In total, we stopped six times to strip weapons and ammunition from corpses on our way through the base, the luggage area on my car now almost overflowing with hastily thrown in weapons.
At the base shop after everyone apart from Maud and the children had climbed down from the trailer to help, both Shawn and I used our vehicles to defend us from the ever-closer approaching horde, while they emptied the shelves and the storeroom and stacked them outside, ready for loading.
We had underestimated how long it would take to empty the shop and its storeroom, and the approaching zombies, despite our best efforts, continued to get closer and grow in numbers. We needed to gather as much food as we could, so abandoning what was still there was an option we’d already agreed we didn’t want to take unless absolutely necessary.
Simon and Dave, knowing this and realizing the situation could get out of control very quickly, ordered an immediate change of tactics.
Over the radios he ordered Shawn and me to line our vehicles up as a physical shield to protect the ones emptying the shelves and storeroom of the shop. As we approached, he directed us where to stop.
Chet and I got out of the car and steadied our weapons on the metal sheets surrounding my vehicle. They were dented and streaked in blood and gore, but had stood up brilliantly to the punishment they had received. Last night Shawn had told us about improvements he wanted to make to both vehicles when he had the time and equipment. They’d both passed their ‘baptism of fire’ with flying colours, but improvements could always be made.
Dave told Steve, Jim and Shawn to climb up into the trailer. We formed a firing line. I had my shotgun and my .22 rifle.
“Take your time and pick your shots,” Simon shouted, “Keep talking to each other and for fuck’s sake, keep your eyes on a swivel and calling targets.”
The seven of us steadied our weapons and took aim. A few seconds later Simon shouted, “This is not Waterloo. You can see the enemy. You don’t need my permission to discharge your weapon. Kill them all!”
Despite the situation, I found myself chuckling at the endless phrases that both Simon and Dave must have gathered during their years as Sergeants. Single shots rang out as we all fired carefully at the approaching herd. In no time I had emptied one magazine. Ejecting it, I reached into my pocket to grab and insert the next one, and charged the rifle so it was ready to fire. I was pleased that from ten shots I’d felled eight zombies, but was aware that I only had one more loaded magazine in my pocket.
The continual and accurate fire from the four trained soldiers was mowing down the zombies. Chet, realising his shotgun didn’t have the range to do any damage, had grabbed an SA80. Having only fired the weapon for the first time yesterday, he wasn’t as consistent, but occasional cries of ‘Yes’ were a testament to his growing accuracy.
By the time I was halfway through my third and final magazine, all the ones within effective range had been killed. More were coming, but Simon shouted,
“Cease fire! Let them get closer, it’s a waste of ammo trying to get a headshot that far out.”
Becky shouted to get my attention, waving at the pile of mainly food they had cleared from the shop. “That’s about it. Can we start to load up now?”
Glancing at Simon, who nodded, I replied, “Yes. Let’s form a chain and get this on board now. Simon, if you and Dave continue to cover us, can everyone else help?”
“Yes, we can cover this, mate,” Simon replied, “If we need help, you ain’t exactly far away, are you?” he said, pointing at the pile of goods only five metres away. “Steve, go and muck in. Jim, before you go, give Simon and me a hand to reload the mags.”
While the trailer filled with goods, Jim and Dave gathered up the ejected magazines, and, opening one of the ammunition cans, reloaded all the used magazines.
Soon everything was on board, and the increasing level of fire from our guards an urgent and compelling indication it was time to leave. Wasting no time, we all quickly went to our original places in the vehicles and slowly pulled away.
Dave shouted across to us, “I’ll direct Shawn to the mechanics’ workshop and then unless we see anything else of use, the only other place we should stop at is the guard house. We can’t have enough ammo, and we’re burning through it at a fair rate. I hope we can get some more there.”
No matter how many we killed, two more seemed to replace each one. I had no idea where they were coming from, but they kept coming. They were a mix of all ages and sexes, so they were most probably just locals attracted by whatever noise we were making. The crack of high-powered rifles and the boom of shotguns were the obvious culprits, but what else were we to do?
It was a catch 22 situation. The gunfire was attracting them in their droves, but the only way to protect ourselves from the sheer number of them was to use the guns, which kept them coming. We needed to change our tactics when we moved on, but for now they were keeping us safe, so we had to carry on.
We were still twenty-one.
Chapter three
The vehicle maintenance area proved to be a treasure trove of equipment. There was too much available for us to carry, so Shawn and I made snap decisions and indicated what we should take. The heaviest item was a portable generator, which took six of us to manhandle into the trailer.
An urgent shout from Simon, who with Steve was providing protection, drew our attention to the horde of zombies they were failing to keep at bay, despite their sustained and accurate marksmanship.
“We need to go right now!”
As soon as this command was issued, without hesitation everyone rushed to their vehicle and within thirty seconds we were all on board and ready to go.
The base was huge. Dave had given Shawn a hastily drawn map showing the quickest route to the main entrance gate we’d entered though yesterday. As the volume of zombies increased, all ideas of gathering more equipment from other places were abandoned. Shawn was having to weave the tractor to pick the easiest route through the masses heading towards us.
