Left in the Cold (The Left Series)

by Christian Fletcher

  Wood creaked and the door shook in its frame but it still didn’t open.

  “Try that again, Wilde Man,” Brooksey said. “One more and I reckon it’ll bust open.”

  In fact, it took two more hefty kicks before the fixings splintered and the door swung open. Wooden door fittings were always weaker, especially if they were internal. I stood back and took a few deep breaths. Nothing or nobody flew out of the gloom at us but we could only see darkness beyond the doorway.

  “You guys okay in there? I heard a noise.”

  I turned and saw McElroy leaning in through the saloon’s back doors.

  “Yeah, we’re good, Mac,” I replied. “Just poking around in here and found a locked door.”

  McElroy nodded. “Okay, well, just be careful in there and don’t take too long. Me and Smith are almost done out here.”

  I nodded and then had an afterthought. “You got a flashlight on you, Mac?” I knew McElroy was always equipped for every eventuality. He reached into a pouch attached to his belt and took out a small flashlight. He tossed it across the room and luckily for me I caught it with my left hand.

  “Remember what I said. Have a quick scout about and be back out here as soon as you can,” McElroy instructed. He gave us a nod and raised his eyebrows like a High School teacher does when he was warning you not to step out of line. McElroy turned on his heels and hurried back outside.

  Brooksey and I glanced at each other for a second then stared at the open door in front of us. I clicked on the flashlight and shone the light beam through the doorway. We saw only the continuation of the tiled floor and the wooden side wall of the building beyond. Brooksey and I edged through the doorway. A slight smell of watery sewage attacked my senses. All I heard was Brooksey’s heavy breathing beside me.

  I shone the flashlight in sweeping arcs across the space around us. The male and female bathroom doors stood side by side to our right and a rising wooden stairway that was no more than a ladder was positioned to the left. The stairway angled backward towards the wall behind us. I shone the flashlight upwards to see where the stairway led. Another closed door partially covered with flaky blue paint stood directly at the summit of the stairway. Brooksey and I exchanged concerned glances.

  “Want to go up there and take a look?” Brooksey asked in a whisper.

  I remembered what Smith had said about clearing areas as you go along, especially inside confined buildings. Nothing was worse than an attack from behind when you were heading in a different direction he’d explained.

  “We better check out those shit houses first,” I said, nodding at the bathroom doors.

  “Oh, right, okay,” Brooksey mumbled. “Don’t forget we ‘aint got much time though.”

  “I’m aware of that fact, Brooksey but we’ll have no living time left if a zombie or a nasty little man with a gun or a machete pops up behind us while we’re crawling up that staircase.” I didn’t like sounding conceited but we had to still be wary and keep our wits about us.

  “Right you are,” Brooksey agreed, with a slight smirk on his face.

  I took the male bathroom and Brooksey plumped for the female equivalent because it was provided with a high window, at least shedding dim light throughout the room. We both scouted our respected washrooms. The plumbing in the men’s restroom was wrecked, the toilets were blocked long ago and the mirrors had been smashed on the walls. No dead or alive bodies occupied the cubicles and apart from the vile stench, the place posed no threat. Brooksey gave me a similar run down on the female restroom when we met up a couple of minutes later at the foot of the staircase.

  I shone the light around again just to recheck the area was still clear and the door on the upper level hadn’t mysteriously opened while we were in the bathrooms.

  “Hold up a second, Wilde Man,” Brooksey said.

  “What is it?” I asked.

  “Shine the light back onto the wall,” Brooksey said, pointing to a spot near the entrance to the male bathroom.

  I shrugged and did as he asked, shining the flashlight over the saloon’s wooden side wall.

  “Look there,” Brooksey said.

  I shone the light in slow sweeps across the patch of wall where Brooksey was indicating. I saw a couple of thick, black metal springs fixed to the wall at a forty-five degree angle and around six feet apart, with one near the ground. Two big, wooden thumb turn latches were fixed against a support strut, three feet further along the wall in the opposite positions to the springs.

