Dark of Dawn 4Horsemen: Book one in the Dark of Dawn Series

by Sebastien Woolf

  An elegant sweep shot took the feet out from under an advancing creature, toppling it to the ground. He followed that up with a powerful front-foot cover drive connecting with some force to the back of its head, cranium crumbled and life was extinguished. Mr. Singh plundered the undead that afternoon, smashing through the opposition with devastating blows from the middle of his bat. He celebrated his best shots as if he was bringing up personal milestones on his scorecard and with each perfectly placed shot he turned to acknowledge a non-existent crowd raising his bat high above his head, picturing adoring fans on their feet delivering rapturous applause.

  A powerful pull shot punished another creature to his left. Connecting square on the nose the sickening sound of cracking bones could be heard. Flecks of blood splashed onto his fine white cricket pads, they would only get dirtier as the day wore on.

  Time and time again the army of the undead were repelled, for they faced strong and determined resistance on the road today. Corpses piled up by the dozen as the swarm was crushed under the pressure of unrelenting counter-attacks from the well-trained group of survivors. Undeterred, the savage fiends kept coming, advancing menacingly forward.

  Tyler and Stuart fought together with all their might, battling side-by-side swinging their weapons with purpose and incredible ferocity. In no time at all they had cut a swathe through the undead swarm, blasting their way forward and demolishing anything in their path. As the two young men dealt out death sentences, they continued with their long-running game of keeping score with each other, and also with Josh.

  “Nineteen!” yelled Tyler, slicing through a spinal column with one of his hatchets. “It’s over for you Stu!”

  Stuart heaved with all his might and dealt a mighty blow with his long-handled axe, slicing two skulls clean in two. “You’re dreaming aren’t ya, did you not see that?”

  “Oh, I saw it. Is that all you’ve got?” Tyler spun both his hatchets in his hands. Readied himself for another round of combat. “Well my friend….” he said, slamming an axe head into the neck of an undead shop assistant wearing the name tag Sharon, “I think this one…,” finished the creature off with a blow to the top of his head, splitting the skull in two, “… is over!”

  “Nice,” Stuart said, acknowledging his friend’s efforts with a smile and a nod.

  “Ha!” Tyler was now feeling quite cocky. “Is that the fat lady I hear singing?”

  “Not on your fucking life!” Tyler exclaimed, flinging himself forward. His axe was heavy, sharp and deadly lethal. Shattered bones clattered to the ground all around him as the creatures in his path felt the full force of his blows, torsos and dismembered body parts flew through the air in all directions.

  Despite their efforts the youthful enthusiasm with which the two boys fought was often more of a hindrance than anything else, their reckless approach frequently putting them and those around them in unnecessary danger. Whilst their hearts were in the right place they were often too overconfident, causing them to become sloppy and careless.

  For strategic reasons Jon positioned himself at the very rear of the group. Firstly and most importantly he needed to keep a watchful eye on the two boys, whose recklessness constantly put them all at risk. On more than one occasion he had been called upon to step in and come to their aid, mopping up their mess and helping out when they got into strife – they often got into strife.

  Jon also managed each skirmish as if it were an opera, ensuring the right people were doing their part at the right time. Skirting the danger momentarily Jon once again sized up the situation. In no time at all the group had made swift work of the creatures on the road that morning and the swarm had been cut to shreds. The fight had gone well, as planned with only a handful of stragglers now remaining, which meant one thing – it was now time for him to go to work.

  With a single tug of the cord Jon’s chainsaw whirred into life. Depressing the trigger firmly the motor roared, rotating teeth snarling as the chain spun viciously.

  Jon was always mindful not to burn through precious fuel so he backed off a little as he stood there readying himself to mop up the tail. He used his mechanical weapon cautiously and with the utmost precision, handling it like an expert lumberjack as he sliced and dismembered the remaining creatures with ease. With two strokes of his two-stroke Jon sliced and diced as another unarmed attacker was unarmed.

