Left in the Cold (The Left Series)

by Christian Fletcher

  The two big men were deep in muttered conversation as I approached.

  “Only two tins of pineapple chunks that were any use in the kitchen,” I said.

  “Ah, I fucking hate pineapple chunks,” McElroy said, scowling as he glanced up from the map.

  I smirked to myself. My case was rested.

  “Anything interesting near here?” I asked.

  “Plenty,” Smith grunted. “Also a lot of wide open spaces too.”

  I didn’t know if that was good or bad. Big Bend didn’t seem heavily populated, which I assumed was a good thing but Smith’s tone seemed to infer differently. I took a long swig of water, waiting for my two comrades to decide our next course of action. Impatience got the better of me a few minutes later when still nothing was settled on.

  “Are we moving out, or what?” I groaned.

  McElroy nodded. “Yeah, we’re moving out. The sun will be going down in a couple of hours and it wouldn’t be wise to be out in the open when it does.”

  Smith muttered something incoherent while he folded away the map, flyers and papers. He slipped them into his rucksack and adjusted the straps onto his back.

  Smith and I walked to the front door while McElroy moved to the glass doors and waved for Dovey to join us from outside the back. We joined Anderson in the shade under the porch and waited a beat for McElroy and Dovey to catch up.

  “Okay, guys, we’ll keep our weapons holstered and shouldered for the time being,” McElroy said. “But if we so much as sniff any wee signs of trouble, bring them around to the ready real fast.”

  “Got it,” Anderson and Dovey both said at the same time.

  These two new guys seemed a little too eager to please McElroy for my liking and I hoped they weren’t going to freeze if the shit hit the fan or go completely gung-ho and start blatting all their rounds off in a matter of seconds, hitting precisely nothing. Maybe I was paranoid after all this time running from danger but I’d got to know the people I went out on these crazy missions with and knew I could trust them. I also liked to think they could trust me.

  I wasn’t sure I could trust Dovey and Anderson and I got the feeling they didn’t like Smith and I very much at all. We were going to have to be a little cautious around the two new guys.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  I decided to put my doubts about Anderson and Dovey on the back-burner for a little while as we trudged along the snaking, dusty trail. Maybe they were a little wary of Smith and I as they only knew us by reputation and because they regarded us as outsiders from another country. Perhaps they viewed us as reckless, gung-ho Yankees, ready to blast anything to hell that came within twenty feet of us. These were edgy times when it was extremely difficult to put your wholehearted trust in somebody you barely knew.

  We trudged on in silence for around thirty minutes, taking in the spacious scenery and staring into the distance, all the while watching for anything remotely hostile. The trail further ahead shimmered in the heat and fluffy white clouds floated across the bright blue sky.

  Smith stopped walking for a moment and asked me to retrieve the folded map from his rucksack. I rummaged around in his backpack and pulled out the crumpled map. He took the map from me and unfolded it. McElroy, Anderson and Dovey stopped walking and turned to watch us from a few feet in front.

  “What’s up, Smith?” McElroy asked.

  Smith shook his head. “I don’t think we’re going to find much else this way, Mac,” he said. “This damn park is spread out over twelve hundred square miles. This is one big assed place.”

  McElroy whistled between his teeth.

  “Jesus, that’s more than twice the size of Northern Ireland,” Dovey gasped.

  McElroy turned and gazed into the expanse of desert and rocky hills ahead of us. He turned his head back our way. “So are you saying we should turn back, Smith?”

  Smith briefly nodded. “We’ve done what we set out to do today. We’ve checked there are no hostiles, dead or alive running around anywhere near the plane. Wilde Man here has managed to take out the only hostile thing we’ve come across since we got here.” He nodded in my direction and flashed me a smirk. “The sun will be going down soon and I figure we need a vehicle of some kind to get across this big assed terrain. I can study these maps and papers a little better back on the plane and figure out which direction we can take, where the likelihood of some vehicles are. We can head out again at first light tomorrow”

  I watched Dovey and Anderson’s reactions. They sneered slightly at Smith’s suggestion and I knew they wanted to go on. We stood motionless for a few seconds, simply staring at each other.

