The Left Series (Book 5): Left On The Run (25 page)

However, we lay with a gap between us in the center of the ground. There was no extra sleeping bag or another foam roll. Smith had gone.

Chapter Forty

“Smith?” I hissed into the darkness. Unsurprisingly, I received no reply. “Damn it, Smith. Why do you always pull this crazy shit on me?”

This time the sleeping bag didn’t snag around my ankles when I wriggled out of it. I had a foolish and hopeful notion Smith was outside smoking a cigarette or had tried to make it up with Wingate and was snuggled up with her in her tent. The night remained quiet and the air was cold and fresh, when I stuck my head out of the flap opening.

“Are you out here, Smith?” I whispered.

The only sound I heard was a rasping, wheezy cough from one of the nearby tents. I crawled fully outside and stood up, shining the flashlight along the razor wire fence line. A harsh voice in a language I didn’t understand barked an order from somewhere beside the perimeter. I guessed he was telling me to shut off the flashlight but I shone the beam across the wire for a few seconds before I cut the light. No bodies hung on the wire and there was no sign of any torn clothing or sleeping bags. Had Smith really run out on us?

I reached in my jacket and took out my smokes. The last pack I had on me. I lit one up and glanced up into the cloudless night sky. The stars were bright and I wondered if any of those planets so many miles away were enduring a similar situation to the one going on down on good ‘ole Earth. As I smoked my cigarette, I mulled over what aliens would think of our planet now. Would they believe that zombies had always roamed the Earth or would the extra terrestrials be smart enough to know the whole planet was overwhelmed by a deadly virus? Or would they really give a crap?

Red sparks briefly erupted when I flicked my cigarette butt into the wire fence. More Russian mutterings followed but I ignored whatever the guy was pissed off about. He probably thought I was aiming the lit cigarette in his direction.

Spot squinted as the beam reflected in his eyes when I shone the flashlight through the interior of our adjacent tent. The little dog stayed lying on the ground, snuggled up to Batfish. His tailed wagged when he realized it was me. I patted his head and shone the light across the tent. Wingate lay sleeping alone and there was no sign of Smith inside. I didn’t want to wake them and cause them any more worry. Smith was possibly on a reconnoiter mission, probing for weaknesses along the fence line where it was sparsely guarded. I backed out of the tent and clicked off the flashlight.

I silently pushed my way back into my own tent and saw an empty, ripped open cigarette pack lying on the floor, in the vacant space where Smith had previously been sleeping. I turned the flashlight back on and shone the beam over the cigarette pack to check if any smokes were still inside. I hadn’t noticed the pack before and wondered if Smith had dropped it on his way out.

The pack was empty and I went to kick the it to the back of the tent but the cardboard kind of flopped open and I saw something scrawling across the inside surface.

“What the hell?” I whispered and bent down to pick up the empty packet.

Chandra stirred, rolled onto his back but didn’t wake. That was good; I didn’t want to disturb anybody from their much needed sleep.

Glancing back at the cigarette packet, I recognized Smith’s handwriting, the small neat letters all leaning to the right. In the early days of the apocalypse, Smith had a habit of writing down everything in our inventory when we spent a long time at sea on an old US Coast Guard boat. He’d given up making notes of all our possessions a long time ago but I still recognized the tidy calligraphy. I read the note silently in my head and I could hear Smith’s voice, in that unmistakable Brooklyn accent reciting the words.

“
Hey, Wilde Man,

I guess you’ll be reading this when I’m long gone. Maybe in the morning sometime. Listen, kid, I know it’s a pretty shitty thing to do to run out on you like this but I couldn’t bring myself to be carted off like a con by those fucking Ivans, man. When you’ve done some time in the joint it does weird things to your mind, you know, kind of fucks with your head.

I’m sorry, kid but I just couldn’t go through that shit again.

