What We Left Behind (12 page)

“You won’t be alone,” David replies. “I’m on the first floor. Any noise and we’ll all come running to help. Guys, I’m telling you. There’s nothing to worry about. There’s nobody home.”

David pulls three flashlights from his backpack. Contraband. Nobody is supposed to have these. Flashlights are as precious as gold once was back in the old world.

“I stole these from the solar cell outside my dad’s office. The batteries don’t hold much charge anymore, but they’re LED lights. They should be good for half an hour.”

I flick on a flashlight. A feeble, soft blue light shines on the doorframe, but there’s darkness beyond. I’m not sure if the flashlight is a help or a hindrance.

Flashlight, baseball bat, gun. I’ve only got two hands. Something’s got to go, so I rest the baseball bat on my backpack and pull out my revolver. In close quarters, I feel safer with a gun in my hand, but I’m aware it could easily be knocked from my grasp. I’ve got a multipurpose pocketknife in a pouch on my belt, but that’s useless against Zee.

My knuckles turn white. I cling to the pistol grip as though it were a lifeline thrown to a drowning man.

“Keep your eyes open for anything we can use.”

That’s not exactly what I’ll be looking for, but, okay.

David walks into the house like he owns the joint. Steve and I are a little more cautious, checking each way with our pathetic flashlights before walking into the foyer. My eyes adjust to the dark. Marble lines the floor. There’s a baby grand piano in the reception area off to one side, casting long shadows across the floor.

The rain is coming down hard outside, making an awful racket on the roof. I doubt I’d hear a gunshot from the next room, let alone the next floor, especially as it could be confused with thunder. I don’t like this. Every sense I have is telling me to wait on the porch. The smell of death and decay hangs in the air.

Water drips from overhead. Part of the roof has collapsed and fallen down through the stairwell into the grand foyer, but the stairs are intact.

“OK, let’s get on with this,” David says. “I’m hungry.”

“Are you sure we should split up?” I ask.

“Would you like someone to hold your hand?” David asks in reply. I’m not sure if he’s being sarcastic or serious in a funny kinda way. I’m tempted to reply that it would be nice.

I sigh. He’s right. It was my batshit crazy idea to come into the city. If I can’t look after myself, why the hell did I come? What am I? Zee-bait? If I can’t hold my own, I’m a liability. Damn it, I scold myself. I can do this.

I smile and reply casually with, “I thought you might be a little scared.”

David lets out a hearty, guttural laugh. He walks casually into the dining room, past a stately table with chairs set perfectly in place, and wanders into the darkened kitchen. I cannot help but marvel at his lack of fear. Water splashes underfoot.

Steve is already creeping up the stairs. A dim light flickers through the hole in the roof several floors above. I can see his gun outstretched before him. Steve’s not taking any chances. I’m liking Steve more and more. I’d rather take my chances with him.

I creep onto the bottom step and it creaks under my weight.

Steve looks over his should at me with eyes wide. The look on his face screams,
Shut the hell up!

I raise my hand in apology.

Steve steps slowly forward, rounding a corner of the grand, square staircase. He’s silent. I seem to hit every creaking floorboard in the house. This shouldn’t be happening. I’m lighter than he is. I’m the one who should glide up the stairs without a sound.

I can see Steve cringing with each step I take. I want to tell him I’m trying to be quiet, but more noise is the last thing he needs. Like me, he’s desperately trying to separate the sounds around us, trying to distinguish between the wind and the rain, the creaking of the old house, our own sounds, and that of Zee prowling in the dark.

Outside, the wind howls past. Rain pelts the windows. Water drips from the roof. Clapboards groan. Stairs creak, although I’m pretty sure that last noise is just me.

We reach the second floor. A painting dominates the landing. It must be eight or nine feet wide. I think it’s a landscape. My flashlight drifts over it and I can see rolling meadows, a raging river, distant hills, and fleeting clouds in a sun-drenched sky. I’d love to see the whole thing in the daylight.

Steve pans with his flashlight. Darkened doorways reveal several bedrooms on the other side of the landing.

Lightning breaks outside, illuminating the windows in one of the bedrooms. The lightning is staggered, breaking in several flashes through the window. There’s someone standing there, blocking the light. Thunder crashes overhead, rattling my bones.

