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

by Christian Fletcher

  Wingate didn’t respond. She kept her gaze far above the heads of the mob facing us. Well done to her. She was a tough cookie and showed no emotion or signs of cracking under the stress of the situation.

  Moses waited a beat but seemed to grow bored when Wingate showed no reaction. He moved further down the line and stood in front of the two trembling Caribbean girls, Mia and Ronda. These two were going to be easy pickings for his line of intimidation. They knew who he was and they knew his reputation. They were both obviously terrified.

  “What you two bitches at?” Moses growled, leaning closer to the girls. “Why you with these white folk from far away? America, Ireland, Columbia. That’s where these other people are from. Why you with them?”

  “The two American guys saved us from a basement in a bar,” Ronda stammered. “The place was full of the dead and we followed them because we had no other place to go. The dead were everywhere.”

  Moses leaned back in mock shock. “And which bar would that be, girl?”

  “The Great Escape,” Ronda responded.

  “How you live so long in a damn cellar? Skanking like a bitch?” Moses widened his eyes in mock horror now.

  Ronda’s face screwed up in emotion and tears ran down her cheeks. Here was the humiliation.

  “Did I used to be your big, bad pimp back in the day, bitches?” Moses continued. “I wouldn’t stick my wood in you two ho’s if you were the last bitches left on Earth.”

  A rumble of laughter rippled through the on looking crowd. Moses seemed to want to break us all down mentally, one by one. I was dreading my grilling and it wouldn’t take Moses long to bust my spirit. Perhaps I’d simply tell him it was me who killed his nephew and get it over and done with.

  Moses continued his round of insults, calling Mia and Ronda every degrading name known to man. Both girls’ faces crumpled and were soon in floods of tears. Moses seemed to revel in their despair and humiliation. He asked them about their families and how they’d died in all the gory detail.

  I flashed Smith a quick glance. My face must have been as white as death. His eyes darted to my face and I saw a short-lived expression of horror before he gave me the briefest of nods. It wasn’t much but that signal gave me a smidgen of hope that we were going to come out of this situation alive. Maybe Smith did have something up his sleeve after all.

  Ronda and Mia stood weeping and moaning, holding their hands over their mouths while snot and tears dribbled down their faces. Moses seemed content he’d sufficiently reduced them to gibbering wrecks.

  “Take these animals away and put them in the pen with the goats, CJ,” Moses roared, flapping his hand at Ronda and Mia.

  The other henchman who wasn’t filming and whose name was apparently CJ strolled forward. He was joined by around another half dozen muscular islanders. They grabbed Mia and Ronda by their arms and dragged them away, further into the camp between the log cabins and out of our sight.

  Moses walked down the line and I stared at the ground in front of me. I almost breathed a sigh of relief when he bypassed me and stopped in front of Dante, who was already sniveling like a scolded kindergarten child.

  “You a bit upset, little man?” Moses asked, speaking in a high pitched, squeaky voice. “Nasty big men take you away?”

  Dante looked at the ground and continued sniveling. It was painful to watch.

  “I want to go home,” Dante finally uttered, with tears dripping from his face. He raised his head and looked at Moses with an expression of pathetic pleading.

  “Aw, poor little man want to go home,” Moses mocked.

  Dante nodded and returned his gaze to the ground at his feet.

  Moses continued with his insults in his baby type voice. Dante continued to snivel and blub. The nonstop baiting persisted for a few minutes until Moses gave up. Either Dante couldn’t understand him or Moses decided the breaking point was reached. I wondered what he was going to do with Dante but he simply left him standing where he was, sobbing, wailing and shaking on the spot.

  I figured I’d be next for the degrading treatment. Wingate had already shown she was no pushover. She, Smith and McElroy were trained to absorb this type of grilling. I was no military or paramilitary member like the others had been. Fuck it! I was going to tell the bastard it was me who killed fucking Lucas or whatever his name was and then spit in Moses’ face. He might get so mad he’d attack me and give the others a chance to escape in the melee that followed. Smith always taught me to be unpredictable when facing an enemy. What could be more unpredictable than spitting in the guy’s face and calling him a child molester or something? He wouldn’t be expecting that.

