The Left Series (Book 5): Left On The Run

by Fletcher, Christian

  “What about this guy?” Cordoba asked, pointing down to an older man, who looked as though he was in his fifties with thinning dark hair and a bushy gray beard. The man was small but wizened looking. His pale blue eyes burned in anger and he remained silent, despite suffering a gunshot wound to his right ankle, which must have stung like a bastard.

  “I don’t like the look of that guy. He looks nasty but he’ll do,” Smith snorted. “Be wary though and check their pockets for any shanks or other weapons.”

  We moved into the bar and checked out our gathered prisoners. Cordoba found a small knife inside the old guy’s jacket and Smith discovered Puffer Jacket had concealed a cut throat razor in his pants pocket. My guy, Ginger was clear of all weapons but he did smell a little violently of body odor and unwashed hair.

  “What do we do with all these shooters?” Jimmy asked. He’d lined the guy’s weapons up along the bar counter.

  “Unload them and take the ammo,” Smith instructed. “We don’t have room in these rucksacks for any more gear but we can slip the mags into the side pockets. We’ll check if the ammo is a matching caliber at some point later.”

  Jimmy nodded and Wingate helped him unload the firearms and store the spare magazines into their backpacks.

  “What about them?” Batfish nodded towards the corridor.

  Smith glanced back and closed the door. “Forget about those guys. They can’t get very far.”

  I glanced towards the front windows when I heard a deep male voice shouting from across the street outside.

  “Stewie? Stewie, what’s going down there?” The voice had a thick Glaswegian accent and he pronounced the word ‘down’ as ‘doon.’

  “Okay, hikers?” Smith asked the three injured guys lined up by the front door. “Let’s get hiking.” He pushed Puffer Jacket towards the pub exit.

  Chapter Six

  An icy cold draft blasted through the entranceway when Puffer Jacket pulled open the front door onto the street. Smith gripped Puffer jacket firmly by the shoulders, hunching behind as he guided him outside. Puffer Jacket hobbled on his injured leg and raised his hands above his head. I followed Smith out of the pub with Ginger in front of me and the barrel of my M-9 handgun jammed against the side of his neck. Batfish huddled behind me and I quickly moved alongside Smith. Wingate and Jimmy clumped behind the old, wizened guy and exited the pub behind me. Cordoba came out last, covering the buildings opposite with her scoped M-16 rifle.

  The wind whistled along the narrow street but the snow had stopped falling. The sky was a deep blue color as dawn rapidly approached.

  We huddled behind the three injured figures and guided them into a horizontal line, facing the buildings opposite.

  “Dinnae shoot, Clarkie,” Puffer Jacket wailed to his comrades on the roof tops. “We got jumped by these bampots. I’m sorry, Clarkie, man.”

  I assumed this ‘Clarkie’ guy was the leader of this little band of desperados and maybe he was the aggressive tall guy we’d encountered in Bellahouston Park the previous day. He’d warned us not to linger in the area and threatened violent consequences if we didn’t leave. Hopefully, he’d take pity on his injured colleagues and let us leave without any more disruption.

  “We’re all shot up, Clarkie,” Puffer Jacket continued. “You should see what they did to poor, wee Mackenzie. They burned him up, man. The big man behind me is a fucking animal, so he is.”

  “Okay, that’s enough of the hysterics,” Smith growled. He glanced at the rest of us. “They’re not shooting yet but let’s move before they come up with a plan. Which way do we want to go, Jimmy?”

  I glanced at Jimmy when he took more than a few seconds to answer the question. His face was creased in a pained expression and I almost heard his brain ticking over in thought.

  “Come on, Jimmy,” Smith whispered. “Which way do we get out of here?”

  “That way,” Jimmy said, nodding his head to the right.

  I wasn’t totally convinced Jimmy knew where to go but we couldn’t stand still for much longer. We edged to our right, slowly shuffling the injured men in front of us. Ginger groaned and nearly fell over and I had to force him with my free hand to remain standing.

  “You won’t get far, ya bastards,” a voice boomed from the flat roof tops above us. “Those are some good guys you’ve got with you down there. Don’t you fucking dare kill them. We’ll be coming aftae youse. Don’t you worry aboot that.”