“Steve,” I whisper, but he’s already looking at the stairs leading to the next floor.

I grab the crook of his arm and he jumps.

His gun fires.

The sound is deafening.

Steve spins around. My flashlight illuminates his face. He’s as white as a ghost. I point at the darkened doorway, expecting to be rushed by a zombie at any second.

We both point our guns at the open door as David comes bounding up the stairs like an elephant. Both of our guns shake in the dim light.

“What happened?” he cries.

“Hazel saw something,” Steve says.

“It’s in there,” I say, pointing but determined not to go in the room. I’ve done my job. I saw Zee. That’s enough in my mind. Someone else can kill him.

The smell of spent gunpowder hangs in the air.

“Did you hit him?” David asks Steve as he edges cautiously toward the shadows with his feeble flashlight.

“He shot the wall,” I say, only realizing how stupid that sounds after the words have left my lips.

Steve and I follow David into the bedroom. There’s no one there.

David steps cautiously around the bed. It’s only then I realize how crazy this is. Both Steve and I are illuminating David’s back with our flashlights. We’re pointing our guns at him. Damn, if we were jumped by Zee, we’d kill David in our panic to fire. I swing my gun up and away to the side. Steve must sense the same stupidity, as he does the same thing and lets out a nervous laugh.

“Shhh,” David says, peering into an adjoining bathroom.

“We’re stupid. We’re so stupid,” I whisper under my breath.

“Shhh,” David repeats.

“What’s stupid?” Steve asks softly, ignoring David.

“Is this what happens in zombie movies?” I ask. “Everyone goes off in one direction and the zombies creep up from behind?”

No sooner have I spoken than Steve wheels around, facing the entrance to the room.

“What about Jane?” I ask. “We left her alone.”

Steve says, “This is worse than the movies. You never leave someone alone.”

“Will you be quiet?” David says, peering into the walk-in closet. His flashlight flickers over a row of clothes hanging on the rack. I’m expecting to see zombie eyes peering back at any moment, almost blending in with the clothing but not quite. Dark, haunting zombie eyes. I can almost convince myself they’re there, just out of sight, hovering on the edge of our vision at the back of the closet.

“Nothing,” David whispers.

Nothing? You haven’t looked, not really, I want to scream. I want to run in there and push the clothing to one side and check every inch of the space, but David pushes past me back into the bedroom.

There’s no one here.

But I saw someone. I know I did.

Steve stands in the doorway, looking out at the landing by the stairs, watching our backs.

David walks up to him, saying, “False alarm,” leaving me feeling even more stupid than stupid.

As we walk out of the room, there’s another flash of lightning. The flash lights up the silhouette of a tree trunk just outside the window. One of the branches has been cut off, leaving a stump reaching just a few feet to one side.

“There’s your zombie,” David says, laughing. He walks across the landing and down the stairs, saying, “See what you can find.”

He means useful things, not zombies.

Steve and I stand on the landing in silence for a moment. We’re facing a small hole in the far wall.

“Good shot,” I say.

Steve laughs. “One of my best.”

Water drips from above, landing in my hair and running down the back of my neck.

“I’ll check the next floor,” Steve says.

“You want a hand?”

“I’ll be fine.”

Yeah, sure, I think, I almost scared you to death. I can’t blame Steve for wanting to go on alone. I feel like a fool. No, I correct myself. I am a fool. I’ve let my imagination run wild.

I can hear David and Jane talking downstairs.

Jane laughs.

I am so embarrassed.

Thunder rumbles overhead. The storm’s getting worse.

Steve disappears out of sight up the stairs.

I walk toward the next bedroom feeling more stupid than scared. This bedroom appears to be the mirror image of the other one, so I’m confident of the layout.

There’s a putrid smell.

My flashlight shines across the bed and catches curtains blowing with the wind. One of the windows is open. Rain comes in, sending a soft spray through the air.

I crouch, checking beneath the queen-size bed. Nothing.

Keeping my back to the wall, I peer slowly into the bathroom. My light reflects off the mirror into the shower stall. Empty.

