LEFT ALIVE (Zombie series Box Set): Books 1-6 of the Post-apocalyptic zombie action and adventure series (47 page)

“God damn,” I chuckle. I never thought this day would come.

I spend the night here, by the gas station. Pulling the truck around back, I lock it up and wander into the gas station. I browse the magazines, looking at the faces of celebrities from long ago, lustful porn stars, and the dying leaders of the time. None of them are probably alive now, or maybe all of them are. I don’t know. It doesn’t matter anymore. I find it odd how we were all so obsessed with foolish things back then. Who cares about what people in California, New York, or D.C. are doing? In the end, we’re all just people, trying to survive. In the end, we’re all just animals.

Thankfully the maps are still there, stuffed into a display next to the counter, completely abandoned. The shelves are empty, but these people had their priorities. The beer cases are all empty and there are empty cans thrown everywhere. Clearly there was a party here that I’m a year late to. I wonder how much gas is still in the tanks outside. How much is just sitting down there, waiting to expire. Most people don’t realize gas expires. Such a waste.

I spend the night in the cab of the truck again, struggling to get comfortable without Lindsay there to pester and chat until I pass out. She was always good at talking and cuddling up against me until sleep found me. I spent a lot of time thinking about that woman from earlier in the day. I can’t help but wonder what’s happened to her, if she’ll ever make it to Jason’s house, or if I’ll see her again. I hope I do. I hope she makes it to the house and that she joins the effort I intend to pursue. I could use good people. I could use a lot of them. Hell, I just want to see my daughters again, then I’ll talk about doing good deeds for the world. I need a little payout for my troubles, for my bitter faith.

When I wake up in the morning, I skip a meal, trying to compensate for the food I’ve already eaten and the packs that I gave away to the woman and her son. I’m too much of a bleeding heart, even after everything I’ve seen and experienced. I think it’s a weakness. Somehow, I know that it’s not. Even after everything that woman had suffered, she still believed in the goodness of people. She still had the strength to carry on.

I fire up the engine and I keep going south, the map spread out in the seat next to me as I search the radio, weaving past cars that have thoroughly clogged the roads. I find someone out of Tallahassee who lets me know that fighting is still raging in Jacksonville and Miami. Apparently Tallahassee is a war zone and that there are militias everywhere in Florida. I am not the only one who got the bright idea to head south, according to Tallahassee. I listen to him talk about fighting in Tampa and a dozen other places. There’s a group down here called the Relief Movement who are trying to unify and strengthen Florida against all the infighting that has ravaged the state. I’ve neither seen nor heard anything like this in any of the other states I’ve been in. I find it slightly noble, but entirely misguided. Why unite a bunch of dying people? Let them choose how they want to go out. Sometimes I think a bullet to the head would be better than starving to death or becoming a Zombie.

Eventually, I hear word of the government, something that I haven’t heard in a very, very long time. Tallahassee says that there is in fact a government still in place, or a vestige of the old one. This is something that causes me to turn up the radio to make sure that I’m hearing everything he’s saying. “Now, we’ve gotten word from the west where the United States Government still has control of the southwest,” Tallahassee says with a fiery voice. “According to recent reports, the USA still has control of a three city triangle, occupying and holding territory around the Hoover Dam, powering Los Angeles, Las Vegas, and Phoenix. Now, from what I’ve heard, they’re working on some sort of effort to try and restore the planet back to its normal condition, which is surprising…”

I turn down the radio and slowly bring the truck to a stop, staring at what I’ve been looking for since I crossed over the border. I look at the buildings with silence and reverence, like a pilgrim finally coming to Mecca. I look at the cluster of abandoned, neglected buildings and feel a cold chill down my spine. This is something that predates Lindsay or losing my hand or Zombies. This goes all the way back to my core, all the way back to when I was stuck in a cabin out by Lake Huron. Looking at the buildings I feel a sense of accomplishment, the first time in a very long time that I can take pride in. I look at the sign in front of the buildings.

‘Welcome to the University of Florida. Home of the Gators.’

