Left in the Cold (The Left Series)

by Christian Fletcher

  I quickly lowered the rifle barrel and opened up at the SUV windshield, indiscriminately firing at the silhouetted figures inside the cab. Rounds peppered the windshield, leaving round holes surrounded by cracked glass. The SUV veered to the right and ran broadside into one of the pursuing sand buggies, sending both vehicles off the road and crashing front first into a shallow ditch.

  “Good shooting, Wilde Man,” McElroy yelled. “But now they’re going to be really pissed off with us.”

  “Let them be pissed off and fuck all of them,” Smith spat.

  McElroy had a point. I sincerely hoped I hadn’t made our situation worse. Now we were in for a frenzied attack. The warning shots and scare mongering were over. But at least we showed we had the capability of fighting back.

  Smith swerved to the right when another sand buggy drew alongside us. A guy riding pillion, with a big bushy beard and his long hair tied in a ponytail aimed a big, silver handgun at the RV side window. Smith swerved at the buggy again, nudging the side panel of our vehicle against the buggy’s front tire. The buggy snaked in the dust and the ponytailed guy fired high but the round pinged against the RV’s roof.

  I raised the rifle and aimed at the sand buggy but hesitated. I didn’t want to shoot through the window unless absolutely necessary. The glass didn’t give us much protection but it would stop any of the attackers leaping inside the RV. My heart pounded in my chest and I knew the guy with the ponytail was preparing to fire at us again.

  I didn’t need to shoot the rifle. Smith swung the RV to the right in a sharp, swerving maneuver and battered the side of the sand buggy hard. The buggy snaked across the road and the driver lost control. He braked and locked up the wheels and the whole frame skidded around and broadsided off the road and rolled into the dust.

  The roar from a powerful engine caused me to turn my attention to the rear window once again. Another flat bed, open top truck sped after us, only a few yards behind. It looked like a typical American made Ford 150 vehicle, an electric blue color with a big assed front hood. The truck’s engine growled in a deep tone as three disheveled looking guys leaned on the cab roof and took aim with an array of long barreled firearms.

  “Shit,” I muttered, glancing at the guys cowering beneath the seats to my left. If they thought they were big, tough men up for a fight, then now was the time to show it. I snorted. They weren’t going to move a muscle.

  I was about to aim the rifle back out of the wrecked rear window again when Smith turned his head slightly.

  “Hang onto your balls, guys,” he roared.

  Smith stamped on the foot brake and the RV wheels locked up. The guys crouching beneath the table yelled and rocked forwards. I hung onto the frame of the seat beside me, gripping the metal tightly with my fingers. The Ford following closely behind us slammed into our rear fender. The three guys in the back of the Ford tumbled over the top of the cab, one bounced off the hood, cracking the windshield in the process. The whole RV rocked violently forward and the impact jarred my entire body, causing me to let go of my grip on the seat frame and fly backwards, rolling in a heap towards the back of the cab.

  I came to a stop as I slammed head first into a closet door. I shook the pain out of my head as best I could and swiveled around.

  Smith started driving the RV forward along the road again. I heard the roar of a vehicle alongside us but I knew it wasn’t the Ford, the tone was higher and I guessed it was one of the sand buggies. I heard the blast and felt the vibration through the RV as McElroy fired his handgun from the passenger seat inside the cab behind me. Smith increased our speed and I unsteadily regained my feet, gauging the scene around us through the side windows.

  McElroy leaned slightly out of his wound down, passenger side window, firing at two men riding a sand buggy on our right side. I glanced behind us and saw the Ford 150 pickup truck stopped on the road at an angle. I guessed they were out of the picture as a threat but there were still several vehicles hurtling after us. The buggies still rode through the sand off the sides of the road and a couple more SUV’s negotiated their way around the battered Ford 150 pickup truck.

  I noticed a human hand clawing through the shattered broken rear window. A head appeared above the ledge and pieces of jagged glass still left in the frame. The guy trying to haul himself through she shattered window grimaced at me with a mouthful of blood and broken teeth. I recognized him as one of the guys shooting at us from the back of the Ford.

