The Left Series (Book 1): Leftovers (36 page)

“Come on,” Smith yelled. “We can do this.” He tried to sound encouraging.

Eazy hopped onto the vehicle behind Smith and motioned for Batfish to follow him. She leapt onto the roof but didn’t land right and began to topple backward. Eazy grabbed her by both arms and managed to stop her fall. She was still leaning backward slightly when a tall zombie, wearing the remains of a yellow basketball shirt, grabbed Batfish’s back pack and tried to pull her down to the ground.

“Oh shit, help me,” Batfish shrieked.

Eazy had slipped his pistol into his waistband and couldn’t let go of Batfish’s arms to retrieve it. The basketball guy was strong, even in death. If Eazy let go with one hand he wouldn’t have enough strength to hold her the small distance away from the grabbing, dead hands.

Smith shone the light beam directly onto the basketball zombie’s shaven head. He leveled his pistol along the light beam. He’d always found six shooters weren’t very accurate given any sort of distance over ten feet. He couldn’t afford to miss.

“Eazy, Smith, help me,” Batfish shrieked again. Her were eyes wide and her mouth hung open.

The basketball zombie tugged harder, not wanting to give up his catch. Batfish’s feet teetered on the edge of the car roof. If the basketball guy pulled her a few inches lower, she’d be level with the throng of hands and nails and then the thrashing mouths with all those sharp, twisted broken teeth.

Smith fired a round. The bullet grazed the back of the basketball zombie’s skull but was enough to remove enough dead flesh and bone to qualify for a kill shot. The zombie’s hand went limp around the strap of Batfish’s bag and he fell backward into the mass of the undead crowd.

Eazy pulled Batfish towards him and gave her a brief hug. “Let’s get going,” he murmured.

Batfish tightly gripped hold of Eazy’s hand as they leapt onto the Range Rover roof to join Smith. Batfish planted a quick kiss on the side of Smith’s cheek.

“Thanks for saving me,” she spluttered.

Smith nodded. “Let’s not get all gooey with each other yet,” he said. “We’ve still got to get passed these rotting fucks and get out of this freaking tunnel. I’m starting to get pissed off being stuck down here now.”

“How far do you think we’ve got to go?” Eazy asked.

“Best guess? Around half a mile.”

Batfish groaned like one of the zombies below.

“Look, I know it’s not exactly a New Year’s Eve party down here but we don’t have much choice,” Smith grunted.

Undead hands rattled on the windows and sides of the Range Rover. The vehicle began to tilt from side to side under the weight of the mass of hungry zombies. Smith, Eazy and Batfish held on to one another to steady themselves.

“We better get moving before we all end up in that mess down there,” Eazy said.

“Try zigzagging across the lanes when you jump the cars,” Smith instructed. “You may not be moving further down the road as quick but the distance is less to jump.”

The three of them carried on car hopping but progress was so slow that Smith worried about their situation at the end of the tunnel. They were moving so slowly that they’d never out run the zombie hordes.

Chapter Fifty-Seven

“We can’t just sit here like this,” I said. My frustration was approaching boiling point.

We drifted by the New Jersey Ferry port on our right. I recognized the hotels and banks on the shore that we’d driven passed in the RV earlier in the day. The sanctity of the RV seemed like a life time ago now. Maybe subconsciously we were sitting, unmoving waiting for someone to come along and save us. No natural leaders remained in our sorry little group. Maybe it was time for Brett Wilde to step up to the plate and take control of the situation for once.

“Come on, Denny,” I commanded, standing up. “Let’s see if we can find anything to help us get this piece of junk started.”

“I don’t know, Brett. I don’t know shit about boat engines.”

“You have a look in those lockers at the back and I’ll check the compartments by the wheel,” I said.

Rosenberg stood up and moved to the back of the boat. I moved to the compartments under the control panel and rifled through them. Julia moved to the middle of the seat, hugging herself. I didn’t think for one moment we could get the boat going but maybe we’d find something to help us, like a flare pistol or some food at least.

“Oh my God, Brett, look,” Julia said.

