The Left Series (Book 7): Left Amongst The Corpses

by Christian Fletcher

“I want to find out what the fuck is going on.”

  I was afraid Smith was going to say that.

  “We’re going to double back and catch one of those fuckers with their pants down.”

  Oh, shit! We were going to be in for a rough ride. I just knew it.

  “Follow me, kid,” Smith growled. “We’re going to get to the bottom of this.” He slapped me on the shoulder in a hard double tap.

  Guilt warped through me and I felt I owed it to Smith to tell him what had happened on the riverbank with the two young guys. I didn’t have the time. Smith was up and moving through the undergrowth and expected me to follow him. Forever the flagging wing man.

  I hauled my ass up and hustled between the trees, keeping a few feet behind Smith. We moved at a fast pace further into the forest, in a ninety degree angle to where McElroy, Wingate and Dante headed.

  Smith padded over the ground like a prowling panther. Hunched, silent and totally observant and in tune with the surroundings. I tried to emulate his gait but failed, churning up the dead leaves beneath my feet. Smith looked like a Special Forces guy on a Black Op in Vietnam or somewhere. In comparison, I felt like a schmuck playing at being a soldier.

  The air felt cooler the further we moved into the forest. Weird green and yellow birds squawked and fluttered amongst the branches above us. Smith shuffled against a tree trunk and waved me to join him then held his finger to his lips, gesturing me to keep silent. I moved alongside him and hunkered down beside his feet. Smith forked towards his eyes and then pointed beyond the tree. I had no clue what he meant but knew we were close to something of importance or somebody he wanted to catch unawares and interrogate.

  Smith kept his rifle across his shoulder but pulled out the big, black metallic handgun from the holster around his waist. I followed his lead, unleashing the Russian made GSh-18, nine millimeter sidearm from my holster.

  I crouched lower and took a quick peek around the side of the tree trunk. I saw two black guys in a slight clearing directly in front of us. One guy dressed in a blue denim shirt and black shorts stood over another man, who sat on a fallen log and looked like he had an injury to his leg. The wounded guy’s face screwed up in pain and he looked as though he was trying to stifle agonized yells. He was skinny and wore an olive green shirt and a pair of cut off denims. Blood coated his left shin and the other guy standing over him seemed distressed, gesturing and waving his arms towards the trees in the distance. My initial assumption was these guys had been left behind by the rest of their crew. Both guys wore British made, SA80 assault rifles loosely strapped and hanging off their shoulders.

  I knew this was a situation Smith thrived on. Pouncing on the weak and vulnerable, like a lion prowling its prey.

  Smith held his Russian handgun parallel to his head and made a batting down motion with his free hand. I had no idea what he had planned but as per usual, I was going to follow his lead.

  Sounds of the undead drifted through the forest from somewhere nearby. Whatever we were going to do, we’d have to hurry.

  Smith crouched low and crept through the undergrowth and low hanging tree branches. I gave him a few seconds and then followed behind and slightly to his left so I’d have an angle of a shot at the two guys if things went sour. I tried to keep silent but found it almost impossible. Twigs snapped and dead leaves crunched beneath my feet. I glanced through to the clearing and saw the two guys weren’t alerted to our stealthy approach. Instead, the one who was uninjured and standing pointed to the trees to his right. They seemed to be in the middle of a heated conversation, although I couldn’t quite hear what they were saying.

  Smith closed in within instant firing range. He rose with speed from his position, aiming the Russian handgun with an extended double grip at the two men. They immediately stopped talking and swung their attention to Smith.

  “Put the weapons down on the ground and place your hands on top of your heads, assholes,” Smith barked.

  Both men scowled but complied with Smith’s demands, tossing their rifles into the undergrowth and lacing their fingers on top of their sweaty scalps. Smith edged closer to the two guys, nudging the handgun barrel left and right a little. I backed him up, rising from the undergrowth, following Smith and keeping my own firearm trained on the terrified looking men.

  The standing guy winced and leaned backwards as Smith approached him. “Please don’t kill us,” he wailed.

