LEFT ALIVE (Zombie series Box Set): Books 1-6 of the Post-apocalyptic zombie action and adventure series

by Laszlo,Jeremy

  Noah climbs through the window quickly and immediately turns around and stares out of the gaping portal of light, making sure that no one spotted us entering the house. After a few minutes of silence, lingering in the office, Noah lets out a sigh. “I don’t think they saw us,” he reports as if we’ve just narrowly escaped death.

  “Come on,” Greg says as we make our way through the house.

  Across the entryway is the living room that spreads into the dining room and then into the kitchen in the back. It looks like someone was using this house as shelter a long time ago, but they’ve been gone for a while. The door is locked and another bookshelf is pulled in front of the door, along with a sofa just in case. I hate to think what they’re barricading themselves in from. I stare at the abandoned fireplace and the rather modern and sleek décor of the place that has aged and soured over the months of abandonment. Everything fades in time.

  The weight of exhaustion hangs heavily enough on me that all I care about is collapsing onto something that’s softer than concrete, and passing out. The others are alive, still weary but having slept more than me, they still have strength. As for me, I’m just about down to the end of whatever reserves I’ve been drawing from. I watch them looking through the kitchen, rummaging in the pantry. I watch Greg moving toward the refrigerator and I immediately feel something inside of me exploding with worry.

  “Don’t open that door,” I hiss at him.

  He looks over his shoulder at me, his fingers just inches from the handle of the refrigerator. I know that whatever is inside of that refrigerator has had months to stew and turn into ooze and primordial slime that we don’t want to see or smell. I look up the stairs leading to the second floor and take the steps each with heavy, sleepy eyes weighing inside of my head. The upstairs is as barren as the living room. It’s as if whoever lived here was haunted and tormented by the decorations and everything else that filled this house. I can see where the pictures hung, dark outlines of rectangles and circles. The tables are barren, empty and useless now. I’m surprised they didn’t break up the tables for warmth.

  I push open the doors to each of the rooms, my right hand behind my back, fingering the handle of my Sig, ready to put a hole through anything that might come bursting out, but most of the doors are already open. The bedrooms are stocked with empty cans, bottles, and boxes that used to hold food. I don’t have to look into them to know that they’re empty. The labels are soiled and stained, and the lids are all popped open. There are piles of clothes shoved into the corners and tucked under the beds. It looks like everyone was hoarding supplies in this house. I look at all the used stuff that they have and can’t help but feel like they’ve moved on. They sucked their resources dry and were forced to abandon a place they felt safe. This person wasn’t a transient like the rest of us.

  I make my way into a child’s bedroom and look out over the street below. I look at pastel colors splashed around the room, the crinkled and sagging posters of Disney movies and the moldy stuffed animals sitting on shelves, looking at me. Outside, I can hear something shuffling, scratching, down on the street and I feel like there might be something out there. My mind instantly goes to the two who vanished, my imagination swirling around visions of them stealing the supplies from the truck. I take a step toward the windows, feeling the cold melting away with every step I take. The pink curtains are faded, gray and gently wafting in the breeze coming through the shattered window as I slowly lean over the sill.

  It’s not the fanatics out on the street below. It’s something worse. Down on the street, I count five of them at first, but their numbers are steadily growing. They come out of the darkness, crawling out of gaping, broken windows and doors. The flesh-eaters look so inhuman that it’s hard for me to even acknowledge that they were once people. They crawl on the ground like animals, sniffing before they slowly rise up. There’s a way they stand and walk that makes me think of bats climbing on walls. They look around, hair hanging in their faces, eyes wide and bugged. As they linger in the open, they start to wander toward the truck, sensing that it’s new. They gravitate toward it, wolves approaching a dying elk. I watch them with horrified curiosity, seeing how they move, how they look at each other. They’re so eager to tear anything that’s not like them apart, but they’re completely content with each other, until something hurts one of them. It’s almost as if hot blood is all it takes to get them fired into a frenzy of bloodthirsty violence.

