The Left Series (Book 2): Left Alone Read Online Free PDF Page B

to put down the shot gun. He stepped onto the deck of our boat and Sherman bounded forward as if to attack him. We heard a crack above the noise of the moaning zombies and Sherman collapsed on his side, a circular pool of blood flooded from a gunshot wound around his ribs. Batfish yelled and pointed the shot gun at Long Hair.
    “No, no, no,” I screamed. “What the fuck is going on?”
    “We’re being fucked over,” Smith growled.
    The guy in the floppy jungle hat leapt onboard our boat and twisted the muzzle of the shot gun up into the air. Spot lurched forward and took hold of the guy’s ankle between his teeth, shaking wildly at the leg of his combat fatigues. Batfish and the guy wrestled with the shot gun. They both fell over with the guy on top of Batfish. Long Hair moved forward and held his hand gun to Batfish’s head.
    “We need to get down there, Smith,” I screeched.
    Smith didn’t move. He stood still watching the proceedings with an expression of revulsion on his face.
    Batfish seemed to stop struggling and Long Hair took the shot gun. Floppy Hat regained his feet and then gave Spot an almighty kick that sent the dog spiraling over the side of the boat into the water.
    “Fucking bastards!” I spat.
    “Come on,” Smith rasped. “But we have to stay out of sight. My main worry is that prick on that heavy machine gun.”
    We moved along the roof to the far end of the building, hoping the guys on the boat wouldn’t see us amongst all the commotion.
    A willow tree draped in moss stood a few feet from the far edge of the building. Below us was the grassy bank where I’d earlier witnessed the snake. Smith shot me a glance then leaped from the building into the willow tree. I followed him and hit the soft foliage before feeling the more sturdy branches rip at my skin. I plummeted downward, my fall slightly broken by smaller, flexible branches.
    Smith was already crouching on his haunches with his Desert Eagle drawn and at the ready when I hit the ground. The landing took the wind out of me and I felt stings of pain in my arms and back where the branches had torn at me.
    I rolled up onto my knees and pulled out my Glock from the holster, no time for pain.
    “You move to the boat from the right and I’ll go left,” Smith hissed. “Use whatever you can as cover and keep your eyes on that fucking machine gun.”
    Smith scurried forward through the grass to the left. I kept low and moved to the right, darting between old gasoline barrels and upturned rowing boats as cover.
    I dived behind a low boat trailer, roughly twenty yards from the jetty and peeked over the top. Long Hair and Floppy Hat searched our boat and were busy loading our stash of food and weapons onto their own vessel. They were grinning to each other and muttering congratulatory remarks. Another guy appeared from below the Navy boat deck and joined them on our vessel. He was tall with a shaved head and also dressed in combat fatigues. I glanced left to the machine gun but the guy was still behind the mounting so I assumed Shaved Head was the driver of their boat. Four guys in all. I was sure Smith was doing the same calculations. The machine gun swept the shore in continuous arcs, covering the guys from any kind of attacks from the living or dead.
    Batfish was nowhere in sight so Shaved Head must have taken her below deck and locked her inside the Navy craft.
    Long Hair came out of our control room with a huge grin on his face clutching Smith’s holdall containing bundles of dollar bills. He muttered something to the others and moved towards the Navy vessel.
    I knew that would be the last straw for Smith and waited about three seconds before I heard the boom of his Desert Eagle. Long Hair’s knee exploded and he went down on the deck of our boat. The holdall spun from his grasp and landed on the deck of the Navy vessel.
    Long Hair screamed in agony clutching his shattered leg. Floppy Hat turned in shock, unslung his assault rifle and