  “Shut the fuck up and keep your hands where I can see them,” Smith growled. He took a sideways glance at me. “Keep me covered while I give them a little rub down.”

  “Got it,” I muttered and stood slightly to the side of the men so I could still aim at them while Smith searched the standing man’s clothing.

  The injured guy cried out in pain when Smith grabbed hold of the front of his green shirt and hauled him to his feet. Smith searched his loose clothing for weapons and tossed a steel bladed knife into the undergrowth beyond the fallen log. When he was satisfied the men possessed no more hidden weapons he stepped back a few paces. Smith stood directly in front of the two men, around ten feet away. I stood slightly to their left aiming my handgun at their chests.

  “Right, get on your knees,” Smith ordered.

  “Please, man, we just doing what we’re told,” the uninjured guy pleaded. “Harry, here got shot and we’re just trying to make it out of the forest alive, man.”

  “I don’t give a fuck,” Smith barked. “I said get on your fucking knees.”

  The injured guy or Harry as his accomplice referred to him, slumped forward and sunk into a kneeling crouch. Sweat rolled off his face and he scowled in pain. The uninjured guy in the denim shirt whimpered with fear as he slowly knelt down.

  Smith lowered his handgun by his side, staring into the trees beyond and letting the men stew for a few seconds before he spoke. “Okay, me and my colleagues came all the way out here today to collect a consignment of merchandise from the airport. We traveled in by truck, which was subsequently shot to shit by some bunch of numb nuts. Then when we try an alternative route out of there we were shot at by my reckoning, the leftovers from the earlier mentioned bunch of numb nuts. Are you following me so far, huh?”

  Both men nodded their heads.

  “Then I hear some bullshit story about one of our crew being a murderer. I mean what the fuck, guys?”

  I heard the low moans of the undead drawing closer from somewhere behind us. Smith seemed oblivious and carried on with his ranting interrogation.

  “So, all in all, I’ve had a pretty shitty day so far and my friend here can back me up on that one.” Smith glanced over at me. “What’s our day been like so far, kid?”

  “Shitty,” I agreed. “It’s been nonstop shit.” I decided to shut up as I was overcooking the shit thing.

  “See, there you go,” Smith said with a shrug, letting his shitty day hang in the air.

  Deep groaning came from the forest to our right. The undead were getting closer. I felt a rise of panic in my stomach. What was Smith planning on doing with these guys? I just wanted to get the fuck out of this damn gloomy forest.

  “Okay, so you’ve kind of met me in a not particularly good mood right now. So will either of you please tell me what the fuck is going on and what your angle is before I just shoot you both in the face?” Smith raised his handgun to waist height, switching his aim alternately at the guy’s heads.

  I gulped and felt a sense of dread and not only because of the approaching zombies. I had the uneasy feeling my nasty little secret was about to be revealed.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  I considered shooting both the kneeling guys dead. Bang, bang! - a bullet each to the head and make up some bullshit story about one of them trying to escape. Smith would be pissed for a short while but eventually shrug off the situation when something else cropped up. But my inner preservation got the better of me. I couldn’t do it. I decided to let them speak.

  The uninjured man wearing the denim shirt raised his head slightl
y, glancing up at Smith with sweat streaming down his face.

  “We watched you come, we watched you come to the island on that big gray ship,” he stammered, then nervously gazed around at the forest beyond.

  The moans of the undead echoed all around us. Anxiety pulsed through my veins. I sincerely hoped Smith would hurry up with his interrogation.

  “Whoa, back the truck up a moment, motherfucker,” Smith spat. “Who the fuck is we?”

  The denim guy bowed his head in frustration. “We lived on this island before the outbreak of the dead returning. We used to work in the fields and around the harbor town. We farmed and fished and grew crops and fruit. Some of us worked in the vacation village. We retreated into the hills and forests when the dead rose up. Then the South Americans came and we stayed hidden. We saw you come and we watched you fight the dead and the South Americans. We kept away and let you be.”

  The guy gulped and looked up at Smith. “One of your crew killed the Boss’s nephew. He was shot and killed beside the Old Dutch River to the north of the island. I saw the body myself. His cousin managed to escape before he too was murdered. The Boss wants the man responsible for this crime. That’s all we want, sir.”

