The Left Series (Book 4): Left In The Cold (8 page)

Smith, Gera, Wingate and I
stood in the hallway of the second house, studying the map in the hallway while we waited for Batfish and Cordoba to finish up in the bathroom. Killnockie was such a small place that it wasn’t even listed on the tourist orientated diagram of the area. We had to roughly guess where we were but Gera was good at map reading, gauging our approximate location by the position of the sun and using a compass he carried.

“So, where are we headed?” I asked, slightly worried we were going to be left out in the open at nightfall.
Staying in the village of Killnockie was an option but nobody wanted to after the fiasco with Bill.

“If we keep heading towards Glasgow, we’re bound to find another abandoned inn or hotel somewhere along the way,” Smith said. “Hopefully, we can find a place to hole up until the snow clears in a month or so.”

“Isn’t it a bit dangerous to head towards populated areas?” I asked. “We haven’t exactly had a good track record in any city we’ve visited in the past.”

Smith shrugged. “It’s a fair point, Wilde Man but where there are people, there’s shelter and food. Right now, we don’t have enough supplies to last more than a few days and we sure as shit can’t camp outside with our asses hanging out in this cold.”

“We’ll be okay if we can find the equivalent of the Glenross Hotel,” Gera chipped in.

“Exactly,” Smith agreed. “There must be a thousand of those kinds of places
around the city limits of Glasgow. It’s Scotland’s biggest city, for Christ’s sake.”

Gera studied the map again. “The only problem I can see is the River Clyde, here.” He pointed to a streak of blue north and west of the city. “Crossing the river is going to be difficult if we want to stay away from main highways. There’s a few spurs off the river as well that we should be wary of.”

“Copy that,” Smith grunted. “We can still make our approach from the east and hope we find someplace on route.”

Batfish and Cordoba joined us in the hallway and pulled on their backpacks. We told them our plan for our intended route and they both agreed.

“Let’s not leave it too long before we find someplace,” Batfish sighed. “I’ve had enough of hiking for one day.”

“We’ll stop at the first decent place we find,” Smith said.

We left the house and the wind immediately whipped around us. The steely coldness bit into my face as we headed east.

We made slow progress
for the next couple of hours, passing through wooded glens and across barren, open fields before we stopped to study the map again. I felt a horrible sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach, as though we were completely alone and wouldn’t find any shelter before nightfall. The sun was already dipping and we didn’t have much daylight left.

“There’s
a golf course with accommodation somewhere up ahead,” Gera said, pointing at the map. “My guess is, it’s located just over that ridge.” He pointed slightly left of our position, over a snow covered hill.

Climbing up the steep, icy slope filled me with dread but if there was going to be a nice warm room at the end of the trek, then it was a sacrifice worth making. My breathing became labored as we
trudged up the hill. The wind blew chunks of snow and ice hard at me, I felt as though I was being sandblasted. I’d never felt so cold and tired in my whole life. Had I been on my own, I probably would have simply collapsed in the snow and welcomed the onset of hypothermia to put me out of my misery.

Eventually, after a few slips and slides and much exertion, we reached the summit of the hill.
We stood for a few seconds to gather our breath and take in the scene across the valley below us.

The remains of a vast, flat expanse of the golf course was indeed situated at the foot of the valley and a desolate looking, gray stone castle shrouded in white swirling mist, stood in the distance beyond.
The dipping sun’s rays reflected an orange glow off the thick snow covering the castle’s peaks and towers. Even through the bleakness, the castle was a welcome sight.

The problem we had was the numerous amounts of zombies milling around the area between the golf course and the castle.  
                                  

Chapter Twelve

That depressive sinking feeling inside me returned
, as we stood on the hilltop surveying the valley crawling with undead below us. The cold felt as though it was seeping through my bones and wrapping itself around my whole body.   

“What are we going to do?” Batfish sighed. “It’s going to be dark soon and we don’t have time to find any place else.”

“Roger that,” Smith grunted. “We have to find a way into that castle or we’re going to freeze to death out here.”

“Can anybody see a
route where we can bypass those zombies?” Cordoba asked. “We can’t afford to get into a battle with them.”

“We could wait until darkness then try and sneak around them,” Gera suggested.

“Too risky,” Smith sniffed. “If we get separated in the dark, we’re dead. Besides, we need to find a way inside and quickly.”

Even Smith, the usual rough and tough character sounded as though he was desperate to get out of the cold.
Everybody else seemed fatigued and shivered in the wind. We were all desperate for some food, rest and shelter.

“I know it’s going to be tough, but
I think we should move real quick across the flat ground, reach the castle walls and try and find an entry point,” Smith said. “If we move fast, we can outrun those undead bastards before they swarm on us in numbers.”

The last thing I wanted to do was run across fields covered with deep snow. It was going to be like running through maple syrup and we’d be even more weighed down with the
packs on our backs. Then, we’d have to outrun and dodge scores of hungry flesh eaters and try and find a way into a building that had withstood sieges by invading armies for centuries. The task sounded almost impossible.

“Everybody ready?” Smith asked, slipping his M-16 off his shoulder sling.

“Not really,” I muttered. “But I just want to get out of this fucking cold weather.” My teeth chattered as I spoke.

“Ditto that,” Cordoba agreed.

“Anybody who gets left behind, holler like crazy until somebody hears you,” Smith said.

“And pick your shots if you have to use your weapon,” Gera chipped in. “Try and conserve the ammo.”

