“Ready to go, kid?” he asked.
“A-ha,” I muttered.
“Okay, keep close to the walls and don’t make any unnecessary sound.”
“Gotcha,” I said.
Smith motioned sideways with his head. “Come on then, tough guy. Let’s get hiking.”
Chapter Thirty
One thing worried me about our little outdoor excursion. No, that wasn’t strictly true. Many things worried me about our little outdoor excursion but one detail in particular. We skirted around the outside of the vast building, stopping at every corner and angle to check the coast was clear around the sides of the walls. We’d been moving along beside the outer walls for a few minutes before I decided to air my concerns.
“Smith, how are we going to manage to carry all those packs between the two of us?”
“We’ll figure something out, kid,” Smith grunted. “Anyhow, didn’t I say not to make any unnecessary noise?”
“Ah, right,” I muttered. I worried what Smith was going to figure out once we were confronted by a horde of hungry zombies, while struggling with a bunch of heavy rucksacks.
The ten minutes Smith had predicted soon expired and the Range Rover was still nowhere in sight. We crept by several snow laden, immobile vehicles and a few gangs of undead, huddling together amongst the freezing mist in the hospital grounds, at around twenty five yards from the outer walls. Smith put his finger to his lips and we silently slinked by unseen.
I started to think we were totally in the wrong location when we rounded a corner and I recognized the overhanging canopy above the reception entrance. The Range Rover still sat in the spot we’d left it but was almost unrecognizable under a covering of thick snow. Several zombies still wandered around the area, trudging around in slow circles in front of the reception area and beneath the canopy. Some of the undead moved in and out of the building where we’d first entered the hospital.
Smith and I ducked back around the corner and peeked around the side of the wall, surveying the location.
“What do you think?” I asked. “Maybe we could get in the car and drive it back around to the fire door.”
Smith shook his head. “The battery will probably be flat by now. The cold weather saps the shit out of them and I don’t want to risk getting caught out there and surrounded if the car won’t start.” He nodded to the reception doorway. “We could use one of those wheelchairs to carry the packs.”
“You think?” I sighed. “Won’t they tip out?”
“Not if you keep it tilted back with the back wheels towards you and the front wheels off the ground.”
I didn’t like the way Smith said ‘you’ in his explanation. It sounded as though I was going to be pushing the wheelchair through the snow on our return trip.
“Okay, so what’s the plan?” I dared to ask.
“I’ll go and unlock the car while you go grab a wheelchair from inside the foyer. We’ll unload the backpacks and then hot foot it back to the fire door. We’ll be enjoying a smoke and a shot of the good stuff in no time, right kid?” Smith rabbit punched me on the shoulder.
I swore he only did these crazy things at times because he was bored and wanted some kind of excitement to liven up our dreary existence.
“Sounds peachy,” I sighed.
Smith seemed oblivious to my sarcasm and slapped me on the shoulder. “Okay, let’s go.”
Before I had time to voice my opinion, Smith rushed from the corner of the building, wielding the machete and heading towards the snow covered vehicle.
“Ah, crap,” I groaned. “Here we go again.”
Smith had nearly reached the Range Rover by the time I bolted from the corner and headed for the hospital foyer. The groans and cries from the undead grew in volume as they spotted two live bodies for probably the first time in a long while. I tightly gripped my Hurley stick, holding the flat bladed end out in front of me as I ran. A male ghoul, with wispy gray hair and a decaying gray face turned from the hospital doorway and lumbered towards me.
Smith reached the Range Rover and sliced through the heads of a couple of undead loitering around the side of the car. The gray faced zombie opened his mouth wide and made a loud lowing sound, not dissimilar to a grazing cow. He raised his arms as if he was about to grab me in a bear hug. I jabbed the hurley blade sharply into his gaping mouth, expecting to ram him backwards and knock him off his feet. The hurley stick butted hard into the front of the gray ghoul’s face, shattering brown stained teeth and splitting the flesh at either side of his jaw. I heard a cracking sound and felt a little shocked when the ghoul’s lower jaw became totally detached from the head and tumbled into the snow between us. Shooting the undead in the head with a firearm was one thing but willful mutilation still felt slightly wrong.
