The Left Series (Book 3): Left On The Brink (39 page)

“Okay, I think we’re through the first building,” Smith said quietly. “We’ve got another two to get through before we make it to the other side of the camp.”

“Geez, Smith. I don’t know if my nerves can take much more of this,” Batfish wailed.

“It is what it is, kid. I’m sorry we’re in this situation but there’s not much we can do except try and get ourselves out of Shit City.” Smith patted her on her shoulder then turned back to the next corridor.

We moved through the doorway into the next building. The layout was slightly different; the office rooms on each side were sparser, which made the hooded guys chances of attack more limited.

The next few minutes seemed like hours but ticked by without incident.
Our feet made a sucking sound as we trod cautiously across the linoleum covered floor. I falsely thought we’d passed through another building but the corridor dog legged into another area. A sealed door with a key code combination prevented us from proceeding further through the building.

“Stand back,” Smith ordered.

We complied and Smith fired once at the door lock. The shot echoed around the whitewashed corridor and the door swung open. Smith reloaded his handgun before we stepped through the open doorway.

The flashlight illuminated a guy standing in front of us in the center of the corridor. His sack hood was twisted around his head but he held a bolt action rifle, pointed directly at us.

“Get down,” Smith yelled and we hit the deck as the guy fired a shot.

I heard the bullet whistle above our heads and
thud into the door behind us. Milner rolled into a crouching position and let fly with a burst of fire from the M-16. The hooded guy wailed as the rounds hit home into his chest and he tumbled backwards and smashed hard into the wall before he fell on his side in an ungainly heap.

“What are these guy’s problems?” Milner hissed.

“Their problem is, they’re fucking douche bags,” Smith snorted.

“They probably think we’re invading their territory,” Cordoba surmised. “With the world gone to hell,
these people have reverted to animal type instincts. Food, shelter and the domain is king.”

“Why can’t they just leave us alone and let us pass through,” Batfish groaned.

“Things don’t work like that, kid,” Smith sighed. “When I was a young kid growing up in Brooklyn, you couldn’t pass through certain areas without getting into a brawl of some kind.”

I heard a banging and rumbling noise from the corridor behind us.
Then the echo of wails, screams and moans caused the hairs on the back of my neck to prick up.

“Shit, those zombies are getting closer,” I hissed.

Chapter Sixty-Two

“We better get moving,” Milner muttered. “We don’t have much time before that bunch of undead fucks catches us up.”

We hauled ourselves to our feet. Milner checked the hooded guy was actually deceased, and then smashed the bolt action rifle against the wall until it broke into pieces. We continued onward through the corridor at a quicker pace. A few gunshots echoed from somewhere behind us and I presumed the hooded guys were now battling with the horde of invading zombies.

The corridor dog legged once again and we approached another key coded door. Smith gave the lock the same treatment as the previous one and we entered the third and final building.

The next corridor was narrower and heavy, stainless steel doors blocked the entrance to the rooms each side. Yellow warning signs were plastered at waist height across the doors and a small window was positioned at head height on each one.

“What
in the hell is this place?” I whispered.

“Beats me,” Batfish sighed.

The corridor continued in a similar vein as we moved further into the building. We began passing a steel door to our left that was slightly ajar but the room was dark inside. Smith drew level with the doorway and a dark, blurry figure rushed from the gloom in the room behind. Smith swung to his left and the flashlight briefly illuminated another hooded figure, also dressed in green camouflage combat fatigues and holding a metal bar of some kind. For once, Smith’s reactions weren’t as quick as the hooded guy. I caught a glimpse of the metal bar swing downwards and hit the top of Smith’s gun hand. He grunted in pain and dropped both the flashlight and his M-9.

The
handgun and the flashlight clattered to the floor and the light beam lit up several pairs of scuffling feet as it rolled across the linoleum. Batfish shrieked and grabbed hold of me around my shoulders. I winced in pain and jerked backwards. We staggered into the wall behind us.

I heard grunts and a muffled groan of pain. Cordoba grabbed the flashlight and swung the beam around, trying to catch Smith and his assailant in the light. She picked them up in the light beam but they darted around the floor so quickly, she had trouble focusing on them. They jerked
around; we heard grunts and groans and muffled sounds of heavy blows connecting. Milner covered them with the M-16 but couldn’t get an accurate shot away. A sickening cracking noise echoed around the corridor and I knew it was the sound of breaking bone. 

Eventually, Cordoba managed to center on the scuffling pair but the brawl was over. Smith held the guy in a tight head lock and the assailant’s body hung limp and lifeless. Smith tossed the corpse to the floor and released a mouthful of spit on the body.

“Fucking guy,” he hissed. “I’ll break all these motherfuckers’ necks.”

“Are you hurt, Smith?” Cordoba asked.

“No, he’s pissed,” I whispered. “Those guys don’t know what they’ve done.”

Smith retrieved his
handgun and took the flashlight from Cordoba. “Let’s get out of this fucking place,” he growled.

We moved through another dog leg inside the corridor and a dazzling bright light clicked on, shining directly into
our faces. The light was blinding and we couldn’t see a damn thing in front of us. We shielded our eyes and half turned away from the light.

“This is was you get for trying to invade us,” a croaky voice rasped from behind the light. “You let the undead inside the perimeter.”
I detected the distinct trace of a London accent in the guy’s hoarse tones.  

“Let us pass,” Milner shouted, shielding his eyes. “We don’t want any trouble.”

“A bit late for that, buddy,” Smith muttered.

