Zombie Dawn Apocalypse

by Michael G. Thomas

  “That’s the church, it’s locked up and chained, but something is giving the door hell, I can only imagine it’s most of the former population of the village.”

  “What do we do?” asked Madison desperately.

  “We can’t stay, we have no idea on their numbers, and we are now so few.”

  “So we just put our tail between our legs and run?” asked Justin.

  “That’d be about it, yeah,” replied Jack.

  “Let’s do this, I’m sick of the sight of this place,” said Riley.

  “All agreed?”

  “Not like we have a choice,” added Wells.

  “Alright,” said Justin.

  Madison nodded in agreement.

  “Ok, we have no idea how long those doors will hold for, who knows, we must assume we’re on borrowed time,” Jack explained.

  “What can we do?” asked Madison.

  “We can’t take the wagon, grab your horses and a few spares, load up essential supplies only. Make sure we have as much water as possible.”

  “And be careful about what you take, there’s a lot of blood around this camp, we cannot risk taking anything infectious,” Wells added.

  Moments later the handful of survivors were busy salvaging everything they could, in just five minutes they had loaded and prepared all that mattered in their world. Jack pulled himself wearily up onto his horse. Setting out every day was tedious and miserable, but doing it with less than a quarter of your friends surviving, and too little sleep, made it feel more hellish than ever. Jack wondered about Madison’s desperate state the day before, wondering about their purpose in life, maybe they didn’t have one. Maybe life was over for them, and they were just prolonging their misery. He put the thoughts to the back of his mind, his responsibilities as the leader overtaking his personal misery.

  The others mounted their horses, and without a word from anyone, they began their march onwards, none of them now knowing what to say. It was clear to all that the end of their lives was near, They only wondered when it would come.

  CHAPTER 8

  English/Welsh border, United Kingdom

  The sun had now set and they had been on the road for nearly two hours without a break and it was starting to show. The dull yellow lights of the tired convoy made slow, wearied progress along the debris-strewn highway. The tiny group of battered, smoking vehicles were all that remained of the once strong compound known as the Green Zone, the last substantial refuge in the entire British Isles. After a long and bloody siege only a dozen vehicles had been able to try and escape from the burning town and of those only six had made it to the walled perimeter. In the ensuing violence only five vehicles were able to fight their way to the safety of the road outside. It was a terrible event, that so few people escaped from the population of the two hundred and twelve survivors of the zone. This was a tiny fraction of the brave souls, who had stood against the horde for an entire decade, and the morale of those left was low. The road led away from the zone and deep into the heart of what was the lightly populated region of Wales. The roads were barely navigable and signs of life and civilisation had long vanished in the battles, raid and fires that had ravaged the region over months and months. They had limited supplies, weapons and ammunition but even worse, they didn’t have a plan or even a real objective to aim for.

  At the head of the column of vehicles was the battered and heavily scarred seventies Land Rover. It used to have a vivid beige paint scheme but in the last years it had been repainted and modified to make it more useful for the survivors in the Zompoc. The front of the vehicle was hidden by a massive iron plough that served both for protection of the vehicle and also to help clear dirt and debris. Unlike most Land Rovers this one had been specifically chosen, by Nick the de-facto leader of the group, due to the fact that it was fitted with a V8 engine. The extra torque and power was critical for moving heavy weights and pushing them out of dangerous situations. Up on top of the vehicle was a weapon mount upon which sat a 40s vintage Bren Gun. The light machine gun had proven itself reliable and accurate on many occasions, not least during their violent escape from the town.

  Nick was sitting in the front of the Land Rover, holding onto the buffeting steering wheel as he manoeuvred past yet another abandoned and damaged car. Inside the modified Land Rover were Zack and Max, both men of experience in the war against the dead and both exhausted by their fighting just hours before. When they first met they were hardly the best of friends but in the course of this struggle they had fought together in many encounters and knew they could rely upon each other in combat.

  Nick looked into the one remaining side mirror to check on the rest of the column. Immediately behind them was the armoured bus that carried most of the civilians that had been evacuated. He couldn’t quite make out the rest of the vehicles though he could see the dust trail being kicked up by those behind the bus so he pulled out the radio.

  “Hey everyone, give me an update, how are you all doing back there?” he asked.

  There was no response from the rest of the vehicles, maybe their radio equipment wasn’t working.

  Sat next to Nick was Zack who was busy reading what was left of their old map of the area. He was trying to compare what the map showed to what actually existed in front of them and in many places it was a though he was looking at two totally different areas.

  “I don’t like this, from what I can tell it looks like the map shows the motorway is blocked from the damage last year. I don’t think we’re going to be able to get through. We’re going to have to either take the city route or the southern valleys until we can rejoin the main road,” said Zack.

  “Shit, that is a problem. Do you remember the last time we went near the city?” said Nick.

  “Yeah, that didn’t go so well,” replied Zack.

  The radio crackled into life.

  “No shit,” muttered Nick under his breath.

  A voice came from the radio as one of the vehicles responded to his initial message.

