“Steer us around to the back of the ship,” Smith instructed. “That way we’ll be able to get onboard over the quarterdeck.”
“What about lifting up the life boats?” a small, old guy asked.
“Fuck the life boats,” Smith snapped. “We ‘aint got time for that.”
I turned to look at the ship we were heading to. I hoped McElroy and his crew had got the whole vessel under control. I didn’t have the strength or the stomach for another long and sapping battle.
Chapter Seventy-Four
We drifted around the side of the warship and made our way to the quarterdeck. I was glad to see a couple of McElroy’s crew waiting to assist us getting onboard. Surely, they wouldn't have been able to move around so freely if the Russians were still running around onboard?
The sea churned and bubbled at the rear of the ship with the motion of the propellers somewhere beneath the waterline. Smith tossed the securing rope onto the quarterdeck. McElroy’s guys took hold of the lines and hauled us closer to the warship’s stern. Some of the refugees flinched and recoiled in the boats when they caught sight of the black clad figures onboard the ship.
“It’s okay, they’re our guys,” Smith yelled. “Everybody get onboard as quick as you can.”
McElroy’s guys helped the refugees clamber over the guardrails and onto the deck. One of the refugees who had taken a bullet looked in a bad way but the others managed to haul him onboard. Smith and I lifted Chernakov and shoved him through the rails.
“This guy is our navigator,” Smith shouted up to the two guys wearing ski masks.
“We’ve secured four crew members to run the engine room,” one of the guys said, in a high pitched Northern Irish accent. I knew it was either Dunne or Duffy but couldn’t remember which.
Smith pushed me forwards and I scrambled up the guardrails, struggling with the exertion. Dunne or Duffy clasped hold of the back of my jacket and hauled me onboard. Smith vaulted the rails with ease and untied the life boats, setting them adrift.
“Okay, let’s rock and roll,” Smith said. “Where are Mac and Hannigen?”
“They’re up on the bridge, waiting to steer us out of the port,” Dunne or Duffy responded.
“Any trouble taking the ship?”
Dunne or Duffy shook his head. “Nae bother,” he said. “We waited for your signal, just like you said. Most of the crew left the ship when that big old fire started. We figured that was the signal.”
“You’d be right,” Smith muttered, clapping Dunne or Duffy on the shoulder. “Get the rest of these guys below decks and out of the way.” He gestured to the huddle of refugees. “We need to get our asses in gear in case those crazy Russians decide to blow us out of the water.”
Dunne or Duffy nodded and began herding the refugees to the access door.
“Come on, Wilde,” Smith said, grabbing hold of Chernakov. “Let’s go see Mac and Hannigen on the bridge.”
We hurried along the walkway at the side of the ship. I tried to speak again and my voice came back in a series of croaks. Chernakov stumbled a couple of times but we managed to keep him upright. We dodged through a side door and up a flight of steps. McElroy sat in the seat in the center of the bridge and Hannigen sat in front of a small steering wheel between a series of illuminated control panels. Both men had removed their ski masks and looked relatively calm.
“You finally made it then, guys,” McElroy said, with the hint of a smirk.
“Yeah, we brought you a little present,” Smith said, shoving Chernakov to the floor.
“Who the fuck is that?” McElroy squawked.
“He’s the guy who runs the show. He should be capable of pointing us in the right direction,” Smith growled.
“We’ve got hold of four Russian crew members who can run the engine room,” McElroy stated. “McPherson and Dunne are keeping an eye on them down in the engine room.”
“Yeah, the guys told me already,” Smith said. “The ship all clear of other personnel?”
McElroy nodded. “We swept the whole place after the crew left. I have to say, Smith. That fire looked very impressive from where I was standing.”
“I live and breathe to indulge you in pleasure, Mac,” Smith snorted. “We ready to move, Hannigen?”
“I thought you’d never ask,” Hannigen rumbled. “We’ve been ready for at least fifteen minutes.”
“Okay, then let’s go, motherfuckers,” Smith boomed.
Hannigen grunted and moved a lever on the control panel in front of him. The ship rumbled and we moved forward and swept around in an arc. The cracks and pings of ricochets of more small arms fire rang through the bridge, the rifle rounds crashing against the steel plates outside and below the windows around us. We ducked down and Hannigen turned the ship around so the stern faced the burning ship. He directed the vessel towards the dock where the tower block inhabitants waited.
“I’ll get us as close as we can to the jetty but we’ll have to throw some fenders over the side to stop us crunching into the dockside.” Hannigen said.
“What?” I croaked.
“Just go and help Duffy and McDonnell,” Hannigen sighed. “They know what to do.”
“Okay, just keep an eye on this guy,” Smith said, pointing to Chernakov on the ground. “He probably needs medical assistance, once Chandra or Wingate get onboard.”
“Did you rough the bastard up a little?” McElroy asked, seeming amused.
“Kind of,” Smith muttered. “Oh, and Wilde Man threw a knife at him so he may bleed on your floor some.”
