The Left Series (Book 2): Left Alone (31 page)

I glanced back and saw Smith had reached the lower deck hatch and was lifting the locking handle. The two zombies in the party suit and dress still hunched over Tippy’s lifeless body and tore lumps out of her. The upside of that situation was they’d not be too bothered about the rest of us for a while.

Headlong was backing up along the deck but he was heading away from the lower deck hatch, towards the boat’s bow. He was moving further away from me and we had three zombies between us, plus some more ambling closer from the starboard side of the deck.

“Headlong,” I called. “We need to get down below and get the spare mags for that rifle.”

Headlong screamed and shook his head. “I’m going for the 20 mil and blasting these motherfuckers to hell.”

“You won’t do it,” I argued. “The gun mounting won’t let you swing the barrel onboard.”

Headlong’s face went ashen white as realization kicked in. Whoever designed the U.S. Navy’s upper deck layout wasn’t stupid enough to allow heavy duty machine guns to be trained inboard towards the their own crew and control cabin. The steel structures surrounding the weapon restricted its firing arcs to outboard targets.

A single gunshot cracked behind me and I heard the whip of the bullet before one of the zombies in front of Headlong fell face first onto the deck. I spun around and saw Smith standing by the lower deck hatch, looking down the hunting rifle scope. He was re-aiming for the next ghoul. I ducked behind a vent slightly before the next shot rang out. A second zombie dropped and an instant later Headlong’s third assailant went down with a bullet in the brain.

Headlong hobbled forward, rushing for the sanctuary of the lower deck. Smith swung the hunting rifle around, still sighting the scope on the zombies stumbling towards him. He reloaded and fired a few more times, continuing until all the zombies on the deck had been accounted for. Only the two ex-party goers, still feeding on Tippy remained. Smith couldn’t see them from where he was standing, as the feeding frenzy was obscured by a locker in the center of the deck.

I stood up and moved away from the cover of the vent.

“Hey, Smith,” I called.

He lowered the rifle and looked in my direction. I held up two fingers and pointed down to the deck behind the locker. Smith reloaded, strode across the deck and rounded the central locker. He took out the ex-party goers with two single shots to the back of their heads.

We stood over Tippy’s body in silence, gazing over the carnage. Smith offered me a smoke and we shared the flame on his Zippo.

“Shit,” Smith whispered. “I hoped we could have saved her and dropped her off at some kind of safe station someplace.”

Tippy’s eyes remained open and a look of terror was still etched on her face. Blood pooled around her head and her throat was ripped apart, exposing her torn windpipe and fleshy lumps lay either side of the wound.

“Put that fucking rifle down, now,” Headlong commanded. His voice came from behind us and was high pitched, almost a scared squeak.

Smith and I spun around and saw Headlong had reloaded the M-16 and aimed at us.

“She may be dead and God rest her fat assed soul but nothing has changed. I’m still in charge and we’re still carrying on this journey.” Headlong stopped talking to spit on the deck. “Now, toss that rifle down, nice and slow.”

Smith complied and Headlong scurried over to pick up the hunting rifle.

“We just saved your life,” I hissed. “The least you could do is take us where we’re going without holding us hostage.”

Headlong emitted a throaty laugh. “Nothing personal, son but business is business. I told you, I’ll get a decent price for you fine looking fellas.”

“You could just show us where they’re keeping our friend,” Smith said.

Headlong laughed again and shook his head. “No deal, I’m afraid. Now, you boys better toss these fucking corpses over the side before we get going again. Woo! They stink real bad.”

Smith sighed and shook his head. “Come on, Wilde Man. We’ll start with these two fuckers.”

We lifted the ex-party girl first and threw her into the drink before we did the same with her counterpart. Smith covered Tippy’s body with a blue tarpaulin sheet he pulled from the center locker before we continued to dump the remaining bodies. Headlong impatiently hobbled up and down the deck, eager to get going again. Probably thinking about his next fix of whatever it was that kept him going.

We carried the last body towards the guard rails, Smith holding the old, pleading zombie by the shoulders and me clutching his boney ankles. I made sure we were out of Headlong’s earshot before I caught Smith’s attention.

“Why did you cover up Tippy and not dump her over the side with the rest of them?”

