The Left Series (Book 2): Left Alone (26 page)

“I’d better make sure they’re willing to let us in, wait here a second,” he said to Smith, before closing the car door.

Brady walked to the front door, studying the dark windows on the upper floor. 

I leaned forward towards Smith. “Do you think this guy is on the level?” I whispered.

“What do you mean?”

“Well, we’ve come across some weird people in strange situations since all this started. Who’s to say this isn’t going to end badly again?”

Smith shrugged. “Sometimes we’ve just got to roll with it. There’s no other way we can get enough diesel down to that river without this guy’s help. Anyhow, he’s a man of God. They’re not supposed to do bad things to people.”

“I hope you’re right,” I sighed and sat back in my seat.

One of the windows on the upper floor slid open and a beefy black guy, wearing a blue baseball cap and holding an M-16 assault rifle, stuck his head outside. He had a sour look on his face as he glared down at the Chaplain.

“What do you want, Brady?” he snapped in a deep, gruff voice.

“I found two survivors. They need help. Their boat is stranded without fuel back at the river. I was hoping we could help them.”

“You brought people up here? Are you crazy or something?” The black guy’s tone was hostile and I didn’t think we’d get much joy from the situation.

“They need some diesel and a vehicle, that’s all.”

The black guy shook his head and disappeared back inside. The Chaplain turned to us and gave a small shrug. Less than a minute later, the front door opened and the black guy stood on the threshold pointing his M-16 in all directions.

“Okay, come inside. You sure none of you are bit?”

“I’m sure. None of us are infected,” Brady said, then beckoned us from the vehicle.

Smith and I exited the Hyundai and moved to the front door. The black guy scowled at both of us as we entered the building. He shut the door and slammed the heavy bolts into place.

“This is Chief Cole,” Brady said, gesturing to our host. He introduced us but Cole only gave a grunt of acknowledgement.

“Thanks for letting us inside,” I stammered. Cole was quite an intimidating guy. He was dressed in khaki, military combats, stood at well over six feet and was built like a hay barn.

“It’s dangerous letting people inside the buildings,” he barked at Brady. “Remember what happened last time?”

Brady looked slightly sheepish and swept his thin hair off his forehead, then turned to Smith and I. “We had a bit of an unfortunate incident here a few months ago. I took in a young couple, barely in their twenties, with a small child. Turned out the kid was infected and changed during the first night. The child turned on us and unfortunately, the young couple were both bitten. We had no choice but to terminate the whole family. It wasn’t a pretty sight.”

“That’s why the do-good Chaplain stays over on the far side of the base,” Cole spat. “We can’t trust him up here. Now, I hope you don’t mind but I got to see for myself that none of you have any infected bites or scratches on you.”

“Okay,” Smith sighed and took off his jacket and shirt.

Cole gave him a once over and asked about his bullet wound scars. Smith explained his shooting incident and how he was an ex-marine. Cole’s mood seemed to change a little for the better when he knew he was dealing with another member of the armed forces. I was examined next and Cole gave the Chaplain a brief search before he led us through the reception room of the squadron building. We followed him through a dim, off white colored corridor, up a dingy flight of stairs and through a door marked ‘
Crew Room
’ on a sign alongside a squadron logo. The room was whitewashed around the walls and ceiling with a brown tiled floor. A stench of stale beer, fried food and cigarette smoke wafted from the quarters. Around a dozen military guys and three tough looking girls, dressed in field combat fatigues milled around the room, playing pool or cleaning small arms weapons. The hubbub of military jargon fuelled banter and pool balls clacking together ceased when we walked into the room. They all stopped what they were doing and stared at us as we entered.

“It’s okay, guys, they’re not infected and they’re definitely not staying,” Cole clarified. “These two need some diesel and a ride back to the river bank, that’s all. Then they’re gone.”

The military guys muttered, sighed and groaned and returned to what they were doing.

“I don’t think we’re flavor of the month,” I whispered to Smith.

“They’re just trying to stay alive like the rest of us. They don’t want to take any unnecessary risks. Can you blame them?” Smith said.

“I suppose not,” I muttered.