  Smith remained silent for a few seconds, digesting the denim guy’s explanation for the surprise attacks. He didn’t glance at me but I felt immensely guilty and totally uncomfortable, like I’d been revealed as a cold blooded murderer. Smith knew I’d been alone at the riverbank yesterday but the two kneeling guys obviously didn’t know I was the man they were seeking. Only the other kid on the riverbank had seen me and I’d drastically changed my appearance since the previous day’s calamity.

  The denim guy trembled slightly and his eyes tracked the space between the trees behind us. The undead were close and would soon emerge from the forest to pounce on us. I wanted to hurry Smith along but I knew any words now would only increase my culpability. I kept silent but inwardly I was in torment. I blew sweat away from my top lip and tried to hold myself together.

  “So, who is this Boss man you’re talking about?” Smith continued.

  The denim guy glanced wide eyed at Smith with an expression of disbelief on his face. He obviously couldn’t comprehend how Smith stayed so calm when the undead were closing in from all directions.

  “He runs our camp. He keeps us alive. We all trust him,” Denim Guy muttered.

  The injured man groaned, kneeling next to him.

  Smith shrugged and shook his head. “I asked you a question that requires an answer. We’re running out of time here, friend. Who the fuck is he?”

  Denim Guy shuddered, glancing all around us. He looked absolutely terrified. I was feeling the same but only just managing to quell my emotions.

  “His name is Samuel B. Moses,” Denim Guy stammered. “He used to be the chief of enforcement on the island before the outbreak.”

  “And you do everything this guy says, huh?” Smith asked.

  Denim Guy nodded. Sweat flicked off his head with the motion.

  Smith leaned forward so his face was a few inches from Denim Guy’s. “You tell Samuel B. Moses that we will not be handing over any of our crew to him or anybody else. And you tell him that if he wants to pick a fight, he’s chosen the wrong kind of people to do it with. You got that?”

  Denim Guy nodded vigorously.

  Smith stood upright and flashed me a brief glance. “Come on, kiddo. Let’s get out of here.” He nodded to the trees directly behind me. I supposed he was figuring out our escape route even when he was berating the two island guys.

  Smith shuffled behind me, heading into the thickets between two trees. I slowly backed up, still aiming my handgun at the two kneeling guys. The branches rustled on the opposite side of the clearing and I knew the undead were only a few feet from our position and coming closer. The island guys winced and glanced at me with an expression of pleading in their eyes. I lowered the handgun, turned and hustled through the bush, hot on Smith’s tail. The island guys would have to find their own way out and fend for themselves. I wasn’t sure they’d make it out of the forest alive but I couldn’t afford to worry about them.

  I made sure I kept the back of Smith’s black jacket in sight. He weaved between the trees and darted through the undergrowth, keeping his head bowed and his handgun at the ready. I had no clue in which direction we were heading and we seemed to be moving further into the forest instead of trying to catch up with McElroy, Wingate and Dante on the outskirts of the woodland. Maybe Smith had ideas of escaping the undead and doubling back to our original intended route.

  The moaning sounds of the undead receded and Smith reduced the pace slightly. I gazed around, every direction looked the same. Trees, low hanging branches and dense undergrowth surrounded us. The light was dim and the air was still and humid.

  Smith slowed to a walking pace and I caught up alongside him.

  “Where are we going, Smith?” I asked.

  Smith turned sharply to face me. He had that cold, steely expression that I’d seen when he was about to shoot somebody. His eyes narrowed and his left cheek creased. His face contorted in an angry, menacing sneer.

  “Why didn’t you tell me?” he growled.

  “Tell you what?” I tried to act dumb but knew it wouldn’t work. I was simply playing for a few seconds of extra time before I’d have to spill the awful truth about what happened on the riverbank.

  “Don’t bullshit me, Wilde,” Smith snorted.

  I sighed, wiping sweat from my forehead. I knew I couldn’t pretend the killing hadn’t taken place any longer. The harrowing events of the day prevented me blocking that dead kid from my mind to any further extent.

