“I hear you, Smith,” I yelled and instantly regretted my loud outburst. My head throbbed with the effort.
“Come on, Wilde Man,” Smith continued. “We got to haul ass onto the upper deck.”
I took a long piss into the toilet basin and returned to the cabin. Smith huffed as I took the black combat fatigues from a wall closet and quickly dressed up in the acquired Russian military attire. I pulled on the black webbing around my shoulders and buckled up at the waist.
“You know Mac is going to be pissed with both you and me for the rest of the day now,” Smith said.
I really didn’t give a fuck and wasn’t incredibly enthusiastic about the whole mission. But I kept silent and carried on dressing up for the occasion.
I tied up my combat boots, rubbed my face and turned to Smith. “Okay, let’s go,” I said.
“About time,” Smith groaned. “We’re fucking late and that don’t look good. You need to get your shit together, Wilde.”
“Why do people keep saying that?” I muttered.
“Because it’s probably true,” Smith growled.
The rising sun cast a growing orange glow across the horizon. McElroy, Dunne, Duffy and McDonnell were busy loading Armalite rifles and boxes of ammunition onto the glass bottomed boat. Hannigen milled around the upper deck, checking valves and steam pipes. Sarah Wingate was busy packing first aid kits with bandages and medicines. She was dressed in black combat fatigues and her blonde hair was slicked back and tied up in a tight ponytail. Dante, the South American militia guy stood alongside the boat with his arms folded across his scrawny chest and a pissed off expression on his face. His fuzzy black hair was unkempt and a few days worth of black and gray stubble surrounded his lower jaw. Everybody present on deck were dressed in black combat fatigues and looked as fresh as the early morning air.
McElroy turned to face us as we approached. “’Bout you, gentlemen. You’re late, Wilde Man,” he said sternly. “You can’t tell me you got yourself stuck behind a tractor, so you can’t. Catch yerself on, man.”
“I know, I’m sorry,” I said. “It won’t happen again.”
McElroy and Smith exchanged a brief glance. People kept doing that when I was around and it was starting to piss me off.
McElroy nodded. “Okay, make sure it doesn’t, Brett. We’re not playing games here. This is a serious situation we’re in.” He pointed at the pile of cargo on the warship’s deck. “Come on, let’s get this gear loaded onboard.”
We stacked a few boxes of tinned food and bottles of water in the large area below deck, where tourists had viewed the underwater scenes. Hannigen put the battery jump starter in the control cabin next to the wheel and Sarah Wingate stowed the medical supplies inside a locker on the upper deck. We each took a handgun from the armory, loaded them up and secured them in the secure holsters around our waists. Dante was the only person who was not armed.
“Everybody ready?” McElroy shouted from the walkway beside the glass bottomed boat.
“Good to go,” Hannigen replied and fired up the boats engines. The funnel belched out a puff of black smoke and the stench of combusting diesel hung thickly in the air.
Duffy shoved Dante onboard and the two Scottish upper deck sentries released the ropes securing the glass bottomed boat alongside the larger warship. Hannigen revved the throttle and steered the boat around the stern and away from the warship.
I spent the journey on the upper deck, watching the sunrise, swigging water and smoking cigarettes. Nobody bothered me or asked if I was okay, which was a welcome relief. The feeling of nausea and my headache slowly evaporated due to the fresh air and sea breeze billowing in my face. But I still couldn’t shake off the feeling of guilt in the pit of my stomach. The sight of the dying boy on the riverbank kept on invading my mind.
CHAPTER EIGHT
The port of La Bahia Soleado looked a picturesque town from out at sea. Small boats gently bobbed around the wooden jetty and the sun reflected across the orange tiled roofs of the bars, restaurants, fishing shacks and sea front stores.
People moved in a slow, shuffling motion between the buildings. They spoiled the scenic view as they were no longer living people. The undead crowded the streets and the sea front. I remembered the last time I came to La Bahia Soleado and almost didn’t survive. I couldn’t hear the hurricane siren I’d set off and wondered how long it had blared out for before finally giving up the ghost.
