The Left Series (Book 3): Left On The Brink (25 page)

“Okay, now comes the hard part,” Cordoba said. “We have to make some noise.”

“The snowplow first?” I asked, trying to get a clear idea of what we were doing.

Cordoba nodded. “We’ll go grab one of those battery chargers and get the cab running.”

We climbed down the ladder at the rear of the last fuel tanker and stood in the shadow for a second, listening for any sounds of approaching undead. Our M-16 rifles were still slung over our shoulders and I didn’t feel comfortable using it so I drew the M-9 handgun instead.

“Don’t fire anywhere near the gas tankers or this place will go up like an A-bomb,” Cordoba instructed.
“We’ve been lucky no stray rounds have hit them while we’ve been firing away in here.” 

I nodded and followed her as we warily moved behind the vehicles towards the battery jumper station.
The sounds of the undead had died down to a level pitch of groans and the occasional loud scream. I guessed Milner, Kauffmann and Amato had backed off and re-entered the office. I hoped the crowd of zombies wouldn’t lose interest in the guys in the office and start to drift back in our direction.

Cordoba threaded her way through the cluster of battery chargers, studying each one in turn. I stood next to a work bench and large tool lockers standing against the wall
behind and between two big, yellow maintenance trucks.  

“We’re going to need a heavy duty one that’s going to fire up those batteries in quick time,” she explained.

“All right,” I whispered, feeling uneasy while standing motionless.

“This one will do it,” Cordoba said, patting the top of the red, metallic box.

I was slightly relieved she’d finally selected a charger and wanted to get moving as quickly as possible. I turned to move back the way we had come but an approaching shadow caught my eye, rounding the edge of the maintenance truck to our right. I heard the slap of slow moving footsteps on the concrete and tried to wave a warning to Cordoba but she was busy studying the terminal connectors at the ends of the jumper cables.

I made a hissing sound and Cordoba finally looked up at me. I pointed frantically towards the approaching shadow but was too late. Cordoba
swiftly turned her head and I glanced over her shoulder when we both heard a throaty low moan.

Chapter Thirty-Six

A big, male zombie, dressed in tatty blue coveralls stood in the space between the two yellow maintenance trucks in front of us. He must have weighed over two hundred and fifty pounds or he was severely bloated. Long, black hair hung around his melon shaped head and the remnants of a thick, bushy beard draped around his chin and neck. Large patches of his beard hair had gone where clumps of flesh had been bitten away from his face and neck. His face was dull gray but his white eyes focused solely on us.

I raised the Beretta M-9 and pointed it at the zombie’s head. Cordoba stood directly between us and was hampering my line of sight.

“Don’t fire,” she hissed. “The noise will attract the others.”

The big zombie plodded forward towards us. Cordoba
backed off a few feet towards me, staring at the approaching ghoul. The heel of her boot snagged against the frame of one of the battery chargers and she toppled over backwards onto the concrete floor.

I had to do something – fast! I couldn’t fire the
handgun otherwise the whole operation would be in jeopardy. I stuffed the M-9 back into my jacket and turned towards the work bench. A big vice and some nuts and bolts lay on the top. I scooped up the nuts and bolts and hurled them at the zombie, not sure what I was going to achieve. The projectiles bounced off the big guy with no effect.

“Ah, shit,” I quietly wailed.

Cordoba shuffled backwards, trying to regain her feet. The vice was bolted to the work bench surface so that particular object was ruled out for use as a weapon. I hurriedly opened the drawers in the tool locker and saw a long, thick tire iron. That would do the trick.

I grabbed the tire removal tool and discovered the damn thing was heavier than it looked.
Struggling with the weight, I hoisted the tire iron onto my shoulder as though I was an athlete about to throw a javelin but tossing this thing was out of the question. I was more likely to hit Cordoba with it than the big zombie.

My knee knocked against the corner of one of the battery chargers as I staggered forward to meet the big zombie head on. I winced but tried to ignore the pain. We had to eliminate the huge ghoul or more would surely follow his lead if we got involved in too much of a commotion and made too much noise.

Cordoba rolled along the ground to her left and took sanctuary underneath the maintenance truck. The big zombie growled like a pissed off dog and bent forward to see where she’d gone. His position was perfect and I quickened my pace to gain some momentum. He glanced up at me as I approached him, leading with the tapered end of the tire iron. I gripped the metal pole and gritted my teeth, bracing myself for impact.

The big zombie opened his mouth and his face turned to a scowl. I lined up the tapered end of the tire iron and rammed it directly between his open lips.
The narrow, flat edge of the tool pierced flesh and bone with a sound like a skewer driving through the outer shell of a coconut.

I was breathtakingly horrified when I saw the bladed edge of the tire iron re-emerge from the back of the big zombie’s skull. His arms drooped by his sides and his facial features froze in a slight grimace but his eyes remained open.

I stood still for a few seconds expecting him to still try and move forward towards me.

“I think you killed him,” Cordoba whispered in my ear from behind me.

I let go of the tire iron and the big zombie slumped over sideways onto the floor.

“Good job,” Cordoba said. “Come on, let’s get rolling.”

I stared at the corpse on the ground for a moment, replaying the kill thrust in my mind, before I turned to follow Cordoba. She wheeled the selected battery jumper back behind the maintenance trucks and we followed our route back to the snowplow, which stood next to the fuel tankers.

The battery compartment was situated at the side of the
snowplow cab, beneath the door. Cordoba took off the top casing and attached the terminal contacts to the battery.

“Plug that into the wall socket,” she said, tossing me the electrical cord plug.

