The Left Series (Book 6): Left On An Island

by Fletcher, Christian

  “So, what do we do now?” I asked.

  Smith pulled the rubber hood from his head and ruffled his hair. He closed his eyes and inhaled deeply facing the sea, taking in the warm coastal breeze.

  “Mac and his boys will have their work cut out repairing that sea boat and they won’t be able to move inland because that damn sniper up there will pick them off when they get in range,” Smith said. “They’re stuck aboard that warship and we’re stuck on the island. Only one thing we can do.” He opened his eyes and stared directly at me. “We’re going to have to go right on up to that castle and take out the sniper.”

  I felt hot and sweat trickled down the side of my head. I pulled off my own rubber hood and let the breeze cool my face.

  “Why is that damn guy shooting at us?” I asked again. “What is he going to achieve by killing us all?”

  Smith sighed. “Beats me, kid. Whoever it is could have been through a bad experience with the remaining survivors and doesn’t want anybody else on their patch. You know how it is. We’ve run into some badass characters ourselves.”

  “How far out do you think his range is?” I asked, staring at the warship stranded out at sea. “Can he hit anybody onboard the ship from where he is?”

  Smith shook his head. “I doubt it. Those were two good shots he hit McPherson with. A range of around two hundred yards. That’s some damn fine shooting. Hannigen is a lucky guy he managed to get away before he got tagged.”

  “So, that also means McElroy and his guys won’t be capable of shooting back with their weapons and hit the castle,” I said.

  “Correct,” Smith grunted. “Coastal winds, angle of elevation, fall of shot, you’d have to be the best marksman in the world to hit the target from that ship. Plus, whoever it is up in the castle is obviously an experienced combatant. They won’t stay in one vantage point too long. That warship carries some series firepower.”

  I remembered the missiles tubes and heavy guns onboard. “Can’t they just blast that damn castle to dust using those missiles on the ship?”

  “Already thought about that,” Smith huffed. “I asked Chernakov about using the heavy duty weapons some weeks ago, in case another one of those Russian warships popped up on the horizon and we had to defend ourselves.” He turned his head to look back out to sea.

  “And?” I was impatient for him to continue.

  “And…because of this damn digital and politically correct, health and safety obsessed world that we used to live in, all the missile systems and heavy guns need an encrypted pass code to be entered into each of the control systems before the damn things become operational. And guess what?”

  “Nobody has the codes,” I groaned.

  Smith nodded. “You got it. The codes change with each signal and they only get sent in coded messages from the command center in Russia. And only the ship’s captain has access to these damn signal codes and obviously, he ‘ain’t around.”

  That meant the warship we’d hijacked was almost totally defenseless. Another great plan gone up in smoke. “Oh, that is good,” I sighed. “So that warship is nothing more than a floating carnival boat? If the Russians finally catch up with us, we’re dead in the water.”

  Smith shrugged. “Well, we still got use of some heavy duty machine guns and whatever small arms the Russians left behind.”

  “Not much use against a fucking nuclear warhead,” I snapped.

  Smith dumped his discarded diving gear behind the boulder he sat on. “Maybe not but if we can all get ashore right here, we’ve got a fighting chance.”

  I had to admire Smith’s optimism. If a fleet of Russian warships loomed over the horizon and found their stolen ship and saw the state of it, they wouldn’t have to be a bunch of masterminds to figure out we’d fled ashore to the island. Then there was no reason why they wouldn’t simply bomb the crap out of the whole place, with all of us being evaporated amongst a huge ball of nuclear flames, no matter how hard we fought.

  I had no clue where we were and there was no way of telling if we were even close to any sort of mainland continent. So far, the only building we’d seen was the castle up on the cliff and the only thing we knew for sure was at least one uninfected person occupied the island.

  “Where the hell do we go from here?” I asked. I pointed to the dense foliage behind the bay. “That route looks pretty impregnable through that whole bush land.”