  Blood flowed freely, covering every square inch of the battlefield as bodies fell, laying in piles of twisted, crumpled flesh and bone as far as the eye could see. Working in unison all members of the Armstrong group took out the last few stragglers. Before long the eight men stood alone in the street, the only sound that could be heard was the gentle whir of Jon’s idling chainsaw whirring away softly. Eventually he turned off the motor, sending an echo trailing off in the distance.

  The intersection fell silent as the echo dissipated. All moaning ceased.

  Death lay everywhere around them.

  A crow cawed.

  3

  The Art of Dying

  Colin walked cautiously amidst the carnage, blood and gore squelching underfoot as his white gumboots sloshed through bright red puddles on the road. The air was thick with the foul stench of death, wafting like a thick odorous fog – it was nauseating. All around him twisted, grotesque corpses spilled across the intersection, sprawling from curb to curb. Dismembered body parts, shattered bone and disemboweled organs lay scattered in every direction.

  As he made his way through the mess just off to his left, movement caught his eye. Raising his cleavers he turned and edged forward slowly to investigate the disturbance. Protruding from a pile of discarded flesh he spied a bony hand, grasping and clawing at the ground. Fingernails scraped desperately at the bitumen, tearing from skin as a creature tried with all its might to pull itself clear. Kicking the heap Colin dislodged the body parts, pushing limbs and torsos aside to reveal the last remaining survivor of the battle.

  “Well ain’t you just one tough son-of-a-bitch,” he said, lighting a cigarette. “Fuck me, damn ugly too.”

  Tyler laughed.

  Raising its head off the road to face the butcher, the undead male snapped its rotting yellow teeth in a menacing gesture of defiance. With its only remaining limb the creature slowly dragged itself free. Colin stood there watching, shaking his head as he inhaled deeply on his cigarette.

  Twirling the sharp, shiny weapons in his hands as he glared at the pathetic sight before him.

  Colin was unsympathetic and quite intolerant of the undead, especially when they were in a vulnerable state such as this. They meant nothing to him and he no longer made a connection with them or to anything that they might have been in the past. As far as he was concerned they were nothing more than vile creatures that needed to be eradicated.

  A gargled moan filled with phlegm belched from the creature’s throat, more gnashing and biting. Colin had seen and heard enough and he sighed, it was time for it to end. Slamming down his gumboot onto its throat he pinned the creature to the road, then without second thought he drove a cleaver right through the top of its skull killing it instantly.

  “That’s the last of them,” the butcher said, crouching down and rifling through the dead creature’s pants pockets. Pulled out a set of keys and a fistful of scrunched up cash and coin. “Hmmph…,” he exclaimed, dropping the goods. “Thanks for fucking nothing,” he mumbled, lashing out with his boot in contempt, connecting flush on the cheek and shattering bone.

  “Never mind,” Tyler said sarcastically. “You might get lucky with the next one. Or not.” He laughed loudly.

  Colin glared at him, as he wiped the blood from his blades on the clothing of the creature. Slowly shaking his head and grumbling to himself he moved on to the next body, continuing to pilfer pockets.

  A strange silence descended over the intersection in the aftermath of the battle. The group spent the next half hour meticulously going through the pockets of each of the corpses on the road, scavenging what they co
uld. One by one they reported back to Olivia, delivering their loot to her at the foot of the compound’s big white wall. She stood over the haul with her daughter, sorting the goods into separate piles before stuffing them into hessian sacks. Jewelry and watches glinted in the sunlight as the women inspected the haul.

  “Check this baby out,” Josh said, strolling over to his sister presenting her with a small handgun that he had found in the jacket pocket of a dead creature. “Merry Christmas.”

  “What is it?” Rebecca asked, ogling the weapon.

  “It’s a PPK.”

  “A PP what?”

  “A Walther PPK handgun. The kind James Bond would have tucked away.”

