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

by Fletcher, Christian

  I nodded and hauled myself to my feet.

  “You guys be careful when you get out there, okay?” Wingate warned, pointing a finger at Smith and I. “If you get caught, don’t tell them you were with the refugees who escaped.”

  “I don’t plan on telling them anything,” I huffed.

  “Come on, Wilde Man,” Smith said, grabbing my shoulder. “Let’s go down to the armory.” He turned back to Wingate and Batfish. “We’ll see you guys on the bus.”

  I muttered a ‘bye’ and ruffled Spot’s head before we headed back down the long staircase.

  McElroy, Hannigen and four other guys were already sitting around in the armory waiting for us. The guys were already kitted out in black combat fatigues and had ski masks planted on the tops of their heads but rolled up to reveal their faces. I recognized them and had met them on the upper floor at some time or another.

  Smith took his Russian Army uniform off the coat hook and folded it into a ball.

  “I may need this later,” he said, stuffing the clothing into a black plastic trash sack.

  “Okay, everybody listen up,” McElroy shouted. “A few of us know each other but for those who haven’t met, I’ll introduce you.” He pointed to Smith and I. “Our friends from the United States are John Smith and Brett Wilde. You two already know Hannigen and myself. The other four members of our team are Bobby McPherson, Patrick Dunne, Terry McDonnell and Michael Duffy.” He pointed to each guy in turn. They all looked pale and stone faced and ready for action.

  “Are you really serious about this?” Hannigen asked. “Eight guys against a whole ship’s company of a Russian warship?”

  “I have a few tricks up my sleeve,” Smith muttered. “Don’t worry, Hannigen. I’m going to throw in a couple of distractions along the way.”

  I noticed the four other guys stared at Smith with guarded suspicion.

  “You got anything in the way of a backpack of some kind, Mac?” Smith asked.

  “Aye, we’ve got everything in here,” McElroy replied. “We’ve even got some Semtex and a whole load of detonators if you need that kind of thing.” He opened up all the remaining lockers, revealing several containers of the lethal explosive compound. The lockers also contained two flame-throwers, three rocket-propelled grenade launchers, a crate of hand grenades and a belt-fed, heavy duty machine gun, as well as combat clothing and empty backpacks.

  “Wow,” Smith gasped. “Most of that gear is a little heavy for what we need but some of it could come in handy. You’ve even got a Barrett Light 50 sniper rifle in there. Toss me a backpack, Mac and we’ll go shopping.”

  McElroy handed over a rucksack and Smith placed the roll of black trash bags inside as well as several other items from the lockers.

  “Right you are, boys,” McElroy said. “It’s time to get geared up. We have to move all this equipment and ammo to the bus so we’ll wrap anything we don’t take with us in these bags.” He pointed to a pile of brown hessian sacks on the floor on the opposite side of the room.

  I glanced at the sacks and they reminded me of a previous encounter in England, with a bunch of diseased freaks that wore similar kinds of bags over their heads. A shiver ran down my spine at the horrific memory.

  It took us around twenty minutes to load plenty of spare magazines and arm ourselves with a rifle and a handgun each. Some of the guys also took grenades but I refused to have anything to do with explosives. I was just about competent with a firearm and didn’t want to accidently kill anybody by using a grenade. Besides, I’d recently had a bad experience with explosives and didn’t fancy getting blown up again. I chose an AK47 rifle and stuck with the Taurus handgun once again. Smith told me the assault rifle was fairly simple to operate and didn’t easily jam up. McElroy also provided us with sheathed knives in case we needed a close combat weapon. I hoped that situation wouldn’t arise, as I didn’t relish engaging some big Russian soldier in a knife fight.

  We placed the rest of the weaponry inside the hessian sacks, apart from the bigger items that we had to wrap up, and we were all good to go.

  Seamus Heath was on access duty once again and he let us in and out of the steel security door. It took several trips to load the contents of the armory onto the bus. Smith and I kept an eye out for any zombies outside, while the others packed the weaponry in the baggage compartment at the side of the vehicle.

