The Left Series (Book 5): Left On The Run by Christian Fletcher Page A

handgun to his temple. “We’re fucked, ya see,” he yelled. 
    The guy with the cricket bat reached into the side pocket of his jacket, took out what looked like a spliff and lit it up. He kept eye contact with me as he casually strolled around the car to join his buddies.
    I reached into my jacket when the guy was out of sight and curled my fingers around the butt of the Beretta M-9. I hoped we weren’t heading for another shoot out because I didn’t fancy our chances of winning this one.
    “Yeah, it’s pretty much fucked everyplace we’ve been,” Smith said. “But we need to see if we can get inside the hospital and find what we need to help our friend.”
    “Are youse a fucking American?” the guy in the blue jacket barked, with an incredulous look on his face. “What the fuck are Yankees doing in Glasgow?” He pronounced Glasgow as ‘ Glesga .’
    Smith nodded. “Well, I used to be an American but there’s not much of it left right now.”
    “What, Amerikee is fucked as well? Well, fuck-a-dooodle-doo,” the guy in the woolen hat said with seeming amusement. “What happened to the great World Superpower, eh, pal?”
    Smith shrugged and shook his head slightly. “I guess when it came to the crunch, we were just as vulnerable as everybody else.”
    The guy with the cricket bat handed around the doobie and also whispered something inaudible to the other two guys. The mocking mirth filled expressions instantly fell away. They took a couple of paces back and raised their weapons level with the side windows.
    “Youse brought an infected body into our territory,” the guy in the blue jacket barked. “We’ll no tolerate trespassing, especially with somebody who’s infected with a Zed bite.”
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
    Chapter Fifteen
     
    “No, guys, stop for a second,” Smith pleaded, holding up the palm of his hand. “Just listen to me for one minute.”
    “Ya got ten seconds, pal before we start firing.”
    More armed guys rushed to converge on us, forming a ring of aimed firearms around the Range Rover. 
    “She’s not bit, she’s been shot,” Smith hurriedly explained.
    “Bullshit,” the guy in the blue jacket spat. “No hospital on the planet will save her. She’s infected and she’ll turn. I seen it a thousand times, man.”
    “No, wait, just wait,” Smith barked. “Let me tell you what happened. We had something of an altercation with a bunch of guys back at Bellahouston Park. They wanted us to move out but we needed to rest for the night so we shacked up inside some old inn. They tossed a stun grenade through the window and injured the guy in the tailgate. We engaged them in a shoot out and managed to slip away.” Smith nodded as he talked and I noticed the guy in the blue jacket doing the same as he followed the story. “They came looking for us in this car and we had another shoot out, taking out all their guys but as you can see, one of our guys got shot in the process.”
    “What guys at Bellahouston Park?” the guy in the woolen hat snapped. “What did they look like? I’ll bet it was those pussies run by that fucking Clarkie bloke, eh?”
    “Yeah, that’s right,” Smith said. “That was the guy’s name. Hey, look, I can prove it to you. I’ve got one of their radios right here in the glove box.” He raised his hands level with his head and pointed at the dash.
    “Be very careful, pal,” the guy in the blue jacket warned. “Move real slow and if I see you pull a weapon of any kind, I’m going to unload this gun in your fucking face, okay?”
    Smith nodded and leaned across the seat to the glove box. He slowly opened it up and took out the radio, turning the knob on the top so the device bleeped on.
    “Do you want me to speak to them?” Smith asked.
    “Aye, give it a try,” Blue Jacket said. “Let’s see what the bastard has to say for his self.”
    Smith held the radio in front of his