Maybe we’ll hook up again sometime. It’s been a blast. Take care of yourself, Wilde Man and take care of Batfish and Wingate. And tell them both…well, you know. Smith out.
”

I gulped down a lump in my throat, not quite believing Smith had gone. He wasn’t dead but it felt like it. Where the hell would he go, stuck out in the Scottish wilderness? But I knew if ever there was one guy who could survive a zombie apocalypse on his own, it was Smith. Hell, Smith could probably survive any damn thing! I just wished he’d woken me and told me he was going. Sighing deeply, I knew I’d have probably tagged along beside him. And Smith probably knew that too, that’s why he left me in the camp. He could simply melt into the background and become a ghost, whereas I was the fuckwit who would have gotten us caught. Just like that guy and girl that McGregor told me about. I’d be the one tangled in the fence and get the both of us shot up.

“Shit, Smith,” I hissed, screwing up the cigarette packet and flinging it onto the ground.

It was true nothing lasted forever and I knew we were living on borrowed time and luck, as I always said. It would only be a matter of time before Smith, Batfish, Wingate or I bought it anyhow. We’d lost so many people on our journey through hell, the finger of death had to point in one of our directions sooner or later. What if it was my turn tomorrow? ‘
What If
?’

I thought about my dream as I lay back down and slid into my damp sleeping bag. Was my dream about Smith some kind of premonition? Were all my hallucinations and nightmares some sort of warning, with a deep down hidden meaning or was I simply insane? Maybe I really was nuts and in reality, I was permanently sedated in some psychiatric ward someplace, spouting bullshit about zombies while the world was still normal.

As I lay there staring into the darkness, I tried not to think about Smith but couldn’t help it. I thought about our journey together. The banter, the black humor, the raucous drunken times, the dangerous moments when I’d really felt more alive than ever before. We had a good kind of camaraderie going. It was always kind of – ‘
I’ll watch your back – you watch mine and we’ll get the hell out of Dodge City some damn how
.’

Hell, maybe being an intern in the Russian Federation was the best thing for the rest of us now Smith was gone. I knew we wouldn’t survive long on our own out in the zombie infested wilderness without him. Perhaps this was the beginning of a new chapter in my life. Maybe, at last things were going to get better and at least I’d have some sort of job and purpose in life.

I knew I was kidding myself. I was going to miss Smith badly. He was like a big brother to me, the guy I could always rely on. Shit, life was going to be a lonelier place without him in my life.

Chapter Forty-One

Trying to get back to sleep proved difficult and when the interior of the tent brightened with the sun’s early morning dawn, I figured it was time to get up and tell the others the news of Smith’s absence. I knew Wingate and Batfish were going to take it badly but it wasn’t something I could exactly hide.

I hauled myself out of the sleeping bag and rolled my aching back. Fumbling around in the dim, gloomy light, I found the screwed up cigarette packet on the ground next to my foam mattress and slipped it in my jacket pocket. I’d show the others the note and they could make up their own minds as to why Smith fled. I could understand where he was coming from. Smith was a free spirit and didn’t want to be tied down to a life where people constantly told him what to do. He wouldn’t have lasted five minutes in the new world order. I snickered at the thought of Smith wearing a Russian military uniform with one of those Cossack type hats.

My normal routine at the hospital after I woke up was to take a long, hot shower but that luxury was out of the question. Instead, I had the option of a wash in freezing cold river water. Also, I was hungry after not having eaten in a while. I wondered what kind of gourmet food was provided in the refugee camp. Maybe a Russian soldier would flit around the tents taking orders from the interns. I quite fancied a plateful of smoked salmon and wondered what the guards would say if I tried demanding my desired dish. More than likely, the only thing I’d receive would be a slap around the face.

I left the others sleeping and decided to take a wander around the camp. The guards still patrolled the fence line and there was no sign of any alarm at Smith’s escape. I shook my head as I wondered how the hell he had dodged the sentries and scaled two razor wire fences with such ease. He was long gone by now and by the time the Russians realized he was missing, he’d be miles away from the camp. Good luck to him.