  Smith and I both smoked a cigarette while we waited for the guys to stack the armaments. The sunlight faded rapidly and darkness descended across the view of the shattered city. My thoughts drifted as I studied the crumbling buildings and open space around the tower block.

  “I wish Cordoba was with us on this mission,” I sighed.

  “Me too, kid,” Smith muttered, flicking his cigarette butt across the parking lot.

  I checked the other guys were out of earshot before I spoke again in a hushed tone.

  “You think we’re seriously going to pull this whole thing off?”

  “Absolutely.”

  “Best guess at our chances?”

  “Maybe 60-40, in our favor,” Smith said. “Not bad odds, considering. We have the element of surprise, which goes a long way in these kinds of situations.”

  I tossed my cigarette butt on the ground and listened to it sizzle out on the wet ground. My stomach churned with tension and I felt slightly nauseous. I hoped I wasn’t the one who was going to mess up big time and change those odds against us.

  Chapter Sixty-Nine

  McElroy sent the guy called Duffy back to the tower block to tell O’Neil and the others we were packed and ready to go. Hannigen mumbled a prayer before he turned the ignition key. His plea from a higher entity seemed to be answered when the bus engine spluttered into life. McElroy told Duffy not to allow the others to dawdle as we needed to move out of the area quickly. The sound of a rumbling diesel engine would soon attract the attention of the undead in the vicinity.

  The last shards of daylight were evaporating once the tower block residents appeared outside. O’Neil led the procession and he looked suitably glum. Seamus was the last one out, saying he had to safely barricade the door in case we needed to return.

  Wingate kissed Smith on the cheek and patted my face before she boarded the bus. Chandra slapped us both on the shoulder and swallowed hard as he went by.

  “Good luck to both of you,” Batfish mumbled, dragging Spot along on his leash. “Come back safely.” She looked me in the eye for the first time since that morning. “We’ve been through too much shit to fail now.”

  The armed guys in our party helped the others onto the bus. It was a squeeze to fit them all on, including their baggage that they had to stuff beneath the seats or carry on their laps. After the lower deck was full, the others were reluctantly forced to make their way onto the uncovered upper level, which no doubt would be cold and open to the elements.

  Smith and I were the last people to board the bus. We joined the five other guys in our assault party, who stood in the center aisle, holding onto the handrails. Hannigen sat in the driver’s seat, looking stressed and pissed off as usual.

  “Everybody ready?” Hannigen called out, pressing a button on the dash to close the side doors.

  A muted mumble echoed through the bus. Everybody inside seemed nervous and I picked up on the air of tension and apprehension.

  “Let’s go, Hannigen,” McElroy shouted. “And watch the road for dead people.”

  Hannigen muttered some inaudible reply, turned on the headlamps and pulled the bus forward. McElroy sent two of the assault party, Dunne and McDonnell I remembered their names, onto the upper deck to keep a look-out for any forthcoming obstacles in our path, undead or otherwise.

  The hazardous route to the north side of the dockyard obviously played on Hannigen’s mind. He drove cautiously, slowing as we approached any intersections so the look-outs up top could spot any potential dangers. Zombies roamed the streets in small groups and Hannigen sped up when we saw any large gatherings of undead. Hannig
en flicked the headlamps onto the dim setting every time we encountered clusters of shuffling corpses. The journey seemed to take forever as we were jolted backward and forward in the center aisle with the stop/start motion of the bus.

  Eventually, Hannigen rolled the bus through the dockyard. He brought the vehicle to a gentle halt alongside the building we’d parked up by earlier that day and he cut the engine. McElroy and Duffy hopped out and went to the side compartment. They took out two rifles and two handguns with some spare magazines and handed them to Wingate and Batfish, who sat in the seats nearest the driver’s seat.

  “Only use them if you get into any serious trouble,” McElroy instructed. He turned and addressed the whole of the people on the lower deck. “Everybody wait here until we come for you. If we’re not here in an hour, go back to the tower block and forget all about us.”

  “Good luck, lads,” O’Neil said, punching a fist in the air.