  Turning on the truck, the creatures lick the side of the passenger’s door where the umbilical cord and placenta smacked into it before being abandoned on the side of the road. They lick the door, greedily trying to clean the blood off of the truck. The others, lurking around the corner and coming out of the alleyways between the businesses and townhouses, are more interested in the corpses lying in the middle of the street. Upon seeing the bodies, they move faster, scampering and clambering over them. They don’t fight each other for the flesh, they simply dig in, like jackals on the Serengeti. They grab ahold of limbs and sink their teeth into the exposed flesh first; others, more desperate, dig into the clothed torsos and legs, gnawing and tearing. The sounds are horrible, and my skin begins to crawl as I look away.

  “What the hell happened to them?” Noah’s voice is soft, cautious. I look over my shoulder, jumping at the sound of his voice. His rifle off of his shoulder and in his hands, he approaches the window and looks down on the feast that’s happening beneath us. They remind me of sharks, ripping and gnawing at the flesh of the dead. I don’t like the sight of it. It could have been us down there. It could still be us down there.

  “I don’t know,” I answer honestly. I have no idea what would make people become animals like that. Whatever happened to them must have been traumatic and horrifying. It’s not just a psychological effect that’s changed who they are, they’re emaciated monsters, feeding on the bodies of the dead. I know that there are rumors of diseases that make you crazy, due to cannibalism, but I don’t know if those were serious or just urban legends. I’m guessing this might be one of the cases that points to them being real. I look at Noah, who is staring at them with a blank expression as they eat the dead. “They might keep others from snooping around for us.”

  “Maybe,” Noah says with a grunt. “See anything worthwhile in the house?”

  I shake my head. “Honestly, I haven’t really looked too hard. I’m exhausted.”

  “We all are,” he says rather matter–of-factly. “I’m going to go see if there’s anything we can salvage.”

  “Okay,” I mutter meekly, hating the way I sound before the words even escape my lips. I watch him walk away, the rifle still in his hands. Why does he need his rifle ready while searching a house? That’s the kind of thing you want a pistol for. I shake it off, he’s just making me angry. There’s something about him that’s always made me uncomfortable.

  The room is coated with dirt and dust that’s blown in over the months through the broken windows. I wonder who decided that it would be worthwhile shattering every window in the town. I look at the bed and slowly sink down onto it, feeling the musty embrace of the mattress beneath me. I look at the ceiling where the girl has posted pictures of bands that I never got into, the paper having been soaked and dried so that it’s all wavy and curled. The thumbtacks are still holding, but I doubt they will be for much longer. Whoever was staying in this house didn’t touch this room a whole lot, probably because it looked out over the street. I imagine if I watched my town wither and die, I wouldn’t want to see the street either.

  I close my eyes, feeling the embrace of sleep wrapping its loving arms around me as I curl up in the corner of the bed, feeling the cold of the walls behind my back. I miss my bed. I miss all of my beds from back over the years. As I lie there, thinking about sleep, I can hear the others moving throughout the house, whispering to one another, careful not to be heard by the flesh-eaters on the street outside. I worry that Lexi won’t know what to do with my nephew, but I’m sure she’ll
figure something out. It’s not going to be too hard for her. I know Lexi, she’s cunning and brilliant, if anything at all. I’m not afraid of her getting stumped by a baby. I tell myself that as long as she can still breastfeed, we’re sailing on smooth waters and we’re going to be just fine.

  Greg is dragging something heavy, probably a bookshelf, underneath me. I can only assume that he’s fortifying where we snuck into the house, not wanting the flesh-eaters to get in and kill us while we hide out here and figure out what it is we’re going to do. To me, that’s a distant worry. All I need is sleep. After all, I’ve had to stand the first watch on my own before all of this happened. At least they all got some sleep before this madness began.

  Chapter Seven

  It’s hard to sleep through voices arguing, particularly those attempting to be quiet for fear of being heard and bringing attention to themselves. The hushed sounds of the argument travel through the wood and brick of the house, crawling up through tiny vibrations until I open my eyes and realize that I’m curled up in the little girl’s comforter and that it’s absolutely freezing in this room. I blink and resist the urge to stretch and groan. Everything beyond the window is swirling darkness and as I toss the blanket off of me, I stand up and listen to the amplified sound of my boots hitting the carpet. It sounds so loud to me that I cringe. Beneath me, the voices keep aggressively whispering.

