LEFT ALIVE (Zombie series Box Set): Books 1-6 of the Post-apocalyptic zombie action and adventure series (26 page)

“I do,” I nodded.

“You have to take me there.” She runs up to me and grabs my shoulder, pulling me around to face her. “You got to show me what it is they had there.”

“When I find my girls,” I tell her. “Once I’ve found them, I’m going to do exactly what it is he envisioned. I’m going to start building a better future.”

She lets go of my arm and shakes her head. “God damn it, Charlie,” she says again, breathless.

“I know,” I answer.

We walk for what seems like hours. The burnt farmhouses become more and more foreboding so we adjust to head south again like the original plan. We’ll walk until the Ohio River and then head directly west. I don’t bother checking the map, but when we pass over a larger road, we search for any vehicles that might be of use. Cincinnati appears to be a tough place and the range of its devastating populace is becoming more and more impressive. Most of the cars are burnt out husks that have been rolled or smashed into. What few vehicles are left are well worn and abandoned after the gas has been run out of them. My patience for whoever is doing this is running out quickly and I want ten minutes with whoever it is. Nearly every abandoned, intact, vehicle is the kind that would be perfect for what we need if they had gas. Of course, I’m not that lucky and eventually I give up the search and keep walking south. The world reminds me of an empty house, slowly being torn down. There’s nothing beautiful anymore. There’s nothing left to appreciate.

“I need to shit,” Lindsay says finally.

“What?” I turn back to her and before I can say another word, she’s squatting and pulling her pants down. “Lindsay, are you kidding me?” I look away for the sake of modesty, but I’m dealing with a woman who no longer believes in that sort of thing. I take a peek back, just to make sure she isn’t having a laugh at me, but all I see is her looking around until she catches me.

“Keep a watch,” she snaps. “Pervert.”

“Says the woman shitting in the open.” I shake my head and look toward the west. There’s nothing to see. There’s nothing to watch for. There isn’t a damn thing out here. “You don’t have a drop of shame in you,” I accuse her.

“Why? Should I wait until the next bathroom we come across?” Her words are drenched in a marinade of sarcasm.

“You’re a piece of work, Lindsay,” I shake my head.

“You see that?” she asks me.

I turn and look toward the south where she’s pointing as she pulls up her pants. I do see what it is she’s pointing at. There’s a dot on the horizon that draws me like a moth to a flame. Who cares if it’s anything of true importance, but it’s a sign of the old world. I start walking, listening to her as she keeps in line behind me. There are more buildings to the south and I quickly realize that it’s a small town that we’re encroaching upon. As we let each minute pass, one step in front of the other, I begin to see that one of them is far more promising that the other.

“It looks like a home improvement store,” Lindsay shouts to me.

I look over my shoulder and hold my finger up to my lips. It certainly does look like a home improvement store and I immediately feel excited. There will be supplies in a home improvement store. There will be hammers and equipment there for us to look through. I start to pick up the pace. I feel like a child at Christmas. I feel like we’ve found our first bit of luck in a long time.

“What are we waiting for?” Lindsay complains.

I stand perfectly still, listening. This is much harder with a woman that has the attention span of a four year old with attention deficit disorder. I look over at her with a scowl written across my features. She’s being annoying. She looks at me and immediately stops talking. She holds up her binoculars and looks over the town on the horizon once more. I don’t care how many times she asks, I’m not going into that town not knowing who is there. I look at my stump. The last time I did that, I still had both of my hands. Getting maimed tends to change the way you see things.

“Get comfortable,” I tell her.

“Oh Jesus, Charlie,” she grumbles as I drop my pack. “We’re not waiting out here all night, are we?”

I hold out my right hand and she hands me the binoculars with a grumble and something that sounds close to a curse before she stomps off a few feet. The binoculars are good, heavy equipment that she had to have stolen from someone who knew exactly what they were doing when they picked them up. I wonder if she knows just how good they are. Looking at the horizon, I see the home improvement store again and watch for any signs of movement. It’s been quiet for hours, but that doesn’t fool me. Blanchester had been quiet for hours. Turning the binoculars northwest, I search the horizon for signs of Zombies wandering the wasteland. The pack that had made their way through Blanchester had come from Cincinnati. They might be wandering in all directions.

When Lindsay had been taking care of me, back when I was hardly lucid and barely keeping my eyes open, I remember her telling me that the dust was toxic. She said something about it leeching its way into my skin and that’s where the Zombies came from. People who were caught out in the enormous blowing torrents of sand and dust. I had been afraid when she told me that. I had spent my share of time in the storm, but she had assured me that I was just fine. I hope she’s right. But as I think about the Zombies fleeing Cincinnati and whatever horrors lurk there, I can’t help but picture the way Detroit had been when the army of killers invaded from the north, right on my heels. Hundreds were fleeing in every direction they could to escape all the fighting. Now, knowing what I do about the Zombies, I wonder how many of those fleeing refugees had been caught in storms, unable to find shelter out on the wastelands when the winds rose. What a horrible way to deteriorate. To be caught up in a whirlwind of toxic ash and dust that slowly turned you into a mindless horror, feeding on the flesh of those hiding.

