The Left Series (Book 6): Left On An Island (39 page)

I scanned the horizon. Whatever I was going to do, I’d have to get a move on. The sun was starting to dip and I wanted to resolve the situation by sundown, one way or another.

Chapter Sixty-Seven

   The shadows cast by the buildings on my side of the street grew longer as the sun headed for its daily descent. I couldn’t believe I’d been running around this goddamn town all day and was still no closer to escaping the island.

I crept beneath the porches and covered terraces of the stores and bars, moving slowly and ducking for cover every time a cluster of undead came close. I knew I couldn’t head too far from the marina and by the probability of chance, my luck at remaining undetected wasn’t going to hold out much longer.

I returned to the outer reaches of the town square. I hunkered down in the shadows beside a rancid smelling dumpster positioned in a small alley running alongside a shuttered up seafood restaurant. The square was still full of undead, trudging around the walkway in aimless circles. I glanced around at the closed up stores and bars, hoping for some kind of inspiration.

I thought about my plan and realized it had several flaws. At first, I considered using a vehicle horn to keep a noise going, maybe a tamper alarm. That would’ve been the easiest solution. My problem was almost all the vehicles were burned out or wrecked long ago and the ones that weren’t trashed would have no juice left in the batteries. Also, I needed some kind of delay in setting off whatever devise I was going to use. There would be little point setting off an alarm system with me standing right by it with no chance of escape.

A narrow general store, with a red painted sign above the door stood sandwiched between a hotel and a burger joint on the opposite side of the square. The general store would probably have stocked portable air horns, which would have been ideal for what I needed but the problem being, I’d have to be right next to them to set them off. Maybe I’d keep that idea on the backburner, only to be used as a last resort.

A small, square shaped public building, positioned in the far corner of the square caught my interest. The structure was unremarkable, with beige colored stucco walls and some kind of sign above a closed glass panel door. The sign was undecipherable as it had been smashed and hung at an odd angle. Dark plated windows flanked each side of the doorway and the roof was flat with no tiles visible from the ground. The thing that interested me was the two circular siren horns on each corner of the front of the building. I wondered how easy activating those sirens would be.

I had to get inside that building somehow.

I glanced around the square, following the contours of the rooftops and saw they were all linked with no gaps between the buildings. I was going to have to get up there and do some more high level maneuvers. With any luck, I’d be able to get inside the public building undetected, set off the alarm, whatever it was and get away again over the rooftops. There were some possible imperfections in the plan but I decided I’d worry about those if and when they cropped up.

I moved around the dumpster and further into the alley, looking for a way into the seafood restaurant I was alongside. A side door was firmly closed and locked from the inside and no windows looked out onto the alley. I moved through a flimsy gateway to the left of a wooden fence and into the backyard of the property. More trash cans filled with rotting junk stood against the rear wall in the backyard. The windows were positioned high in the wall and covered with grease and grime from the inside. Beyond the garbage containers, three stone steps led to a small porch and a doorway stood to the left in the shadows.

I bypassed the trash cans, doing my best to hold my breath and avoid inhaling the stink of putrid seafood. Cautiously, I moved to the porch and trod up the steps. I leaned against the rough wooden door to the left and listened for any sounds coming from the room beyond. I heard nothing. I tried the door but it didn’t budge. It was locked from the inside but the wood was old and brittle. I retreated a couple of steps until my back was against the side of the porch wall then leapt at the door, leading with my right foot. The sole of my sneaker connected hard with the old wood, causing it to creak and splinter around the jamb. I winced at the amount of noise I’d made but the door did swing inwardly open.

No undead or irate chefs or restaurant owners flew out at me, only a stench of old fried food and dead fish wafted in my direction. I gagged but couldn’t turn back. I had to go onward into the building. Tarnished chrome plated industrial cookers stood against the wall on the right side and a red tiled floor was covered in a foul smelling, oily, translucent liquid. A couple of refrigerators with their doors left open stood on the opposite side of the kitchen. The fridge contents had spilled out onto the floor and were covered in a fetid, slimy substance.      

I nudged the remains of the busted door shut with the end of the baseball bat before plodding through the stinking kitchen. I skidded on the oily mess on the floor and grabbed hold of a table to stop me falling. I trod carefully to an open doorway on the far side of the kitchen.

Gripping the door jamb, I peered through the entranceway. The doorway led to the dim interior of the restaurant. The light peeped through the shutters covering the front doors and windows facing the square and the chairs and tables were stacked against the front wall. Somebody must have tried to make a last stand before they’d either succumbed to the undead virus or gotten the hell out of there.

I couldn’t see a staircase amongst the gloom so I moved right, to another doorway leading to a hallway. The hallway doglegged left and a restroom sign pointed up a narrow flight of stairs. A broken window shed light through the busted out glass, halfway up the wooden staircase.

I gripped the baseball bat and listened. All I could hear was the groaning sound of the crowd of zombies outside in the square and a slight echo of a clumping noise from somewhere from the floors above. I kept close to the wall on the left side as I ascended the staircase, listening for any new sounds.

I reached the broken window and looked outside. The square remained full of undead, turning around the pathway surrounding the central fountain in a pointless and continuous trek. I rubbed my eyes in attempt to relieve the fatigue. What the hell was I doing here? I spent a whole day running around the goddamn port town and I was still no nearer to leaving the place. This current plan was the last roll of the dice or I was finding a place to rest up for the night. I turned back and continued up the staircase, trying desperately to keep focused on what I was doing.

