The Left Series (Book 3): Left On The Brink Page 27

  I heard coughing from the front seats and forced myself to prop myself up on my right side, doing my best to ignore the pain in my head and left shoulder. Milner was still sitting in the driver’s seat, suspended upside down by the seat belt.

  “What the fuck…?” He groaned, released the seat belt strap and slid on his back from the chair onto the interior of the roof.

  I glanced to the passenger seat and saw Rogers, twisted and motionless, pressed against the cracked windshield. The chemical suit hood was tight against his face and the rubber respirator breathing mask pressed against his cheek, instead of covering his mouth and nose. I shook my head, trying to comprehend the train wreck of a scene in front of me. Rogers’ eyes were glazed and unblinking and his face was completely white.

  Milner rolled into a crouching position on all fours. He looked at Rogers then to the rear of the vehicle. He saw me propping myself up on my side.

  “Wilde! Are you okay, man?”

  “I don’t know,” I groaned, wiping blood from my face. “I think I split my head again.”

  “Batfish, you all right?” Milner croaked, looking over my aching left shoulder.

  I turned my head as best I could and saw Batfish slumped behind me holding her nose. Blood seeped through her fingers and her eyes looked glazed. She briefly nodded and stifled a snivel.

  “Motherfucker!” We heard from the near darkness of the rear compartment. I knew it was Smith’s voice and the sounds of him thrashing around told me he was okay.

  “Where’s Cordoba?” I asked, peering into the shadows. I couldn’t see her anywhere and hoped she was okay.

  Smith emerged from the gloom with a bloody gash above his right eye and a swelling around the same side of his face. He wiped the blood from his face with his sleeve and I noticed purple bruising around his cheek bone.

  “Sorry, guys,” Milner spluttered. “I didn’t know we were driving over a minefield.”

  “That prick, Rogers should have warned us sooner,” Smith raged. “I’m going to kill the bastard when I get my hands on him.”

  Milner glanced at Rogers then performed a double take. “I think you’re too late, Smith.” He crawled over to Rogers and gave him a shake, which produced no response.

  “Where’s Cordoba?” I repeated.

  Smith glanced at Rogers’ twisted corpse then turned back towards the rear compartment.

  “I’ll have a look back here,” Smith muttered, regaining his focus.

  “Yup, Rogers is definitely a goner,” Milner confirmed. “I think his neck is broke judging by the bruise line I can see through the hood.”

  I couldn’t say I was sorry to hear of Mr. Rogers’ demise. I thought it seemed a bad idea to let him ride with us. He could have simply drawn us a map to the base.

  “Cordoba’s back here under these damn chemical suits,” Smith said.

  We heard her groan. I was glad at least she was still alive.

  “I’m all right, Smith,” she said and crawled from the mess of NBC suits, spilled respirators and extra foul weather clothing that had fallen from the interior stowage compartments. She had an egg shaped bump above her left temple and her face looked groggy. I sighed in relief. We were all slightly injured and shaken up but only Rogers had lost his life. But I realized we were still one crew member short. I looked at the gun turret beside me but luckily Cole wasn’t still jammed in there between the interior and the ground.

  “Where’s the Chief?” I asked.

  Milner glanced around and out through the cracked windshield. “I can’t see shit out there. The glass is all smoked up and it’s nearly dark out there.”

  “We need to get out of here,” Smith groaned. “I’ll try and open the back doors.”

  He turned and scurried on all fours back into the shadows. I heard him grunt and groan then felt the Humvee jolt with a clanking sound. Cool, fresh air flooded the interior and I saw the darkening sky at the rear of the compartment.

  “Okay, I’ve got them open,” Smith said. “I’ll get out first and see where we are in relation to the roadway.”

  “Be careful, Smith,” Milner called.

  “Oh, I intend to be.”

  We heard Smith clamber onto the underneath of the Humvee, which was now the roof in this mini upturned world. The vehicle rocked slightly under Smith’s weight.

  “Shit!” We heard Smith bark above us. I knew him well enough to recognize the frustration and anger in his voice.

