The Left Series (Book 3): Left On The Brink

by Fletcher, Christian

  I felt a bump then a jolt and the roaring sound of the engines decreased dramatically.

  “There you go,” Smith said, smiling sarcastically. “We’re down on the ground. You happy now?”

  I nodded but realized our problems were only beginning. We were in the depths of winter in a cold country and we hadn’t a clue how many undead or other hazards lay before us outside the aircraft.

  We rocked forward in our seats with the motion when the flight crew applied the brakes, bringing the aircraft to a stop. Smith unbuckled his belt and lifted himself out of his seat. Batfish and I followed suit and the three of us stood around not quite knowing what to do. Chief Cole stood up, stretched his arms above his head then rolled his neck. He made his way to the intercom system at the rear of the interior. Cole spoke periodically into the microphone and listened carefully to the replies. The rest of the passengers left their seats and crowded behind Cole, waiting for instructions. When the Navy Chief finished conversing with the flight crew, he turned towards us.

  “We need to dress in full cold climate gear, people,” he said. “The weather is bad out there and we need to keep as warm as possible. We refuel and get out of here as quickly as we can. All those not involved in the refueling operation, please stay away from the loading ramp. Don’t take any unnecessary risks and watch each other’s backs. I don’t need to tell all the refueling and security crews to stay frosty. Good luck to you all.”

  I turned to Smith. “I take it we’re not involved in this process?”

  Smith shook his head. “Let the military guys handle this one.”

  Smith, Batfish and I, along with half the interior’s passengers shuffled towards the front of the cargo compartment. Those involved in the refueling operation had obviously been previously nominated before we took off from New Orleans.

  I saw Milner and a few more Marines break open a container. They pulled out several padded, light green jackets, pants and hoods, all wrapped in transparent cellophane bags and handed them around to the aircrew refueling team. The Marines and aircrew ripped open the packages and dressed in the cold weather gear over the top of their uniforms. They slipped on pairs of goggles over their eyes. The complete outfits made them look like aliens.

  Milner and the Marines took an M16A4 rifle each from a weapon rack near the loading bay and loaded up their magazines. Some of the air crew took tool kits with them in backpacks.

  “You don’t need me to remind you boys to keep any shots away from the refueling zone,” Chief Cole told the Marines.

  The Navy Chief hadn’t changed into the cold weather gear. Instead, he prepared some radios, attaching the headsets with microphones to the handsets. He handed them out to each of the Marines and the aircrew.

  “Keep me informed of what is going on down on the ground,” Cole said to Milner, donning a radio headset of his own. “The flight crew is on this channel as well, so we can all keep in contact with each other.”

  The Marines and aircrew nodded and proceeded to check communications with each other. They each had a codename and they made sure every one of the headsets were working correctly and were all on the same frequency channel.

  I had to say, I was impressed by the whole preparation of the operation. Any undead in the vicinity would probably have frozen in the cold climate anyhow. What could possibly go wrong?

  Chapter Twenty-One

  I patted Spot’s head as he sat contently in Batfish’s arms. We huddled at the forward end of the interior compartment and watched as Chief Cole lowered the cargo ramp. The Navy Chief had donned one of the padded cold weather jackets, presumably for the duration of lowering of the ramp.

  A bitterly cold blast of air whipped inside the aircraft interior as soon as the ramp opened, revealing a hazy white sky blustering with huge snowflakes. Chief Cole squinted into the freezing wind and waited for the ramp to fully descend. Milner and the Marines stood at the edge of the ramp, ready to disembark.

  I saw a carpet of deep snow on the ground as the ramp moved further down. Batfish held her hand over Spot’s head and turned her head against the Arctic breeze.

  “Shit! That’s fucking cold,” she screeched.

  The ramp hit the ground and Milner led the dozen or so Marines out into the snowstorm. I saw them fan out around the rear of the aircraft before they were lost from sight in the blizzard. A few seconds later, Chief Cole waved the refueling aircrew forward.

