“Dylan! Grab Connor, Wilson, Bart and Christian, and a boat!”
Bruce let the others go to work whilst he pulled out his binoculars and peered out at their target. It was a small sailing yacht, probably two or four berth. The sails were still up but sagging, no one had touched the rigging anytime soon, and the small amount of wind meant it wasn’t likely to go anywhere quickly. The yacht clearly kept a rib or small sailing boat on board as the mounts and ropes were there for it, but the boat itself was missing, not a good sign.
Fifteen minutes later the six men were aboard a small wooden rowing boat, one of several that the Islanders used for fishing. Dylan was on the rudder whilst Bruce stood at the bow of the boat, keeping a keen eye on their target. As they slowly made their way many of their community watched on in intrigue.
The rowing boat clashed against the side of the sailing yacht as Bruce quickly tied the bow rope onto one of the vessel’s side rails and Dylan did the same aft, lashing them to the side of the boat. Bruce hoisted himself aboard followed by Dylan and Connor. The second his foot touched the deck he drew the machete from his side, his two friends quickly following suit. The boat was eerily quiet, with no signs of life, and several ropes tossed loosely about. Bruce reached the aft of the yacht and looked down at the doors to the cabin. They were shut.
“I don’t like this at all,” whispered Connor.
“Tell me about it,” said Bruce.
Bruce knelt beside the doors and knocked them twice with the handle of his machete.
“Anyone in there?”
After a few seconds there was no response, so Bruce again hammered on the door.
“Hello! Anyone in there?” he shouted.
As his last word sounded out the doors burst open, throwing him backwards onto the deck and a creature tumbled out in front of him.
“Fuck! Kill it!”
Dylan took a quick step forward and kicked the creature hard to the head while it was still down. The zombie tumbled over, but before he could follow up with his machete a second zombie appeared through the doorway. He swung quickly with a strong horizontal cut that hacked the creature’s head from its shoulders and embedded the blade in the rim of the doorway. The body slumped to the floor just as a third beast staggered through. With his weapon stuck, Dylan kicked the creature quickly in the stomach, sending it reeling backwards into the cabin.
Bruce sat up just as the first creature was crawling on hands and knees to reach him, he swung his machete forwards and it smashed into the skull, sending the creature face first into a bloody mess on the deck. Connor ran forward with his club hammer as the third and final creature staggered out from the cabin, with hard vertical strikes the heavy tool crashed down onto its skull, the neck compressing slightly from the heavy trauma. Not waiting to see if it was still alive, he pulled the hammer back and smashed it down onto the head again, fracturing the skull.
The three men looked around, first for any other creatures and then at each other. It had been a long time since any of them had to face off in hand-to-hand combat against the horrors of the undead, and the pulse pounding adrenaline felt new to them now. Bruce looked back inland, and could see Hackett watching intensely as the action unfolded, still not fully knowing the situation. Bruce simply lifted his arm with an upright thumb, and within seconds could hear cheering from the shoreline. He turned around to his friends onboard.
“Well that was a piece of piss.”
The two men chuckled, still breathing heavily from the shock and adrenaline.
“What do we do with this?” asked Connor.
“Well we can’t just leave it as is, got any ideas?” asked Bruce.
“Burn it,” said Dylan.
“Alright, you know how to do that?”
“No problem, mate.”
“Alright, get to it.”
Bruce climbed back down onto their rowing boat as Dylan made the preparations. Within minutes they were again heading for the coast, with the sailing yacht left burning behind them. It was as much excitement as they had felt in years, and despite the risks Bruce felt good to finally have something interesting to do, something to get the blood up.
CHAPTER 12
New South Wales, Australia
The caravan of nomadic travellers crawled along the abandoned coastline like a rough old rope being pulled behind a child. The party of nineteen people looked like something from an old war movie, each with cloth tied around their heads to keep the wind and dust out of their faces. The group moved several miles from the sea, always on the hunt for anything of note that could be reclaimed from the wasteland and to help in their survival. Even after ten years of travel, fighting and desperate survival, they still retained a degree of co-ordination and discipline that even a military unit would be proud of. This tenacity and structure was undoubtedly one of the main reasons for their survival in this hellish scenario. A light wind threw up dust into a gently moving cloud of particles that seemed to be able to work their way through any thickness of clothing.
As they continued their slow trudge a groaning sound blasted through the quiet landscape. Those in the centre of the column dropped to the ground first and the ones at the front and back moved quickly to join their comrades in the middle. It looked almost like an old medieval army that had been threatened by cavalry. The sound became louder and the urgency of the people became greater. In just seconds the column of people had turned into a rough circle, a hedgehog of people and weapons.
Captain Black, a marine and leader of the expedition, carried a well cared for M4 carbine along with a vicious looking bayonet attached firmly to the front of the weapon. Next to him were his two most experienced marines, Kowalski and Fernanda. They were veterans of many campaigns and over the last decade had fought together in scores of encounters with the dead. All three carried similar weapons and the fixed bayonets seemed to be a standard feature of the equipment. The rest of the group was equipped with a variety of firearms, crossbows and edged weapons. After so long in the wilderness is was simple necessity that forced all of them to use, maintain and practice with their weapons. Those that chose not to had gone long ago. Like the survivors of the First Crusade they were tired and hungry but their spirits were high and they were as tough as nails. Jackson and Decker, two survivors of the failed colony in Hawaii, stood with razor sharp machetes at the ready. Decker carried a tired looking revolver in his left hand whilst Jackson carried a bizarre shield that looked like something from a renaissance battlefield. It was a small metal shield, perhaps a foot across yet fitted to the side was a cut down sword blade. The whole device was strapped to his left arm offering both protection and a weapon. Another man, slightly younger than the rest, pulled a cart containing spare batteries and the radio gear that allowed them to stay in touch with their base.