Shawn, rounding a corner, stopped so suddenly that I almost ran into the back of him, the shouts of protest and alarm I could hear indicating that none of his passengers were ready for the sudden stop.
One by one, I could see them all reappearing as they picked themselves up from the bed of the trailer.
The way ahead was blocked by a sea of stumbling undead. The route we were taking to the main exit from the base narrowed between a long line of buildings, compressing the bodies into a solid mass. An uncountable number of zombies blocked our way.
The panic was evident in Shawn’s voice as his question came through the walkie talkie.
“Is there another way? I’m not sure if I can get through this.”
Dave picked up the radio.
“There’s a turning on the left in about a hundred yards. If you carry on you should soon see it. There are a few fences in the way, but it’ll take us to the sports fields. It’s a straight run to the gatehouse from there.”
Quickly judging the distance, it was going to be a close-run thing who would get to the turning first. Us or the undead.
Shawn, realising this as the same time I did, slammed his foot on the accelerator and the tractor took off like a rocket. I couldn’t help but smile as about half of the occupants of the trailer, the ones who didn’t have a good strong grip, disappeared, as for the second time in less than a minute they were sent flying by the sudden and unexpected move.
“Hold on!” I shouted the unnecessary warning to the passengers as they were all already clinging on for dear life, as I too accelerated rapidly, trying to keep as close as I could to the rear of the trailer as it surged up the road.
My view ahead was blocked by the trailer, so I was relying on the odd shouted warning from Dave, who was leaning out of the roof as far as he dared to grab glimpses of the route ahead.
The bangs and thumps grew from the car as it bounced violently over the mangled corpses left by the tractor that I did not have time to avoi
d, given how closely I was following it.
I could hear the tractor’s engine roaring louder as Shawn changed down through the gears to give the tractor the power it needed to ram through and destroy the multitude we were facing, its speed dropping as he did so.
We had clearly lost the race to the turning. I slowed, matching Shawn’s reducing speed, trying to keep as close as I could to the trailer. The sight out through the windows was terrifying. Our small convoy had pushed deep into the zombies. Compressed by the buildings, the concentrated crowd directed all their attention towards us, arms trying to reach us over the metal sides that had felt impenetrable so far, but now felt weak and insufficient.
Before, we had been moving when we’d encountered crowds of the undead, so speed had been our friend, not enabling them to get too close to us.
Dave, Tom and Chet were shouting, screaming and swearing as they used their spears to destroy the brains of any zombie they could reach.
Dave was shouting loudest of all, his battle cries keeping everyone’s killing frenzy going. The tractor had slowed to a crawl.
“His wheels are spinning!” Dave screamed at me, “Too many bodies under the wheels, he’s losing traction.”
“Shit!” I screamed, my mind racing.
A zombie, somehow pushed by the others, was almost over the wedge at the front of my vehicle. His teeth snapping as it looked at me with dark eyes, the primeval look on its face showed its desire to reach me, to pass on the infection. The virus needed to spread to survive. It would not rest until the entire human race had succumbed. I was almost paralysed with fear at the intent to kill me shown on the face of a zombie who was bizarrely dressed only in swimming trunks.
A day or so ago, he’d been just a normal man, most likely on holiday with his family. Now he was a hideous creature, half of his face torn off, whose only aim in life was to end mine.
I couldn’t see ahead, but I could imagine the wheels of the tractor spinning as they lost purchase on the soft bodies of the ones it was running over, only finding grip when the heavy duty tyres ripped apart the body, until they reached tarmac and got enough grip to push the vehicle forward until the next one halted progress.
Dave reached forward and ended the swimming trunk-clad zombie’s existence with a single thrust of the spear through its head.
“We need to do something, it’s getting a bit sporty out here,” he said, stating the obvious, but his use of the phrase from one of my favourite war films calmed me down. I smiled and promised to myself that if we lived through this, I’d acknowledge Dave’s recollection of it.
The zombies were getting closer. Standing on the bodies of their recently re-deceased comrades, they were close enough to claw against the car windows.
The tractor had stopped again and I could hear the engine revving as Shawn desperately tried to keep moving.
In desperation, everyone dropped their spears and began firing into the crowd.
At such close range, heads were exploding when hit by burst of high-velocity bullets from the soldiers’ guns. The shotguns were turning faces into masses of singed meat and bone. But still they kept coming.
Not knowing what else to do, I crushed three more zombies against the back of the trailer. They’d been climbing on the bodies of others and were almost over the front of my car. Panicking and not in full control, I hit the rear of the trailer with more force than necessary.
The trailer moved! Me hitting it had given it enough force to move it forward slightly.
Dave saw this too and screamed, “Again!”
The wood and steel sheets that we had fixed to protect the sides of the trailer and to keep the wheels clear, provided a flat surface for me to push against. Trying to weigh the difference between ramming the car into the trailer and doing some terminal damage, which would not help our situation, and using enough force to help, I drove the car into the back of the trailer. The wedge at the front of the car buckled and crumpled.