I shoved the Hurley stick forward and the gray ghoul indeed did go over on its back. I made to retrieve my weapon but the damn thing had made a bloody groove and was lodged in the lower part of the zombie’s face. I wiggled the shaft backwards and forwards, producing a sickening squelching sound while trying to pull my stick free. The gray ghoul writhed around on the ground, attempting to claw at my legs. I took a quick glance at the Range Rover and saw Smith fumbling in his pocket for the keys while slicing the air with his machete.
Zombies seemed to emerging through the mist from all directions and I knew we didn’t have much time if we wanted to get away in one piece.
“Damn it,” I spat, wrenching the hurley stick.
I heard a sucking noise and felt slightly nauseous when the remainder of the gray ghoul’s head gave way and slid through the snow, disconnected from the body in a pulpy mess.
“Ah, for fuck’s sake,” I gasped, trying not to gag against the stench of rotten flesh.
I quickly wiped the soupy concoction of thickened brown blood and gore off the stick in the snow and rushed towards the main reception doors. A female zombie with long, matted red hair and old blood smears across her face stepped out of the doorway, directly in front of me. The red head ghoul immediately caught sight of me and growled like a dog guarding its territory.
I seriously wanted to avoid another time consuming encounter so I swung the stick in a sweeping forward motion, so the blade smacked width ways into Red Head’s face. The blow was sufficient enough to knock her off balance and the back of her head cracked against the wall beside the reception doorway.
Another male zombie, wearing the grubby remains of a green and white striped soccer shirt lunged at me from my left. I back swung the hurley stick and the edge of the blade sliced into the side of the guy’s head. The ghoul sunk to his knees before toppling face first onto the ground.
I took another glance over to the car and saw the top of Smith’s head over the roof. He swore in muttered breaths as he tried to open the rear compartment. The Range Rover rocked on its suspension and Smith roared something inaudible but I knew by his tone he was growing frustrated. I noticed more zombies lurching closer, materializing out of the mist and closing all around us.
“What’s the problem?” I hissed.
“The fucking problem is the god damn lock is frozen up,” Smith roared back.
Chapter Thirty-One
Smith frantically tugged at the rear compartment hatch but it wouldn’t budge.
“Do you want me to still go fetch the wheelchair?” I asked, nervously glancing at the approaching herd of undead.
“Yeah, hurry up and get the fucking chair,” Smith yelled.
His frustration was boiling over and all the unnecessary hollering drew the zombies to us like moths around a light bulb. Smith took huge swipes with the machete at any undead who stumbled too close but I knew we’d have to retreat before we were surrounded by the swelling number of ghouls.
Red Head came at me again and I thrust the hurley blade at her head. This time I jabbed the stick with the blade edge pointed at her forehead. The jab left a horizontal gash in her head and I heard a rumble before she staggered backward then slithered down the wall
. The hurley stick was a useful killing weapon I had to keep hold of.
Smith slashed at the undead slowly encircling him and I worried he was too focused on trying to retrieve the packs to know when to quit. I was torn between fetching the wheelchair from the reception foyer and helping Smith with the trunk compartment hatch. The craving for nicotine was forcing Smith to become slightly reckless in his modus operandi.
I decided to try and get the wheelchair for fear of falling foul of Smith’s wrath if I didn’t. He’d have to fend for himself for the moment.
I moved so I stood directly in front of the reception doors. Remembering what happened with the ghoulish doctor last time I opened the double doors, I grabbed the handle, yanked hard and took a couple of backward paces. The door swung open but no undead stood on guard directly inside the building. A bunch of zombies milled around inside the foyer and stopped to stare as the sunlight lit up the gloomy reception area. I knew I’d have to move quickly to retrieve one of the wheelchairs, before the undead came at me in numbers.
