Left in the Cold (The Left Series)

by Christian Fletcher

  The tanker’s control panel worked on its coordinated timer. Gas flooded out from the hose trailing behind the truck and ran along the sloping ground away from the motel and towards the neo Nazi’s array of vehicles.

  “Let’s go,” I hollered, as I headed towards the main group of attackers encamped on the far side of the parking lot. “Party on, motherfuckers!”

  George Michael still sung to me on the truck’s stereo. My attendance had been duly noted though. The main cluster of neo Nazis surrounding The Marshall stared over at my speeding truck and loaded up their weapons. They cocked their firearms and took aim as I speeded towards them.

  “Here we go,” I muttered. This was going to be the crunch moment.

  Semi automatic weapons chattered in front of me. I saw the bright light of muzzle flashes and rounds peppered the truck’s cab. I ducked down slightly but didn’t reduce my speed. The windshield cracked in several places and bullets clanked against the metal compartment surrounding me. The onboard computer dispensed another ten gallons of gas, flooding around the wheels of my truck but more importantly flowing towards the vehicles and men firing guns at me.

  I kept my eyes slightly above the dash so I could see where the hell I was steering. Weapons cracked and bullets fizzed all around me. I kept my foot firmly dumped down hard on the gas pedal. The engine roared harder as the tanker pushed on forward.

  Some of the gunmen scattered as I drove at them. A few diehards stayed put where they stood, obviously assuming I was going to swerve away from them at the last second. I didn’t. I carried on going.

  The tanker truck’s steel front fender smashed into a couple of sand buggies. The sudden impact sent the vehicles sprawling across the parking lot in a twisted heap, scything through a few gunmen at the same time. I jerked the steering wheel left and right, taking out as many neo Nazis as I could. Screams and pained yells sounded along with bumps and bangs against the cab when metal hit bone and flesh.

  I shunted into a copper colored car, jackknifing it sideways before the tanker’s gas dispenser dumped out again. The flammable liquid pooled around the gunmen’s feet and beneath their vehicles.

  I caught sight of The Marshall, still in his cowboy hat and staring in wide eyed disbelief at what he was witnessing. He was ringed by a few henchmen who tried to lead him away from the parking lot. I rounded the steering wheel, turning the truck in a wide, looping arc, running down more gunmen and crunching into more vehicles that stood in the way.

  I sped around the perimeter of the motel, knocking down the gunmen and smashing into their trucks, cars, quad bikes and sand buggies. They continued to fire their weapons at me and I heard the pings of bullets puncturing the cab and the tanker to the rear. The passenger side window, smashed, showering glass across the cab. I ducked down to avoid the worst of the glass chips but I realized my advantage of surprise and the affects of shock against the enemy were now starting to evaporate.

  They were either going to regroup and come after me or take out the truck with one massive barrage of small arms fire. It was time to run the next phase of my plan.

  I drove around the back of the motel in a big circle, bumping over rough terrain and then a stretch of sandy grit. I finally came to a halt on the road at the entrance to the parking lot. I grabbed my rifle and jumped out of the cab, keeping the body of the tanker between me and the view to the gunmen in the parking lot. A distorted George Michael still sung inside the truck.

  I took a peek around the side of the tanker trailer and saw the neo Nazis pointing in my direction and gesturing wildly. I kicked the end of the hose so it rolled across the road and pointed down the slight slope into the parking lot. The gas dispenser belched out another couple of times but spat out only a slight dribble of fuel on the last dump. The tanker was pretty much empty now.

  Everything was in place. It was time to light the fuse.

  CHAPTER FIFTY-ONE

  The neo Nazis who were still able to stand and move freely, grouped together. They fired a few rounds at the tanker, causing me to duck down. The gunmen began to advance across the parking lot towards me, staying low to the ground in several packs of threes and fours. I fired off a couple of rounds from my rifle but couldn’t get any kind of angle on my aim. It was a short burst of fire more to slow their advance than to wipe them out. They returned my fire, peppering the tanker with bullets.