McGregor was up and about, milling around outside his tent and I was glad to see his head was still firmly attached to his body. He was arranging small twigs around a pile of ashes and half burned logs. A thin young girl, with strawberry blonde hair, who looked around fifteen years old sat outside his tent, sewing up a hole in a sock. She looked similar to McGregor and I assumed she was his daughter.

“Morning,” he chimed and greeted me with a brief wave. “I’m just trying to get a wee fire going.” He pointed to his arrangement of sticks.

“Hey,” I muttered in response. “What happens about getting some food around here?”

McGregor spat out a laugh. “That’s a joke, man. The Ruskies provide us with three food tins per person, per day. And you have to turn up in person. You cannae collect anybody else’s allocation. There’s no set time when they hand out the food, it’s only when they can be assed to get the stores from one of those ships.” He nodded out to the center of the river. “Just make sure you don’t miss the hand out or you’ll go hungry.”

“Right, got it,” I said and went to move on.

“Big day today, eh?” McGregor said. “We’re moving out of here this afternoon.”

“Yeah, so I believe,” I huffed. “Goodbye to Scotland and hello to Norway.”

“Never been to Norway before,” McGregor said. He glanced at his daughter and I saw the worry on his face.

“Me either,” I said. “I hear it’s nice there in summer time.” I’d heard no such thing but I was just trying to make the guy feel a little better about the future. From what Colonel Chernakov said, we wouldn’t be staying long in Stavanger anyhow.

“Aye, we’ll see,” McGregor sighed.

I left McGregor and his daughter to it and continued on with my tour of the camp. The morning air was crisp but the sky was clear blue and the view across the calm river was stunning, with the backdrop of the receding snow on the hills on the opposite bank across the water. Scotland really was a scenic country and I wished I’d had more time to enjoy the place instead of constantly running for my life.

I discovered the latrines, which consisted of a canvas tent covering a few shallowly dug pits in the thawing ground. The stench was overpowering and I had to force myself to use the inadequate facilities. 

The remainder of the excursion around the camp didn’t take long. A few more early risers studied me with suspicion as I strolled by their tents. They probably thought I was casing their hovels to see what I could pilfer from their meager belongings.

I made my way back to our tents and saw Chandra, Wingate and Batfish had risen from their beds. They stood outside the tents in deep conversation as I approached. I knew what the first question was going to be.

“There you are,” Wingate scolded, with her hands on her hips. “Where the hell have you been?”

“Just for a walk around,” I muttered.

I bent down to ruffle Spot’s head as he sniffed the ground beside the tent.

“For one moment, I thought you two had gone ahead with that crazy escape plan. Where’s Smith got to?”

I glanced up and the expression on my face obviously gave away what I was about to say.

“Don’t you tell me he’s gone,” Wingate wailed, fighting back the tears.

Batfish held both her hands over her nose and mouth in shock and Chandra sighed, looking down at the ground.

“Why didn’t you try and stop him, Brett?” Wingate squawked. “You should have talked him out of it.”

I shrugged as I rose from my crouch and reached into my pocket for the crumpled cigarette packet. “I didn’t know he was going either but I think you should read this.” I handed her Smith’s note.

She folded the cardboard out and Batfish shuffled alongside her. They both silently read Smith’s scrawl.

“He could have at least said goodbye,” Wingate sniveled.

“He knew we’d try and stop him,” I sighed. “You know what he’s like.”

Spot sniffed around my boots and then cocked his leg against the side of the tent. It didn’t really matter. We wouldn’t be sleeping in it again.

We spent the next few hours sitting around in silence, waiting for something to happen. A small sea boat came ashore with boxes of food from one of the ships, around mid morning. We lined up in a miserable huddle waiting for our allocation of tins. We were also provided with a black plastic trash sack, to dispose of the empties. I ate two tins of salty fish type stuff, which tasted horrible but I was hungry. Wingate picked at the contents of one her tins and Batfish forced down a few mouthfuls of the fishy glop.