The Left Series (Book 4): Left In The Cold

by Christian Fletcher

  “Scotch, sweet vermouth, absinthe and orange bitters,” Gera recited, like he was proud of his knowledge of cocktail ingredients.

  “Ugh, no thanks,” I baulked. “Sounds fucking disgusting. I’ll just have a bottle of that Scottish Ale, please.”

  Gera pretended to be offended. “Hey, where’s your sense of adventure, Wilde Man? After all, we are in Scotland, the home of whisky.”

  “Just the beer, thanks,” I sighed and moved towards the counter.

  “And you being a Brit. You’re a disgrace to the country,” he mocked.

  Gera shook his head and took a bottle of the brown Scottish Ale from the shelf behind the counter. He flipped off the top and set the bottle down in front of me with a smile on his face. I liked Gera; he was a big, jovial guy from New Haven, Connecticut and always enjoyed teasing me about my British roots. He was around six foot two, with dark eyes and short brown hair with a dusting of gray at the sides. His nose was a little crooked from his boxing days in the Marine Corps and he had a big square jaw that hung open when he cracked a joke.

  Batfish had chosen well in hooking up with Gera. He was sweet on her and she bossed him around in a non-aggressive manner. Gera seemed to like being dominated and took it all in his stride.

  “He don’t drink liquor because he’s a faggot pussy,” a voice slurred to my left. I turned and saw a Marine, called Kaunas staggering towards the counter with a bottle of Scotch in his hand. The bottle was dark green and I could see that half the contents were gone, presumably down the guy’s neck by the way he was swaying.

  Kaunas originally hailed from somewhere in the south, judging by his drawl. Rumors were rife that he’d had something to do with the young Private’s death in the cellar.

  “Just leave it, Kaunas,” Gera spat, with a warning to his tone.

  Kaunas stopped in his tracks, tottering unsteadily. He was one of the worst culprits for showing aggression towards anybody who ventured into the bar. His blue eyes narrowed and his forehead creased as he tried to focus through the fog of alcohol. He took another slug from his bottle then stumbled closer and slumped across the counter beside me.

  “Give me one of those damn cocktail drinks, will you, Gera?” he rasped.

  “Haven’t you had enough?” Gera sighed.

  “Never had enough,” Kaunas spat. “Just give me one of those, will you?

  Gera sighed, turned and picked up one of the Robbie Burns cocktails he’d already mixed. He placed the glass on the counter in front of Kaunas. I guessed Gera was just trying to keep the peace.

  “Do you want me to take some of those over to the table?” I asked, pointing to the filled glasses behind the counter.

  Gera nodded and relayed the cocktails onto the countertop. Kaunas muttered something inaudible that sounded like a jibe of some kind then bent down and took a sip from his own glass. Gera flashed me a glance and shook his head in frustration.

  Kaunas had simply seemed to have given up on life. He was in a permanently drunken state, staggering around the bar, hurling insults and getting into scuffles with anybody who objected to his behavior. His blond hair was slightly longer than most of the other guys and he hadn’t shaved or washed himself or his clothes since we’d been at the Glenross Hotel. The most disturbing fact was, Kaunas had a little band of half a dozen or so guys that hung on his every word and remained with him in the bar as constant boozing companions.

  I collected up the glasses and turned towards our table. Gera began mixing another cocktail to replace the one he’d given to Kaunas.

  “What did that asshole want?” Smith rumbled, as I set the drinks down on the table.

  I shook my head. “He’s just smashed out of his mind as usual and talking horseshit.”

  Smith grunted and picked up his cocktail. Gera soon joined us with his own Robbie Burns and sat down alongside Batfish. I glanced at them and they looked good together. I felt a little emotional lump in my throat, chuffed that Batfish had found some relative happiness with Gera.

  Wingate talked about some of the horrific injuries she’d had to tend to at the start of the outbreak, in the days when medical attention was administered to bite victims. Sarah Wingate was a confident, attractive woman, who was probably in her mid-thirties. For the life of me, I couldn’t understand what she saw in a rough diamond like Smith. I sniggered to myself as I thought of all the scrapes him and I had been through, finally ending up in a Scottish hotel. The pathway through life led us on some strange journeys.

  “Hi, Brett. What are you guys drinking?”

