Left in the Cold (The Left Series)

by Christian Fletcher

  I moved my rifle barrel slightly to the right to re-aim onto the next target. Smith had already beaten me to it and took his shot. The second henchman, who was dressed in fire singed double denims and positioned to the right of The Marshall jolted against the gates. His long, frizzy hair flapped around before he released his handgun and fell face first onto the ground.

  Smith and I rose up to our feet and marched towards the gates. We exchanged a nod of gratitude with McElroy and Anderson as they joined us. They walked alongside our right flank and matched our pace. The final two guys in our crew emerged from the ditch to the left of the roadside and hurried to link up with our advancing line. We all aimed our weapons at the figure in the tall cowboy hat in front of us.

  The Marshall finally quit ranting at the refugees and shaking the gates. He spun around and saw us closing in on him. Instinctively, his hand moved towards the big revolver inside the holster at his hip.

  “I wouldn’t do that if I were you, scumbag,” McElroy warned.

  The Marshall’s hand quivered but stopped a few inches short of the revolver handgrip. This guy was dangerous and I knew he was weighing up whether he could draw and shoot six guys before we’d even fired a shot. The Marshall had a huge ego but even he realized he wasn’t that good. He bit his bottom lip and raised his arms in a surrender motion.

  We drew closer to the gates and fanned out in a semi circle around The Marshall. He formed that fake smile once again.

  “Hey, boys,” he said, as though he was greeting old friends. “What do you know?”

  “I may be a thick Irish pig and don’t know a lot but I do know you’re a fucking dead man, Lone Ranger,” McElroy said and then spat on the toe of The Marshall’s left boot.

  The fake smile immediately dropped from The Marshall’s face and he glared at McElroy.

  “I always hated the fucking Lone Ranger,” The Marshall grunted. “I always preferred Charles Manson. He was always more of an American hero to me.”

  McElroy grinned and shook his head in disbelief. “Do you believe the shit coming out of this asshole’s mouth? This guy is a real charmer, isn’t he?”

  The fake smiled returned. Hey, guys, aren’t you going to let me ride off into the sunset. Like hustle me out of town or something? You can’t kill me just like that. I gave you guys a sporting chance. I gave you until sundown to clear out. Aren’t you going to at least show me the same respect and allow me that option?”

  McElroy raised his eyebrows and blew out in exasperation. “Well, that shit certainly ‘aint going to happen, feller.”

  “Okay,” The Marshall said slowly, in a low tone and nodding his head. “How about you give me a sporting chance then? One of you, your best guy if you want, takes a shot at me. You know, draw for draw like in the old Western movies. I’ll even wear a black hat for being the bad guy if you want. I win, I walk away. Your guy wins, well…I guess I’ll be cashing in my chips anyhow. What do you say, Irish, huh? Are you going to go for it and show all your pals what a great man you are?” The Marshall’s gaze turned to Smith when McElroy didn’t respond. “How about you, New York? You East coast guys always like a shoot out, don’t you? Now’s the time to step up and prove it.”

  For one horrible moment in the silence that followed, I thought Smith was going to agree to the cowboy hat wearing psychopath’s proposal. Thankfully nobody took the crazy despot up on his offer of re-enacting Boot Hill.

  “I say you are fucking insane, feller,” McElroy sighed.

  “Aye, they’ll be no dueling with pistols today, big man,” Anderson said. He moved forward and snatched The Marshall’s revolver out of the hip holster.

  The fake grin fell away again. “Be careful with that shooter, son,” The Marshall sneered. “It’s a man’s gun, not a boy’s toy.”

  “Is that right?” Anderson snorted, tucking the revolver into his belt.

  The Marshall glanced around at us. Staring every one of us in the eye for a couple of seconds each.

  “You might have won today. I’ll give you that,” The Marshall began. “But these are long, troubled days, my friends and you’ll suffer out here in the desert without me. I know the land. I know how this place works. I know the people. We can all figure this whole thing out with a peaceful resolution that benefits all parties. We started something good out here and we can all help each other to build it up and make it even better. I’ll show you the way. And who knows? In a year or so you’ll probably elect me as leader again after I’ve shown you how the world really is.”

