The Left Series (Book 2): Left Alone (39 page)

The SUV rammed our back doors with its front crash bars and another volley of rounds rattled against the back doors.

Smith hung a left and narrowly avoided a head on collision with another SUV speeding in the opposite direction. I briefly glimpsed a flash of headlights and a shocked looking guy in the second SUV driver’s seat. We all screamed while we were a coat of paints’ width from totaling the truck.

We rolled right onto another main road but Smith had to drive on the left side lane. A high, wire meshed fence stood in the center of the right hand lane. A massed, squirming shadow loomed behind the fence wire.

“What the hell is that?” I pointed at the thick, writhing shadow.

Headlong glanced out of his side window. “That’s the fence line, buddy. We’re right out on the city limits. Beyond that fence is thousands of undead, ready and willing to rip you apart.”

I squinted into the shadow and saw it was one swarming mass of hungry, reanimated corpses, all trying to rip and chew their way through the reinforced wire fence.

“We must be on Elysian Fields Ave,” Headlong said to Smith.

“Is that good or bad?”

“It’s good in one way ‘cos now I know where the hell we are. But it’s bad in several ways ‘cos now we’ve got nowhere left to run and we’ll be passing a check point real soon.”

“Is that it?” Smith snorted sarcastically.

“Not quite.” Headlong was looking in his side mirror. “We’ve got a whole bunch of zombies on our right and now we’ve got two SUV’s on our ass and they’re closing on us real quick.”

Chapter Sixty-Three

Smith flashed a glance in his side mirror and saw the SUV’s headlights getting closer. He put his foot down hard on the gas. I studied the road ahead and saw another two SUVs parked horizontally across the left lane, around two hundred yards in front of us. At least a dozen figures were positioning themselves in front of the vehicle. I noticed the shapes of rifle barrels in the guy’s hands, silhouetted against the sides of the SUVs.

“Shit, Smith. Look out!” I yelled, pointing out the windshield. “They know we’re coming.”

“So much for those unreliable radios,” he grunted and spun the steering wheel to the right.

The GMC Truck bumped up the center curb and onto the grass verge between the left and right lanes. The overgrown grass hissed against the underneath of the truck floor but slowed us down. The tires were having a tough job gaining purchase on the dew damp vegetation.

The patrol guys ran across the street and repositioned themselves, aiming across the verge. They fanned across the grass at an angle so they bottle necked us between their weapons and the fence line. We were only a few feet from the wire mesh and I could hear the accumulative wails and groans of the undead on the other side of the fence. The noise reminded me of the howling soccer crowd I’d witnessed when my dad had taken me to see Chelsea play in London, nearly twenty-five years in the past.

One of the pursuing SUV’s followed our path onto the grass verge and the other drew alongside us, still moving on the left lane. I could see the check point to our right, which was no more than a heavy duty, metal gate recessed into the inner side of the fence line. More armed guards took aim at the side of the gate. 

“They’re going to open fire any moment,” I screeched.

Smith nodded. “I know.”

He buzzed down his side window and drew his hand gun. I wondered what the fuck he had up his sleeve. Smith had managed to get us out of numerous scrapes but he was going to have to do something spectacular to escape this particular situation.

“We got to stop, Smith,” Batfish howled.

“No way,” he growled.

Smith yanked hard on the park brake and the back end of the truck skidded on the damp grass. The front end swung around as the vehicle spun in a semi circle and we were thrown from side to side in the back. Smith’s side mirror raked the wire mesh fence and broke off its mounting. He accelerated forward and away from the fence.

The SUV that had been behind us was now almost nose to nose and still approaching. Smith leaned out of his side window, with his gun aimed at the looming SUV. He fired a few rounds in rapid succession. Smith’s accurate shots penetrated the SUV’s windshield, causing spider web like cracks surrounding several holes in the glass.

Several things happened within a couple of seconds. The SUV skidded to its right and smashed into the wire mesh fence, causing the metal welds to dislodge and pop from the solid posts. The armed patrols opened fire on us from our rear and to our right. Semi automatic rounds peppered the side and rear of the truck. Smith fishtailed as he steered around the crashed SUV and put his foot hard on the gas.

