The Left Series (Book 3): Left On The Brink (26 page)

A
bedraggled, female zombie, who looked like a former office worker with long blonde hair and a ripped, navy blue blazer, became trapped between the blade and the cab as it lowered. The upper torso was squeezed away from the legs and the dismembered body toppled over the front of the blade and slid to the floor, leaving a trail of guts and rotten internal organs.

Cordoba backed up a few feet and increased the revs. “That bastard is going this time,” she screeched.

The snowplow lurched forward and smashed into the side of the forklift. I heard the creaking of metal colliding and watched as the forklift juddered sideways. The smaller vehicle tilted on its axis and toppled to its right. The forks scraped across the staircase and the cage became dislodged. I heard a crunching noise and the forklift finally fell on its side but the cage twisted and was tossed into the air. I looked across the snowplow cab through Cordoba’s side window and saw the cage bounce once on the concrete staircase then spin towards us.

I grabbed hold of Cordoba around the back of her neck and pulled her down flat across the seat a fraction of a second before part of the metal cage smashed through the side window, sending glass chips showering all over the cab. We sat upright and saw a long metal stanchion from the cage frame poking through the shattered window and two feet inside the cab. The
sheared metal pole would have skewered Cordoba’s head like a kebab if I hadn’t pulled her out of the way. She turned and briefly glanced at me with an expression of total shock and disbelief.

She muttered something but I didn’t catch what she said.
Movement caught my eye; I glanced back through the shattered window and saw Milner, Smith, and the other four guys heading down the stairway.

“You two okay in there?” Milner yelled above the diesel engine and shrieks and moans of the undead. He leaned on the wreckage of the cage and peered in through the window.

“Yeah, we’re okay, Milner,” I cried. “You better hop onboard the roof.”

A few zombies squeezed through the gap between the side of the
snowplow and the wall next to the staircase.

Cordoba seemed to come to her senses and studied the wrecked cage. “Wait, you guys,” she shouted to Milner. “You better try and shift that metal or it’s going to rip out the side of the cab when we try
to move.”

Milner nodded and told the rest of the guys they needed to haul the hulk of twisted metal out of the way. Amato fired a burst of rounds at the zombies edging their way closer to the staircase through the narrow gap. A few bodies dropped to the ground and out of our sight. 

“Don’t fire,” Cordoba shrieked. “You might hit the tires.”

Amato looked sheepish and slung his M-16 over his shoulder.

The guys on the staircase grunted as they hauled the busted cage a few feet further up the staircase. Metal creaked on concrete before the jagged stanchion moved out and away from the cab window. Cordoba looked through the empty gap where the glass had been and nodded.

“Okay, guys. That’ll do. Jump on top but hold on tight.”

The six guys crawled up the side of the cab one at a time and onto the roof.

“Take it easy on the gas, Cordoba,” Milner shouted. “There ‘aint much room to spare up here.”

“All right, hang on,” Cordoba yelled back.

She put her foot on the gas and the
snowplow lurched forward. Our cover was well and truly blown now as an increasing number of zombies surrounded the vehicle, reaching up and swatting the air with grasping hands. Cordoba slowly turned the steering wheel to get us back facing the line of immobile vehicles. We gathered a little more speed but some zombies hung on to the side mirrors and anywhere else they could grab a hand hold.

I heard a few single gunshots ring out from the roof and a couple of zombies tumbled from the sides of the
snowplow.

“Go easy with your shooting
, guys,” Cordoba yelled and thumped the roof with her fist. “Remember those tankers are full of boom boom juice.”

The shooting continued but more sporadically.

I glanced at Cordoba to check if she was okay but I noticed a pair of hands clawing their way inside the broken side window. I drew the M-9 and checked the handgun was ready to fire.

“Lean forward, Cordoba,” I shouted.

She looked at me, puzzled for a moment and then saw me aiming the Beretta behind her head. I adjusted my aim slightly above the door panel. Cordoba gave a little shriek but leaned forward against the wheel. I waited until the ghoul’s head appeared at the window as it hauled itself up the side of the vehicle.

The zombie’s face had a kind of sad expression, if that was possible. He was a male in his former life, possibly a manager of some kind
, as he wore the remains of a white shirt and formal dark blue tie that was skew-whiff around his throat. He had a huge open wound above his shirt collar around his throat, an injury which was obviously fatal. His face was full and fleshy and his remaining hair was thin on top.

I lined up the M-9 and fired once. The zombie’s head rocked back amongst a spray of blood and he disappeared from view. Cordoba gave me a harsh stare. She probably wasn’t pleased with me for firing the
handgun so close to her but realized I had to take the shot.

Cordoba rocked back in her seat and slowed the vehicle as we drew close to the idling gas tanker.
The snowplow had outpaced the majority of the undead but a few stragglers still remained, wandering around by the stationary vehicles.

“All right, guys,” Cordoba said into her headset. “Four of you go for the gas tanker
and two of you jump in the cab with us. But don’t hang around, we won’t have much time.”

“Roger that,” Milner replied. “We’re out of here.”

I slid across the seat, closer to Cordoba. It was going to be a tight squeeze in both cabs with six big guys to accommodate inside. One by one the guys clambered down from the snowplow roof. Kauffmann sprinted for the gas tanker cab and leapt into the driver’s seat. Amato followed and squeezed in beside him. Our passenger door clunked open and Smith and Milner bundled in beside Cordoba and I. Smith squashed into me and I rocked sideways into Cordoba. Again, I caught the scent of her.

“Give me some room to drive, guys,” she protested.