  Night claims the world beyond the window, and as I look down in the darkness that is barely illuminated by a veiled moon, I can see the lingering flesh-eaters who are still circling the bodies of the dead, looking at them like ravenous wolves. They’ve picked the bones clean, consumed the bloody clothes, and licked the dusty road. All that is left of the four dead fanatics are the cracked and cleaned bones. It’s like looking at the remains of a wolf feeding. The pack has evaporated while I’ve slept, into just a dozen remaining stragglers. They don’t linger as much in the night, but this dozen still out there are trying to look for anything else to eat. They glance around with wide eyes, some of which look milky from cataracts. I wonder if they truly are blind or if that’s just the creepy appearance that they give off. The world is full of these things. What are the odds of finding them in Jacksonville and here as well or in Tifton? Whatever has happened to them, it’s a global incident.

  Turning away from the window, I go downstairs, hearing the voices louder and louder as I walk over the threshold and make my way toward the top of the stairs. I’m still hanging in this fog of sleepiness, rubbing my eyes and trying to understand what they’re saying downstairs. With each step, they get clearer and clearer. There’s a lot of tension in the room and I feel like I’m walking down into the perfect storm. Their voices are heated and angry. When I step into the light, there’s something about my presence that makes them stop what they’re talking about, and look at me.

  “You’re up,” Noah says in a tone that makes it sound like I fell asleep at my post. I want to snap at him, but I’m barely working out the walking part. They’re huddled around a lantern that is hidden from the window, eating their MREs. As I walk toward them, I’m instantly very aware that my nephew isn’t around.

  “Where’s my nephew?” I ask the huddled group.

  Lexi turns around from where she’s slumped over her own bag of warm goodness. “He’s asleep,” Lexi tells me.

  “Has he been eating?” I ask her.

  “Can we please get back to the subject at hand?” Noah cuts me off. Everyone looks at him, leaning on Henry’s hunting rifle like it’s become an inseparable part of him. He looks away from me to Greg and Lexi. I’m pretty certain that there’s a coup taking place right now and my grip on the seat of leader is slipping away right before my eyes. “We need to find out what our next move is,” Noah says, bringing me into the fold. “What are we going to do about the truck?”

  “It’s not going to drive again,” Greg says with a definitive tone. “There’s nothing we can do about it. We don’t have the tools or the parts or the knowledge to fix this. We’re going to have to find something else to get us to Dayton.”

  “So we’re still going to Dayton?” Noah demands quietly.

  I can’t believe this. Noah is already giving up on the idea that Dayton is where we need to go. Dayton is the place we need to go. There’s no hope for any of us if we stick around here. There isn’t even anything for us to scavenge here. The buildings are all broken into and the place is infested with those skulking things looking to eat us. What could Noah possibly expect to find here to keep us alive? Even with the supplies from the truck, we can’t survive in this world. There are fanatics to the south of us, but for all any of us knows, nothing else dangerous lies between us and Dayton. We need to get to Dayton so that we can survive all of this. That’s where salvation is. My father believed it so I believe it.

  “Of course we’re still going to Dayton,” I say bluntly.

  Noah’s attention is now drawn to me. I look at him and meet his gaze. “How are we supposed to do that? We’ve been away from the beach house for what? Thirty hours? Already we’ve lost Henry, nearly been killed multiple times, and let’s not even begin to discuss what happened to Marko. Everything has gone to hell, Val. The farther we drive, the worse off it gets. We don’t even have a car right now and there are legions of those things out there. For Christ’s sake, this is a small town even. If we have to deal with all of those things in just this small of a town, then how are we supposed to deal with what we find in a city?”