“Nice,” McElroy groaned. “He’s not going anywhere at the moment, seeing as he’s all trussed up like a Christmas turkey but don’t worry, I’ll keep a watch over him.”
We left the bridge and joined Duffy and McDonnell, who already waited at the port side of the ship. Hannigen slowed the engines and steered close to the jetty as promised. Duffy and McDonnell each had hold of a big, orange ball type object, which I assumed were the fenders.
“These things cushion the impact against the side of the jetty,” McDonnell explained. “If you two hold these fenders in place, me and Mick can hold the ropes to haul us in close alongside.”
“Sure,” Smith said, as McDonnell and Duffy handed us the fenders.
McDonnell showed us how to handle the fenders over the side and then pass the rope attachments under the guardrails to keep the big, inflated orange balls in place along the ship’s side.
Hannigen maneuvered the ship closer and Duffy and McDonnell took the holding pins out of a section of guardrail and lowered it down so it lay on the dockside. I felt the bump as the fenders took the impact of the ship closing against the concrete quayside. Duffy and McDonnell tossed some ropes onto the jetty then leapt across the three foot gap from the ship to land. They wrapped the ropes around some big cylindrical bollards at the edge of the dockside. Smith and I tied the fenders in place around the bottom of the guardrail stanchions.
“Okay, we’re in place,” Duffy said. “Where are the rest of those ejits on that bus?”
We waited for around a minute but still there was no sign of them.
“I’m going to go see where the fuck they are,” Duffy groaned.
“Hang fire, I’ll come along with you,” Smith said. “Safety in numbers and all.”
“What’s going on? Where the hell are they?” yelled a voice from above.
I looked up and saw Hannigen leaning against the guardrails and standing on a small walkway beside the ship’s bridge.
“We don’t know,” McDonnell said, shrugging.
“Well, go and get them,” Hannigen roared. “Hurry it up, the clock is ticking.”
“Look, I better stay put and keep an eye on things here,” McDonnell said. “You guys go and fetch them. We can’t leave this ship unattended with the guardrails down and tied up alongside.”
“Those ropes won’t hold for long,” Duffy warned. “They’re only a temporary measure for quickness. They’ll start to slip if we do
n’t hurry.”
“Come on then,” Smith urged. “Let’s go get the rest of them.”
I groaned. I really didn’t need another expedition. All I wanted was to sit down for a while and maybe drink a nice cup of coffee. I knew I wasn’t going to be allowed to do any of those things until everybody was safely onboard.
Chapter Seventy-Five
McDonnell stayed with the ship, keeping a vigil on the dockside with his rifle held at the ready. Smith, Duffy and I headed towards the building where we’d last seen the bus. The structure was a couple of hundred yards from our position and we crept across the open ground with our handguns drawn.
As we approached the building, I heard muted grunts and moans. A sinking feeling plummeted in my stomach and I knew what we were going to be faced with. We rounded the corner and saw the bus was still in place. The tower block people on the open upper deck were standing up and huddling together while looking over the side of the bus. The vehicle was surrounded by around twenty undead, batting at the windows and doors.
“Oh, shit,” Duffy mumbled.
“We’ll have to take them down,” Smith whispered. “We have no other option. Keep your shots away from the bus and make every round count.”
We cautiously approached the bus, fanning out at an angle so our handguns were aimed alongside the bus and not directly at it. Smith fired first, taking down two zombies with a quick fire double tap. Duffy moved closer and began firing in short bursts, hitting zombies with headshots with most of his rounds. I aimed and fired carefully, hitting one then two of the staggering ghouls.
The undead turned their attention away from the bus and slowly crept towards us. We stopped moving forward and let them come to meet us head on. Smith changed his magazine and continued firing. A cloud of cordite drifted up into the night sky as the last zombie in the group fell to the ground.
“Thank fuck for that,” Duffy sighed, exhaling a long breath.
“Don’t be too thankful,” Smith muttered. He nodded into the distance and I followed his gaze.
“Ah, fuck,” I croaked. A sprawling, shadowy mass of arms and legs and heads bobbed through the dockyard, between the tall buildings. The undead horde was slightly illuminated by the moonlight and headed in our direction, with less than one hundred yards between us.
“Let’s get this fucking bus rolling,” Smith growled.
The door hissed open and Batfish and Wingate stood in the entranceway.
“You guys are a sight for sore eyes,” Wingate said. “Did it all go okay?”
“Kind of,” Smith grunted. “But it could all end badly if we don’t get onboard that ship right now.”
He brushed between Wingate and Batfish and slid into the driver’s seat. Duffy and I both hopped onto the bus after Smith.
“What’s going on, Brett?” Wingate asked.
“We got company and lots of it,” I croaked, nodding to the approaching undead throng.
“What’s happened to your voice?”
“I’ll tell you later,” I whispered, as Smith turned the ignition key.
The engine whirred but didn’t fire up.
“Ah, shit don’t fail me now, you piece of shit,” Smith growled.
He tried the ignition again and the engine rumbled to life.
“Hold on, guys,” Smith yelled. “This is going to be a hairy ride.”
