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

by Fletcher, Christian

  “How many guys do you think are up there, Tony?” Smith asked.

  Cockney Tony shrugged. “I dunno, thirty, maybe fifty. They all got this mad look in their eyes and they’re all dirty but they look like dead hard geezers. Know what I mean?”

  How much weaponry have you got around the place?” Smith asked. “I saw the Dutch version of Laurel and Hardy had a nice couple of H & K handguns.”

  “We’ve got a few rifles and a few more shooters and a shit load of ammo for them. Like I said, Van Dalen was a bit paranoid and liked his shooters. But we’re a techno rock band, fellahs. We ‘aint an army and we only use the guns to shoot the infected. And those two pie-eyed pillocks on the sofa aren’t ever straight headed enough to shoot anything. They’d end up killing themselves if we gave them a gun.”

  “Do I detect you don’t get along too well with your former band mates?” I asked.

  Tony made a strange croaking noise. “Nah, it’s not that we don’t get on but I kicked the drugs a while back and they didn’t. I thought if we’re going to survive this thing, whatever the fuck it is, then we’re going to have to keep our minds on red alert, you know?”

  I nodded. I sympathized with Tony. “Obviously they thought different?”

  Tony raised his eyebrows. “You could say that.”

  “So, these roughnecks, any clue where they came from?” Smith asked.

  Tony shook his head. “My guess is they came off a ship from the port. It was a time when the whole world was shitting itself when the disease kicked in big time. Everybody was heading in different directions, and most of them were the wrong ones. Nowhere was safe but everybody thought there must be somewhere where they could hole up. This place here was no different.”

  “I figure if we could get rid of those guys in the castle and land our colleagues on the island, we could stand a chance of making the place a safe zone,” Smith said. “But we need your help, Tony.”

  Tony kind of wobbled his head and reached for the pack of smokes. “Listen, fellahs, I can give you a couple of shooters and as much ammo as you need but then you’re on your own. And I wish you luck against those mad bastards, gentlemen. I honestly mean that. But they’ll shoot you dead once you’re in the line of sight of that castle, I’m telling you.”

  Smith leaned forward on his stool. “Tony, how much longer do you think you’ll last in this place? How long will it be until you run out of supplies, a year, maybe two? And then what? That’s presuming those guys in the castle wont figure out you’re holed up inside here and shoot the place up.”

  Mohawk banged his handgun onto the countertop with a metallic thud. “I’ll help you, Smith.”

  Shaved Head stepped forward from the shadows. “Count me in, also,” he said with a stern nod.

  Smith flashed me a glance. “That’s great, thanks guys. Now what about you Tony? Are you in?”

  Tony raised his finger and opened his mouth as if he were about to speak but let his pose hold for a few seconds.

  “I’m off to the bog,” he finally said. Tony stood and shuffled to a swing door to the right side of the bar that I hadn’t noticed before.

  Mohawk leaned his elbows on the counter top and moved his head towards us. He took a quick glance to the sofa behind us to check the two stoners weren’t listening. I looked back over my shoulder and saw the other two band members were now indulging themselves in a shoot ‘em up game on the projector screen.

  “You have to keep persuading him,” he whispered. “He will agree in the end. I know Tony is very unhappy stuck down in this cellar all the time.”

  “Where do you sleep?” I asked. You have bedrooms down here?”

  Mohawk or Lowie as we now knew he was called, smiled for the first time since we’d met. He revealed a row of brilliant white teeth, intermingled with a few gold ones. “We don’t get a lot of sleep around here. Those guys are too high most of the time.” He flicked his head towards where Tony had gone. “There are some booths with bedrooms back there, as well as shower rooms. Van Dalen used them when he and his colleagues brought in some Columbian whores for their weekend drug fuelled orgies.”

  “Sounds like a blast,” Smith said. “Hope you’ve washed the sheets since they were last here.”

  Lowie looked a little taken aback for a second, then broke out into a wide smile. “Of course,” he said. “We also have a laundry room down here.”

  “Looks like you have everything you need,” I said.