  My fear seemed to slip away. You couldn’t kill or hurt an already dead man.

  I eyeballed Moses back as he walked closer towards me. Here we go, I thought. Come on then you ugly fucker!

  In my head I uttered “I enjoyed killing your cunt of a nephew. He squealed like a little bitch before he died.”

  Moses bypassed me and stopped in front of Smith. I felt a little deflated but I couldn’t be sure I’d have actually carried out my evil mouthed plan.

  “So what’s your story, soldier?” Moses asked, tritely mimicking a stereotypical American drill sergeant. “You some kind of tough guy? You thought you’d come to this island and kick some ass, huh?”

  Smith stayed still and silent for a few long seconds, still staring high and into space. Finally, he broke off his glazed glare, lowered his eyes and his head to look straight at Moses. They locked glares for a moment and I thought I noticed a glimmer of doubt in Moses’ eyes.

  “You can quit the charade,” Smith said in a low tone. “Nobody else here knows this but I know who killed your nephew.”

  CHAPTER SIXTY-EIGHT

  I couldn’t believe what I’d just heard. I saw Wingate and McElroy’s head snap round to their sides to glance at Smith. An expression of shock filled Wingate and McElroy’s faces. I closed my eyes and took a long, outward breath that turned into a groan.

  Maybe Smith had to spill the beans and snitch on me to save the rest of them. Hell, I was going to tell Moses anyhow so hopefully he’d shoot me in the head and have done with it.

  Moses stood still for a moment and I sensed he was slightly shocked by Smith’s revelation.

  “Say, what, motherfucker?” Moses finally growled. “Say that again.” This time he spoke through clenched teeth in nothing more than a whisper.

  Smith still remained outwardly calm.

  “You heard what I said just fine.”

  “It was you.” Moses jabbed the side of Smith’s neck with his forefinger.

  Smith shook his head. “Nope, it wasn’t me. But I killed the guy who did it.”

  This time it was my turn to snap my gaze Smith’s way. Shock and confusion hurtled through my mind. What the hell was he talking about?

  “Start talking or I’ll take one of them hot sticks out of the fire and poke it in your eye,” Moses seethed.

  I noticed he was slightly rattled. This was obviously Smith’s rabbit out of the hat moment.

  “All right, I’ll tell you the whole story but it may take a while,” Smith sighed, as though he was recounting an amusing tale he’d told many times before.

  Moses took a pace backwards and folded his huge arms across his barrel chest. “Don’t worry, soldier boy. I got all the time in the world.”

  Smith cleared his throat. “You know that tennis club, not too far from the airport?”

  Moses nodded. “I know of it. Never been there. They don’t ask guys like me to be members. That kind of place is for your rich, white folk.”

  “After the altercation at the airport, we got separated,” Smith continued. “Me and my buddy happened to come across this damn tennis club and tried to take a break inside the buildings there. No undead seemed to be around so we figured we’d maybe crash for a while.”

  Smith waved his arms as he confidently spoke. I thought Moses seemed to be listening intently, leaning slightly to hi
s right. Maybe Smith could actually pull this whole bluff thing off.

  “We did what you always do when you come to a new place,” Smith continued. “You start poking around, maybe eat some food and have a few drinks, look over the area, see if everything is okay. It all seemed fine so we relaxed a little. Took a time out to sit down and chill for a while.”

  Moses raised a hand. “Much as I like listening to your New York accent, just cut out all the bullshit and get to the point here. This long and winding tale is starting to weary the shit from me, guy.”

  Smith shrugged. “Well, I did say it was going to be a long story. I figured you’d want to know all the facts in detail.”

  My new found belief started to waver and I felt the hope evaporate very quickly. Perhaps Smith’s bullshitting session was only a play for time.

  Moses sighed and closed his eyes for a second. He seemed to be completely bored of Smith’s ramblings.

  “Go on,” Moses said, waving his hand in the air in exasperation.