  McElroy nodded and turned to the rest of the assault party. “Everybody ready?”

  “Good to go,” Smith said.

  “Okay, everyone put on your masks,” McElroy instructed.

  We all slipped on our ski masks and I thought the assault team looked effective if not efficient. I was probably the weak link in the group but I couldn’t let that fact play on my mind. I’d keep close to Smith and hope it all went according to plan.

  “Let’s go,” McElroy ordered.

  We stepped off the bus with our rifles still slung across our shoulders and moved silently towards the jetty. The night sky was clear and a full moon shone down, casting a silvery glow over the water. The backpack and spare ammunition in pouches around my waist felt heavy and weighed me down. I heard moans drifting through the darkness and slowed my pace.

  “Excellent,” Smith muttered and I wondered what the hell he was talking about. He spun around in front of me. “Take out two hessian sacks and that bundle of rope in my pack, Wilde Man,” he whispered. “The stuff you need is right on the top of the pile.”

  I didn’t argue. I simply did as I was told. I took out the items Smith requested and handed them to him.

  “Okay, I might need your help in a second,” he said.

  I didn’t know what the hell he was up to but I felt I had to go along with his scheme. He tucked the sacks and the length of cord rope under his arm and hurried towards the jetty. I followed closely, inquisitive to know what he was going to do next.

  McElroy, Hannigen and the rest of the party were slightly ahead of us. We saw three dark figures stumbling towards us in the moonlight. Two of them emitted low groans, which gave away that they were members of the undead.

  McElroy, Dunne and Duffy drew their sheath knives and approached the shambling figures with caution.

  “Just kill one of them,” Smith barked. “I’ve got plans for the other two.”

  “What?” McElroy hissed.

  “Only kill one,” Smith repeated.

  McElroy shrugged and waited for the closest zombie to draw near. I could see that the undead guy wore the shredded remains of a white shirt and a dark jacket. McElroy evaded the zombie’s swatting hands and plunged the knife blade deep into the right eye socket. The undead guy stopped thrashing around and fell to the ground.

  “What now, Smith?” McElroy asked.

  “Get the other two under control but don’t get bit,” Smith instructed.

  “Holy shit, Smith. What are you playing at?” McElroy squawked.

  “Come on, Mac. Hurry it up, will you,” Smith growled.

  I joined the others in trying to round up the two remaining zombies. One was a woman, who had probably been in her mid forties, judging by the way she was dressed in a knee length orange skirt and beige colored blouse. It was difficult to guess the ages of the zombies, as their faces had rotted and contorted after initial death. The other member of the undead was a short guy and probably had been another dockyard worker in his former life. He was dressed in dark blue coveralls and his hair was dark and short.

  I couldn’t tell who grabbed the female zombie from behind, due to the ski mask covering his face. He grabbed the undead woman’s arms and wrenched them behind her torso. She thrashed around snarling wildly under the forced grip.

  “Hold her tight,” Smith muttered, as he rushed towards the female zombie.

  I joined the guy and grabbed hold of the woman’s bobbed hair to keep her head still.

  McElroy and two other guys managed to get the male zombie under control, holding him steady.

  “Hurry up with whatever you’re going to do, Smith,” McElroy grunted.

  Smith slid one of the hessian sacks over the female’s head and tied it in place, winding the rope around her neck. He bound her hands behind her back, cut off the length of rope with his knife and secured a tight knot. The female wriggled but couldn’t break free of her bonds. Smith repeated the operation, bagging the male zombie’s head and tying him up securely.

  “What in god’s name are you doing, Smith?” McElroy asked, in a disbelieving gasp.

  “They’re coming along with us,” Smith growled, dragging the male zombie alongside him. “Come on, let’s find a fucking boat.”

  “The Saints save us,” McElroy sighed.

  I also felt dubious about the zombies tagging along.

  We walked along the jetty searching for a small boat we could use. McElroy turned on his flashlight but kept his hand over the end to stifle the effect of the light, so it wouldn’t be seen from the Russian ships.