  I swung around in my chair, recognizing the voice from behind me. Estella Cordoba stood a yard behind me and to my left. She looked as lovely as ever as she studied the contents of the cocktail glasses on the table.

  “We’re drinking Robbie Burns’s mixers,” Gera said cheerfully. “Do you want me to fix you one?”

  “Sure. You going to budge over a bit, Brett?”

  “Oh, sorry,” I stammered and shunted my chair over so Cordoba could sit down next to me.

  She slumped into the chair and I was pleasantly surprised when she gave my thigh a brief but deliberate squeeze. I turned to look at her and she flashed me a sexy smile that made my stomach flutter. We sat staring into each other’s eyes for a few seconds, savoring the moment. I didn’t know what the future held for Cordoba and I but I was determined to squeeze every last drop of pleasure from our time together.

  The momentary, magic spell was broken when Gera put down Cordoba’s cocktail onto the table in front of her.

  “Ah, thanks,” she muttered, as Gera sat back down next to Batfish.

  The Robbie Burns cocktail received a mixed reception from everybody at our table. I had a sip of Cordoba’s drink and likened the taste to the antiseptic mouthwash the dentist used to supply after rummaging around in my mouth. The others laughed at the facial expression I pulled after my sip.

  “Not for you, Wilde Man?” Smith laughed as he spoke.

  I shook my head and attempted to speak but the burn in my throat prevented me from uttering any words. Instead, I emitted a strange croaking noise that sounded like a dying frog. More laughter erupted around the table.

  “You all go right ahead and laugh at the pussy,” Kaunas barked from beside the counter.

  The laughter from our table instantly died down.

  “Just ignore him,” Wingate said. “He’s being a total jerk again.”

  Kaunas downed his Robbie Burns cocktail in one gulp then slammed his empty glass onto the wooden counter.

  “What did you just say, missy?” Kaunas snapped, turning aggressively towards us. “What did you just call me?” He took a few stumbling paces towards our table.

  Smith sipped his drink and carefully replaced his glass. “She was being generous by calling you a jerk,” he said. “I’d be more inclined to call you a fucking asshole.”

  “What?” Kaunas pulled an incredulous expression as he staggered closer. “Did you just call me a fucking asshole?”

  “That’s correct,” Smith snapped.

  Kaunas’s posse of bully boys all rose from their chairs or stools with sneering expressions on their faces. I didn’t like where this was heading. I didn’t like it at all.

  Chapter Three

  Kaunas still had his whisky bottle in his hand and took another long swig as he padded up and down beside our table, staring at each one of us in turn.

  “What gives you the right to call me a fucking asshole?” he sneered. “I served my country. What did you ever do before all of this, Smith? Drive a cab? Flip burgers? Haul trash?”

  Smith remained silent, staring into his drink on the table in front of him.

  “He was a Marine long before you joined the Corps, and he was also a New York City cop,” Wingate interjected. “So don’t come the high and mighty all American hero, Kaunas.”

  Kaunas laughed and turned to his buddies, who were all enjoying his little show. “Oh, I’m getting a lecture from a glorified scab lifter. How many fron
t line battles have you fought in, missy?” He lurched backwards but managed to stay on his feet.

  Cordoba thumped her fist on the table. “Hey, motherfucker,” she hissed at Kaunas. “You just don’t get it, do you?”

  Kaunas scowled at her.

  “You survived.” She shook her head. “You survived the biggest battle of all, in the fall of mankind. But you’re too much of a loser to appreciate that fact.”

  I wished Cordoba hadn’t spoken as harshly in her latest outburst. Kaunas was being a prick but he may have left us alone if we’d not engaged in conversation with him.

  He laughed out loud again. “I’m a loser?” He pointed the lip of the whisky bottle at himself. “Your damn boyfriend here seems to be the biggest loser left alive.” He jabbed the bottle in my direction. “He is one step away from a zombie himself.”

  I felt the red waters of rage rise within me but remained silent. I didn’t want the situation to escalate into a bar room brawl.

  “Go fuck yourself, Kaunas,” Cordoba spat.

  “Woo!” Kaunas jeered. “Sexy talk from a sexy bitch.”

  “Okay, Kaunas, that’s enough,” Gera said firmly.

