The Left Series (Book 6): Left On An Island (22 page)

Tony Sharp sighed long and hard and then flapped his arms. “Okay, fuck it. I’ll come along. Why the fuck not? Let’s all go and get ourselves shot to shit.”

“All right, that’s what I’m talking about,” Smith cheered. “We got ourselves a seven man squad. Anybody care to show us what we got in the way of weapons?”

At that moment, it dawned on me. How the hell were a ragtag bunch of Dutch security guards, a drugged up techno rock band, a guy with an injured ankle and a complete psychopath ever going to be a match for a highly motivated and ruthless militia, who had the upper hand in manpower, weapons and were also inside an impregnable castle surrounded by flesh eating zombies?

Tony was only half right. We were either going to get shot to shit or eaten alive. I didn’t relish either option.

Chapter Thirty-Four

I carefully pulled on my new ankle sneakers, trying hard not to dislodge the bandage on my left leg. The sneakers were a snug fit and my ankle felt okay. I figured I could move around fairly normally with the bandage and footwear in place.

Freek and Lowie agreed to show us the armory, which was located on a second lower level below the cellar bar. Tony Sharp insisted on coming on down with us. I had the feeling he didn’t wholly trust us and maybe he thought the two Dutchmen and Smith and I were about to hatch a plot to take control of the house. Perhaps it was my cynical side, but I wondered if Tony was battling his own demons inside his head. I knew those feelings of paranoia, rage and guilt only too well.

Lowie led the way through a doorway to the left of the bar counter, which again was disguised by the same black color as the wall paneling. We stood in a dimly lit room, with rough block walls painted in a cream color.

The dim yellow emergency lighting cast us in shadow as Lowie gestured us towards a hydraulic elevation platform, surrounded by waist high, blue colored safety bars. A rectangular power box with two green buttons hung beside the platform.

“Everyone move to the center of the platform, please,” Freek requested, grabbing hold of the power box. He pressed the lower green button, the platform immediately clunked and started to slowly descend.

I looked over the side of the platform, the area was dark below and a dusty, oily smell wafted up from the void. Motion sensor activated lights flicked on as we lowered further, brightly illuminating a large area, around twice the size of the cellar bar. The layout of the floor space was similar to a supermarket store, with rows of shelving racks containing lines of canned goods, plastic drink cartons and packets of dry food. Circular clothing rails stood to the right of the food aisles and in the far corner beyond the garment racks, I saw a caged area with several rifles and handguns hanging from the wire mesh walls. I guessed that was where we were heading.

The platform clunked again and stopped moving around six inches from the gray concrete floor. Smith and I stood motionless, leaning with our elbows resting on the blue bars and taking in the surroundings.

“Wow, this is some grocery store,” Smith muttered.

“Ironic really,” Tony said. “Bart Van Dalen brought in all the best architects and construction workers from the States and Europe to design and build this place and yet he’s not around to profit from the fruits of his labor.”

“He must have been one paranoid man,” I said. “You think he knew what was coming?”

Tony shrugged. “Something like this was bound to happen sooner or later. The world couldn’t go on as things were.”

I pondered on Tony’s comment. Perhaps he was right. Maybe the human race had outlived its sell by date and it was time for a total purge of Planet Earth. Were we really supposed to still be here on this diseased world? Yet here we were, the last remaining humans still fighting and trying to kill each other.

“Come on, let’s go to the armory,” Lowie said, breaking me from my depressing thoughts.

I noticed a row of beer kegs and cardboard boxes filled with liquor bottles lining the wall beside the platform as we stepped off. We followed the two Dutchmen as they led the way to the caged area in the far corner of the store room. Lowie and Freek stopped outside the wire meshed door and looked expectantly at Tony. Tony sighed and reached into his pocket, producing a bunch of keys. He tossed the keys to Lowie, who caught them one handed and unlocked the armory door. Lowie pulled open the cage door and ushered Smith and I inside.

Smith whistled through his teeth as we glanced around at the weaponry clipped to the cage walls. Boxes of ammunition of various calibers sat on shelving racks in the center of the room. An assortment of semi automatic rifles and handguns surrounded the cage and I knew Smith was in his element.

“
Van Halen
sure liked his guns,” Smith said.

“His name was Van Dalen,” Tony corrected. “He collected these weapons from all kinds of arms dealers who stopped at the port on their way to South America. It’s surprising what you can get your mitts on if you know the right people.”

I could tell Smith wasn’t really listening. He was too busy studying the firearms and boxes of ammunition. I was still concerned that no amount of firepower would get us inside that damn castle, even if we carted every single firearm in the armory up the hill.