  Smith shuffled around, still sitting on the rock to face the jungle. “There has to be some type of pathway through, maybe a track of some kind.” He lifted himself off the boulder. “Come on, let’s go take a look.”

  I took off my face mask and tossed it behind the rock. “Don’t we want to shed these damn wetsuits before we go trudging through the bush? I don’t know about you but I’m starting to swelter in this damned thing.” I vented rubber neck and sleeves to try and get a little fresh air inside the suit.

  Smith grunted and rubbed his stubbly chin. “I know what you mean, Wilde Man. These suits are uncomfortable out of the water but it’s bad enough we’ve got to tread barefoot. If we take the suits off, we’ve got no protection against thorn bushes, sharp branches, spiky-assed plants or snakes or other nasty-bitey bastards.”

  I hadn’t considered other hazards on the land and felt apprehensive about moving through the woodland.

  I followed Smith as we trekked across the bay, close to the jungle spreading over the landscape to our left. We searched the thick tropical forest for an opening leading to a pathway through. We found what we were looking for on the far side of the bay.

  A two foot wide gap between the dense green foliage stood around five feet high, sandwiched between the forest and the side of a rocky cliff face jutting back out to sea. Tall bushes with large green leaves formed the overhead canopy lining the pathway. The plants bent in an oval shape at the top and reminded me of old hedged mazes I’d seen as a kid when living in England.

  Smith and I stopped and studied the trail. We shared an apprehensive glance then turned back to the clearing in the bush. The track doglegged to the left at around ten feet from the entrance and the high cliff to the right threw dark shadow beyond the turn.

  “What do you think?” I asked.

  Smith shrugged. I don’t see no other way out of here unless we go back out to sea and swim around those rocks.”

  The thought of going back in the water made my stomach churn. I nodded at the trail entrance. “It’ll be a squeeze going through there but I don’t think we have any alternative.”

  Smith jutted out his chin. “Before we go in there, kid, you might want to reload that weapon of yours.” He nodded at the spear gun still protruding from the holder.

  I pulled the gun out, looked at Smith and shrugged. “I can’t figure out how this damn thing works.”

  Smith sighed. “Look, it’s quite simple. It works kind of like a crossbow. Ever had a crossbow? Here, let me show you.”

  Smith took the spear gun and a replacement barb and showed me how to cock the shaft back into the housing mechanism.

  “You see?”

  I nodded, taking the loaded gun back off him. “I think I got it.”

  “Well, you better get it and real quick.” He nodded beyond my shoulder. “Because you’ll need to have that damn weapon handy and you may need to use it real soon.”

  Chapter Twelve

  I spun around to take a look at what or who Smith alluded to. Three zombies with gray flesh peeling away from their faces and scantily wrapped in the remains of saggy beach clothing lurched through the shallow waves across the bay. Each one emitted a gargling sound and seawater gushed from their mouths.

  “Shit, they followed us ashore,” I groaned. “I thought the sharks would have finished those suckers off.”

  “You never know, they might have finished the damn sharks off,” Smith said, with a hint of sarcasm.

  “This is no time for your dumb jokes, Smith,” I said. “What the hell are we going to do, fight them off or make a run for i
t?”

  Personally, I felt too exhausted for more zombie battles but I knew if we ran they’d keep on following us through the bush. Then if we found a safe place, it wouldn’t be secure for long.

  Smith took a sideways glance at the pathway. “It will be slow going through the bush and those bastards will come right in there after us.”

  He confirmed my thoughts.

  “Guess we’ll have to take care of them right here on this beach.”

  “With the guns?” I asked, holding up my weapon slightly.

  Smith pulled a single spear from the holder and slung the gun over his shoulder. He held the spear in his hand like somebody would hold a hunting knife.

  “Try not use the guns if we don’t have to. We’ve got limited ammunition so if we fire and miss, that’s a potential weapon wasted.”

  “Okay, I’ll give it a whirl,” I sighed, slinging my own gun over my shoulder and retracting a spear from the holder. “Do we go to them or let them come to us?”

