Read Online The Left Series (Book 6): Left On An Island by Christian Fletcher - Free Book Online Page B

of this damn digital and politically correct, health and safety obsessed world that we used to live in, all the missile systems and heavy guns need an encrypted pass code to be entered into each of the control systems before the damn things become operational. And guess what?”
    “Nobody has the codes,” I groaned.
    Smith nodded. “You got it. The codes change with each signal and they only get sent in coded messages from the command center in Russia. And only the ship’s captain has access to these damn signal codes and obviously, he ‘ain’t around.”
    That meant the warship we’d hijacked was almost totally defenseless. Another great plan gone up in smoke. “Oh, that is good,” I sighed. “So that warship is nothing more than a floating carnival boat? If the Russians finally catch up with us, we’re dead in the water.”
    Smith shrugged. “Well, we still got use of some heavy duty machine guns and whatever small arms the Russians left behind.”
    “Not much use against a fucking nuclear warhead,” I snapped.
    Smith dumped his discarded diving gear behind the boulder he sat on. “Maybe not but if we can all get ashore right here, we’ve got a fighting chance.”
    I had to admire Smith’s optimism. If a fleet of Russian warships loomed over the horizon and found their stolen ship and saw the state of it, they wouldn’t have to be a bunch of masterminds to figure out we’d fled ashore to the island. Then there was no reason why they wouldn’t simply bomb the crap out of the whole place, with all of us being evaporated amongst a huge ball of nuclear flames, no matter how hard we fought.
    I had no clue where we were and there was no way of telling if we were even close to any sort of mainland continent. So far, the only building we’d seen was the castle up on the cliff and the only thing we knew for sure was at least one uninfected person occupied the island.
    “Where the hell do we go from here?” I asked. I pointed to the dense foliage behind the bay. “That route looks pretty impregnable through that whole bush land.”
    Smith shuffled around, still sitting on the rock to face the jungle. “There has to be some type of pathway through, maybe a track of some kind.” He lifted himself off the boulder. “Come on, let’s go take a look.”
    I took off my face mask and tossed it behind the rock. “Don’t we want to shed these damn wetsuits before we go trudging through the bush? I don’t know about you but I’m starting to swelter in this damned thing.” I vented rubber neck and sleeves to try and get a little fresh air inside the suit.
    Smith grunted and rubbed his stubbly chin. “I know what you mean, Wilde Man. These suits are uncomfortable out of the water but it’s bad enough we’ve got to tread barefoot. If we take the suits off, we’ve got no protection against thorn bushes, sharp branches, spiky-assed plants or snakes or other nasty-bitey bastards.”
    I hadn’t considered other hazards on the land and felt apprehensive about moving through the woodland.
    I followed Smith as we trekked across the bay, close to the jungle spreading over the landscape to our left. We searched the thick tropical forest for an opening leading to a pathway through. We found what we were looking for on the far side of the bay.
    A two foot wide gap between the dense green foliage stood around five feet high, sandwiched between the forest and the side of a rocky cliff face jutting back out to sea. Tall bushes with large green leaves formed the overhead canopy lining the pathway. The plants bent in an oval shape at the top and reminded me of old hedged mazes I’d seen as a kid when living in England.
    Smith and I stopped and studied the trail. We shared an apprehensive glance then turned back to the clearing in the bush. The track doglegged to the left at around ten feet from the entrance and the high cliff to the right threw dark shadow beyond the turn.
    “What do you think?” I asked.
    Smith shrugged. I