpy, rocky terrain. I started to think we’d gone too far and should consider turning back when McElroy stopped and pointed in the distance.

  “Hey, guys, do you see what I see up ahead?”

  We all stopped beside McElroy. I looked to where he was indicating but couldn’t see anything of note.

  “I see it,” Smith said.

  “What are we looking at?” I gormlessly asked, shaking my head in frustration. These guys could see things from miles away and I always struggled with long range vision.

  “Looks like some kind of lodging,” McElroy said. He rummaged in his jacket pocket and pulled out a small scope. He lifted his shades above the peak of his cap, put the scope to his eye and studied the scene for a few seconds.

  I squinted behind the shades and saw an elongated, beige colored, wooden structure nested into the space at the right side of the trail, around a half mile beyond our position.

  “See anything, Mac?” Smith impatiently asked.

  “No movement that I can see, Big Man,” McElroy answered, still squinting into the scope.

  “Then let’s go check it out,” Smith said.

  “Okay, but just be on your guard, guys,” McElroy said, putting the scope away, replacing his shades and pulling his rifle off his shoulder.

  We followed McElroy’s lead and lifted our guns out of their holsters and made them cocked and ready for purpose. After all I’d been through I knew it was incredibly dumb to be unprepared for the worst. Just because a dwelling looked unoccupied from the outside, it didn’t mean to say it was empty of hostiles on the inside.

  I knew either Smith or McElroy would want to be the one to burst the door open so I followed their lead. We hustled up the trail in hunched stances, moving towards the building in the shadows of the mountains behind us.

  We reached the covered porchway running the length of the rectangular, one storey building. No movement of any kind was visible beyond the sand encrusted windows either side of the front door. McElroy signaled for Smith and Dovey to circle around the rear of the building. I didn’t know what he meant when he twirled his finger but Smith reacted immediately and took Dovey with him. Smith and Dovey scouted right and disappeared from view around the right side of the building.

  McElroy made a slight whistle in his throat and nodded towards the porch. I took it to mean that he, Anderson and I close in on the building. As we drew closer I noticed a sun faded sign with the word ‘CLOSED’ in red letters hanging inside the glass paneled windows in the front door. A dirty white curtain with light blue stripes hung over the glass partitions behind the sign.

  McElroy signaled for Anderson to go to the left of the wall beside the front door. Anderson nodded and blew sweat away from his top lip. He plodded beneath the porch and into the shade, taking up his position to the left of the door. I stood still for a moment beside McElroy, not quite knowing what to do. He was obviously experienced in storming into buildings during his days during the troubled times in Northern Ireland. McElroy and Smith seemed to have a telepathic understanding in these kinds of combat situations.

  “Back me up when I open up the door, okay, Wilde Man?” McElroy muttered at me.

  I nodded.

  “If any hostiles come flying out of there, then shoot first and ask questions later,” he added.

  “Okay,” I stammered, as I followed McElroy to the front door.

  I was ready to shoot anything that moved but hoped I wouldn’t fire wildly and hit McElroy in the process. We crept up to the front door. McElroy tried the handle and the door creaked as he pushed it open. It was unlocked but the stench of decay and death wafted out from within.

  CHAPTER SIX

  McElroy peered through the open doorway and I hustled closer to take a peek over his shoulder to the inside of the building. Anderson remained to the left of the door with his back to the wall and his Glock handgun held close to his chest, the barrel pointing upward at the porch roof. McElroy plodded forward and I followed closely behind him. I guessed Anderson was staying outside to act as lookout in case of any approaching hazards.

  We trod cautiously across the dark wooden floorboards, swatting away swarms of fat flies buzzing around the interior. McElroy and I covered our mouths and noses with our free hands as we glanced around.

  The building looked as though it was some kind of general store, come diner before the apocalypse. Racks of metal shelving stood in a row to our right and still contained a few tins and sachets of food produce. A cluster of chunky, circular wooden tables with tall stools surrounding them sat to the left and a long serving counter stood directly ahead of us. An old fashioned, dull gray cash register sat on the countertop beyond the serving counter and plates of long rotten food lay next to an open serving hatch.

  A sudden rattling noise startled McElroy and I and we took an instinctive backward step towards the front door.

  “Anybody going to open this fucking door?” We heard Smith’s slightly muffled tone from the rear of the building.

  McElroy sighed and strolled across the floor and around to the left of the serving counter. I followed behind him and we weaved our way between the tables and chairs. McElroy pulled back a dust covered white curtain that hung across a pair of double doors at the rear of the dining area. A cloud of dust billowed through the air and when it cleared, I saw Smith and Dovey standing on the opposite side of the glazed double doors.

  McElroy turned the ratchet lock and pushed open the doors. Smith and Dovey entered and immediately recoiled, waving flies away with scowls on their faces.

  “Jesus, what is that fucking stench?” Smith gasped.

  “There’s a whole pile of spoiled food stacked up on plates by that serving counter,” I explained, nodding to the source of the stink.