Cole slung his rifle over his shoulder and led us to a map of the base fixed to the crew room wall. The map was behind a clear plastic cover and similar but larger than the one Smith had used earlier. He pointed to the squadron building.

“Okay, we’re here and we need to get to the fuel dump over here.” He pointed to another block shape on the map, some distance from the squadron building. “We primed the fuel dump with a ton of regular gas and diesel in some portable canisters a couple of months back. It’s too hot out there to pump the gas. We’ve got a jeep out back we can use to get us from A to B and then to C, which is your damn boat on the river.”

“Sure thing, Chief,” Smith said. “Have you heard anything from anywhere else? I mean have you had comms links with any other base or military station since the outbreak?”

Cole sighed and the huge man physically sagged as though the grim truth of a post apocalyptic existence had only just hit him. “We’ve had some scrambled comms now and then through the UHF and Emergency channels in the flight control tower over on the airfield, but nothing of any significance. A few of the Air Force guys hang out in the other squadron buildings and a month or so ago they told us there was a rumor that one of the comms guys in the control tower picked up an encrypted signal from an air base in England but we couldn’t verify that information. That guy who picked up the signal died soon afterwards. It’s hard to pick up any kind of radio frequency due to lack of power and nobody controlling the communications satellites.”

Smith nodded. “Well, we certainly appreciate your help, Chief.”

“Where are you headed, anyhow?”

“New Orleans, into the city. We have a rescue mission to carry out. One of our original crew was kidnapped by some damn sex traders.” Smith blew out a frustrated sigh and rubbed his forehead. “We don’t even know if she’s still alive for sure but we have to go to the city and try and get her out.”

“Bastards!” Cole spat. “There’s always some lame brained fucker trying to make a bad situation even worse.” He flapped his arms out to his sides. “Well, look, you seem a stand up guy. If you get into too much heat, come back here and we’ll see what we can do for you.”

Smith nodded and held out his hand. The Chief took it and they shook hands forcefully.

“There’s not too many good people left in the world, Chief but you’re certainly one of them.”

Cole bit his bottom lip and nodded his head slightly. I’d never heard Smith being so complimentary about anyone before. Maybe he felt some kind of camaraderie with the big military guy. Smith probably felt he was in a similar position, taking charge of a rag tag bunch while trying to survive.

“Do you need any weapons or ammo?” Cole asked.

“Nah, we’ve got ourselves another situation back onboard the boat. Some asshole onboard is holding a woman hostage and told us not to bring any weapons back with us, only fuel. But don’t worry, his days are definitely nearly used up.”

For the first time since we’d met him, Cole broke out in a smile. “You guys sure don’t do things the easy way, do you? Come on; let’s go get your juice.”

Chapter Forty-Four

We asked to use the bathroom facilities before we headed out into the maelstrom and gratefully took the opportunity of a shit, shave and shower. A Navy guy, with a totally shaved head, kindly sorted us a change of clothes, consisting of white vests, khaki work shirts and green military fatigue pants, along with socks, underwear and combat boots. Smith’s footwear was a little tight and the Navy guy replaced them for a bigger size.

Chief Cole assigned two other guys to our party. Milner was a tall, young Marine Corps corporal and Hernandez was a short, squat guy, who was some kind of Navy rank. Both the military men seemed relieved at being chosen for the mission. A break from the normal, mundane routine was probably welcome for them. They geared up, arming themselves with assault rifles, Colt 45 hand guns and plenty of spare ammunition. Cole himself decided to accompany us and led us through the squadron building to a fire door facing the airfield. The military guys donned green flak jackets hanging on hooks by the door and ushered us to do the same.

“There’s a vehicle right outside we use for moving around the base,” Cole explained. “Get in the back as soon as we step out. Any sign of undead, let us take care of them.”

Smith, Brady and I nodded in acknowledgement.

Cole swung open the fire door and stepped outside. Milner and Hernandez rushed by us and headed for the vehicle, which was a military green Humvee with a bolted on armor kit around the bodywork and a heavy duty machine gun mounted inside the roof turret.

“Wow, we should get ourselves one of those,” I said to Smith, as we moved towards the vehicle.

