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

by Fletcher, Christian

  “Shit, there’s got to be nearly a hundred of them,” McElroy murmured. “And there’ll be a shit load more on their way if we don’t get out of here and fast.”

  We heard the whine of the bus’s starter as Hannigen tried to fire up the engine.

  “Jesus, I hope the bloody battery ‘aint fucked again,” McElroy growled.

  He rushed back to the top of the staircase and leaned forward so his head was inside.

  “We need to know if this thing is going to start or not, Hannigen,” he shouted. “If the engine’s not going to fire up, we need to bail out now.”

  “Give me a wee minute,” came Hannigen’s muffled response.

  “We don’t have a minute,” McElroy responded. “The dead people are going to be all over us in a few seconds.”

  Hannigen tried the ignition again. The engine fired up briefly but spluttered and cut out.

  “Hurry it up or we’re going to be trapped inside here,” McElroy yelled.

  The first numbers of undead leading the pack reached the side of the bus. They banged their hands on the metal surface and across the windows. The horde massed around the vehicle, slamming their hands against both sides and at the back. I assumed they couldn’t reach the front of the bus due to the collision with the car.

  McElroy hurriedly slipped his rifle from his shoulder and aimed down at the gray, rotting faces below. I pulled out my handgun and directed the business end at the swarming crowd of snarling flesh eaters. McElroy began taking a few carefully aimed shots and several zombies dropped amid a spray of blood from gunshot wounds to the head. I added additional fire power, taking out a few undead near the side doors.

  We felt the bus begin to rock from side to side as the zombies pushed against the lower deck. The movement affected our aim and I didn’t want to waste vital ammunition by firing my handgun indiscriminately. I gripped the handrail on top of the back of one of the seats to steady myself.

  McElroy took a couple more shots into the undead crowd before the magazine ran empty. He changed over mags while leaning against the back of a seat and aimed his weapon back into the sea of grimacing faces. He paused, sighed and lowered his AK47 rifle.

  “It’s too late to get out of here on foot now,” he groaned. “We’re dead meat.”

  I shook my head. “No, Thomas, there’s always a way out.” I surprised myself with my optimism.

  Usually, it was me who suffered with feelings of hopelessness but I felt different. I felt as though we had some goal to aim for and at last we had some incentive to keep surviving. Smith’s idea of sailing to a sunny island someplace seemed like a golden objective. I wanted to see it through. I wanted it so badly. There had to be a way to escape somehow.

  I glanced around at the buildings along the street. They were mostly run down, partly destroyed remains of stores of some kind and they were too far away from the top deck of the bus to reach. I looked behind us, across to the other side of the road. A street light, bent in the middle stood on the sidewalk directly behind the bus. The damn thing leaned to the side like a sagging flower but was too far away to be of any use.

  I sighed in exasperation. Maybe McElroy was right. Maybe we were sitting ducks, just waiting until the zombies smashed through the bus doors and windows and came for us.

  Chapter Sixty-Six

  I gazed further down the street and saw several more groups of zombies heading our way. They were obviously attracted by the sudden increase of sound from their undead counterparts. We didn’t have enough ammunition to shoot our way out and couldn’t possibly fend off so many ghouls with our bare hands.

  The noise of the undead below grew louder. They howled and moaned and shrieked and hollered, rocking the bus with escalating enthusiasm. The sea of gruesome faces gnashed the air and roared in anticipation of a feed. I clung onto the handrail and wondered if the whole damn bus was going to roll over on its side.

  I suddenly became aware that the handrail was vibrating slightly. Then I felt the floor faintly trembling beneath my feet. I glanced around and noticed the bent street light looming closer. Zombies howled below and began backing up, crumpling into each other. Then I realized the bus was moving. Hannigen was backing up across the street.

  “We’re moving,” I shrieked.

  McElroy seemed to shake himself out of his depressive trance and gazed over the side of the deck. He glanced back at me with a hint of a smile on his face.

  “We’re not out of this yet,” he warned.