  “We’re okay, the bus is running but we’ve got red lights all over the dashboard. Looks like oil and fuel, I think we’re leaking both. Either somebody didn’t do their job before we left or we took damage in the escape. Either way I don’t think we’re going to be able to keep this pace up for much longer.”

  Nick turned his head dismissively.

  “That puts us in a real problem, a real damned problem. Is it me or are we getting kicked in the balls repeatedly?” he said whilst looking over to the ripped and damaged map that Zack was still staring at intently.

  From the back of the Land Rover Max leaned forward pointing out several of the locations to Zack.

  “We could stop here and do a quick check, I haven’t seen any signs of the undead around here,” he suggested.

  “A good idea, if only you were right. Look!” said Nick, as he pointed to the side of the road.

  A small number of zombies were stumbling around near an upturned truck that was lying in a fragile state along the side of the highway.

  “Fuck!” swore Max.

  “Hey, easy now fella, we’ll work out a plan,” said Zack though his voice was far from convincing.

  The column of vehicles continued their slow progress along the road though there seemed to be a marked changed in the speed and risks they were now taking, probably down to the very serious issue of damage and wear to the already worn out vehicles. Experience had shown in the past that too much adrenalin and speed increases the risks of blowing out a tyre or stalling an engine and in this zombie infested world that usually meant one thing, zombie food and that was something they had all fought a long time to avoid.

  The familiar crackle of the radio signalled another plea from the rest of the convoy.

  “Okay, we’ve done a quick look around and we just can’t tell from inside here. We’ll need to pull over soon, if we don’t we might have to abandon the bus,” came back the reply.

  Nick paused for a second as he double-checked th
e map before turning to Zack.

  “Well?” he asked.

  “Seems pretty simple to me, we find a safe place and do a check on the convoy. We can’t afford any failures on the way, remember Gloucester?” he said with a grin.

  “Yeah, I’m trying to forget it,” said a sarcastic Nick as he grabbed for the mic.

  “Okay, listen up. We’re working out a new route now. How many made it and can you see how the rest of the convoy is doing?” asked Nick.

  Again there was a painful pause as the vehicles continued to limp along before the survivors on the bus could radio back.

  “No problems with the convoy yet, though I’m seeing a bit of smoke from one of the trucks,” came the reply.

  “Smoke, how bad?” asked Nick.

  “I don’t think it’s serious, I think it’s been doing it all the way,” said the man.

  Nick gave the map one last look before announcing his decision.

  “Okay, I’ve checked the route and I think this is the best option under the circumstances. We come off the motorway in about two miles and then take the main road that runs parallel with the motorway. It’s at least ten miles from the nearest town and after four miles it joins a dual carriageway until we meet back to the motorway.”

  “You think those small country roads are a good idea? Some of those are impassable. Don’t forget we’re talking ten years of neglect.”

  “Yeah, and they weren’t up to much before all this happened!” laughed Zack.

  Nick clung to the steering wheel as they hit something in the road. It wasn’t significant but it did rock the vehicle and cause them to swerve off to the side.

  “Fuck!” swore Nick as he recovered their position before continuing his conversation on the radio.

  “It’s not ideal, but we have used them on and off over the last eighteen months and if we take it easy we should be okay. Anyway, the city is a no go area. The last scout party we sent said the city was still teeming with the undead and that isn’t likely to have changed. More importantly though is what do we do in the next five minutes? We need to check the vehicles and the supply situation. There’s no point in pushing on if half the vehicles break down in the next few miles,” he said.

  The reply from the bus was almost instant.

  “No problem man. You never know, the old services on that road might even have some fuel. If nothing else it is big, open and flat and won’t be easy to sneak up on.”

  “Okay, to the services it is,” said Nick.

  He checked his mirrors, making sure the armoured bus was still behind them. They now had just a mile to drive before hitting the exit. The old motorway used to carry two lanes of traffic in each direction but now it was overgrown and full of plants and debris. Every few hundred yards they drove past a rusting hulk of a long abandoned car or truck and even those that looked reasonably intact had almost certainly been looted for anything of value.

  “Fuel? Are they kidding? The service station is the obvious place for any survivor in the last ten years. I doubt there’s a single litre of the stuff in the entire place,” he said angrily.

  “Like it matters. We have enough fuel for the next few hours, right now we just need to get off the road and check on the vehicles and our people. That was a close call at the castle and we’re lucky any of us made it out alive,” said Nick.

  “True,” said Zack whilst looking out of the passenger side window.

  At the side of the road a sign was covered in foliage but it was just possible to make out the exit symbol at the top.

  Nick pulled on the intercom radio and hit the button.

  “We’re coming off at this exit. Get your people ready, we need to form a laager, remember how we practiced it.”

  “Roger,” came back the one word reply.

  The convoy continued its slow, methodical progress along the motorway as they swerved in and out of the debris and abandoned vehicles. The bus that followed Nick was heavily modified in terms of armoured protection, though most of the modifications were worn or damaged as they hadn’t been used for several years. Nearly all the windows were fitted with slats and hinged metal flaps hung down low over the wheels. On top of the bus were several weapon positions where hatches hut been cut into the roof and surrounded by a metal bar on which weapons were mounted.

