The Left Series (Book 1): Leftovers by Christian Fletcher Page A

somewhere in the foreground but I wasn’t aware who was firing or what the target was. My only goal was the safety of that side door.
    I leapt through the opening and landed on top of Rosenberg, who clutched hold of me like I was a long lost relative he’d just been reunited with. I breathed a sigh of relief and looked around for Smith. He trotted alongside the van firing shots into the surging undead crowd. Somehow, he’d managed to reload his gun.
    “Smith, get the hell in here, now,” I shrieked. A few hours ago, this guy was probably going to do me and my best friends some serious harm but now I considered him to be one of my best buddies.
    Smith took a running leap as the zombies closed in on him and grabbed at his clothes. He landed on Rosenberg and me. The three of us lay in a heap on the floor of the camper van.
    “Ah, quit your whining, Wilde,” Smith uttered between deep breaths. “And give me a cigarette.”
    “Someone shut that fucking door,” Batfish bellowed as she put her foot on the gas.
    Smith slid the door closed with his outstretched foot and the VW gathered pace. Smith, Rosenberg and I sat up along the bench seat of the VW. I complied with Smith’s wishes and supplied the van’s occupancy with cigarettes. Batfish shook her head. She was too busy concentrating on navigating a path through the clusters of undead and abandoned vehicles on the road. I had to hand it to her; she was a damn good driver.
    I expressed my thanks to everyone for coming to rescue us.
    “Let’s not start sucking each other’s dicks yet,” Eazy retorted. “We have to get out of town first.”
    “Is there many of them still on the roads?” I asked.
    “Hell, yeah,” he said. What the hell were you two thinking of going in that store, anyway? You should have just sat tight in your apartment block and we’d have come back and got you.”
    “We didn’t know that. You didn’t exactly make it clear you were going to dump us like a ton of shit,” Smith hit back.
    Batfish shrieked when a zombie’s head collided with the windshield leaving a rose shaped smear of blood on the glass. The VW lurched as it drove over the body but luckily carried on its route. Eazy reloaded his Smith & Wesson and seemed to forget about baiting us. Smith watched and followed suit, changing mags and reloading the empty clip.
    We flashed past my old apartment block and I silently prayed the mob of zombies that blocked our way earlier had dispersed.
    A large number of undead still roamed around but not in one huge mass. Batfish slowed slightly but kept the van moving through the crowd. I copied Smith and Eazy, drawing my Beretta as a precaution. Discolored and mutilated hands slapped the windows and roof. Disfigured, inhuman faces vacantly peered in at us. The moaning and lowing increased in volume.
    “Just keep it going,” Eazy encouraged.
    Donna was whimpering in the middle of the front seat. Rosenberg slumped down as low as he could get. This was like a vision in a nightmare. All those ghoulish hands and faces trying to get at us, to rip and tear us to pieces and feed on our flesh until our bones were picked clean.
    My heart nearly stopped when one of the back windows cracked. I looked at Smith and he gave me a cheeky wink. I didn’t know if it was to try and reassure me or he was actually enjoying this whole lurid, nightmarish situation.
     
     
    Chapter Thirteen
     
    Batfish maneuvered the vehicle through the crowds of undead as best she could. I saw her shoulders move up and down like she was taking in huge, nervous breaths. The vehicle snaked around a corner and she changed down the stick shift gears. The engine revved higher as the VW slowed. My first thought was the numbers of zombies were too great to get through and we’d have to attempt to fight our way out. I looked through the front wind shield and realized we were ascending the incline onto the town overpass.
    The zombies’ numbers decreased in front and behind us. I glanced