I did what she ordered and she switched on the booster. An audible, high pitched hum came from the metallic box and I hoped it wasn’t going to blow up in our faces.

“Give me the keys and I’ll see if there’s enough charge to fire this thing up,” Cordoba said. “Once the engine starts, those fucking corpses are going to start heading our way so be ready.”

I nodded and reached into my pocket for the keys, still feeling the adrenalin rush pulse through me. Cordoba informed Milner over the radio that we were about to start the snowplow as I handed her the keys. She jumped in the cab and I drew my M-9.

“Remember to keep the shots away from those fuel trucks,” she ordered.

I nodded and she turned the ignition key. The snowplow engine chugged, coughed out a belch of black smoke then rumbled into life. The air was thick with the stench of diesel fumes and the engine noise echoed through the motor pool.

“The
snowplow is running,” Cordoba yelled into her headset before leaping down from the cab.

I didn’t see any approaching ghouls but that didn’t mean they weren’t on their way over.

“Unplug the charger,” Cordoba shrieked at me as she pulled the terminal clips off the battery.

I moved quickly to the wall socket and wrenched out the plug. Cordoba
hurriedly replaced the battery cover and wrapped the terminal leads around the charger.

“Let’s go, Wilde,” she hollered.

We scooted around the front of the nearest fuel truck cab with me leading and Cordoba wheeling the battery charger. The undead throng at the far end of the motor pool dispersed into separate groups and began to head in our direction.

“Shit, here they come,” I groaned.

“We’ve got a couple of minutes before they reach us,” Cordoba said. “Just keep them back until we get the first truck going.”

Easier said than done. I was one guy against a multitude of hungry flesh eaters. Milner, Smith and company wouldn’t be able to apply any covering fire from their position.

We followed the same procedure when we reached the truck’s battery compartment. I plugged in the battery booster and Cordoba rigged up the terminals. The truck successfully started and we were in business. The undead shuffled closer and were around twenty feet away from our position when Cordoba pulled the booster cables from the battery.

“Leave the charger socket in the wall,” she instructed. “We may need it again for the other trucks. Let’s get back to the
snowplow.”

“Okay, I’m all for that,” I stammered. The undead were getting too close for my liking.

We sprinted across the ground towards the big snowplow cab. Thankfully, the engine was still running and we climbed onboard. I double checked we’d locked the cab doors as Cordoba released the park brake and rolled the vehicle forward.

I allowed myself the luxury of a few seconds re
spite as I slumped in the passenger seat, before the next phase of the operation. A craving for nicotine told me I desperately wanted a cigarette but it wasn’t the time to light up yet.

Cordoba turned the vehicle and drove straight at the approaching zombie horde.
The snowplow blade was v-shaped and an ideal tool to part the sea of undead corpses. The truck powerfully shredded a pathway through rotten flesh and bone with relative ease. We felt a number of jolts and heard frequent thuds as the big blade smashed corpses out of our way. A severed head rolled up the front of the cab and I briefly glimpsed the sight of a gnashing set of teeth against the windshield.

“Milner? Get your guys ready,” Cordoba shouted into the microphone. “We’re nearly at the staircase but we won’t have much time for you to climb onboard.”

“Yeah, I know we can see you coming,” Milner replied. “We’re all set to go up here.”

“Let’s just hope we can move that forklift okay,” Cordoba said.

It was going to be a tight maneuver to get the snowplow cab to push away the forklift from the staircase and try and U-turn in one go. I hoped Cordoba was a good enough driver to pull it off.

Chapter Thirty-Seven

Cordoba slowed the
snowplow as we approached the staircase. She swung left to allow us to loop around to the right at a horizontal angle to the front of the steps. I breathed in and out slowly, trying to calm myself as we changed direction. Cordoba slowed to a crawl and kept glancing to her left to judge the distance between the side of the vehicle and the concrete wall. I estimated the side mirror was around six inches from being torn off its bracket.

I glanced out of the side window and saw a trail of dead zombies and long smears of blood we’d left in our wake. Most of the undead had turned around and now lumbered towards the slow moving
snowplow. I checked the door was locked once again. Around thirty zombies still milled around by the forklift to our front. They were still obviously seeking out the guys in the office and waiting in the hope they’d reappear.

“I’m going to try and nudge that forklift out of the way but watch that cage if it falls off the forks,” Cordoba relayed to Milner.

“Roger that. We’re waiting by the office door,” Milner said through the radio.

I felt the resistance when the
snowplow blade met with the side of the forklift truck. Cordoba put her foot down on the gas, increasing the revs. The forklift wobbled and tottered but didn’t budge. The cage rattled from side to side on the staircase above the cab to our left. Some of the zombies around the forklift shuffled around to my side of the snowplow cab. They banged and slapped their hands against the bottom of my door. I knew they couldn’t get in but it didn’t make me feel any better.

“Shit, that damn forklift is not shifting,” Cordoba shrieked.

The main mass of the zombie throng staggered closer and began to surround the snowplow.

“They’re all around us,” I shouted, glancing in the side mirror.

“I know, I’m trying my fucking best here,” Cordoba snapped.

The growling, moaning and wailing from the undead increased in volume again, due to the fact they sensed fresh meat once more. I learnt to never underestimate a hungry zombie. They seemed to find a way of attacking you, even when you thought you were safe.

“Try raising the blade,” Kauffmann suggested through the headset.

Cordoba studied the control levers and pulled back on one. The blade tilted upwards and the forklift rocked to the right then slipped off the edge of the metallic v-shape and crashed back to its original position.

“That’s a no go,” Cordoba shouted, lowering the blade back down.