  I stare at him and can’t help but feel like I’m dealing with the world’s largest coward right now. Why would he even come on this adventure with us if he was going to freak out and get terrified at the first collision with death and danger? If he was going to chicken out this easily, he should have stayed at home. This isn’t even making light of the situation. I know what’s at stake. I know what we’ve lost, but we’ve come too far. We passed the point of no return a long time ago and I’m not going to even entertain ideas of us going back.

  “I don’t know,” I tell him. I’m not the person with all the answers, but I do know what needs to be done. I’m making this up as I go just like the rest of them and it scares me, but I’m not the kind of person to burrow into a hole and wait for someone to come rescue me. No, I’m the one here who is going to put her nose to the grindstone and get us out of here. I’m not like Noah and I thank God for that. “I don’t know if you’ve had a thorough sweep of this house, but there’s nothing here. Whoever was here before us has moved on. I’m sure the rest of the town is just like this house too.”

  “We don’t know that,” Noah says bitterly. “We could search each one for supplies, fortify and wait for the inevitable.”

  “What’s inevitable?” I ask him, left out of the loop on that one.

  “The religious nut jobs will come looking for us,” Lexi jumps in before this turns into an argument between me and Noah. I look at her, stunned that this is what she is deciding to defend, after the passionate quarrel she set up back at the beach house to get out of there. This is how she’s going to repay that? She turns her back on me and looks out the sliding window doors in the dining room where the access to the small back yard is. The windows are still intact, but I can imagine those things outside coming through them at any moment.

  “If those two survivors are even still in the town,” I shake my head, “then by not doing anything, we’re inviting them to come kill us. Now, if we are the ones who want to move around, then we might have a chance at either finding them or finding a way to get out of here before they get the drop on us, but I doubt that’s going to happen.”

  “Why?” Noah stands up from his perch on the stone hearth around the fireplace. He looks at me with his hunting rifle in his hands, like he’s ready to fight me for rights to talk.

  “Because they’re probably on their way back to Tifton for backup,” I tell him bluntly. “They’re outnumbered and they have nothing to gain by this. We broke open their weird little corral for the flesh-eaters
and killed a lot of their fighters. They’re weakened by this and they don’t have the strength to put up a fight against us. If anything, they’ve probably given up and are heading home to nurse their wounds. It’s what any rational person would do.”

  “They’re not rational.” Noah shakes his head in disgust.

  “No, they’re living under an illusion,” I tell him, “but they have reasons for it and they have intelligence, which means that they’re probably smart enough to realize they’re outnumbered, out-gunned, and undersupplied. Everything is in our favor, whether you want to admit it or not, so we need to push the advantage.”

  “Fine,” Greg says, putting an end to the argument. “Clearly, you’re not up for sticking around, which means that we’re going to need a new vehicle. So we need to get out there and find it before those psychos show up again. I’m going to be the one who goes looking for it.”

  “I’ll go with you,” Noah says definitively.

  “No,” I cut him off and he looks at me with fiery eyes, even in the dark haze of the room. “You’re a decent shot with the rifle. You need to stay up in that little girl’s room with Lexi and the baby. You guys can keep watch from that window and make sure that nothing gets into the truck or steals anything.” I take a deep breath, fearful of what I’m about to say. “I’ll go out there and search with Greg.”

  “Fine by me,” Greg says, after a moment of staring at me. “Get your stuff, we should leave now.”

  I don’t have stuff. I don’t have a pack or anything. It’s all still out in the truck bed where there are four or five flesh-eating maniacs lingering between us. Behind my back, my Sig is resting patiently. I don’t know how I fell asleep in that child’s room, fully dressed and with a pistol in my pants, without blowing my butt off. But I’ll consider it some well-deserved luck. Greg slings his pack over his shoulder and makes his way toward the sliding glass doors. Crossing the room, I catch a glimpse of my nephew sleeping peacefully in a drawer that has been converted into a little bassinet. I smile at the sight of him. It’s instinctual. I don’t bother saying goodbye to Lexi or Noah. They’re clearly not happy with the way things are going and I’m not interested in making it worse. Maybe while I’m gone they’ll have a family meeting and decide what’s best for them. All I know is that I’m heading to Dayton and Greg is probably coming with me.