Milner shut the door and we rearranged ourselves, trying to get as comfortable as possible.

“This is cozy,” Smith joked.

I flashed him an admonishing glance.

Cordoba moved the
snowplow right and in an arc so we were positioned directly lined up in front of the gas tanker. Smith and Milner lay their rifles on a ledge along the top of the seat behind us and I did the same. Cordoba’s M-16 lay on the cab floor behind our feet.

“You ready to roll,
Kauffmann?” Milner asked, speaking into his headset.

“Hold up, Milner,”
Kauffmann shouted in reply, through the radio. “We’ve got a real fucking problem here.”

Chapter Thirty-Eight

“What’s up?” Milner asked through his microphone and we craned our necks to see what was going on behind us through the side mirrors.

I saw a view of Swann and Dyson in the reflection. The gas tanker cab’s passenger door remained open. Dyson was half inside the cab but three or four zombies had hold of his legs. Swann wasn’t even inside the cab. He wrestled with another bunch of undead directly in front of the
gas truck.

“Oh, shit!” Milner spat, as he surveyed the scene unfolding in the mirrors.

Dyson was kicking out for all he was worth and Amato attempted to club away the zombies surrounding the cab with the butt of his M-16. Swann seemed to be fighting a losing battle.

“A whole bunch of them swarmed on us from between the trucks,”
Kauffmann screamed through the radio.

“I need to go help them,” Milner shrieked, and went to open the passenger door.

The face of a particularly savaged female zombie at the side window stopped him from opening the door. We heard bangs and scraping nails across both side doors and at the front of the cab. Our view of what was going on behind us was now blocked by numerous, jostling undead bodies reflected in the side mirrors.

“They’re surrounding us, Milner. You can’t go nowhere,” Smith growled, grabbing hold of Milner’s jacket at the shoulder.

“We need to move…now!” Cordoba yelled. She glanced nervously through the open side window.

The female zombie hissed at Milner through the window and banged her bloody fist against the glass. More zombies crawled up the
snowplow blade, trying to reach the windshield.

“We can’t stay still any longer,” Cordoba wailed. “They’re climbing up to the window.” She drew her M-9 and fired off a couple of shots at a zombie who was obviously scrabbling up her door.

“Kauffmann, we got to get moving,” Milner screeched through the radio. “The bastards are all over us.”

Kauffmann
replied some garbled message but all we could hear was somebody screaming above his words.

“Sit rep,
Kauffmann? What the hell is going on?” Milner screeched.

“Dyson’s bit and Swann is down.” We heard the
tremor of terror in Kauffmann’s voice through the headsets.

“Shit!” Milner smashed his fist on the dash. “We have to get rolling,
Kauffmann. Are you in a position to move the truck?”

Cordoba fired a couple more rounds out of the open window. The female zombie continued to try and smash her way through Milner’s passenger glass. Smith and I exchanged worried glances
, squashed in the center of the seat.

We heard a few more gunshots before
Kauffmann finally responded. “Yeah, we’re good to go, Milner. We’ve lost Swann and Dyson is bit but he’s inside the cab and we’ve managed to close the side door.”

“Let’s roll,” Milner barked.

“I thought you were never going to say that,” Cordoba growled and banged her foot on the gas pedal.

The
snowplow wheels screeched on the concrete surface and the vehicle reeled forward. The female zombie at Milner’s window was thrown from the side of the cab with the forward motion. We heard a sickening crunching sound as zombies fell from their hand holds on the truck and were crushed beneath the snowplow wheels.

Cordoba lined up the
snowplow blade with the center of the nearest roller door. 

“
Kauffmann’s following,” she stated, checking the side mirror.

“That’s good,” Milner muttered. “I just want to get out of this fucking place.”

He wasn’t alone in his aspirations. I was sick and tired of this damn airport terminal and it seemed like we’d been in here for hours, trying to carry out a simple operation. I was worried about the roller door as we hurtled towards it. Would the plow blade be powerful enough to dislodge the thing and burst through it? Earlier, I’d thought the steel v-shape would be enough but judging how we struggled to shift the forklift truck, I was having my doubts.

We all remained silent inside the cab, watching the stainless steel roller door looming nearer. I glanced at Cordoba. Her face was a mask of concentration.
A few zombies stepped into our path but were immediately mown down without a second thought. A spray of blood splattered in a streak across the passenger side of the windshield when a female zombie, wearing what looked like a pink nightie, shuffled her way in front of the blade and came off second best.

“Here we go, brace yourselves,” Cordoba yelled.

I suddenly realized that none of us wore the safety belts but it was too late to put them on now. Milner yelled and I screamed, Smith remained composed, as usual and Cordoba gritted her teeth.

Time seemed to slow down as the
snowplow blade smashed into the roller door and pierced the stainless steel slats. Pieces of twisted metal spun through the air and smacked against the windshield, cracking the glass. The whole vehicle jolted from side to side and the roller door tore away from its fixings, clattering into the snow on the ground outside. Cold wind and snow flakes blustered inside the cab through the broken window on Cordoba’s side.

We flinched away from the gusting, cold draught. Cordoba flicked on the wiper blades as snow spattered across the cracked windshield.
Chips of ice blown into the cab from the Arctic flurry felt like we were being hit by a shot blaster.

“Jesus! I can hardly see,” Cordoba wailed.

“Wait until we’re clear from the building and we’ll put our hoods and eye goggles back on,” Milner shouted, above the howling wind.

We drove clear of the terminal building and Cordoba looped around so she followed the perimeter of the outside wall.