I back away and over to the walk-in closet. The door is slightly ajar, revealing the pitch-black darkness inside. With the barrel of my gun, I push the door open. The hinges squeak softly, setting my nerves on edge.

A few dresses hang on the rack, but the closet is mostly empty. Something scurries across the floor. My heart races. At a guess, it’s a cockroach or a mouse. I really don’t want to know. It’s not Zee, and that’s all that matters. I can deal with anything less than a zombie.

The curtain lifts, fluttering in the air as the storm rages outside. I close the window and calm descends on the room. The carpet’s damp, but the bed is dry.

There’s a photo on the nightstand. I dust the glass and see a beautiful couple smiling for the camera. They’re frozen in a perfect moment in time. She looks content. He looks proud, but in a good kind of way, as though life is on track and nothing could go wrong. That’s the illusion of life, I guess—that we have some measure of control when we have next to none. We get swept along with the current. I wonder how long ago this photo was taken. Where are they now? Are they still out there somewhere? I hope they are, although I know the odds are against them.

The room is clear. I want to say that to someone as though I’m reporting back on how well I’m doing, but no one cares.

Oh, wait, I’m supposed to be looking for things that are useful. If I wasn’t so crazy-scared of running into Zee in the dark I’d probably notice dozens of things we need. I should go through the drawers in the bathrooms, they’re probably loaded with stuff.

I can hear footsteps on the floor above. That must be Steve. I hope it’s Steve.

A crack of lightning casts a dull blue light through the room for a fraction of a second, allowing me to see details I’d previously missed. A hairbrush sits on an ornate, old-fashioned dresser made from highly polished wood. A small mirror hangs on the wall. There’s a repeating pattern in the aging wallpaper and a cornice running around the edge of the ceiling. As quickly as it came, though, the light is gone. The darkness returns, drawing the life out of the room.

I press on. There will be time for rummaging later. For now, I need to know that we really are alone. I creep back out onto the landing. The problem is, even after clearing a room, I can’t help but feel as though I’ve missed something. I cannot bring myself to turn my back on the darkened doorway even though I know there’s nothing in the shadows.

Floorboards creak as I walk.

The last doorway leads to the master bedroom, which is easily the size of the previous two bedrooms combined. Even in the half-light, I can make out the form of a body lying on the king-size bed. A woman is curled in a fetal position facing away from me. She’s wearing a nightie. Her hair is long and straggly. The stench of death clogs the air.

My heart races.

If there’s one, there could be two. I stand in the doorway, wanting to survey the room. I flash my light around the bedroom, but the light flickers and cuts out, leaving me alone in the darkness. I shake the flashlight, willing the batteries back into life. There are a few soft flashes, giving me false hope before the darkness descends again.

Slowly, I creep into the room with my back against the wall. My gun is trained on the bed, but my eyes are darting from side to side, trying to make out shapes in the inky black shadows. Brief bursts of distant lightning give me a glimpse of the room.

There’s a balcony. The sliding doors are closed but the curtains are open. The tree outside sways with the wind. Shadows dance across the bed, scaring me because it looks as though the body is coming to life.

I reach the bathroom and peer in. Zee could be right in front of me, just inches away in the dark with his menacing, stained teeth bared, ready to attack, and I’d never know it. I shake the flashlight. Nothing.

A crash of thunder immediately overhead causes me to jump. I come within a heartbeat of squeezing the trigger and firing my gun at the innocent bathroom tiles.

Then, a flash of lightning reveals a broken mirror. Dark stains mark dried blood splattered across the floor. A gun rests on the sink. I put down my dead flashlight and pick up the gun. In the darkness, I can feel the position of the safety. I flip the switch and slide the gun into the small of my back.

The walk-in closet is pitch black. There is no way I’m going in there without a flashlight. There could be dozens of zombies in there and I’d never know it except for a deep growl. I almost convince myself there is a low groan from the back of the closet, but I tell myself that it’s just the wind outside. I hope it’s just the wind.

I creep past the body lying on the bed, again keeping my gun trained on the corpse, but this time with my back to the sliding glass doors. I’m frantically trying to make out any movement in the shadows. The tree outside sways with the wind. Shadows dance across the bed. I’m ready to start squeezing off shots just to make sure she’s really dead, but I resist the temptation.