The Left Series (Book 5): Left On The Run (12 page)

Jimmy nodded and stepped towards the huddle. I made sure my weapons were fully loaded and headed towards the double doors.

“Don’t stray too far, Wilde Man,” Smith called. “We don’t want to have to come looking for you.”

I nodded and reached out for the aluminum bar, which opened one of the double doors. I pulled on the bar and was relieved to find the doors weren’t locked. My relief was brief. The door swung open and I was confronted by a figure who looked like a doctor. He wore a long, heavily blood stained white coat with a blue shirt beneath and may have been a doctor in his former life. Now, he was a member of the undead and he lurched towards me with gnashing teeth.

Chapter Nineteen

I only caught a brief glimpse of the former doctor’s face before he lunged towards me. He had a completely shaved head and the skin on his face was gray and cracked, as though he’d been dead for a long time. His mouth gaped open and he hissed, while he quickly moved his head towards my face.

I didn’t have time to reach for my handguns, tucked inside my jacket but my instinctive reaction was to recoil and lean backwards. The zombie doctor was driven solely by hunger and stumbled further forward towards me, with his jaws snapping a few inches from my face. I twisted sideways and thrust out my left hand, grabbing the guy around the throat and shoving his head away from mine. Somebody shouted behind me but the words were inaudible. I was directing all my concentration on the undead doctor that was trying to chew my face off.

The zombie doctor attempted to shake off my hand and lunged forward again. I hung on to his throat and shoved him back into the doorway. He made a gurgling noise when I squeezed my fingers tighter and I felt his decaying flesh squelch in my hand.

“Hold it steady,” a voice boomed behind me.

I glanced around and saw Smith marching towards me with the machete raised above his head. I kept hold of the zombie’s neck and leaned back as far as I could. Smith brought the machete down with force and the blade cut a wide groove through the zombie doctor’s skull. Brown blood gushed from the machete wound, down the zombie’s face and the front of his white coat, splashing onto my fist. I released my grip, flicking the blood off my hand as the zombie doctor sunk to his knees then keeled over onto his side. Smith pulled the machete blade from the ghoul’s head and wiped off the excess blood in the snow on the ground. I pulled a disgusted face then cleaned off the blood from my hand in the snow.  

“Help me shift this piece of shit out the way,” Smith grunted, nodding at the body on the ground.

We took hold of a sleeve each and dragged the corpse away to the side of the double doors. Smith waved forward Batfish, Wingate and Jimmy, who were all carrying Cordoba. I held the double doors open and we all filed inside the hospital.

A set of sliding glass doors confronted us as we moved through the hospital foyer. I guessed the doors used to open with an automatic sensor but they didn’t budge as we approached. I also noticed several zombies roaming around the interior of the hospital reception area beyond the glass partition.

“Looks like we’ve got a problem,” I sighed, gazing at the immobile sliding doors.

“No problem,” Smith grunted, taking the shotgun from Jimmy. He aimed the firearm at the glass doors and pulled both triggers.

The loud boom of the discharged shotgun cartridges was almost deafening and the sound was immediately followed by the sound of shattering glass. The sliding doors disintegrated in front of us and the zombies in the reception area turned towards the source of the noise.

“Get ready to do some clearing up,” Smith said, handing the shotgun back to Jimmy. “We have to get through this area real fast.” He drew his M-9 Beretta handgun from a shoulder holster and checked the weapon was loaded. “Keep the shooting to a minimum. The sound of gunshots will only attract more undead.”

“It’s a bit late for that, Smith,” I sighed, glancing at the remains of the glass doors.

The hospital interior was gloomily lit by skylights, built into the roof at regular intervals. The overlaying snow blocked out most of the sun’s light but I was still able to see in the dim light.   

Jimmy hurriedly reloaded his shotgun and Smith slid the machete from his belt again. He held the pistol and the machete in each hand and looked like some kind of apocalyptic warrior. I drew both the handguns from my jacket, gripping one in each hand. Wingate and Batfish struggled to hold Cordoba’s limp body.