  “I think it’d be more appropriate if we went over their way,” Smith said, that sarcasm returning again.

  “Come on then, let’s go,” I sighed. “But let’s try and make it real quick.”

  “Sure,” Smith chirped. “I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

  We trudged towards the three zombies as slowly as they approached us. They waded through the remaining waves and stumbled across the dry sand. The sounds they made were nothing more than a watery gargle, as though they were rinsing their mouths and throats with mouthwash.

  Smith and I readied our spears in our hands, bracing ourselves for another short, sharp killing spree. These three ghouls seemed unsteady on their feet and by the rotten state of them, they must have been underwater for some time. They comprised of two males and a female. One male was tall and almost skeletal, with half the top of his head missing. He had the ripped remains of a dark blue shirt draped around his torso and matching dark blue shorts with the whole of the left side missing. The second male was shorter but bigger built, almost stocky, although his bare torso may have been bloated. He still had a shock of black hair that dripped water and flopped to one side over his rotten gray face. A pair of gray underwear was visible beneath a pair of tatty red jog pants. The skinny female had blonde hair, with clumps missing in places and her face was a torn, matted mess where she’d been perpetually bitten in the last throes of life. A purple cotton shirt was loosely swathed around her chest and back and the material thankfully covered her genitals, as she didn’t seem to have any remaining clothing on her bottom half.

  The tall, thin male led the bedraggled party of undead and seemed to be the most mobile of the deadly decaying trio. He led the way with the female and the second male lagging behind him.

  “You want to do the honors on this skinny prick up front and I’ll take out the two assholes behind?” Smith asked.

  “Ah, thanks, man,” I scoffed. “Give me the toughest dude out of the mob, why don’t you.”

  Smith shrugged. “Trade if you want. I don’t give a fuck.”

  “No, no,” I sighed. “Let’s stick to the damn plan.”

  “All right,” Smith muttered. He skirted around the tall guy, who reached out with flailing arms but Smith easily darted beyond the outstretched grasp.

  “Hey, you,” I called. The zombie turned its mangled head and focused on me. “Yeah, I’m talking to you, you ugly bastard.”

  The tall zombie gurgled and trudged towards me. I hunched forward and took a sidestep left, holding the spear at the ready out in front of me. The ghoul swatted the air between us and I noticed he had long arms so I was going to have to be careful to avoid his swinging hands. I took a tentative forward step and he swung at me again. I ducked and felt the air ripple above my head. I feinted right but dodged to the left, hoping to gain enough free space and an angle to dig the end of the spear into his head. My left foot sank into dry sand and I didn’t move where I wanted.

  The zombie swiped at me again and this time his left inner forearm bashed against the side of my head. The blow didn’t hurt or cause any serious damage but it did knock me off balance and I went down on my left knee.

  “Hey, buddy, how you doing?” I heard Smith say from somewhere beyond me.

  For a moment, I thought he was talking to me and I glanced in his direction for a split second. He was simply goading the two zombies around him. He stuck the second male through the forehead with his spear with ease and moved closer to the gurgling woman. The second male went down into the sand in a crumpled heap and gurgled no more.

  I was determined to prove to Smith I could handle this undead guy I faced. He lurched towards me, bending at the waist and gnashing his teeth as he drew closer to my exposed face. I twirled the spear around in my hands so the barb was pointing upwards. As the zombie lowered, I sprung upward, jamming the sharp spear end through the skin on the underside of his chin. The sound was like ripping paper as the sharp metal point plowed through saturated, peeling skin and brain matter. The spear point erupted out through the gap in the man’s skull, sending a shower of light brown liquid across the sand behind us.

  The zombie quivered for a second then went limp and became heavy, jerking the spear to my right and out of my hands. I let both the weapon and the corpse fall to the ground.

  Smith stood between two prone bodies, his work already done. He held the spear down to the shallow waves and washed the blood and pulp off the metal shaft.

  “Going down low and hitting that sucker with an uppercut. Good tactic, I like it,” he said.