  “All clear! Go guys,” he yelled above the howling wind.

  The aircrew moved quickly down the ramp, into the snowstorm. Cole began raising the ramp when the last of the refueling crew had disembarked. I was glad when the ramp clunked back into place and we were sheltered from the biting cold.

  “Must be some bad winter they’re having up here,” Smith muttered. “I pity the poor bastards who are still surviving out there.”

  I thought about how difficult it would be to move around in the snow. “Do you think there’s anybody left around here?” I asked.

  Smith shrugged. “The Canadians are tough people. They’re used to the rough weather. Maybe it’s more zombie free in these parts.”

  The image of people holed up in log cabins in the Canadian wilderness popped up in my mind. Maybe they had been better off over the last few months. The vastness of the country and relatively small population may have protected them from swarms of undead overrunning huge rural areas. The cities would have suffered for sure, and probably endured the same fate as America and the rest of the world.

  “Talk to me, guys. What’s happening out there?” Cole was yelling into his microphone headset, with a look of concern on his face.

  Smith walked over to where Chief Cole was standing by the edge of the sealed cargo ramp. I followed, curious to know what was going on outside.

  “Problem, Chief?” Smith asked.

  Cole held his hand up, palm facing us while holding the headset to his ear, listening intently.

  “They’ve run into some trouble out there,” Cole jabbered before listening to another message on his headset. “Shit! There’s no power in the refueling pump and the hoses have frozen up.”

  “What about zombies? Have they had to engage any undead out there?” Smith asked.

  Cole shrugged. “They’ve seen a couple and dispatched them but visibility is so bad, they’ve got no way of telling how many are in the vicinity.”

  Smith leaned closer, trying to hear the radio chatter. “Anything we can do to help, Chief?”

  Cole held up a finger, telling us to wait while he listened to the communication coming through his headset.

  “Okay, enter the building but stay cautious and keep communicating every step of the way,” Cole said into his microphone. He glanced back at Smith and I. “The guys are going to have to go into the airport to try and find the pump generator and see if they can fire the damn thing up. I just hope they can make it, otherwise we’re stuck here.”

  “I’m sure they’ll be okay,” Smith said, clapping Cole on the shoulder.

  Smith flashed me a concerned glance. We had assumed a great deal before we took off from the temperate climate of Louisiana. We couldn’t even be sure there would be enough aviation fuel left in the airport tanks to get us to Scotland. That unwelcome sensation of impending doom threatened to flood my mind once again. Batfish approached, still cradling Spot and Smith quietly explained to her what was going on outside.

  I smelled the aroma of cigarette smoke and turned to see the wiry military guy we’d hitched a ride with in the Humvee at the Airbase, sitting with a female, both puffing away. I didn’t know if we were permitted to smoke onboard the aircraft but I thought if those two were indulging, then it wouldn’t matter if we lit up. I reached for my smokes, offered Smith, Batfish and Chief Cole the pack. Smith and Batfish gratefully took one each but Cole shook his head. We lit up and puffed away, awaiting more news from the outside world.

  We stood around for maybe fifteen minutes. Cole continuously kept asking Milner and the guys how they
were doing. The stress of the situation was evident by the expression on his face. I took a look around at the rest of the military guys sitting around the interior. They didn’t seem unduly concerned about what was going on in the snowy terrain outside the aircraft. I assumed military personnel were used to waiting around while operations were carried out, remaining calm until they were called into action.

  Cole burst my inner musings by yelling into his microphone.

  “Milner…Milner…come in, Milner? Payne…Richards…Kauffmann…do you hear me? Anyone on the ground, do you copy me?”

  Smith took a step towards Cole with an expression of apprehension on his face.

  “What’s happened, Chief?”

  Cole held his hand to his forehead. The worried look on his face and anxious body language caused me to feel uneasy.

  “We’ve lost communications,” he sighed. “The last thing they reported was encountering a bunch of undead. Man, I hope the whole lot of them hasn’t been wiped out.”