  I didn’t expect Clarkie or whoever was shouting at us to say anything different. We’d continuously been hunted since the undead outbreak began. A few pissed off, hostile Glaswegians weren’t going to make much of a difference to our plight.

  “Stay where you are on the roofs or these guys get slaughtered,” Smith yelled back. “Put down your guns and nobody gets hurt.”

  I listened but didn’t hear any clattering sounds of grounded firearms.

  “They’re not playing ball, Smith,” I whispered, feeling a rising sense of panic.

  “I didn’t expect them to,” Smith replied. “Just keep moving, kid and keep your eyes on those buildings. If you see muzzle flashes or hear a shot then open up at them, but keep these guys in place in front of you.”

  I gulped and nodded, noticing shadowy figures moving along the roof tops above us.

  “Stay still or these guys get their throats slit,” Smith boomed.

  Puffer Jacket audibly whimpered at the severity of Smith’s threat.

  “Remember what I said,” Smith snarled in the guy’s ear. “Keep quiet and you might live through the next ten minutes.”

  “My leg is fucking killing me, man,” Puffer Jacket huffed. “I think I’m going to pass out.”

  Smith moved his head backward away from his captive when Puffer Jacket vomited violently into the snow on the ground.

  “Nice, real nice, pal,” Smith muttered, wincing at the pungent stench of puke.

  Ginger remained silent in front of me, but I noticed he too was starting to flag. He stumbled with increasing regularity and I was forced to keep him steady. Only the old bearded guy in front of Wingate and Jimmy seemed to be keeping his poise.

  “They’re going into freefall, Smith,” Wingate whispered. “They’re suffering from blood loss and shock, not to mention they’ve probably endured bone fragmentation. Why did you have to shoot them? Couldn’t you have just taken them hostage?”

  “Ah, they wouldn’t have listened,” Smith protested. “Besides, there were more of them than us. No way they would have quit and surrendered without a fight.”

  We edged further towards the end of the street and I took another glance at the roof tops opposite. I couldn’t see any silhouetted figures but that didn’t mean they weren’t there. I had the horrible feeling that those guys were watching us from the shadows, ready to rain gunfire on us as soon as we thought we were safe.

  Ginger was shivering violently and nearly went face first onto the sidewalk again. I had to haul him upright and hold him firmly in place.

  “I’m having a hard time keeping this guy with me, Smith,” I moaned. Ginger made incoherent groaning noises as though he was trying to speak. “I think he’s just about done.”

  “Okay, we’ll ditch these guys when we reach the next street and we’ll have to hot foot it away from this neighborhood,” Smith said.

  “We’re getting close to the danger zone,” Puffer Jacket muttered. “The district we’re approaching is still crawling with rival gangs, as well as the undead.”

  “No wonder those guys weren’t too keen to follow us,” Batfish groaned.

  “Well, we can’t go back so we’ll just have to grin and bear it,” Smith said.

  “What are our plans?” Wingate asked, concern evident in her facial expression. “Where are we headed?”

  “Right now, we’re heading out of this fucking street,” Smith sighed. “Let’s just take one thing at a time, shall we?”

  Wingate huffed and gazed up at the buildings. “Looks as though those guys have
disappeared up there.”

  “Let’s not get our hopes up too high,” Cordoba said.

  We reached the street corner and Smith glanced up and down the deserted road running horizontally behind us.

  “Which way now, Jimmy?”

  Jimmy turned and looked along the main road. He looked anxious and confused at the same time. “We’re heading to Pollokshields if we go right, and towards the motorway if we go left. I don’t know which is the best route to follow.”

  “Well, we need to hurry it up and make a decision,” Batfish said. “Those guys said they were going to come after us and I for one, want to put some distance between us before they start heading our way.”

  “The motorway boundary is the end of the safe zone,” Puffer Jacket spluttered, staggering on his injured leg.

  “Don’t tell them that, you dumb shite,” the old, bearded guy spat, speaking for the first time in our company. “Maybe they would have headed that way and gotten themselves eaten. Now, they know to avoid that route.”