  I lurched backward to avoid the hail of lead, hunkering down beside the rear wheel. I was pinned down and had to get away from the tanker before I could light the dispensed gas. The truck was covered in fuel and the fumes stung my nose and throat as I breathed in the cloying vapor. I took a quick peek around the side of the tanker. The gunmen fanned out across the parking lot and advanced in their small groups.

  Shit! I was going to be cut off if I didn’t move soon. All my efforts would have come to nothing and I knew the neo Nazis wouldn’t simply shoot me where I stood. A long, slow and painful death would surely be in store for me if I was captured alive. I couldn’t allow that scenario to happen.

  I glanced back behind me and saw the cluster of undead slowly plodding along the road towards the motel. Hopefully, my luck would hold and the zombies would cause a distraction. The gunmen couldn’t see the undead approaching from their position.

  In a split second, the situation turned on its head. Rapid bursts of gunfire from inside the trashed motel cut down a few groups of the advancing neo Nazis and stopped the others dead in their tracks. Gunmen fell in droves and rolled over into the pools of gas on the parking lot surface. The groups of neo Nazis who weren’t hit by the gunshots scattered from their formations and rushed for cover anyplace they could find. It was the break I needed.

  I had to move. It was now or never.

  I slung the rifle over my shoulder but kept it at the ready, strapped and hanging at my right side. I fumbled around in my backpack, pulling out my pack of cigarettes and lighter. I lit a smoke and took in a couple of long puffs before tossing the burning cigarette at the pool of gas beside the yellow dispensing hose. Then I rose up fully on my feet and ran as fast as I could.

  I ran towards the approaching crowd of zombies further down the road. I hoped the undead would act as some kind of cover if the neo Nazis began shooting at me. It wasn’t long before the unmistakable crack and zip of bullets flying in my direction sounded around me and I kept running nearer to the ghoulish figures ahead.

  A few seconds into my headlong sprint, the whole of the landscape to my right lit up in a huge, orange fireball. I turned to look and saw flames erupting into the clear blue sky. The screams of men caught in the blaze carried across the desert before more explosions, hurling up pieces of metal and burning, wrecked vehicles seemed to shake the whole area.

  I slowed my speed, captivated by the high flames and plumes of oily, black smoke spiraling upwards around the motel. I seriously hoped I hadn’t overdone the gas and burned alive anybody who was left inside the building. The fuel had been dispensed far enough away from the motel but I could feel the heat of the flames from my position so god only knew how intense it was inside or anywhere near the motel.

  I suddenly realized I’d stopped moving, almost spellbound by the mayhem I’d caused. I remembered the approaching zombies and turned to face the road. The undead too had ceased advancing and stood with their chins tilted upward, staring at the flame filled scene.

  No more shots were fired in my direction so I decided it was safe to turn and head back, with extreme caution towards the motel. The zombies seemed preoccupied watching the fire and showed little interest in coming after me.

  I slipped as I swiveled around. My brain made the decision to move before my shocked body was ready. I took in a few deep breaths and tried to compose myself. Had I just killed every surviving human in the vicinity? I had to go and make sure I’d wiped out the bad guys and saved at least a few of my friends and traveling companions.

  I gripped the rifle butt and drew the weapon upward across my chest so it was ready to
use if needed. The fire still raged around the motel and I set off at a brisk walking pace, heading back to the scene of carnage.

  “Oh, Christ, what have I done?” I whispered, as drew nearer the flaming circle surrounding the building.

  The gas tanker was ablaze and I could just about make out the charred shell of the vehicle amongst the flames. I felt the searing heat radiating from everything on fire from the parking lot backwards to the grounds around the rear of the motel. Glass popped and people screamed from somewhere amid the burning wreckages of the neo Nazi’s vehicles. I saw movement of distorted human shapes writhing around in the fire and slumped forms blazing on the ground. The acrid stench of burning gasoline, rubber, plastic and melting metal almost masked the unmistakable reek of scorched human flesh.

