The Left Series (Book 3): Left On The Brink Page 26

  “That prick was the cause of the aircraft crash,” Smith spat. “He could have killed us all.”

  “His body must have been thrown clear of the plane when we went down, judging by the way he’s all beat up,” I said.

  “Do we take him back and bury him?” Cordoba asked.

  “Nah, fuck him,” Smith snarled. “Let him rot.”

  “Hey, Smith, Cordoba – you okay?” Chief Cole’s voice barked through the radio clipped to Cordoba’s belt.

  Smith gestured for the radio handset and Cordoba handed it to him. “Yeah, we’re all okay, Chief.”

  “We heard gun fire coming from your position amongst those trees.”

  “Ah…yeah, we just shot a big rat. Nothing to worry about. Wilde Man is shit scared of rats so we had to shoot it.”

  I winced. Smith was always accusing me of being frightened of various things that cropped up in front of us. I knew for a fact, it was Smith who was shit scared of rats. He handed the radio back to Cordoba then turned back to the corpse on the ground.

  “We don’t need to tell anybody about this,” he muttered, glancing at the three of us in turn. “It won’t change our situation but it’ll muddy this guy’s memory. Let’s keep this incident to ourselves, okay?”

  We nodded in agreement. I saw the logic. Chief Cole and everybody else had enough to cope with. They didn’t need another horror story to add to their woes.

  The humorous, sunny Sunday afternoon atmosphere had definitely vanished due to Novak’s surprise guest appearance. I thought we were going to head back to the aircraft but the others still wanted to see Stonehenge. I didn’t particularly feel like leading the way on a tourist expedition but continued onward anyway. We walked through the remainder of the woods in relative silence, the mood irreversibly darkened.

  We looked around the stone monument and I showed them where I’d been chained to the big rock in the center. Smith picked up the rusted links and studied them. He looked at the rocky slab and scanned the porous, gray surface.

  “It looks like there’s old, dried blood on this here rock, Wilde Man,” he said. “Those guys were probably making human sacrifices on here for some time. You are one lucky son of a bitch to still be alive.”

  “Lucky?” I sighed. “I had to practically promise them a cure for them to let me go.”

  Smith shrugged. “People say and promise all kinds of shit when they’re faced with certain death.”

  I chillingly realized Smith had probably had firsthand experience listening to the pleadings of people’s last words. We milled around the ancient stones for around ten minutes. Batfish seemed the most impressed and was in awe of the sequence of construction and what the monument represented. I knew she liked historical sites and all things mystical. Her face was a picture of wonderment as she brushed her hands over the huge upended, rectangular slabs, which stood around twenty-five feet high.

  “I wish we could go back in time and watch those guys put this thing together,” she muttered.

  “It certainly must have taken some time to construct,” I mused.

  “Maybe, one day when the human race is no more, the aliens will come down and see this thing and wonder where it all went wrong for us,” Batfish said.

  “Probably,” I muttered, picturing the bizarre scenario in my mind.

  Another thought occurred to me. “What if the zombie infection was caused by aliens?”

  “You are now entering The Twilight Zone,” Smith mocked from behind us. He whistled the theme tune to the TV show then chuckled to himself and Cordoba joined in the amusement.

  “Come on, Brett,” she giggled. “What next…wizards and goblins?”

  I shrugged, rather disappointed they were mocking me. “We just don’t know, for sure.”

  “Nothing is certain in this world,” Batfish sighed and leaned her back against the huge stone. “People used to say - one sure thing in life is that death will follow. You can’t even say that any longer.”

  We stood in silence for a few seconds pondering the thought of eternal life as a living corpse. The wind whipped up from the north and a dark cloud covered the sun, casting a gloomy glow across the landscape. The air turned colder and a distinct dampness hung in the atmosphere.

  “Looks like we’re going to see some of that famous English rain,” Batfish said, peering skyward.

  “We better get back,” Cordoba said. “We’ve been gone awhile and I told Chief Cole we wouldn’t be too long.”

