The Left Series (Book 5): Left On The Run

by Fletcher, Christian

  “Another one bites the dust,” McElroy muttered.

  “If you fellows have stopped faffin’ about, I’d be grateful if we could take a look inside that compartment now,” Hannigen rumbled as he stood in the bus doorway.

  McElroy shone his flashlight inside the dark compartment while we stood with our firearms at the ready in case any more zombies lurked inside. No more undead occupied the space and Hannigen began pulling out the items inside. He opened up a briefcase sized, gray plastic box and his eyes widened.

  “Bingo!” he chimed. “This is the battery jumper.” He lifted out a yellow, box shaped item with red and black cables wound across the center.

  “Let’s just hope the damn thing works okay,” Smith morosely chipped in.

  Hannigen tried the bus ignition key before we fitted the jumper onto the battery. Predictably, the engine didn’t fire. A few ignition lights briefly flashed then faded into a dull shimmer, before vanishing completely. Hannigen applied the jumper cables to the battery in the engine compartment at the rear of the bus. He turned the charge up to maximum and I heard a high pitched whining sound.

  “Okay, let’s try her again,” he said, heading back to the cab.

  This time the diesel engine spluttered into life when Hannigen turned the ignition key. Black smoke belched from the muffler somewhere beneath the floor and a dark cloud wafted up above the bus.

  “That doesn’t look too healthy,” I said, watching the smoke evaporate into the sky.

  “We only need the damn thing to roll for a few miles and that will be it,” McElroy said.

  We packed away the battery jumper while the engine idled and closed the side compartment back up. Hannigen sprawled into the driver’s seat and closed the door once we were all onboard.

  Hannigen glanced down at the gauges on the dash. “Quarter of a tank of diesel, should be plenty enough for what we need.” He swiveled around slightly in his seat. “Okay, Thomas, which way do we go to get the hell out of here?” he asked McElroy.

  “Head on to the wall at the back of the grounds and keep going around that building to the left,” McElroy explained, pointing the way. “There’s a sliding gate behind the building. That route takes us to a track behind the prison. We’ll have to loop around and come back out on the Crumlin Road.”

  Hannigen nodded and revved the engine. We drove slowly forward, towards the building situated at the far corner of the prison grounds. Hannigen negotiated his way around the structure and a tall gate, constructed of circular metal railings confronted us.

  “Stop the bus and I’ll hop out to open up the gate,” McElroy said.

  Hannigen nodded.

  The operation went smoothly and McElroy even had time to close up the gate after we’d driven out of the prison grounds. Hannigen drove further down the track and headed for another gate to our right.

  “Oh, shit,” Hannigen muttered and slowed the bus a few feet from the second metal gate.

  Smith, McElroy and I hurried to the cab to peer through the windshield and see what the problem was. A big parking lot sat on the other side of the gate, spreading to the left. The route we wanted to take was straight through the lot and to the right. The difficulty we faced was getting through the vast amount of zombies who swarmed around the gate. They reached through the bars, clawing the air and growling at us.

  “What do we do now?” Hannigen sighed. “Is there another exit we can use?”

  McElroy shook his head. “Only on foot. This is the only way we can drive in or out of this place. We’ll have to clear a pathway through.”

  I tilted my head back and groaned. “I thought things were going too well.”

  “Lighten up, kid,” Smith said, clapping me on the shoulder. “At least we’ve got that gate between us and the dead chumps, huh?”

  I sighed and followed McElroy and Smith off the bus. We stood in front of the gate for a few seconds, watching the undead sprawl, howl and moan in front of us.

  “There’s got to be around thirty of them,” Smith said. “You going to stab all of them in the head, Mac or are we going to get trigger happy.”

  McElroy sniggered and shook his head slightly. “You Americans love your shoot outs don’t you?”

  “Hell, yeah,” Smith roared, raising his Armalite rifle.

  “Just don’t go too gung-ho,” McElroy warned. “If we get any ricochets off the gate frame, the rounds will be coming back at us.”