  “We’ve got a hanger on at the back of the vehicle, Smith,” I yelled, raising my rifle and turning my head towards the cab.

  “Well, shoot the bastard and make it real quick, kid,” Smith shouted back.

  I glanced through the front windshield and saw the large crowd of undead heading directly along the road towards us. I aimed at the guy climbing through the back window and fired but the shots went high and out into the open. That problem was going to have to go on hold for a minute.

  “Better brace yourselves, guys,” Smith hollered. “I’m going to try and plow right the way through this walking shit pile.”

  I knew the impact was going to be substantial. I quickly jumped into the seat beside me and buckled the belt, holding McElroy’s rifle out in front of me. I was hoping for the best but expecting the worst.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  The pursuing vehicles obviously also saw the oncoming undead crowd. The sand buggies swept out wider into the desert, further away from the roadside. Smith kept going in a straight line, heading right for the pack of ghouls spread across the highway.

  Brooksey, McGuiness and Anderson continued to huddle beneath the table between the bench seats. The guy grabbing hold of the back of the RV still tried to claw his way through the smashed window and into the interior. I fired once at the guy but the round clunked against the metal window frame and he ducked out the way. I decided I couldn’t risk taking any more pot shots inside the vehicle in case we had a ricochet rattling around the inside.

  I turned my head to take a look through the front windshield. The RV raced towards the undead and Smith gave a defiant roar as we rolled nearer the horde. McElroy joined in with a shouting noise that I’d heard people make when riding a rollercoaster.

  The front of the RV thudded and the whole vehicle shook. I heard bones and bodies smack against the hood, the sides and the underneath of the interior compartment. More shit tumbled from the closets, the side mirrors broke off and the windshield cracked. How the damn thing kept going was anybody’s guess.

  Smith was obviously forced to reduce the speed but kept plowing on through undead corpses. I heard the guy clinging on the rear of the RV scream and briefly saw him torn away from the back window then disappear in a scrum of grasping arms and bodies. No need to worry about that guy trying to clamber inside the RV anymore.

  I saw a few dead hands attempting to grab hold of the frame of the open window but the RV’s momentum prevented them from gaining any kind of firm grip. I watched blood and body parts splatter against the side windows and briefly wondered if we’d make it through the undead mass. I’d lost sight of the sand buggies and the trailing vehicles and sincerely hoped they’d quit their relentless pursuit.

  A head thudded against the side window but I couldn’t tell whether it was still attached to a body or not. The face looked contorted and I briefly caught sight of the mouth opening and closing, as though it was trying to chew its way through the glass. The head disappeared from view and I heard the RV engine rumble in a higher tone as though Smith was putting his foot on the gas.

  I took a quick glance out of the back window and saw the undead crowd depleting slightly. A sizeable dust cloud had kicked up behind us due to the scuffling and bowled over bodies. The road beyond the undead horde was masked with swirling grit. I risked swiveling around slightly in my seat and took a look into the cab. McElroy held his handgun at the ready, craning his neck at an odd angle and trying to see what was going on behind us. Smith drove onward with a strange, almost demented e
xpression on his face. The windshield was cracked and blood stained in several places but Smith had a small, clear patch of glass in front of him to still see enough to allow him to drive.

  The undead seemed to have been left in our wake and I didn’t hear or see any more of them beside us or in front of us.

  “Are we clear, Smith?” I asked.

  Smith either didn’t seem to hear me or ignored my question.

  “Smith, are we clear of that undead rabble?” I repeated, speaking a little louder this time.

  “Uh…maybe, probably…hell, I don’t rightly know, kid,” he mumbled in response.

  I guessed he was still wondering about where the hell Wingate had got to. Nothing like parting on bad terms and then something unthinkable happens. I knew that awful feeling only too well after my relationship with Estella Cordoba inexplicably fizzled out. She’d died while we were barely on speaking terms. I decided if we ever made it back to the plane, or the motel or wherever the hell Batfish was, I’d make an attempt to patch things up with her.