  “That’s a fucking hidden door,” I whispered, moving closer to the wall.

  “What’s it for?” Brooksey asked but I ignored him.

  I slid my handgun back in the holster and shone the flashlight over the thumb turns. I twisted them both in a downward position and pushed the panel. The hidden door in the wall opened outward with only a tiny hint of a squeak from the springs. I leaned through the door panel and saw the pile of dead bodies lying on the pathway at the side of the saloon. I stepped out onto the pathway while Brooksey held the door open. There was no way in hell anybody would know the door existed from the outside. The wooden panels matched up perfectly. Brooksey took a quick nose through the doorway before I stepped back inside and we closed the door panel back up again.

  “That explains how whoever it was who attacked you and Maloney got outside without being detected,” I whispered. “They were probably watching us the whole time as soon as we pulled up outside. But how did they manage to open the back doors to the saloon.”

  Brooksey shrugged and shook his head.

  “I figure the answer lies up there someplace,” I said, pointing to the ceiling, also shining the flashlight at the same spot.

  We both looked upward and heard one of the floorboards creak as though somebody was moving around on the level above us.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  Brooksey and I exchanged glances. I felt the hairs on the back of my neck rise and my stomach summersault.

  “What the fuck was that?” Brooksey mouthed the words rather than speak them.

  My first instinct was to go and grab Smith and McElroy but I knew if we abandoned our position, whoever or whatever was upstairs would have a chance to slip out of the hidden side door. No, me and Brooksey had to find out what was up there ourselves. I drew my handgun and waved the flashlight towards the staircase. Brooksey followed close behind me with his rifle held in a firm grip at his waist.

  One of the wooden steps creaked loudly beneath my feet. Brooksey and I both stopped still on the staircase and listened. Thudding footfalls clattered across the wooden boards from somewhere in the room beyond the closed door. Now we knew for sure that somebody was up there.

  We crept up the remaining steps, increasing our pace a little bit. I wasn’t sure if whoever was behind the door was armed and dangerous or even if there was another escape route out of the building. For all I knew, it could have been Wingate, scared and confused and looking for a way out of the room up there.

  Brooksey stayed close behind me when I reached the door. I could feel his hot breath on the back of my neck as I felt around the door’s surface for a handle of some kind. I couldn’t find any sort of latch so I gave the door a shove with my shoulder. Again, like the door downstairs, it was locked from the inside.

  “Shit!” I groaned.

  “Do your thing with the door again, Wilde Man,” Brooksey spat.

  “Okay,” I said and ushered Brooksey back down a step or two.

  I was about to take a run up to the door again when a loud bang of gunfire echoed across the cramped space and chips of wood rained over me, spiking my face and raking my shades and cap off my head.

  “Fuck!” I spat.

  Brooksey hunkered down on his haunches behind me and he seemed unhurt. I wiped my face and saw specs of blood on my fingers. I shone the flashlight back over the door positioned slightly above us and saw a large number of splinter holes peppering the surface. I realized some bastard had fired a shotgun through the door at
us. I also realized whoever it was had heard us coming and thought we were still positioned right outside the door when they’d fired.

  “You okay, Wilde Man?” Brooksey barked.

  “No, I’m pissed off now,” I growled. “I’m fucking sick of getting shot at for one day.”

  I raised my handgun and returned fire with a couple of rounds that slammed through the door. The air filled with smoke and the stench of hot metal shells and cordite. Then another shotgun blast on the opposite side of the door sent another shower of wood splinters over us. Brooksey screamed in panic behind me.

  I ducked my head and waited a beat for the chips of wood to settle and the air to clear. I glanced up at the door and saw it was almost shattered off its hinges. Daylight from the smoky window bathed the room beyond with restricted brightness. I saw two bullet holes in a yellow plaster ceiling, probably from my return of fire. I heard more thumping around in the room beyond, as though somebody was running around the room. Surely, if it had been Wingate, she’d have known it was us by now if she could see through those windows facing the rear patio area.