  But Kaunas was only just getting started. He was warming up for the main event.

  “How come all you faggot guys sitting at this table get to share your beds with these sexy girls?” He waved the whisky bottle around the table. “Now, you ladies need to come pay me a visit in my room if you want to find out what a real man is like. I’d take all three of you on in one go.” Kaunas flicked his tongue between his lips and waggled it up and down. He turned to his buddies near the bar. “What do you say, boys? Time for us to have a pussy party. These bastards need to share their women and share the love around a little.”

  Batfish groaned, Wingate made a sound like she was going to be sick and Cordoba held her hand across her forehead. Gera leapt to his feet with his fists balled in anger and his face a mask of rage. He took a few steps towards Kaunas with the probable intention of flattening him. It was a move Kaunas was anticipating. He reacted quickly for a drunk, pulling out his M-9 handgun from the back of his waistband and pointing the barrel at Gera’s head.

  “Sit the fuck down,” Kaunas growled, through gritted teeth.

  Gera stopped in his tracks and complied with Kaunas’s demand.

  The situation had changed for the worse. Kaunas was out of control and there was no telling what his next move was going to be. Egged on by his posse of fellow drunks, the guy wouldn’t hesitate to blow us all away.

  “What are you going to do, Kaunas?” Wingate spat. “Shoot us all in cold blood?”

  “I’m going to have a little fun, is all,” he purred. “And maybe I’ll start with you, Wingate.”

  Smith downed the remainder of his cocktail and put the glass on the table. “Put the gun down and leave us alone,” he said. His hands slipped under the table.

  “Did I just hear you right, man?” Kaunas gasped. “Did you just give me an order, you son of a bitch?”

  Smith sighed loudly. “I didn’t give you an order. I gave you an alternative, which in the long run, will work out better for you.”

  Kaunas belly laughed and turned his head to his buddies. “Can you believe this fucking guy?” Then he turned back to Smith, aiming the firearm at my friend’s head. “You must be dumber than you look, Smith.”

  “Last chance,” Smith growled. “Get that fucking gun out of my face.”

  Kaunas sniggered and went to grab Wingate by her upper arm. Wingate shrugged off his grip, then all hell let loose.

  Chapter Four

  In a flash, Smith launched the table up on its end. Glasses, the burning candle, Cordoba and I as well as our chairs tumbled to the ground. Batfish screamed from the opposite side of the upturned table as a gunshot echoed around the bar room.

  The flame from the candle ignited somebody’s unfinished whisky cocktail and a blue blaze burned in front of my eyes. I lurched out of the way of the flames and scuttled backwards across the floor. The bright flame had caused my vision to blur and I couldn’t make out what the hell was going on in the bar. I felt Cordoba grab me and haul me to my feet. I knew it was her because of the familiar scent.

  We staggered backwards and my vision began to clear. Smith was on his feet, pointing his handgun at Kaunas’s cringing posse of guys by the counter. Kaunas himself lay on the floor on his back with his hands pressed on his stomach. Blood seeped through his fingers and ran in rivulets onto the floor beneath him. His mouth moved up and down as he gurgled something inaudible.

  Those few personnel not involved in the confrontation scurried for the exit door, keeping their heads down as they moved.

  I was glad to see Gera had dragged Batfish out of the line of fire and the two of them were huddled near the archway entrance. Wingate crouched by Kaunas and picked up his M-9 laying by his side. She made the weapon safe, and tucked it into the back of her belt. Kaunas coughed and a plume of blood ejected from his mouth. Wingate studied the gunshot wound to his stomach.

  “Everybody okay?” Smith boomed, still with his Beretta trained on Kaunas’s gang.

  We all muttered some form of positive response.

  “Good. Wilde Man, put out that goddamn fire,” Smith commanded.

  “Okay,” I muttered.

  Cordoba handed me a red fire extinguisher that was fixed inside a wall bracket. I pulled out the pin and sprayed the fire with the fluid.

  “He’s not going to make it, Smith,” Wingate wailed, huddled over Kaunas. “The round has pierced his liver.”

  “Too bad,” Smith retorted. “He shouldn’t have been waving that gun around. I came in here for a quiet drink, not a fucking shoot out at the OK Corral.” He was talking to Kaunas’s guys more than anybody.

