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

by Fletcher, Christian

  Smith opened the side door and studied the cab interior, fitted out in black leather seats and matching black dash. “It’s perfect,” he muttered.

  What the old vehicle was ‘perfect’ for, I didn’t know. But it was starting to worry me what Smith had in mind.

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  Smith slid into the Ford’s driver’s seat and reached for the keys dangling from the ignition. He turned the key and grinned as the powerful engine roared into life.

  “Sounds good,” he said, over the noise of the idling Ford.

  Lowie smiled and nodded. “I told you.” His expression turned serious and he made a slicing motion across his throat. “Not too long with the engine running.” He jabbed his thumb at the big wooden doors. “The dead will hear and start to surround the fence. We need to keep them away.”

  Smith nodded and cut the engine. He climbed out of the cab and closed the door.

  “We can use this,” he said, pointing to the truck.

  “How?” I asked.

  Smith didn’t reply. He stared at the ground, rubbing his chin for a few seconds then nodded decisively. “Hmm…” he muttered and strode towards the door.

  Lowie stared at Smith expectantly then glanced at me. I simply shrugged. Whatever was going on in Smith’s mind, he wasn’t prepared to elaborate on the plan any further. He stopped at the side door and glanced back to Lowie and me.

  “Let’s go back to the house,” he said.

  Lowie and I exchanged a quick bemused glance before we followed Smith to the doorway. I knew the Dutchman was wondering what Smith was plotting but he hadn’t had the experience of spending long periods of time and numerous near fatal scrapes like I had. Nobody really got into Smith’s head and I was sure his brain was wired up differently to most people. Maybe it was his unpredictability that had kept us alive for so long. Sometimes you had to just go with Smith’s flow and hope it worked out okay.

  The daylight rapidly faded and the horizon glowed red as Lowie led us across the overgrown garden and back to the domed house. We returned to the cellar bar and Freek had cleaned and loaded the firearms, which sat in neat rows on two tables. The three band members sat on the floor in a circle and were busy filling ammunition magazines with rounds.

  “Make sure those rounds sit in those magazines properly,” Lowie commanded. “Because if you don’t, they’ll more than likely cause the weapon to jam.”

  “Yeah, okay, Rambo. We’re doing our best,” Tony retorted, with a scowl on his face.

  “They are doing okay,” Freek said, nodding.

  Shaun Swann and Dan Saint each had an expression of total concentration on their faces, almost as though they were thinking what they were doing for the first time in a long while.

  “Let’s get this fucking party rocking,” Shaun cheered, picking up the last of his empty magazines. “One more to go and then we’re done, baby.” He slapped Dan on the back.

  “Yeah, it’s going to be totally awesome to get out there and zap some dead dudes and bad motherfuckers,” Dan chipped in.

  I had a horrible premonition that Dan and Shaun would never again see the interior of the cellar bar once we left. After living so long in a world infested with the undead, I’d developed a sense of who would survive and who wouldn’t. My theory wasn’t always one hundred percent correct but I had a pretty good record so far. For what it was worth, I considered Tony Sharpe’s chances of survival at fifty/fifty. My estimation had always been a similar one for myself. The two Dutchmen seemed to be capable of handling themselves and their chances were slightly higher. Smith simply seemed the luckiest living person left on the planet. I was certain that guy would live to be one hundred and end his days in the lap of luxury someplace.

  “I have put the C-4 explosives in that satchel on the bar,” Freek said, pointing to the counter. “That substance makes me nervous.”

  Smith shook his head. “It’s perfectly safe until the detonators set the stuff off. It won’t explode even if you drop it or try lighting it up.”

  Tony glanced up from loading his final magazine. “You know a lot about all this gear, Smudger. Are you some kind of ex-military guy or something?”

  Smith shrugged. “Just a guy trying to stay alive, Tony. Nothing more.”

  I knew Smith didn’t like to talk about his time in the U.S. Marine Corps and I’d decided a long time ago he’d gone through some sort of traumatic experience. I’d never pressed him for more details and thought perhaps he’d tell me about his experiences in gritty detail at some other time in the future.