  I raised my arm, shielding my face from the heat as I ran by the tanker. Sweat caused my clothes to cling to my body and the heat felt as hot as hell itself. The flames rolled across the burning tanker carcass and spun into the air like a roaring, fiery tidal wave. I kept running beyond the front of the gas truck and tried to look through the flames to see if the motel had caught alight. I couldn’t tell for sure so I kept on moving along the road.

  More vehicles and people burned on the rough ground at the rear of the building. Shit! The entire ground was like an erupting inferno. I wondered if I’d overdone the dispensing of gas more than just a little. It looked as though the whole god damn State of Texas was on fire. I might have halted the neo Nazi’s attack on the motel but had caused another huge problem.

  I had no idea how I was going to get beyond the vast circle of fire and more importantly, how the hell was anybody going to get out.

  CHAPTER FIFTY-TWO

  I chose a spot where the fire didn’t seem so high and stopped running. Squinting against the heat from the blaze, I tried to weigh up whether I would be able to run through the flames and get through unscathed. I decided it was a totally dumb idea and I’d end up burnt to a crisp if I attempted that particular maneuver.

  In the back of my mind, I knew the fire would eventually die down but the heat inside that wide, burning circle must have been unbearable. I didn’t want to imagine Smith, Wingate, McElroy, Batfish with my unborn baby and all the others suffering inside that motel while slowly cooking to death or dying of smoke inhalation. The image was so vivid and so horrible in my mind it almost felt real. An overwhelming sense of helplessness and guilt pulsed through me. My head spun and I threw up a mouthful of stomach bile. I breathed deeply, turning my head away from the flames, trying to calm myself down.

  I turned back to the ring of fire, watching and eagerly waiting for the flames to die down a little. I jigged backwards and forwards, attempting to summon the courage to leap through the fire and get through to the other side. I had to know I’d saved at least some of the people inside that damn building. I had to feel a tiny piece of satisfaction my actions weren’t all for nothing. I swallowed hard, unsure whether the soreness I felt in my throat was due to the acrid smoke or the sadness and panic surging through my mind.

  I wiped my damp face, not knowing if my skin was covered in tears or sweat or a combination of both streaming out of me. I really had no clue what to do and held my hands on top of my head, letting the rifle swing down on its sling around my waist.

  “Fuck!” I bellowed.

  What the hell was I going to do? I hadn’t thought this scenario all the way through. Damn my alternative self for planting the seed. I’d fucked everybody up and killed the whole damn lot of them.

  A small voice in my head whispered in a ghostly rasp. “Run away now and don’t look back. Don’t ever think about this again.”

  A shiver ran down my spine, despite the intense heat. The voice reminded me of the demon possessed girl in ‘The Exorcist’ movie, which had creeped me out so many years before. I’d watched the film after smoking copious amounts of marijuana and drinking shots of liquor with my old pals Steve Cousins and Marlon Keen back in Brynston, Pennsylvania. I stared into the fire and saw the world how it used to be. Memories and images of the past danced around in front of me, somehow entangled and distorted inside the raging, orange flames. Christ! That old life seemed as though it was somebody else’s memories. Who would have thought back then that my life would have turned out like this?

  My remembrance of my life before all this shit started seemed more than a little hazy. It was as though I’d always been fighting the undead and aggressive bastards who all wanted to kill me for so long. Some good times came back into my mind. Vacations in Ireland with my parents when I was a kid, good times with my then girlfriend, Samantha, whose second name I couldn’t even remember. I saw a lot of familiar faces weave in and out of my mind. Their names were a blur. Shit! People I knew well and I couldn’t even remember their fucking names. Girls and boys I’d fought and died with, people I knew before the nightmare apocalyptic world began. I couldn’t even remember their fucking names.

  I remembered Julia, her eyes wide in terror when she fell from that Manhattan building. I remembered Estella Cordoba, pale and dying from a gunshot wound in Scotland. Black and white, shimmering images of the last moments I saw them alive projected themselves amongst the flames in front of me. Everybody I’d ever known appeared in some form or another, a memory, a conversation, a joke, a death before the vision melted away. I hunkered down on my haunches, crying harder. Tears and smoke stung my eyes but I didn’t care.

