“Hey, I mean congratulations, man. You’ve managed to move the truck at least…” he craned his neck over the bottom edge of the windshield. “Ooh, at least six feet. Way to go, Brett.”
I did my best to ignore my alternative self’s jibes. Maybe if I pretended he wasn’t there he’d simply go away.
I kept rolling the truck forward at a slow, grinding pace, nudging the undead out of the way and with some of them disappearing beneath the wheels. The cab jolted slightly every time I ran over a corpse, crushing their bodies into the dusty soil. The majority of the undead mob banged and scraped at the sides and front of the cab, trying to find a way inside. The old truck was an ideal vehicle for the apocalypse, with high side windows and an unreachable windshield. As long as we kept rolling, the undead couldn’t get to us.
“Hey, I could get used to this,” my alternative self said. “It’s quite relaxing sitting here, watching you plow through all these stiffs.” He flapped his hand in front of his nose. “I don’t go too much on the smell in here though. I think it needs one or two air fresheners in this cab.”
I continued to ignore my other self and concentrated on heading for the gap in the outer wall where Smith had blown up the gates. Smoke still swirled around the far walls and the light from the remaining searchlights didn’t provide enough illumination to see where I was driving. I had no option but to turn on the truck’s lights. I knew it would attract more of the undead towards us but it was a slightly better option than crashing into an unstable wall.
I flicked the switches on the dash until the headlamps lit up, shining a yellow glow across a mass of disintegrating corpses that were somehow still murderously active. They roared defiantly and threw themselves in front of the truck. I was forced to ease the gas pedal a little harder down, bringing up the engine’s revs against the undead tide, which threatened to hinder our progress.
I glanced out through the windshield, above the crowd of undead but I still couldn’t see the exit route. My composed calmness began to rapidly evaporate, instead replaced by a rising feeling of panic. Hands and heads batted against the exterior of the cab, making a metallic thudding sound. I moved my head around frantically in attempt to see where the hell we should be heading.
“I’d appreciate a little inside help,” I shouted at my alternative self. He’d pointed me in the right direction on the odd occasion and I more than needed somebody to show me the way.
I glanced to my right when I heard no reply and saw the passenger seat was empty. My alternative self had disappeared into the ether.
“Never trust a hallucination,” I muttered, returning my attention to driving through the sea of undead.
I heard a different sound, a loud clunk at the side of the truck’s body. “What the fuck was that?”
I looked through the driver’s window and studied the side mirror. “Oh, shit,” I muttered.
Now I was faced with another problem. Zombies threw themselves from the castle’s upper level to try and land on the roof of the truck.
Chapter Fifty-Three
I kept checking the side mirror and saw more and more ragged shapes plummeting down from the walkway along the wall above us and to the left. The bodies dropped and banged against the side of the armored truck’s rigid side. We were positioned a little too far away from the side wall for the undead to land on top of the roof, and I intended to keep it that way.
I steered to the right, edging the truck slowly away from the side wall. More zombies clattered into the side of the cab and I saw gnarled finger tips reaching up towards the passenger window.
For a second time I recoiled at the sight of Smith’s upside down head appearing at the top of the windshield.
“Keep us away from that wall to the left,” Smith yelled. “Those crazy bastards are trying to jump on top of the truck from up there.”
“I know,” I replied, nodding. “I can see them in the mirror but I can’t see shit where we’re supposed to be going to head out of this damn place.”
“Okay, I’ll try and guide you,” Smith said and disappeared from sight again.
I heard his voice a couple of seconds later but couldn’t hear a clear word due to the moans and shrieks radiating from all around the vehicle.
“Smith, I can’t hear you,” I hollered, punching the cab roof interior.
The upside down face appeared again. “What?” he shouted.
I shook my head and pointed one handed to my ear.
“Shit,” he yelled.
Smith turned his head around and engaged in conversation with somebody else on the roof in an exchange I couldn’t hear. He turned back to look at me a few seconds later.