  Lowie and Freek collected up the loaded magazines and put them in separate satchels by varying caliber. We sat and drunk water and smoked cigarettes for a few minutes, chatting amongst ourselves about our lives previous to the apocalypse. Tony and Shaun told me about some of the places they’d toured and agreed that Toronto had been their favorite city. Smith remained quiet. I guessed he was mulling over what we had to do.

  “Okay, guys, it’s time to go,” Smith called above the chatter. “Lowie and Freek, you two go bring the truck around as close as you can to the back doors and we’ll load up these weapons. Oh, and bring a few coils of that rope from the barn will you?”

  Lowie stood and nodded. He motioned for Freek to follow him up the cellar steps. They disappeared through the trap door and closed it behind them. I realized then that there was no way of telling whether it was day or night time down in the neon enthused cellar bar and wondered how these guys had hacked it for so long down here.

  “Right, you guys, let’s get these weapons and ammo up top,” Smith commanded. He moved to the bar counter and took the satchel containing the explosives, checking the contents under the brighter lights glowing from behind the bar. “Pick out a decent handgun for yourself, Wilde Man,” he said.

  I glanced at the tables and picked out a 9mm Glock 17 and two spare mags. The weapon was black polymer so as not to reflect any light and fairly lightweight compared to the other handguns on the table. I’d used one before so I was familiar with the operation. I loaded up then shoved the firearm into the back of my waistband and slipped the magazines into the side pockets of my cargo pants.

  Tony, Shaun, Dan and I carefully loaded the handguns, rifles and spare ammunition satchels back into the wire cart that resembled a shopping trolley. We wheeled it to the bottom of the steps and waited for Smith to ascend. He pushed open the trap door and waved us up. The four of us struggled with the cart, lifting it step by step up out of the cellar.

  Pale early evening light still shone through the living room windows, just enough to see what the hell we were doing. Smith closed down and locked the trap door once we’d successfully negotiated the cart up the steps.

  “Fuck me,” Tony panted, wiping sweat from his forehead. “I’m fucking knackered before we’ve even started this bloody operation.”

  I had the uneasy feeling we were going to be leaking more than sweat by the time the mission was over.

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  We wheeled the cart through the house and waited by the French doors at the rear of the kitchen. Smith kept an eye on the back, peering through the glass. I heard a low rumble of an approaching engine, although no headlights cut through the impending darkness. I realized they were keeping the truck’s lights switched off so they wouldn’t attract too many ghouls wandering around outside the compound.

  “Okay, they’re outside,” Smith said. He turned to the rest of us standing in the kitchen. “Good luck guys and remember to keep focused. Shooting bad guys and zombies is good, shooting each other is bad. Got it?”

  I heard Dan repeating Smith’s words in a low mumble behind me.

  “Let’s go,” Smith said, pushing open the French doors.

  We pushed the cart out through the doorway and the night air felt cool and invigorating. The truck idled on the edge of the patio at an angle to the house. Freek stood in the flatbed and Lowie sat in the driver’s seat. Freek waved us towards the truck bed. The cart juddered
on the patio slabs and the firearms rattled against the wire sides.

  “Hey, try and keep the noise down, guys,” Freek hissed. “You’ll have all the dead from the village heading this way with all that racket you’re making.”

  “You come down here and push this fucking thing then,” Tony barked.

  “Shhh! They’ll hear us, dude,” Dan wailed.

  Tony muttered under his breath and we pushed the cart next to the truck’s flat bed. Freek took the weapons as we handed them up to him. He laid the firearms and spare ammunition on the floor behind the cab.

  “Get yourselves a weapon each and then get comfortable, guys,” Smith said. “Wilde Man, you ride in the cab with me and Lowie, okay?”

  I nodded and watched Tony, Dan and Shaun climb into the flatbed alongside Freek. The Dutchman handed out handguns to the other three and explained the mechanisms. They’d fired weapons before but not for a while and needed a quick induction. Once they were reasonably satisfied, the four guys in the flatbed lay down and Smith and I covered them with the tarpaulin. We fastened the catches around the flatbed edges but left one side open in case they needed to make a quick escape.