Hannigen steered the glass bottomed boat towards the nearest of the four wooden jetties protruding from the shore. The sound of the boat’s chugging engines caused many of the undead milling around the sea front to stop moving and turn their heads towards the ocean. A large cluster of zombies plodded towards the jetty we were headed to.
I was joined at the front of the boat by Smith, Wingate, McElroy, Dunne, Duffy and McDonnell. Dante hung back, still crossing his arms across his chest.
“Shit, there’s a whole bunch of those things coming our way,” Wingate said. “Is it safe to come alongside the jetty?”
“We’ll have to hurry across the jetty and through the center of town as quickly as possible,” McElroy said. He turned to Dunne, Duffy and McDonnell. “Get those rifles loaded and give us some covering fire when we disembark.” The three men nodded and moved down the steps to retrieve the weapons and ammunition.
“We’ll get Hannigen to steer the boat to the jetty but it’s too hot to tie up alongside. We’ll hop off onto the jetty and Hannigen will have to stay out at sea until we get back,” McElroy explained. He moved to the control room, which was nothing more than a small cabin in the center of the upper deck. I heard McElroy repeating his action plan to Hannigen. Hannigen nodded and McElroy returned alongside us.
“Okay, everybody grab what gear you need and get ready,” McElroy said. “Hannigen will bring us as close as he can and then we’ll have to jump onto the jetty.”
Wingate loaded her day sack with some medical supplies and bottles of water. Smith grabbed the battery jumper from the control room and strapped it across his shoulder. McElroy handed out black colored, portable short wave VHF handset radios to each of us. Dante was nominated to carry a backpack containing some food tins and I loaded my pockets and backpack with water bottles.
Dunne, Duffy and McDonnell returned with the long, metallic black Armalite rifles and several loaded magazines. They ignored Dante and handed the rest of us a rifle each, as well as four loaded magazines. We checked the weapons and loaded them, placing the spare magazines into our webbing.
“You sure this is going to be enough ammunition?” Wingate asked.
“Let’s hope so,” McElroy said. “We don’t want to get too weighted down. It looks as though we’re going to have to move bloody quickly through the town.”
Dunne, Duffy and McDonnell loaded their own rifles and spread out along the right side of the upper deck. We slung our rifles over our shoulders and edged our way to the side of the boat.
“Everybody good to go?” McElroy barked.
“Yeah, ready,” Smith responded.
Hannigen slowed the revs and steered closer to the jetty. There was a gap of around three feet from the jetty’s wooden slats and the side of the boat’s deck.
“Okay, let’s go,” McElroy boomed. “Jump one at a time.”
Smith leapt first and landed comfortably on the jetty. Wingate jumped next and stumbled slightly across the wooden boards. Smith grabbed her arm and held her steady. I followed after Wingate and was relieved when Smith’s sturdy grip stopped my momentum that threatened to send me tumbling into the sea on the opposite side of the jetty. Dante crossed over and Smith also stopped him from overstepping. McElroy jumped last and landed like a cat, hardly moving from his position at all.
Hannigen steered the boat away from the jetty and turned broadside so Dunne, Duffy and McDonnell could aim their rifles further down the landing stage in front of us.
“Everybody okay?” McElroy asked.
We all nodded and muttered wo
rds to the effect that we were all in one piece. We huddled on the jetty and moved forward towards the shore. The undead were already crowding the end of the quayside and more headed our way from the center of town beyond the sea front.
“Clear us a pathway through, fellers,” McElroy yelled across the water.
Dunne nodded. The three men standing on the edge of the glass bottomed boat opened up with their Armalite rifles. The weapon’s actions rattled back and forth, a cloud of cordite drifted across the water and the bunch of undead decreased dramatically in number. The ghouls leading the pack sustained fatal headshots and tumbled over the sides of the jetty into the sea or dropped into crumpled heaps on the wooden boards. The leaders were quickly replaced by more undead behind them but were dispatched in the same deadly manner.