  “Ah! I can’t listen to this bullshitting prick any longer,” McElroy huffed. He raised his handgun and pointed the barrel at The Marshall’s head. The big cowboy recoiled slightly and for the first time since I’d met him, I saw a hint of fear in his eyes.

  “Now, we’re going to go for a wee walk,” McElroy said. “Only over there,” he nodded to the roadside. “It’s not very far so don’t fret your pretty wee head. We’re going to stop by that wee ditch that was probably dug a long time ago by my countrymen and you’re going to kneel above it. Then I’m going to put a bullet in your diseased brain but before I do that I’m going to shoot out both your fucking kneecaps. Got it?”

  The Marshall’s face drained of color and an expression of shock caused him to physically sag. I knew McElroy was an evil bastard and although I loathed The Marshall and everything he stood for, I wasn’t sure I wanted to witness him callously tortured then executed.

  I felt a little flat and worried we were becoming as bad as the neo Nazis. This wasn’t quite the endgame I had expected.

  CHAPTER FIFTY-NINE

  “Hey, guys,” a voice called out from beyond the gates. “Don’t do it. Don’t shoot that man.”

  I looked beyond The Marshall and saw a skinny, middle aged guy with a receding hairline and dressed in the remains of a brown shirt and fawn slacks approaching us. He stopped in front of the gates behind the wire mesh and gazed at each one of us in turn. I noticed a small, gold Star of David symbol dangling from a chain around his neck.

  “Hi,” he said, rather breathlessly. “My name is Daniel Meir and I’m or rather used to be a criminal lawyer. We thank you for what you’ve done but we are going to try this man with crimes against humanity. We want to keep everything above board in the eyes of all we hold dear to our old existence.”

  We all glanced at each other, a little taken aback by this disheveled man standing behind the gates.

  “We appreciate what you want to do and respect your faith in the law but what if he escapes and gets away?” Smith asked.

  Daniel Meir shook his head. “He won’t. We have guns now and he doesn’t have many of his evil followers left in this town. We are many and we’ll track down the remaining few of his henchmen and also put them on trial. They won’t get away.”

  The refugees began slowly walking towards the gates. All of them looked like walking skeletons and some were coated with their enemy’s blood. A tall, thin guy wearing a set of tatty and torn blue coveralls and a battered gray cap unlocked the padlock holding the chain around the gates in place. He looked at us with blood shot eyes.

  “We knew this day would come,” he croaked.

  We shuffled backwards and the refugees swung open the gates. A thin, dark haired woman ran forward and tried to strike The Marshall with a blood stained fist. The tall guy in the gray cap grabbed her arm and restrained her.

  “All in good time, Robyn,” the tall man muttered, holding the woman back.

  Our crew still stood in a semi circle around The Marshall with McElroy still aiming his firearm at the neo Nazi leader’s head. By the expression on the faces of all of our crew, I knew they felt the same sense of shock as I was experiencing. This scenario was almost weird and not at all how I saw things panning out. I also noticed the hateful glare in the eyes of the refugees and the liberated firearms they carried. Those expressions told me they’d have no qualms in shooting all of us if we didn’t hand The Marshall over to them.

  “Pleas
e,” Daniel Meir implored, patting the air in front of him. “We will take it from here. No need for any hostilities between us.”

  Luckily, McElroy came to his senses and lowered his handgun. We all lowered our weapons and took a backward step, leaving The Marshall standing on his own between the open gates. He glanced nervously between the two parties.

  “You can’t just leave me here,” The Marshall protested. “You can’t just turn me over to a bunch of low life’s, whores and kikes. These people are polluted.” He pointed at the refugees.

  The refugees rumbled their disapproval and some shouted for blood.

  Smith took a few paces forward, walking straight past The Marshall without acknowledging his outburst. He approached Daniel Meir and stopped in front of him. A few of the refugees moved closer behind Meir and I heard the unmistakable sound of cocking firearms. They obviously regarded Smith as some kind of threat. He had that intimidating presence about him, even when he was trying to do something good.

