The Left Series (Book 5): Left On The Run (30 page)

“I couldn’t take being incarcerated in Russia, kid. I couldn’t take being locked up anyplace. We go there and we’ll never get out, remember that.”

“Yeah, I did get your note,” I said. “Anyhow, man. Tell me about Belfast.”

“Keep quiet,” Smith snapped and grabbed me by the shoulder. He steered me in front of him, took the fire axe from under my arm and lowered his face. I scowled in pain as his meaty fingers dug into my collar bone.

Two Russian sailors rushed along the corridor towards us, babbling at each other with anxious expressions on their faces. I worried they’d stop us and ask where we were going. Our cover would be blown and we’d have to fight our way out of another sticky situation. They didn’t even slow their pace. They kept rushing along the corridor, brushing by us and continued heading in the opposite direction. Smith glanced around behind him when the two sailors disappeared into the distance. He kept hold of the fire axe and I thought it was a wise move in our circumstances.

“I got kind of into the whole snooping around thing,” Smith continued. “I started to enjoy it. Wearing a Russian Army uniform, walking around incognito, the whole
James Bond
thing.” He emitted a short, self satisfied laugh. “Anyhow, I took a look on the ship’s bridge and saw a map of Northern Ireland, with Belfast circled over and over in pencil. I got the gist that one of their other ships went there on another looting operation and got into all kinds of trouble.”

“I saw another warship moored out there at the dockside,” I said.

“Exactly,” Smith snorted. “They came here to help out their buddies but my guess is they’ve got some shit hot equipment onboard that other ship and they don’t want to give it up.”

“I don’t want to put a downer on things, Smith,” I sighed. “But how the hell are we going to get off this ship, with the mother of all battles going on out there?”

Chapter Forty-Nine

“The logistics of that maneuver may be a little tricky,” Smith groaned. “But don’t worry. I’ll figure something out.”

“I was afraid you were going to say that,” I sighed.

The ship lurched sideways and I heard an incredibly loud scraping noise. Smith and I reeled into the corridor wall. Somebody bellowed commands through the public address system in a frantic and distorted tone.

“What is going on?” I rasped, staggering away from the wall.

“Sounds like we just hit the side of the jetty. Whoever is driving the ship needs his ass kicked,” Smith said. “Well, by my reckoning, we’re alongside the dock now, kid. We better get the others and try and get off this crate somehow.”

“There are around one hundred of us, Smith,” I protested. “We have no weapons apart from that handgun you’ve got and that damn fire axe. We’re up against half the Russian Army and the whole zombie population of Belfast out there.”

“We sure as shit can’t stay here,” Smith growled. “Come on, let’s get the others.”

Smith seemed to know where he was going and I was surprised how quickly he’d found his bearings around the ship. He’d obviously seen where our quarters were located, from watching in the shadows and made a note of where to find us. I followed him along the corridors and down the walkways until we came to the refugee’s mess. Still nobody guarded the doorways. I guessed they were all too busy with trying to dock the ship and the threat from the undead on the jetty.

“You go on inside there and tell them we’re leaving,” Smith said, nodding at the closed doors.

I was about to open the door to my compartment but stopped with my hand resting on the door handle. I sighed and turned back to face Smith. “We ‘aint going to be able to smuggle one hundred people off the ship without the Russians noticing, Smith. They’ll either be mowed down by the machine gunners or ripped apart by zombies. There are kids and old people amongst them.”

Smith shrugged. “They have the choice. They can stay put right here if they want.”

“Whatever, man,” I muttered. “I’ll try and persuade enough able bodies to come with us. With a shit load of luck, we may make it out of here.” I pushed the door open and entered the room.

Most of the refugees were standing in a nervous, wide-eyed huddle in the center of the room. They gazed at me expectantly from between the rows of bunk beds, waiting for news on what was happening outside the ship.

“Any idea on what is going on?” the old woman, who’d been on cruise ships asked.

“We’re docking in Belfast,” I said. “There’s another Russian ship alongside. It’s getting overrun by the undead and I think we’re here to try and help them.”

I noticed Batfish, Wingate, Chandra and Spot move out from the bunks.

“Brett, we were worried about you,” Batfish screeched. “You’ve been gone for ages.”

“I ran into somebody who wants to help us get away,” I explained. “He’s standing right outside in the corridor.” I pointed to the door. “He’s going to try and lead us off the ship and escape from the Russians.”

“I’m not so sure that’s a good idea, my dear,” the old Scottish lady said. “I heard the sounds of gunfire. It’s probably dangerous out there.”

“Well, I’m not saying it’s going to be a stroll in the park but everybody is welcome to tag along,” I said.

The room was filled with the sound of mutterings. People talked amongst themselves, obviously discussing whether it was worth trying to make a run for freedom or stay where they were and take their chances with the Russians.

“We’re moving out immediately, so those of you who are coming better get ready to go,” I explained. “I’m going into the other two mess decks and letting the other people know what we’re intending to do.”

Batfish held Spot on a short leash. She, Wingate and Chandra approached me with anxious expressions on their faces.

Wingate shook her head before she spoke. “What is all this, Brett? What’s going on? Why do you want to run all of a sudden?”

“There’s somebody outside that door who I think you should go and meet,” I said, holding back a smile that would give away who the mystery guy was.

“Brett, I’m not sure about all this,” she whispered. “You seem to be acting weird since you got back. What did you see out there?”

“Just go out into the corridor,” I said, turned and headed for the door.