“Wow, I haven’t seen this stuff in a while,” Smith said, picking up something on the ammunition shelves.

“What is it, Smith?” I asked, moving alongside him.

It looked as though Smith had a couple of blocks of modeling clay in his hands.

“This is C-4, an explosive compound that makes one hell of a bang. This stuff is the shit,” he said with enthusiasm. “Jesus, looks as though Van Dalen was preparing for another world war with all this shit he’s got down here.”

Smith put the two rectangular lumps back in the crate on the shelf then turned to Freek and Lowie. “Grab that crate of C-4,” he said. “We’re going to need that.”

“I’ll get a cart,” Tony said. “Something tells me we’re going to need one of those too.”

Around thirty minutes later, we returned to the cellar bar with the cart loaded full of enough firearms, ammunition and explosives to destroy a small city.

Apparently, it was Shaun Swann’s turn to cook up some food. I dreaded to think what concoction he’d conjure up. The menu was non- negotiable but he rustled up a surprisingly good lentil curry dish. Smith and I hadn’t eaten since we’d left the ship so anything slightly edible was a bonus.

We moved two rectangular tables together so we could sit and eat and plot our strategy for the siege of the castle.

Shaun Swann placed a big cooking pot in the center of the two tables and handed out a bowl and spoon each. We ladled the curry into the bowls and tucked in.

“So what’s the big plan then, Smudger?” Tony asked. “What kind of crazy-assed, gung-ho tactics have you got up your sleeve?” His tone seemed sarcastic, as if he didn’t have faith in our abilities. I had to admit, I thought he was probably right.

Smith wiped curry from his lips. “We wait until nightfall. Any chance we can get hold of a working vehicle?”

Tony laughed. “Sorry, mate. We’re all sold out of Challenger Tanks but there is a vehicle in the barn. It used to be Van Dalen’s pride and joy and it was shipped over from the States especially.”

“Does it run?” Smith asked.

“It runs just fine,” Lowie chipped in. “I keep it maintained just in case we need to make a quick getaway out of here.”

“You didn’t tell me that,” Tony snarled.

“Do I have to tell you everything I do?” Lowie snapped. “You think you are the boss, Tony but you do not own us.”

Tony banged his spoon on the table. “Well, why don’t you just fuck off then? Go out there and get munched for all I care.”

“Hey, cool it, guys,” Smith said, rising slightly in his chair. “If we’re going to do this right, we need to all be batting on the same team, okay?”

Lowie and Tony’s feud temporarily died down.

“Okay, guys, this is how we’re going to play it,” Smith said.

He explained what he had in mind for our assault on the castle but as always, it sounded like a pie in the sky idea. I felt certain we were going to get ourselves killed.    

Chapter Thirty-Five

After the meal was over, I volunteered to help Shaun Swann with the washing up. I felt I needed to get to know him a little better before our impending demise. We stood in the kitchen, which was situated directly behind the bar counter. I seemed to be doing most of the scrubbing of dirty bowls while Shaun was dabbing cutlery with a towel.

“So, are there any nice birds on this ship of yours?” Shaun asked me.

It took me a moment to translate the northern English patter.

“Yeah, there are some fantastic women onboard,” I replied. “And they’ll probably like you too.”

Shaun dumped down his towel on the worktop with a faraway look in his eyes. “I haven’t had a girlfriend for a long time, you know.”

I thought about my previous failed relationships since the world had changed.

“For what it’s worth, Shaun, my advice would be to stay clear of getting too involved with anybody.”

Shaun looked as though he was mulling over my opinion when Smith and Lowie barged through the kitchen door. Lowie whirled a set of keys around on his finger.

“We’re going to check out the vehicle in the barn,” Smith said. “Want to come along?”

“Sure,” I said, flicking the excess water from my fingers. “Sorry, Shaun, you’ll have to finish up the washing up.”

“No worries, pal,” Shaun responded. “I’m thinking about that ship load of gorgeous birds out there, just waiting for me.”

Smith flashed me a confused glance and I simply shook my head.

“Don’t even ask,” I muttered.

Lowie led us up the steps back into the main hub of the house. I blinked my eyes as we emerged from the cellar, adjusting from the gloom to the natural daylight shining through the living room windows.

“What kind of car is it?” I asked.

“You’ll see,” Lowie snapped, leading us back through to the kitchen.

One of them, probably Lowie or Freek had cleared up the mess of orange juice cartons and water that Smith and I had spilled on the kitchen floor earlier.