  “Easy, boys and girls,” Smith said, addressing the gathered crowd behind Meir. “I don’t mean nobody no harm.” He turned back to The Marshall. “Well, only that scumbag.” He turned back to face Meir. “Listen, Daniel, we don’t give a fuck what you do with this guy. He’s an asshole but we crash landed our plane out there in the National Park. We’ve got around two hundred people all clambering for someplace to go. All we want is somewhere we can feel safe and rest our weary heads at night. We have doctors, engineers, mechanics and good guys who’ll go out there and reclaim all the things we need. We just want to be a community again and this seems a pretty neat place to make a start.” He pointed to Lajitas town beyond.

  Meir nodded. “I agree. Strength in numbers works if everybody is pulling the right way. The resort has plenty of room and the whole area is brimming with natural resources. From the ashes of despair, the phoenix soars.”

  Smith looked confused. “You lost me there, Daniel.”

  Meir grinned. “Never mind. I believe you speak from the heart and what you achieved is truly remarkable in overcoming the horrific regime who ruled here. Your people are welcome here as long as we all abide by civil law. After all, this is still the United States of America, no matter what the circumstances. We should all still be free.”

  “You got it,” Smith said.

  Daniel Meir proffered his hand and Smith accepted the handshake.

  “I’m John Smith, by the way,” he said.

  “Of course you are,” Meir muttered.

  Smith flapped his hand. “Ah, we’ll all get to know each other soon enough anyhow,” he said. “Can I ask you one more small favor, Daniel?”

  “Go on,” Meir said.

  Smith swiveled and pointed at the stationary, green colored vehicle stopped on the roadway. “Can I borrow that truck?”

  Meir shrugged. “No problem, John.”

  Smith nodded. “Thanks, it’s a long way back to the motel.”

  A few of the armed refugees strode forward and grabbed The Marshall.

  “What the hell do you think you’re doing?” The Marshall snapped, struggling against the restraining hands. “Get your damn, filthy paws off me.”

  His arms were thrust backwards and a woman produced a length of rope. The tall guy in the battered gray cap sneered at The Marshall as he bound his wrists at the waist behind his back.

  “You can’t do this to me,” The Marshall protested. “You’ll all hang for this.”

  We skirted around the jostling crowd and made our way to the truck.

  “Thanks, again, Daniel,” Smith said. “We’ll go gather our people and our shit and we’ll see you sometime later.”

  Daniel Meir smiled and nodded. “We look forward to it,” he said. “We’ll wait for you.”

  The crowd manhandled The Marshall further inside the fence line and Smith took a few paces closer to him.

  “Well, I guess this is the last goodbye, cowboy,” Smith said, smirking. He turned his head to look at something over his right shoulder then rapidly swiveled around and head butted The Marshall squarely in the face. The Marshall crumpled in a dazed heap with blood pouring from his nose and his eyes spinning but the refugees kept him upright. His cowboy hat flew from his head and was trampled on by the jeering crowd.

  “Adios amigo,” Smith muttered. “And good fucking riddance, asshole.”

  CHAPTER SIXTY

  Smith fired up the truck and drove through the open gates. I watched the carnage of the refugees grappling The Marshall away towards the town. We stopped outside the entranceway, scooped up our two dead crew members from the road and lay them on the truck bed. The gates closed behind us and Smith stepped on the gas, rolling the truck forward.

  I sat in the rear compartment and leaned over the back of the bench seat where McElroy sat next to Smith. I offered my cigarette pack around and everybody took one, leaving me with a single smoke. Oh, well! We lit up and the smoke tasted good even though my throat was parched.

  “What the hell just happened back there?” I asked, my head still spinning with all the twists and turns. I was attempting to replay the whole scenario through my mind in slow time.

  “Fucked if I know, kid,” Smith said, shaking his head. “I’m still trying to figure it all out.”

  McElroy exhaled smoke. “I think we somehow beat the Nazis and I think you negotiated somewhere for us to live, Big Man.”

  “Did all that really just happen?” I sighed.

  Smith shrugged.

  I turned around in my seat and smoked in silence. I felt good but then my gaze fell on the two dead bodies lying on the truck bed. The sight brought my pleasant mood back to reality. Things were still tough and we’d just lost two good men. There was still a long way to go before we could all sit back and relax.