  I nodded. “I’m going down below to see if everything is okay,” I said.

  I hurtled down the staircase and along the center aisle. The interior was dim and gloomy with the sunlight blocked out by the throng of undead pressing against the windows. Smith stood next the driver’s seat, holding the handrail with an expression of concern on his face. Hannigen swiveled his head in all directions. Sweat ran down his face and he looked completely stressed out.

  “I can’t see shit,” Hannigen yelled. “I can’t see where the fuck I’m going.”

  “You got the engine going then?” I needlessly asked.

  “Yeah, the zombies kind of did us a favor,” Smith said.

  “How so?”

  Smith nodded at the driver’s position. “Hannigen reckons the starter motor is sticking and on its way out, that’s why the engine wouldn’t start. The zombies rocking the bus around helped free it up. But we got to get through this crowd without turning over.”

  “I can’t even see out the back,” Hannigen wailed. “I don’t want to hit anything in case the engine cuts out and we can’t get the damn thing started again.”

  “I’ll get McElroy to direct us from up top,” I said, backing up towards the staircase.

  “I won’t be able to hear him from down here,” Hannigen yelled.

  “I’ll relay what he says,” I said as I gripped the staircase rail. I turned my head to face the upper deck. “Hey, McElroy,” I called.

  “What?” McElroy’s face appeared at the top of the steps.

  “Direct us backwards. Hannigen says he can’t see shit from the cab.”

  McElroy nodded and glanced to his left. “Okay, keep going but you’ll need to give it some welly to clear these fucking corpses out the way.”

  I relayed the message and Hannigen hit the gas. The bus lurched backwards and I saw several snarling faces disappear from view of the back window, their bodies sucked underneath the undercarriage. The bus jolted from side to side as the wheels mashed corpses into the blacktop.

  “Stop!” McElroy yelled.

  I urgently relayed the command and saw the bent street light lurch into sight a few inches from the back window between numerous snarling faces.

  “Hard right and then straighten up and go like fuck,” McElroy instructed.

  I repeated McElroy’s basic instructions and Hannigen complied. We at least faced the street and headed back in the direction we originally came from. Hannigen kept the revs high and it was slow going, plowing through the undead crowd. We’d have had no chance of making it thorough the mass of bodies if we were in a car or even an RV.

  The numbers of ghouls in front thinned slightly and Hannigen gathered some speed. The undead howled outside and tried to give chase at a slow pace. Hannigen wiped the sweat from his forehead and breathed out heavily. McElroy joined us on the lower deck and glanced out through the windshield.

  “You’ll have to take the alternative route, Connor,” he said.

  “Don’t you think I realize that now,” Hannigen snapped, turning his head slightly.

  Smith fished around in his jacket pocket and took out his pack of smokes. He offered me one and we both lit up.

  “Can I have one of those?” Hannigen asked, nodding to Smith’s cigarette pack. “I haven’t smoked for over ten years but I feel like I need one now after that wee episode.”

  “Sure,” Smith said and handed Hannigen his already burning cigarette. Smith lit another and we stood beside the driver’s cab watching out for more crow
ds of undead.

  Hannigen took us through a series of side roads and was forced to turn around once more when a large pile of rubble blocked the street. We saw several herds of zombies gathering together in the distance but managed to keep well enough out of the way for them to cause a problem.

  We finally drew up outside the tower block after what felt like a long and arduous journey.

  “Do you reckon this thing will start again if you turn the engine off?” McElroy asked.

  Hannigen shook his head. “I don’t know,” he sighed, applying the park brake and physically slumping in the seat. He looked shot and the whole expedition had obviously taken its toll on him.

  “Try turning it over again after you’ve cut the engine,” McElroy suggested.

  Hannigen sighed and turned the ignition key into the ‘off’ position. The engine died and we stood in silence for a moment. He turned the key back and the engine rumbled into life.

  “It doesn’t mean the starter will go every time,” Hannigen sighed. “It’s going to be a lottery whether it starts again or not.”

