The Left Series (Book 4): Left In The Cold Read Free

particular situation, unfortunately.
    I looked up from my book when I heard the wooden floorboards creak in the lobby outside the library and saw Smith and Wingate making their way to the bar. The two of them didn’t notice me sitting in my leather backed chair as they walked by. I finished the paragraph I was reading and snapped the book shut before hauling myself out of the comfortable chair.
    “Catch you later, Ray,” I muttered, slipping the survival book in to the side pocket of my combat fatigues.
    I gave the front door a quick glance over as I walked through the lobby and skirted around the vacant reception desk. That front door was the weak spot in the hotel and I wasn’t overly keen on the area being left unguarded. Anybody could retrieve the key from behind the bar and open the door, allowing the cold, zombies and hell knew what else inside with us. The way the tension was mounting, I didn’t think it would be long before somebody made a run for it.
    We’d discovered a drunken air crewman outside in the parking lot the previous week. The door had been left wide open and the naval guy staggered around outside in the snow firing off rounds of his M-9 handgun into the night.
    I didn’t usually patronize the bar room much anymore. The place made me nervous and reminded me of one of those Wild West saloons in those old movies.
    Smith, Batfish and Wingate were already huddled around a large wooden table when I entered the bar. Gera stood behind the counter with his back to me, mixing some drinks. The air was thick with a combination of candle and tobacco smoke. The usual crowd milled around the bar room, most of them in their permanently drunken state. I received a few harsh glares as I shuffled through the stone arch entrance to the bar. 
    “Hey, Wilde Man,” Smith called out, waving me over to his table. I returned a nod.
    My feet clattered across the wooden floorboards and I heard a few hushed mutterings of disapproval from a bunch of guys sitting on stools near the counter. One of them said something to Gera but he shrugged off the obviously detrimental comment. Some sections of the military guys had taken a dislike to Smith and I. Probably because we were civilians before society broke down.
    Technically, nobody belonged to the military anymore. No functioning organizations remained anywhere, as far as I knew. Governments, military establishments, police and any sort of law and order were all consigned to the history books for the time being.
    Gera turned his head and flicked his eyebrows upwards as he saw me approach Smith’s table.
    “Hey, Wilde Man, what can I get you?” he asked. “We’re having some ‘ Robert Burns ’ cocktails.”
    “What the hell is in that?” I pulled a confused expression.
    “Scotch, sweet vermouth, absinthe and orange bitters,” Gera recited, like he was proud of his knowledge of cocktail ingredients.
    “Ugh, no thanks,” I baulked. “Sounds fucking disgusting. I’ll just have a bottle of that Scottish Ale, please.”
    Gera pretended to be offended. “Hey, where’s your sense of adventure, Wilde Man? After all, we are in Scotland, the home of whisky.”
    “Just the beer, thanks,” I sighed and moved towards the counter.
    “And you being a Brit. You’re a disgrace to the country,” he mocked.
    Gera shook his head and took a bottle of the brown Scottish Ale from the shelf behind the counter. He flipped off the top and set the bottle down in front of me with a smile on his face. I liked Gera; he was a big, jovial guy from New Haven, Connecticut and always enjoyed teasing me about my British roots. He was around six foot two , with dark eyes and short brown hair with a dusting of gray at the sides. His nose was a little crooked from his boxing days in the Marine Corps and he had a big square jaw that hung open when he cracked a joke.
    Batfish had chosen well in hooking up with Gera. He was sweet on her and she bossed him around in a non-aggressive manner. Gera