The Left Series (Book 6): Left On An Island (31 page)

“We can’t get down from the here,” he said. “Too many zombies around us. You’ll have to pull the truck forward and get us out of here but take it steady, okay. No sudden braking or increasing of speed, got it?”

“I hear you,” I shouted.

“We’ll do our best to clear a pathway through from up here,” Smith added.

“Okay, got it,” I replied.

“All right, Wilde Man,” Smith said, tapping the roof of the cab. “Take us out of here.”

He disappeared from view and I tried to quickly recall how to drive a manual vehicle. The gear box crunched as I attempted to engage first gear. I released my foot off the clutch pedal and the truck lurched forward, knocking over a few dozen zombies like skittle pins.

The truck stalled and a furious banging came from the roof.

“What the fuck are you doing, Wilde?” was only one of the insults I could decipher above the mass groaning of the undead all around the truck.

“Okay, okay,” I yelled.

I felt sweat trickle down my forehead. I couldn’t afford to fuck up this maneuver. I had the fate of four other people’s lives in my hands. I took in a few deep breaths, trying to calm myself down.

“You can do this,” I said out loud. “The undead can’t get inside the cab, the doors and windshield are too high for them to reach. All you got to do is plow through the middle of them slowly and take us the hell out of here.”

“You know they say the first sign of madness is talking to yourself?”

“What?” I turned to my right. Another voice was inside the cab. “Oh, shit, not you again.” My alternative self had unwelcomingly reappeared. His face looked gaunt and thin as though the skin was tightening across his face. He wore what looked like a dark colored military uniform and a peaked cap with a deaths-head insignia in the center.

“You know how to drive this truck?”

“Yeah, of course I do,” I snapped.

“It doesn’t fucking look like it, dude,” my other self said, laughing as he spoke.

I restarted the truck’s engine and engaged first gear again. I released my foot from the clutch pedal slowly and the vehicle moved smoothly forward.

I turned to the hallucination in the passenger seat and nodded smugly. “There you go.”

“Hey, I mean congratulations, man. You’ve managed to move the truck at least…” he craned his neck over the bottom edge of the windshield. “Ooh, at least six feet. Way to go, Brett.”

I did my best to ignore my alternative self’s jibes. Maybe if I pretended he wasn’t there he’d simply go away.

I kept rolling the truck forward at a slow, grinding pace, nudging the undead out of the way and with some of them disappearing beneath the wheels. The cab jolted slightly every time I ran over a corpse, crushing their bodies into the dusty soil. The majority of the undead mob banged and scraped at the sides and front of the cab, trying to find a way inside. The old truck was an ideal vehicle for the apocalypse, with high side windows and an unreachable windshield. As long as we kept rolling, the undead couldn’t get to us.

“Hey, I could get used to this,” my alternative self said. “It’s quite relaxing sitting here, watching you plow through all these stiffs.” He flapped his hand in front of his nose. “I don’t go too much on the smell in here though. I think it needs one or two air fresheners in this cab.”

I continued to ignore my other self and concentrated on heading for the gap in the outer wall where Smith had blown up the gates. Smoke still swirled around the far walls and the light from the remaining searchlights didn’t provide enough illumination to see where I was driving. I had no option but to turn on the truck’s lights. I knew it would attract more of the undead towards us but it was a slightly better option than crashing into an unstable wall.

I flicked the switches on the dash until the headlamps lit up, shining a yellow glow across a mass of disintegrating corpses that were somehow still murderously active. They roared defiantly and threw themselves in front of the truck. I was forced to ease the gas pedal a little harder down, bringing up the engine’s revs against the undead tide, which threatened to hinder our progress.

I glanced out through the windshield, above the crowd of undead but I still couldn’t see the exit route. My composed calmness began to rapidly evaporate, instead replaced by a rising feeling of panic. Hands and heads batted against the exterior of the cab, making a metallic thudding sound. I moved my head around frantically in attempt to see where the hell we should be heading.

“I’d appreciate a little inside help,” I shouted at my alternative self. He’d pointed me in the right direction on the odd occasion and I more than needed somebody to show me the way.

I glanced to my right when I heard no reply and saw the passenger seat was empty. My alternative self had disappeared into the ether.

“Never trust a hallucination,” I muttered, returning my attention to driving through the sea of undead.

I heard a different sound, a loud clunk at the side of the truck’s body. “What the fuck was that?”

I looked through the driver’s window and studied the side mirror. “Oh, shit,” I muttered.

Now I was faced with another problem. Zombies threw themselves from the castle’s upper level to try and land on the roof of the truck. 

Chapter Fifty-Three

I kept checking the side mirror and saw more and more ragged shapes plummeting down from the walkway along the wall above us and to the left. The bodies dropped and banged against the side of the armored truck’s rigid side. We were positioned a little too far away from the side wall for the undead to land on top of the roof, and I intended to keep it that way.

I steered to the right, edging the truck slowly away from the side wall. More zombies clattered into the side of the cab and I saw gnarled finger tips reaching up towards the passenger window.

For a second time I recoiled at the sight of Smith’s upside down head appearing at the top of the windshield.

“Keep us away from that wall to the left,” Smith yelled. “Those crazy bastards are trying to jump on top of the truck from up there.”

“I know,” I replied, nodding. “I can see them in the mirror but I can’t see shit where we’re supposed to be going to head out of this damn place.”

“Okay, I’ll try and guide you,” Smith said and disappeared from sight again.

