The Left Series (Book 4): Left In The Cold (45 page)

Jimmy was breathing heavily and almost whimpering in fear. He hopped from each foot, hunching over the shotgun pointed at the trees. Smith turned his head to look at him.

“Stay cool with that shooter, Jimmy,” he whispered.

“Okay, stay where you are,” a voice called out, from amongst the trees. “We’ll come out to talk to you but no shooting, okay?”

“No shooting,” Smith confirmed.

Two figures emerged from behind the stone pillars at the end of the pathway and slowly approached us. They both carried firearms of some kind, although I couldn’t see what they were in the darkening gloom.

Smith lowered his flashlight so the beam wasn’t shining in the two figure’s faces. They marched closer, side by side. One was tall and thin and one was squatter and wider. They both stopped a few feet from
us, their faces became visible in the diminishing daylight. The taller one wore a black beanie hat and a blue puffer jacket, the squat guy wore a wooly, blue bobble hat and a black combat jacket.

The taller guy stared at each of us in turn with piercing blue eyes. I noticed he had a few days stubble around his chin but the whiskers hadn’t grown over two scars, running directly from both corners of his mouth up to the bottom of his ears.
The squat guy also had scars on his face that looked more like horizontal slashes across the bridge of his nose and his forehead. The squat guy’s dark eyes darted between us and he held a sawn-off shotgun pointed at our guts. The tall guy held what I believed to be a Heckler and Koch MP5 sub-machine gun.

The tall guy nodded at Smith’s rifle.
“M-16, nice piece.”

“That’s a Heckler and Koch MP5,” Smith re
sponded. “Also a good weapon.”

“Taken from the police,” Tall
Guy bragged. “But we are the police here now. We run the south side of the city. All the south side gangs joined together in an army. We’ve more or less cleared it of those walking fuck ups.”

“You’ve done a good job,” Smith said, nodding. “We haven’t seen any undead since we hit the city.”

Tall Guy raised his chin. “So what are youse Americans doing all the way up here? You must be military or something, with those weapons and battle clobber?”

“Something
like that,” Smith grunted.

“He doesn’t look like a yank,” Tall Guy nodded at Jimmy.
“Where you from?”

Jimmy glanced at us nervously. Tall Guy’s expression changed from one of nonchalance to hostility.

“I asked you a question, you wee walloper,” he barked.

“It’s okay, he’s with us,” Smith said. “He’s a local from these parts. He’s showing us the way around here.”

“Is that right?” Tall Guy snapped. His expression turned incredulous.

I felt my heart beating faster. I sensed the situation was escalating to a bad place.

“I’m from Govan,” Jimmy stammered.

Tall Guy flashed him a pained glare. “Oh, she speaks,” he gasped sarcastically.
“I don’t know this wee bastard from fucking Adam,” he spat. “You cannae just waltz around my city without my say so. I run the place. You come to me and ask my permission if you want to wander around with loaded shooters. Now, get tae fuck before I execute the fucking lot of youse.”

I presumed the tall guy was telling us to get off his patch
, in differing terminology. I thought I’d try and reason with the guy.

“
We just want to stay one night,” I said. “One night and then we’re gone. It’s cold and it’s nearly dark. We just want someplace to stay for one night.”

Tall Guy sarcastically made out he was crying. “Ah, please stop, you’ll have me in tears, mate.” Then he crazily wobbled his head. When he stopped his eyes were wide and he looked angry. “Did you not fucking understand me? I know
youse lot cannae speak English properly but take the hint and fuck off or I’ll blow yer fucking heads off.”

“Okay, buddy, just calm the fuck down,” Smith barked. “Now, this city is big enough for us all
to just mind our own businesses and stay out of each other’s way. So back off.”

Tall Guy stared at Smith with a wide eyed glare. He looked totally insane. Smith held his gaze and I thought for a second they were going to shoot each other.

“Fine,” Tall Guy muttered quietly. “Okay, stay if you must but I warned youse.” He nodded at the squat guy. “C’mon, let’s go.” They both turned and made their way back to the park entrance.

We stood our ground and watched them disappear into the shadows.
I didn’t think for one second the situation had concluded.

“
Youse all won’t live to see sunrise,” Tall Guy yelled, from somewhere beyond the tree line.

We heard vehicle doors slam and an engine splutter into life, then whine into the distance.

“What a prick,” Smith spat. He turned and waved the girls forward.

“Do you think he means it?” Jimmy stammered. “He looked like he was totally off his face to me. Did you see that Glasgow smile scar across his chops? He was a right
nutter, him.”

“Calm down, Jimmy. Be cool,” Smith sighed. “He’s just some survivor with a band of brash kids high on life or high on something, I don’t know. They’re just trying to yank our chain.
I seen a million guys like that back in Brooklyn.”

I listened to the sound of their vehicle engine recede into the distance and hoped
what Smith was saying was right.

Chapter Sixty-Seven

We had to recite and recount the whole conversation we’d had with Tall Guy to Batfish, Wingate and Cordoba. Smith reassured them the guy was only bragging and we wouldn’t see him again.

Jimmy looked genuinely shaken by our encounter but led us through the dark empty streets to a small
inn, situated on the east side of the park. The detached building was constructed of brown stone work and looked dark and empty, standing on the opposite side of the road to some boutique stores, which had all their front windows broken. The damage to the store fronts didn’t look as though it had occurred recently, as piles of snow were spread amongst the old clothing displays.

We stood outside the inn on the sidewalk, gazing up at the blank windows. I could just about make out the name on the sign.

“The Pig and Whistle Inn,” I read aloud.

