I kept the wolf to my right as I slowly walked around it. I kept my gaze on the animal and my right hand at the ready to raise the firearm if need be. A deep whining sound rumbled from the wolf’s throat. It wasn’t an aggressive growl but more a curious, inquisitive groaning noise.
The wolf skirted around me, slowly treading around in a cautious circle so it was behind me. I turned as I walked so I was facing the pack but moving backwards and remaining in eye contact. It wasn’t the ideal way to move as I couldn’t see what lay ahead of me but I didn’t have much choice. There was a possibility the wolves would attack once my back was turned.
The lone wolf remained still and waited for the rest of the pack to catch up. These animals moved with military precision and I wasn’t surprised they’d lived for so long in the wild. Without humans shooting or trapping them they were probably thriving.
The other wolves sniffed their lone comrade, as if they were trying to communicate. They waited a beat and then began to plod after me along the road.
I didn’t know if they’d keep up their pursuit or they’d become bored and scamper back into the plains. Whatever they were planning made me slightly nervous. My new found accomplices weren’t exactly welcome ones.
CHAPTER FORTY-ONE
The wolf pack kept their distance but still followed me along the road. I walked facing the way I was heading but kept turning every so often to check the animals were still far back enough and not gaining ground. I thought about firing a shot over their heads to disperse them but the sound of gunfire could attract the undead or the neo Nazi gang. I was on my own and in no position to fend off a whole bunch of hostiles.
Sweat rolled down my face when the temperature increased to the peak of the day. I saw the Ghost Town in the distance and turned to check my furry friends were still in my company. The pack still followed.
There wasn’t much I could do about dissuading the wolf pack from their continuing pursuit. The Ghost Town posed more problems as the undead could still be roaming around the buildings and the old ruins.
I remembered the cartons of long life milk I carried in my pack. Perhaps they would help distract the wolf pack. I took the rifle off my shoulder and removed the backpack while I still walked. I rummaged around in the bag and took out the milk cartons, ripped off the tops and set them down on the ground. Hopefully the scent would give the wolves something else to think about other than myself. I swung the backpack and the rifle back over my shoulders without breaking stride.
I moved to the right side of the road as I approached the Ghost Town, allowing myself as much space as possible to maneuver if things got hairy. Windows and doors flapped and creaked in the breeze when I walked by the buildings. Bodies of the undead still littered the ground from the previous skirmish. A few birds cawed and fluttered around on the rooftops and amongst the prone, rotting corpses. A shiver ran down my spine despite the heat of the day. The place really did have the unnerving atmosphere of a Ghost Town even in daylight.
Something stirred at the side of the saloon, which caught my attention. A male zombie with a large scrape down the left side of his head staggered from the shadows, roaring a throaty moan. The ghoul had short, dark hair that stuck up in places around the wound on his head and the remains of a black and white checkered shirt was partially wrapped around the skinny and sun blistered torso. The zombie staggered towards me and out into the sunlight. It looked as though he’d been scalped somehow on the left side of his skull.
“Jesus,” I whispered. “Did this guy have his head put into a damn bacon slicer?”
The male zombie roared again and his throaty rasps alerted more undead. Several figures loomed out from the dark doorways and shadowy alleys between the buildings. They plodded towards me, reaching out with gnarled, outstretched arms. I still held the handgun in my right hand at my side but I would only use it if it came down to crunch time.
I stepped up my pace, wishing I had a working vehicle at hand. I’d already been walking for hours and had no desire to run in the scorching heat. I kept moving at a fast walking speed, bypassing the buildings on my left. The undead spilled out onto the road, plodding forward and heading after me.
“Fucking great!” I spat. Now I had both wolves and zombies on my tail, as though I was some kind of sick Pied Piper.
The motel was still a few miles in the distance so I was going to have to lose my unwanted flock of followers somewhere along the way.
The rifle slung across my shoulder as well as the backpack and spare ammunition began to weigh heavily on my body. I felt like I needed a rest period and a serious drink of water but I knew I couldn’t hold up. Not just yet. A deadly combination of canine carnivore and flesh chomping undead were after me.
I hurried along the road, not running but not hanging around either. Sweat ran down my face and soaked my clothes. I turned back and saw the bunch of undead falling back but still following. Stupidly, I kept up my brisk walking pace while looking behind me. I half turned back to face the road ahead when I strolled face first into something hard and solid.
The blow sent me reeling backward and I tasted blood in my mouth while I slumped onto my backside. My senses took a weird and unpleasant turn for the worse. My vision seemed blurred and I felt as though I was going to throw up.
Warm streaks of liquid dripped from my face. I rolled onto my side and dabbed at my nose with my left hand. I winced at the sudden pain exploding from my nose and noticed the back of my hand was covered in blood.
Unconsciousness threatened to overwhelm me and I had to fight off the waves of nausea and the almost overpowering sensation to lie down and close my eyes.
I forced myself upright and unsteadily stood on wobbly legs. My vision cleared slightly but the sensation of nausea still remained. I glanced around and saw the signpost for the outer limits of the Ghost Town. Somehow, I’d managed to walk right into the big wooden frame. What a complete douche bag!