  Smith and I slid into the cab alongside Lowie and I shut the passenger door. Lowie rolled the truck back onto the gravel driveway and headed for the fence line. The truck’s lights were still turned off but we could still see the light colored gravel in front of us. Lowie slowly drove to the wire mesh gates and stopped a few inches in front of them. He turned to me and handed me a set of keys.

  “You need to go out there and unlock the gates. There are three padlocks to open. One at the top, in the middle and at the bottom,” he said. “The keys fit all the locks so you do not need to try and find the right one. I will turn on the truck’s lights but you must hurry before the dead get here. When the truck is out of the compound, you must lock the middle and bottom padlocks again or the dead will get inside. You will not need to lock them again with the keys. The padlocks will simply click back to the locked position.”

  My stomach felt as though it had fallen out. “Shit, why me?” I groaned.

  “Don’t worry, kid,” Smith said. “I’ll be out there with you and keep you covered.”

  “How am I going to reach the top padlock?” I whined.

  “Open that one first,” Lowie said. “You’ll have to climb on the cab roof. Just make sure you don’t scratch the paintwork.”

  I shook my head. “Screw the paintwork,” I spat. The reality of the situation was starting to hit home. It had all seemed fine when we were sitting around talking in the safety of the cellar bar.

  Smith drew his handgun and tapped my thigh. “Come on, Wilde Man, let’s go.”

  I sighed and reluctantly opened the truck door. Gripping the keys, I crawled onto the cab roof. Smith got out and stood beside the cab, glancing beyond the gates into the dark fields. I saw the faint outline of the wire mesh gates in front me but I couldn’t see the chain and padlock at the top.

  “I can’t see shit up here,” I moaned.

  “Okay, I’ll turn the truck lights on now, but you must hurry, Wilde Man,” Lowie called from the cab.

  I’d already heard ghostly moans from beyond the gates, even before Lowie flicked on the vehicle headlamps. He put the lights on low parking beam and the yellow spotlights swathed the foreground, shining through the wire mesh. I heard more groans from across the grassed area outside the fence and knew any ghouls in the near vicinity would now be heading our way.

  I looked up and saw the chain and the padlock but they were steeped in shadow. I reached up, grabbed the thick padlock and pulled it towards me. The chain rattled against the iron supports and the padlock moved around one foot closer. I still couldn’t see where to insert the damn key.

  “Smith, you got that lighter on you?” I whispered, looking downward. I knew Smith would have helped himself to a pack of smokes and a lighter from the cellar bar. “I still can’t see Jack Shit up here.”

  Smith groaned and delved into his pants pocket. “Well, tell Jack Shit to get his ass out where we can see him.”

  “Very funny,” I sighed, reaching down for the lighter and trying to keep hold of the padlock and keys with one hand, all at the same time.

  Smith handed me the lighter and I juggled the three items in my hands. I flicked the lighter and saw the keyhole in the padlock. Trying to insert the key was more difficult than I anticipated and it took a few moments to get it right. The plastic lighter became increasingly hot in my hand and I had to persistently release the button, extinguishing the flame each time. All the while, the moans and groans drew ever closer.

  Finally, I twisted the key and the padlock clasp opened. I tugged on the chain and it rattled noisily against the gate stanchions. I let the chain go when it was clear of the gate on the right side. I thought I heard approaching footfalls, rustling through the long grass outside the fence.

  “Shit, they’re coming, Wilde Man,” Smith whispered. “Come on, we got to be quick or we ‘aint getting out of this damn compound.”

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  I clambered down from the roof of the truck cab and hurriedly moved to the chain wrapped around the center of the gates. I grabbed the padlock but I cast a shadow over the lock and had to twist sideways to see what the hell I was doing. Lowie must have realized I was struggling and flicked the truck’s headlights on full beam for a couple of seconds. I saw the keyhole within the padlock but I also noticed a few grim white faces lurching towards the gate from the opposite side.