  Smith flapped his hands in the air as though he too was frustrated. The whole situation seemed to be turning into a prolonged farce. I felt like jumping in and yelling at Smith to simply tell the goddamn truth.

  Smith sighed and continued his hackneyed account. “We met these two American guys at the tennis club and they seemed a little weird, like they had something to hide, you know the type I mean, right?”

  Moses nodded, which was a good thing. I attended a sales course once in my job before the world collapsed and the instructor, a hot blonde girl said if you can get the recipient of your spiel to nod then you were onto a winner. These were totally different circumstances but the big, bad guy nodding was surely a plus in our favor in the survival column. I tried but failed to remember the hot blonde’s name as Smith chattered on. I recalled I’d asked her out on a date after the training seminar and she’d politely refused. She never knew what she missed out on. She could be standing right beside me. What a state of affairs she’d luckily evaded. I wondered if she was still amongst the living or shuffling around Brynston as one of the undead. Who knew? I knew my mind was drifting off to obscure places. Keep it together, Wilde!

  “We went back there into their house after dark,” Smith continued. “We figured they were going to try and bushwhack us during the night. We found they had a whole secretly hidden gallery full of dead kids, all dressed and painted up like movie scenes.” He paused for effect, to let the horrific image settle in the crowd’s minds. “I know right, it was the grossest thing I ever saw. So we figured they’d killed all these kids for some kind of show time production. They tried to overpower us when we discovered their little secret.” He pointed to his and my face. “That’s why we’re all beat up, right.”

  Smith paused again and his voice cracked emotionally when he next spoke. I knew it was all for sympathy and for the camera. He’d have made a great actor.

  “They tied us up and were going to fill us full of embalming fluid and use us as one of their sick exhibits. I mean, how shit is that, guys?” Smith glanced around the crowd and I noticed a few compassionate expressions amongst the previously hostile faces. “We escaped and turned the tables on those…those monsters.” Smith pulled a pained face as though he was battling with inner demons. Again, a good act. He spoke in a hushed tone next. “I am not proud of what I did but I took one of those scalpels those guys used on those kids and I cut that guy. I cut him and I hoped it relieved some of the pain that those poor kids felt.”

  Smith was making us sound like some kind of goddamn, righteous heroes. He was almost forcing himself into a state of mock distress. I knew Smith didn’t give a shit about what happened. He’d tortured Ralph Pinchbeck and enjoyed every second of it.

  “Anyhow, getting to the point of the matter,” Smith carried on. “I asked this guy if there were any more kids still alive on the property. He said there wasn’t and I admit, I did use a little more force than was probably necessary to extract that information but he said there wasn’t. I pressed him for details and asked him how many kids he’d killed and how long ago was the last victim taken. I don’t know why. I just felt it right that those poor kids got some kind of redemption.”

  Smith stopped talking and looked Moses straight in the eye. “That’s when he told me he’d killed a young island kid on the riverbank. He planned to take his body back to the tennis club and turn him into some kind of gross display figure. We had to leave because the undead got into the club grounds but he was still alive when we left. You can go check it all out if you want to see I’m telling you the truth.” Smith finished up, spreading his hands and bowing slightly to the crowd, who seemed slightly less hostile towards us.

  Moses remained silent for a few seconds, staring long and hard at Smith.

  “Say I believe you,” he finally said. “Say you are telling the truth. You’ve still killed a whole bunch of my people. They are being buried by my guys in La Bahia Soleado as we speak. More of my guys were killed by you at the airport and in the forest afterwards. What am I going to do about that, huh?”

  Smith sighed. “I’m real sorry about that. We’ve lost a good deal of people too. The guys you blew up in the boat were good friends of ours. We’ve all lost a whole load of good people along the way.”

  Moses glared at Smith, nodding his head slightly.

  “Okay, so this guy at the tennis club, this monster man, what did he look like? Describe him to me,” Moses demanded.

  Smith flashed me a quick glance. I recognized the brief flash of concern in his eyes. He had to get this description right or his smoke screen would be blown away and we were all dead.