Part of me wonders what it is that keeps them moving in packs. If one of them is wounded or dying, they turn on their vulnerable friend and tear what little flesh is on them apart. But what keeps them social up until that point? What barrier keeps them from just eating one another, actually? Maybe it’s the primordial need for companionship. I look at Lindsay and think about how desperate I was to keep her around. We are from different worlds, but in the end, I want her here with me. If a flying saucer were to hover over my head and send down a beam of light that sucked Lindsay up into oblivion, I would be left bitter and hateful towards everything. Why? I barely know her after all. It is companionship. It is the desire to not be alone. I look back toward the town. Maybe that’s why the Zombies resist the urge to just kill each other—that is, until the temptation is just too great.

I lower the binoculars and sigh. The sun has long since fallen beyond the horizon and I can feel the cold sweeping across the barren world. Lindsay has her arms wrapped around herself and she’s shivering. When I look over at her, she tries to act like she’s fine, but I can tell she isn’t.

“Alright.” I stuff the binoculars in my bag. “We go in quiet and we go in cautious.”

“Sounds like a plan,” Lindsay smiles. “Try not to lose another hand.” I look at her, shocked that she would even think to joke about that. I want to punch her in the face. I want to wrap my good hand around her throat and strangle her. Clearly, this is the reaction that she was wanting. She bursts out laughing and buckles over as her whole body ripples with laughter. I feel myself blushing as I continue glaring at her. “Too soon?” she gets out before I start storming off toward the improvement store. “Poor sport!” she shouts at me before chasing after me.

The first obstacle of the improvement store is the exterior fence. I reach it well before Lindsay makes it. Even for all of my injuries, she still is the slower, more cautious one when it comes to venturing across the wastes. I glance back at her. She’s hunkered down with her bow ready, an aluminum arrow set on the drawstring. I think the word is nocked. Or is it notched? I look back at the fence, giving up the vernacular of archery. Dropping to my knee, I listen for any sounds. My pause isn’t in vain.

I can hear Lindsay approaching, but I also hear something inside the improvement store. There’s movement beyond the chain link fence. The sound is familiar, like footsteps shuffling slowly and I instinctively know that they belong to the Zombies. As Lindsay makes her way next to me and drops down onto a knee, I hold a finger to my lips and then tap my ear. There’s no prior establishment of non-verbal communication, but she picks up on it. She nods to me and we both are in sync.

Leaning close to her, I whisper. “I don’t think I can climb the fence without hitting my stump.”

“So go around,” Lindsay grins devilishly.

I try to say something to her, but she’s already climbing the fence with one hand. I watch her enviously and completely useless. She swings her legs over the top of the fence and drops down into a crouch with as much agility as a cat. There is something miraculously silent about her. I watch her without the words to say something witty or encouraging. She’s on her own until I can find an opening. I look past her into the depths of the improvement store where I know there are Zombies. Lindsay looks back and nods to me, encouraging me to find my way in.

We separate and I don’t like it one bit. I’m wandering helplessly around the exterior of an enormous improvement store. I find the corner and start heading south once more, but it’s then that I see the Zombies. And they see me. There are three of them lingering between the awnings that hid the weathered stacks of wood that have been abandoned in the wake of the world’s end. These three are still in their clothes, but their gaunt faces with their sharp features give away what they truly are. They move lazily, tired from a day of wandering and hunting, no doubt. I start to move faster once they see me. Even with a chain link fence between me and them, I still feel naked under their gazes. I rush, moving faster and faster as their dragging footsteps follow. One of them grunts and shrieks, as if to stimulate the others into better chase.

The north face of the fence that surrounds the property has been plowed in by a large pickup truck which has rolled in the improvement store entrance. The gate has also been bashed in by a vehicle, but there’s no sign of it, other than the yawning, buckled gates. Fortunately for me, I’ve found my entrance. But unfortunately, so have the Zombies. Something smacks hard into the outside of the pickup truck and I see that it’s sprouted an arrow. I look at it and then to where it came from. Lindsay completely missed the Zombies charging toward my position. I look at her and she doesn’t give me a second thought. Another arrow hisses past me and disappears into the darkness of the night. She almost hit me. The shock of it rolls through my head, battling with panic as I pull my machete free and ready myself to fight off three of these horrors.

I can’t help but wonder what happened to the marksman who killed all those Zombies who were trying to kill me days ago? Where was she at right now? A third arrow hisses past me, rattling the chain link before it clatters against the road behind me and I know that I’m screwed. Before the first one reaches me, the Zombie directly behind him drops. It is too dark to distinguish whether these freaks are male or female, but I think it’s a woman. An arrow bursts through her forehead and she stumbles forward and face plants hard. The grasping monster closest to me doesn’t even pay attention to her demise, his eyes are all on me. The fellow bringing up the rear looks at the dead Zombie before him and then slowly looks over his shoulder, spotting Lindsay.