  Anderson and the other two guys dozed in their seats as the truck rumbled along the road. I was beyond sleep now, still running on adrenalin and trying to make sense of the last couple of days. I gave up. It was pointless trying to figure out the crazy world surrounding us now. Dead people eating the living and the world gone to shit. What was perceivably normal about that?

  The desert raced by as Smith drove back towards the motel. I saw a wolf standing on top of a hillside at the side of the road when we drew closer to the Ghost Town. He watched the truck race by and I felt sure the big wolf winked at me as we briefly made eye contact. He was beautiful and I waved up at him anyhow. A crazy gesture in a mad world. What the hell?

  Smith stopped the truck somewhere between the Ghost Town and the motel to bury our two fallen comrades. We dug two deep graves and marked them with scrub wood in crude crosses. McElroy recited an Irish prayer and we all muttered some kind of condolences. I felt guilty because I didn’t even know the guy’s names.

  I lit my last cigarette and contemplated living in this harsh landscape for the foreseeable future. I knew life wouldn’t be a bed of roses but there were defiantly worse places in the world to be. Perhaps we’d unwittingly and unintentionally stumbled across a place where we could live in reasonable safety.

  I stopped myself from thinking too far ahead into the future. I’d done that before and everything had turned out badly so I didn’t want to get my hopes up like that again. I decided we’d take each day as it came and hope for the best but expect the worst. That way I’d never be too disappointed or downhearted.

  The ground still smoldered and the fire still burned in places as Smith rolled the truck to a standstill outside the motel parking lot. A lot of smoke rose from the ashes and burned out vehicles but The Three Stooges and their little gang had done a pretty good job in extinguishing the fire. They were all still outside the motel grounds, sweaty, blackened and red faced but busy spraying water from the fire hoses over the remaining flames and the hot metal of the vehicle frames.

  Smith applied the park brake and sagged in his seat. “Jesus! I need a fucking drink,” he sighed.

  “Mind if I join you, Smith?” McElroy asked.

  “Be my guest
,” Smith said. “No invite needed.” He grunted as he hauled himself out of the truck cab. “I’ll see you all in the bar after a long, lukewarm shower.”

  “Sounds like a plan,” McElroy said, following Smith out from the truck. “We’ll have to explain in great detail what happened and what our plans are to O’Neil and Chernakov and co. anyhow. So we may as well debrief them in the bar.”

  I followed Anderson and the other two guys out of the truck bed, hopping down onto the roadway. I wanted to get drunk but I also wanted to sleep and I defiantly needed a shower.

  We nodded at the fire crew as we walked towards the motel entrance. They returned our acknowledgment with a brief wave.

  “Good job,” Smith called out and gave them a thumbs up sign.

  A short, plump Scottish woman, who I think went by the name of Jayne bustled out of the front doorway to meet us. Her face was red and sweaty and she looked slightly flustered. She had some kind of medical training as I remembered and she wore an apron that was stained with blood. We stopped walking as she hurried towards us.

  “Ah! You’re back boys. Did it all go well?” Jayne asked, in her broad Highland accent.

  “It did mostly, Jayne,” McElroy replied.

  “That’s good,” she said, nodding. “Now, we have some news.” She turned and looked me straight in the eye. “You’re to come with me at once, Brett.”

  Jayne grabbed my hand and led me inside the motel. She was a middle aged, matronly type who always seemed to be busy and bossing people around.

  Two guys minding the doorway took a step back as we hurried inside the lobby.

  “Give these boys all your guns, Brett,” Jayne barked, waving at the two men beside us.

  I shrugged and did as I was told, unloading and making safe both weapons before I handed them over.

  “Come on, laddie,” Jayne almost shrieked at me. “I have other things to do, don’t you know.”

  She grabbed my hand again and led me along the corridor. The two guys in the lobby doorway made some smutty comment and burst out laughing. I could guess what they’d implied. A plump woman dragging a disheveled and tired looking younger man down a motel corridor. It didn’t take much figuring out what the joke was. Ha fucking ha!