  Smith shrugged and pretended to look a little bit offended. “Hey, I don’t miss. I’m a professional.”

  We fanned out a few feet apart and stood in a line, as though we were at a shooting range. I felt slightly nervous I was going to hit the metal bars on the gate and kill either Smith or McElroy with a ricochet. Or even kill myself. My obituary would say – ‘Survived the zombie apocalypse but was shot by a gate!’ I decided I’d take my time and pick my shots carefully. Smith and McElroy were capable marksmen so I’d let them do most of the shooting.

  The platoon of zombies was wiped out in a hail of bullets and a cloud of cordite in less than five minutes. Smith and McElroy seemed to enjoy the target practice and gave me the impression they were competing against each other to achieve the most kill shots. I managed to eliminate three targets and more importantly, not kill anybody else in the process.

  “All right, let’s get these gates open,” McElroy whooped.

  Smith gave McElroy a helping hand to slide open the gate while I hopped back onboard the bus. Hannigen rolled forward through the opening with the vehicle’s large wheels crunching over the dead zombies lying in our path. Smith and McElroy slid the gate shut and jumped back onto the bus.

  A large number of undead roamed the street between the courthouse and the Gaol but Hannigen took a left turn out of the side road and managed to avoid the heaving masses.

  “So far, so good, eh?” McElroy said, smiling.

  “Let’s not get too far ahead of ourselves,” Hannigen warned, turning his head slightly. “This is only phase one of the operation, don’t forget. I’ve a feeling the Russians will be a whole different ball game.”

  “Maybe we should reconnoiter the docks,” Smith suggested. “We can get an idea what the Russians are doing and find ourselves a small boat that we’ll need later.”

  McElroy thought for a moment. “Sounds like a plan. How soon do you want to go down there?”

  “How soon is now?” Smith asked.

  “You’re a canny devil, Smith,” McElroy said, laughing. “Okay, let’s do it.” He turned his attention to Hannigen. “Mr. Driver, did you hear that? We’re taking a small detour by the docks.”

  “Aye, I heard you,” Hannigen rumbled. “Damn stupid idea if you ask me.”

  For once, I had to agree with Hannigen. Driving to the docks in a big red bus was like running through a crowd of zombies, dressed only in slabs of raw meat and expecting not to get attacked. I felt Smith’s bravado was starting to put us in danger, once again.

  Chapter Sixty-Four

  “Okay, drive through the dockyard on the north side,” McElroy instructed Hannigen, as we drew closer to the port. “But don’t get too close to the Russian ships. Park up the bus somewhere and we’ll move closer on foot for a better look.”

  Hannigen shook his head. “This is madness. Complete and utter madness. You think the Russians won’t have look-outs watching the dockside?”

  “That’s why we need to be careful,” McElroy snorted. “There are enough big assed buildings to park behind so they won’t see us.”

  “And what if we run into one of their shore patrols?” Hannigen snarled. “What then? Offer them a ride and a sight-seeing tour?”

  “Don’t get a rage on, Connor,” McElroy sighed. “We’ll be fine, so we will.”

  “Aagh,” Hannigen growled, flapping his hand at McElroy.

  The route to the dockyard had been fairly clear. Only the occasional zombie stood in our way and Hannigen had either swerved to avoid them or bumped them out of the way.


  We drove slowly through the north side of the docks, passing by some old brick buildings. Hannigen slowed the bus and brought us to a halt alongside a modern looking, two storey structure. A handful of undead wandered around in the vicinity and turned to look at the bus as Hannigen parked up.

  “We better be quick about this little jaunt,” Hannigen said, opening the side door. “I don’t want to come back here and find the bus is crawling with dead people after all the trouble we went through to get it.”

  “We’ll be five minutes tops,” McElroy said. “You can wait here if you want.”

  “Not a chance,” Hannigen rumbled, collecting his rifle from behind the driver’s seat. “You’re not leaving me here to fend for myself.”