Dead hands reached inside the split wire mesh and wrenched it aside. I heard screams from the totaled SUV and briefly caught a glimpse of hundreds of zombies tumbling through the gap in the fence line before Smith bumped the truck down the curb back onto the road, slightly behind the second SUV.

The check point guards no longer fired their weapons at us, swapping their targets to the swarm of undead who poured into the safe zone.

We drove back down Elysian Fields Avenue, the way we had come. I tried but failed to release my grip from the top of each of the passenger and driver’s headrests. That was the white knuckle ride of my life. I checked on the girls behind me to see if they were okay and noticed several bullet holes along the right side, providing a view of the stars outside. The Cajun girls were huddled together, face down on the floor and Batfish had somehow squeezed herself behind Smith’s seat, clinging hold of Spot.      

“Shit, that was something,” Headlong whooped. “Keep on this road as far as you can then hang a right, which will take us back to the docks.”

I noticed Smith had a pissed off look on his face.

“You okay?”

He nodded once.

“What’s up, man? You look like you just sat on a hornet’s nest.”

“Now this place is going to be overrun with zombies,” Smith growled. “That wasn’t part of the plan.”

My fingers came easily off the seats and I sat back. Maybe we had inadvertently unleashed more misery, horror and a repeated fight for survival against the undead for the remaining survivors. A bad scenario for the people of the city who thought they’d cleared up a while ago. We’d just let loose a major problem for God only knew how many non-infected people, who thought they were safe, even if Lazaru ruled the city like Stalin’s Russia.

“We have to hope those guards can drive those undead fuckers back,” I said.

“Well, at least they won’t be so bothered about us, for the time being,” Headlong muttered.

“You got a cigarette, Wilde?” Smith barked, in a tone that told me he was still pissed off.

“Sure.” I lit three smokes and passed one to Smith and one to Batfish. I offered the pack to the Cajun girls but they shook their heads.

“Can I have one of those?” Headlong asked. “I quit these damn things five years ago but I still keep having the cravings.”

I handed him a smoke and saw my pack had only one left. No time to stop and stock up.

At least a dozen SUVs sped by us, traveling in the opposite direction with their headlights on full beam. No doubt the vehicles were packed full of heavily armed guys trying to quell the zombie invasion.

Smith drove along Elysian Fields Avenue heading south at a steady speed. I kept glancing at the fence line to the left, inwardly praying there were no more breaches or weak spots amongst the wire mesh. The shadowy crowd seemed to be moving in their droves to the north, towards the breached entrance into the city.

Batfish asked me about a million questions that I was in no mood to answer. I just wanted to get the hell away from this place.

I felt relieved when we reached the docks and Smith pulled the truck over on the curbside behind Sammy’s red VW.

“That’s strange,” Headlong muttered. “Sammy should have left the docks hours ago. Those guys were due to change duties some time before last night.”

Chapter Sixty-Four

We sat inside the truck and tried to see what was going on dockside but couldn’t see anyone around. The paddle steamer was still in its same position so Lazaru hadn’t felt the need to vacate the city yet.

“You guys stay put and I’ll go and see Sammy,” Headlong said. “I’ll see if I can square it with him to let us all go free.”

“Okay,” Smith agreed. “Just don’t be too long about it. We don’t know how much time we’ve got before this whole place turns into a bear pit.”

Headlong nodded and climbed out of the truck. Smith sighed and leaned his head back against the headrest. We waited in silence for a few minutes before Headlong came rushing towards us out of the darkness with a look of terror on his face.

Smith sat up, ramrod straight in his seat. Headlong opened the door and jumped into the passenger seat, breathing heavily.

“What’s up?” Smith asked.

“Zombies on the dockside,” Headlong panted.

“Shit, that was quick,” Smith barked. “They couldn’t possibly have got here from the fence line before us. How many?”

Headlong shook his head. “I don’t know for sure but I’d say about five, as a best guess.”

“Where are Sammy and the other guys?”

“I didn’t see them. Just a bunch of zombies wandering around down there but I didn’t look real close, to be honest.”