  Anderson, Brooksey and McGuiness crawled out from beneath the table. McGuiness groaned as he sat on the seat. Anderson and Brooksey stood in the center aisle, glancing out of the back and blood smeared side windows. Smith quickly reduced the RV’s speed, braking sharply in the sand, sending us rocking forward. The vehicle came to a standstill outside the saloon back in Terlingua, right near the Ghost Town.

  “What are you doing, Smith?” Anderson barked. “Those guys in those vehicles could turn up here at any moment.”

  Smith wrenched on the park brake but kept the engine running. He swiveled in his seat, glaring at Anderson.

  “Listen, dipshit, I have to know if Wingate bought it when we were first here or she could still be out there someplace. I have to know.” Smith turned to the side window. “If she’s here and she’s dead then I need to know. But if she’s one of those stumbling pieces of shit, I want to be the one who pulls the trigger and ends it. Can you dig that, buddy?”

  McElroy groaned. I knew he wasn’t going to argue with Smith. I unbuckled myself from my seat and stood up.

  “I’ll go with you, Smith,” I said. “Wingate was…sorry is my friend too and I want to help find her, whatever the outcome.” I felt I owed her that courtesy at least.

  Smith glanced at me and nodded. “Come on then, kid. Let’s go.” He slipped off his seatbelt and opened the driver’s door.

  I moved to the side door and hoped it still opened after the hammering it had taken.

  “Hold on, boys,” McElroy said, sighing as he spoke. “I’ll come with you. We’ll be quicker with more of us searching.”

  “Count me in too,” Brooksey said. “I can go through our last movements that me and Maloney went through.”

  McElroy nodded. “Okay, better be quick though, boys. We don’t know if those goons are going to show up here or they’ve given up the chase. Either way, we need to warn the others at the motel to be prepared.” He glanced across the RV living space. “Anderson, you stay here with McGuiness. Leave the engine running and honk the horn if you spot any hostiles. Got it?”

  Anderson nodded. He looked fatigued and scared. Maybe the day had been too much for him to take in.

  I couldn’t worry about McGuiness and Anderson for a while. I tugged on the side door handle and heard the panel pop as the door slid open. The door resisted for a second but I managed to pull it fully open with a bit of effort. I hopped out onto the sand covered blacktop and Brooksey followed me outside. McElroy and Smith closed their doors and joined us at the side of the RV.

  The heat hadn’t seemed to have dropped any and the wind whipped up a shower of dust over us. I shielded my eyes before I closed up the RV side door. The four of us slipped our tactical sunshades over our eyes and McElroy ushered me to hand him back his rifle. Reluctantly, I handed the weapon over and he checked the mechanism and reloaded. I drew my handgun and reloaded as well, just so I knew I had a fully loaded magazine in case I needed it.

  “Let’s try and be quick about this, guys,” McElroy said.

  Smith muttered something under his breath and led the way up the front steps, leading to the front doors of the saloon. We followed in Smith’s wake, with me at the back of the line. I turned back when we reached the top of the steps and gazed into the distance. I saw dust trails in the sand and couldn’t tell if they were coming our way or moving further into the open desert.

  “Something’s moving out there,” I said.

  McElroy and Brooksey turned back to take a look.

  “As I said, boys, we’ll have to be quick here,” McElroy reiterated.

  Smith tried the big, wooden front doors but couldn’t open them. He nodded towards the pathway running around the side of the building. We trod over bodies, already partially covered by the blowing sand. The patio at the rear of the saloon was also littered with corpses in various states of mutilation. Some had been ripped to pieces and others had been shot through the head. Smith crouched beside several corpses and checked them over. Each time he stood, shaking his head.

  The back doors remained open and I peered into the gloomy interior beyond. A bank of three blacked out windows sat a few feet above the doors. Brooksey stood to my right, also staring into the saloon.

  “Did you see these doors open, Brooksey?” I asked.

  Brooksey shrugged. “One minute we were stood around, next minute Maloney’s down and there are fucking zombies all over us. I don’t really know exactly what happened but we were stood right where we are now when it all kicked off.”

