The Left Series (Book 5): Left On The Run (45 page)

“Cut his throat and throw him overboard if he tries to escape,” Smith growled. He moved from the cover of the shadows and towards the hatch door that lead to the interior of the warship.

I watched him move along the walkway and inwardly groaned. I desperately wanted to get off the damn ship and get going. I was sick of the noise of the wailing siren blasting out. My face ached from the blows I’d received from the Russian soldier and wondered if the guy would wake up anytime soon and raise the alarm.

Chernakov moaned in pain and muttered something inaudible beneath the hessian sack over his head.

“Just keep the fuck quiet, will you,” I growled.

I still wasn’t convinced that bringing Chernakov along was a good idea. Kidnapping the guy was only going to bring a whole load of trouble down on us.

The blaring fire alarm suddenly cut out and I was grateful for the silence. The shouts of the Russians trying to extinguish the blaze on the boat deck reverberated around the harbor. In between the shouts and yells, I was aware of a humming sound from across the water. Then I heard a continuous clanking type noise as though something heavy was rattling along at a steady speed. I took a chance and emerged from the shadows and moved cautiously to the guardrails. I leaned forward and saw the anchor chain on the other warship glistening with water and the big, heavy shackles were rising out of the sea. The humming was also emitting from the ship and a slipstream of water churned from the stern. 

I realized McElroy and his guys had successfully turned over the ship’s engines and were now in the process of raising the anchor.

“Shit, hurry it up, Smith,” I muttered to myself.

I nervously hopped from foot to foot, waiting for Smith and the rest of the refugees to make an appearance.

“Come on, god damn it,” I sighed.

The sound of heavy footfalls on the deck above caused me to shrink back into the darkened recess. I was worried that one of the Russians would spot what was going on across the water on the other ship and raise the alarm.

I didn’t know what was taking Smith so long. Surely he realized we were on a strict time limit if we wanted to successfully complete the bizarre and almost suicidal mission.

Eventually, I heard the door hatch clunking open and breathed out a big, relieved sigh. At last, Smith had finally showed up with the others. My relief was brief when I heard the sound of muted voices speaking in Russian.

Chapter Seventy-Three

I slid back deeper in the shadows, pressing my back against the wall. I slipped on the ski mask before putting my left hand on the sack over Chernakov’s head and felt down to try and cover his mouth. I drew the sheath knife again with my right hand and hoped I wouldn’t be forced to use the weapon. Using a firearm on the upper deck would only alert more Russians and totally give away my position, compromising the whole operation.

Two shadowy figures came into view along the walkway. They were both tall and thin and looked like they were dressed in coveralls. They didn’t wear hats and I assumed they were part of the navy crew. They stopped directly in front of the recess I was hidden in and leaned over the guardrails, staring out to sea. One of them said something I didn’t understand but he pointed out to the other warship. His tone became wary and I knew he’d spotted the anchor chain rising from the sea. I had to do something. I couldn’t let him raise the alarm or we were all screwed.

I was no commando and I didn’t enjoy close combat or killing people but I knew I had to stop these two guys. I glanced at Chernakov. His head was lolling around, dipping towards his chest. Maybe he was unconscious or dead but I didn’t really care. I had bigger things to worry about.

I decided I’d have to leave Chernakov where he was and hope he didn’t wake up and start hollering. I crept from the shadows with the knife held at the ready by my side. The two Russians engaged in a conversation while staring out at the other warship. I knew they’d soon figure out what was going on and rush away to find some assistance.

The two Russians were similar in height and build and I knew I’d have a tough time taking them both out so I had to ensure the first one I attacked was eliminated in quick time. I went for the one to my right first. At least that way I could block the path of the other guy if he tried to run back to the door hatch.

I sprang forward, reaching around the guy’s face with the knife. I angled the blade so it was horizontal and positioned below his chin. Smith had taught me that the throat was one of the most vulnerable parts of the body.

I drew the knife along in a quick arc and heard a sickening, slicing noise. The guy gurgled and his hands immediately went to his throat. I heard the sound of something pouring into the sea below and briefly thought the guy was vomiting into the water. Then it hit me that it was his blood splashing onto the water’s surface. He slumped forward and I let him fall to the deck beside me.

Now, I had to eliminate the other guy.

He didn’t notice what was happening at first. He turned and called the guy’s name before he noticed me. I lunged forward, trying to stab him in the neck. The guy made a high pitched shriek of terrified shock and leapt backwards, swatting at my knife. I felt the blade pierce his hand and he yelped in pain. The guy was making too much noise and would alert more of his comrades if he carried on. I hurriedly slashed with the knife and caught him on top of the shoulder. Another wounding blow but not enough to silence him.

The Russian seemed to process what was going on and bravado replaced the element of shock and surprise. I didn’t expect or anticipate his next move. I was so busy trying to figure out my own strategy that I forgot he may attempt a counter attack. He growled and ran at me, grabbing me in a bear hug. The forward motion of the guy caused me to lurch backwards and I tripped over the dead or dying guy lying on the deck.

I landed hard on my back with the Russian guy on top of me. When things went wrong, they really did screw up big time. I managed to keep a grip on the knife but felt the guy tightly gripping my wrist. He tried to thump my hand against the deck to make me release the knife. I fought back, wriggling beneath him.

I was butted in the face in my previous scuffle so I thought I’d try the same trick on this guy. I brought my head forward but didn’t connect properly with the guy’s face, only delivering a glancing blow across his forehead. The butt also twisted the mask on my face, obscuring my vision.