I knew Wingate and Batfish were following reluctantly. Would Wingate fly into a rage and slap Smith when she saw him?

I nodded to Smith who stood in the corridor. I walked by him towards the two other refugees mess rooms.

“Oh, my god,” Wingate and Batfish gasped in unison, as they recognized the figure behind me.

I entered each mess in turn and told them of our intentions. The same uneasy rumblings were heard in each room and I headed back out into the corridor.

Smith had his arm wrapped around Wingate’s shoulders and they both looked happy. He handed me the fire axe and tipped me a wink. Around half the number of refugees crowded into the corridor and I guessed the others had decided to stay where they were. I noticed
Ally McGregor
and his daughter, standing stern faced and ready to join us. We could all be killed or beaten back below the ship’s decks. The next few minutes would decide our fate.

“Everybody ready?” Smith called out in a kind of rallying cry.

Smith received a raucous reply from some and a muted, half hearted response from others. I had no clue where we were going to run to or if we could possibly escape. My mother heralded from the south of the country and I had visited the Republic of Ireland a few times myself but I had no knowledge of Belfast or Northern Ireland. I just hoped Smith was right and we were doing the correct thing in cutting our ties with the Russians.

Chapter Fifty

Smith led the way through the corridors and back up the walkways. It was going to be almost impossible for us all to reach the upper deck without some Russian spotting us and raising the alarm.

The guy still yelled orders into the public address system, his tone becoming more frenzied with every sentence.

A barrel chested guy, dressed in blue coveralls emerged from a hatch on the deck slightly in front of us. His eyes widened and he opened his mouth to shout out something. Smith delivered a right handed punch, which caught the guy squarely on the jaw and sent him crashing backwards into the wall. His head clumped against the white vinyl panel and he slumped unconscious to the floor. Smith closed up the open hatch and applied the locking bolts so nobody else could climb out from the deck below.

“We need to get outside as quick as possible,” Smith said quietly. “That way we stand more of a chance.”

“Okay, but we need to find a place to head for as soon as we can,” I whispered. “The big guns took out a whole bunch of the surrounding buildings and there are damn zombies all over the jetty.”

“Hopefully, the Russians will be preoccupied with trying to save their comrades to be too concerned about us,” Smith said.

We walked along the corridor until we came to another steel gray door, complete with a wheel operation. It wasn’t the same exit I’d used earlier but I guessed it led to the ship’s upper deck. Smith glanced at me then glanced at the door. I nodded.

“Let’s go for it,” I whispered.

We heard the chatter of gunfire and muffled screams and yells from outside the ship’s confines. Smith put his hand on the wheel lock then glanced around at the crowd of refugees huddled around us.

“Everybody stick together, don’t anybody stray off on your own,” he commanded. “We’ll try and get out of the dockyard and take our chances. We’ll head to a safe building once we’re clear of the docks. Anybody who doesn’t feel up to it can back out now. Once we get out there amongst the shit storm, there’s no turning back, got it?”

A mumbling of voices echoed around the corridor and a handful of refugees had second thoughts and backed away, looking slightly ashamed and muttering apologies. Smith waited for those who’d backed out to retreat a safe distance from the exit. He drew the handgun from his jacket and ensured it was loaded and made ready for firing.

Smith took one last glance around the anxious faces surrounding him and turned the wheel lock in the center of the door.

A waft of cordite blew through the doorway once Smith had pushed the hatch open. The noise of gunfire and yells and screams seemed almost overwhelming and I felt my heart hammering in my chest.

“Let’s move,” Smith shouted above the din.

He led the way out of the doorway into the mayhem. I followed him and my eyes took a few seconds to adjust to the bright sunlight outside. Batfish, Wingate and Chandra followed behind me, pursued by a string of the other refugees.

We crouched as we progressed forward. I saw we were located at the side of the ship, below the top decks and on the side of the jetty. The ship was positioned alongside the dock, slightly in front of the vessel that was overrun with undead. Whoever had steered the ship had managed to crunch the bows against the side of the concrete dockside. A large crease in the steel surface spread across the side of the forecastle. Several sailors had leapt over the side onto the jetty and struggled against the numbers of undead. They tried to battle the zombies back, to allow them enough time to secure the ship’s wire hawsers and thick ropes around the large bollards on the dockside.

A crowd of Russian military guys surrounded the collision point, surveying the damage and providing the sailors with some covering small arms fire. The warship seemed to be wedged on the jetty at the point where it had collided with the concrete wall. The Russian military guys all seemed too busy and stressed to notice us creeping along the ship’s side.

No gangway was in position to allow us an access to the dockside. I watched as Smith pulled out the steel pins holding the wire guard rails in place at the side of the walkway. I realized what he was doing and helped him remove the pins. Wingate and Batfish also helped us. I realized the guard rails would fold down overboard if the holding pins were removed. We could jump onto the jetty under the cover of the overhanging deck above us.

The stream of undead still staggered by our position. We were masked in the shadow of the deck above us and I hoped the zombie horde was too distracted by the noise on the adjacent ship, gunfire and shouting on our vessel’s forecastle to notice us.

We removed all the locking pins from two sections of the guard rails and Smith shoved at the steel support bars. Both the sections of railing toppled forward, allowing us a clear path to the jetty.

“All right, let’s go,” Smith barked.

He leapt down, roughly six feet from the side of the ship onto the dockside. I followed him down and the other refugees began to follow us tentatively onto the jetty. A woman screamed in pain as she landed awkwardly, turning her ankle over in the process. A man desperately tried to haul her to her feet but only added to her agony.