  Lowie’s face became serious again. “Everything but piece of mind, my friend. Those guys up at the castle will eventually find us here, I know it. We have been lucky so far but our luck will eventually run out. We have to try and make a stand before they hit us.”

  “How long have you been stuck down here?” I asked.

  Lowie shrugged. “We go out sometimes but not very often.” He glanced upward and had a brief conversation with Shaved Head in Dutch.

  “Freek thinks we have been down here for over two years,” he confirmed.

  “Jesus, has it really been more than two years since this thing started?” I gasped, shocked at how long we’d been living this nomadic lifestyle.

  Shaved Head nodded. “I keep a rough record of the date. I think it is May 13th, but I’m not certain.”

  Smith screwed up his face before he spoke. “Why do they call you freak? Do you do something abnormally freaky?”

  Shaved Head laughed and shook his head. “It is my name, Freek Alferdinck.” He spelled it out for us.

  Smith laughed. “That’s some fucking name, man. I’ll drink to that.” He raised his beer glass and motioned towards Freek Alferdinck. I preferred to call him Shaved Head, it was slightly easier to pronounce.

  Smith seemed at ease with our new acquaintances and the beer and banter was flowing freely. I didn’t wholly trust these guys and was expecting a setback to arise before they’d allow us to leave the cellar.

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  “You said something earlier about a curse on the island, Lowie,” Smith said. “Care to tell me a little about that?”

  Lowie refilled our glasses and I was already feeling a little lightheaded. At least my ankle wasn’t hurting as much. Maybe the alcohol was numbing the pain.

  Mohawk/Lowie grinned, showing more of those gold teeth. He looked as though he relished recounting the tale of the cursed island.

  “We used to go to La Bahia Soleado, the port town for a drink and a little nightlife action. It was a rough kind of lawless place, even before the undead rose but it was good to get away from the boredom here, while the so called band went through their rehearsals, playing endless beats that blasted out day and night.” He flicked his eyes to the ceiling for effect.

  “Anyhow, while we were on a particularly heavy night out in a dingy bar, we got talking to a few of the locals who owned a fishing vessel and made their living trawling around the island.”

  “All very interesting but what about the curse, Lowie?” Smith asked impatiently.

  Lowie looked slightly offended. “Okay, I was just getting to that bit. The fishermen told us that when the Spanish came here and built the castle they called it ‘El Punto Sin Esperanza,’ The Point Of No Hope. Many ships perished on the reefs. They saw the castle from out at sea and tried to head for land before wrecking on the reefs. As the story goes, in 1721, one ship packed full of mostly French traders from Haiti headed for the coast after seeing the castle on the hilltop. Of course, they hit the reef and began sinking. The Spanish soldiers watched from the castle turrets as the ship went down.” Lowie lowered the tone of his voice for effect and I could imagine the tale being told in dingy bar rooms all over the Caribbean.

  “Later on, the Spanish went down to the shoreline when they saw cargo from the ship being washed up on the beach below. They took all the merchandise that was worth anything but among the cargo they found a few survivors washed up on the sand. Those that were alive, the Spanish took back to the castle. One of the survivors was a Mambo, also known as a
female voodoo priest. The Spanish took her back to the castle along with the goods they had looted.” Lowie stopped talking to light a cigarette.

  “Go on,” I said, eager to hear the end of the story.

  “The soldiers beat and abused the woman and she spoke in a tongue they did not understand. When one of the French sailors was revived, he saw what the soldiers were doing to the woman. He also spoke Spanish and warned them the woman was a voodoo priestess and wielded great power. The Spanish mocked the priestess and decided to burn her at the stake within the grounds of the castle. As the Mambo burned, she placed a curse on the island and particularly the Spanish castle. The French sailor, who later escaped the island, said the priestess’s curse would fall on all those who inhabited the castle. They would all die and the people who lived on the island would suffer for eternity. Within one year, the Spanish soldiers were all killed except for two of them, in a battle with the French up on the hilltops. The two remaining Spanish soldiers were forced to bury the bodies and then executed themselves. Nobody has successfully taken control of the castle for a long period of time since those times.” Lowie leaned back away from the bar counter. “The Spanish called the island ‘Isla De Las Almas Perdidas’ before the Dutch renamed it Saint Miep.”