I thrashed around and felt the stinging pain as the Russian punched me in the face a couple of times. Then I felt a steely grip around my throat. I gagged and couldn’t breathe and I made a series of gurgling noises, which sounded too gruesome and horrific to be emitted by me. My tongue lolled from my mouth and I started to feel dizzy and weak. I tried raising the knife again but the grip on my wrist was too strong and I felt my energy fading fast.

I wondered if it was all meant to end like this. Onboard some Russian warship in Belfast harbor. At least, I would never be a zombie. Maybe I could take some satisfaction in the knowledge I’d never come back to eat or infect other living people.

I could see the silhouette of the guy on top of me from one of the eyeholes in the ski mask. He grunted as he squeezed my throat with one hand, trying to crush my wind pipe.

I was on the verge of blacking out when I saw another silhouetted figure loom behind the guy who was succeeding in strangling me. The second figure leaned forward and grabbed my attacker, wrapping both hands around his head. The Russian’s head jerked sideways and I heard a
crack
, almost as though somebody had broken a tree branch.

The grip on my throat loosened and I coughed continuously, trying to take in huge gulps of air. The looming figure shoved the limp Russian through the guardrails and I heard a splash from the sea below.

A big hand grabbed the front of my jacket and hauled me onto my feet.

“You’ll live, tough guy,” Smith rumbled, slapping the side of my head. “We need to move.”

I pulled the ski mask up above my face and saw a line of faces standing behind Smith. I recognized a few of them as the refugees we’d left onboard when we’d escaped.

“Sorry, I was so long, kid but these guys took some convincing to tag along,” Smith explained. “Looks like you had yourself a blast while I was gone.” With the toe of his boot, Smith nudged the corpse of the guy whose throat I’d slit.

I tried to speak but the sound I emitted was like a combination of
Donald Duck
and
Yoda
.

I pointed across the water to the other warship and Smith followed my gesture.

“All right. I got you,” Smith said. “We need to make tracks, guys.”

I pointed into the recess and Smith nodded. He stepped into the shadows and hauled Chernakov to his feet.

We crept along the walkway at the side of the ship, towards the boats tied alongside. The Russians on the deck above us still battled the blaze, spraying water and foam at the spreading fire. The glow of the flames illuminated the side of the ship with a flickering orange hue.     

Smith led the way and pointed down at the life boats. The refugees hesitantly climbed down the ladder and stumbled onboard, anxiety and apprehension was etched on their faces. We maneuvered Chernakov down the ladder but he fell the last few feet down onto the deck of the life boat.

My throat felt dry and sore while I climbed down the ladder and I hoped I hadn’t suffered any permanent damage to my larynx.

Smith ensured all the refugees were safely onboard before he untied the securing ropes and hopped into one of the boats.

“Go, go,” Smith whispered, pointing to the oars at the side of the boat.

I felt weak and nauseous but still managed to summon some energy to assist with the rowing operation. The second boat trailed in our wake as we headed towards the other warship. I heard shouts from the burning ship behind us but didn’t turn around. I presumed we’d been spotted but maybe the Russians were too busy fighting the fire to concern themselves with us.

A few gunshots rang out and I heard the zip of the rounds near my head. The water plopped beside me and I knew the Russian’s aim was getting closer. Two refugees on the boat behind us cried out in pain and they slumped in their seats. A female screamed and everybody onboard the boat ducked down. 

“They’re shooting at us,” a male voice yelled from the boat behind.

“Keep going,” Smith barked.

We rowed behind the stern of the burning ship so we were out of the line of sight from the boat deck. I turned to our destination and saw Hannigen and the other black clad figures standing on the forecastle securing the anchor chain, which they’d successfully dragged up from the sea bed.

“Steer us around to the back of the ship,” Smith instructed. “That way we’ll be able to get onboard over the quarterdeck.”

“What about lifting up the life boats?” a small, old guy asked.

“Fuck the life boats,” Smith snapped. “We ‘aint got time for that.”

I turned to look at the ship we were heading to. I hoped McElroy and his crew had got the whole vessel under control. I didn’t have the strength or the stomach for another long and sapping battle.

Chapter Seventy-Four

We drifted around the side of the warship and made our way to the quarterdeck. I was glad to see a couple of McElroy’s crew waiting to assist us getting onboard. Surely, they wouldn't have been able to move around so freely if the Russians were still running around onboard?

The sea churned and bubbled at the rear of the ship with the motion of the propellers somewhere beneath the waterline. Smith tossed the securing rope onto the quarterdeck. McElroy’s guys took hold of the lines and hauled us closer to the warship’s stern. Some of the refugees flinched and recoiled in the boats when they caught sight of the black clad figures onboard the ship.

“It’s okay, they’re our guys,” Smith yelled. “Everybody get onboard as quick as you can.”

McElroy’s guys helped the refugees clamber over the guardrails and onto the deck. One of the refugees who had taken a bullet looked in a bad way but the others managed to haul him onboard. Smith and I lifted Chernakov and shoved him through the rails.

“This guy is our navigator,” Smith shouted up to the two guys wearing ski masks.

“We’ve secured four crew members to run the engine room,” one of the guys said, in a high pitched Northern Irish accent. I knew it was either Dunne or Duffy but couldn’t remember which.

Smith pushed me forwards and I scrambled up the guardrails, struggling with the exertion. Dunne or Duffy clasped hold of the back of my jacket and hauled me onboard. Smith vaulted the rails with ease and untied the life boats, setting them adrift.