“Holler if I get left behind; shoot if they get close, right. I got it,” I sighed. “Come on then, let’s get this over and done with.”

“Okay, people, let’s go,” Smith said with gusto. He led the charge down the hill. It wasn’t so much of a charge really, more like a momentum induced stumble.

I continuously concentrated to try and stay on my feet through the snow. Batfish started to lag behind so I waited for her to catch up. Smith, Gera and Cordoba streaked ahead with Wingate somewhere between us. I thought we’d maybe regroup once we reached the foot of the hill.

“It’s difficult to run with Spot strapped around my waist,” Batfish huffed. “And this damn
backpack is pulling me all over the place.”

I glanced down the hill towards the level golf course ground and noticed a flagless pole still poking out of one of the holes beneath the snow. A wooded area stood to our left and a frozen over pond lay to our right. I guessed the rest of the golf holes lay somewhere around
the castle grounds. The roaming clusters of zombies still hadn’t noticed us approaching but they would surely soon be aware of our presence.

Flurries of snow billowed above the ground in front of Batfish and I as the others made better headway than the two of us.
I thought we could head towards the woods for some sort of cover as a last resort, if we got separated from the rest of the group.

Smith glanced around at us and waved us forward. My legs
became heavy and I felt like I couldn’t run another step, let alone battle scores of zombies amongst the heavy snow. Batfish stumbled and cried out as she fell on her side. I retreated a few paces and pulled her to her feet.

“Are you okay?” I panted.

“Yeah,” she groaned. “I don’t know how much longer I can go on, though.”

“Me neither,” I sighed. “This is killing me.”

We carried on at a slow, almost walking pace. The others had reached the foot of the hill and fanned out slightly, moving cautiously forwards towards the castle across the golf course green. Wingate looked back up the hill and furiously waved us on.

“Come on, Batfish,” I puffed, linking arms with her. “We have to try and keep going.”

“That castle better have hot water inside because I’m going to need a long soak in the tub after this,” she groaned.

“We need to get there
before we start thinking of comforts,” I muttered.

A few zombies had noticed us and started to trudge through the snow in our direction. The rest of the
group was around fifty yards ahead of Batfish and I when we reached the level ground. The castle stood around another two hundred yards in front of them, with dozens of zombies in between.

“Why do
you think all those zombies are around here?” Batfish asked me.

“I don’t know,” I sighed. “Maybe they were guests staying here when the outbreak started or maybe they just wanted a round of golf.”

“Very funny, Brett,” Batfish moaned, as we staggered across the golf course fairway.

Gera and Cordoba rattled off a few single shots with their rifles, dropping a couple of zombies who stood in their path. Batfish and I had our Beretta M-9 pistols drawn and ready to use if we had to. I was worried the distance between us and the rest of the group was growing too
wide. We’d be cut off if the zombies swarmed between us.

Smith turned back and yelled something at us that I didn’t hear. The
moans of the zombies increased in volume and the whole herd staggered in our direction. I aimed my handgun and fired a shot at a short haired male zombie, who probably was only a teenager when he succumbed to the disease. The nine millimeter round sliced through his ear and took a chunk out of the side of his head but the shot wasn’t enough to terminate his undead existence. His head jolted sideways but he plodded on through the snow, decreasing the distance between us.

“They’re going to surround us if we’re not careful,” Batfish wailed.

“I know,” I grunted and fired a second shot at the pimply faced, teenage zombie. This time the round slammed home as a kill shot, hitting him between his nose and his top lip. Blood sprayed from the gunshot wound, across the surface of the snow as he thudded over backwards.

Smith, Gera, Cordoba and Wingate veered right, heading towards the front of the castle.
They moved at a considerably quicker pace than Batfish and I could muster. They were all serving or ex-military and had been trained for maneuvering at speeds in all terrains. Batfish and I had been civilians all our lives, performing sedentary tasks in our working environments. We couldn’t physically compete with those guys.

Wingate turned and waved us forward but we were still falling behind. I saw her yell something to the others in the forward positioned group and they slowed their pace slightly
, but I knew they could afford to stop and wait for us.

A sea of gray, partially rotten faces flanked us from all sides. A cluster of zombies staggered after Smith and the others but some of them broke away and approached Batfish and I when they noticed us following behind.

I glanced left and right. More undead crossed the golf course away to our right but the numbers of zombies on the left was fewer. We couldn’t follow Smith and the others for the moment. If we carried on our route, we’d run into a brick wall of gnashing teeth and clawing fingers.

“There’s too many of them, Brett,” Batfish shrieked and stumbled in the snow.

“We’ll have to go left,” I screeched above the looming, moaning crowd of zombies. “We’ll try and skirt around the back of the castle and meet up with those guys later.” It wasn’t much of a plan but it was all we had for the time being.

I barged Batfish around a couple of zombies who opened their arms to grab us and we swerved to change our intended direction. The zombies in front of us also followed in our wake. I fired a couple more
rounds at two zombies directly in front of us, dropping the gray haired, old couple with separate head shots. I realized I had to start counting the rounds. An empty magazine was no good in this kind of situation.

The route ahead of us was littered with undead, staggering towards us in one’s and two’s. I figured we could easily dodge around them but we’d have to keep our hurried pace to outrun the bunched number of zombies following behind. The castle wall was around twenty yards
away on our right. I took a glance and saw the rough façade of the gray stones standing at least forty feet high. The castle was a fantastic bastion against any invading army and a perfect defense against the mass of undead. Maybe the medieval guys had got it right with their architecture and foresaw what was coming years into the future.