  A sudden thought occurred to me. Whoever it was in there seemed to be running about in a frenzy, not waiting, taking cover and aiming at the door for us to come in. Whoever it was in there seemed desperate. Maybe it was just intuition on my part or a wild hunch but I felt we had to storm through the door in that moment or the opportunity would be lost.

  “Come on, Brooksey, let’s move,” I hissed.

  “What? Go in there?” Brooksey bleated.

  I turned my head to look at him and his eyes were wide and his face was pale.

  “It’s now or never, buddy,” I growled. “Do you want to take this asshole down or what?” I tried to put on a mean war face, which I hoped would give him a bit of confidence. I knew Smith and McElroy would be on the scene any moment, alerted by the gunfire.

  Brooksey gulped and nodded. I knew he was trying to put on a brave face and I tried to ignore the gut wrenching nervousness that threatened to engulf me.

  “Let’s move,” I whispered. “Stay low and move quickly.”

  I spat out a mouthful of stomach bile as I crept in a crouching stance up the two steps before the doorway. I also tried to repress the rising apprehension as to what the hell I was doing. I almost felt embarrassed that I’d tried to give Brooksey the impression I was some kind of gung-ho, gun totting desperado. Like I knew what the hell I was doing!

  I nudged the shattered door with my hip. The metal bolt previously holding it shut clanked onto the floor. I knew now I was in the danger zone. The hinges creaked as what remained of the shattered door swung open. I kept low in my stance and advanced into the room, leading with my handgun raised.

  Brooksey followed through the doorway behind me. The smell of burned meat combined with the stench of cordite was the first thing I sensed. Gun smoke and dust hung in the cloying air around a narrow, dimly lit room. Our boots clunked slightly against dark wooden boards as we warily bustled across the floor space. Flaking orange paint partially covered pink plaster walls and dirty, sweat stained clothes lay crumpled on an almost threadbare, green colored couch, tightly positioned against the far wall.

  Brooksey and I stopped moving when we reached the center of the room. I swung right and saw a doorway. The dark wooden door was open a crack and sunlight poured through the gap. I glanced left. Brooksey stood facing the same door in front of me. Behind him was a plain wall with a few narrow windows spaced evenly and high up, allowing a little light into the room.

  Brooksey’s facial expression suddenly changed. It altered from intense concern to startled astonishment in one gasping intake of breath.

  “Get down, Wilde Man!” he yelled, swinging his rifle around.

  I hit the deck face first and rapid gunfire roared above me.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  I felt slightly disorientated and rolled onto my side with my handgun held out in front of me. The second doorway to the right was now peppered with bullet holes and fully open into the next room beyond. I couldn’t see anybody through the gap and smoke swirled around above my head.

  I crawled to the left of the doorway so I was no longer directly in the line of sight and took a glance behind me. Brooksey crouched on one knee, facing the second doorway with his rifle aimed at the open gap between the wooden frames. His face showed a strange combined expression of shock and pain and bewilderment.

  “You get him?” I whispered.

  Brooksey kind of nodded. “I got him,” he grunted in confirmation.

  I noticed blood roiling around Brooksey’s mouth before the claret started pouring down his chin. I glanced him over and saw blood spread across his black jacket from a few holes around his torso.

  “Oh, shit!” I gasped. “Brooksey, are you okay?”

  It was a dumb question. Brooksey was far from okay. His whole body shook slightly before he slumped over onto the floor on his left side. His eyes fluttered and I heard him gurgle and then there was no sound from him at all. Blood flowed from his mouth onto the wooden floorboards and the brightness faded in his half closed eyes.

  I scuttled across the floor towards Brooksey. I touched his face. His eyes were dull and he didn’t move a muscle. My guts churned over and I tried to keep my sorrow in check.

  “Sorry, Brooksey,” I sighed. I ruffled his hair and slid my hand down his cheek. “I hope you didn’t think I let you down.”

  I pulled the rifle from beneath him but heard another clumping sound from the second room to my left. I glanced through the open doorway and saw a flash of movement. Next, I heard muffled shouts followed by footsteps thumping up the staircase outside the first room. I knew Smith and McElroy were on their way up to investigate what the hell was going on.