  Hurriedly, I unlocked the center padlock and loosened the chain around the center of the gates.

  “Hurry it up, Wilde Man or I’m going to have to start shooting out here,” Smith growled.

  I hunkered down and felt for the third and final lock at the bottom of the gates. My head was below the truck’s headlights and I had to use the lighter again to see what I was doing. My knuckles scraped across the gravel while I jerked the chain around so the padlock sat inside the gates.

  “Fuck!” I spat, as the lighter’s gas wheel burned into my thumb. In an instant reaction, I dropped the lighter and heard it land on the gravel driveway.

  “Shit, what are you doing down there?” Smith hissed.

  I blew on my sore thumb and scrabbled around for the lighter. I felt the heat from the small metal wheel radiating from the ground and picked up the lighter. Again, I blew on my thumb and the lighter to try and cool them both down.

  “Come on, man,” Smith rumbled.

  I gritted my teeth. “I’m doing my fucking best here.”

  “Well, do fucking better,” Smith seethed.

  I felt like throwing the bunch of damn keys at Smith, along with the loosened chains and unfastened padlocks. Did he seriously think I was taking my time on purpose? I flicked the lighter once and rammed the key into the padlock slot, twisted and released the clasp. I unraveled the chain and flung it to one side. The gates were finally unlocked.

  I stood and slid back the central bolt. “Good to go,” I said, pushing both the gates forward.

  “Fucking hooray,” Smith spat.

  I opened the gates fully and waved Lowie forward. The groans and shrieks ripped through the night air and seemed to be closing in. Lowie nodded and rolled the truck onward through the entrance.

  The back brake lights flashed red, illuminating Smith and I in a crimson glow as Lowie stopped the Ford a few feet in front of the gates and let the engine idle. I slipped the key bunch into my side pocket and felt around my back to check my firearm was still in place in my waistband.

  “Come on, kid, we got to move our asses real quick,” Smith said. I sensed an element of panic in his voice.

  I darted through the entrance, back inside the compound to retrieve the chains. Smith began to close the gates as I slipped between them.

  “Hurry, wrap the chains through,” Smith ordered, sliding the locking bolt through the two gates.

  The groans and hisses of the undead were all around us. S
weat dripped from my forehead while I fed the chain between the two gates beneath the central bolt. My hands trembled and I tried desperately to block out the sight of the grotesque looming faces and throaty growls emerging from the darkness. Smith crouched down on one knee and wrapped the lower chain around the bottom supports. I heard Smith click his padlock into place but I also heard shuffling footfalls approaching from the left.

  “You done?” Smith asked, as he stood upright.

  The truck’s rear brake lights still gave us some illumination and Lowie must have been resting his foot on the pedal. I felt a hand on my shoulder and presumed Smith was ushering me away from the gates.

  “I’ll be done in two seconds,” I said, turning my head slightly.

  I felt the padlock clasp click into place between my fingers but didn’t have time to dwell on that minor success. A snarling, bony face was only inches from my own and then I realized the hand on my shoulder didn’t belong to Smith at all. A groaning ghoul with the skin peeled back from his lips and a tangle of matted gray hair stood directly behind me.

  I reached for my handgun but Smith had already seen the danger. He drew his firearm but couldn’t take a shot. The red lights were too dim and mine and the ghoul’s heads were too close together.

  I quickly span around, knowing I didn’t have the time to raise my gun. Instinctively, my left hand gripped the bottom of the zombie’s jaw and forced its head away from mine. My back hit against the wire gates and the rustling noise caused more grunts and groans from all around us. I used the springy wire for leverage and rocked forward, hurling the ghoul onto the ground in front of me. I whipped the Glock around from behind my back, aimed at where I thought the ghoul’s head was and fired one round. The gunshot echoed across the open ground and the prone body in front of me shuddered. I didn’t have time to acknowledge if the creature was finally deceased or not.

  “We got to get in the truck, kid,” Smith roared above the inhuman din.