I knew Smith was allowing the recent events to stew over in his mind and I hadn’t quizzed him on his plans or what he had planned. But I figured it was the time to question him as we reached the open RV side door. I took a glance inside the vehicle and saw McGuiness slumped across the bench seat. He was either asleep or dead, I didn’t know which. I turned back and stood in front of the open doorway, looking directly at Smith as he stopped in front of me.
“You’re not going to let this shit lie, are you?” I said.
Smith glared at me and shook his head. “Of course I ‘aint, kid,” he muttered.
I stared back into Smith’s stone chip eyes. “I’m telling you now, Smith, you ‘aint going to do whatever you’re going to do alone. I’m going to be right there alongside you.”
Smith ducked his head slightly and pulled his lips in a skewed expression. “You know it’s going to be a shit storm, kid? We’re going to be walking into hell.”
I nodded with steely determination and gulped emotionally. “Wingate is my friend too, Smith. We’re going to get her back. Whatever it takes.”
The expression in Smith’s eyes mellowed a little. “Whatever it takes,” he whispered.
“Count me in as well,” McElroy said. “That fucker killed a lot of our guys unnecessarily. He shot Dovey in cold blood right in front of us, so he did. I want to get Wingate back as well, of course I do, lads. But more than anything, I want to put a bullet right between that smug bastard’s eyes. He’s vastly underestimated the fighting Irish, so he has.”
The three of us glanced at each other in turn. I sensed a gritty determination replacing the sense of despair. I knew deep down we were going to cause the tall guy a lot of pain, even if we failed in our task. We nodded. We were on it. We were going to war.
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
Anderson stared at Smith, McElroy and I as though we were crazy men. We stood in a rough circle facing each other, snorting and nodding like ancient warriors. I’d never felt so hyped up, even though my body ached. I’d never wanted to take revenge on a human being so much before in my life. I wanted to wipe that Hollywood smile right off the tall guy’s face and kick it along with his gleaming white teeth right down his throat.
“So…what are we doing now?” Anderson stammered.
Smith, McElroy and I continued to stare at each other, tuning our aggression as one unstoppable force. McElroy was the first to break the chain. He stared up at the sky.
“I reckon sundown is about two hours away, fellers,” he said, squinting into the setting sun. That means by my reckoning we have about twenty-six hours to sort this shit out.”
“You probably got that about right, Mac,” Smith said, also breaking away from the stare fest.
“So, you got a plan, Big Man?” McElroy asked.
Smith grinned and I noticed a glint in his eye. “Oh, yeah,” he said. “This type of shit is what I’m good at.”
I knew what Smith had in mind was going to be dangerous but I felt a tingle of excitement run down my spine. We were up against it and the odds weren’t in our favor but we were going to get Sarah Wingate back or die trying.
“Shouldn’t we just do as that guy said and leave this place?” Anderson asked.
Smith swiveled around to face him and leaned forward closely.
“We will leave here, buddy but not until we’ve wiped every last one of those neo Nazi pricks off the face of the planet,” he growled.
Anderson took a couple of backward steps away from Smith. He retreated with an expression of terror and confusion. I knew the guy was mentally shot. Not everybody could handle these types of situations. I never found it easy but I had my own, possible psychotic way of dealing with the awful realities of the world. I hadn’t seen my alternative self for a while but I could always feel his ghostly presence hovering on my shoulder, as though he was watching my every move.
Anderson put his hands on his head and winced, as though he about to start weeping.
“They’re going to come after us and kill us. Look what they did to Dovey and Brooksey and don’t forget about Chivers and Froggie. They killed those guys too,” he wailed.
“We know that, feller,” McElroy said. “But we can’t let these guys push us around and dictate our future. We have to make a stand or this shit will happen time and time again wherever we go. We’re in the United States now. It’s a huge country. There is room here for us someplace but we just have to find it. We’re not going to let a prick like that big Texan gunslinger stop us from living our lives how we want. You okay with that, feller?”