Smith had given Lowie his Heckler and Koch back after dinner and he drew it from the back of his waistband as he neared the French doors to the rear of the kitchen. I noticed Smith too had a handgun raised and wondered why I hadn’t armed myself with a shooter. Lowie gazed through the windows to the back of the property and nodded to us all was clear outside. He unlocked the door and we followed him out onto the patio. Our shadows looked elongated across the patio tiles and it felt as though it was early evening. The sun was on its usual slow descent towards the horizon.  

“Try and keep out of sight from the dead ones,” Lowie whispered, pointing to the fence line in the distance. He then waved us forward in the direction of the barn.

We hurried across the open ground that was probably once a perfectly mowed lawn but now long grass dragged at our feet. I was pleased how well my ankle was holding up and I didn’t feel much pain at all as I moved behind Smith and Lowie. Only a dull ache throbbed through my lower leg, which I could just about tolerate for a short period of time.

Moans and wails from the undead at the front fence still lingered but the big circular house masked our advance to the barn on the opposite side of the property.

Lowie stopped running when he reached the barn’s big wooden double doors at the front. We moved alongside him and stood briefly on the gravel surface to catch our breath.

“There is a smaller door around the side,” Lowie explained. “We will use that entrance this time.”

Smith nodded and Lowie slinked around the corner of the barn with his back pressed against the stone wall. Smith moved next and I followed behind. Those two were armed so I wasn’t going to take the lead any time on this reconnoiter. Plus the fact I was injured, I figured I’d take a little bit of a back seat on this one.

We trod silently along a narrow concrete path running beside the length of the barn wall and stopped when Lowie reached a three foot wide wooded door to the rear of the building. He rummaged in his pocket and took out a key bunch then continued to unlock the side door. He nudged the door open with his shoulder and motioned sideways with his head for us to follow him inside. Smith and I stepped through the entranceway and a combination of odors attacked my senses. The stench of grime, oil and mold wafted from the gloomy barn interior.

Lowie pulled a cord hanging down from the darkness and the barn lights dinked on.

“Shut the door,” he instructed.

I was the last one through the entrance so I elbowed the door closed behind me.

The dim overhead lights hung in a row and shone over a pale blue pickup truck parked to the rear of a large floor space. Old farm tools and implements made from roughly finished, black wrought iron and coils of thick rope hung at head height around the stone walls. A chunky, oil stained work bench, with various work tools strewn across the top stood in the far corner. The place almost gave the impression of a museum.

A wooden stairway ran upward along the wall to the left side, leading to another floor above us.  

“What’s up there?” I asked, pointing to the staircase.

Lowie glanced at me to see where I was indicating. “That’s the maintenance room for the solar panels on the roof,” he explained.

Smith was busy studying the vehicle, which looked like some kind of museum piece itself.

“Please tell me you aren’t thinking of using that piece of crap in some way?” I whined.

“Hey, man, that’s no piece of crap,” Lowie protested, his eyes narrowing into a frown.

“It runs okay?” Smith asked, touching the side wing with his fingers.

“Like a fucking dream,” Lowie said. “It is gassed up and oiled with no leaks. I work regularly on this thing when those idiots down below become too unbearable. It helps to keep my sanity.”

“I don’t doubt it,” Smith muttered, still gazing over the vehicle.

I wasn’t convinced. The damn thing looked as though it was going to crumble into a pile of scrap metal the minute it hit one of those potholes on the roads beyond the compound.

“How old is this thing anyhow?” I demanded. “And what even is it? I’ve seen old trucks like this before at those old car conventions.”

Lowie shook his head. “You come from America and you don’t know what this truck is? It’s a Ford F-100, Fourth Generation. It was shipped over here from the States and restored over the last few years.”

“What year is it, 1963?” Smith asked.

“1965,” Lowie corrected. “The first model in the
F Series
to use a
Twin-I-Beam
front suspension so it has no trouble negotiating the rough roads on the island.”

Lowie seemed to have answered my main concern with the vehicle’s durability, without me having to ask. I joined Smith and Lowie in gazing over the vehicle, although I had to admit I didn’t share their enthusiasm. The pickup truck had a long flatbed, covered over with a pale blue tarp and the enclosed two door, crew cab stood high off the ground. The powder blue paintwork was highly polished and it did look in good condition for its age.

Smith opened the side door and studied the cab interior, fitted out in black leather seats and matching black dash. “It’s perfect,” he muttered.

What the old vehicle was ‘
perfect
’ for, I didn’t know. But it was starting to worry me what Smith had in mind.    