  “What about this one?” McElroy said. He pointed to a small, wooden rowing boat, covered in flaking and weathered red paint. “Look, it’s still even got the oars onboard.”

  “Can we all fit in there?” I asked, glancing at the size of the guys in our party plus our two new crew mates.

  “Aye, it’ll be snug but we’ll all squeeze inside,” McElroy said, stepping off the jetty into the boat. “The smaller, the better. It’ll be harder for the Russians to spot us.”

  We struggled to maneuver the hooded zombies onboard. They wriggled around and we had to roughly manhandle them inside the boat. We kept them on the seat at the front and on the outer side, in case we had to jettison them in a hurry. McElroy untied the rope securing the boat to the jetty and we drifted across the harbor. Two of our party, I wasn’t sure who they were, began to row towards the Russian ships. I glanced around and saw bright lights illuminating the damaged bow of the warship. A few figures surrounded the crushed area and orange sparks from welders sprayed over the gray painted surface and fell into the sea.

  “Hellfire, Smith, those fucking corpses stink something rotten, so they do,” McElroy complained in a harsh whisper.

  Smith sat between the undead at the front of the boat. Both zombies sat unmoving and silent with their covered heads bowed close to their chests. I didn’t know why they were so inactive. Maybe if you covered their heads and they couldn’t see or smell for a while, they kind of went into a standby mode. I remembered a kitten named Ruby we used to own, back when I was a kid in London. My sister and I used to think it was a total blast to cover that young cat’s head with our hands or a paper bag, as it rendered the poor animal completely inert. We’d laugh ourselves stupid when we uncovered Ruby’s head and watched it scamper away. I wondered if maybe covering zombie’s heads for a prolonged time period had much the same result. For the life of me, I couldn’t recall the fate of that unfortunate, wretched cat called Ruby. The poor animal probably became totally pissed off with enduring constant torture at the hands of my sister and I and decided to find a safer place to live.

  “Don’t worry, Mac. You won’t have to put up with their stench for long,” Smith muttered.

  We rowed closer to the ships, keeping silent as we coasted through the water. The guys operating the oars kept the splashes to a minimum to alleviate the noise. My stomach began churning again and I could see figures moving around on the upper decks of the Russian ships.

  One of the zombies suddenly emitted a loud moan and beg
an thrashing around again.

  “Jesus, those Russians are going to hear that ejit unless we shut him up,” McElroy hissed.

  The zombie made more grunting noises and I had the horrible feeling our element of surprise was going to be compromised before the operation had even begun.

  Chapter Seventy

  “Throw them overboard now, Smith,” McElroy demanded, in a rasping whisper. “They’re going to fuck this whole thing up for us.”

  Smith scowled. He gripped hold of both the zombies behind their necks and shoved them sideways so their heads plunged into the water. Smith held them in place with outstretched arms.

  “Okay, now?” he whispered.

  McElroy shook his head with an incredulous expression on his face. “Lord Almighty, Smith,” he sighed. “You do like sailing close to the wind, so you do.”

  “Sailing near Russian warships, actually,” Smith quipped. His attempt at some humor didn’t amuse our Irish friends.

  “Okay, cut the fucking chatter,” McElroy hissed. “Sound travels a long way across the water. Keep quiet until we get onboard now. We’ll head for the quarterdeck. That way we can get onboard without anybody spotting us, if we’re damn lucky.”

  “Luck of the Irish,” Smith mumbled, trying to put on an Irish accent but failing totally.

  I couldn’t believe Smith seemed to be actually enjoying our perilous task. But that was him all over. He’d lived most of his life on the edge and this latest escapade was no different. I’d known Smith long enough now to realize that he got a buzz out of these kinds of dangerous situations.

  Luckily, plunging the zombies into the cold water seemed to pacify them enough to keep them silent while we slowly rowed towards the rear end of the huge, gray warship. Small waves gently lapped against the ship’s hull and I could still hear the clanging and banging of the Russian’s working on the other warship’s damaged bow. We drifted closer to the ship and the covered quarterdeck was lit by a faint orange light.