I glanced across the concrete expanse of the airfield and saw some huge military planes standing redundant at the center. A few smaller aircraft were clustered around various hangers at the edge of the airfield. Cole closed the fire door behind us and followed at the rear, glancing around in a focal sweep of all directions. Milner fired up the Humvee engine and Hernandez sat beside him in the cab. Cole opened the doors to the rear compartment and nodded inside, gesturing for the three of us to climb aboard. We perched on the bench seats, Smith and I facing each other while Brady sat next to me. Cole clambered inside, secured the doors then moved to the machine gun on the roof turret. He cocked the heavy weapon and Milner pulled the Humvee away from the building. The heavy engine groaned as we gathered speed and Milner headed for the main road through the center of the base.

Undead stragglers soon honed into view, making their way on unsteady legs towards the vehicle. Cole rattled of a few rounds at a cluster of zombies who stood in the road, their heads exploded into clouds of reddish brown spray when the machine gun bullets hit the target. The loud rasp of gun fire reverberated around the Humvee interior. I wished we’d come across these guys before we’d had to tangle with the shit kicking crew on our own.

Milner drove straight over the felled bodies before swinging the vehicle left down a side road. More zombies emerged from the spaces between the buildings on each side of the road. They launched themselves at the Humvee and slammed into the armor plating on the vehicle’s sides. Cole let fly with another burst of machine gun fire, chopping down another bunch of undead.  

“Dear God, protect us,” Brady stammered, nervously watching through the windshield.

Milner swerved right down another side street and rammed a female zombie with the front of the truck. We felt the bump and jolt as the body smashed into the bull bars then disappeared from view, bouncing under the wheels.

“We’re coming up to the fuel dump so get ready,” Cole hollered from the roof turret. “I’ll try and clear the area.” He fired off another burst of rounds as Milner slowed down. “Steady with your aim, guys,” he said to the two military men up front. “We don’t want any wild shots blowing up the gas.”

Both Milner and Hernandez grunted a reply of acknowledgement. Hernandez cocked his assault rifle and readied himself to jump out of the passenger door.

Cole leaned into the interior. “We’ll have to be in and out real quick. You guys load the gas cans into the back and we’ll try and keep the perimeter clear.”

“No problem,” Smith replied.

Cole swung the machine gun around the turret and fired off a few well aimed shots. Milner brought the vehicle to a slow crawl and Hernandez leapt out of the vehicle. I heard him let fly with a burst of fire of his own.

“I’m going to swing around and back us in,” Milner yelled.

I twisted in my seat, trying to get some kind of view of what was going on outside the Humvee. Milner swung the steering wheel left and right and then I felt us moving backwards. Chief Cole fired off another couple of short bursts then stuck his head through the turret.

“Okay, we’re good to go! Everybody out,” he yelled.

Milner kept the Humvee engine running and jumped out of the cab. He ran around to the back doors and opened them up.

“Go, go!” he screamed at us.

I felt the adrenalin rush as I scrambled out the back of the vehicle. The situation seemed very much like a military operation, something I’d never experienced before. I glanced around, attempting to familiarize myself with our surroundings and get some sort of clear picture in my mind of the lay of the land and what we were supposed to do. The Humvee was backed into the fuel dump, which looked very much like a normal gas station on first glimpse. Hernandez was unlocking and lifting a metal roller door to a storage building a few yards to the right of the gas pumps. Several more closed roller doors ran to the left of the open one, incorporated at the front of a row of brown brick buildings.

The rasp of Cole’s machine gun caused me to spin around to face the road. More than two dozen dead zombies lay scattered on the blacktop and sidewalk, stale brown blood oozed from their wounds. The bulky caliber bullets had torn away parts or most of their skulls.

“Hurry it up,” Cole barked at me from the turret.

Hernandez waved us over to the storage unit, yelling something inaudible that was drowned out by the boom of heavy gunfire. Milner stood to the left of the Humvee, covering our position with his assault rifle. We hurried over to the storage unit with Smith leading.

“The diesel is already in the Jerry cans, haul them onto the truck,” Hernandez yelled, pointing to a stack of five gallon, metal containers.