“Tony is going to tell me the route and I’ll relay it to you,” Smith explained, before vanishing from sight again.
“Sounds wonderful,” I groaned. I had a bad feeling this directional guidance was going to turn out more like a game of Chinese Whispers.
I kept the truck rolling regardless of what was going on up top. I figured it was better to be moving somewhere than nowhere at all.
Smith’s face popped back into view once again. “Keep edging to the right,” he shouted.
I nodded and turned the steering wheel, knocking down more zombies in the process. I heard a yell from the roof.
“Not that much, you’ve gone too far over,” Smith repeated and I steered back the other way slightly.
Smith continued to direct me via Tony’s orders and somehow, I managed to drive the truck out between what was left of the castle’s front wall. We avoided running over large pieces of masonry, piles of rubble and debris as we moved at walking pace through the exit. The undead still crowded around the truck and followed us out of the castle. The next problem I foresaw was how the guys on the roof were going to stay in place as I drove along the narrow and uneven dirt track.
“You’re going to have to try and get inside the cab, Smith,” I yelled. “You guys will never be able to hold on up there when we go down that bumpy track. There are overhanging trees and whatnot that will knock you off. You’ll have to try and climb down and get through the side window or something.”
Smith squinted and scanned the terrain in the distance. The truck began to roll from side to side along the sloping, potholed road and we weren’t even at the worst part. The undead continued to surround the vehicle and their motion helped to rock the truck even further over.
“Okay, Wilde Man,” Smith shouted. “Open the windows. We’re having a hell of a time trying to hang on up here.”
I steered one handed, leaned over to the passenger door and rapidly wound down the window. The filthy stench of the undead wafted in through the breeze, along with the intense and collective screams and moans. Once the pane was all the way down, I righted myself and gave Smith the thumbs up.
“Okay, I’m coming in,” Smith said.
I heard a metallic clanging then saw the soles of a big pair of boots coming at me from the passenger side of the cab. Smith pushed himself sideways and let himself drop onto the bench seat.
“Fuck,” he spat, grimacing and gripping his right side. “I think I’ve pulled a muscle or something.”
“Seriously?” I asked. “Maybe you’re just getting old, Smith.”
“Fuck you, funny man. Let’s concentrate on getting the fuck out of here before we do any more comedy routines, shall we?”
“All right, touchy,” I sighed.
Smith scooted back along the seat and leaned his head out of the passenger window, looking up at the roof.
“Okay, come on you guys,” he yelled. “Let’s hurry it up.” He waved whoever was above the window down then slid across the seat towards me.
Another pair of feet dangled in through the open window and Smith hauled the rest of Tony inside the cab.
“This is going to get a bit cozy in here ‘aint it?” he muttered.
Dan flopped through the window next and took his place on the bench seat alongside Tony. His eyes were wide and his face was deathly white.
“Come on, Lowie,” Smith called up. “You want to get inside before we hit that uneven road for real. We’re going to have to drive a little faster to get away from these dead pricks out here.”
I took a glance to my right and saw Lowie’s feet balancing on the bottom of the window sill.
“Lowie, come on, man. Lower yourself down,” Smith bawled.
Lowie shouted something I didn’t hear but we were approaching a clump of trees overhanging the track. Lowie would have to climb in or he’d get hit by the drooping tree branches.
“You want me to stop the truck, Smith?” I asked.
“We can’t stop,” Smith snapped, turning his head away from the side window. “We stop rolling and the zombies will swarm all over the truck. We need to keep our momentum going.”
“For fuck’s sake, Lowie,” Tony yelled. “Will you get in the fucking cab?”
I heard a muffled response and glanced across the seats. “What’s up with him?” I asked. “Why won’t he get inside?”
“He’s got his rifle sling caught up on the roof rack,” Smith explained. “Anybody got a blade on them?”