  “Shut the fuck up, Grandpa,” Smith barked, glaring at the old guy. “Nobody asked you for your god damn opinion.” He turned his gaze back to Jimmy. “Okay, so what’s in Pollokshields, or whatever its damn name is?”

  Jimmy shrugged. “Nothing really, a few old buildings but there used to be quite a few violent gangs roaming about the place. I’m not sure if it’s a good idea to head on in there if there’s more folk like these.” He nodded at our three hostages. “There used to be all out war on the streets down there.”

  Smith sighed. “Okay, what’s beyond the motorway border, apart from a whole bunch of zombies?”

  “We’ll hit the River Clyde if we keep heading north beyond the motorway,” Jimmy explained.

  Smith turned back to Puffer Jacket. “Does the safe zone end on this side of the motorway or the opposite side?”

  “What?” the guy spluttered. It was obvious he was having a hard time standing on his injured leg. His face was drained of color and screwed in pain.

  “The fence or barrier or whatever the fuck you put up to keep those dead heads out of your area, which side of the Freeway or motorway or whatever you assholes call it?” Smith seethed.

  “The opposite side,” Puffer Jacket groaned. “The barrier is on the other side but you’ll nae find a running motor to drive through it.”

  “That’s not what I asked,” Smith snapped.

  Puffer Jacket squirmed on the spot then collapsed into the snow on his back with his eyes closed.

  “He’s out cold,” Wingate said, crouching beside his body. “His wound needs treating.”

  “We don’t have god damn time for that,” Smith groaned. “Okay, let’s go. We’re going to head towards Pollokshields.”

  “What?” Batfish squawked. “And head right into the path of more of these damn bandits?”

  Smith nodded and turned back to the hostages. “Take a pew and wait for your buddies, boys.” Ginger and the old guy both sagged into the snow. “But if I see either of your ugly mugs again and you try and come after us, I’m going to shoot you in your busted-ass faces, capisce?”

  Ginger nodded and grunted an inaudible reply but the old guy didn’t respond. He grimaced and rolled up the pants on his injured leg.

  Smith turned and headed to the right along the street. The rest of us stood still for a moment, glanced at each other with confused expressions then reluctantly followed along behind Smith, leaving the two injured guys sitting in the snow on the sidewalk.

  “It’s not a very safe area we’re heading for,” Jimmy muttered as he walked beside me. “Last time I was over that way, an Asian guy threatened to cut open my guts with a mahoosive blade. I’m telling you, man, I nearly shite myself, so I did.”

  “Okay, Jimmy,” I sighed. “I get the picture.”

  I hurriedly caught up with Smith, although I struggled to keep pace with his long strides. Walking alongside him, I pulled the rucksack straps so the bag sat between my shoulders.

  “Didn’t you hear what Jimmy said?” I asked him. “He said the area was crawling with street gangs. We don’t need another situation like the one we’ve just left behind.”

  Smith turned his head and glared at me. “We’re not heading into Pollokshields, you dumbass. I just said that to throw those guys off our scent. I wasn’t going to stand there and let them know what we’re doing so they can follow our asses.” He pointed to a road junction ahead of us. “We’re going to loop around the block and make tracks to the motorway and then head for the river. We may get lucky and find a boat to take us the hell out of the city.”

  “Ah,” I said, nodding my head. “Good plan.”

  We followed the road and I kept glancing back over my shoulder to check the hostile guys weren’t in pursuit. The three injured men still sprawled in the spot where we’d left them. Smith quietly relayed his plan to the others when they moved into earshot.

  “I’m glad about that,” Jimmy said. “Nasty bastards in Pollokshields. I wasn’t keen on going on through there.”

  “No shit, Jimmy,” Smith sneered. “I knew that by the dumbass look on your face when I was asking you where to go.”

  “I just got a bad vibe about the place is all,” Jimmy sighed.

  We turned the corner, into a side street lined with large detached houses, surrounded by snow covered trees and hedges.

  “Say we do find a boat, what then?” Batfish asked.

  Smith shrugged. “I don’t know. Get the hell out of Glasgow, I suppose.”

  “And go where?” Batfish persisted. “It seems to me that this whole trip to Scotland has been a total waste of time. It’s no better here than anyplace else and it’s so damn cold.”