“Front rank, fire!” The voice ordered.

A volley of single shots peppered the corridor, bullets whizzed all around us, pinging off the walls and floor.

“Rear rank…”

“Through here,” Smith yelled, before the guy had the chance for the next file of crazy rifleman to open fire on us. He bundled through one of the steel doors to his left and we followed him inside the room as the second burst of fire zipped all around us.

Smith slammed the door once we were all inside. He shone his flashlight
at the rear of the door and saw a steel wheel that activated a chunky locking device inside the jamb. He spun it rapidly until the lock engaged.

“Everybody okay?” he asked, breathing heavily.

“I’m hit,” Milner groaned. “But I don’t think it’s too bad.”

Smith swung the flashlight in Milner’s direction. We didn’t need any more casualties. Milner slumped against the wall to the right of the door, holding his left shoulder. The M-16 was in his left hand but I knew he was desperate to put the rifle down.

“Let’s take a look, Smith said.

Milner handed the assault rifle to Cordoba, undid his jacket and slipped his undershirt down at the shoulder. We saw a nasty gash high in his bicep as though the skin had been slashed by a razor blade.

“The bullet grazed you, Milner. You are a lucky boy,” Smith said.

A furious pummeling on the outside of the door along with a chorus of muffled shouts caused us to swing back around to face the threshold and recoil from the small window.
Whoever was operating the bright light out there shone the beam through the window glass and lit up the room we were stood in. We recoiled away from the dazzling light, trying to shield our eyes. Cordoba covered the door with the M-16, aiming at the small window.

Something long and pointed flashed in front of the light. We flinched when we heard
two gunshots from outside the door. Somebody screamed, the blinding light instantly cut out and we heard the sound of breaking glass tinkling to the floor.

Smith swung his flashlight around to the door window.
Spider web like cracks surrounded a circular chip on the opposite side of the glass.

“Ha ha, stupid bastards tried to shoot out the window,” Smith mocked. “That glass is obviously bullet proof. The idiot who fired the shot
s got a ricochet right back in the face and it took out his flashlight too. We’re safe for a moment.”

He swung his flashlight around and we saw we were in a small kitchen type area
, with several sinks embedded into a pale blue countertop with closets beneath. The walls were the same dull whitewash but numerous jars and bottles stood on the countertop in separate bunches.

“This looks like a lab of some kind,” I said.

Batfish tutted and shook her head in disapproval when Smith took a piss in one of the sinks.  

“You still got that first aid kit on you, Milner?” Smith asked
, after rinsing his hands.

Milner nodded and painstakingly removed the small green box from his inside jacket pocket.
Smith took the first aid kit and removed a tube of antiseptic cream and a bandage. He patched up Milner’s shoulder then wiped the blood away from Batfish’s nose with an antiseptic cloth. I was last to receive medical attention and my head wound stung like a bastard when Smith wiped away the half congealed blood. He stuck a huge wad of padding onto my cut that must have made me look like I was sporting an off center Mohawk haircut.

The banging, crashing and muffled shouts of abuse continued from the opposite side of the door. Cordoba kept the entrance covered to be on the safe side.
Smith ripped an old calendar from the wall and used the tape from the first aid kit to stick it over the small window.

“Don’t those fuckers ever give up?” Milner sighed.

“Whatever we do, we can’t stay here,” Smith muttered. “That whole bunch of zombies is going to come riding through that damn corridor any time soon and I don’t want to be around when they do. If we don’t get out of here soon, we’ll be stuck in this damn room forever.”

Chapter Sixty-Three

“What? Are we going to shoot our way out of here, Smith?” I asked. “We’re all pretty much injured. I don’t rate our chances of success too highly.” Fatigue, shock and pain were getting the better of me.

“Those guys ‘aint nothing,” Smith sighed. “They can hardly walk and their aim is totally shit. We can take them in a fire fight.”

I knew he was trying to rouse us but an extensive gun battle was the last thing I needed right now. Batfish wasn’t in any fit state to try and recreate the ‘
Gunfight at the O.K. Corral
’ and Milner had been hit, albeit a flesh wound but the injury would still have a negative impact on his combat skills.

Knowing his luck, Smith would make it out of here alive but the rest of us would perish at the hands of the crazy guys or the onrushing crowd of zombies. But I knew he was right. If we stayed put the zombies would eventually catch up and they’d never leave the doorway until we starved to death in this cramped little room.

Smith handed Batfish the flashlight, pulled out his pack of smokes and offered them around. Batfish and I took one each, Milner shook his head but I was surprised when Cordoba took one. She saw me watching her in the flashlight gloom and gave me a little shrug.

“I’d quit for ages but in the circumstances, what the hell?”
She flashed me the briefest hint of a smile that almost made me sigh.

The warmth of the flame on Smith’s Zippo lighter made me turn my head. I
lit my cigarette and noticed an angry red mark on Smith’s hand where the guy had hit him with the metal bar.

“Does that hurt?” I asked.

“Stings like a bastard but the pain gets me motivated,” he growled and lit his own cigarette.

I noticed a narrow passageway behind Smith amidst the faint glow of his lighter flame.

“Where does that doorway lead to?” I asked, nodding in the direction of the passageway.

Smith spun around, still with the lit flame in his hand. He held the lighter in the direction of the passageway.
The orange flame illuminated another stainless steel door, standing in the shadows of a recess in the wall opposite. A yellow warning sign on the door read – “
Warning! Enter with Caution,
” in black lettering.