  Rebecca slid her slender hand over the brown plastic grip of the pistol, flashed it around in her hand.

  Josh swayed out of the way. “Be careful Sis!” he called out, “that thing can stop a horse.”

  “Nice, I like it. It’s cute, thanks,” she said, sliding the weapon into the back of her shorts. “If that’s the case, then it might come in handy in the future, especially if I come across an undead stallion,” she added sarcastically.

  “Isn’t that your husband?” Tyler laughed out loud at his own humor.

  Eric spun around and gave Tyler a vicious glare, he was not amused. “You’re such an idiot,” he said through gritted teeth.

  “Fuck off if you can’t take a joke,” came Tyler's abrupt reply.

  “I’ll give you a joke!” Eric fumed. It did not take much from Tyler to him get agitated and he twirled his baseball bat in his hand in a threatening manner.

  “Get real” Tyler sniggered. “What the hell are you going to do, talk me to death?”

  Tyler had long despised his brother-in-law, his loud brash style was just too over the top for his liking. Their feud had been bubbling for some time and verbal outbursts such as these occurred often, making things very awkward and uncomfortable for those around them.

  “We all know you are nothing but a coward anyway.” Tyler fired off another cheap shot.

  Eric was furious.

  “Heeey relax man,” Tyler said with a hearty dose of sarcasm in his voice. “Cowards live longer, so that has to be a good thing.” Staring straight at Eric he added, “That means you’re going to live a very… long… life.”

  Eric saw red, he had heard enough and was about ready to explode. Gripping his bat tightly he took a step forward.

  “Boys!” Olivia yelled. “That’s enough!” Her words cut like a knife and it was a stern ticking off, one which they heeded. “Get on with your work and stop being so childish, both of you!”

  An uncomfortable silence descended as Tyler and Eric just stood there, facing each other off trading evil glares.

  Jon’s voice eventually broke the deadlock. “We’ve got stray’s fellas.”

  Slowly the two men turned their heads to look. Up ahead on the road two lone creatures meandered towards the group, shuffling and moaning.

  Stuart turned to Tyler grinning from ear to ear. Tyler smiled back, his mood changed immediately and he quickly forgot all about his brother-in-law altogether. “Double or nothing?”

  “Hmm…,” Tyler thought for a moment, “winner takes all?”

  “One shot each?”

  “Deal!”

  Stuart won the paper, scissors, rock challenge and chose to shoot first. Nocking an arrow into his bow, he drew back, closed an eye, took aim and waited. Waited some more, searching for the right moment to release.

  Both boys had become proficient archers, their primitive weapons regularly hitting targets, striking with stealth. Their training had served them well with countless hours spent shooting in the back yard honing the skills they needed to become deadly in combat. As they always did in a fight, the two of them continued to keep score.

  Stuart’s arrow landed right on target, sending blood trickling down an advancing creatures forehead as it collapsed in a heap on the road. The blonde lad gave an excited fist pump as a broad smile lit up his face. As he turned to his friend he raised a finger, pointed between his eyes and he handed him the bow. For a brief moment he gloated in the accuracy of his shot.

  Tyler had now erased Eric completely from his thoughts, he was grateful to his friend for the distraction. Stuart was great like that, always making others feel good by acting the fool, most of the time it was completely unintentional. His best friend stood there with his arms folded watching as he took his turn, engaging in his favorite sport of undead target shooting.

  Tyler’s arrow found its mark too, thudding in to the head of the second creature. “Take that mofo!” he said with a laugh. “Boom!” Gave a little dance then turned to Stuart, curtsied in jest.

  The second creature took one further step before crumbling to the ground.

  “Great shot!”

  “Thanks mate, call it even?”

  “Yeah, I guess. No point arguing is there?”

  “Ah… no!”