  “Yeah, I thought the whole point of coming to Glasgow City was to hole up someplace for the remainder of the winter?” Wingate added. “And now you’re talking about getting out of here already. When are we going to stop running, Smith?”

  I gulped and glanced to the ground, feeling guilty. It was my idea and my enthusiastic persistence that had led us away from the United States and landed us in the United Kingdom by taking a flight on a military aircraft across the Atlantic with false promises of a better life. Now we were marooned here and right in the center of a bad situation. Things hadn’t gotten any better since we’d arrived in Scotland. In fact, I’d say our plight was a damn sight worse.

  “We’ll try and figure that out if and when we get to the river,” Smith muttered. “Let’s just make certain we get away from that gang of goons in the first place. They’re going to be pissed with us for a while and we have to put a few miles distance between us.”

  The blue haze of night rapidly faded and the sky remained gray and overcast. The air was still cold but at least the snow had ceased falling. We took another left turn at the side street corner, doubling back on ourselves and heading north. We walked by road signs with their directions masked by a splattering of snow. Jimmy wiped his hand over one of the sign’s fascias, trying to find out how far we had to travel to find the motorway. The sign didn’t tell us anything we wanted to know, it only directed the way to Dumbreck train station. All the tree lined avenues around us looked exactly the same.

  “You sure you know where we’re going, Jimmy?” I asked as we came to a halt at the end of another road.

  Jimmy glanced around. “I’m a little confused right now but if we keep heading this way, we should come to the route we want.”

  “We don’t have a great deal of time to fuck around, Jimmy,” Smith said. “Those guys aren’t going to be thrown off our scent forever. They have a patrol vehicle, don’t forget. You certain we’re going the right way?”

  Jimmy nodded and looked slightly offended. “Aye, I’m sure. I may not be an A-Z of Glasgow but I roughly know my way around each part of the city.”

  Smith shrugged. “Okay, Jimmy. It’s your call. You’re the tour guide of this little excursion.”

  “Tour guide? Is that what I am?” Jimmy smiled and seemed to be
boosted by Smith’s interpretation of him.

  Smith grinned. “Oh, absolutely, kid. You’re totally Grizzly Adams for this outing.”

  Jimmy sniggered and looked to the ground, obviously embarrassed. I wasn’t sure if he’d even heard of old Grizzly.

  “Look, guys,” Batfish sighed. “Can we please keep moving? We’re just asking for trouble by hanging on these street corners out in the open.”

  I had to agree. We had spent too much time walking around the once prestigious neighborhood of Bellahouston without gaining any real ground on the hostile residents. Jimmy waved us forward and we started to move again in a northerly direction. We stopped dead in our tracks when we heard the crack of gunfire echo between the houses along the street.

  Chapter Seven

  “Where the hell did that shot come from?” Wingate gasped.

  Smith glanced up and down the road. “I can’t tell and I’m not sure who or what they were shooting at. It’s possible the shooter could be aiming at us or somebody else but I don’t think we should hang out to find out for sure.”

  “No,” I agreed, nervously looking around the darkened windows of the surrounding houses. “That shooter could be any old place.”

  We took a left turn along the adjoining side road, with Jimmy leading. I half expected a bullet to hit me in the back at any moment. The sound of a whining engine from somewhere behind the row of houses to my left caused me to stop walking. The others also stopped and turned towards me.

  “Hear that?” I whispered, pointing in the direction of the mechanical noise.

  “Yeah, I hear it,” Smith said.

  Batfish glanced around the street. “Why don’t we hide out in one of these houses until they pass by?”

  Nobody had time to answer her question. A low moaning from a front garden to our left caused all our heads to turn in the direction of the sound. Snow fell from the branches of a low growing bush that shook and rustled as a figure staggered from behind the foliage. The animated body of an elderly, gray haired man lurched through the snow, approaching the garden’s front gate. I instinctively raised my M-9 handgun and Cordoba and Jimmy also brought their firearms to the ready. The old ghoul had obviously long since departed his previous life. The skin on his face peeled away in hanging gray strips and deep red and purple rings surrounded his dark eye sockets. The remains of a beige colored suit hung from his body with rips and tears revealing a multitude of bite wounds amongst the partially rotting flesh.