  I looked at Kaunas and his face was ashen white. He began convulsing and his heels banged against the wooden floor. The guy was dying right in front of us. I didn’t feel bad or sad, I just felt pity. The guy had survived this long only to be killed during a senseless, drunken argument. I didn’t blame Smith because if he hadn’t pulled the trigger then Kaunas would have gone further in his inebriated rampage. How far would he have gone? What depraved depths would he have sunk to? He was threatening to rape and possibly murder. I wouldn’t have been surprised if Kaunas had hung that poor young Army Private in the cellar.

  Our next move was going to be a little tricky.

  I hoped Smith had some sort of plan as to what we were going to do next. Kaunas’s pals weren’t going to let us off lightly for shooting dead their ringleader, even if it was in self defense. The ragtag band looked decidedly twitchy and I wondered how soon it would be before one of them went for their sidearm.

  “He’s gone,” Wingate said. “Kaunas is dead.”

  The rest of his guys muttered between themselves, exchanging vexed glances.

  “Don’t any of you guys try anything stupid,” Smith warned them. “We don’t want any more fatalities in here tonight but I’ll shoot any of you, if I have to.”

  Wingate stood upright and retrieved Kaunas’s handgun from her belt, flicked off the safety and cocked the slide. She assisted Smith in covering the unruly, unhappy drunken mob with the M-9.

  Smith turned his head towards us. “Are any of you guys armed?”

  Cordoba, Batfish, Gera and I shook our heads. I didn’t want to carry a loaded weapon in case scenarios like the one we were now faced with occurred. Smith turned back to the crowd of brooding guys.

  “Okay, you guys, listen up. You’re going to go quietly down into the cellar until this situation blows over a little,” Smith instructed. “Don’t go for your firearms, otherwise I will be forced to shoot.” He swiveled his head back towards me. “Wilde Man, take all their weapons off them.”

  I hesitantly stepped forward. These guys were a tough bunch of drunken military roughnecks, who’d probably like nothing more than to tear my face off. I didn’t want to go anywhere near them.

  I’d got a few steps
across the bar room when a voice yelled from the entranceway.

  “Everybody stay still!”

  I complied with the order from the booming voice and stopped moving.

  “Smith, Wingate, lower your firearms slowly and place them on the floor.” The couple did as they were told.

  I turned my head towards the entrance and saw Milner standing in the archway, flanked by four very sober and grim faced Marines. They all pointed M-16 rifles at us and slowly edged further into the bar area. Milner was a U.S. Marine Corporal, whom I trusted and respected. He was a thoroughly decent guy and we’d been in more than a few scrapes together. He now had his devil’s advocate hat firmly on his head.

  The Marines scooped up the two M-9’s from the floor then retreated to the edges of the room. Milner walked into the center of the bar room and gazed down at the prone corpse of Kaunas.

  “Okay, what the hell went on in here?” he sighed. “We heard the gunshot and came to investigate. Please don’t tell me you guys were involved in this shooting.” He glanced between Smith, Wingate and I.

  Milner was kind of an unelected keeper of order since the previous senior guy, Chief Petty Officer Cole, had been killed soon after we landed in the UK. Poor Milner was struggling to keep the warring factions apart and this latest scenario only added to his woes. I felt for the guy.

  “That piece of shit pulled a shooter on me and waved it in my face,” Smith growled, nodding at Kaunas’s body on the ground. “The guy was drunk and making an ass of himself. He was threatening the ladies with all kinds of filthy talk then he pulled the gun. I shot him before he shot me.”

  Milner looked around the room at us in turn. “Is this true?” he asked.

  “Come on, Milner,” Smith sighed. “You know me. You know I’m on the level.”

  “Bullshit,” one of Kaunas’s guys blurted. He was a Navy crewman called Van Outmen, a big ugly son of a bitch from Delaware, who looked as though he ate hornet’s nests for breakfast. He was overweight and his face was heavily pockmarked, as though he’d previously suffered from bad acne in his youth. I knew he’d never liked me since I’d hooked up with Cordoba. Jealousy was rife within the walls of the Glenross Hotel. “Kaunas was just having a bit of a hoot, is all,” Van Outmen continued. “He was only messing with these guys and their girls and that big, bad tempered asshole went bat shit and shot the poor bastard.”