She’s on her own.

The Zombie closest to me is just inches away. I wave my bladed stump and the blade sinks deep into the creature’s chest, ripping open a jagged slash that would have sent any rational person screaming into hysteria. But, as much as it hurts my attacker, it hurts me more. My savaged arm riddled with uncontrollable agony, I swing wild, missing my target before he collides with me. He slams into me with all his strength and sends me flying onto my back and he’s coming down with me. Pain flashes throughout my back and chest as I try to cope with the sensation of hell inside of me. All I can think to do is stab. I sink my machete into flesh, but at this point, I’m not sure if it’s me or him. I don’t know if I can distinguish within the sea of pain. The Zombie roars and I take that as a good sign. Forcing my stump up, I catch the creature and just start ripping and shredding in any direction, refocusing the pain that is filling me with each attempt to use the knife on my stump.

After a while, I can’t hear the Zombie anymore, but that doesn’t stop me. I’m sawing my way and hacking my way into the man from both sides. His gore-riddled face is limp against my chest, his biting jaws slack. Dropping my machete, I give him a push, feeling the warm blood all over me as the tearing sounds that fill the air unleash a flood of snake-like intestines all over me as his body rips in half. Trying to avoid the urge to vomit, I shove the dead man’s torso away and kick his legs off of me, worming myself away from the scene.

I rush to my feet, blindly groping for my machete, searching the dim improvement store for any sign of Lindsay. I can’t see her, but as my fingers wrap around the handle of my machete, I’m filled with urgency to find her. I have to find her before the other Zombie gets to her. I rush past the rows of awnings with their stacks of different lumber cuts. There’s nothing but debris that has been caught in the colossal windstorms that are rippling across the world every day. I find another arrow sticking into a stack of railroad ties and my heart begins to pound faster and faster. I want to call out to her, but I don’t know if there are more of the Zombies inside of the store. Who am I kidding? If there are, then they’ll already know that we’re here from the shriek.

“Lindsay!” I shout.

I pass another row and suddenly, there she is, sinking the shaft of one of her arrows into the last Zombie’s eye. The aluminum shaft is broken and the creature is shrieking in horrific pain. It claws at her, desperate to make the pain stop. She digs the shaft deeper and deeper into the monster, pushing through the socket and into the brain with a distinct sound that makes my whole body shiver. With a twist of the shaft, the creature stops shrieking and it suddenly goes limp, pulling Lindsay down with it. Just in case it isn’t quite dead, I rush to her side before she hits the ground. Dropping my machete, I reach for her arm and quickly pull her up.

She’s smiling.

Pushing her hair back and out of her face, the grin across her lips is one that makes the very core of my being shiver with a disturbed sense of confusion. Who finds this entertaining or enjoyable? She lets out a demented little laugh and then gives me a punch to my good shoulder before scooping up her bow. I watch her with a completely baffled expression on my face as she pulls her arrow out of the railroad tie. She glances over her shoulder at me and winks. There’s something sinister about her that I don’t appreciate as much as she might think I do. I watch her vanish around the corner and I wonder what kind of psychopath that I’ve gotten myself mixed up with. Reaching down, I take my machete and sheath it.

I wish I could appreciate this world as much as she does.

When I catch up to her, she’s ripping her other arrow out of the head of the first Zombie she killed. I watch her wipe the head of the arrow on the back of the dead Zombie before she sheaths it with the others. Looking at me, she smiles once more, but this is the smile I like. It’s the smile that blossoms like the sun in this dark, wretched world. The sun is one of the last beautiful things that I can appreciate and by God, her smile reminds me of it. I watch her survey the area before her gaze settles on the Zombie that I completely cleaved in half. She looks at me, as if expecting me to give a bow for the work that I’ve done.

Passing her by, I head for the store. It’s surprisingly well stocked and part of me immediately thinks that this is someone’s base of operation. Darkness scatters as I search the building with my LED flashlight. There’s stacks of empty cans but there’s no food to be seen. The thin layer of dust also warns that whoever supplied and outfitted this location hasn’t been here in a very long time. I run my fingers along a shelf and look back at the doors where Lindsay is just now coming to join me. I don’t know what she’s been doing, but she flicks on her flashlight and starts searching the far side of the store.

There’s plenty of supplies here to barricade yourself in or to start constructing something. My mind starts drifting back to Jason and his grand designs. If only he had access to this place, oh man, I could just imagine what he would have started constructing. I step over a threshold and I’m in the greenhouse section of the store. Everything is dead, but there are bags of potting soil and fertilizer. I can’t help but wonder if someone will find this place and start building a new world. I want to, but I have to find the girls. I can’t do both. Am I just fooling myself? I turn and pass back into the hardware store and walk past shelves of nails and screws, reels of wire and cable. My imagination flares to life and I smile at all the possibilities that will never happen.