  Laughing the two boys made their way over to the two creatures and retrieved their arrows. A quick search of the corpses revealed a number of interesting items, which they pocketed. Tyler decided to keep the pocket knife and moleskin notebook he found in the jacket pockets of his victim, he had a feeling his father would like this so he tucked it under his arm. He then shared a chocolate bar he found with his friend. There was no guilt amongst them, or any of their group for ransacking the dead, it had become a necessary part of their own survival.

  Eventually the group drifted back to the safe confines of the compound. Jon and Gerard were both quite surprised by how much they had collected as they carried the laden sacks of loot down into the basement of the house, it was not often these days that they had this sort of opportunity falling at their doorstep.

  Daylight streamed through a small window on the opposite side of the stairwell, illuminating the dark underground room. There was a sense of order to the bunker, everything was stacked neatly in orderly fashion, packed away tidily and labelled. Rows of metal shelves that lined the walls were filled with clothes, shoes, trinkets and weapons, cupboards were sacked full with canned and packaged food, so much so that they were overflowing. Piled on top of each other at the far end of the basement in a dank corner were dozens of plastic large containers, all filled with water.

  Long before the world turned, Jon had begun converting the property into an impregnable stronghold, gaining inspiration from television shows where people readied themselves for the apocalypse. In no time at all this had grown into an obsessive hobby. At the time he did not subscribe to the whole judgement day philosophy, but when the world turned he was forced to believe very quickly. The global events that triggered the end of the world as he knew it were something much more sinister and evil than he could have ever imagined, forcing him and his family underground. For the first few weeks of the turn they had huddled together here in the safety of the reinforced basement, listening to the hideous screams that echoed through the night, every night.

  An uneasy silence had greeted them when they eventually ventured out from the darkness of the bunker. In their absence, the world had completely changed. No cars moved through the once busy intersection outside their home, alarmingly there was no traffic noise whatsoever. There were no pedestrians, there was no hustle, no bustle, no noise at all – the city simply appeared to have died.

  The only sound they heard was the unmistakable rumbling of moaning that came from deep within the city. At the time of the turn due to the high concentration of creatures at the intersection, this was a constant hum which resembled a non-stop Gregorian chant.

  Most of what followed was a blur back then to the Armstrong’s as they quickly came to terms with their new surroundings. In the early days of the turn their chaotic lives were filled with confusion and anguish. Days became bleak for quite some time as everything they had worked so hard for, was lost in an instant. None of them really fully understood how or why things had changed, they had spent every day since working hard to adapt to t
heir cruel new world – it was the end of everything as they had known it. Amidst all of the chaos the one thing that they were all thankful for was the bunker Jon had built under the house.

  Mid-morning brunch was served. The mood in the group was somewhat pensive, for it had been sometime since they had been in this situation. Lifting a ceramic mug to his lips Jon sipped his hot tea. He turned his gaze to the road, from where he sat on the veranda he had a clear view of the intersection, of the carnage.

  My God! What a mess.

  Tyler took a slice of orange, placed it in his mouth causing his face to squirm as he savored the flavor. “That was a pretty intense morning,” he squeezed out between chews.

  “Yeah, I reckon,” agreed Stuart. “I tell you what though,” he added, “If I were God, this is how I would probably end it all too. Just for kicks.”

  Colin cocked an eye at him, stared circumspectly under raised eyebrows. He chewed a toothpick, working it around his mouth with his tongue.

  “How can you not see it man,” Stuart exclaimed, responding to the butchers glare. “We’re right smack bang in the middle of the apocalypse. I’m telling you, this is ground zero.”

  Stuart was never at ease. Outwardly he portrayed himself as being self-assured, resilient, and durable, but inside, a battle raged as he continued to struggle to come to terms with the new world. It was unlike anything he had ever known or imagined and life now had never felt so far from the things that he had loved before, Surviving was tough and everything was a confused puzzle to him. Everywhere he looked he saw nothing but death and destruction and there was a vastness to the world that filled him with dread each time he ventured out. When it had emptied the city had grown much larger for the few who remained. For the most part though he coped, the rest of the time he put on a brave front to hide his angst.