Read The Left Series (Book 3): Left On The Brink for Free Online Page A

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    The Humvee took a series of twists and turns along the narrow road s, taking us further inside the Airbase. We rocked from side to side and I leaned against the stacked food crates to stop myself falling forward against the lurching motion of the vehicle. I glanced through the windshield and recognized we were on the main thoroughfare through the base, with the darkened administration buildings to our right and the abandoned church on our left. My thoughts returned to Chaplain Brady. The sight of his former place of worship, standing empty with the wooden front doors partially hanging off their hinges and broken windows was disturbing. The building seemed to be a sorry reflection that the remaining human race had abandoned religion all together.
    Johnson took a right turn away from the empty buildings and drove on a different route I hadn’t been on the last time we were inside the base. The Humvee snaked around a bend in the road and Milner let fly with another burst of machine gun fire at a swarm of zombies in the center of the road. The vehicle plowed through the pile of dead bodies littering the blacktop, bones crunching and diseased, rotten flesh squelching under the wheels.
    “Where are we headed?” Smith called to the military personnel in the cab.
    The female turned her head and answered. “We’re going to the air traffic control tower to see how things are progressing.” Her dark eyes flicked between Smith, Batfish and I as though she was studying us for any signs of infectious bites.
    “What things?” Smith asked.
    She replied but her words were lost in the rattle of a new burst of machine gun fire from Milner in the turret. I wasn’t in any hurry to be told our intended destination. I trusted Milner; he was one of the good guys. They wouldn’t be leading us into any kind of bad scenario. Smith, Batfish and I had previously suffered a bad experience at the hands of a bunch of military renegades six months ago at Newark Airport in New Jersey. Smith had suffered gunshot wounds and I’d been injected with a large dose of mescaline, which I was convinced had caused my horrendous hallucinations and bouts of severe depression.
    No, Milner and his crew were the good guys and had put their lives on the line last time we met, helping us collect Jerry cans from the fuel dump on the base.
    Johnson swerved around an abandoned vehicle in the center of the road and took a left through the labyrinth of narrow side streets. A female zombie launched herself at the side of the Humvee and we heard the nauseous crunch of bone striking metal.
    “These fuckers don’t give up, do they?” Johnson bellowed to no one in particular.
    He slalomed right, then left around a small building and I saw we were on the outskirts of the actual airfield itself. Johnson put his foot on the gas and increased the speed onto the vast concrete based expanse. I craned my neck to look through the windshield to see where we were headed. The silhouette of the air traffic control tower loomed from the darkness. Johnson headed straight for the tall, conical shaped structure and I wondered why we were not returning to the squadron buildings.
    A cluster of orange flashing lights to the left of the control tower caught my gaze. I noticed a ring of military vehicles with their mounted heavy machine guns facing outward towards the spread of the airfield. The vehicles surrounded a huge, gray aircraft that was the size of a ten storey apartment block lying on its side. Red and white striped barriers with flashing orange lights on top stood between the military vehicles. A service ramp hung open at the rear of the aircraft’s main body and around thirty military personnel surrounded the sloping incline, loading boxes onboard. Yellow light from the aircraft’s interior swathed the line of combat fatigue clad figures passing boxes between them. Orange lights flashed on top of a fork-lift truck that carried a wooden pallet on its front, veered up