LEFT ALIVE (Zombie series Box Set): Books 1-6 of the Post-apocalyptic zombie action and adventure series by Jeremy Laszlo
Authors: Jeremy Laszlo
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place and driven off on their merry way. I envy those people. I continue to curse myself for having lost the Jeep. My life hangs by a thread because I had failed to observe the road.
I walked through the ruins of a town called Gert. Given the circumstances and the current status of everything around me, I wasn’t too surprised to see that the whole town had burned away to nothing but rattling, blackened bones of the buildings that had once clustered together amidst the sea of farms and pastures. I only know that it was named Gert by a blackened, metal sign that remained vigilant along the side of the interstate. I looked at the sign with apathetic disinterest before moving through the remnants of the town. I pass through blackened, sunburned cars that mock me from beyond the grave. After leaving the town, I walk through the night. There is nothing but walking. Walking and more walking. But my legs grow weary and they tremble from time to time.
I continue until the sun peeks over the bland, flat horizon, its light is at once unwelcoming. I see nothing but the vast expanse of hostile, cruel land. It is my thirst that compels me to divert my course and head east. It is in the east that I see three buildings clustered on the horizon, far away, but worth the walk. The fact that they may be looted and abandoned does not bother me. I’m desperate now. I need to find something. If anything, I need the shade. If there is no water or food in those buildings, then I will wait there, in the shade until I wither into nothing and die. I realize now that I truly may not make it to Florida. I hate myself for letting the thought slither into my mind, but it’s here now and it has taken root.
It took hours to reach the buildings. They’re not nearly as close as I had originally thought they were from my vantage point on the horizon. I walk my dusty path, taking each step desperately and eagerly. My breathing is now ragged, worn, and tired. I sound like cracked and dried bellows as I walk, sucking in breath and continuing onward. As I step into the shade of the first structure, I feel my heart sink at the sight of the burned ruins that were once a house. I feel broken and desperate as I watch the wind blow dust between me and the house that has been half burned. I can see light bursting through the windows from the inside, thanks to a roof that has collapsed upon ruined supports.
“No,” I utter, stepping toward the house. I try the front door, stumbling up the porch and walking past the smashed remnants of a rocking chair and table. I grip the handle and slam my weight against the door, praying for it to break, but there is nothing. The door is locked. I pass the shattered windows of the front of the house and make my way all the way to the back door which is also unsurprisingly locked. I begin to feel pressure in my eyes and realize that I’m crying. I didn’t even think it was possible to cry any longer.
Daring to risk it, I climb through one of the broken windows, trying desperately to avoid the jagged shards of glass that are ready to tear at my flesh. I know that with one cut, I will get an infection, and I will die. There are no more pharmacies, no more water sources, there is nothing for me to help myself with. I will be left stranded out here with a swollen gash and turn septic before dying. Thankfully, I make it into the house without much trouble.
The second story has collapsed in on the living room. The ceiling has pools of blackened circles that contain the footprints of the fire that had immolated the upstairs. I try making my way upstairs to survey the extent of the damage, but part of the wall has buckled inward on the second story and has filled the stairs with debris. I figure it’s for the best. Getting up there and trying to walk around was an undeniable death trap. I look at the empty, tossed house and wonder if there’s anything of value here. I use my knife to dig through much of the stuff I see.
I walked through the ruins of a town called Gert. Given the circumstances and the current status of everything around me, I wasn’t too surprised to see that the whole town had burned away to nothing but rattling, blackened bones of the buildings that had once clustered together amidst the sea of farms and pastures. I only know that it was named Gert by a blackened, metal sign that remained vigilant along the side of the interstate. I looked at the sign with apathetic disinterest before moving through the remnants of the town. I pass through blackened, sunburned cars that mock me from beyond the grave. After leaving the town, I walk through the night. There is nothing but walking. Walking and more walking. But my legs grow weary and they tremble from time to time.
I continue until the sun peeks over the bland, flat horizon, its light is at once unwelcoming. I see nothing but the vast expanse of hostile, cruel land. It is my thirst that compels me to divert my course and head east. It is in the east that I see three buildings clustered on the horizon, far away, but worth the walk. The fact that they may be looted and abandoned does not bother me. I’m desperate now. I need to find something. If anything, I need the shade. If there is no water or food in those buildings, then I will wait there, in the shade until I wither into nothing and die. I realize now that I truly may not make it to Florida. I hate myself for letting the thought slither into my mind, but it’s here now and it has taken root.
It took hours to reach the buildings. They’re not nearly as close as I had originally thought they were from my vantage point on the horizon. I walk my dusty path, taking each step desperately and eagerly. My breathing is now ragged, worn, and tired. I sound like cracked and dried bellows as I walk, sucking in breath and continuing onward. As I step into the shade of the first structure, I feel my heart sink at the sight of the burned ruins that were once a house. I feel broken and desperate as I watch the wind blow dust between me and the house that has been half burned. I can see light bursting through the windows from the inside, thanks to a roof that has collapsed upon ruined supports.
“No,” I utter, stepping toward the house. I try the front door, stumbling up the porch and walking past the smashed remnants of a rocking chair and table. I grip the handle and slam my weight against the door, praying for it to break, but there is nothing. The door is locked. I pass the shattered windows of the front of the house and make my way all the way to the back door which is also unsurprisingly locked. I begin to feel pressure in my eyes and realize that I’m crying. I didn’t even think it was possible to cry any longer.
Daring to risk it, I climb through one of the broken windows, trying desperately to avoid the jagged shards of glass that are ready to tear at my flesh. I know that with one cut, I will get an infection, and I will die. There are no more pharmacies, no more water sources, there is nothing for me to help myself with. I will be left stranded out here with a swollen gash and turn septic before dying. Thankfully, I make it into the house without much trouble.
The second story has collapsed in on the living room. The ceiling has pools of blackened circles that contain the footprints of the fire that had immolated the upstairs. I try making my way upstairs to survey the extent of the damage, but part of the wall has buckled inward on the second story and has filled the stairs with debris. I figure it’s for the best. Getting up there and trying to walk around was an undeniable death trap. I look at the empty, tossed house and wonder if there’s anything of value here. I use my knife to dig through much of the stuff I see.
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