We stepped cautiously through the shattered doorway, broken glass crunching beneath our boots. Smith led the way with Jimmy and myself following closely behind. The zombie nearest the doorframe lumbered towards us. The creature was a male, wearing a pale blue hospital gown, barely wrapped around the emaciated body. The skin on the face was gray and wrinkled, distorting the features and I noticed a string of decaying intestines hanging down beneath the gown and swaying from side to side as the creature moved towards us.

Smith dispatched the dissected zombie with one slice of the machete, cutting right through the scrawny neck and severing the head with one single blow. The body collapsed in a heap and the head splattered onto the floor before rolling further down the reception area.

“We need a little help here, Smith,” Wingate scolded from behind us.

I glanced back and saw her and Batfish struggling to keep Cordoba level in their arms. They stepped over the sliding glass doorframe and Batfish skidded, nearly losing her footing on the glass chips on the ground. I glanced around the reception area and saw an unused gurney cart and several vacant wheelchairs standing beside the unmanned information desk.

“I got it,” I muttered to Smith and nodded towards the cart.

“Go easy,” Smith instructed.

I kept an eye on the approaching undead, who seemed to be gathering in number. They weren’t in one big knot, which made it easier for us to move between them. I aimed and fired the M-9 at a zombie that looked like she was a nurse in her former life. The woman jerked sideways and fell to the ground in front of the reception desk.

“Hurry it up, Wilde,” Smith barked. “We’re going to get snarled up if we don’t get a move on.”

I ignored Smith’s dig and moved cautiously towards the gurney cart. I reached the trolley and swung it around on its wheels so I faced Wingate and Batfish with the cart between us. I started to push the gurney towards the doorway but felt something snag my ankle. I heard a hissing sound and looked down at my feet. A set of gnarled fingers gripped my boot and I caught sight of a pale gray face looming from the shadows beneath the reception desk.

“Ah, shit,” I grunted, startled by the scary, cracked face below a shock of messy white hair.

The zombie slid across the floor, using its grip on my ankle as leverage. The creature’s mouth opened and I saw a row of brown teeth moving closer to my foot.

“Come on, Wilde,” Smith growled. “Quit fucking around.” He cut down a long haired ghoul with a swipe with the machete. 

I tried to kick the zombie’s hand away to no avail. The thing held my ankle in a vice-like grip. I had no choice but to use one of my firearms. The creature’s head was moving closer to my leg so I leaned over and aimed the Beretta at the mass of white hair. Careful not to shoot myself in my own foot, I fired once. The discharged round caused the zombie’s head to jolt to one side amid a spray of blood and brain matter splattering up the reception desk. The ghoul immediately ceased moving and rolled onto its side. The bony fingers released the grip on my ankle and I hurriedly pushed the cart towards Wingate and Batfish.

More zombies had assembled in the reception area and they started to jostle each other as they plodded towards us. Wingate and Batfish laid Cordoba on the gurney while I held it steady.

Batfish rushed back to the doorway and scooped up Spot, who stood sniffing at the glass chips on the ground. Batfish tucked the small dog away in her jacket and secured him into the harness.

“We ready to move?” Smith asked through gritted teeth.

Wingate strapped Cordoba in place then nodded. “We’re ready.”

“Any idea where we need to go?” Batfish asked Wingate.

Wingate looked concerned. “We need to find a ventilator but I don’t know the layout of this place. It could be located anywhere.”

“Well, make your mind up where we’re heading,” Smith said. “These things are surrounding us.”

I glanced back beyond the shattered glass doors and saw more zombies bundling through the double doors. We had to move fast or we’d be cut off from any possible escape route.

Chapter Twenty

“Whereabouts would we find a ventilator?” Jimmy asked Wingate.

“Normally in the ICU,” Wingate replied. “But the machines are portable and might have gotten scattered all over the place when the epidemic started.”

“Okay, we’ll start by searching for the ICU,” Smith confirmed.

“ICU – that’s Intensive Care Unit, right?” Jimmy said, glancing at the signs above our heads.