“Amen to that,” Smith said, nodding and reaching into his jacket pocket. He brought out his pack of smokes and offered them around. We all took one and lit up.
Anderson nodded but still looked scared. “I just have a bad feeling about all this shit, Mac. I don’t like the way those guys roll. They give me the shits, guys. What’s all that hanging and throat slitting crap about? Huh?”
Smith sucked on his smoke and exhaled before he spoke. “It’s all bullshit, buddy. I seen a thousand guys like that big headed cowboy clown. They’re all bravado and Billy Big Nuts when they have a crowd around them. Get him on his own and he’ll be pissing his pants like a whiney little bitch. I fucking guarantee it, man.”
Anderson gulped. “I hope you’re right, Smith. We still have all those other motherfuckers to contend with. They look like military guys of some kind.”
Smith shook his head. “They ‘aint military, friend. They’re just a bunch of gun totting assholes who’ve had their own way for far too long. They’ll be complacent and lazy. They won’t expect us to hit back at them.”
“So, are we really going for it?” Anderson groaned.
Smith nodded. “We sure are, buddy. You can sit it out if you don’t feel up for it.”
Anderson considered Smith’s suggestion and I knew he didn’t want to be involved in this mission but bravado took hold of him. “Yeah, okay, Smith. Count me in,” he muttered.
“All right, guys, we need to get our shit together,” McElroy said. “We’ve got a lot to do before tomorrow night so let’s make tracks back to the motel and see if everybody is okay.”
“That sounds like a good idea, Mac,” I said. “It’s been one hell of a day.”
“Yes it has, kid,” Smith sighed. “It has been one hell of a day.”
We clambered back into the RV. Smith drove and McElroy sat in the passenger seat in the cab alongside him. Anderson and I sat in the rear compartment on the bench seats opposite McGuiness. None of us spoke as Smith raced along the dusty road back towards the small cluster of buildings outside Big Bend National Park.
Some of our fellow survivors milled around the outside of the motel as we pulled up on the road out the front of the building. The bus used for transporting the survivors from the plane inside the park was stopped outside the motel’s front doors. A few people clustered by the entranceway, talking, laughing and smoking cigarettes. Their light hearted mood was bound to change once we told them what we were faced with.
We hauled ourselves out of the RV and headed in silence towards the motel.
“I’ll get the doc to take a look at your shoulder,” McElroy said to McGuiness. “Then I suppose we better deliver the shit sandwich and break the news to O’Neil and that asshole Chernakov. They need to prepare themselves if everything goes pear shaped.”
“I plan to go over to Lajitas after dark tonight,” Smith said. “We’ll take a few hours rest after our meet with O’Neil and company and head on out into the desert. If it all goes well, we can get Wingate back, fuel the plane up and get out of here before sunrise tomorrow.”
McElroy huffed a laugh. “That’s some optimistic shit you’re talking, Big Guy.”
“It’ll work out okay if we do it right,” Smith said.
“And with a big old slice of luck on our side,” McElroy sighed.
The people outside the motel door watched us approach. The smiles dropped from their faces when they
noticed the disheveled state we were in and the somber expressions on our faces.
“Oh, this doesn’t look good,” a thickset guy who I remembered was named Steve said in his broad Scottish accent. He dropped the cigarette butt on the ground and stamped it out underfoot. “What’s going on, Robbie?” he asked Anderson.
Anderson didn’t reply. He simply shook his head and looked as though he was holding back tears in his eyes.
“Is O’Neil around?” McElroy asked Steve.
Steve nodded. “Aye, he’s inside somewhere.” He pointed to the open motel doors.
We bustled through the doorway and I was grateful to get inside and into the shade. The temperature wasn’t a lot lower inside the motel but it felt a relief to avoid the direct sunlight for a while.
“I’ll find the doc and take McGuiness along with me,” Anderson suggested. “That’ll save us a wee bit of time.”
McElroy nodded. “I don’t know where Chandra is but he’s bound to be searching for first aid kits and medical stuff someplace.”
“We’ll find him,” Anderson said, nodding.
