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

They have a pack mentality and won’t shoot their own unless they get infected.”
    “How do you know so much, eh, big man?” Puffer Jacket spluttered.
    “Shut up,” Smith snapped. “If you want to live through the next ten minutes, I suggest you keep your mouth closed and do exactly as I say. Understand?”
    Puffer Jacket winced in pain as he raised his injured leg off the ground and nodded his head.
    “Good boy,” Smith said, slapping the guy around the face. “Okay, Cordoba, you pick another guy but I want you to cover our rear when we head on out so Batfish or Wingate will have to walk behind the guy you choose. Don’t forget, we’re going to have to prop these guys upright with a firearm nudged tightly against their asses.”
    “All right,” Cordoba agreed.
    I shone the flashlight over the remaining bodies splayed out across the corridor floor.
    “What about this guy?” Cordoba asked, pointing down to an older man, who looked as though he was in his fifties with thinning dark hair and a bushy gray beard. The man was small but wizened looking. His pale blue eyes burned in anger and he remained silent, despite suffering a gunshot wound to his right ankle, which must have stung like a bastard.
    “I don’t like the look of that guy. He looks nasty but he’ll do,” Smith snorted. “Be wary though and check their pockets for any shanks or other weapons.”
    We moved into the bar and checked out our gathered prisoners. Cordoba found a small knife inside the old guy’s jacket and Smith discovered Puffer Jacket had concealed a cut throat razor in his pants pocket. My guy, Ginger was clear of all weapons but he did smell a little violently of body odor and unwashed hair.
    “What do we do with all these shooters?” Jimmy asked. He’d lined the guy’s weapons up along the bar counter.
    “Unload them and take the ammo,” Smith instructed. “We don’t have room in these rucksacks for any more gear but we can slip the mags into the side pockets. We’ll check if the ammo is a matching caliber at some point later.”
    Jimmy nodded and Wingate helped him unload the firearms and store the spare magazines into their backpacks.
    “What about them?” Batfish nodded towards the corridor.
    Smith glanced back and closed the door. “Forget about those guys. They can’t get very far.”
    I glanced towards the front windows when I heard a deep male voice shouting from across the street outside.
    “Stewie? Stewie, what’s going down there?” The voice had a thick Glaswegian accent and he pronounced the word ‘ down ’ as ‘ doon .’
    “Okay, hikers?” Smith asked the three injured guys lined up by the front door. “Let’s get hiking.” He pushed Puffer Jacket towards the pub exit.
     
     
     
     
     
     
    Chapter Six
     
    An icy cold draft blasted through the entranceway when Puffer Jacket pulled open the front door onto the street. Smith gripped Puffer jacket firmly by the shoulders, hunching behind as he guided him outside. Puffer Jacket hobbled on his injured leg and raised his hands above his head. I followed Smith out of the pub with Ginger in front of me and the barrel of my M-9 handgun jammed against the side of his neck. Batfish huddled behind me and I quickly moved alongside Smith. Wingate and Jimmy clumped behind the old, wizened guy and exited the pub behind me. Cordoba came out last, covering the buildings opposite with her scoped M-16 rifle.
    The wind whistled along the narrow street but the snow had stopped falling. The sky was a deep blue color as dawn rapidly approached.
    We huddled behind the three injured figures and guided them into a horizontal line, facing the buildings opposite.   
    “Dinnae shoot, Clarkie,” Puffer Jacket wailed to his comrades on the roof tops. “We got jumped by these bampots. I’m sorry, Clarkie, man.”
    I assumed this ‘ Clarkie ’ guy was the leader of this little band of desperados and maybe he was the aggressive tall guy we’d encountered in