Chapter Thirty-Six

Smith slid into the Ford’s driver’s seat and reached for the keys dangling from the ignition. He turned the key and grinned as the powerful engine roared into life.

“Sounds good,” he said, over the noise of the idling Ford.

Lowie smiled and nodded. “I told you.” His expression turned serious and he made a slicing motion across his throat. “Not too long with the engine running.” He jabbed his thumb at the big wooden doors. “The dead will hear and start to surround the fence. We need to keep them away.”

Smith nodded and cut the engine. He climbed out of the cab and closed the door.

“We can use this,” he said, pointing to the truck.

“How?” I asked.

Smith didn’t reply. He stared at the ground, rubbing his chin for a few seconds then nodded decisively. “Hmm…” he muttered and strode towards the door.

Lowie stared at Smith expectantly then glanced at me. I simply shrugged. Whatever was going on in Smith’s mind, he wasn’t prepared to elaborate on the plan any further. He stopped at the side door and glanced back to Lowie and me.

“Let’s go back to the house,” he said.

Lowie and I exchanged a quick bemused glance before we followed Smith to the doorway. I knew the Dutchman was wondering what Smith was plotting but he hadn’t had the experience of spending long periods of time and numerous near fatal scrapes like I had. Nobody really got into Smith’s head and I was sure his brain was wired up differently to most people. Maybe it was his unpredictability that had kept us alive for so long. Sometimes you had to just go with Smith’s flow and hope it worked out okay.

The daylight rapidly faded and the horizon glowed red as Lowie led us across the overgrown garden and back to the domed house. We returned to the cellar bar and Freek had cleaned and loaded the firearms, which sat in neat rows on two tables. The three band members sat on the floor in a circle and were busy filling ammunition magazines with rounds.

“Make sure those rounds sit in those magazines properly,” Lowie commanded. “Because if you don’t, they’ll more than likely cause the weapon to jam.”

“Yeah, okay,
Rambo
. We’re doing our best,” Tony retorted, with a scowl on his face.

“They are doing okay,” Freek said, nodding.

Shaun Swann and Dan Saint each had an expression of total concentration on their faces, almost as though they were thinking what they were doing for the first time in a long while.

“Let’s get this fucking party rocking,” Shaun cheered, picking up the last of his empty magazines. “One more to go and then we’re done, baby.” He slapped Dan on the back.

“Yeah, it’s going to be totally awesome to get out there and zap some dead dudes and bad motherfuckers,” Dan chipped in.

I had a horrible premonition that Dan and Shaun would never again see the interior of the cellar bar once we left. After living so long in a world infested with the undead, I’d developed a sense of who would survive and who wouldn’t. My theory wasn’t always one hundred percent correct but I had a pretty good record so far. For what it was worth, I considered Tony Sharpe’s chances of survival at fifty/fifty. My estimation had always been a similar one for myself. The two Dutchmen seemed to be capable of handling themselves and their chances were slightly higher. Smith simply seemed the luckiest living person left on the planet. I was certain that guy would live to be one hundred and end his days in the lap of luxury someplace.

“I have put the C-4 explosives in that satchel on the bar,” Freek said, pointing to the counter. “That substance makes me nervous.”

Smith shook his head. “It’s perfectly safe until the detonators set the stuff off. It won’t explode even if you drop it or try lighting it up.”

Tony glanced up from loading his final magazine. “You know a lot about all this gear, Smudger. Are you some kind of ex-military guy or something?”

Smith shrugged. “Just a guy trying to stay alive, Tony. Nothing more.”

I knew Smith didn’t like to talk about his time in the U.S. Marine Corps and I’d decided a long time ago he’d gone through some sort of traumatic experience. I’d never pressed him for more details and thought perhaps he’d tell me about his experiences in gritty detail at some other time in the future.

Lowie and Freek collected up the loaded magazines and put them in separate satchels by varying caliber. We sat and drunk water and smoked cigarettes for a few minutes, chatting amongst ourselves about our lives previous to the apocalypse. Tony and Shaun told me about some of the places they’d toured and agreed that Toronto had been their favorite city. Smith remained quiet. I guessed he was mulling over what we had to do.

“Okay, guys, it’s time to go,” Smith called above the chatter. “Lowie and Freek, you two go bring the truck around as close as you can to the back doors and we’ll load up these weapons. Oh, and bring a few coils of that rope from the barn will you?”

Lowie stood and nodded. He motioned for Freek to follow him up the cellar steps. They disappeared through the trap door and closed it behind them. I realized then that there was no way of telling whether it was day or night time down in the neon enthused cellar bar and wondered how these guys had hacked it for so long down here.