Tony and Dan shook their heads. Smith gazed upward out of the window.
“Just pull yourself out from the sling and leave the goddamn rifle up on the roof,” Smith yelled.
I heard Lowie mutter something of a protest in a wailing tone but again, I was unsure of his exact words.
“Come on, man. Get through the fucking window,” Smith roared.
I kept my eyes on the road but struggled to keep the truck steady on the bumpy road and with the undead rocking us from side to side. The overhanging tree branches loomed up closer on the passenger side.
“I can unclip it,” Lowie shouted.
A split second later I heard Lowie yell out.
“Ah, fuck, no,” Dan howled.
“Lowie, hang on,” Smith barked. “Lowie?...Lowie?...Fuck!”
I averted my eyes from the windshield for a brief moment. Smith leaned against the door looking out of the window and downwards, back down the track. Dan had his hands cupped around the lower part of his face and Tony’s mouth hung wide open. Lowie no longer dangled at the side of the cab.
Chapter Fifty-Four
“You want me to stop the truck and pull over?” I asked, without receiving an immediate reply. The others inside the cab seemed as though they’d frozen into their adopted positions. “Should I stop?” I yelled.
“No, just keep fucking going,” Smith shouted. He dipped his head and closed his eyes for a second before winding up the passenger window.
Lowie had obviously gone the way of his best friend and probable lover, Freek. I felt bad for the pair of them as they were a couple of good guys to be fighting in your corner.
“Look out, Wilde Man,” Tony suddenly yelled.
I shook my head, turned my gaze dead ahead and realized the truck was heading straight for a clump of trees to the right of the track. I jerked the wheel left and over- steered onto the grass verge. I managed to get us back squarely onto the track although the whole cab rocked violently from side to side as the vehicle shuddered in the swerve.
“What the fuck are you doing, Wilde?” Smith growled, stumbling against the dash. “You trying to kill us all?”
“Sorry,” I mumbled. I glanced in the side mirrors but couldn’t see any sign of Lowie. Only the clusters of undead still surrounded the sides of the truck. “Shall I speed up and get us away from these undead jerks?”
“Yeah, hit the damn gas, Wilde Man,” Smith sighed, slumping onto the bench seat beside the passenger window. He pulled out his pack of smokes and offered them round. Every one of us took one.
I couldn’t drive much faster but did increase our speed slightly, just to put some distance between us and the undead crowd. The cab soon filled with cigarette smoke and I cracked open my side window slightly. The night air rushed in and smelled fresh and sweet compared to the sweaty, smoky vehicle interior.
We remained silent as I drove us further down the inclining road. I supposed we were all mulling over the events and thinking about the guys we’d lost.
“So, what do we do now?” I asked, checking the side mirrors for any undead hangers on at the truck’s sides.
I glanced at the faces beside me when I didn’t receive any reply. Dan, Tony and Smith all stared at the road ahead with their faces slightly illuminated by the faint glow of the lights on the dash. They all looked like ghosts in waiting.
“I said, what is the plan now?” I repeated in a louder tone.
“You know the way to the port town, Tony?” Smith asked. “What was the name of the place again?”
“Yeah, I know the way,” Tony muttered. “The place is called ‘The Sunny Bay’ in Spanish. It really don’t matter what its name is. It ‘aint ever going to be the same town. It’s all gone, the world is fucked.”
“Has it only just taken you this long to realize the world was fucked, Tony?” Smith said, laughing as he spoke. “You must have been doing some good shit for a while, kid. The world was fucked a long time before the dead rose up and walked.”
“It was fucked the day mankind started to make their mark on the planet,” Dan added. “We’ve beaten the crap out of the place for like, thousands of years, man. And now the planet has turned around and said – fuck you, humans! I’ve had enough of your bullshit.”
“You got that right,” Smith said. “Now, which way to the fucking port?”
