The Left Series (Book 5): Left On The Run Read Online Free Page A

Five
     
    Wingate, Jimmy and Batfish shuffled out from behind the bar counter. Cordoba moved centrally into the doorway so she could fully cover the injured guys with the M-16.
    “Collect up those weapons, will you, Jimmy?” Cordoba instructed. “But be careful.”
    “Aye, always careful me,” he muttered and stepped forward towards the corridor.
    Cordoba edged her way around so Jimmy didn’t move across her firing line. Smith set the vodka bottle down on the floor and moved forward to assist Jimmy gathering up the hostile guy’s weapons. I counted seven men in all, including the smoldering man lying on the bar room floor, who seemed to have passed out. Batfish and Wingate kept a vigil over his unmoving body. Wingate bent down to check he was still alive. She glanced up at Batfish and nodded.
    Smith whistled through his teeth when he picked up a sharpened machete with a two foot long blade. “Check out this bad boy,” he said. “Good for slicing and dicing. I’m keeping hold of this mother.” He slid the machete blade between the loops in his belt.
    “We thought you’d have left the building by now,” the guy in the puffer jacket croaked. “With all those bullets flying in at you, we thought you’d of fucked off out of here. Why did you stay inside the pub?”
    Smith turned towards me. “You hear that, Wilde? These guys let their guard down and paid the price for sloppiness. Take note, kid.”
    I felt my cheeks burn. “Point taken,” I muttered.
    “Jimmy, what’s out the back?” Smith asked, averting his attention from me. “Is there a way out of here?”
    Jimmy shook his head. “Nah, just a small car park and a big brick wall, with a hoofing great load of razor wire running across the top of it. Not an easy way to get away from here, unless of course we have a big ladder and a pair of wire cutters.”
    “That’s what I figured,” Smith said. “That’s the reason I didn’t want to kill these pricks stone dead. We need them.”
    “What fer?” Jimmy asked. His mouth hung open in surprise.
    “Insurance, Jimmy. Come on, we best make a move or those guys out front will be coming through the windows real soon.” Smith leaned down and hauled the guy in the puffer jacket onto his feet. The man squealed as his injured right leg connected with the ground.
    “My leg, I cannae stand,” he groaned.
    “Well, you’ll have to live with it, pal,” Smith growled. “Hurts like a bitch when you get shot don’t it? We’re going out front and you’re going to lead the way.”
    “No way,” the guy wailed. “They’ll shoot me dead.”
    “You’d better pray they don’t,” Smith said through gritted teeth. He turned back to me. “Wilde, choose one of these guys, preferably one with a minor gunshot wound. We’ll need at least three of these guys to use as human shields.”
    I moved forward into the corridor towards a small ginger haired guy, wearing a black jacket with the word ‘Police’ emblazoned on the left side. I was pretty sure the guy wasn’t a serving member of the local constabulary. He’d probably liberated the jacket along with several weapons from a cop station someplace. I shone the flashlight over his legs and saw he wore a pair of blue denims. His lower left leg was coated with blood around the outer region of his shin. I had no idea how bad the wound was but decided he was going to be my guy. I jabbed the handgun in Ginger’s face and he winced as I reached down to grab him. I hauled him to his feet, ignoring the whimpering sounds he made.
    “You’ve won the prize of being my human shield, Popeye,” I snarled.
    “Hang on a mo,” Jimmy said. “What if he’s right? What if those bastards oot there shoot at us anyway? They might just say fuck it and start blatting away right through these guys we’re going to be stood behind.”
    “They won’t,” Smith confirmed. “They’re a gang that’s banded together in spite of what’s gone on with the dead springing back up.