Read Online The Left Series (Book 6): Left On An Island by Christian Fletcher - Free Book Online
Authors: Christian Fletcher
Tags: Zombies
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turning the boat around quickly and heading back to the Russian ship.
I saw the back of McPherson’s head explode a split second after another loud crack snapped across the water. Hannigen glanced backward to the shore and began weaving the boat through the sea, barely keeping it from sinking.
“What the fuck is going on?” I screeched. “Why is he just leaving us here?”
Smith turned to me with gritted teeth, nodding to the land beyond. “There’s a fucking sniper up in that castle and he doesn’t want us to go ashore here.”
“A sniper? Why is he firing at us?” I whispered. “He’s killed McPherson.”
“And he’ll kill all of us unless we stop him,” Smith growled.
Chapter Eleven
Smith took a brief look back up at the castle on top of the cliff to our left.
I turned to follow his gaze. The crescent shaped sandy bay sat directly behind us but the landscape steeply sloped upwards, forming a rapidly inclining rock face of around a couple of hundred feet, where the castle sat overlooking the whole area. The castle was angled so the furthest tower looked out over the sea. A battlement section sat on top of the tower with a series of indented crenels facing outwards and running the length of the top of the stone walls. An ideal position for a sniper defending the island.
“You think he’s up there, in that tower?” I asked.
“Undoubtedly,” Smith muttered. “And he’s probably moving positions right now, trying to zero in on us. Those palm trees are probably blocking his view but if he’s as good as I think he is, it won’t take him long to find an angle. We gotta move.”
I glanced around. “Where?”
“Only one place to go and that’s inland.” Smith pointed to the bay behind us.
I glanced back out to sea and saw Hannigen had successfully navigated the sagging boat back alongside the warship. McElroy and his crew were desperately trying to haul the boat back onboard. At least Hannigen had made it back safely. Poor old McPherson. I liked him. The man upstairs had obviously dozed off for a second and forgotten about the Irishman.
“Listen, kid,” Smith said, squirming around in the sea. “We got to shed these damn weight belts and quickly. Lose your air tank if it’s empty but keep hold of your weapon if you’ve still got it with you.”
I nodded, realizing he was discarding anything that was going to weigh him down. I followed suit, unstrapping the weight belts from my waist and the air tank from my back.
“Just try to keep your head below the surface and only come up for air when you absolutely need it,” Smith instructed. “We’re going to have to swim that last stretch to the shore. You okay with that, kid?”
“Guess I’m going to have to be,” I sighed.
“You ready?”
I felt the weight belt slide down my legs and sink to my feet. I removed the air tank and let it drift away behind me.
“Let’s go,” I said with false bravado.
We shuffled to the edge of the reef and plunged into the sea. Smith swam slightly below the surface, I kept my head above water, puffing and panting my way through the water. Smith popped up occasionally to check I was okay, giving me the thumbs up every so often. I kept my focus on the shoreline ahead of me, concentrating on keeping a forward motion and trying to block out all the other hazards lurking all around me. Smith was a good enough swimmer below and above the surface to sniff out any close dangers. I couldn’t even think about the sniper possibly adjusting his sights while aiming at my head. The mind can only cope with so much at any one time.
After what felt like an hour of struggling through the water, Smith surfaced in front of me, around thirty feet away from the shoreline. He stood and walked then shuffled, keeping low in a hunched stance. He flipped up his mask and spat out his mouthpiece, turning back towards
I saw the back of McPherson’s head explode a split second after another loud crack snapped across the water. Hannigen glanced backward to the shore and began weaving the boat through the sea, barely keeping it from sinking.
“What the fuck is going on?” I screeched. “Why is he just leaving us here?”
Smith turned to me with gritted teeth, nodding to the land beyond. “There’s a fucking sniper up in that castle and he doesn’t want us to go ashore here.”
“A sniper? Why is he firing at us?” I whispered. “He’s killed McPherson.”
“And he’ll kill all of us unless we stop him,” Smith growled.
Chapter Eleven
Smith took a brief look back up at the castle on top of the cliff to our left.
I turned to follow his gaze. The crescent shaped sandy bay sat directly behind us but the landscape steeply sloped upwards, forming a rapidly inclining rock face of around a couple of hundred feet, where the castle sat overlooking the whole area. The castle was angled so the furthest tower looked out over the sea. A battlement section sat on top of the tower with a series of indented crenels facing outwards and running the length of the top of the stone walls. An ideal position for a sniper defending the island.
“You think he’s up there, in that tower?” I asked.
“Undoubtedly,” Smith muttered. “And he’s probably moving positions right now, trying to zero in on us. Those palm trees are probably blocking his view but if he’s as good as I think he is, it won’t take him long to find an angle. We gotta move.”
I glanced around. “Where?”
“Only one place to go and that’s inland.” Smith pointed to the bay behind us.
I glanced back out to sea and saw Hannigen had successfully navigated the sagging boat back alongside the warship. McElroy and his crew were desperately trying to haul the boat back onboard. At least Hannigen had made it back safely. Poor old McPherson. I liked him. The man upstairs had obviously dozed off for a second and forgotten about the Irishman.
“Listen, kid,” Smith said, squirming around in the sea. “We got to shed these damn weight belts and quickly. Lose your air tank if it’s empty but keep hold of your weapon if you’ve still got it with you.”
I nodded, realizing he was discarding anything that was going to weigh him down. I followed suit, unstrapping the weight belts from my waist and the air tank from my back.
“Just try to keep your head below the surface and only come up for air when you absolutely need it,” Smith instructed. “We’re going to have to swim that last stretch to the shore. You okay with that, kid?”
“Guess I’m going to have to be,” I sighed.
“You ready?”
I felt the weight belt slide down my legs and sink to my feet. I removed the air tank and let it drift away behind me.
“Let’s go,” I said with false bravado.
We shuffled to the edge of the reef and plunged into the sea. Smith swam slightly below the surface, I kept my head above water, puffing and panting my way through the water. Smith popped up occasionally to check I was okay, giving me the thumbs up every so often. I kept my focus on the shoreline ahead of me, concentrating on keeping a forward motion and trying to block out all the other hazards lurking all around me. Smith was a good enough swimmer below and above the surface to sniff out any close dangers. I couldn’t even think about the sniper possibly adjusting his sights while aiming at my head. The mind can only cope with so much at any one time.
After what felt like an hour of struggling through the water, Smith surfaced in front of me, around thirty feet away from the shoreline. He stood and walked then shuffled, keeping low in a hunched stance. He flipped up his mask and spat out his mouthpiece, turning back towards
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