  “It was a total accident, Smith,” I blurted, on the verge of crying my eyes out. I sniffed and forced back the tears. I composed myself and told Smith the whole sordid detail of events on the riverbank, excluding the parts where I talked to my alternative self.

  Smith pursed his lips and made a rumbling sound after I’d spilled all the gory facts. “The moral of the story is to never leave any witnesses, kid. I know you’re no psycho killer, hell, you might be a psycho and a little unhinged but you’re no cold blooded murderer. I’ve known you long enough to realize that.” He gazed through the trees in the distance to our right as he spoke. “Shit, kid, I’ve met enough cold hearted goons in my time and one of them you ‘aint.”

  I didn’t know if Smith was throwing me compliments or telling me I was a pussy. Either way, it was a comfort to know he was on my side and I felt a little better having shared the guilty burden.

  Smith took a water bottle from his jacket pocket and took a long swig then gave me a lengthy stare before he spoke. “I won’t snitch on you about this to anybody, you know me, kid. I’ve wasted more motherfuckers than I can count without batting an eyelid or a second thought.” He stared into the trees again. “The problem we have with all this now is we’ve created a war we didn’t need with the island folks. Accident or not, they don’t believe it. That other kid you let get away has seen what happened differently to you. There’s no easy way to straighten this whole situation out. It’s not going to end well, Wilde Man. I tell you that for nothing.”

  Smith took another long drink from his water bottle. We stood in the forest and I glanced around us. My mood was as gloomy as the dim daylight beneath the high branches of the trees.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  We headed through the forest in silence. I wasn’t sure if we were moving in the direction we needed but I was simply following Smith’s lead. A cloud of remorse and guilt seemed to hang over me. I knew I’d landed us all in deep shit because of my actions. Why did all these bad, crazy-assed things always have to happen to me?

  Smith suddenly stopped walking and held out his right arm, preventing me from moving any further. He crouched into the wild undergrowth and I followed suit. Smith glanced at me and held his finger to his lips. Then I heard the unmistakable sound of an undead groan from somewhere ahead of us.

 
Smith slid his Russian handgun into his shoulder holster and reached to the ground. He scooped up a long, thick fallen branch and silently broke away the offshoots so it was like a straight cane, around two inches thick. I realized we needed to be silent and the sound of gunfire would echo through the confines of the forest and only attract the unwanted attention of more zombies and possibly the retreating island gunmen. I holstered my own firearm and scoured the ground for a piece of fallen timber similar to Smith’s. A broken branch, around three feet long with a jagged tip at one end lay amongst some low growing plants to my right. I picked up the stick and waited for Smith to act.

  We slowly rose up so we could just about see over the top of the big green leaves around us. Three zombies with their ragged clothing caked in dry mud stumbled through the trees, heading from our right to the left. I couldn’t tell if they were previously males or females. Their faces and hair were almost completely rotted away and any remaining flesh was coated in gray mud.

  I wondered if Smith was simply going to let them pass without noticing us and avoid any confrontation. But he didn’t seem to be in a non confrontational mood.

  He stood silently and edged closer to the zombies position, holding the branch like a spear. I followed, moving to Smith’s right and in a semi circular direction so I’d be in a position to attack the last zombie in the line from behind. I gripped my stick and hoped it wouldn’t break on impact with the ghoul’s skull.

  I trod cautiously, making as little sound as possible. Big leaves and tangles of weeds brushed against my thighs. Smith moved in an opposing direction to me so we were closing in on the undead in a pincer like movement.

  Smith hit the lead zombie with a fast, forward thrust with his tree branch. The blow was hard and thorough enough to cave in the left side of the zombie’s skull. The body immediately slumped motionless into the undergrowth. The two remaining ghouls lurched forward, alerted by Smith’s sudden presence. I darted through the undergrowth and jabbed my stick at the back of the lagging zombie’s head. I heard bone crunch before the stick slid through damp, pulpy mush that was once a living, functioning human brain. The mud spattered corpse collapsed face first into a cluster of bushes slightly to the left.