I turned to Julia and saw she was pointing towards the shore. I followed the line of her finger and saw countless numbers of zombies plunging into the river from the long platform on the New Jersey Ferry dock. Whether they were coming after us or simply aimlessly wandering into the water, I didn’t know. I did know we couldn’t let ourselves drift any further in their direction.

“What about these?” Rosenberg asked from the back of the boat.

I glanced at him and saw he held up two objects but my brain wouldn’t compute what the items were. I turned back to look at the vast numbers of undead spilling into the river.

“Wilde! Get a grip, man. Take a look back at Rosenberg,” my inner self screamed inside my head.

I did as my other self or whoever was taking command of my brain told me to do. Rosenberg held up two sturdy, wooden paddles or oars or whatever they were called.

I bolted into action.

“Okay, let’s go,” I screamed.

I gestured to Rosenberg and he tossed me one of the paddles. I took the left side and he took the right. Rosenberg informed me that left was port and right was starboard in nautical terms. We paddled like crazy men and somehow managed to steer the boat away from the New Jersey Ferry Port.

“Do you think we can get across the river?” Julia asked in hope more than expectancy.

“Damn right,” I growled, determined to get to Manhattan now.

We slowed slightly, due to fatigue when we thought we were a comfortable distance from the ferry port. I suggested we keep rowing to avoid drifting again. Luckily, the water was calm and not too difficult to navigate on. We closed in on the Manhattan side of the river to about five-hundred feet from the shore. I saw a grassy park with tall trees dotted around in front of high-rise buildings. Figures shuffled around the park, bumping into each other in that unwelcome recognizable, aimless gait. I hoped Manhattan of all places would somehow have been able to fight off the zombie epidemic. Now I realized it was the same everywhere. The spread of the undead had taken over.

“What are we going to do?” Rosenberg asked. “We going to carry on rowing down to Battery Park?”

I didn’t know how to answer. If I was totally honest with Rosenberg and Julia, I wouldn’t have been able to even tell them where Battery Park was. I figured we’d just roll into Manhattan and drive down to Battery Park and Dad would have someone pick us up in a speed boat and take us to the yacht.

“I don’t feel comfortable in this boat,” Julia said. “I mean, look what happened to Soames. At least on land we can run away or hide somewhere. Out here in this boat, there’s nowhere to go and we can’t even see them coming.”

Julia had a point. If I knew Manhattan better or knew where the hell we were going, I would have suggested staying put and following the river downstream to our destination. Hell, I didn’t even know if Dad was still there. I hadn’t had any contact with him for days.

“Julia is right, Denny. I think we should find a quiet spot on the shore and try and get to the harbor on foot.”

“But we’re still going to have to get to the yacht from the shore, Brett,” Rosenberg protested.

I sighed. “How well do you know Manhattan, Denny?”

“Not very well, I guess. I’ve been here a couple of times but only to see the sights. You know, Broadway, Times Square, Central Park, the Guggenheim Museum and that type of stuff.”

“So none of us know Manhattan very well,” I said. I couldn’t help asking myself how the hell did I think this was a good idea? Stuck in a boat on the Hudson River looking at the Manhattan skyline while searching for a place we didn’t know the location of. Brilliant plan, Wilde!

I looked across the river and watched the sun shimmer on the surface. Seagulls circled overhead like vultures in the desert waiting for their prey to give up the ghost and finally die. Maybe it was an omen. I felt our plight was hopeless. Without Smith, Eazy or even Soames, I felt we were out of our depth and up to our eyeballs in shit.

“Let’s just moor up someplace and get the hell out of this God damn boat and follow the sign posts on land.” Another ludicrous plan.

We scoured the shoreline and spotted the ferry terminal just past the park. A marina lay beyond the ferry terminal with a few small boats bobbing on their moorings. We decided to disembark our vessel at the marina, hoping it wouldn’t be too overly populated by the undead. My arms began to ache as Rosenberg and I rowed between the two long jetties that acted as the entranceway to the marina. We slowed and scanned the shore for armies of undead. A few zombies shuffled around in the distance in groups of ones and twos. We made a beeline for the jetty nearest the shore on the right side of the marina.

“We’ll keep these paddles to use as weapons,” I whispered to Rosenberg as we coasted towards the wooden jetty.