  I wondered what in the hell kind of trouble we were in now.

  Chapter Fifty-Eight

  “What’s up, Smith?” I hollered and reeled at the pain in my head caused by my raised voice.

  “Everybody, get out of there, now,” Smith screeched. “And make sure you have your weapons on you.”

  I glanced nervously at Batfish. The color had returned to her face but she still looked shot to pieces. Cordoba suddenly seemed alert and moved quickly to help Batfish. Milner checked his side arm then scrambled across the interior towards the rear doors. He stuck his head out through the opening and I heard him exchange mutterings with Smith.

  Milner turned back towards us. “Come on, we need to move,” he hissed.

  “What the fuck is going on?” Batfish squawked in a nasally tone. Her nose was probably broken and we had to be careful she didn’t swallow too much of her own blood.

  “Let’s just get out of here,” Milner replied. “Can you grab that spare M-16 and the mags, Cordoba?”

  “Sure,” Cordoba agreed. “I’ll see if it’s still workable.”

  She opened an ammunition locker that now sat above her head and removed the assault rifle and several loaded magazines. I winced at the pain as I sat upright and tried to maneuver myself onto all fours. Cordoba checked the mechanism then handed the rifle and the magazines to Milner. He climbed out of the back doors to join Smith. Cordoba shuffled towards Batfish and helped her move across the interior. Milner reached inside, took Batfish’s hands and helped her outside.

  Cordoba beckoned me forward. “Come on, Brett,” she scolded.

  I was moving too slowly and didn’t want to be a burden. Cordoba pulled a small, green plastic box from the wall and I remembered it was the medical kit. My mind was swimming and my body throbbed with pain. I forced myself closer to Cordoba who beckoned me forward by waggling all her fingers backward and forward very quickly.

  I crawled toward her on all fours but I had no strength in my arms. I had no strength to get out of the upturned Humvee and I had no strength to go on. I flopped onto my chest and winced again at the pain in both my head and shoulder. I lowered my head to rest against the roof.

  “I’m sorry, I can’t do it,” I sighed. “I can’t go on.”

  I didn’t care if they left me to whatever horrors lay outside the flipped vehicle. Perhaps destiny had chosen this spot for me to end my existence. We all had to go sometime. The world could kiss my ass, I was done.

  “You go, leave me here,” I muttered.

  “Don’t be stupid, Brett. What about our dinner date?”

  I glanced up at her and she flashed me an encouraging smile. “Huh?”

  “We’ve got that dinner date in Scotland, remember? We can’t go unless we get out of here, you understand?” She spoke softly but firmly.

  I returned her smile, even though it made my face and head hurt more. “Yes, ma’am, coming right away,” I croaked.

  A new sense of vigor and determination shrouded over me. I had to get out of that vehicle for all the right reasons. People hadn’t laid down their lives and helped me along the way just for me to give up. I crawled between the seats, gritting my teeth, ignoring the pain, pushing myself on.

  Cordoba reached forward and I grabbed her hands. We briefly embraced and I felt a tingling sensation in the pit of my stomach. Her body was lean and solid and I somehow drew in inner strength from her touch.

  “Come on, Wilde Man!” Smith called from outside. “What the fuck are you doing in there?”

  Cordoba
gave a small laugh that was nothing more than a huff from her nose and we parted. I reached outside and felt large, rough hands grab both my wrists. Milner and Smith pulled me skyward out into the open air. Cordoba quickly followed and we stood on the smoking underside of the wrecked Humvee. The light was a fading gray hue and the stink of charred rubber and metal hung in the air.

  “Good job this thing has reinforced armor plating on the underneath,” Cordoba said, tapping her foot on the surface. “Or we’d all be bird food by now.”

  “Don’t talk too soon,” Milner hissed.

  I looked at him then followed his eye line. Now I knew what Smith was cussing about. At least fifty more sack headed freaks hobbled in our direction and they were all armed, not only with clubs and knives, but they also carried old fashioned, bolt action rifles. They fanned out and seemed to be pouring out of the dark buildings. The Humvee lay approximately fifty feet from the road. The ground between us and the thoroughfare could hold any number of deadly land mines. We were marooned on our own little island amongst a sea of land mine infested grass.