  McElroy rubbed a hand through his short, spiky black hair and flicked sweat into the dust at his feet.

  “Aye, you’re probably right there, Big Man,” he said. “I’m fair game knackered, so I am. We’ll start heading back now.”

  I glimpsed an expression of disappointment in Dovey’s eyes. He wanted to be a hero, no question. He was fucking welcome to it in my opinion. We turned and started back down the trail the way we came.

  The trek back to the plane was thankfully uneventful. Dovey and Anderson remained silent the whole way. I only muttered replies and comments to Smith and McElroy’s continuing conversation. Smith explained what limited experience he had of Texas and the rest of us had never been to the State before. We could have been on the moon for what little I knew about the place.

  The sun dipped behind the mountains when we arrived back at the plane. Our shadows elongated in the fading light and the sky became an orange glow. The temperature dropped and the heat became increasingly less uncomfortable.

  Seamus Heath stood around twenty feet away from the rope ladder, while the Russian engineers worked on the landing gear, hunched around the damaged wheel. Seamus watched us approach, holding a handgun at the ready.

  “How about you, Seamus?” McElroy said.

  The little Irishman nodded. “All quiet here, Mac. Find anything interesting out there, did you?”

  McElroy shook his head. “Not a jot. An old diner with a couple of corpses inside but other than that, just a whole lot of open country. But at least we’ve figured out where we are now.”

  “Where would that be now?” Seamus asked.

  “A big old national park in Texas that’s twice the size of our homeland, that’s where,” McElroy replied.

  “Texas?” Seamus squawked. “Jeez, in all my days, I never thought I’d end up in Texas.”

  McElroy turned to glance at the Russian engineers. “How are those guys getting along?”

  Seamus shrugged. “The wheel was a little buckled and the tire was flat but I think they’ve managed to sort it out. As for the navigation system, I haven’t got a clue. I don’t think they’ve even looked at that yet.”

  “Looks like we’re stuck here for a while,” McElroy sighed.

  Dovey and Anderson offered to stay outside and stand guard with Seamus while McElroy, Smith and I unloaded our weapons and climbed the rope ladder to the plane interior.

  Smith and I received more glowering expressions when we entered the seating and lounge area. McElroy stowed the weapons back in the locker and I decided to find a quiet corner and get some shut eye. Hopefully, I wouldn’t be disturbed until we were ready to go out again at dawn the following day.

  The plane wasn’t exactly the most spacious of places and people were getting increasingly cramped and agitated. We’d have to find someplace for them to go before they all went crazy.

  I found a small seat in the kitchen compartment that was partitioned off by a curtain from the rest of the interior. I could stretch my legs out and lean my back against the partition wall. I pulled the curtain across the compartment so nobody could see me, closed my eyes and dozed for a while.

  I awoke with a start some time later. More bad dreams haunted me but I didn’t want to dwell on them for any length of time. I rubbed my face and then pulled back the partition curtain. Faint light from around the plane interior cut t
hrough the darkness. I stood and my legs and back ached. I needed to walk off the pain so I stumbled from the recessed compartment.

  Total and complete darkness was the only thing visible from outside the windows that weren’t shuttered down. Rolling my shoulders and rubbing my neck, I staggered along the center aisles and saw a dim light glowing from the cockpit. I wondered if Dante was up and about so I thought I’d take a look and see if he was okay.

  I discovered it wasn’t Dante in the cockpit when I ambled through the doorway. Smith sat in the co-pilot seat with the maps and papers strewn across the control panel in front of him. The dim light shone overhead above him, casting half his granite like face in shadow. I noticed his black hair was becoming increasingly flecked with gray strands and the stubble around his chin was getting to beard length. A half full bottle of dark rum stood on a level panel to his right side. He glanced around when he sensed me approaching.

  “Hey, kid,” he rumbled. His voice sounded tired and hoarse.