I stumbled forward and leaned against the signpost supports, gulping in air and wiping the blood from my face. The road was blurred in each direction and I felt more than a little disorientated. I suddenly realized I’d dropped the handgun when I fell. Shit! I had to find that weapon and fast. The world started to meld back together again and my brain became less scrambled.
I felt as though I could stand unaided so I moved away from the signpost and began to scour the ground around me. The damn gun couldn’t have gone too far away. I leaned forward, desperately trying to locate my firearm. A combination of blood and sweat dripped from my face and made small, wet spots in the sand spread across the road. I knew I had the rifle as back up but it was a little cumbersome to use in close quarters.
A low groaning caused me to glance upward, back to the town. The undead were gaining ground and seemed spurred on by the scent of the blood flowing from my nose. I’d lost my advantage of putting some distance between us and now I was going to have to move faster again, even through my groggy state.
I glanced back down at the blacktop and swept my gaze across the cracked, sand dusted surface. A sense of panic rose within me and I knew I couldn’t search for the handgun for much longer. The groans, hisses and moans from the undead grew louder as they approached.
“Fuck it,” I spat. I was going to have to leave the firearm wherever it had ended up. The undead were getting too damn close. The leader of the zombie pack was only around thirty feet from my position. More ghouls followed in close proximity behind.
I was about to turn away and head up the road as quickly as possible when I spotted the black handgrip of my firearm poking from beside a clutch of sprouting weeds at the roadside. I rapidly weighed up the situation and decided I needed that damn weapon.
I lunged forward and scampered to the roadside. The weeds felt spiky and pricked my hand as I reached down to retrieve the handgun. My head spun and my vision blurred when I bent forward. I must have overestimated my powers of recovery and I felt like a drunken man floundering to keep his balance. The d
itch beside the road and the tangle of spiky weeds loomed up at me. It seemed as though the planet had titled on its axis. I toppled over, head first into the roadside, unable to keep my balance.
Prickles stabbed and jabbed at my face, which was a good thing for me. The pain caused by the spiky weeds piercing my skin brought me back from the brink of unconsciousness.
I rolled over, away from the weeds but I lay on my back, arched between the banks of the ditch with my legs waving in the air. I struggled to move but spotted the handgun lying in the ditch next to me. I grabbed the firearm and wriggled around, turning my body so I was lying prone in the trench and alongside the roadway.
I looked upwards when shadows blocked out the sun. The decaying faces of the undead loomed above me.
CHAPTER FORTY-TWO
The undead converged around the roadside ditch I found myself lying in. Good plan, Wilde! Why didn’t I just leave the fucking handgun where it was?
I fumbled around with the firearm in my hands, turning it around so it was aiming upwards at the leering, undead faces. I squeezed the trigger, firing once. The round thundered upwards, spiraling through a male zombie’s forehead. The ghoul’s head rocked back and a spray of blood showered around him. The zombie fell back, away from my view but still plenty more undead flocked around the ditch.
I’d probably attracted more zombies from the Ghost Town by discharging my weapon. I had little choice. I had to fight my way out of the situation. I squirmed around, trying to move further down the ditch so I’d be away from the attacking zombie pack. They were intent on grabbing me, reaching downwards. I scrabbled backwards along the trench, sending up small clouds of dry earth and sand as I moved.
Fear and panic raced through me and I was aware I was making whimpering noises like a frightened animal. It didn’t matter. Nobody living was around to witness my pathetic whining.
I couldn’t shuffle along on my back quickly enough. The undead closed in and a few had already tumbled into the ditch around twenty feet further back down the channel, about where I’d started my slithering maneuver.
I pushed myself upward but I knew if I stood the undead could grab my arms, head and upper body. I was kind of trapped. At least I had the handgun in my clutches and could end my own life by pointing the barrel at my own head and pulling the trigger if they got hold of me.
I scrabbled to my knees, leaning with my back against the bank of the trench on the far side away from the road. I plodded on in a sideways motion and leaning backwards as far as I could but the undead matched my pace. Peeling, sun parched hands, with torn blackened fingernails clawed only inches from my face. Throaty gasps and moans drowned out my whimpering. Two more zombies fell into the trench only a few feet to my right. I didn’t know where to aim or what to shoot at. There were far too many of the wretched, damn undead things around me.
A gray streak weaved its way through the undead but I didn’t take much notice of what it was. One of the zombies confronting me shook from side to side in a jagged shudder. The ghoul turned slightly away from the ditch and suddenly went down. More zombies started to stagger back from the side of the trench and topple over.
I hurried along the ditch away from the remainder of the grasping, outstretched hands and heard deep growling noises along with the undead moans coming from the roadside. I rose up a little higher when I had a small amount of room for maneuver.
“Fuck me,” I gasped, staring at the scene on the highway.
The pack of gray wolves attacked the undead crowd, biting at the loose fitting clothing until the zombies went down then rounding on their prey with a ferocity I’d never seen. The wolves ripped and tore at the rotten, undead flesh. They didn’t eat any of what they tore into but their heads shook rapidly as they shredded necks and limbs. I knew there was no chance of the animals infecting themselves with the zombie’s tainted blood, as I’d previously witnessed, the disease was purely passed between humans.