  “What does that mean?” I asked.

  Lowie smiled. “The Island Of Lost Souls.”

  “You’re not listening to that load of old bollocks are you?” Tony mocked, striding back towards the bar. “We’ve heard that cobblers about the curse on the island so many times.” He slumped back on his stool. “You ought to knock that old tale on the head, Lowie, mate. I’m sick of hearing about it. It’s starting to do me nut in, son.” Tony dabbed his forefinger at his temple.

  Lowie’s expression turned to one of frustration. “Just telling them a story, Tony.” He shrugged. “Who is to say it isn’t true?”

  “What, voodoo queens and curses and dead soldiers? Do me a favor.” Tony sighed and shook his head.

  “Well, here’s to dead people, whoever they are,” Smith said, raising his glass.

  “Yeah, I have to admit, it’s an interesting story,” I chipped in.

  “Let’s just hope the curse is on our side,” Smith said. He turned his attention back to Tony. “Thought any more on my little proposition? Because if your answer is still a no, we got ourselves a problem.”

  “Oh, and what problem would that be then, Smudger?” Tony’s body language changed and he looked aggressive as well as defensive.

  Smith obviously picked up on the near hostile attitude. “Listen, Tony. As I said, we have to bring down those guys inside the castle or our friends onboard the ship will end up going through a long and drawn out death. They’ll eventually starve when all the supplies run out, while we sit here doing exactly the same. We have to end it, Tony. One way or another.”

  Tony slouched in his stool. “Listen, fellahs, why don’t you let me think about it for a mo. Go grab yourselves a cold shower and a change of clothes.” He nodded at Smith. “You look like you need one, Smudger, old son. There are all sizes on the hangers through there.” He pointed towards the doorway to the right of the bar. “Freek, show them the way to the changing rooms will you?”

  Freek nodded then gestured towards the doorway. “This way, gentlemen.”

  Smith moved first. I slipped off the stool but felt a sharp pain in my ankle again.

  “Got a first aid kit around here, Freek?” I asked.

  Freek nodded. “I am a qualified first aider. I will have a look at your bad leg.”

  I hobbled bare footed after Freek and Smith, leaving Tony alone with his thoughts. He lit another cigarette with a far away expression on his face, as though he was mulling over Smith’s request.

  Freek opened the black door and showed us the way into a brightly lit, white tiled bathroom with a wide shower and toilet cubicles and a big bath tub in the center. Set off to the right, a small walkway led to a row of closed doors. I nosed around the corner and saw a burgundy colored carpet running the length of the hallway in front of at least a dozen doors.

  “The bed chambers are through there,” Freek said from behind me, giving me a start. “And the closet to get some fresh clothes is the first door on the left.” Freek pointed at the door in case I couldn’t tell my right from left. “I’ll get you some towels.” He walked to the closet and disappeared inside for a few seconds, emerging with two big white towels. He handed us a towel each and pointed to the showers before exiting the bathroom back to the cellar bar.

  Smith threw off what was left of his silky green bathrobe and entered one of the shower cubicles. I peeled off my sweaty garments and tossed them onto the tiled floor in a dirty, sodden heap. I entered the cubicle next to Smith’s and saw soap and a bottle of shower gel on a shelf below the power switch. I hit the button and felt the full pelt of clean, slightly warm water hit my skin. I used the shower gel that gave off a strong lemon aroma.

  “Hey, Smith?” I called out above the sound of running water.

  “What?”

  “You think we can trust these guys?” I waited a few seconds for a reply.

  “Well, not totally but right now, they’re all we’ve got.”

