The Left Series (Book 5): Left On The Run (37 page)

McElroy glanced in all directions. “No, don’t fire your weapon. It’ll only excite the neighbors. This wee fuck is all on his own and won’t cause us any bother. I’ll sort this out.”

McElroy slung his rifle across his shoulder before bending down and picking up a loose brick from the ground. He marched towards the weasel faced zombie to meet him head on.

“Hey, Big Lad, how about yer?” McElroy said to the zombie.

Weasel Face only emitted a throaty snarl in response.

I made a mental note to never pick a fight with McElroy. As quickly as I could blink, he swung his fist and smashed the brick into the side of Weasel Face’s head, connecting the hard, pointed right angle directly against the zombie’s temple. The sound of the solid object connecting with bone and skin made a dull thump and Weasel Face immediately went down on his side. The zombie’s head hit the blacktop hard and I thought if the blow with the brick hadn’t killed him then surely the impact against the ground would have.

McElroy tossed the brick away and signaled to the courthouse with a sideways jerk of his head. “Come on, boys, we’ve work to do.”

We followed McElroy to a side door where the boarding had fallen away. The black metal sheet sat sagging away from the doorframe at an odd angle. McElroy tugged his rifle off his shoulder and pushed open the rotting wooden door. The hinges creaked as the door swung inwards and McElroy stepped inside. I hesitantly followed him with Smith and Hannigen traipsing along behind.

Surprisingly, the old docks and rows of wooden pews remained in place inside the courthouse, albeit in a bad state. White paint blistered from the walls in patches, revealing the bare stone blocks. The desks, docks, pews and floor were coated with a dusting of debris and loose chips of plaster, fallen from the crumbling ceiling. The glass partitions that the accused people would have stood behind, separating them from the rest of the courtroom, were all broken or had been smashed.

Our feet crunched on the fragments of rubble as we trod through the courtroom. The air felt gritty and a musty damp stench hung heavily inside the interior. I didn’t know if the boards covering most of the windows were a contributing factor but the interior felt gloomy and depressing, as though the place had witnessed much suffering and misery in the past. A cold shiver ran up and down my spine as I glanced around the decaying courtroom.

McElroy led us through the building’s lobby, which was in an equally tumbled down state. He stopped when we came to a black metal staircase, leading down into total darkness. McElroy pulled up his ski mask so his face was exposed. He felt around in his jacket pocket and took out his flashlight. The three of us also lifted up our masks and I was glad to get the itchy woolen garment off of my face.

“Okay, keep your eyes open and mind how you go,” McElroy whispered as he turned on the flashlight. “Keep following me and don’t stop for any reason, despite what you might see or hear, got it?”

Smith and I nodded, even though I had no clue what he meant about seeing or hearing things. Would there be zombies down there or was he just talking about rats? I glanced down into the inky blackness and didn’t want to head on down and be engulfed in its veil. 

McElroy started walking down the metal staircase. The flashlight beam flickered across the circular shaped, brick ceiling above the walkway. I waited until Smith and Hannigen descended before I followed them down. I breathed in deeply, trying to ignore the churning, ominous feeling in the pit of my stomach.

Chapter Sixty-One

The staircase led down to a gray, chunky looking door, similar to the one which guarded the entrance to the tower block. McElroy shone his flashlight across the door that stood slightly open. I felt an icy cold breeze flowing from the tunnel beyond. Goosebumps erupted on my skin and a chill ran down my back, as though somebody was tipping the contents of an ice bucket down my neck.

McElroy pulled the door wide open and I thought I heard a long, throaty sigh from somewhere in the blackness of the tunnel. A stench of damp and decay wafted in the breeze that blew directly in my face.

The flashlight eerily illuminated the strange semi circular shape of the tunnel’s walls and ceiling. Dark, box shaped lights that once illuminated the tunnel hung to the left of the gray, concrete and red brick wall. A wooden handrail ran along the sides of the tunnel at waist height and disappeared into the darkness ahead.

I closely followed Smith, who was in front of me as we headed into the tunnel. McElroy led, walking at a slow, cautious pace.

I nearly cried out and instinctively turned around when something cold brushed across the back of my neck. It almost felt as though somebody had touched me with their finger. Nobody stood behind me. I could still see the door standing open behind us in the very faint light.

“What’s that noise?” Hannigen whispered.

I hadn’t noticed the three of them had stopped walking in front of me and I barged into Smith’s back.

“Watch it, kid,” Smith muttered.

We stood still, listening.

“I didn’t hear nothing,” Smith mumbled.

“Shh! There it is again,” Hannigen hissed.

This time we heard the noise. It sounded as though somebody was dragging a heavy item across the floor but stopping their movements indiscriminately. McElroy waved the flashlight beam up and down the tunnel but we didn’t notice anybody or anything that could be making the sound. The dragging noise seemed to be all around us and it was impossible to tell in which direction the movement came from.

A sudden loud banging sound echoed through the tunnel, causing me to flinch.

“What the fuck was that?” I whispered.

The dragging noise seemed to have ceased but I was sure I heard whispering behind me. I turned and thought I saw a cloaked figure disappear into the darkness.

“Hey, Thomas,” I called. “Shine the flashlight back down the tunnel behind us. I’m sure I saw somebody moving around back there.”

McElroy shone the light both ways but still the beam didn’t light up anything or anybody.

“Come on; let’s just get moving, shall we?” Smith grunted. “I’m certain we’re going to run into a whole bunch of rats if we hang around down here much longer. And if that happens, I
will
start shooting, believe me.”

I noticed Smith’s facial expression was a combination of fear and bravado. I guessed my own expression was pale white and terrified. The spooky tunnel was scaring the crap out of me.   