I don’t forget what it is that Lindsay told me about the University of Ohio’s campus and all of the fighting that had gone down in Columbus. I understand that completely. Where I had been, the students had taken to the streets, unable to get home to their families, cut off, and forced to live in their dorms until the government could safely remove them and relocate them with their families. Everyone saw the writing on the wall, everyone knew that the students weren’t going to ever see their families again. They were holding those too stupid or too poor to get out while the getting was good. They were locking all of us away, telling us to continue on as if our lives were normal, and the students were having none of it. The riots, the protests, and then the fighting began and I was out of there. Unlike the students, those of us who worked on the campus were paid to help maintain the façade of normalcy—not that money meant anything anymore. I did it for the kids, honestly. It helped some of them cope, but I remember many of them crying in my sparse lecture halls, sobbing to themselves while I prattled on about Thoreau and Whitman. No one cared in the end. When I heard the first gunshots, I got to my car, drove to the military checkpoint, flashed my off-campus ID and left the University of Michigan behind me for good. I could only wonder about those few students I left behind who just sat there and cried in class, looking out the dreary windows as tears ran down their faces. I listened to my radio, hearing about the massacre at the university.

The military had opened fire, throwing down martial law and any semblance of order that left the school in a pool of blood. No tear gas, no non-lethal measures, just bullets. That was when the rest of the city rose up. Lake Huron had told it best, and seemed to be the only one who cared about it. He reported that the whole city of Detroit rose up. The Preacher had only mumbled about the necessity of uprising and the requirement of salvation. He fueled the fires and that was when the whole city of Detroit, the police, the National Guard, and everyone else who had been called in, lost to the citizens. I remember walking through downtown, witnessing all of the chaos and madness for myself. There were a lot of dead people in Detroit because of that little measure against the students. A lot of dead bodies haunted those streets and I’m not sure that I feel any kind of sadness or sorrow for them.

But here, in Gainesville, everything looks still. There’s the military barricades and perimeter set up, but it looks like it has been abandoned a long time ago. There’s nothing here that would indicate that there was a huge firefight or that the military had thrown down martial law as well. In Florida, there had been refugee camps. To people outside of the Quarantine States, the refugee camps were the sources of the uprisings, not the universities or stadiums where people were corralled like animals and told to sit quietly and wait. Maybe the troops set up the perimeter, saw what happened at the refugee camps, and then decided to let the students go.

God, I hope that’s what happened. I can’t bear to think about something else happening. I look out over the campus, wondering if they were relocated. Maybe the government packed them all up and drove them somewhere else. The city had looked pretty well looted and ransacked—and so did the campus for that matter. But I don’t think that the military would have relocated them. There would have been more fighting, more destruction. People wouldn’t willingly be shipped off somewhere just to be told to wait and keep quiet until they were packed up and sent off again.

I park the truck near a vehicle depot where the military had parked half a dozen tanks, a bunch of Hummers, and trucks. My truck fits in nicely and I let it sit there for a moment, looking around to see if anyone has been watching me. I don’t see anyone, but I don’t give that much credence. If they’re watching me, then of course I’m not going to spot them. People at this point are cunning and smart. If I abandon the truck, then they’ll be on it in a matter of seconds. Sitting in the cab, I try to weigh the benefits of this.

No, it might be easier to sneak around on foot and less likely to draw attention to myself, but I can’t risk abandoning the truck. There has to be people still in the campus and if they’re here, then they’ve heard me and they’re watching me. I need the truck to be nearby. I need to be able to make a run for it if I hear trouble coming. Putting the keys back in the ignition, I start the truck and leave the depot behind me, driving through the chain link barricade and pressing deeper into the campus, hunting for the old, familiar building.

I find Lexi’s dorm as easily as I did the first time, which isn’t easy at all. Everything has changed. All the trees are dead and gone, the ermine lawn is dead, parched dirt and all the windows are either smashed or stained with mud and dust. There are broken down, weathered boxes out on the lawn, along with furniture that someone has thrown out of the windows. Debris and clothing sits half submerged into the mud, left behind by those who fled the campus. The sad thing is that this looks about right to me, normal. This is the world I live in now.