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Smith and I finished up in the shower and made our way to the closet to grab some clean clothes. We opened the door and were surprised to find the closet was more of a large laundry room with a couple of washer dryers standing on the far side of the white tiled area. A couple of folded ironing boards and steam irons hung on hooks on the wall to the left of the washing machines. On each side of the room, several clothing racks and shelves contained a combination of rows of hanging suits, still with cellophane covers over them and casual wear, pressed and folded in neat piles on the shelving. Boxes of unworn shoes and sneaker type footwear were stacked beneath the clothing racks.

  Business suits weren’t a practical option in our situation and nor were shorts or beach wear to be honest. Smith decided on a pair of fawn colored cargo pants, a black t-shirt and some black, military style work boots. I picked out an olive green t-shirt, some stone colored cargo pants and a pair of black, ankle high sneakers, although I didn’t yet put on the footwear. I wanted Freek to take a look at my damaged ankle first. The flesh had puffed up around my ankle bone and I hoped I hadn’t suffered a break of any kind.

  Smith motioned to the doorway. “You ready?”

  I nodded, feeling a little more sober after showering.

  I followed Smith back to the bar, holding the pair of sneakers in my hand. We walked into a full blown row, with Tony, Lowie and Freek standing each side of the bar counter and all yelling at one another. The other two band members, Shaun and Dan both stood each side of Tony, attempting to calm him down.

  Smith turned to me. “What have we gotten ourselves into?” he said quietly.

  We moved closer and I couldn’t make out much sense of the words and insults the Dutchmen and the Londoner were hurling at each other. Although they had plenty of survival essentials and a fairly secure location, these guys seemed far from happy with their surroundings. They were probably sick of the sight of each other after spending so much time living in the underground cellar.

  “Hey, hey, easy guys,” Smith appealed above the noise. He patted the air downwards in a motion to try and ease the tension.

  The hollering briefly ceased.

  “That man is a coward,” Lowie spat, jabbing his forefinger a few inches from Tony’s face. “He is the only yellow bastard who refuses to fight.”

  “Fuck you,” Tony responded. He balled his fist and drew back his arm as if to throw a punch.

  The guy from Manchester, Shaun Swann lurched forward and grabbed Tony’s arm before he could deliver the blow.

  “This is going to get ugly,” Smith said to me. He strode forward towards the bar counter and slammed his hand down on the chrome handgun laying on top of the bar counter, a fraction of a second before Lowie reached for it.

  Smith
unloaded the magazine from the firearm and ejected the round already in the chamber.

  “Okay, you guys need to cool it,” he shouted.

  The yelling died down but developed into a glaring contest between Tony and Lowie. Tony shrugged off Shaun’s grip on his arm.

  “You think you can take a look at my ankle now, Freek?” I asked, trying to change tact and ease the pressure in the room. God, where was Wingate when you needed a medic?

  “Of course,” Freek muttered, not taking his eyes off Tony. His glare broke away and he reached beneath the counter, lifting out a green box with the words ‘First Aid Kit’ printed in white lettering across the top.

  Freek approached and ushered me to a chair beside a smoked glass table, a few feet away from the bar counter. I sat down and straightened my left leg. Freek crouched and began to squeeze and probe my ankle. I winced as the pain kicked in but knew he was checking for any broken bones.

  I glanced downward and saw the handgrip of Freek’s firearm sticking out from the back of his waistband. None of the others seemed duly concerned that Smith now had control of one of their handguns, unloaded though it was. I looked across the room to the sofa in front of the projector screen and saw the spear gun still on the floor at the side of the three seater. They hadn’t taken too much interest in the weapon since we’d been in the cellar.

  “Are we all cool now?” Smith demanded.

  Lowie broke his stare and nodded at Smith, although his face remained sullen. Tony snorted in defiance and broke away from the group, turning to face the wall opposite. Smith waited a few seconds before he spoke again.

  “Okay, listen up. Me and Wilde Man want to thank you for taking us in and showing us some hospitality. But we have to try and neutralize the threat posed by those militia guys or whatever they are up there in the castle. There are almost two hundred people onboard that ship that’s stuck out at sea and they’re counting on us to get them safely ashore.”

  Freek started to wrap a bandage around my ankle but all the other guys in the room looked at Smith.