Smith nodded. “All right, you guys hang back here and me and Wilde Man will clear up.”

He gave me a glance for my approval and I nodded in agreement. I really didn’t feel in the mood for more zombie shooting but I was Smith’s right hand man. We were here to grab the shitty end of the stick, that’s what he and I did.

Smith changed the magazine in his hand gun then jumped out of the truck. I drew my Smith & Wesson from my waistband.

“Be careful out there, Brett,” Batfish warned, patting my arm as I slid open the side door.

“Always,” I whispered and joined Smith on the sidewalk.

“Keep your eyes peeled,” Smith said. “This could be another outbreak from the river. We don’t know how many of them could be lurking around in the dark.”

We approached the docks and I heard the flags on the paddle steamer flap in the night breeze and the gentle sound of the rushing river. The near silence seemed eerie. The Navy boat was still moored behind the paddle steamer but we couldn’t see anyone onboard.

Smith stopped me in my tracks, brushing his arm across my chest. We stood still, listening to the sounds of the night. I heard shuffling footsteps approaching from the blackness. Several monotonous moans from close by alerted my senses and I felt a shiver run down my spine. That sound of the undead never failed to put the shits up me.

A guy wearing a red baseball cap was the first to emerge into my view. I immediately recognized him as Sammy. He staggered forwards with his hands reaching for us. Sammy was no longer a functioning member of the human race and I noticed a gaping, bite sized hole in his throat.

I leveled my Smith & Wesson and fired one shot, which hit Sammy directly between the eyes. No more wild shooting from Brett Wilde. Sammy went down backwards, released from his alternative existence.

Another zombie, who I recognized as one of Sammy’s guys, loomed into sight from our right towards Smith. At first, I didn’t think Smith had noticed the threat but as quick as the blink of an eye, Smith raised his gun and fired a shot straight into the zombie’s face.

We continued on our path towards the Navy boat, treading slowly and cautiously forward. Two more zombies trudged around the wooden boards of the dock pontoon and two stood on the Navy boat deck. They all gazed in our direction with open, snarling mouths. One of them I recognized as the last guy in Sammy’s crew but the other three looked similarly dressed in cheap work shirts, caps and denims. The two on the boat deck still had rifles slung over their shoulders.

“What the fuck happened here?” Smith whispered.

I’d leave the ‘
what happened, the why’s and wherefore’s
’ until later. I raised my new combined best two friends, Smith & Wesson and fired a double tap at each zombie. I kept firing until the magazine clicked empty.

“Whoa! Hold the firepower,” Smith yelled.

“I’m out anyhow,” I muttered.

He spun around; searching for more would be undead assassins then checked the four bodies were no longer moving.

“Looks all clear. I think these other three guys were Sammy and his buddies’ relief shift. Something went to rat shit here.”

“Look, who gives a fuck, Smith? Let’s just go get the others and get the fuck out of here,” I bawled. I didn’t want to spend another minute longer than we needed to in New Orleans. It was probably a great city in the past but right now, I’d had a gutful of the place.

Smith strolled around in tight circles, checking the dock and the Navy boat deck.

“All right, go get the others and we’ll skedaddle,” he said.

Smith seemed a bit distant, as though the breach of the city’s defenses was still bothering him.

“You all right, Smith?” I asked, with genuine concern.

“Sure,” he muttered.

I knew the whole Louisiana debacle had got us all a little riled but we still needed to be on the ball to and focused to get the fuck out of the docks. We needed Smith to be fully alert to steer a path along the river, whichever way we were headed.

“I’ll go get Batfish and the rest of the crew, then?” I pointed back towards the street.

“Yeah, go right ahead.”

I ran the distance back to the GMC truck and tapped on the window. Headlong was snoozing and jolted awake.

“Okay, it’s all good, man. We’re out of here,” I chimed enthusiastically.

Headlong whooped in cowboy style and Batfish slid open the side door. She encouraged the two Cajun girls from the back of the truck and scooped up Spot in her arms.

“Smith is down on that Navy boat ready and waiting for us to go,” I said.