  “Where’s Chief Cole?” I hissed.

  Milner looked mournful and nodded to a spot further amongst the grass on the opposite side of the vehicle to the road. I feared the worst and turned my head and immediately wished I hadn’t.

  “Ah, fuck,” I sighed and quickly turned my head back.

  I knew the sight of Cole’s disfigured, scorched and smoking corpse would haunt me for the rest of my days. Surely not Cole? He was one of the good guys, one of the best. My new found enthusiasm and zest for life was rapidly diminishing.

  “What do we do?” Batfish wailed.

  “We sure as shit just can’t wait here,” Smith growled. “Those goons will come down the road and pick us off like a turkey shoot.”

  “What do you have in mind?” Milner asked. “We’re running shit out of options.”

  Chapter Fifty-Nine

  “If I make it to the road then follow my exact footsteps,” Smith hissed.

  “What do you mean…?” My words tailed off as Smith leapt from the Humvee shell and onto the grass of the mine field.

  “Smith…what the fuck are you doing?” I screeched.

  He glanced back and gave me a wink. I couldn’t believe what Smith was doing. He turned and bounded through the grass towards the road. I watched him go, silently praying I wasn’t about to hear a loud kaboom noise any moment.

  My attention was quickly diverted when a bullet ricocheted off the armor plating of the underside of the Humvee where we stood. The hooded freaks took aim and fired their bolt action rifles at us. Bullets whizzed close to the upturned vehicle and zipped into the ground around us.

  “Everybody down,” Milner ordered.

  We followed his lead and crouched down on the Humvee. I heard the freaks chatting and mumbling between themselves and noticed a few mirthful chuckles amongst their banter.

  “Thankfully, they don’t seem to be very good shots,” I whispered.

  “That’s because they’re trying to shoot the land mines near us,” Milner groaned. “The one who shoots the mine and explodes it nearest to us wins a prize, I guess.”

  “Bastards,” Batfish seethed.

  I turned back to see how Smith was getting along and noticed small clumps of earth and grass blowing up around his feet. The freaks were also taking pot shots at him. Some game they played. Smith plodded on towards the road but I wasn’t taking any notice of his route, I was more worried about one of the freaks finally hitting their intended target.

  Another bullet whizzed by us and punctured the Humvee’s front left tire. Milner turned and studied the burst rubber circle for a couple of seconds. I briefly wondered what he was thinking.

  “Come on, guys,” he sighed. “We might as well follow Smith’s lead. We’re going to either get shot or blown up if we stay here anyhow.”

  He jumped from the Humvee into the long grass. Cordoba followed and I glanced at Batfish. She looked petrified and I couldn’t say I blamed her. The blood around her nose had started to congeal but the bridge between her eyes was puffy and swollen.

  “I don’t want to get blown up, Brett,” Batfish wailed, with a tear in the corner of her eye.

  “Nor do I,” I stammered. “But we will if we stay here.” Cordoba and Milner were already wading through the grass; Smith was nearly on the road. “Come on, we’ll jump together.”

  “All right,” she agreed.

  I offered my hand and she clasped onto it tight. I knew the jump down would jar my shoulder and the impact would more than likely work its way up to my split head, of course that was if we didn’t land directly right on top of a mine.

  “Let’s go,” I whispered.

  She nodded, we shuffled to the edge of the Humvee and leapt into the grass. I was right about the pain in my head and shoulder but luckily wrong about jumping straight onto a land mine.

  Smith reached the road and returned covering fire with a few well aimed shots with his M-9. A couple of the sack hooded freaks shrieked in pain and went down. The hubbub of muffled chat rose in volume and they took aim solely at Smith. He had no cover of any kind but kept moving left and right between the curb, around one hundred feet from the army of goons.