  “We only need the bus to start one more time, Connor,” McElroy said.

  “Hopefully, one more time,” Hannigen warned. “There are no guarantees this whole shenanigan is going to work out.”

  Seamus Heath let us back into the tower block lobby after staring out through the peephole in the door. He made a strange, excited, high pitched noise when McElroy told him about the bus parked outside. We unloaded the weapons and put them back in the storage lockers inside the apartment at the end of the hall. Hannigen changed back into his normal clothes but Smith and I opted to stay dressed in the black combat fatigues. Smith said the Russian Officer’s uniform was uncomfortable and I didn’t like my tatty, gray refugee attire. I swapped my still wet jacket for a dry one.

  I didn’t realize how tired I was until we started climbing the staircase again. My legs and back ached and I needed to rest up for a while. I knew we weren’t going to get much respite as we’d be on the move again in maybe a couple of hours, when the sun went down.

  We found O’Neil inside the usual apartment, standing by the window and chatting with a couple of refugees from Scotland. McElroy brusquely interrupted the conversation and told him about the sightseeing bus parked up outside, omitting to tell him about the faulty starter motor.

  Smith relayed the plan of taking command of the Russian warship but O’Neil didn’t look wholly convinced.

  “It seems you are being a little hasty to use brute force, Smith,” O’Neil argued. “I still think it’s a very precarious plan. I’m not happy to risk the lives of everybody left alive in this building to try something where the outcome is so uncertain.”

  I felt sure O’Neil wasn’t going to run with the plan. If that was the case, we couldn’t hang around the tower block or we would slowly starve to death.

  Chapter Sixty-Seven

  “Look, if it all goes wrong, I’ll take the rap for it,” Smith said, raising his hands by his chest. “I won’t tell the Russians anything about you and they still won’t know you exist. Hannigen gets the rest of you guys right back here in the bus and you can carry on with your lives.”

  “You said yourself that the food is drastically running dry, Sammy,” McElroy pointed out. “This could be a new beginning for everyone here. It’s the chance of a fresh start, somewhere new. A chance to get out of Belfast, a chance to get away from Ireland.”

  “This is my home,” O’Neil growled. “I was born here and worked here. I made it my life’s ambition to try to accomplish a better way of life for the people of Belfast.”

  “Catch yourself on, Sammy,” McElroy sighed. “Take a look out the window. The Belfast you grew up in and fought so hard for is gone. The whole of the country is finished and there’s nothing that your politics or talking can do to solve it.”

  The room fell silent and everybody stared at McElroy and O’Neil, standing face to face in a kind of verbal stand-off. Smith and I exchanged concerned glances.

  “We can’t keep clinging on to the past, Sammy,” McElroy whispered. “The life we knew before the outbreak has gone.”

  O’Neil’s bottom lip trembled slightly and he broke his gaze away from McElroy. He sighed loudly and turned to face the window.

  “And where do you propose our destination to be, Mr. Smith?” he asked.

  Smith rubbed the stubble on his chin and looked a little surprised. “Well…I’m figuring we could make our way across the Atlantic and head south to one of the Caribbean Islands maybe. A small island will be easy to clear of infected and keep defended. The weather is generally good down there and the ground is fertile for growing crops.” He waved his hand in the air. “Just an idea but I’m open to other options.”

  “What about disease?” O’Neil asked, without turning around.

  “Like I said, we got enough firearms to clear the island of any infected. We could burn the bodies or dump them out to sea.”

  “No, I don’t mean the dead diseased people. I mean what if we catch diseases out there? Tropical diseases are rife in such places.”

  Smith looked at Chandra. “Well, we’ll have a qualified doctor onboard and plenty of medical supplies, plus whatever is left lying around the place.”

  “And what if people have already claimed the island and don’t want any more to swell their numbers?”

  “Hey, we pack up and go someplace else. There are plenty of islands in the Caribbean and there’s room enough for everybody on the planet, right?” Smith glanced around the room for some moral support. A murmur of appreciation rumbled around the crowd.