  I slung the rifle over my shoulder but kept my handgun trained on the second doorway, unsure if anybody was about to pop up with a loaded shotgun and start blatting away.

  Smith and McElroy appeared at the top of the staircase outside the first doorway. They huddled together with their firearms pointing into the room and saw me crouching beside Brooksey’s prone body.

  “What’s the fuck is going on, Wilde Man?” McElroy whispered.

  I nodded to the second wrecked door on the opposite side of the room. “Shooter in there. Brooksey said he got him but I’m not so sure. I heard a sound a second ago.”

  Smith kept low and entered the room first, never taking his eyes off the open doorway to his right. He moved to the wall on the right side of the doorway. McElroy followed Smith into the room in a similar crouching stance and headed straight to Brooksey. He hunkered down beside the prone figure and felt the side of his neck for a pulse. His fingers lingered on Brooksey’s skin for a few moments then McElroy sighed and his head bowed slightly.

  “Wilde Man, move closer and cover the doorway,” Smith whispered, jolting me from my inner grief.

  I glanced up at Smith and he pointed to the open doorway.

  “I’ll cover you but we need to clear this place out,” he continued.

  I nodded and shuffled cautiously to the spot where Smith was indicating, beside the left side of the doorway. I took a quick glance back at McElroy, who was hunched over Brooksey and muttering some kind of Celtic prayer.

  “You see anything, Wilde Man?” Smith asked, in a hushed whisper.

  I realized I had to forget about Brooksey’s demise for the time being and concentrate on the job in hand. I turned my head and took a peek through the shattered doorway. Blood pooled around a prone body lying on the wooden floorboards in the room beyond. The guy lay on his side and was dressed in a blood stained black t-shirt and blue denims. I couldn’t see he face as long black hair covered his features. Brooksey tagged his man but obviously there was more than one guy. The room around the corpse was sparse but the smoked glass windows dominated the far wall. A couple of rickety looking metal chairs stood either side of a wooden table with a few empty glasses and bottles on top stood next to the windows.

>   I looked back at Smith and lifted my index finger, then flattened my hand, indicating one man down. I then raised my forefinger again and followed the signal by waggling my two fingers in a walking motion, indicating there was at least one more live shooter in the room beyond. Smith nodded. He understood.

  Smith shimmied his way across the floor to the open doorway and stuck his head around the corner to survey the scene. He nodded his head in a sideways motion, for me to follow him. I crept forward and nodded. We were in tune, Smith and I. Or so I thought.

  I held my handgun out in front of me and in a crouching stance, I moved forward through the doorway. I thought I was going to take the lead in storming the room.

  “Whoa! Wilde Man, what the fuck are you doing?” Smith muttered.

  It was too late. I’d already crossed the threshold and my senses were on red alert. The room smelled of overcooked meat, the coppery stench of blood and stale sweat. The soles of my boots made a sucking noise on the sticky floorboards. I took a glance at the prone body on the floor and experience told me he was definitely not breathing. I stepped over the corpse and took a look around the room. The air was thick with cordite and dust motes floating around in front of the smoked glass windows. A tarnished chrome cooker with grease and burned food all over the hob rings stood in the corner at the left side of the room. An open door to the left of the cooker revealed a small, dimly lit area that looked like some kind of storeroom, with cardboard boxes and cartons stacked on top of each other. I looked right and saw another wooden door with flaking red paint, standing slightly ajar.

  I scanned my surroundings and noticed two big bolt type levers below the window panes so I shuffled closer towards them.

  The black steel bolts were raised upward and I saw round holes running through the floor where the bolts would thrust down and keep the rear doors of the saloon secured. These bastards in the upper level had obviously lifted the locking bolts to release the doors when they’d seen us through the smoke glass windows. They’d let the undead loose on us with murderous intent. They had to be connected with the guys who’d been chasing us in the SUV’s and sand buggies. The mysteries were beginning to unravel.