The marina stunk of oil and diesel exhaust fumes of long since departed vessels. A few blood stained and punctured dinghies floated aimlessly around the jetties. Obviously some poor soul’s last attempt at escaping the city went horribly wrong.

“Any sign of trouble and we get straight back into the boat and take our chances on the water,” I commanded, trying to sound like I had leadership qualities.

We guided the boat and let it silently drift to the side of the jetty. The bow bumped into the wooden planks and skidded alongside sideways. Not the smoothest of landings by Captain Wilde. Rosenberg took the bow rope and hopped out onto the jetty. He wrapped the rope around a cleat on the jetty floor. I handed him his bag and helped Julia out of the boat. I handed Rosenberg the two paddles and followed them onto the jetty. We stood looking around in all directions for a few moments. A few zombies shuffled around in the distance but didn’t spot us.

“Let’s get out of this marina onto some open ground,” I said.

We walked quickly off the jetty and onto solid ground. The marina boundaries were surrounded by a black, iron railed fence that acted as partial cover for us. A small park with a circle of leafy green trees lay to our left, surrounded by high rise buildings. Manhattan was how I remembered it, a mixture of both new and old tall buildings, standing side by side. The usual hustle and bustle and traffic noises were eerily absent. The moans of the undead in the distance were all we heard.

“I thought there might be some other survivors around here,” Rosenberg said.

“Maybe they’re all holed up someplace,” I said. “We better get moving. Which way do we go?”

Rosenberg pointed to a pathway with hexagonal paving, lined with black, iron benches leading along the shoreline.

“Hopefully that path will take us right down to Battery Park Harbor.”

“Okay, let’s follow the yellow brick road,” I said.

We moved quickly on the pathway. Signposts told us we were heading in the right direction. The financial district and the main hub of the city was way off to our left. Several zombies lurched around in the small cluster of trees running alongside the pathway.

“Just keep going,” I hissed.

The zombies turned to look as we went by, moaned loudly and stumbled in our direction. Some held their hands out in front of them, like they were beckoning us over. We stopped to view a map inside a glass case on the edge of the path. We discovered we were on the Esplanade walkway which led us straight down to Battery Park Harbor.

“Come on, we’re nearly there,” I whispered and carried on walking at a brisk pace.

Zombies grew in number shuffling after us but wouldn’t catch us if we carried on at the same hurried walking speed. Julia slipped her arm into mine and I pretended we were a couple on a leisurely stroll on a weekend break. The tree line receded to our left and opened out onto a street with box shaped, office type buildings on either side. Weird stone columns stood between us and the street. Greater numbers of the undead lurched around in the road, wandering backward and forward.

“I don’t like this,” Rosenberg hissed. “Too many of those creatures around for my liking.”

“Just keep walking,” I said.

Some of the zombies in the street noticed us and shuffled in our direction. Their moans seemed to alert more numbers to our presence.

“I think maybe we should start running,” Rosenberg suggested.

“Good plan,” I said.

We broke into a semi jog. I’d never done so much physical exercise in one day since leaving High School. The Esplanade path continued south, with the black, iron fence between us and the Hudson River to our right. The tree line hid us from the main streets once again until we came to another left turn. The street was wider than the previous one with a small garden between the buildings.

The Esplanade path took us by more high-rise buildings behind the tree line. The street turnings became more frequent in number and were full of larger groups of zombies. We’d gone from easily out running them at a leisurely stroll to a panicked run to escape gathering numbers, in a matter of minutes.

The pathway took a sudden left turn and opened into a wider space. The wider expanse of the Esplanade was crawling with hundreds of the undead. We stopped running as they turned and looked at us. Their mutilated, rotting faces seemed eager and thrilled at our sudden emergence.

“Oh shit, what do we do now?” Rosenberg wailed.

I glanced in every which way and quickly weighed up our situation. A tall building to our left, the river to our right and hundreds of zombies to the front and to the rear.

“That’s a damn good question, Rosenberg.”

Chapter Fifty-Eight

The undead followed Batfish, Eazy and Smith as they hopped from roof to roof, gaining ground towards the end of the Holland Tunnel. Gray, rotting hands reached for them as they bounced left and right across the two lanes.