I heard his voice a couple of seconds later but couldn’t hear a clear word due to the moans and shrieks radiating from all around the vehicle.

“Smith, I can’t hear you,” I hollered, punching the cab roof interior.

The upside down face appeared again. “What?” he shouted.

I shook my head and pointed one handed to my ear.

“Shit,” he yelled.

Smith turned his head around and engaged in conversation with somebody else on the roof in an exchange I couldn’t hear. He turned back to look at me a few seconds later.

“Tony is going to tell me the route and I’ll relay it to you,” Smith explained, before vanishing from sight again.

“Sounds wonderful,” I groaned. I had a bad feeling this directional guidance was going to turn out more like a game of Chinese Whispers.

I kept the truck rolling regardless of what was going on up top. I figured it was better to be moving somewhere than nowhere at all.

Smith’s face popped back into view once again. “Keep edging to the right,” he shouted.

I nodded and turned the steering wheel, knocking down more zombies in the process. I heard a yell from the roof.

“Not that much, you’ve gone too far over,” Smith repeated and I steered back the other way slightly.

Smith continued to direct me via Tony’s orders and somehow, I managed to drive the truck out between what was left of the castle’s front wall. We avoided running over large pieces of masonry, piles of rubble and debris as we moved at walking pace through the exit. The undead still crowded around the truck and followed us out of the castle. The next problem I foresaw was how the guys on the roof were going to stay in place as I drove along the narrow and uneven dirt track.

“You’re going to have to try and get inside the cab, Smith,” I yelled. “You guys will never be able to hold on up there when we go down that bumpy track. There are overhanging trees and whatnot that will knock you off. You’ll have to try and climb down and get through the side window or something.”

Smith squinted and scanned the terrain in the distance. The truck began to roll from side to side along the sloping, potholed road and we weren’t even at the worst part. The undead continued to surround the vehicle and their motion helped to rock the truck even further over.

“Okay, Wilde Man,” Smith shouted. “Open the windows. We’re having a hell of a time trying to hang on up here.”

I steered one handed, leaned over to the passenger door and rapidly wound down the window. The filthy stench of the undead wafted in through the breeze, along with the intense and collective screams and moans. Once the pane was all the way down, I righted myself and gave Smith the thumbs up.

“Okay, I’m coming in,” Smith said.

I heard a metallic clanging then saw the soles of a big pair of boots coming at me from the passenger side of the cab. Smith pushed himself sideways and let himself drop onto the bench seat.

“Fuck,” he spat, grimacing and gripping his right side. “I think I’ve pulled a muscle or something.”

“Seriously?” I asked. “Maybe you’re just getting old, Smith.”

“Fuck you, funny man. Let’s concentrate on getting the fuck out of here before we do any more comedy routines, shall we?”

“All right, touchy,” I sighed.

Smith scooted back along the seat and leaned his head out of the passenger window, looking up at the roof.

“Okay, come on you guys,” he yelled. “Let’s hurry it up.” He waved whoever was above the window down then slid across the seat towards me.

Another pair of feet dangled in through the open window and Smith hauled the rest of Tony inside the cab.

“This is going to get a bit cozy in here ‘aint it?” he muttered.

Dan flopped through the window next and took his place on the bench seat alongside Tony. His eyes were wide and his face was deathly white.

“Wow, that was trippy, man,” he muttered.

“Come on, Lowie,” Smith called up. “You want to get inside before we hit that uneven road for real. We’re going to have to drive a little faster to get away from these dead pricks out here.”

I took a glance to my right and saw Lowie’s feet balancing on the bottom of the window sill.

“Lowie, come on, man. Lower yourself down,” Smith bawled.

Lowie shouted something I didn’t hear but we were approaching a clump of trees overhanging the track. Lowie would have to climb in or he’d get hit by the drooping tree branches.

“You want me to stop the truck, Smith?” I asked.

“We can’t stop,” Smith snapped, turning his head away from the side window. “We stop rolling and the zombies will swarm all over the truck. We need to keep our momentum going.”

“For fuck’s sake, Lowie,” Tony yelled. “Will you get in the fucking cab?”

I heard a muffled response and glanced across the seats. “What’s up with him?” I asked. “Why won’t he get inside?”

“He’s got his rifle sling caught up on the roof rack,” Smith explained. “Anybody got a blade on them?”

Tony and Dan shook their heads. Smith gazed upward out of the window.

“Just pull yourself out from the sling and leave the goddamn rifle up on the roof,” Smith yelled.

I heard Lowie mutter something of a protest in a wailing tone but again, I was unsure of his exact words.

“Come on, man. Get through the fucking window,” Smith roared.

I kept my eyes on the road but struggled to keep the truck steady on the bumpy road and with the undead rocking us from side to side. The overhanging tree branches loomed up closer on the passenger side.

“I can unclip it,” Lowie shouted.

A split second later I heard Lowie yell out.

“Ah, fuck, no,” Dan howled.

“Lowie, hang on,” Smith barked. “Lowie?...Lowie?...Fuck!”

I averted my eyes from the windshield for a brief moment. Smith leaned against the door looking out of the window and downwards, back down the track. Dan had his hands cupped around the lower part of his face and Tony’s mouth hung wide open. Lowie no longer dangled at the side of the cab.

Chapter Fifty-Four

“You want me to stop the truck and pull over?” I asked, without receiving an immediate reply. The others inside the cab seemed as though they’d frozen into their adopted positions. “Should I stop?” I yelled.