  Cole tried his radio again, calling Milner and the aircrew but received no response. Smith, Batfish and I exchanged nervous glances. Cole kept trying to communicate for another few minutes then tore off his headset in frustration.

  “Godammit!” he yelled, hurling the headset to the floor. He held his hand over his mouth, staring into space, deep in thought.

  “You could send in a small team to see what’s going on out there,” Smith said.

  Cole didn’t reply, just continued staring at nothing.

  “Me and Wilde, here could go ahead to take a look how the land lies.”

  I felt my stomach jolt. What the hell was Smith suggesting? He was volunteering us for a suicide mission without even consulting me.

  Cole snapped out of his trance and flapped his hand. “Hell, Smith, I don’t know. We’ve got a whole bunch of military guys here. I couldn’t endanger the life of two civilians.”

  I hoped Smith would listen to the voice of reason.

  Smith cleared his throat. “With all due respect, Chief, me and Wilde have been avoiding, battling and winning against these undead fucks for over six months now. We know the pitfalls but we know how to get away and use our wits. Your guys have been holed up on that base for the duration of this whole, turd on a plate situation.”

  With a blank expression, Cole turned to face Smith and stared at him eyeball to eyeball. I thought for one moment that the Navy Chief was going to lash out and start throwing punches.

  “All right, you got it,” Cole mumbled, nodding once. “But at least let a couple of my guys tag along for some extra firepower.”

  My stomach somersaulted. Why hadn’t Smith let the military guys handle this? I didn’t want to go out there in the freezing cold and encounter a ferocious bunch of zombies who may have killed at least a dozen military guys in the last hour.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Cole turned to look around the aircraft interior. “Johnson, Cordoba…get yourselves over here,” he barked.

  I recognized the two military personnel as the Humvee driver and the pretty Hispanic girl we’d met earlier at the Airbase in New Orleans. The two of them sauntered over and listened to Cole as he explained the situation. Johnson and Cordoba both looked Smith and I up and down with blatant disdain. I knew they were wondering why Cole was sending us out to try and retrieve the situation. Maybe Smith was right. He and I were more like urban guerillas than your average soppy civilian. We didn’t play by the rules of engagement and had fought tooth and nail to stay alive this long.

  Anyhow, maybe I could get to know Cordoba a little better during the mission as an added bonus.

  I was surprised Batfish hadn’t protested or insisted on coming out there with us. She seemed content to sit this one out, and I couldn’t say I blamed her. It was going to be another one of those ‘brown pants’ situations that Smith and I seemed to get ourselves regularly tangled up in.

  Johnson handed out some cold weather gear and we pulled on the garments while Chief Cole prepared us some radios. I was sweltering underneath the jacket, pants and hood but I knew I wouldn’t be overly hot for long. We put on the radio headsets and tested the communications between us.

  “Do you want to use some of our weapons or do you want to use your own?” Cole asked.

  Smith looked at the weapon rack. “We’ll take some of yours. There’re probably more reliable than the ones we had.”

  Johnson nodded and passed us an M-16 rifle each along with some spare magazines. I was proficient with a handgun but a military assault rifle was a different ball game all together. I hoped I would be capable of using the weapon when the time came. Smith held my rifle while I slipped on the goggles, the tactical gloves and pulled the jacket hood over my head.

  “You okay with this?” Smith asked me, his voice hushed.

  “Yeah, why not?” I lied. It was pointless starting any kind of disagreement whilst in our current predicament. If we pulled the mission off, we were heroes, if it failed, then what the hell? At least we died trying.

  I held mine and Smith’s rifles whilst he geared up and the four of us were ready to go. I carefully studied the rifle’s mechanism to familiarize myself with the workings. Cole gave us a nod before he began to lower the ramp once again.

  Blustering snowflakes, propelled by a howling wind blew inside the aircraft interior. The remaining passengers retreated to the front of the compartment or sheltered behind the cargo containers.

  “Okay, let’s make this trip a success this time,” Cole roared above the ripping wind.