“That’s right,” Wingate said.

“We need to go straight ahead,” Jimmy said, pointing to the signs above.

“Shit, that’s what I was worried about,” Smith moaned. “That’s right through the main cluster of undead.”

“Can’t we try and skirt around them and double back?” I suggested.

“We don’t have time, Brett,” Wingate wailed. “We have to get her to a ventilator or she’s going to flat line on us.”

“All right, let’s go for it,” Smith growled. “We move at speed right through them. Me and Wilde will lead with you and Batfish pushing the cart and Jimmy following at the rear and don’t stop for any damn thing, got it?”

“Right,” Batfish yelled and the rest of us mumbled in acknowledgement.

Yet again Smith had volunteered me for a dangerous mission without my consent but at least he was putting his trust back in me after the debacle at the pub back in Bellahouston. I shuffled alongside him and nodded that I was ready. We took a few gulps of air, trying to calm the jangling nerves. Jimmy got into his own position at the rear, behind the gurney cart. 

“Okay, let’s go,” Smith barked.

We rushed forward, Smith and me side by side, like so many times since the dead had gotten up and walked the Earth. I heard the rumble of the gurney wheels behind us and hoped we’d be able to carve a sufficient pathway through the undead crowd.

Smith slashed with the machete, brutally cutting down any undead who came too close. I picked my shots and tried to take out any zombies that moved between us and our route ahead, through the hospital corridor. I thumped the barrels of both my handguns at looming undead faces between firing shots. I batted away gray, decaying hands that threatened to pull me over. I just hoped the others behind were keeping pace with Smith and I.

The numbers of undead thinned slightly but they still pursued us through the hospital passageways. Sweat ran down my face as we bundled through a set of double swing doors. I felt a sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach when we were plunged into total darkness. The corridor we stood in was unlit by any form of skylights. Smith stopped moving and I bumped into his back. I heard the moans of the undead outside the doors behind us.

“Everybody still with us?” Smith asked.

“Yeah, we’re all here but we need to hurry,” Wingate said.

“Anybody got a flashlight?” Smith asked.

I remembered I’d stuffed the flashlight I’d taken from Clarkie’s guys, back in the bar in my jacket.

“Hold on, I’ve got one,” I muttered, rifling through my combat jacket.

“Hurry up, Brett,” Batfish wailed. “They’re going to come through those doors behind us at any second and we don’t know what we’re facing through this corridor.”

I resisted the urge to tell Batfish to shut the fuck up as I was trying my best to find the flashlight and it wasn’t easy searching through your pockets while holding a loaded gun in each hand. I found the flashlight after a few seconds of searching and clicked it on. I couldn’t operate both my handguns and hold the flashlight so I was forced to replace the SIG Sauer back into my jacket.

I shone the light around the corridor and saw a pair of milky white eyes glaring back at me and a pale gray, snarling face, around ten feet from where I stood. I heard a hiss and then a gunshot. The gray face and white eyes disappeared from view and I smelt the strong whiff of cordite next to me. Smith kept his aim down the corridor as I swung the light beam left to right in slow, sweeping arcs.   

“Let’s keep moving,” Smith said. “You better hand me the flashlight while you reload, Wilde.”

I obliged, handing the flashlight to Smith while I loaded a full magazine into the Beretta. When I was done he handed me back the light.

“Another couple of zombie’s up there to the right,” he said as we set off forward again.

I shone the light in the direction he indicated and saw two undead huddled against the corridor wall and chewing on something that looked like a human body part. The zombies were both females, dressed in the blood stained and torn remains of white uniforms and I guessed they may have been former hospital staff members. They growled at each other as they fought over the bloody leg or arm or whatever the hell it was.

“Just keep an eye on them,” Smith said. “If they move towards us, shoot them.”

“You don’t need to tell me, Smith,” I whispered, wiping the sweat from my face with my sleeve. “I hope we find this damn ventilator soon.”

I turned when I heard the double doors bang open behind us. The flashlight beam illuminated at least a dozen, rotten snarling faces, twenty yards to our rear.