  “Is there any way we can lock this door?” I asked, glancing nervously at the zombies shambling towards us. “They might accidently hit that button on the side, open the doors and climb inside.”

  “I don’t know,” Hannigen muttered with irritation in his voice. “I haven’t had time to study the ins and outs and workings of the thing. You’ll have to ask his lordship.” He nodded at McElroy.

  “Leave it be, in case we have to make a hasty retreat,” McElroy confirmed. “I doubt whether the zombies will even trouble themselves with the bus. It’s us they’ll be wanting not inanimate objects.”

  Hannigen hit the button to close the doors. “Well, I’ve got the keys in my pocket so no fecker can nick the bus while we’re gone.”

  “Better get moving then,” McElroy said, gesturing to the expanse of water in the distance.

  We moved at a jogging pace and made our way around the side of the building we’d parked next to. From our position, we could see across the vast area of Belfast port. Several small boats bobbed on the sea around the harbor. Some were still tethered to the jetty and some drifted idly out to sea on the tide. We took cover amongst a small clump of trees at the side of the building that faced the waterfront.

  “Look, the Russians have moved both their ships,” Smith said, pointing out towards the water. “They’ve anchored up out from the harbor.”

  “Is that a problem?” McElroy asked.

  “Ah, not so much,” Smith muttered.

  “It means we’ll have to pull in the anchor instead of slipping the head and stern ropes and hawsers,” Hannigen stated.

  “What does that mean in English?” I asked, ignorant of seafaring terminology.

  Hannigen stifled a sigh. “It means we’ll have to pull up the anchor before we can move the ship, whereas if it was still tied up by those big round things on the jetty, we’d have to untie it before we could move.”

  “Got it,” I said, nodding.

  “Only trouble is, pulling up the anchor makes a hell of a racket and takes a damn sight longer to carry out than slipping a few ropes,” Hannigen groaned. “I don’t know how we’re going to pull it off without being seen or heard.”

  I squinted due to the sunlight reflecting off the water and watched the two Russian ships, anchored opposite each other, positioned a few hundred yards out from the jetty in the calm sea. A crowd of military guys worked furiously on the damaged bow of one of the ships. Two small boats bobbed beside the dented area and several guys wearing safety harnesses dangled down the ship’s side, trying to shore up the damage. A crowd of undead staggered around the dockside, opposite the ships. The Russians had evidently managed to repel the zombie attack the previous day and move the ships out to sea.

  “They obviously decided it was safer to go to anchor than to stay alongside the jetty,” Smith surmised. “We can still do it though. We can still take that good ship.”

  “What about that small boat you were talking about? Any preference for any of them out there?” McElroy asked, pointing out to the section of harbor in front of us.

  “Something that makes no noise,” Smith said. “Want to go over and take a closer look?”

  Hannigen shook his head. “Don’t be an ejit, Smith. We break cover and the Russians will see us for sure.”

  “You’re kidding, right?” Smith sighed. “The Russians have got to be around half a mile away.”

  “Better not tempt fate, eh, Smith?” McElroy chipped in. “Let’s keep this scouting mission low key. There are plenty of small rowing boats out there to choose from.”

  I heard a low toned snort from behind us and turned around. The few undead that hung around the dockyard buildings when we’d parked the bus were now shuffling their way towards us in a pack.

  “Talking of tempting fate,” I whispered, gesturing to our rear. “I think we may have outstayed our welcome.”

  The other three turned and saw the approaching bunch of zombies. There weren’t enough to overwhelm us but if we had to start using our firearms to fend them off, the Russians would definitely be alerted to the sound of gunfire.

  “All right, boys,” McElroy muttered. “It’s time to go.”

  We broke from our cover and quickly rounded the side of the adjacent building. McElroy and Smith were forced to club a few zombies out of our path with the butts of their rifles. We evaded the undead pack and headed back for the bus. Two undead, who looked like they’d been dockyard workers in their previous lives, staggered around next to the vehicle. The zombies were dressed in dark blue, blood stained coveralls and one of them still wore an orange safety hat. They both snarled at us, their gray, rotting faces creasing in a grimace. Smith knocked the hatless one to the ground with a blow from the bottom edge of his rifle, full in the guy’s face. Hannigen hit the door release button and we hurriedly boarded the bus.