“Aye, me
ol’ fella used to drink here, now and again,” Jimmy said. “Will this be okay fer youse?”

“Any place will do at the moment, Jimmy,” Wingate sighed. My back is killing me.”

“There’s a way in around the back, through a storeroom door that they did nae use. It’s only secured by a wee bolt,” Jimmy explained. “I should know, I robbed the place a while back.”

Wingate flashed me and Smith a concerned glance.

Jimmy led the way around the rear of the building and I stood for a moment and let the others go first. I glanced up and down the gloomy street with the spooky feeling we were being watched from somebody in the shadows.

I eventually stepped off the sidewalk and followed the others inside. Jimmy led us through a dilapidated, snow covered beer garden with scattered tables and chairs lying across the path. He shoulder barged a flimsy looking brown door
, set in a recess between an extension to the main building. Cordoba and Smith turned on their flashlights, guiding the way. Spot sniffed around excitedly, pulling Batfish forward on his leash.

The inn still smelled of stale beer and dampness and Jimmy led us through a storeroom stacked with plastic chairs and tables and a worn pool table.
We walked through a corridor to the main bar, which looked as though it was abandoned while still in operation. Half drunk pints of beer were left on the tables and on the wooden counter. The bar room was painted in a deep burgundy color and old black and white photos of Bellahouston Park hung all around the walls. Smith and Cordoba thoroughly searched the area for any signs or presence of the undead.

“All clear,” Smith murmured, after he’d completed his patrol.

Cordoba concurred with a nod of her head. “Looks like we’re free of zombies for a while.”

“I know it ‘
aint the Ritz Hotel but it’s a roof over our heads,” Jimmy said.

Wingate slipped off her backpack and slumped down on a chair beside a table. “Thank God,” she sighed. “Hey, Smith, you fancy fixing me a drink?”

“Sure, I could use one myself,” Smith muttered, moving behind the bar. “Scotch all around?”

We all muttered in agreement, shaking off our backpacks and starting to relax a little. We probably had enough food and provisions for a couple of days and the inn seemed a
welcome, if temporary sanctuary. Smith poured out six shots of whisky into some glasses on the countertop. I glanced through the sash windows, out onto the snowy street to check if anybody was observing our movements. I just didn’t feel safe inside the inn.

“We’d better check upstairs first, before we get too comfy,” Cordoba said.

“Good point,” I muttered. “I’ll come with you.”

“I’ll show you the way around,” Jimmy said.

“All right, go for it,” Smith said, handing around the glasses of Scotch. He moved from behind the counter and snatched the shotgun from Jimmy’s hands. “You won’t need that in here.”

Jimmy led us through the bar, up the back room staircase
and showed us around the bedrooms. There were six upstairs rooms, four with double beds and a kitchen and a separate living room. All were left as though the owners had left in a hurry. Dirty plates and glasses were left on the countertops in the kitchen and the bedrooms were left in a jumble of bedding and scattered clothing.

“Wow, it sure looks like whoever lived here, left in a hurry,” I said.

“The main thing is, there are no signs of any zombies,” Cordoba sighed. “We’re safe, at least for now.”

We went back downstairs to join the others and told them the upper floor
was all clear and about the room layout. Smith and Wingate chinked glasses in celebration. Batfish lit a few large candles sitting on wall holders on each side of the bar room.

“Well, I’m done,” Wingate sighed, after downing her glass. “I’m looking forward to a good night’s sleep in a nice double bed.” She hugged Smith’s arm as she spoke.

I guessed they’d be sharing a room for the night and another of us would have to double up in the same room. I didn’t know how me and Cordoba stood, as we hadn’t discussed our relationship since the debacle at the castle.

“Yeah, me too,” Batfish sighed, finishing her Scotch. “I need to hit the sack.”

“We better keep watches, down here in the bar,” Cordoba said. “Just in case those local punks come a knocking.”

I felt tired but needed some time to reflect on our situation and what had happened over the last few days. “Okay, I’ll take first shift.”

“What time is it now?” Cordoba asked.

Wingate was the only one with a working time piece and she glanced at her watch. “It’s nearly six pm. Shit, it feels much later than that.”

“Okay, we’ll do four hour watches,” Cordoba said. “If you do until ten pm, Brett. I’ll cover from ten until two am, then we need another volunteer to do from two until six.”

“I’ll do it,” Jimmy said, raising his hand like a school kid in class. “I don’t sleep much anyway.”

“Okay, guys, that’s a rap,” Cordoba said, draining her glass. “Let’s all hit the sack.”

I nodded a goodnight as the others collected up their gear and made their way to their rooms.
Smith left me his M-16 rifle and placed his last spare magazine on the table in front of me. Cordoba didn’t seem to be paying me much attention so I guessed I’d sleep on the living room couch once my shift was done. I sipped my Scotch and gazed out of the window onto the snowy street, running through the day’s scenarios in my head.

The whisky tasted good. I enjoyed the burn down my throat and the warmness in my guts. I decided I was going to spend the next four hours getting totally drunk.
I got up, moved around the counter and grabbed a near full whisky bottle from the top shelf. I sat back down, poured myself another shot then drank it in one gulp. I poured myself another.

“I thought you were supposed to be keeping a watch
over your friends, not drinking yourself stupid.”

I glanced up and saw my alternative self behind the counter.

“What do you want?” I scoffed.

“I’ve just come to warn you.”

“Warn me about what?” I spat.

“Be very wary. The natives are restless.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

My alternative self sighed and smoothed back his hair.
“The harbinger of doom rides in a black chariot.”