  “No, it’s something far more funky than that,” Smith said, shaking his head.

  “We’ll keep these doors open to let some air in this shithole,” McElroy said. “Kev, you stay out back and keep an eye out while we check this place out.”

  Dovey nodded. “Gladly,” he muttered and took a backward step out through the open doorway.

  I took a look through the open double doors and saw a patio area covered with more chairs and tables and a couple of rusting barbecue grills standing at the rear of the terrace. I figured the place would have been a nice spot back in the day.

  “Keep your wits about you, gentlemen,” McElroy warned. “We don’t know what is going to spring out on us in this place.”

  Smith strolled up to the serving counter and banged his fist several times on top of the dusty surface. We stood still and listened but didn’t hear any reaction from the undead or otherwise.

  McElroy moved around the shelving racks and studied the tins and sachet packs on the shelves. Smith bustled around the rear of the serving counter and nosed amongst the conten
ts beneath the countertop, tossing various items aside onto the floor. I decided to check out the kitchen area beyond the open serving hatch.

  There was no obvious route into the kitchen behind the serving area so I moved around to the side of the counter and saw a recessed swing door with a circular window at head height. I rubbed away the dust with my sleeve and peered through the plastic glass window.

  The kitchen layout was similar to those I’d seen in the past. Long abandoned with stainless steel trays lying on tables in the center of the room. The oven sat opposite the door, positioned against the blue tiled wall on the far side with greasy looking and blackened utensils hanging on hooks on either side. Two chrome refrigerators stood next to each other to the left and big, dirt stained windows looked out on the patio area to the right.

  I pushed open the swing door and entered the kitchen, treading cautiously across the gray tiled floor. I saw movement to my left through the open hatch and observed Smith still rifling around the serving area. The stench of decay seemed to have ramped up since I’d entered the kitchen and I put it down to the refrigerators probably stocked full of rotten food. I turned back to gaze around the kitchen and suddenly recoiled when I saw what lay in front of the oven.

  A blackened and charred human skeleton lay amongst a burnt section of the tiled floor, directly in front of the open cooker doors. Another almost completely rotted corpse sat on the floor beside the overcooked skeleton. The second figure was propped upright, with its back leaning against the kitchen closets. The body was clad in the partial remains of a chef’s white tunic and blue and white checked pants, although the clothing was heavily stained with large brown smears, which was obviously dried blood. It looked as though this guy had sustained some serious injuries a long while ago. The skull had little flesh left on it and the remaining skin was brown and parched and looked as though it had been pulled tight from the back. The eyes were empty, dark sockets and the jaw hung open as if forever fixed in a final death scream.

  “Shit! What the fuck happened here?” I muttered, staring at the pair of corpses.

  “You talking to yourself again, Wilde?” Smith barked, from the opposite side of the open serving hatch.

  I glanced around and saw Smith thumbing through some paper flyers and leaflets.

  “I’ve found the source of the fucking rancid stink,” I said. “Two bodies in the kitchen here.”

  “Bitchin’ in the kitchen, huh?” Smith muttered, seemingly not too interested and still flicking through the paperwork.

  I shrugged. “Yeah, something like that. One’s all burned and the other one looks like the chef and he died a long time ago.”

  “Maybe somebody didn’t like the way he cooked his soup,” Smith quipped, without evening smiling or looking away from the bunch of papers in his hand.

  I huffed a laugh. “Probably. What have you got there?”

  Smith carried on reading for a moment. “Well, I’m going through all this stuff and it looks like we ‘aint in Mexico, kid.”

  “Go on, Smith,” McElroy said, approaching the serving counter.

  “Well, these flyers and handouts are for activities and shit to do around here. It looks as though we’ve landed ourselves right in the center of Big Bend National Park, in Texas. It’s right on the United States and Mexico border,” Smith explained.

  “Texas?” McElroy spat, screwing up his face incredulously. “How the fuck did we end up here?”

  Smith shrugged and shook his head. “Beats me, buddy. I can only take a guess that when the plane’s navigation system gave up the ghost, those storm winds from the Caribbean blew us right out of the way.”

  “Well, I suppose Texas is a good a place as any,” McElroy said. “It’s a good job we came down here and not right in the middle of a city or we’d definitely be fucked, so we would.”

  Smith glanced up from his handful of papers. “You’re not wrong there, Mac. I guess Dante wasn’t such a fuck head after all. At least he got us down on the ground okay.”

  “So, where the hell are we close to?” McElroy asked.

  “Shift your ass a little closer and I’ll show you where we are on this damn map right here,” Smith said, beckoning McElroy around the serving counter.

  McElroy sighed and drew closer. I leaned through the serving hatch to take a closer look at the map.