Smith gave me a wink. “We might need some kind of diversion later,” he whispered.

“I hope she doesn’t reanimate and come back to take revenge on us for not protecting her.”

The thought of Tippy coming back to some sort of life sent a cold shiver down my spine. We couldn’t protect her in life but could we protect ourselves from her in death?

Chapter Fifty-One

We were under way on our journey again five minutes after dumping the last body into the river. Headlong didn’t seem to notice or care that we hadn’t dispatched Tippy’s corpse into the Mississippi.

I let Spot out of the confines of the locker but still kept him tied on his leash, secured to the pipe so he couldn’t venture out onto the deck. I didn’t know how he was going to react and I assumed Headlong wouldn’t hesitate to shoot him dead in a split, cold blooded second.

The outlines of tall buildings on either side of the river honed into view, like shadows amongst the gray mist as we sailed closer to our destination. Headlong sat on the central lockers and whistled and waved me over.

“Now what does he want?” I muttered, as I exited the control cabin.

“You get your ass on that 20 mil until we dock,” Headlong instructed. “I don’t want us going through another fuck up like that one back down river. You know how to use that cannon?”

I nodded. I wasn’t sure but I’d seen Smith firing the weapon and was sure it couldn’t be that difficult. He had reloaded the ammo boxes, so I didn’t think I’d have to fire that many rounds before we got to wherever we were going. I got the impression we were nearly at our destination the way Headlong was hopping around excitedly.

I felt the cold steel against my fingers when I closed up on the heavy duty machine gun. The mist helped to cloak us from the thousands, if not millions of zombie’s eyes along the shoreline but it also hampered our progress along the water. Smith had to take evasive action several times when I pointed out other vessels drifting down river towards us.

Headlong scuttled up and down the deck between the control cabin and the bows. He dished out obscure orders and relayed my warnings to Smith of approaching, potentially damaging debris and other drifting boats. I opened up with the machine gun on one occasion when a small boat, loaded with undead came too close. The 20mm rattled in my hands and I must admit I was slightly turned on by the destruction it caused. Rounds ripped through the small boat’s hull and tore away the fiber glass construction, sending the whole vessel spinning away in the water and out of sight into the mist.

The shadows of buildings along the skyline became denser and I had the feeling we were approaching the lion’s den. It felt as though it had taken us ages to get here and we weren’t home and dry yet. I was sure there wouldn’t be a welcoming party at the dock, serving us with champagne and canapés.

I heard Headlong yelling something to Smith and the boat veered to the right. We started getting closer to the shoreline, although I couldn’t see anything clearly due to the heavy mist.

The boat chugged along slowly and I heard a roar of voices above the diesel engines. I squinted and tried to see the source of the noise. The shoreline became clearer as we drew closer. I gasped in shock when I saw thousands of dead, emaciated faces pressed against a chain link fence running along the riverbank. The crescendo of moans drifted through the mist and echoed around the boat deck.

“Fuck! There must be thousands of them,” I muttered to myself. “How the fuck are we going to get through that lot?”

I swung the 20 mil cannon around and pointed the barrel at the fence line. The boat was around twenty feet from the shore and I hoped the fence would hold long enough until we drifted by. A concrete path ran along the inside of the fence and I presumed it used to be some kind of riverside walkway.

My breathing rapidly increased and I shook as though a chill wind had blown over me. I hoped I wasn’t suffering a panic attack as I needed to have my shit together if we were going to survive this tricky situation. Smith was counting on me to watch his back if we were ever going to successfully rescue Batfish.

Smith straightened the boat on its course and I saw some sort of dock on the water up ahead. I could make out some people moving around on the wharf and didn’t know whether to open fire with the machine gun.

I nearly wet myself with shock when a hand clamped on my shoulder from behind.

“Don’t start shooting with that cannon,” Headlong grunted in my ear.

“Oh, it’s you,” I sighed, the first time I was grateful to see Headlong. “I didn’t know who the hell it is up there. I can’t see nothing in this damn mist.”

“We’re nearly there now, son so you can step away from the boom boom.” He waved me away with the barrel of the M-16.

I took a few paces back and stood in the center of the forecastle, trying to see through the mist. The engines roared as Smith slowed right down and the dock became clearer as we drifted closer.