Taking in a few deep breaths, I rushed through the double doors and into the foyer. I slid on the glass chips on the reception floor and nearly lost my footing. The undead stopped whatever they were previously occupied with and headed in my direction.
“Ah, shit,” I gasped, struggling to regain my balance. “Why did I let Smith talk me into this?”
The cluster of wheelchairs still stood by the reception desk and I never thought I’d be returning back to the place where I’d grabbed the gurney trolley for Cordoba. I mentally pushed away a sudden pang of sadness threatening to enter my mind. I had to keep focused and concentrate on what I was doing. This was no time for sentiment or pining for the past.
I took a big, upward swing with the hurley stick at a rotund, bald headed male zombie in a crumpled brown suit. The flat of the blade smacked home against the bottom of the guy’s chin, lifting him off his feet and sending him crashing backward into a female ghoul following in his path. The undead couple collapsed onto the floor a few feet from where I stood. I didn’t have time to finish them off, as the zombie horde gradually loomed closer.
I took a quick glance behind me to check no undead had come through the doors to my rear. The entrance was clear but I knew it wouldn’t remain unguarded for long. I hurried to the half dozen or so wheelchairs bunched in front of the reception desk. A female ghoul in a white hospital gown lurched over one of the wheelchairs on the far side of the cluster. She screeched, reaching out and clawing the air with blackened fingernails, a few feet from my face.
“Fuck off,” I spat, gripping hold of the handles at the back of the nearest chair in front of me.
I had to tuck the hurley stick under my right arm to maneuver the wheelchair with any control. The woman in the white gown stumbled but managed to move around the chairs towards me. My chair wouldn’t budge and I felt a flutter of panic until I realized the brake was still applied. I flicked off the brake lever but the white gowned ghoul trudged closer towards me, holding out her arms with talon fingers. Her face was screwed up in a sneering mask of hatred with her lips curled back over her teeth.
Using the hurley stick wasn’t a defensive option and my handgun was tucked away in my jacket. I swung the wheelchair around in a sideways motion so the damn thing would be positioned between me and the attacking female ghoul. I heard a crunching, snapping sound and the female sunk to her left and collapsed onto the ground.
I leaned to my right and took a brief glance to see what the heck had just happened. The female zombie lay on the floor with her leg bent out at a sideways angle, scrabbling to try and get up but the leg was obviously broken. I hadn’t noticed the chunky, metal foot rest, lowly fixed at the front of the chair. The foot rest had obviously connected with the side of the woman’s leg and thankfully put her out of action.
“All this damn hassle for a pack of smokes, a change of clothes and a slug of whiskey,” I sighed.
I pushed the wheelchair forwards, through the spread of glass chips and headed for the double doors, which luckily still hung open. A skinny, naked male zombie lurched through the doorway in front of me. The ghoul looked like he’d been dead for a long while. His skin was covered in patches of blue and purple mingled with tinges of gray. Shredded flesh surrounded heavy tear wounds in his abdomen and around his neck and shoulders. The naked zombie opened his mouth and emitted a throaty croak.
I didn’t have the time to mess around with this guy so I sped up my pace, aiming the chair directly at the hideous, unclothed figure in front of me. I heard a crunch of snapping bones and the wheelchair jolted in my hands. The naked zombie folded up in front of me and his head smashed against the seat. I carried on regardless, the ghoul’s body rocked back under the motion of the wheelchair and I heard the sound of more bones snapping as he was crushed beneath the wheels and chair frame.
The wheelchair bumped over the naked zombie’s body and I nearly tripped over on his emaciated, twisted legs. I gripped the chair handles to keep my feet and kicked out at his withered hands that tried to grab at my clothing. His snarling face was a covered with a mass of bodily liquid that no longer even resembled blood. I stomped at the disfigured head with the heel of my boot and heard a satisfying crack as his skull came apart. Sometimes my own brutality surprised me when natural survival instincts kicked in. Anything I said earlier about feeling bad about committing horrific, murderous acts was pure bullshit.