  Milner sprinted the last few yards across the grass, yelling a gung-ho, do or die war cry. He made it unscathed to the road. In one fluid movement, he whipped the M-16 around, off the sling from his shoulder, crouched into a firing stance, took aim and returned fire. More hooded freaks dropped and they began retreating back to the shadows of the nearby buildings a few at a time.

  Cordoba reached the road, dropped to one knee and fired a few shots with her M-9. I saw a few orange sparks of bullet ricochets on the blacktop around the three of them and hoped the shaky aim of the hooded guys would remain bad.

  Batfish breathed heavily through her broken nose and she made a wheezing, whimpering sound with every inhalation. We plodded slowly forward, I resisted the urge to run through the grass and get this awful situation over and done with, one way or another.

  I had no clue what we were going to do if and when we made it to the roadside. We had no vehicle, darkness was almost upon us, we’d lost Chief Cole and we were getting fired on by a bunch of hooded mutants. But I had to focus all my attention on the job in hand, getting through this damn mine field. Every step I took was a potentially fatal one. I felt my head spin again as a fresh wave of nausea, pain and stress washed over me. I nearly went over but Batfish pulled back on my arm.

  “You all right, Brett?”

  I defied the urge to puke and rode out another wave of queasiness. I turned to Batfish. “Never better,” I lied. “Come on, not far to go.”

  “I’m scared, Brett,” Batfish whispered.

  “Yeah, me too.”

  We trod slowly, knowing we had to keep going forward. There was no going back. Smith, Milner and Cordoba picked their shots carefully due to the limited amount of ammunition we had. The hooded guys seemed to be vanishing rapidly into the shadows and their gunshots became more sporadic. Their shooting was no match for my three companions and they were taking heavy casualties. Our aggressors shuffled away between the buildings and the gun fire ceased from both sides.

  Our troubles weren’t over as Batfish and I still had to successfully cross the last few yards on the mine field. How had a simple operation that was supposed to consist of jump starting and driving some vehicles a few miles turned to this dire situation?

  “Stop still if you hear a click under your boot,” Smith instructed.

  “Now you tell us, Smith,” I mockingly scolded. “I’ve been hearing clicks with every step but I think it’s just my body hating me right now.”

  “Quit goofing around, kid,” Smith growled. “This shit is serious.”

  “All right,” I protested. “I was just trying to lighten the mood.”

  “You sure pick your moments, kid. I’ll give you that,” Smith sighed.

  “I wish we could lighte
n our footsteps and levitate over this damn field,” Batfish said.

  If I was a betting type of guy, I wouldn’t have laid good odds on all of us crossing the mine field successfully. Any moment, I was expecting to hear a loud boom followed by a brief, painful floating sensation then scattering myself in small pieces across the field.

  Batfish and I kept moving toward the road but our steps had become smaller with each stride. Neither of us wanted to be the one to trip a mine underfoot. We were so close, around six feet from the curbside when we heard a thunderous explosion in the field to our left. Our heads swung in unison to the source of the ear splitting noise. A cloud of smoke and mud billowed in the dusk air, around two hundred yards from where we stood.

  “What the hell set that mine off?” Cordoba shrieked.

  We caught the whiff of damp soil and hot metal as the smoke cloud drifted over us.

  “Probably an animal of some kind,” Milner said.

  “I wouldn’t be so sure,” Smith groaned.

  As the smoke cleared, we saw at least one hundred zombies stumbling through the field towards us.

  Chapter Sixty

  Batfish and I had no choice now but to hurry over the last few feet of grassy ground between us and the road. I bit my bottom lip so hard it hurt, gripped Batfish’s hand tightly and dragged her to the curbside. We both breathed a brief sigh of relief when our feet touched the concrete curbstone blocks. One problem was solved but we’d now landed headlong into another.

  “Well done, guys, you made it,” Cordoba sighed and gave us both a brief hug.

  Smith and Milner reloaded their respective weapons and scanned the landscape for a way out.

  “Shit! Zombies and a mine field behind us, goons with guns to the front of us,” Smith sighed.

  “And we’ve lost our ride out of here,” Cordoba chipped in, while she reloaded her M-9.