  Smith swung his head around to stare at Cordoba. “You came with us to spy on us?”

  She laughed. “Cole told me to tag along because I know you guys and he said to keep an eye on you. That’s all.”

  Smith grunted in disapproval. I felt slightly disillusioned and a little foolish. I’d hoped Cordoba had decided to accompany us on our little outing because she liked me and wanted us to spend some time together. Perhaps I was emotionally delusional as well as deranged.

  Chapter Fifty-Six

  The rain did indeed materialize as we walked back to the aircraft. Light droplets fell on us to begin with but by the time we’d trekked back through the woods, the downpour was heavily in full flow. Our clothes were soaked through as we approached the C-17 but our spirits lifted when we saw the engineers and aircrew had somehow managed to dismantle the cargo ramp. They placed metal, track ramps, sloping downwards from the cargo hold to the field below.

  Chief Cole stood beside the access doorway, wearing a green camouflage, foul weather jacket and conducting the operation. He gazed up as we approached.

  “Ah! There you all are,” he barked. “I was starting to get worried.”

  “Making progress I see, Chief,” Smith said.

  Cole nodded. “We should have this Humvee out of here real soon. We’re going to need a lot of vehicles to hump all this gear up to Scotland so you better get your shit together pretty quickly if you want to ride up to that army base with us. We’re going to make a couple of trips and take as many drivers as we can up there. We’ll bring the new vehicles back here, load up and head out at dawn tomorrow.”

  All four of us were drivers and we all fancied a ride away from the downed aircraft. We clambered back into the aircraft interior through the paratroop door. Some of the military personnel were more than happy to stay on board the grounded C-17 and sip a few beers or catch up on some sleep.

  We dried ourselves off and Cordoba handed us some dry shirts as well as some foul weather jackets. Batfish handed Spot to Landri and Mignon, who continued to look bemused by their surroundings but were happy to take the small dog. The girls had attracted the attention of a couple of Marines and sat in a close circle, trying to communicate with each other. I smiled to myself. At least Landri and Mignon seemed obliviously happy.

  Milner was nominated to drive the Humvee. Cole and Kauffmann stood either side of the track ramps, bellowing instructions as Milner rolled the vehicle slowly out of the aircraft. We waited in a huddle whilst the Humvee moved down the track ramps and into the long field grass. I couldn’t help but stare at Rogers who waited alongside us. The medics had dressed him in an olive green, full bio-hazard suit to stop him spreading any potentially fatal diseases. His head was covered with what looked like a transparent bubble and he wore a black rubber respirator inside the hood, covering his mouth and nose.

  Milner successfully completed the vehicle extraction operation and looped the Humvee around in a circle alongside the aircraft. Rogers climbed into the passenger seat, presumably to direct Milner on the route to the army base. Chief Cole crawled up into the gun turret and Kauffmann joined Cordoba, Batfish, Smith and I inside the rear compartment.

  Cole banged the roof once we were all onboard and Milner pulled away across the field. We joined a roadway and Rogers pointed the way to the east. We took several turns through some narrow country lanes, flanked by trees and ditches. The surrounding landscape consisted of flat, grass fields and the Humvee navigated around a few abandoned vehicles, dumped at the roadside.


  I noticed they’d packed some respirators and NBC suits in the rear compartment and hoped we wouldn’t have to use them.

  We’d driven cautiously along the roads for around fifteen minutes when Milner slowed the Humvee at the entrance gate to the Porton Down base. The abandoned, half red brick, half brown colored sheet metal gatehouse looked foreboding and dark inside. A circular shaped, brick built flower bed stood at around knee height in front of the gatehouse. A red sign reading “Stop Police” in white lettering, hung loosely from the bricks. Some low level, white buildings stood further along the road into the base, beyond the gatehouse. Green mold covered the once red and white traffic barriers blocking the entrance and exit to the establishment.

  “The barriers are closed. We can’t get in,” Batfish groaned.