I was happy to get out of the dank smelling building and back into the open air. Smith hadn’t been overwhelmed by the undead but still struggled to open the trunk compartment. His face was a mask of seething, pissed off rage.
“Come on, you stupid motherfucking piece of shit,” he growled through gritted teeth, wrenching at the hatch handle.
I dodged the outstretched arms of a few straggling zombies making their way towards the Range Rover and ran the wheelchair towards the car’s rear compartment. The wheels skidded through the snow, making steering the damn thing with any control extremely difficult.
Every couple of seconds, Smith turned and took zigzagging swipes with the machete at any ghoul that came within striking distance. Terminated and decapitated zombies littered the ground immediately surrounding him. Pools of blood and pulpy gore seeped into the snow around the rear of the vehicle.
I tried to get nearer to Smith but he was encircled by too many undead. We were going to be forced to abandon our expedition empty handed. But Smith relentlessly jerked at the trunk compartment handle, intent on not being beaten by the hatch, frozen in place.
“We’re going to have to make a tactical retreat, Smith,” I called.
Several undead heard my voice and turned to confront me.
“No fucking way,” Smith raged. “I’m getting those packs if it kills me.”
The situation probably would end up killing him. Smith was acting like so many people we’d encountered in the past. Hell bent on achieving a task even though they were surrounded by flesh eating ghouls. I’d witnessed the same scenario so many times.
If I wasn’t so fond of Smith, I’d have turned away and left him there but like an idiot, I stayed where I was and tried to coax him away from the vehicle.
Chapter Thirty-Two
“Smith, come on, forget about it,” I barked. “We have to go.”
A tall female zombie with messy, short blonde hair bared her teeth and her jaws came with a whisker of Smith’s ear before he shrugged the ghoul off and hacked its head to smithereens. I knew when Smith was in the crazed zone, when the red mist had descended and clouded his judgment. There was no telling what the guy would do when he was boiling over with rage.
Around a half dozen zombies lumbered towards me and more staggered through the mist in close proximity. All the undead in the near vicinity were probably attracted by Smith’s loud and crazed ranting. My companion should have known better. Secondly, I should have known better than to go along with this half assed idea.
“Let’s get out of here, Smith,
” I tried again. “This area is too damn hot.” I gripped hold of my hurley stick, ready to start swinging at the approaching undead.
Smith sniffed and turned to look directly at me. His eyes were wide in rage and he shook his body in kind of jerked in spasms while standing his ground. He pointed the machete blade in my direction.
“You stay where the fuck you are, Wilde Man,” he growled. “We’re getting those packs out of this fucking car even if we have to kill a million of these worthless fucks.” Smith sliced the blade with a backward swing, decapitating yet another zombie who came at him from behind. Blood and gore spattered his clothing as though he’d worked a shift in a butcher’s store.
I estimated he had around six feet of clear space around him. He was good with the machete, I’d give him that but he couldn’t stand there all day while zombies piled up in a line behind him. Even the mighty Smith would be brought down under the masses sooner or later.
I grabbed hold of my stick and took a couple of backward steps, swatting at the zombies closing in on me. Smith’s fate was hanging in the balance but he was the master of his own destiny. He’d told me ‘shit just happens and it’s how you deal with it that counts’ on that stairway down to the incinerator. Right now he had the choice to save himself but he was walking a thin line. The shit that was happening was of his own making.
“Forget it, Smith,” I yelled again. “Let’s get the hell away from here. Let’s get back inside.”
Smith didn’t answer me. He hacked at a couple more encroaching zombies with the machete before he reached into his jacket and pulled out his M-9 handgun.
“Fuck you, asshole,” he screeched. He aimed the firearm at the rear window and pulled the trigger several times.
The booming sound of gunshots reverberated around the area and echoed beneath the canopy. The Range Rover’s rear window disintegrated under the fired rounds, causing glass chips to spray over Smith and implode inside the interior.
The Left Series (Book 5): Left On The Run Page 14