Tony guided us back through the vacation village and along the island’s main route from south to north. The journey was slow going as the truck rumbled along the rocky, pot-holed roads and plowing through huddles of undead lurking in various spots on the grass verges or amongst clusters of trees. We carefully laid the weapons on the cab floor in front of Smith’s feet on the passenger side.
We drove by an abandoned armored truck similar to the one we were in. The vehicle was pointed at an odd angle and nose first into a tall clump of trees to the left of the track. Our headlights picked out a few zombies scrabbling around inside the dumped, blood stained truck cab. The doors were open and the undead were indulging in a feeding frenzy, huddled over a hunk of gore spread across the cab’s bench seat.
“Looks like some poor bastard copped it,” Tony sighed.
“Hopefully, it was the remainder of those militia jerks,” Smith said. “We could do without that bitch of a sniper still being around.”
Although I slowed the truck so we could all rubberneck and have a good look at the horrific scene, I didn’t stop to check for any survivors. I carried on trundling on our journey to the port town.
“Is that the right time?” I asked, pointing to an illuminated clock on the dash. The hands told me it was a little after four a.m.
Tony checked his watch. “That’s about right, give or take a few minutes. What does it really matter what the time is? It’s either night or day. That’s all that really counts, ‘aint it?”
“Yeah, that’s right,” I muttered.
Tony’s negative attitude was starting to piss me off, although on reflection, I couldn’t be too harsh on the guy. I’d had more than my fair share of dark, depressing moments in the past. They’d just lost three of the guys they’d shared their lives with for the last couple of years. Tony and Dan were probably feeling a little shell-shocked. I decided to try my best to lift them from their gloominess.
“How far is it to the port town? I can’t see any of the road signs as they are all covered in weeds and shit,” I said.
“It’s only a couple more miles and we’re there,” Tony replied in a monotone voice.
“You had a lot of fun in town, huh? Back in the day?”
Neither Tony nor Dan answered. So much for me cheering them up. Shut up, Wilde! You’re just making them feel worse by remembering the good times they’d had with their dead buddies.
“Get as close as you can to the harbor, Wilde Man,” Smith
said. “We’ll get a boat and sail it around the island to the warship.”
“Is that the plan?” I asked. Smith seemed to be full of half baked pipe dreams.
“Why? You got any better ideas?” Smith snapped.
“Well, for a start it’s still dark and probably very easy to smash a boat into that damn reef, presuming we make it around to the other side of the island.”
“It’ll be light in less than an hour, numb-nuts. We take our time and get around the reef. We have to start landing those guys on this island or we’re going to be stuck here fighting zombies on our own for a very long time.”
“Okay,” I sighed. Smith had a point. We’d just about exhausted all our luck and we needed the back up of McElroy and his crew, plus the firepower they brought along with them.
“We’re going to need a flat bottom boat. Any of those kinds of vessels in the harbor?” Smith asked.
Tony nodded. “There used to be some of those fancy vacation boats that took the holidaymakers out around the island. Only trouble is those things had glass bottoms. You know, so people could take a look at the fish and sea life and weird shit under the drink.”
Smith nodded. “Sounds like just what we need.”
“Don’t get too carried away, Smudger,” Tony said. “Those boats are more than likely not operational no more.”
“We’ll see,” Smith said. “Being a port town, there should be something we can use.”
“Don’t count on it, mate,” Tony sighed.
On a scale of one to ten, Tony’s enthusiasm was somewhere in the minus numbers.
The truck rumbled over the brow of a hill and the landscape sloped downward beyond the summit. I slowed the vehicle to a crawl as the dark swell of the sea came into view below us. The port town stood between us and the sea. Dark shapes and silhouetted low standing buildings sprouted from the shadows along the shoreline.
“This is it,” Tony said. “We’re here. This is La Bahia Soleado, The Sunny Bay.”
What worried me were the numerous shuffling figures lurching around in the shadows amongst the buildings.
The Left Series (Book 6): Left On An Island Page 23