  “How’s it going?” I asked.

  Smith rumbled again. “Don’t ask. Wingate ‘aint talking to me and everybody on this damn plane seems to be pointing a preverbal and non appreciative the finger at me for our slight detour.” He flicked me his middle finger in a crude hand gesture to reiterate his point.

  I sighed. “I know that feeling. What else could we have done though, Smith? I mean seriously. Stay on that damn island and get gunned down by the mob once they’d regrouped and gotten their shit together or get drowned in the storms once they battered that damn ship.” I shook my head. “We had no damn choice, man and we got them all off that island and got them back on land in one piece. At least they’re all alive and we’re not under any immediate threat. They should be grateful, not giving us all this evil eye shit.”

  “All right, Wilde Man,” Smith hissed, spinning around in his chair to face me. “Keep your voice down, will you?” He nodded to the open door behind me. “What are you trying to do? Piss all those people off even more?”

  I glanced behind me through the open doorway. Somebody muttered a tirade of obscenities from beneath a blanket in the front row of seats.

  “Sorry,” I stammered.

  “Anyhow, forget that shit for a moment, kid. Come in and close the door behind you,” Smith said, waving me closer to the control panel. “Here, I want to show you something.”

  I pushed the cockpit door closed and wondered what Smith had found so interesting on the map in front of him. I had a horrible feeling whatever it was would throw us into some kind of new and unknown danger.

  CHAPTER NINE

  I reached for the rum bottle and took a long swig before taking a look at the map. I figured I might need a slug to numb the shock of whatever Smith was about to show me.

  “Okay, shoot,” I rasped, my voice husky due to the glug of strong Caribbean rum.

  I took another shorter sip before Smith took the bottle from me.

  “Hey! Get your own fucking grog, kid,” he said, scowling. “That’s one of the ten deadly sins, touching another man’s liquor.” He took a long swig from the bottle.

  “Are we going to argue about booze all night or are you going to tell me what you’ve found?” I sighed.

  Smith swallowed hard, winced a little then replaced the bottle on the flat panel to the right. He clapped his hands and then pointed to the map.

  “We’re in the National Park someplace right here,” he said, dabbing a large green patch on the map. He moved his finger west of the park. “There’s a small airport outside a resort of some kind, right there a few miles out from a place called Lajitas. The airport is around twenty miles from the edge of the park along this route on the FM170. I figure if we can find a working vehicle tomorrow morning, we can take a drive out there and see if we can get ourselves some jet fuel.”

  I shrugged. “So where do we find this vehicle, right here in the middle of the desert?”

  Smith flicked the map over to reveal a more detail diagram of Big Bend National Park spread out beneath. “You said you saw a sign right before we came in to land a couple of miles back down the trail?” he asked.

  “I did, yeah,” I said, nodding.

  “Well, I figure that was right here,” he said, tapping a spot at the top of the diagram. “The entrance station at Maverick Junction. The route headed south on that trail we took, which would have been the Old Maverick Road, between the two mountains.” He dabbed either side of a snaking gray line running vertically down the paper. “Here and here, Tule Mountain and Rattlesnake Mountain.”

  “Okay,” I said, following Smith’s fingers.

  “If we back up a few miles and get out of the park, we’ll come to a place called Study Butte. According to the accommodation information in my other pile of crap here, there are some motels and RV parks around that area and maybe a vehicle of some kind we can get going. The town is right by the 170 and with any luck we could be at the airport by midday.”

  I nodded and I had to admit I was slightly impressed by Smith’s plan. It seemed as though he’d actually thought all this through instead of acting on a reckless whim.

  “Sounds good,” I said. “How long before the sun comes up you think?”

  Smith shook his head. “Who knows? Three, four hours maybe. I couldn’t sleep but I suppose I better hit the hay for a while. It could be a long day tomorrow, kid.”

  “You’re right,” I said. “I guess we’ll run your idea by McElroy first thing in the morning.”