  “Come on. Let’s go before any more dead people crawl out the woodwork,” McElroy said.

  Hannigen took his place behind the steering wheel and fired up the engine, which thankfully started on the first turn of the ignition key. Smith, McElroy and I took up the seats directly behind the driver’s position.

  “Back to the tower block then, Lord and Master?” Hannigen asked, with another guarded dig at McElroy. He U-turned the bus and headed back towards the dockyard exit.

  “Aye, but just be on the look-out for large numbers of dead people. Don’t get us trapped on any of the main roadways,” McElroy answered. “Park the bus as close as you can to the tower block and we’ll run our plans by O’Neil.”

  “Does O’Neil run the show?” Smith asked.

  McElroy looked a little uncomfortable and shuffled in his seat. “Aye, he does. He used to be a politician before all this started. A man of the people and all that. He didn’t believe in living in big houses in the country like so many other officials. It was his idea to make the tower block into a fortification and he kind of assumed the role as unelected leader. Not that I agree with the man’s policies and a lot of his views are pig shit but he has a level head on his shoulders, so he does.”

  “If it wasn’t for O’Neil, we’d all be dead or be walking corpses by now,” Hannigen barked. “He’s a good man.”

  McElroy nodded towards the driver’s seat. “Connor, there was one of his biggest aficionados. He helped run his campaign.”

  The conversation was cut short before it became heated. Hannigen was forced to swerve sharply to the right due to a cluster of undead heading in our direction from further up the road. The bus skidded on a patch of snow and the wet blacktop. Hannigen seemed to lose control and the bus slewed towards a line of abandoned cars at the side of the street. I heard a crunch of metal impacting with metal as I was thrown forward out of my seat.

  As I lay in the puddle of water on the floor, all I could hear was the grunts and growls of the approaching undead horde. The bus engine had cut out and I didn’t know if it would start again.

  Chapter Sixty-Five

  “What are you doing, man?” McElroy yelled at Hannigen, as he hauled himself to his feet.

  Smith stood over me, wiping a drip of blood from his nose. “You okay, kid?

  He reached out with his hand and I took his grip. He pulled me to my feet and I took a look out of the side window. The vi
ew wasn’t good.

  “I’m good,” I sighed. “But I’m not so sure our situation is.”

  The bus sat at an odd angle across the street with its nose buried in the side of a silver Peugeot car. A rag-tag bunch of filthy zombies drew closer, shuffling through the remaining patch of snow on the road.

  Smith turned and followed my gaze. “Yeah, I’ve been in better situations.”

  “It wasn’t my fault,” Hannigen roared. “What did you want me to do? Drive this thing straight through the fucking lot of them? Is your head cut, or what?”

  “Shut your bake, you melter! It would have been better than banjaxing the fucking bus,” McElroy hollered back.

  “Ladies, please…” Smith interrupted, holding up his hands in a plea for calm. “Bawling at each other ‘aint going to be useful. Take a look outside.”

  McElroy briefly glanced out the windshield but Hannigen was still sitting in the driver’s seat, facing the line of abandoned cars. I noticed a long crack in the glass at the bottom of the windshield and dreaded to think what additional damage the bus had incurred.

  “Come on, Hannigen,” McElroy shouted, moving to the foot of the staircase. “Get us out of here quickly, man.”

  Smith gripped the handrail by the door and lowered his head so he could efficiently study the street outside. I followed McElroy up onto the top deck. My back was soaked from tumbling through the puddle and my clothes clung to me as I moved to the side of the deck facing the onrushing undead. The cold air seemed to increase the wetness I felt seeping through the back of my jacket. I had no time to try and dry myself off or complain about the cold.

  McElroy leaned over the edge of the top deck and studied the band of moaning figures below.