McGuiness and Anderson turned left, walking down the central corridor of the motel interior. We headed right, following the route that was marked ‘Conference Room’ by hanging overhead signs with gold lettering on a blue background pointing the way.
The conference room itself was spacious, decked out with a light blue vinyl floor, pastel blue walls with long tables and dark blue covered chairs sitting around the room. The tall windows overlooked the parking lot on one side and a paved courtyard sat beyond the adjacent wall. The windows provided a view of the dipping sun closer to the horizon. The whole area looked in pretty good shape and seemed as though it had been untouched by the ravages of the apocalypse.
Sammy O’Neil, Oleg Chernakov and a combination of around another dozen men and women stood to the rear of the conference room in small huddles, deep in conversation. They drunk from small, white china cups and appeared to be in good spirits, probably glad to be off the plane and relaxing in relative safety for the last few hours. I knew the bad news we had to tell them wasn’t going to go down well. They turned to stare at us with apprehensive expressions as we approached.
I decided to let Smith and McElroy recount our sorry assed story. I really couldn’t bring myself to stand there and be subjected to O’Neil and Chernakov’s rants. They’d blame us for not cooperating and causing the trouble. I’d heard it all before.
The gathered crowd parted as we approached. O’Neil and Chernakov stood rigid with stern faces. I allowed McElroy and Smith to meet them head on and skirted around the back of the people fanning out in a semi circle around the two prominent men. The smell of fresh coffee around the room was a welcome aroma. I grabbed myself one of the china cups on the table and poured myself a brew from the chrome plated urn beside the cups. I didn’t bother with cream and sugar, turning away from the crowd towards the exit door as I heard gasps from the crowd and Chernakov yell loudly. I walked out of the room still holding my coffee cup. I had no interest in hearing the Russian Officer’s childish, angry outbursts and O’Neil’s foreboding response.
I sipped from my cup as I walked along the motel corridor. The coffee tasted good and strong. I didn’t really know where I was headed but I felt like I needed a shower and a change of clothes. My sweaty undershirt still clung to my torso and aches and pains were in full force all over my body.
I walked by the front doorway and nodded to Steve, who was still standing guard outside. He responded with a nod himself.
“Any place I can take a shower, Steve?” I asked.
Steve stuck his head through the doorway. “Some of the guys have managed to get the water back on but they’re still trying to get the generator working. You can get a shower in any of the rooms but it’s going to be cold water I’m afraid, mate.”
I shook my head. “I don’t care, Steve. Cold water sounds just fine.”
I carried on walking down the corridor, draining my coffee cup and dumping it on top of a small table to the left while I kept moving. I knocked on the doors of several rooms but people answered from inside. Nobody replied in one room so I opened the door only to witness a couple on the bed in the throes of love making.
“Oops, sorry,” I muttered, closing the door immediately.
Eventually, I found an empty room at the end of the corridor. The doorway faced the staircase leading up to the first floor. I received no reply to my knock so I opened the door and saw nobody inside the small room. Obviously, my fellow survivors wanted more spacious rooms. The view from the window was a solid wall, which partially blocked out the sunlight. I didn’t care. The room had a small single bed and a tiny little shower room with a sink and toilet. It would do for me for a while.
I unloaded my weapons and put them on the small table in front of the window. I dumped my rucksack and the curved knife I’d taken from the crazy guy on the table beside the firearms. It felt good to strip off my sweaty, dirty clothes and I left them in a grubby heap on the floor.
Steve was right. The shower water wasn’t heated but it was kind of lukewarm and the pressure wasn’t great but I didn’t mind too much. There was even a bottle of shower gel left in the cubicle and I finished up the last drops, savoring the soapy, citrus aroma as I washed myself down.