  Smith winked and nodded. I turned and opened the cockpit door with the intention of retreating to my uncomfortable hovel for a few hours.

  “Oh, and stay off the liquor, kid,” Smith called after me, raising the half empty rum bottle.

  I smiled, nodded and avoided the glares and whispers from the other survivors who were still awake.

  It felt as though I’d been asleep for about five minutes when Smith pulled the curtain back from my partitioned recess.

  “Ah, you are in there, kid,” he said. “I wondered where the hell you were and somebody told me they’d seen you hiding in here.”

  I groaned and rubbed my eyes. Then I groaned louder when I felt how stiff my neck and back felt. I stood to try and ease the aches and pains and blinked into the orange glow of the dawn shining through the plane’s windows.

  A few people milled around in the serving area. McElroy was one of them and Dovey and Anderson too. Seamus Heath was busying himself around a big silver tea urn. Wingate was talking with Sammy O’Neil.

  “It’s a beautiful sunrise,” Smith said.

  “Mmm,” I croaked. “It’s quite the party out here. Anybody made any coffee?”

  “You’ll have to make do with good old tea this morning, kid,” Smith muttered and turned to Seamus who stood in front of the urn. He ordered two teas with plenty of milk and sugar.

  The tea tasted sweet and tepid and the plastic cup half crumpled in my hand. I gulped down the lukewarm liquid and tossed the empty cup in a black trash bag beneath the urn.

  “Jeez, that was one of the grossest things I’ve ever tasted,” I muttered.

  Smith snickered. “Hard to beat a strong cup of Joe, eh?”

  I nodded and glanced around the crowded space. “Christ, Smith, how many people are going on this god damn trip this morning?”

  Smith followed my gaze. “Looks like quite a few bodies will be coming out with us. I ran the plan I told you about last night by Mac and he seemed excited with it. And so it seems so do a good number of the other guys.” He shrugged. “I suppose we can’t stop them coming.”

  I sighed. I didn’t like traveling into the unknown in large numbers.

  “You want a smoke in my office?” Smith asked.

  “Your office?” I asked, slightly confused.

  “The cockpit, dipshit.”

  The penny dropped. “Ah, yeah, sure,” I muttered. “But I got to pee and freshen up a little first. I’ll meet you in there.”

  Smith nodded and barged his way t
hrough the crowd. I made my way to the small bathroom cubicle, emptied my bladder and washed in the dribble of cold water that trickled from the faucet.

  Smith had folded up his maps in a neat pile and was stubbing out his cigarette when I joined him in the smoke filled cockpit. He was alone and tossed me the pack. I lit up and handed Smith back his smokes. He immediately lit another cigarette.

  “I just hope all these extra bodies don’t slow us down too much,” I said.

  Smith shrugged. “Me either.” He grabbed the rum bottle off the control panel and took a nip then passed it to me. I took the bottle and winced slightly at the burn of liquor sliding down my gullet so early in the morning.

  “It sure beats that fucking tea, man,” I croaked, handing Smith back the bottle.

  Smith smiled took another swig and replaced the near empty rum bottle back on the control panel. It wasn’t the first time we’d drunk liquor at sunrise and it probably wouldn’t be the last. Smith packed the folded maps into the top pocket of his blue shirt while I watched the sun slowly rising through the cockpit windows. The orange light spread across the mountains in the distance and it was an invigorating sight. We finished our cigarettes, dunking the butts into an empty soda can on the far side of the cockpit.

  “Okay, kid,” Smith sighed. “Let’s get ready to rumble.”

  CHAPTER TEN

  Smith and I returned to the crowded serving area where McElroy, Wingate and at least a dozen others were packing bottles of water into their rucksacks. Seamus Heath handed out weapons and ammunition magazines from the open locker.

  “This is totally crazy,” I whispered to Smith. “There are too many people going on this trip.”

  “Maybe,” Smith rumbled. “Let’s see how it goes.”

  McElroy caught sight of us through the crowd. “Come on, fellers. Hurry it up and get geared up, will you?”