  “We’re here,” Smith said, dabbing a green section of the map. “It’s called the Big Bend because the way the Rio Grande River sweeps around in a half moon shape. That also marks the border between the United States and Mexico.” Smith pointed to a spot on the map to the east of our position. “There’s an Air Force Base here called Laughlin, just outside of Del Rio. It’s probably around two hundred miles from where we are though. That’s the downside. San Antonio is probably around four hundred miles away.” He moved his thumb further to the east. “There’s also a Joint Military Base located there.”

  “All right, Smith,” McElroy huffed. “It was bad enough, the two hundred mile trip. Don’t go any further than that.”

  “So, what do we plan to do?” I sighed. “Even if we got the two hundred miles to Laughlin, there is no guarantee of any aviation fuel or if the whole place is still even there. The whole base could have been demolished for all we know.”

  “Listen to old Mister Optimistic here,” Smith groaned, nodding in my direction.

  McElroy smirked. And then the slight smile immediately dropped from his face.

  “Wilde Man, watch out!” he shrieked, pointing over my left shoulder.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  I quickly spun around to gauge what McElroy was pointing at behind me. It turned out that the expired, skeletal chef wasn’t so dead after all. The creature had hauled itself to a stooping position and trudged within a few feet, closing in on me with its bony hands raised and jaws gaping wide open.

  I’d already holstered my Glock handgun and didn’t have time to retrieve it, aim and fire. I had to improvise. I glanced around and saw a big, long handled, stainless steel ladle lying on the table beside the serving hatch. I grabbed the serving implement with my right hand and brought the scoop end around in a roundhouse motion, as though I was a boxer throwing a wild haymaker punch. The ladle crashed against the side of the ghoul’s skull and sent it reeling away to my left, back towards the cooker.

  I knew the creature was going to come at me again so I had to finish it off before it regained its momentum. I jumped forward, bringing the ladle down in a scything motion. The bulging scoop battered against the zombie’s temple and I heard the audible crack on bone. I repeated the process, smacking the side of the ghoul’s head several times in quick succession. The almost rotten corpse sank to the floor and thick brown liquid oozed from the cracks I’d inflicted in the side of its skull.

  Dovey burst through the kitchen door with his handgun held out in a firing stance.

  “Don’t shoot,” I warned and hit the skeletal chef at least a half dozen times more with the ladle, just to make sure the bastard wasn’t going to creep up on me again.

  “Where the hell did that thing come from?” Dovey asked. “Shit, Wilde Man, you’ve got crap all over your face that came out of that damn things head, man.”

  I ignored his dumb question and tossed the bent and brain spattered ladle across the kitchen. The metal implement clanged and skidded across the tiled floor, coming to rest against the wall beneath the large windows. I spotted an old tea towel on the worktop and used it to wipe away a smear of sticky brown gunk from my forehead and the side of my face. I discarded the towel and turned to see Smith and McElroy peering through the serving hatch and staring right at me.

  “What?” I snapped, flapping my arms in the air.

  “Way to go, kid,” Smith jeered. “That’s the Wilde Man we’ve come to know and love. A total wrecking machine.”

  “It just goes to show that even in these remote types of places, the undead are still around,” McElroy said. “We’ll have to keep our wits about us, guys. No time f
or slacking off.”

  I nodded, realizing I’d been a little careless when encountering the bodies. In my eagerness to be acquainted with our location, I’d let my guard to drop. I knew from past experiences, if you did that too many times in the wrong places, you were dead.

  “What’s next?” I asked, suddenly feeling a little fatigued.

  McElroy shrugged slightly. “Get a drink of water then maybe keep moving up the trail for a couple more miles. See what we can find and then head back to the plane.”

  “Sounds like a blast,” I sighed.

  “Well, if nothing else, we’ve figured out where the hell we are,” Smith surmised. “I’ll have a look at this map and see if there’s anything useful around this spot.” Smith moved back to the serving counter and spread his handful of flyers and papers over the surface.

  “Have a scout around that kitchen and see if there’s anything in the way of supplies, Wilde Man,” McElroy said, nodding towards the refrigerators. “Oh, and watch out for the chef. I hear he’s a bit of a badass.” He smirked and turned away from the serving hatch to join Smith at the countertop.

  “Ha ha, Mac,” I muttered, grimacing at his jibe. “You’re so full of Irish wit.”

  I turned and caught Dovey glaring at me before he banged through the kitchen door, presumably to take up his position at the rear of the building. That look told me that Dovey didn’t like me very much and I knew I’d have to watch him if things got rough. Those kind of guys were all for themselves and wouldn’t think twice about leaving you in the shit when it came to the crunch.

  The food in the refrigerators had all turned to sloppy mush inside transparent plastic bags. The only items of any worth I found were two cans of pineapple chunks in one of the closets beside the cooker. Why was it always pineapple chunks or fruit cocktails left behind? Did nobody like that shit? It seemed that even after an apocalypse survivors thought canned pineapple chunks and fruit cocktail were not worthy of eating. I tossed the tins in my rucksack and left the kitchen to join Smith and McElroy at the serving counter.