  O’Neil turned around sharply, staring directly at Smith. He held up a pointed finger.

  “If this all goes awry, Mr. Smith then you’ll be the one to blame. I won’t come and save you from the wrath of the Russian Army.”

  “You got it,” Smith mumbled. “Does that mean we’re good to go?”

  “Much as it pains me,” O’Neil muttered. “We’ll gather everybody together and I’ll tell them we’re leaving.”

  The apartment wasn’t big enough to accommodate all the residents of the tower block so everybody gathered in the corridor. O’Neil gave a short, emotional speech and likened our journey to that of the Pilgrims Fathers. He stated that the residents were only permitted to carry one baggage item each and no bulky objects were allowed. A hubbub of excited chatter echoed through the corridor and the tower block residents hurried away to pack a few belongings.

  Smith pulled McElroy, Hannigen and I to one side after the meeting had concluded.

  “It goes without saying that I want you three guys on my team to take the ship. We know where the Russians are and we’re all capable of handling a firearm if we need to.”

  “Who’s going to drive the bus?” Hannigen asked.

  Smith sighed. “You can still drive the bus, Hannigen. You’ll only need to drive it one way.”

  Hannigen shrugged. “What if it all goes wrong and I have to drive back here?”

  Smith tilted his face towards the ceiling. “Aw, don’t you start. I had a hard enough time convincing O’Neil with all the negative questions. It will all be peachy, Hannigen, trust me.”

  “So, we’re just going in as a four man team?” McElroy asked.

  “How many guys does it take to haul up the anchor?” Smith asked Hannigen.

  “You only need one crew member to operate the capstan and I’m assuming these modern warships don’t need anyone to coil the chain in the cable locker. In the old days we had to…”

  “Right, so one guy on the forecastle to operate the chain lever,” Smith interrupted. “That’s you, Hannigen, seeing as you know what you’re doing.”

  “I’ll probably need one or two guys with me, to keep me covered and watch my back,” Hannigen said. “Then we’ll need to secure the anchor.”

  “Okay,” Smith said. “So that’s two more guys. You got anybody in mind?” he asked McElroy.

  McElroy thought for a
second and nodded. “Aye, I’ve a couple of capable candidates.”

  “Okay, and we’ll probably need a couple more guys with us, so that’s eight in total. Are we good with that?” Smith asked.

  The three of us nodded.

  “I better go and start packing the weapons and ammunition,” McElroy said. “I’ve got a feeling we may need it.”

  “Okay Mac, we’ll meet you at the armory in an hour,” Smith said. “Round up your guys and go through with them exactly what we need to do.”

  “Right you are, Smith,” McElroy agreed. He turned and headed for the staircase.

  Hannigen grunted and retreated towards his own apartment.

  “Are we not bringing Batfish or Wingate with us on this one?” I asked.

  Smith shook his head. “Nah, things might get a little ugly on that ship and I don’t want them to witness it.”

  “Right,” I muttered, worriedly wondering what kind of horrific and brutal acts Smith had in mind.

  Chapter Sixty-Eight

  I spent the following hour sitting on the floor with my back against the wall in the meeting room come apartment. People bustled in and out, asking each other what they should take with them. I drank a bottle of water and a ginger haired woman handed me a plastic bowl containing a small slop of what looked like stew.

  “Sorry, there’s no more, love but that’s all our supplies used up,” the ginger haired woman said with a smile. “We decided to use everything we had left in one go. Less to carry, you see.”

  I smiled falsely and tucked into the food, which tasted surprisingly good. When I’d finished the stew I placed the bowl down on the floor next to me. My stomach fluttered and churned around with nervousness. Much as I was all for hijacking a warship earlier, it now seemed a ridiculous idea as the time drew closer.

  Smith strolled into the living room with Wingate and Batfish in tow. Batfish held Spot on a leash and looked to the floor when our eyes met.

  “You ready to rock and roll, kid?” Smith asked.