“Catch yourself on, Smith,” McElroy said, stifling a laugh. “It ‘aint our little furry friends you have to fret about, man. It’s those big hungry bastards about three meters above us that you need to concern yourself about.”

“Can we just keep going already?” Smith said, opening his arms out wide.

McElroy flicked his eyes to the ceiling, turned and carried on walking.

Smith was scared of the possibility of rats down in the tunnel but I figured something more sinister lurked in the darkness. I’d gotten used to the dead getting up and walking, impossible though it had seemed when it all kicked off but the supernatural, ghosts and shit was another matter entirely.

I felt myself breathe out a sigh of relief when I saw the door at the opposite end of the tunnel. Black paint flaked in patches off the door and it looked as though it was closed. I had a horrible feeling McElroy was going to say something like – “
That’s strange, so it is. The door shouldn’t be closed. Oh, it’s locked and I haven’t got a key
.” But thankfully, that scenario didn’t happen. He slowly pushed open the door and shone the light beam over another black, metal staircase.

“Okay, we’re now inside the famous Crumlin Road Gaol,” McElroy muttered. “I’m sorry to have to say that I was invited to stay inside here for a short period of time in my youth.”

“You’re not the only one to spend some time in the can,” Smith grunted. “Now, let’s get out of this damn tunnel and up that staircase, shall we?”

“Don’t be so hasty, Smith,” McElroy teased. “There may be some dead people up there. We don’t want to be walking straight into their outstretched arms, like lovers meeting after a long while apart, do we?”

Smith sighed loudly and impatiently, not amused by McElroy’s ribbing and stalling tactics. He obviously had thoughts of a ton of rats heading through the tunnel stuck in his mind and gotten a little jumpy. I’d take rats over zombies or ghosts any day of the week.

“My apologies, Smith,” McElroy said, laughing as he spoke. “I’m only faffin’ with you.” He smiled and started up the metal staircase.

“There’s a time and a place for kidding around, Thomas,” Smith huffed. “And this ‘aint neither the time nor the place.”

McElroy’s shoulders shook as he silently giggled. Hannigen and Smith followed him up the staircase and I tagged along at the rear, also glad to be out of the tunnel. The staircase led us up to ground level and I was glad to see daylight, even if it was shining through a slanted transparent roof above us.

We were inside a long, narrow room with stone brick walls on each side. McElroy turned off his flashlight and slipped it back into his jacket pocket. He slipped the rifle off his shoulder and held it at the ready at waist height.

“Where are these damn trucks then, Mac?” Smith asked.

“They were parked out back last time I was here,” McElroy said, pointing the way ahead. “I’ll take you to them. Be on the lookout, you never know if there are any dead stragglers inside the boundary.”

He led us outside into the prison grounds. The old gaol itself was a mass of block shaped buildings, constructed of large gray and beige colored stone bricks, with black, wrought iron railings running around the perimeter. A huge, circular brick built chimney towered above the buildings, casting a long shadow across the grounds.

“So…what were you doing time for in this place or shouldn’t I ask, huh, Mac?” Smith asked, as he glanced around our surroundings.

“Oh, I used to be something of a bad boy.” McElroy smiled as he spoke, recounting memories from his past. “We were in a gang that belonged to one particular side during the troubles. I didn’t do anything that bad but by association to the certain party was enough to put me inside as a political prisoner.” He nodded to Hannigen. “Mr. Hannigen over there was on the opposite side of the tracks. We came from different ends of the spectrum but ended up living in the same tower block. How’s that for irony?”

Hannigen grunted disapprovingly. “That’s all in the past now, Thomas. And it’s best if it stays that way.”

McElroy shook his head. “Just answering the big man’s question, so I was. No need to get yourself in a rage.”

The banter petered out and we walked across the prison grounds in awkward silence. It was obvious the two men had some sort of bad blood in their history and had simply banded together to survive. I didn’t think it would take much for their differences to resurface and boil over.

We walked through a courtyard and towards an expanse of open space where the asphalt ground was visible through the thinning snow. A high, concrete coated wall, at a height of around twenty-five feet stood at the far side of the area. I assumed we were facing the outer perimeter wall of the prison. McElroy stopped in his tracks when he studied the empty ground in front of us.

“Oh, shite,” he muttered. “Ah, no.”

“What’s up, Mac?” Smith asked.

“Those armored trucks I was talking about,” McElroy sighed. “They’re gone.”

I felt a sinking sensation in my stomach as I followed McElroy’s gaze into a vacant space, only occupied by snow and asphalt.

Chapter Sixty-Two

“Those trucks were right here,” McElroy wailed, waving the barrel of his rifle at the place where the vehicles had been parked. “Who the fuck would have taken them?”

“Take your pick,” Hannigen said. “Russians, police, people who worked as guides in the prison, anybody trying to flee the city. The list is endless. They probably thought the same as us, only thought about it sooner.”

“Ah, bollocks, man,” McElroy spat, lurching his head forward in frustration. “We’ve come all this way out here for nothing. O’Neil will never let us leave without some kind of transport to the docks.”

“How about that big old piece of crap right there?” Smith said, pointing behind us and to our left.

We all spun around to see what he was pointing at. A big, red open top bus sat in the shadows, directly beside one of the prison building wings. 

McElroy sighed. “Ah, catch yourself on, Smith. That thing would be too slow and too noisy. Besides, it’s got no cover on the top deck and it’ll more than likely have a few feet of snow inside it.”

“Got any smarter ideas?” Smith said. “I’m all ears.”

McElroy looked to the ground, huffing loudly. “All right, let’s go over and take a wee look.”

We plodded over to the bus and I noticed the upper deck had the words ‘
Belfast City Tours
’ emblazoned along the side.