  “Those barricades won’t stop this baby,” Milner chimed, turning the vehicle towards the exit barrier. He revved the Humvee engine and picked up speed. The big military vehicle crunched into the metal barrier. The impact against the front crash bars caused the red and white pole to fold and crumple in the center as though it was made of paper.

  The Humvee seemed virtually indestructible.

  “Easy there, Milner,” Cole yelled from the gun turret. “Stop jerking this beast around.”

  Milner giggled to himself as the Humvee clattered over the wrecked barricade. “Apologies, Chief,” he shouted back.

  We drove onward, up the slightly inclining road, between wire mesh fences towards the white buildings. The road leveled off and the vast area of the whole base honed into view. Numerous, gloomy looking, block shaped buildings stood amongst overgrown grassy areas. The rain had ceased to a light drizzle but the whole place gave the appearance of an abandoned, bleak ghost town. No people, animals or even zombies roamed the grounds. Milner stopped the Humvee at a crossroads; each separate route snaked around to different areas of the base.

  I took a quick glance at Rogers and studied his puss ridden face behind the Rad-Haz hood. What kind of awful secrets and lethal chemical products did this desolate place hold?

  “Okay, where is the motor pool?” Milner asked Rogers.

  Rogers remained silent. His eyes flicked across the buildings as though he wasn’t sure where he was.

  “Where are we headed, guy?” Milner repeated, the impatience apparent in his voice.

  Rogers said something which was muffled behind the respirator but his tone suggested he hadn’t a clue where to go.

  “What? I can’t hear you,” Milner shrieked.

  “What’s going on? Why have we stopped?” Cole boomed from the gun turret above us.

  Milner gave Rogers an accusing stare and held out his gloved hands with his palms facing up. Rogers shook his head rapidly and shrugged.

  “I can’t remember,” he squawked, amid some incoherent babbling.

  “This fucking guy has no clue where to go,” Milner shouted up to Cole.

  We exchanged nervous glances inside the interior. I looked through the windshield and studied the expansive area in front of us. A parking lot stood in the distance to our right, with a few vehicles still static in their respective spaces.

  “What about taking some of those cars?” I suggested, pointing to the parking lot. I spoke loud enough so Chief Cole could hear.

  “We really need some military vehicles or at least a truck that’s capable of hauling all our freight,” Milner said.

  “All right, let’s take a look around the place first,” Cole ordered. “Proceed with caution. We don’t know what we might come up against.”

  “Okay, Chief,” Milner acknowledged and slowly moved the Humvee forward. He took the right lane that looped around in a wide arc towards the parking lot and the buildings behind.

  We drove by the parking lot. The few vehicles left standing looked tired and neglected. Some sat on sagging tires, a few had sun visors left open from the long past summer months and no doubt, all had flat batteries and possibly seized brakes.

  Milner pressed onward towards the buildings. Rogers seemed to become more agitated as we approached. He was now surplus to requirements and I didn’t trust him as far as I could throw him. I still hadn’t forgiven him for whacking me around the head back at Stonehenge. The painkillers were starting to wear off and I felt the wound stinging and a dull ache pulsed behind my eyes. Rogers was making me feel uneasy, like he knew bad things were going to happen and I began to wish I hadn’t agreed to venture out on this trip. It wasn’t going to be a simple case of jumping into a vehicle and driving it the few miles back to the C-17. As usual, what we thought was going to be a simple operation was turning into another almighty fuck up.

  Chapter Fifty-Seven

  The windows spread evenly amongst the building’s exterior walls shed no light or signs of life from inside. The sun began to dip and daylight started to fade and become hazy. The wind whistled across the empty, flat space between the base buildings and the Humvee.

  The signposts positioned along the roadside pointed the routes towards places that were full of acronyms and didn’t mean anything to us. I was beginning to wonder if this damn place even had a motor pool of any description. Maybe Rogers was leading us into some kind of trap. I wanted to be the first to shoot the son of a bitch if he was deliberately fucking us over.

  Milner continued to follow the road ahead and snaked around the building perimeter. They all appeared to be simple office blocks with no sign of any mechanical workshops or garages of any kind. Milner thumped the steering wheel in frustration.