  Behind the bus another three vehicles followed and each had been modified in much the same fashion. A medium sized ambulance was the next in line and until the escape it had been used as a rescue and medical vehicle. It was not equipped with weapons but did have the best armoured passenger area in the convoy and in an emergency could operate as a panic room or safe area to hide in until help could come. The final two vehicles were a small van and a minibus. Both were lightly armoured and used as light transports by the survivors. The van carried a single weapon mount on the roof while the minibus had extra hatches, ladders and fighting platforms so that it could be used as a raised platform for accessing buildings without having to get out on the ground.

  The lead Land Rover pulled off to the left as the convoy left the motorway and proceeded up the exit ramp and onto the wide, circular road that wound around and towards the service station. In the years before the outbreak it had been a convenient place for drivers and passengers to rest and relax on a long journey or to grab some food or fuel before they carried on. This time was different though. The debris on the exit road was substantial and Nick needed to work hard with the plough to force his way past the scrub and rubbish to reach the entry road to the service station. As the other vehicles struggled to follow they could see down over the raised road surface to the motorway below them. About a quarter of a mile ahead into the distance the road was blocked by a large number of vehicles, though whether this was by accident or design they would never know.

  Inside the Land Rover Nick changed down to the low box on the gearing to give him extra control and torque at low speeds. At a walking pace he pushed past the debris and into the parking lot that was almost totally abandoned save for three tankers and a few burnt out cars.

  “Holy shit, you think there’ll be any juice in them?” said a surprised Max.

  “Somehow I seriously doubt we would be that lucky to find three fully loaded tankers just sitting there waiting for us,” replied Zack.

  Nick gave a restrained laugh as he pushed back into high box with a clunk. Though the ground was overgrown the debris was much less than on the road. They pushed forward towards the area outside the entrance to the station and about fifty yards from the tankers before coming to a halt.

  Before Nick even gave the order, Zack was climbing up and onto the top of the cab so that he could man the Bren Gun. Nick kept the engine running and the lights on as the rest of the vehicles arrived. They formed up next to each other but not too close in case they needed to leave in a hurry. It was clear from the noises coming from the bus that it was suffering serious mechanical problems and when the engine was switched off it gave a sigh that almost sounded like relief. Doors banged as a dozen or so of the survivors left their vehicles and headed for the bus. All the group was armed though only a few with firearms.

  The door on the bus opened to reveal a tall man in battered riot armour, it was Gary, the ex-police officer who had helped with the running battle to escape the town. He jumped down, followed by several others.

  Nick cut the engine on the Land Rover and jumped out. Max pulled out a machete and followed him as he headed for the group assembling next to the bus.

  The only sound other than a gentle breeze was the low mechanical sound of the hundred-foot tall wind turbine a few hundred yards away. Incredibly, it was still moving though it sounded much less smooth than it had when installed fifteen years earlier. A few dull lights flickered from parts of the station, presumably powered from the modest generator built into the wind turbine.

  “Hey, stay frosty! Three shots in the air if you spot any trouble!” he shouted before turning to the group.

  “We’ve got big troubl
e,” said Peter, one of the Johnson brothers, as he scrambled out from under the bus.

  “What is it?” asked Gary.

  “Well, three things. First, we’ve got an oil leak, a big one. Second, the engine mounts are going, I doubt they’ll hold out much longer.”

  “And the third?” asked Nick as he reached them.

  “The third is we only have the reserve tank with any fuel left in it. The main tank has a hole the size of my fist in it,” said an exasperated Peter.

  “Oh man, that’s fucking great!” cried one of the passengers who started to pace back and forth.

  “What are we gonna do? Can we spread out between the trucks?” asked another.

  “Good question,” replied Gary, as he looked about.

  “Any idea on how many made it out?” asked Nick.

  Jessica, a middle-aged woman with a very young child on her back, came forward with a list.

  “We’re checking on weapons and supplies, but I do have the numbers on people here.” She passed it to Nick who then moved so Gary could also read it.

  “Thirty-six? Shit, is that it?” asked Nick.

  Jessica nodded, saying nothing.

  “Says here we have two wounded, how bad?”

  “One has a broken arm, the other has wounds to the head and leg. They’re both still unconscious,” she answered.

  Max stepped forward, brandishing his machete.

  “Wounded, are either of them bitten? You know the rules Jessica!” he said firmly.

  “Hey, I just checked. We need to keep checking them over properly,” she answered indignantly.

  Nick looked around the group. The vehicles were in a bad way, but the people looked even worse. He looked towards the tankers and the service station whilst formulating his plan.

  “Okay, we have about three hours before it gets light. I suggest we secure the parking area and the service station until daylight. When we get some light we’ll reappraise the vehicles and work out a plan in the meantime. Before we can relax though, we need to get this place under control.”