  CHAPTER SIXTY-NINE

  The huge fire continued to crackle behind us and the heat burned through my jacket, causing sweat to cascade down my spine. It wasn’t only the heat from the fire that made me sweat. Nervous tension knotted up in my stomach. I thought Smith was digging us out of the hole but his next few words could bury us under a ton of shit.

  “The guy was around six feet tall, skinny, around 140 pounds,” Smith said. “He had long, tangled black hair and a big, gross beard.” He was basically describing me before the shave and haircut.

  I figured Smith had done the right thing. On the flip side, I figured Moses had another trick up his sleeve.

  “Just by looking at the guy, you could see he wasn’t right,” Smith went on. “He gave the creepy impression he was like some kind of pedophile.”

  Okay, Smith, don’t overdo it, I thought. I had to ask myself, did I look like a pedophile? Shit, if ever we got out of this mess, I was going to change my whole appearance.

  Moses nodded. “Okay,” he said and then turned to another of his closest henchmen. “Go get Vinnie. Let’s get this situation cleaned up.”

  The henchman, clad in green cargo pants, a sweat stained white vest and a big floppy white sunhat duly nodded and shouldered his AK47 rifle. He trotted off into the camp amongst the log cabins to summon the mysterious Vinnie. I had an idea who he was but hoped I was wrong.

  We waited in silence. Moses glared at each of us in turn, occasionally nodding his head. It was as though he knew something we didn’t, which felt disconcerting to say the least. I felt the tension build amongst us and the island crowd the longer we waited around.

  “Any chance we can get a cigarette from you guys?” Smith asked, breaking the edgy silence. “Your guys took all ours down on the jetty in the port town.”

  Moses smirked and raised his eyebrows. I got the impression he kind of liked Smith. Perhaps he respected his unflinching resolve. Moses clicked his fingers at one of the gunmen standing near him, who produced a red pack of smokes and a lighter from his pocket. The gunmen handed the pack to Moses, who in turn tossed the cigarettes and lighter to Smith. Smith took one and offered the pack along the line to the rest of us. Myself and McElroy gratefully shoved a smoke in our mouths and lit them up.

  Smith tossed the cigarette pack and lighter back to Moses. He caught them one handed without b
reaking his glare from Smith and gave them back to the gunmen. We stood puffing away in silence. I wondered if this was the last time I was ever going to smoke, like they used to do before executing troops for cowardice in World War One. ‘Last cigarette before we tie you down and shoot you dead, sir?’ Murder was all very civil back then.

  The henchman in the floppy sunhat returned before we’d finished our smokes. Trailing along behind him was the skinny kid on the riverbank, the survivor who had run when his friend was accidently killed. My assumption had been right; he was the kid who could identify me as the killer. Shit! We were now doomed.

  “Meet Vinnie, another one of my nephews,” Moses barked. “He was there when his cousin, Lucas was murdered on the riverbank. He told me it was definitely a guy from the warship. He’ll be able to tell me if the killer was any of you guys standing in front of me.”

  The cigarette began to burn my fingers. It was down to the butt. I threw it down on the ground in front of me and crushed it into the soil. I kept my gaze down, hoping I’d somehow inexplicably and miraculously become invisible.

  Harry Potter I wasn’t.

  “Okay, Vinnie is going to walk down the line and take a real good look at each of you,” Moses said. He took a step backward and ushered the kid forward with a wave of his hand.

  The floppy hat wearing henchman pulled out a big, black metallic revolver from a holster on his hip and held it by his side. Vinnie nervously glanced at Moses then trod slowly forward, moving closer to our ragged line. I raised my head. Looking down on the ground was a sign of guilt. I thought about pulling a stupid face so he wouldn’t recognize me and almost immediately nearly laughed at the absurdity of that idea.

  Vinnie took a long look at McElroy and muttered something I didn’t hear but he shook his head. He totally bypassed Wingate as she was the wrong gender. Vinnie locked eyes with Smith, who glared right back at the kid. Vinnie shook his head and moved on to me, the next in line.