  “There ‘aint nothing here, Chief,” he hollered and turned to face Rogers. “This fucking jerk is yanking our chain.”

  “Try driving around the back of the buildings,” Cole called down. “We’ll see how the land lies.”

  “Roger that,” Milner barked. He wasn’t the only one getting increasingly pissed off with the situation.

  Milner followed the road around the back of the mass of gloomy looking buildings and slowed the Humvee so we could study the landscape to our right. A few small, one storey structures stood amongst a vast stretch of overgrown grass. The beige colored, stand alone buildings looked nothing more than ramshackle huts that had been constructed from prefabricated materials a long time ago. Weeds and brambles formed a tangled mess crawling up the walls and over the flat, gray roofs. A burnt out carcass of one of the sheds stood to the far left of the row. The structures looked so dilapidated that one gust of strong wind would have surely blown them down. The field grass between the huts and the main body of buildings was intermittently disturbed with shallow, muddy craters spread here and there, as though somebody had attempted to dig fox holes. Presumably, the holes had been used as an inadequate form of defense when the base was overrun by the undead.

  More white colored buildings, constructed in a tight circular shape stood around a mile in the distance behind the rundown shacks.

  “What now, Chief?” Milner asked, sounding exasperated.

  “I don’t know,” Cole replied. “The light is fading fast. I’m thinking about aborting for the night and heading back here first thing tomorrow.”

  “Sounds good to me,” Milner responded. “This place is giving me the creeps.”

  I was glad it wasn’t only me who wanted to get the hell out of the deserted base. Although we couldn’t see any signs of life, it felt as though somebody or something was watching us and observing what move we were going to make next.

  “Fuck it! Let’s go back,” Cole decided. “I don’t want to be stuck out here in the dark.”

  “Aye, aye, Chief,” Milner whooped. “I hear you loud and clear.”

  He rolled the Humvee forward, turned the steering wheel to the right and bumped the front wheels up the curbside to U-turn the vehicle on the grass alongside the road. Rogers became increasingly agitated, shrieking behind his respirator.

  “Shut the fuck up,” Milner barked. “You can get out if you want to and crawl back under whichever pile of shit you were spawned from.”

&nbs
p; “Don’t drive on the grass, don’t drive on the grass,” Rogers kept shrieking.

  “Why the hell not?” Milner snapped, turning his head to face Rogers.

  “It’s full of buried mines…”

  I briefly saw Milner’s eyes widen and his mouth hang open a split second before a blinding orange flash and an ear splitting explosion rattled through the vehicle. My whole world turned upside down, the stench of scorching hot metal and acrid smoke attacked my senses. Searing pain exploded in my head as I was tossed around the vehicle interior like a baby on a roller coaster ride. My stomach lurched from my nuts to my throat and back again several times. I couldn’t hear anything and my eyes sent me a vision of a spinning jumble my brain couldn’t comprehend.

  The Humvee eventually ceased tumbling and came to a halt, lying upside down on its roof. All I heard was a monotonous ring. I knew I was coughing but I couldn’t hear it, only feeling the wheezing sensation in my chest. My head felt as though it had been split in two by a meat cleaver and my left shoulder ached liked I’d used it to charge into a brick wall. I rolled onto my back, trying desperately to clear my head and heard the faint sound of a female shrieking, as though she was very far away. At least my hearing was slowly returning.

  I touched the top of my scalp, where the pain was at its worst and felt the sticky, warm substance of my own blood. Shit, the stitches had popped open and only hell knew what other damage my body had suffered.

  My senses gradually returned but the pain in my head and shoulder acutely increased. I blinked my eyes as my vision cleared and I coughed again, retching as I did so. It seemed bizarre that I was staring up at the Humvee floor. I couldn’t move for a few moments and briefly wondered if I was paralyzed. The female still shrieked but I didn’t know who was dead and who was alive. I felt myself drifting into unconsciousness but fought against it.