It worked. The trailer moved another foot. Keeping the car against the trailer, I pressed the accelerator and increased the power. The engine screamed in protest and the wheels kept spinning as the Volvo fought the immense weight it was trying to push.
It worked. Slowly, ever so slowly, my car gave the tractor just the extra help it needed.
Even over the roar of both engines you could hear everyone screaming and cheering, willing our little convoy onward. The more momentum we gained, the easier it got, until soon I was not pushing the trailer but trying to keep up with it. I kept pressed against it, but that was more from not wanting to change what was obviously working.
Not being able to see anything other than the rear of the trailer, I was taken by surprise when it suddenly veered left. We had made the turning. The swearing and shouts of pain from my passengers as I turned sharply to keep close to the trailer indicated they too had been taken by surprise and were being thrown around.
The cries of alarm soon changed to cheers and shouts and screams of joy as we burst through a wooden fence and onto the sports field, leaving the zombies behind. Breathing a massive sigh of relief, I pulled back from the trailer and veered to the side. Seeing the way ahead was clear, I pulled up alongside the tractor.
Shawn waved his arm to indicate we should stop.
Parking up, I stood up on my seat and waved stupidly at Becky and the kids. Everyone had a look of numb, shocked relief on their faces. I could also hear Sarah wailing her protest at the rough ride and noise she’d had to endure.
After a quick check we were all ok, we agreed to keep moving and leave the base and find somewhere to stop once we were clear. No one disagreed, as the mass of zombies was now visible again and heading our way.
Before I moved off, I stared long and hard at the approaching horde. Their pursuit was relentless. For the last few days we had run from them, fought them, killed them in their droves, but still they came. No matter how many we destroyed, more took their place. The depressing reality was that we could outpace them in the short term, but they would catch us up, or others would find us first.
We needed to get to our castle, and soon. How much more could we take before our luck ran out?
Chapter four
The guardhouse at the gate entrance yielded another good supply of arms and ammunition, which we wasted no time stacking in the boot of the Volvo.
Before we set off, Dave got Steve and Chet to close the gates to the base and secure them.
“There must be thousands still in there. The only way in or out should be this gate so if we lock it, then it’s a few less for us to worry about and it could help others trying to survive around here.” His reasoning and logic sound, we congratulated him and set off north.
The previous night we had mapped the route we thought would be best. The plan was to take as many side roads as possible and reach Dartmoor. The distance wasn’t far, just a few miles as the crow flies. Dartmoor was one of the last true wildernesses left in the south of England. A vast area of moorlands, forests, rivers and tors or rock formations. We anticipated its low population and few towns and villages would make it a fairly zombie-free area, and so provide a safe route.
Our hope would have been to get past Dartmoor and via the main A38, reach the M5 motorway before we called a halt for the day. We would then try and use the three-lane motorway as the fastest route north towards our goal of trying to find and rescue the friends and families of our little band. It had the advantage that it would be wide enough for us to turn around and find another route if we found the way blocked.
But glancing at the time, I realised that it was already past midday. Dave and Simon had insisted that we needed to find a place to spend the night by at least four o’clock. This, they explained, would give us enough time to improve the security of our accommodation, if necessary.
It would also enable us to carry out any cooking, repairs or modifications we needed to make while we still had daylight. If we could manage without the need for illumination, we might a
void any unwanted attention.
The crushed front wedge on my Volvo certainly needed some attention. It had saved us, but it needed fixing if it was going to stand up to any more abuse.
Driving slowly down a B road, we headed towards Dartmoor, Shawn occasionally slowing to shunt a vehicle out of the way or for us to dispatch single or small groups of zombies. We all kept our eyes peeled for danger or maybe other survivors. The few houses or small villages we passed were eerily quiet, with no signs of life, only the undead attracted to our small convoy.
We talked between ourselves, amazed at how quickly the country must have been infected. People had fled larger areas of population to escape outbreaks, but it was most likely that the plague had started in their area, and so they had unwittingly taken the disease with them, spreading it so quickly that any plan to contain it could have never have succeeded.
Globally by now, not one corner of the planet had escaped the rapid spread of the virus. It was just too perfect not to succeed. Our planet, due to the rapid advances in how we travel, had been called ‘a global village’. Mankind was now paying the price of that progress.
But we had survived, so there must be others. Yes, we were in a sparsely populated area of the country, but all we were coming across was the undead.
In the trailer I could see Becky staring behind us, back the way we had come. Stopping at a junction, I stood on my seat to stretch my legs and, leaning on the roof, asked why she was looking behind us.
“If anyone was hiding in a house, we would be past and gone by the time they could do anything about it. They can see we’re not moving that fast and so they might try and run after us. I just don’t want to miss anyone, that’s all.”
“Keep looking, darling. We’re going to need everybody we can find if we’re going to get through this.”
Zombie Castle Box Set [Books 1-3] Page 20