  I shrugged. “It wasn’t quite how I planned it.”

  “It never is, kid.” He raised the spear from the sea and pointed it at me. “But it’s the victory that counts.”

  “Yeah, whatever, man,” I sighed, jabbing a thumb over my shoulder. “Let’s just get going before any more of those things crawl out the sea.”

  Smith glanced across the bay and back out to sea. It obviously hadn’t occurred to him there might be more ghouls washing up on the beach at any moment. “Roger that,” he muttered. “You might want to get your weapon back first.” He nodded at the corpse, face down in the sand to my right.

  I really wasn’t in the mood to extract a spear from some dead guys head but thought about the consequences. Running out of spear shots, cornered with no way out and a hundred dead heads coming forward for me. Having no weapons and ammo on you was as good as your own death warrant right there in your pocket.

  I pulled back on the spear shaft and heard another sickening squelching sound. The tall zombie’s head disintegrated into a squidgy mess as the remainder of the skull caved in on itself, producing another flow of runny pulp that soaked away into the sand. The stench was like a combination of rotting fish and spoiled meat.

  “Jesus on a motorbike,” I rasped, turning my head away. “That’s fucking disgusting.”

  The blood and the guts and the gore were one of the worst things in this apocalyptic world. No matter how many times I’d witnessed death and mutilation, I could never bring myself to feel comfortable with it.

  “You should be familiar enough with these kinds of situations by now,” Smith teased.

  I ignored Smith’s jibe as I moved past him to wash the blood and brains off the spear. The sticky mess on the metal shaft took some shifting, even in the sea. I crouched in the shallow waves and picked up a small wad of seaweed, rubbing it back and forth along the spear until it was clean.

  As I stood, I noticed a bright white light reflecting off the sea’s surface. I gazed across the water to the source of the light. The glow was radiating from the warship. The light would blink quickly, then flash in longer sequences. I turned back to Smith, who was studying the dense tropical forest behind us.

  “Hey, Smith, I think they’re trying to get the spotlight working but it keeps cutting out.”

  Smith turned and studied the ship in the distance.

  “You dumbass,” he sneered. “That ‘aint no spotlight. It’s a sign
al lamp. They’re sending us a message in Morse code.”

  “Oh,” I mumbled. Nothing like showing yourself up. I nearly laughed out loud at my ignorance and lack of knowledge. “Do you know Morse code?”

  “It’s been a long while since I’ve had to read any light signals,” Smith said. “I’ll try my best to figure it out. Could be Wingate operating the light. I’ll see what I can do.”

  Smith muttered to himself, trying to decipher the coded message. Me, I had no clue about Morse code but realized that damn flashing light was starting to give me a serious headache. How the hell could people have stared at those lights all day and night deciphering and sending messages to each other from ships and shore bases? I would have ended up in some kind of coma if I’d been tasked with that particular vocation.

  “Hold…your…fire…we …are…friendless,” Smith blurted.

  “Friendless?” I questioned. “I know we’ve had our share of tough times but we’re not that bad.”

  “I think they mean friendly,” Smith said. “Either whoever is sending that message can’t spell right or I got it wrong.”

  “Why are they telling us that?” I asked, screwing up my face in confusion.

  Smith flashed me an incredulous sideways glance. “They’re not sending it for us. They’re sending the message to the shooter.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  “You think the sniper will listen?”

  Smith shrugged. “Whoever it is up there may not even know Morse or even speak English. And even if they do and can, there are no guarantees they’ll comply with the request. They might not want us on the island, period. Sending that message is a long shot. It don’t change nothing.”

  “So we continue on as we planned?”

  “U-huh, we still got to stop the son of a bitch.” Smith nodded to the side of the bay. “Let’s get going, we got work to do, kid.”

  We trudged back across the sand towards the track. The sun was drawing closer to the horizon and I guessed it was around late afternoon sometime. How long we’d have to spend on this island searching for a hidden enemy was anybody’s guess.