  I nodded then pointed to the open doors. “Let’s go take a look inside this damn place.”

  I couldn’t figure out how a locked door could have simply flown open. I was going to try and find out what the hell had happened.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  I took a quick glance behind me before I stepped forward through the saloon’s rear doors. Smith and McElroy were busy checking the corpses and removing any firearms, ammunition or weapons they found. I decided I’d leave them to it and check out the inside of the saloon with just Brooksey for company.

  “Stay close,” I said, as we trod slowly to the back doors.

  “Don’t worry,” Brooksey muttered. “I will.”

  We stepped through the doorway. I stopped moving for a moment, lifted my shades up and rested them on the peak of my cap. Brooksey did the same and we let our eyes adjust to the gloom for a few moments. The saloon interior smelled dry and musty with the stench of the undead still lingering in the air.

  “Hey, Wilde Man,” Brooksey said. I didn’t know if he wanted to ask me a question or direct my attention to something.

  “What is it?” I whispered.

  “You think Wingate is in here somewhere?” He glanced at me with an expression of genuine concern.

  I shook my head and sighed. “I don’t know, Brooksey. I don’t know what the hell is going on here.”

  My eyes adjusted to the dimness inside the saloon. The floor was made up of Terracotta type tiles in a mosaic effect and ran in a long stretch to the front doors. The long, wooden bar counter stood to the right with a strip shutter pulled all the way down. Chairs and tables stood in stacks against the wall to the left of the floor space.

  We moved cautiously side by side, further into the saloon. Our boots clunked on the tiles and the sound echoed through the room. I heard Smith and McElroy talking to each other behind us, although I had totally zoned out on what they were saying. My inner radar was flashing on red alert even though the saloon was still and quiet.

  Brooksey peered through the shutter slats covering the bar and I glanced left at the stacks of chairs and tables. I hadn’t noticed a recessed doorway behind the heaped wooden furniture when we were standing in the entranceway. I raised my handgun and trod slowly across the room to take a closer look.

  A closed door stood inside the recess with a table piled with bar stools in front of it. A sign depicting a male and female hung above the recess. It would
make sense the saloon had accessible restrooms but why was the doorway almost barricaded up?

  I kept the handgun trained on the doorway while I began lifting the bar stools off the table with my left hand. Brooksey trotted across the room, slung his rifle over his shoulder and helped me remove the stools from the table top.

  “There ‘aint nothing behind the bar counter,” he whispered. “Nobody dead or alive behind there and it looks like all the booze has been removed too.”

  I nodded an acknowledgement. Booze was the last thing on my mind.

  “What do you think is behind that door, Wilde Man?” Brooksey asked.

  While I admired and shared his curiosity, I didn’t have the power of x-ray vision but I managed to keep my slight irritation under wraps.

  “Beats me,” I muttered.

  We slid the bar stools across the floor and out of our way. I slipped my handgun into the holster to keep it out of the way for a moment. Brooksey grabbed one end of the table and got hold of the other. The damn thing was heavier than it looked but we still managed to shunt it out of the way of the recess.

  I ushered Brooksey to take a backward step as I moved towards the door, drawing my handgun from the holster. Brooksey nodded and pulled his rifle from his shoulder, aiming at the door.

  “Just don’t shoot me if anything pops out from behind that door,” I hissed.

  Brooksey nodded but he looked nervous. Although, I had to admit, I felt a few butterflies floating around my stomach. I gave Brooksey a final glance to ensure he was focused. He nodded. I felt around the sides of the door’s surface for any kind of handle but didn’t find one. I tried pushing the door but it didn’t budge. It was either locked from the inside or something heavy wedged it closed on the opposite side.

  “No way in, huh?” Brooksey said.

  “There’s always a way in,” I muttered. “Stand back a little.”

  Brooksey complied. I took a few backward steps then lunged forward, raising my left boot and aiming my foot at the door at waist height on the left side. The security of any door was only as good as the fixings which held it in place.