  Johnson stepped down the ramp first, followed by Cordoba and Smith. I pursued at the rear of our quartet. The wind tore into me and nearly knocked me off my feet. I braced myself and followed the others down the ramp.

  Visibility was no more than thirty feet in each direction and the ground was carpeted in a few inches of soft snow. A jumbled myriad of footprints indented in the snow headed towards the front of the aircraft. I turned my head and saw the cargo ramp raising back into a closed position and wondered if I’d ever see the aircraft interior again.

  Johnson led the way, following the footprints. We kept close to the aircraft, not losing sight of our only haven of sanctuary. I heard Johnson through the radio headset, constantly talking to Cole and the rest of us. Large snowflakes pattered into my goggles, hampering my vision and I felt the extreme coldness, even through the padded gear.

  Smith turned every few seconds to make sure I was still with the party. I kept circling around, keeping an eye out for any zombies approaching from our rear. The noise of the aircraft engines when we landed would have alerted them to our sudden appearance.

  Johnson stopped by a waist-high, rectangular shaped compartment, covered with snow. We crowded around and saw the compartment contained a thick refueling hose, partly reeled on a circular hub. The end probe lay on the ground by the compartment. Several more pump housings stood in a row next to where we stood.

  I looked upwards and noticed the silhouette of the tall airport terminal building beyond the refueling pump compartments.

  I depressed my radio talk button. “We need to find a way into the terminal.” I heard my own voice crackle through the headset.

  “Yeah, I just wanted to see for myself what kind of state the refueling hoses were in,” Johnson’s replied.

  He moved slowly away from the row of pump compartments and we followed him to the side of the terminal building. We crept slowly forward with our M-16 rifles at the ready.

  “Don’t fire unless we know one-hundred percent we’re encountering zombies,” Johnson said through the headset. “Milner and his crew may be in the vicinity.”

  The airport terminal building became more visible as we slowly approached. Big, square glass windows looked out from the structure onto the runways that lay somewhere behind us. I peered inside and couldn’t see any signs of movement. The once bustling terminal now seemed as quiet as a graveyard.

  Johnson stopped by a fire exit door that stood only partial
ly closed. He slid the barrel of his rifle into the crack and nudged the door open. Beyond the doorway, a narrow corridor led to a concrete staircase ascending into darkness on the upper level. Wet boot prints marked the concrete corridor floor and on the stairs.

  Johnson turned to glance at the rest of us for approval. “It looks like they went in this way, judging by the footprints on the ground.”

  Smith nodded. “Definitely looks like their entry point,” he agreed.

  “Okay, let’s go in,” Cordoba said.

  Johnson relayed the message and location of the entry point to Chief Cole back inside the C-17 then led the way inside the building. Smith went in next, followed by Cordoba and as usual, I was last in line. I felt a bit of the odd man out, trying to pretend I was skilled in the arts of military precision.

  We moved slowly up the staircase. Johnson crouched low as he led the way and stopped when the staircase leveled out and an open door gave us a view of the gloomy terminal interior. We moved through the doorway into the vast expanse of the terminal floor space. Checked gray and white tiles covered the floor and various stores stood still and silent with closed shutters covering the door fronts. A range of signs pointed to the directions of the departure and arrivals gates and other assorted locations. A glance at a large map hanging overhead, told me we were in the main lobby area. Some unoccupied information desks and nonfunctioning escalators stood towards the rear of the terminal.

  We edged cautiously forward, sweeping all directions with our weapons. Johnson gave Cole a brief situation report on our position. Some skeletal remains lay on the floor and huddled on a number of bench seats dotted around the lobby floor space. I didn’t see any fresh corpses, dead zombies, bullet casings or any signs of a struggle in the lobby.

  “Where do you think Milner and his crew headed?” I asked through the microphone.

  “My guess is, they came right up here to look for a way down into the service area,” Johnson answered.

  I became too hot beneath the cold weather gear and took off my goggles and hood. I was surprised when Johnson, Cordoba and Smith followed my lead.