He didn’t bother to close the door as the bus lurched forward.
Wingate screamed in shock at the sudden motion and we rocked forwards but managed to grab hold of the handrails above our heads. Smith drove the bus as though he was at the wheel of some kind of sports car, rolling it round the corner and flooring the gas so we sped along the few hundred yards to the jetty. He stamped on the brake a few feet from the edge of the dock and some people rolled out of their seats into the center aisle. The bus stopped abruptly and I saw McDonnell’s astonished face as he stood on the side of the ship.
“Okay, everybody grab your shit and get the hell on the big gray thing in front of you,” Smith shouted. “We don’t have much time before those undead motherfuckers put in an appearance, so hurry your asses up, people.”
The tower block folk gathered their belongings and headed through the exit doors.
“Easy does it,” Duffy warned against the pushing and shoving. “Get onto the ship nice and easy.”
“You okay, Brett?” Batfish asked, as we stepped off the bus. She held Spot tightly in her arms.
“Yeah,” I squawked, nodding my head. “Some guy tried to throttle me but Smith broke his neck.”
“Gross,” Batfish sneered.
“Good job, boys,” O’Neil gasped as he hurried by. “Well done to all of you.”
Duffy and McDonnell herded the tower block people onboard the ship, helping them negotiate the narrow gap between the deck and the dockside. I kept a watchful eye on the dark space, where I knew the seething rabble of undead would soon appear. Smith, Duffy, McDonnell and I started to haul McElroy’s weapons arsenal from the bus compartment to the ship when we heard and saw the zombie crowd shuffling along the jetty.
“Hurry it up, guys,” Smith warned.
Lugging heavy ammunition and guns around was the last thing I needed but I knew it was necessary. We left the weapons in a pile on the deck with no time to sort them out. Duffy and McDonnell could do that later. I noticed Hannigen watching the proceedings from his lofty position on the deck above. I guessed he was waiting for the word to get going.
“That’s your lot,” Duffy shouted, leaning into the empty compartment. “Let’s get the fuck out of here.”
Duffy and McDonnell hurried to the bollards and released the ropes securing the ship alongside the jetty. The leaders of the undead crowd shuffled within a few feet of the ship. Smith and I removed our rifles from the slings around our shoulders and fired at the zombies closing in on us and at those trying to claw at Duffy and McDonnell.
“Get us out of here, Hannigen,” Smith yelled.
Duffy and McDonnell leapt across the gap and onto the ship’s deck. Two zombies attempted to follow them but tumbled into the space between the ship and the jetty. One fell into the sea and sunk without trace and the other one bounced off the fender before splashing into the water.
Smith and I kept firing at the undead who were trying to claw at the side of the ship and gain a handhold. Duffy and McDonnell hastily pulled up the guardrails and inserted the locking pins. We drifted further away from the dockside but some of the zombies tumbled off the jetty and into the sea after us.
“I think we’re in the clear, lads,” Duffy sighed and offered us all a high five.
We clapped hands with each other and I immediately felt the onset of debilitating fatigue.
“You ought to let Wingate take a look at those injuries, kid,” Smith said, studying my face.
“Later,” I sighed. “There are a few more people she needs to look at first, like those poor bastards who got shot in the boats and your pal, Chernakov.”
“Okay, we’re going to get these guns and ammunition stowed away somewhere safe,” Duffy said, pointing to the deck. “You guys can give us a hand if you want.”
“Maybe later,” Smith snorted. “Right now, I need a damn drink.”
I smiled and watched Smith head off through a hatch door into the interior of the ship. I also left Duffy and McDonnell to their task and walked towards the ship’s stern. I slumped against the wall and slid to a sitting position, watching Belfast Harbor disappear into the blackness behind us. My eyes felt heavy and I let them slowly close.
The coolness of the breeze awoke me a short time later. I groaned in pain as I hauled myself to my feet and took a slow walk around the upper deck.
Blackened, bloody and aching, I shuffled onto the forecastle, at the front of the ship. The breeze blew into my face and I saw the first signs of daylight glowing across the distant horizon. My hands trembled as I reached for my pack of smokes.
The adrenalin rush from the night’s events still pu
lsed through my body but my heart rate at last, began to slow. One bent and twisted cigarette remained in the pack. I took it out and stuffed it in my mouth. After tossing the empty pack into the sea, I had trouble holding the lighter still.
I gazed across the expanse of the Atlantic Ocean with an increasing sense of calm. I thought about all our traveling companions who had fallen along the way and felt regretful and sad they weren’t here with us. I breathed out smoke and let the morning sunlight wash over my face. We were heading into a new territory, leaving the shattered shell of the UK behind.
It was an exciting time. Maybe on this occasion, wherever we ended up, we’d find some peace and tranquility and be able to live out the rest of our lives without terror and dread on a daily basis. Perhaps, with a slice of good fortune and a shit load of luck, we could finally put an end to our life on the run.
THE END
The Left Series (Book 5): Left On The Run Page 34