A couple of unused towels hung on the rail in the small bathroom and they still smelled almost fresh. I opened a closet as I dried myself off and saw the previous resident, whoever they’d been had left some clean clothes on the shelves and on the hanging rail. The garments weren’t exactly cutting edge designer fashion and consisted mostly of sportswear, denim jeans and checkered shirts. A bunch of balled socks and a new, unopened pack of underwear lay on the second shelf down. A pair of blue sneakers sat next to a pair of light brown loafers at the bottom shelf of the closet. I checked the labels for sizes and they were all a close enough fit for me to wear.
The bed seemed like a magnet, pulling my body closer towards the soft looking pillows and a comfortable looking mattress. I couldn’t resist any longer. I flung the towel on the floor, rolled onto the top of the bed totally naked and as the light faded in the room, sleep took hold of me almost immediately.
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
The bad dreams haunted my sleep again. The terrifying scenarios conjured up by my subconscious mind were vividly clear and gut wrenchingly realistic.
I awoke and sat bolt upright in the bed, sweating and gasping for breath. The room was completely dark and I sat still for a few moments, waiting for the horrific dream images to fade from my thoughts.
I badly wanted a cigarette so I hauled myself off the bed and stumbled over to the pile of dirty clothes I’d left on the floor. I pawed my way across the room, groping around in the darkness until I found the table in front of the window. I felt for my rucksack and rummaged around inside, pulling out the small flashlight. I clicked it on and shone the light beam around the room. The small area looked ghostly in the pale, halogen induced white light. A shiver ran down my spine as I wondered if the spirits of the dead were floating around somewhere near me.
I picked up the towel and rubbed the sweat from my face and chest. My mind began to function logically again and the thoughts of the bad dreams receded. I went back to the rucksack and took out a crumpled pack of smokes and a lighter. I lit one up, sat on the end of the bed and enjoyed the burn of the smoke in my throat and lungs.
I had no clue what the time was or how long I’d been asleep. Something bugged me and ate away at the back of my mind.
“Ah, shit,” I whispered, realizing I was supposed to be going out with Smith on his reconnaissance and rescue mission. “Shit, shit, shit,” I hissed, rising from the bed. My guts knotted in nervous tension and I hoped Smith didn’t think I’d gone AWOL on him.
I took a piss in the toilet, dunking my cigarette butt in the pan when I’d finished up. I washed my face with cold water from the sink faucet, resting the flashlight on the bathroom shelf.<
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I opened the closet and opted for the sportswear, dressing hurriedly in the new pack of underwear, clean socks, a pair of dark blue jogging pants, a gray t-shirt and a black hoodie top. The sneakers were a little tight but bearable.
Loading the weapons was a little tricky in the dim light and I made sure I put the curved knife in my rucksack. I slung the rifle and the rucksack over each shoulder and slid the handgun into the holster at my hip. I lit another smoke and I was ready to go.
The spare magazines for the Armalite rifle rattled in the pouches along my belt as I hurried down the motel corridor. The lighting buzzed and flickered overhead, dimly illuminating the passageway. Somebody had obviously managed to get the generators going but they seemed to be struggling to fully power the whole building. The corridor was deserted as I padded through into the lobby. A few armed guys stood outside the glass doors obviously keeping guard. They talked amongst themselves and smoked, flashing me a cursory glance as I strode purposefully by.
I checked the conference room but the place was in total darkness with nobody about. “Shit,” I whispered to myself in the doorway. There wasn’t even a hot cup of Joe on offer to take away the bitter, salty taste in my mouth. I took a couple of cartons of long life milk still left on the table and stowed them in my pack for later.
I made my way back to the entranceway and stepped outside to join the huddle of guys on watch. The night air felt cooler but the temperature was still on the warm side. The armed guards turned their heads and ceased their muttered conversation as I walked through the doorway.
“How’s it going, guys?” I asked in greeting, nodding as I spoke.
“Aye, okay,” a small but stoutly built guy said in a strong Scottish accent. “Nay dead bastards out here to worry about tonight, wee man, eh?”
I didn’t know if the guy was asking me a question or telling me what was going on. I smiled, nodded and offered my pack of smokes around. Three of them took a cigarette and two refused. I took one myself and we all lit up.
Left in the Cold (The Left Series) Page 15