Turning off the engine again, I step out of the truck and look around at the other dorm buildings, listening to the world around me. I don’t hear anything that stands out. All around me, the breeze is all that whispers. In the far off distance, I hear a loud crack, followed by a handful of other cracks, implying a firefight that someone didn’t walk away from. I look toward the direction of the noise and wonder how far exactly they are. Drumming my fingers along the handle of my last remaining machete, I turn my back to the sounds and head for the shattered doors of the lobby. I remember bringing the girls here what feels like ages ago.

“Keep your head in the books,” I had told Lexi as I carried the bulging box with her clothes.

“I will.” She was beaming ear to ear with a grin that made me worried.

“No parties,” I said to her.

“Daddy!” Lexi had looked around at all the other girls who been staring at us as we approached the doors of the dorm room. I had been so petrified of that moment. I never wanted to walk back to the car with Val, because I knew that the moment I turned the key in the ignition and drove off, Lexi was on her own. She was going to be her own watchman and caretaker. It felt so wrong, leaving her behind.

Reaching through the gaping hole, I twist the lock and push open the metal frame of the doors open, not wanting to bend and squat my way through the entrance. The glass crunches under my feet as I walk into the dark lobby, passing the mailboxes and the counter where the attendants had been sitting with gifts for Lexi when she arrived. I had been horrified at how low-cut their shirts had been and how short their shorts were. I had been so terrified, mortified of this place corrupting my daughter. God, my fears were so juvenile back then. Little did I know, there were greater horrors to come. I walk through the lobby and reach for the pocket in my pack where my flashlight is tucked away. It feels like a club in my hand as I click it on and send a cone of light burning through the darkness toward the elevators. I turn and shine the light behind me, illuminating the doors to the rec room.

My only option is the stairs. I throw open the doors and look at the dead body crumpled on the floor, bones shattered and neck twisted in the most horrid, morbid fashion that makes my skin crawl. I know just from looking at the young man that this was either a suicide or someone threw him down the stairwell. I look back at the doors where the truck is parked right in front of the dorm. No one has taken it yet. I suppose that’s a good sign. I enter the darkness of the stairwell and listen to the door close behind me.

I am naturally terrified of absolute darkness, as most normal humans should be, but I find it to be less terrifying these days. I have seen some things that I never imagined I would ever have to cope with and if darkness is the worst of this campus’s surprises and obstacles, then I’m in an excellent spot. I walk past the doors marked with a big orange 2 and keep going until I find the door that has the number 3 painted on it and pull open the door. I step out into the hallway and stand very, very still, listening for any sounds of movement. The door latching behind me makes a loud boom that echoes through the abandoned dormitory and I wait for sounds of shuffling or movement. There’s nothing, and I let out a sigh of relief. I don’t want to fight with anyone. I don’t want to have to talk my way out of a hairy situation today. I just want to find my daughter’s dorm and be done with this place.

Val’s dorm is on the other side of the campus and I don’t want to have to track my way all the way to the freshman dorms through this place. I pray that this will be enough. I don’t want to look at their things, I want to look at them. I want to hold them. I want to kiss their faces and to hug them like there’s no tomorrow, because honestly, there isn’t. I’m tired of wandering this world without them. I’m tired of all the suffering and the loss that I’ve had to deal with on my own. I want to be there with them. Even if they’re uncomfortable about my presence, I just want to be there. I don’t even care if they’ve set up a new life, if they’re a part of something. I don’t care if they’re important now and don’t need their father lingering around. I’ll carve out my own existence. I just want to know that they’re safe and that they’re well. I want to give them the map to Jason’s house and tell them that it’s a place they need to look out for.

The dorm rooms have all been torn through. The doors have all been kicked open or broken into with crowbars and tools that have left wooden splinters everywhere. I wonder who went through and did all of this. It’s fairly destructive work and that’s a way to let people know that you’re here. I walk through the hallways, feeling the breeze coming through the dorms with shattered windows, my feet crunching the abandoned papers and assignments that cover the floor. I walk across jackets and other clothes, avoiding desks and mattresses that have been hauled out and thrown into the hallway. I don’t know why they would do that, but I shove everything out of the way until I find exactly what I’m looking for.