I bypassed the first floor and continued on up the stairs to the top level. I trod along the hallway, glancing upward and searching for some kind of roof hatch. I saw a blank white panel in the ceiling at the end of the dim corridor. I raised the baseball ball and poked at the panel with the tip. The panel lifted slightly so I pushed it aside with the bat. A stench of dust and dampness drifted down and I noticed the edge of some ladder rungs on the outside of the recess into the loft space. A thin piece of blue cord dangled down between the rungs. I hooked the bat into the bottom rung and pulled it back and down. The aluminum ladder still looked in good shape as I clicked it into place, leaning from the floor to the hatch.

I took a few steps up and shook the ladder just to check it would hold my weight. It didn’t budge and seemed fine so I continued on upwards. I poked my head through the hatch and glanced around. There wasn’t much to see apart from scores of spider webs and wooden roof beams. A small skylight to the left allowed some light into the loft space.

I was about to continue my climb through the hatch when I heard a door clunk then a low groan from below. I tried to adjust my stance so I could take a look down but felt the ladder rock to the side and a firm grip take hold on both my ankles.

Chapter Sixty-Eight

I let the baseball bat drop and grabbed the outside edge of the hatch to stop myself falling. I tried to shake my legs free but the grip remained firm. I had to let go of the hatch edging and reach for either the knife or the gun in the back of my belt.

The ladder lurched violently to the right and finally gave way, wrenched from its slide fixings and crashing into the hallway wall. I lost my grip on the wooden hatch frame and tumbled downward, following the ladder. I fell into the hallway but brushed against something before I hit the floor. I scrabbled around and saw an old, undead guy staggering to his feet in front of me. He wore a heavily blood stained, old fashioned night gown and his face was rotted away, almost to his skull. The remains of wispy gray hair stuck out at the sides of his head.

My fingers searched the back of my belt but I couldn’t find the pistol grip of the firearm. Shit, the Glock was gone. I touched the handle of the fruit knife but it had slipped down the back of my pants and the blade dug deep into my right ass cheek. I shoved my hand down the back of my pants but the old guy came at me with his arms raised and teeth gnashing.

I took a backward step while I tried to get the knife out of my pants but my foot caught the bottom edge of the ladder and I tripped, falling backwards. The old guy dived straight on top of me and I lifted my arm in a natural movement of self defense. His jaws snapped at my face while I gripped his neck with my left hand.

I felt the fruit knife blade digging further into the flesh of my ass cheek and a warm trickle of blood ran down the back of my pants. The more I struggled beneath the undead guy, the further the knife blade went in me. My body, along with the weight of the guy on top of me was wedging the knife further into my buttock. I had to get him off before I seriously sliced myself.

I gave up trying to pull the damn blade from inside my pants. My hand was caught and the knife was stuck within the fabric of my pants. I tugged my right hand free and felt around the floor beside me for the Glock. I didn’t find the handgun but did touch on the baseball bat rolling around the hallway.

I managed to roll the bat towards me with my finger tips until I could get a decent grip on the handle. I jabbed the long barrel part upward and into the old guy’s mouth so the fat end pressed into his throat. His head rose backward and away from me, arching his back in the process. I kept pushing, ensuring there was no way he could extract the bat from his jaws. His teeth clamped down on the aluminum, making a hollow, clanking sound.

I pushed the bat with my right hand and shoved the guy off me with my left. He rolled to my right and thrashed around on his back with the baseball bat sticking upwards, still firmly jammed into his mouth.

I hauled myself to my feet, avoiding the protruding ladder rungs and stepped a few paces back, away from the old zombie’s flaying arms. It felt a little weird pulling down my pants and underwear and exposing myself to an old, dead guy but the pain the knife blade was causing was...well, quite literally a pain in the ass.

I gripped the handle and slid the blade upwards and out of the top of my ass cheek. I winced and gritted my teeth. The knife made a slight sucking noise as I fully extracted the blade from my flesh.

“Jesus, that fucking smarts,” I growled, waiting for the pain to subside.

The old zombie tried to stand but the baseball bat handle hampered his progress, banging against the wall and then the floor every time he sat forward. I shuffled forward, still with my pants around my ankles and swiped the knife sideways. The blade cleanly penetrated his left temple and he collapsed back onto the floor beside the wall. I pulled up my underwear and pants and searched for the Glock. I spied it lying on the opposite side of the hallway and gingerly moved towards it.

My buttock stung when I leaned down to retrieve the firearm. I knew I’d have to get the wound looked at and treated by somebody with an ounce of medical knowledge before it got infected.

I picked up the ladder and set it back in its place, leaning up against the hatch opening and the floor. I tested it again but not with the same enthusiasm as the previous time.

“What the hell,” I muttered. I simply wanted to get this operation over and done with then take a long rest.

I carefully put the fruit knife in the side pocket of my cargo pants, checked the Glock was tucked into the back of my belt and pulled the baseball bat free from the old, dead zombie’s mouth. I sighed heavily and slowly crawled my way up the ladder. I hoisted myself into the loft space and felt another stabbing twinge of pain from my flesh wound.

“Fuck it,” I spat, as I limped my way over to the skylight. Nothing was ever easy.