I wasn’t sure if the animals were actually terminating the undead but they were certainly rendering them inactive.
I didn’t know if the wolves were protecting me but I got the strange feeling that those two cartons of long life milk had probably saved my life. Funny how things worked out.
A rasping noise broke my attention from the bizarre scene on the roadway. I turned to my right and saw a few zombies crawling along the trench towards me. I didn’t want to fire my handgun at them in case the noise scared the wolves away. It was time to get the fuck out of Dodge before it was too damn late.
I hauled myself upright onto my feet and scurried along the trench in a low stance. When I’d put a few yards of space between the grappling animals and undead humans, I scrabbled up the side of the ditch and back onto the road.
Sweaty and bloodied, I took a final glance back down the road at the wolf pack rampaging through the zombie crowd before turning and heading along the highway towards the motel. Nature certainly provided a lot of ups and downs. For once, I’d come out the other side a winner, albeit a lucky one.
What seemed like a million thoughts rolled through my head all at once as I walked. I knew this lifestyle wasn’t going to last forever. We couldn’t go on like this. Something had to change. I’d die of a heart attack if we continually lived running from one calamity to another. I didn’t think my nervous system could cope much longer. I wanted a relatively safe place for my child to grow up in. Not running scared for the rest of his or her life.
I continued on my trek, swigging long gulps of water as I strolled onwards. Every so often I turned to glance back down the road. Neither zombie nor wolf followed me this time.
The horrific events of the past few years since the apocalypse began rolled through my mind. The places we’d been, the people we’d met, good and bad and the people we’d lost along the way all seemed too much. It seemed as though I’d been walking for hours and I was probably wrapped up in my thoughts but the distinctive sound of gunfire in the distance shook me from my inner musings.
I realized I was drawing near to the motel. What the hell was I going to do now?
I hurried across the road for a better view of the landscape up ahead. The scene filled me with anxiety and dread. My stomach rolled and my head spun slightly.
The neo Nazis had totally surrounded the motel with their vehicles. There were guys firing into the building with rifles and handguns, standing beside trucks and cars and sand buggies. Some of them stood in the open popping away at the windows and doors. The motel was peppered with gunshots and there seemed to be little firepower being returned at the attackers. Bullets pinged against the walls, skimmed along the roof and smashed through the remaining glass in the already shattered windows.
The big Texan guy stood on top of a beaten up car yelling orders and firing his big handgun at the motel, while whooping a rebel yell. He was in command of a whole fucking army and I knew they had more men and more firepower than we possessed.
I sincerely hoped and inwardly prayed my traveling companions and friends already hadn’t been wiped out inside the motel. The neo Nazis weren’t going to give up until they’d totally destroyed the building and everybody in it. I knew that once they’d finished with the motel they’d move onto attack our grounded plane.
I had to try and stop the gun totting mob before they succeeded in their aim. But what could I do? I was one guy against scores of heavily armed and completely fanatical mad men.
The odds were almost impossible but I had to think of something, some way to try and save the people I cared about, and extremely quickly.
CHAPTER FORTY-THREE
I held my hands on top of my head, almost unable to comprehend what I was witnessing. The motel was getting shot to pieces.
“Think, Wilde Man, think,” I blurted.
“You know what to do, kid,” a familiar voice said.
I turned slightly and saw my alternative self standing on the road beside me. He was dressed in all black combat clothing and smoking a cigarette.
&n
bsp; “What?” I mumbled.
“I said you know what to do, kid. It’s all there in your head. You have all the information you need.” What was totally bizarre was he spoke in Smith’s voice. “You just have to figure it out, like you’re doing some kind of crazy assed jigsaw puzzle. Better get on with it, kid. Time is one thing you ‘aint got much of.” He snapped his fingers and immediately disappeared.
I was more confused than ever. “What?” I stammered. “What the fuck does all that mean? Ah! Shit, come right back here, you fucker. Tell me what all that was about.”
It was no use. I was all alone on the road, around a quarter of a mile away from the motel with gunfire ringing in my ears.
I tried to breathe deeply and make some kind of sense of everything that was going on around me. I attempted to calm myself but it wasn’t easy. I glanced around the landscape for some kind of inspiration.
A guy dressed in a black leather jacket, black motorcycle helmet and dark, shaded eye goggles sat astride a dusty, black quad bike, which was situated a few hundred yards back from the motel and the main attack. The vehicle was parked horizontally in the center of the road and the guy smoked a cigarette while he surveyed the scene beyond. I guessed he was some kind of look out or scout, ready to spot any runners or counter attacks from our guys.
The world seemed to tilt slightly and I felt a sudden rush through my head. I rocked backwards and forwards for a couple of seconds but then everything seemed clear in my mind. I knew exactly what I had to do. But time was tight so I had to get everything absolutely right. There was no margin for error or hesitation. I had to remain totally driven and focused. I was going to have to be a mean motherfucker.
Left in the Cold (The Left Series) Page 18