Smith pulled his rifle off his shoulder, cocked it then adopted a firing stance and aimed down the jetty.
“Save the ammo, Smith,” McElroy shouted. He placed his hand on Smith’s shoulder. “Let the guys on the boat clear the way.”
Dunne, Duffy and McDonnell reloaded their rifles and kept firing well aimed shots at the undead mob. More eradicated ghouls fell from the jetty and plunged beneath the waves.
“Keep moving forward,” McElroy commanded. “We may only get a couple of seconds before another wave of those dead fuckers from the town come swarming over us.”
We edged along the jetty, stepping over corpses that bled all over the white wooden planks. The final few zombies in the pack fell at the point where the jetty met the sandy beach. McElroy raised his arm, signaling for Dunne, Duffy and McDonnell to cease their gunfire. The men on the boat complied and an eerie silence fell across the bay for a few seconds. The stillness was interrupted by collective moans and groans from the undead streaming from the town center towards the sea front.
McElroy turned and waved at the boat. It was the signal that we were now cut loose and on our own from now on.
“Come on, guys, let’s move,” McElroy said, turning back. “You lead the way to the truck, Smith.”
“Sure,” Smith said. “It’s on the road up on that rise on the edge of town.” He flicked his eyes towards the inclining ground beyond the sea front.
“Okay, well, we better get a move on,” McElroy said. “Everybody make your weapons ready. We don’t know how soon we’ll have to use them.”
We slung the rifles off of our shoulders, cocked the mechanisms and held the weapons so the barrels pointed at the ground but prepared to use them in an instant if need be. Smith led the way from the sea front and through the narrow streets. The moans from the undead echoed around every building.
The air was humid and clammy inland and I knew it was going to be a long and perilous haul through the town. I just hoped we could get to the truck without encountering any life threatening difficulties.
CHAPTER NINE
The streets became narrower and the ground inclined more steeply the further we trudged through the town. Sweat caused the black combat fatigues to stick to my body and I took regular swigs of water as we moved. We dodged large numbers of undead through side alleys and backyards and kept silent with Smith pointing the way forward. The pungent stench of rotting food, decaying flesh and blocked drains attracted clouds of flies in every street.
We turned a corner between two stone buildings and Smith was forced to smash the butt of his rifle into the face of a ghoul who lurked too close. The skinny male zombie, clad in filthy remains of a t-shirt and beach shorts collapsed in a heap onto the cobbles covering the surface of the street. Smith lunged forward and stomped on the creature’s head, presumably to ensure it wasn’t going to get up again.
We continued onward and upward, every step seemed increasingly hard going. A growing number of undead followed us up through town and we had to keep our distance between us and them.
“How much further?” Wingate whispered. She wiped sweat from her forehead and breathed heavily. “It’s hard to breathe in this air.”
“Not much longer,” Smith said. “The outer town limits are just up ahead.” He glanced upward and nodded to a cluster of buildings lining the edge of the road.
I felt exhausted but didn’t want to complain too loudly due to my earlier lateness and I also wanted to show the rest of the guys I could still pull my weight while on a mission.
It felt like another hour had ticked by when we reached the dust covered road at the edge of the town. In reality, it had probably only taken us another ten minutes to reach the hill’s summit.
“Where’s the truck, Smith?” McElroy asked.
Smith glanced around, panting heavily. “I left it right there, over by that barn.” He pointed to our right towards a dilapidated wooden structure, which looked as though it would be nothing more than matchwood if somebody blew on it.
“I don’t see the truck anywhere,” McElroy said.
We moved cautiously towards the barn that stood in the shade of a clump of tall fir trees. Dante looked as though he was going to fall flat on his face with fatigue.
“You think somebody might’ve moved it?” Wingate asked.
Smith shrugged. “I doubt it but it’s possible.”
The plan seemed to be going badly already. A sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach nearly made me retch. I drank more water, trying to wash the feeling of nausea away.
We circled around the opposite side of the barn and the shade provided by the tree branches overhead was a slight relief from the humid heat. The back end of the big, green military truck leaned at an angle against the dry wooden barn wall. The whole armored vehicle seemed to have been wedged against the side of the barn in an impossible maneuver.