Room 311. The door is slightly closed and I gently push it open, looking at the chaos within. Lexi’s roommate was named Chloe and she was from New York, I think it was Albany or something. Her closet has been thrown open and her clothes and other possessions are strewn across the floor and her bed. Her desk has been smashed to pieces and as I enter the room, I see that someone has done the exact same thing to Lexi’s things. I reach down and pick up her shirt and hold it up to my nose, taking a deep breath and trying to get her scent. It’s been too long and all it smells like is dust now. I drop the shirt and slowly sit down on her bed before laying down on it and looking up at the ceiling where a big water stain has spread out in a dark, coffee colored blob. Her bed is nowhere near as comfortable as a bed should be.

I lay there a moment, thinking about what to do next. I should look around, of course. I can’t just drive around the entire coast of Florida, like ninety percent of the damned state is coast. I need to find out where they are and make my way in that direction. Sitting up, I look at Lexi’s desk where there’s a map of Florida. My curiosity piqued, I get off her bed and approach her desk where there’s a leather-bound book that I gave her two years ago, her journal. I’d spent a hundred dollars on that journal because she wanted to ‘record life’ and I don’t think I ever saw her write in that book once. There’s a red X marked on the map of Florida and I immediately rip it off the wall. It’s on the east coast, not what I had anticipated, but that doesn’t matter. Brushing the papers piled onto her journal, I untie the leather thong and open the pages. As I expected, most of the pages are blank. Eventually I find the last page she wrote on. It’s addressed to me.

‘Dad’, it reads. ‘You stupid bastard, what the hell are you doing down here? If you’re reading this, then Val is right and I’m out another can of peaches. Thanks a lot. But seriously, I’m glad you came. Listen and pay attention. Look at the map above the desk. If it’s not there, then go to Val’s dorm. She has another map hidden in her closet. It’ll show you exactly where we’re going. Today is April 14
th
. I think we’re going to be staying there for a while. The military has pulled out and abandoned the campus perimeter. We hear that everything has fallen apart. I pray that you’re okay, Dad. There is twenty six of us going to Tommy’s beach house. He says it’s large enough and isolated enough that we’ll be safe. We’re going to try and stick it out there as long as we can. Some of the guys are talking about getting a boat and trying to make it to the Bahamas. Don’t worry, I’m not going with them. I hope you’re well, Daddy. Please hurry. We’re so worried about you. We heard about Detroit, hope you were long gone when all of that went down. I love you, come soon. Lexi’.

My tears patter against the pages and I quickly dry my eyes, closing the journal and stuffing it into my backpack with the map of Florida, tucking them away safely. Turning toward the door, I make my way back through the hallway to the stairs and enter the darkness without a thought or fear in the world. There’s a renewed sense of vigor in me. My aches and pains no longer seem to bother me and I’m trying to remember what the fastest way to the freshman girls’ dorms is. It has been a while since I drove them down here.

When I reach the bottom of the stairs, I step out into the foyer and suddenly, there’s a sound in the air that turns my blood cold and causes me to freeze exactly where I am. I suddenly feel my hand shake and all that confidence and motivation I had to go find the girls abandons me. It flees immediately and I’m standing alone, stuck in a situation that I’m not sure I’m going to be able to survive.

The horn blasts again and the exterior of the building explodes in a dozen plumes of dust and plaster as the bullets rip through the lobby and the sounds of gunshots fills the air. “Shit!” I shout and the barrage continues as I take cover behind the corner of the attendant’s office. I’m not sure how many guns they have, but they definitely have one heavy machine gun that is punching holes in the lockers and mailboxes the size of my thumbnail. I can hear voices outside over the gunshots and when the bullets stop filling the entrance of the building, I move. I run across the lobby to where the rec room is and throw open the doors.