  When the fuck would this nightmare lifestyle ever end? I never seemed to get any kind of break. I felt as though I was always handed the shitty end of the stick. Whatever I did always seemed to backfire badly.

  A staggering figure on the opposite side of the flames brought me back to reality. Whoever it was carried either a gun or some kind of heavy equipment. Their image was blurred and distorted. The vision was simply a shadowy outline, shimmering in the heat.

  I rose up, wiping tears and sweat from my face. I lifted my rifle, aiming and ready to fire. A blasting jet of warm water hit me in the face and rocked me backwards. I spluttered and squinted but couldn’t see anything in front of me. The sudden water spurt stung my eyes and hit me in the chest, taking the breath from my lungs. I staggered backwards and fired a couple of rounds from the rifle.

  “Whoa! Hold your horses, cowboy,” a familiar voice yelled. “Stop firing your damn gun, kid.”

  The voice was tinged with anxiety but it was one I knew. That Brooklyn gangster accent was unmistakable. Smith was on the opposite side of the fire.

  I took my finger off the trigger and twisted the rifle down on the side of my hip. Was it really Smith talking to me or had I just imagined the last couple of seconds? I wiped away some of the water with my sopping wet sleeve and blinked heavily.

  The figure sprayed the fire with a red rubber hose pipe trailing behind him. The flames died down around us and a sweaty and disheveled looking guy stood in front of me. It was Smith, alive and well. I could have kissed the bastard right there and then. An overwhelming sense of relief caused me to physically sag and I dropped to my knees.

  “Is that really you, Smith?” I rasped. “I’ve been through hell, man.”

  Smith seemed to be calm as always. He squinted into the sky as he continued to spray the flames with the hose.

  “We’ve all been through the wringer, kid,” he said. “I have to say though, that was one hell of a show you just put on.”

  “Is everybody okay in there?” I asked. “I thought the fire thing was a bit too over the top when it all happened. I didn’t kill anybody did I?”

  “We’ve taken a few casualties but not from the fire,” Smith said, nodding. “All of them from these assholes attacking us with their firepower before you showed up with your ring of fire trick, kid.”

  I pushed myself up on my feet and staggered slightly. My head felt woozy and the pack on my back weighed heavy. I stepped over the scorched ground towards Smith, the heat from the smoldering embers felt hot against the soles of my sneakers. We took a few bac
kward steps. Smith turned off the water hose but it still dripped from the nozzle. I noticed the hose trailed from an open side door at the side of the motel building.

  “You got Wingate out of there last night all right?” I asked.

  Smith nodded. “We had ourselves an interesting little raiding party with some wire cutters and a bunch of grenades last night but Wingate is back here with us and she’s fine.”

  I breathed out. “Thank god,” I muttered. “And Batfish? Is she okay?”

  Smith nodded again. “She’s doing real well, kid and about to pop any moment. There’s a basement in the motel. We put everybody we could down there once we figured these jerks were going to come for us.” He jutted his chin towards the parking lot. “We just didn’t figure they’d be so damn many of them. We took our share of casualties. That big cowboy guy sure had an army up his sleeve.”

  “They call him The Marshall,” I said. “I went into their camp and stole that gas tanker.” I pointed to the remains of the burning truck on the roadside to our left.

  “Good shout, kid,” Smith rumbled. “I’m not going to ask how you did it all right now. This story needs to be told over a bottle of the good stuff and late at night.”

  I sighed. “Listen, man, I’m fucking sorry I didn’t come with you guys last night. I fell asleep and didn’t…”

  Smith cut me short.

  “No need for apologies, kid. You’ve saved the fucking day here, even if it was a little on the side of overkill.” He smiled at me and tipped me his renowned wink. Those steely, bluish gray eyes still seemed focused and full of malice.

  Movement from the roadside caught our attention. Both Smith and I spun around. The distinctive figure of The Marshall, still wearing his cowboy hat and flanked by around a half dozen gunmen staggered and stumbled onto the roadside from the mouth of the parking lot entrance. The figures were all singed and smoking, coughing and spluttering as they ran away from the motel.