“Well, that’s not the place I left it,” Smith said, shaking his head.
“Did you put the park brake on?” Wingate quizzed. “Maybe you forgot and the whole thing rolled forward.”
Smith’s mouth hung open for a couple of seconds. “Maybe that’s how it went down. I had Dante here along with me and one of those SMAWs when I came back from the airport. I figured I had to get back down to the beach front quickly to save Wilde Man.” He flashed me a quick glance.
I nodded, Smith was right. He had saved my bacon that time when the militia sniper was about to blow me away. But he had also used me as bait to flush the sniper and the militia leader out from their hidden position.
“All right, let’s not worry about the why’s and wherefore’s,” McElroy said. “Let’s just try and get the bloody thing started so we can get out of here. The undead are going to be following us up the hill and I don’t want to still be here when they reach the top.”
“Can you even reach the truck’s hood to lift it?” Wingate asked, stepping closer around the side of the vehicle. “It looks like the whole front end is stuck in that bush.” She pointed to the engine compartment and she was right. Around a third of the truck was embedded inside a thick tangle of spiky plants, right up to the windshield.
“Shit,” Smith spat. “We can’t even roll it backwards to get at the hood. Damn thing will be too heavy.”
“I know the engine probably won’t turn over but just try firing it up inside the cab, Smith,” McElroy suggested. “You can still reach the driver’s door from here.” He pointed at the side of the truck and the door was only partially covered by weeds. “I presume you left the keys in the ignition?”
“Yeah, I did. Okay, Mac, I’ll give it a go,” Smith sighed. He moved towards the truck, pulled away the clump of weeds entwined with the step and opened the door. He stepped back away from the cab, raising his rifle to cover any attacks from inside.
The cab was dark and grimy, green mold covered the glass on all sides but empty of hostiles, alive or dead. A stench of stale sweat and dampness wafted out through the door. Smith shouldered his rifle, climbed inside the cab and slid onto the driver’s seat. He familiarized himself with the vehicle’s controls for a couple of seconds, checked the park brake and the gear lever then turned the ignition key. The starter whined a co
uple of times before petering out into a serious of whirrs and clicks. There wasn’t enough juice left in the battery to fire up the big diesel engine.
“There’s only one thing for it,” McElroy said. “We’ll have to clear that bush so we can get to the truck’s engine.”
“Damn it,” Smith spat, thumping the dash with a clenched fist. “You were right, Sarah. I didn’t put the park brake on when I stopped the truck last time. I guess I figured we weren’t going to need the vehicle no more.”
“Don’t beat yourself up, Smith,” McElroy said, shaking his head. “Not much we can do about it now. You need to hop down out of that cab and give me a hand clearing this shit away from the front end.”
“Sure,” Smith muttered and clambered down from the side of the vehicle.
I followed McElroy and Smith towards the bush obscuring the vehicle’s hood.
“We better put on our tactical gloves,” Smith said, pointing at the hedge plant. “Those spikes on those vines will rip our hands to shreds.”
“Tactical gloves won’t provide too much protection,” McElroy sighed, reaching into his webbing. “But I agree it’s better than no protection at all.”
We pulled out the Russian made gloves from the pouches on our belts. The tactical gloves were solidly made of tough black leather with padding around the back of the fist and along the knuckles. They were great for use in hard terrain but gardening gloves they weren’t. The tips of the fingers were left open for easy use of operating a firearm. The spiky plant was going to tear through our fingertips unless we were ultra careful.
Clearing the bush was going to be a long, painful and laborious operation.
CHAPTER TEN
Emilio Dante hadn’t even been issued any tactical gloves and he gingerly prodded the strands of the bush with a stick. McElroy and Smith got stuck in, wrenching away long, spiky stems from the armored truck’s hood. I gave it a go but almost immediately pierced my right forefinger on a large reddish brown barb.
The Left Series (Book 7): Left Amongst The Corpses Page 4