An old fashioned, white colored paddle steamer loomed through the murkiness in front of us. The old boat was moored to the dock with thick ropes crisscrossing the bows and stern. White picket railings ran around the three separate decks and the actual paddle wheel at the stern was faded red. Several tattered flags hung limply from high poles dotted around two black funnels, protruding skyward into the mist.

Three rough looking guys stood on the wooden boarded dock, one had a thick rope in his hands and the other two brandished semi automatic rifles aimed onboard our boat. They were all unshaved and wore tatty clothes, resembling the shit kicking crew back at the slaughterhouse.

“Okay, fellas,” Headlong called out to the men. “It’s me, Headlong. I’ve got another couple of merchandize the Trading Dog might be interested in.” He pointed at me and nodded to Smith in the control cabin.

One of the guys holding a rifle came closer to the boat. He was dressed in a checkered work shirt, denims and wore a dirty, red baseball cap covering long, greasy dark hair that flowed to his shoulders.

“Ah, shit, Headlong, you back already? I was hoping you’d been eaten by now.”

Headlong and the other guy broke out in wheezy laughter.

“Hey, Sammy, you got anything nice on you? I could sure use something to pep me up a little,” Headlong said.

The guy fished around in his green and white checkered jacket and pulled out a small plastic bag with some white powder inside. He tossed it to Headlong, who gratefully accepted his gift.

“You owe me for that, Headlong.”

“No trouble, Sammy. I’ll pay you back when we hit the city. I’m going to have me a party tonight.” Headlong opened the bag and scooped out some of the white powder with his fingers then rubbed it vigorously into his gums.

The man tossed the rope onboard and I looped it around a forecastle bollard. We carried out a similar operation at the stern and Smith cut the boat engines.

“Okay you two, let’s get going,” Headlong barked at Smith and I.

“What about the zombies?” I wailed. “There were thousands of them back there.” I jabbed my thumb in the direction we had come.

Headlong gave me a sneer and a snigger. “Hell, this is one of the safest places on Earth, boy. They got this whole area fenced off and right as damn rain.”

Headlong collected the hunting rifle and gestured for us to hop out of the boat onto the dock. Sammy and the two other guys gave us condescending glares as we stood on the wooden boards. Headlong had some trouble crawling off the boat due to his bad leg and Sammy helped him over the side.

“Shit, what about Spot?” I hissed. Not for the first time, I’d forgotten about my dog.

“Ah, what the hell? Go get him, then. Only because I’m feeling generous,” Headlong said, flapping his hand at me.

I hopped back onboard and retrieved Spot from the control cabin. He wagged his tail and looked thankful to be finally released from the cramped cabin confines. I picked him up and bound back onto the dock.

Headlong and the other three guys surrounded Smith and I, keeping their rifles trained on our midriffs.

“You coming into town, Sammy?” Headlong asked his friend. “Maybe we could blow the froth of a couple and find some decent women.”

Sammy shook his head. “No can do I’m afraid, buddy. I’ll give you a ride into town but me and my two guys here drew the short straw on dock duty today. We don’t get relieved until tonight.”

“Aw, that’s too bad,” Headlong sniffed.

“Yeah, well someone has to keep an eye on everything that comes into the city by the river. You don’t seem to have much in the way of cargo on this trip, Headlong?”

Headlong spat on the wooden deck looking slightly perturbed. “Well, we had another one onboard, a female but we ran into a boat load of undead fuckers and she bought it.”

Sammy shrugged. “Too bad you didn’t bring in a load of those Cajun girls again. I liked them and they’re very popular, if you know what I mean?”

Headlong and the other two men chuckled.

“Dave, Trigger…you two hang back here while I give Headlong and his new found friends a ride into town,” Sammy ordered his two companions.

Both men nodded and turned back to the river. Sammy led us along the walkway from the dock and Headlong followed at the rear. We walked around the port to a red colored, VW panel truck. Sammy opened the back doors and ushered Smith and I inside. We heard him physically lock the doors then jump into the driver’s seat, Headlong scrabbled in the cab beside him. The truck stank of a combination of stale sweat and engine oil. A length of wire mesh ran between the front cab and the rear compartment of the truck. Sammy fired up the engine and pulled away from the dockside.