“There!” shouted Jackson.
The marine pointed out to the swirling mist where a group of seven creatures staggered out. They must have been turned long ago as their flesh was badly damaged and they hobbled, unlike the smoother movements they had come to expect of the recently zombified.
“More of them coming from the ridge,” added Fernanda.
“Drop ‘em!” barked Black as he opened fire.
A small volley of gunfire erupted from the group. Each firearm was used in semi-automatic mode to both conserve their limited ammunition and to ensure they hit their targets in the correct place.
The first of the creatures were eliminated in a matter of seconds. As the smoke from the weapons drifted away another small batch emerged, this time the dust and smoke obscured them until they were less than twenty feet away. Several shots brought down the closest but three made it to the group. As the first reached out Jackson slammed his custom shield into its chest and then deftly removed it head with his machete. Two shots from Decker’s revolver splattered the second’s head across the ground. The third and final creature made it to within inches of Captain Black who put two rounds into its head and another to its outstretche
d arm. The fight was over as quickly as it had started. As they checked their weapons and reloaded, Fernanda also checked the area through her binoculars.
“I don’t get it. We’re nowhere near any settlements. Where did they come from?” she asked, though no answer was forthcoming.
She continued panning along the horizon until she noticed a craggy shape in the distance, not far from the coastline.
“Hold on, I think I’ve got something.”
Fernanda handed the binoculars over to Captain Black who looked in the direction she was pointing.
“Interesting, it looks like a compound of sorts and right next to the water.”
Looking back, he checked to ensure there were no more undead surprises waiting for them.
“Right, looks clear for now, let’s head for the compound. Stay close and stay frosty, I don’t want any screw-ups, got it?” he asked.
A murmur went through the group as they shouldered their weapons and continued onwards to the distant compound. Captain Black and Fernanda moved up to the front and a short distance ahead of the rest as they made slow progress. As they moved nearer, it became clear that the area had been abandoned for some time. The first part of the compound they reached was a low outer wall that was fitted with a series of long broken down security cameras. Captain Black examined the cables running from one of the cameras. It ran into a junction box and then a few metres further down it the cable was torn and broken.
“Looks like this was a fortified refuge, maybe a refugee camp?”
“Maybe, look at this,” said Fernanda.
The marine went further into the base whilst the rest of them moved through the breaks in the old perimeter wall. She approached a covered mound about the size of a small house that was buried in the ground. It was sealed by a heavy metal door, that was presumably locked from the inside. On the front was a heavily rusted wheel. Black arrived and moved forward, placing both hands on the wheel. Fernanda stepped back, aiming her carbine carefully at the direction of the door. With one mighty tug Captain Black ripped open the door to reveal a dark room. As the door clanged open he lifted up his own weapon and flicked on the attached torch, instantly bathing the room in a dull yellow.
Black gave a short hand signal and Jackson and Fernanda entered the room slowly. As they moved inside the rest of the group arrived and spread out a short distance from the buried building to examine the site.
“The good news is this placed looks like it was well sealed,” said Fernanda as she moved to a table at the end of the room.
“Yeah, looks like the place has been stripped though,” said Jackson as he pointed out the bookshelves that were empty of items.
“What the hell?” Jackson said, as he held up a medieval helm that had been resting on the table.
Captain Black moved closer, examining the helm and several of the other artefacts that dotted the floor and table. He was intrigued by a piece of bent metal about the size of a jacket. As he looked closer he noticed it was remarkably similar to his old body armour.
“Weird, is it me or does that look like a steel breastplate?” he asked.
“Yeah,” answered Jackson as he lifted the armour.
“Not as heavy as you would think, you reckon they were using it for defence?” he asked.
“If they built this place and survived for more than a few months then they must have armoured up. I doubt even those undead bastards could bite through this stuff. You know what, I think I might keep this gear for myself,” he said with a grin.
Martin wandered in, he wore similar layered clothing as the rest as well as a bolt action rifle on his shoulder.
“We’ve found a few vehicle parts and trash, no fuel, food or weapons through. Looks like they left, probably a few years ago from what we can tell,” he said, before heading back out.
“Interesting,” said Captain Black as he lifted a dusty leather tome from the table. He opened it to reveal page after page of hand written text. He looked carefully at the first page before turning to Fernanda.
“It’s their log, it says here that this was their compound and refugee centre.”
He thumbed through the pages, picking out any key points.
“It looks like they were here for a few years. There’s siege after siege as well as an account of at least one big expedition inland to look for survivors.”
Continuing through the book he stopped about halfway in, carefully reading the contents of the last page.
“Holy shit!” he exclaimed. “Holy, fucking, mother of God!”
“What?” asked Fernanda, unsure whether to be worried or excited.
“Jackson!” he barked, ignoring Fernanda for a moment.
The man came running into the room.
“Get the radio gear set up, we need to contact HQ and fast,” he said before turning back to Fernanda.
“It says here that they were in touch with a major outpost and they were planning on packing up and shipping their entire group over there. Even better, they have left the radio frequencies and co-ordinates for the site. According to this there are soldiers, scientists and supplies. This could be the place we’ve heard rumours of for the past two years.”
He handed the book to Fernanda who soaked in the details as Jackson assembled the antenna for the radio. They were over forty miles from their base and their normal compact radios weren’t powerful enough to reach that distance.
“The gear is ready,” said Jackson.
Captain Black stepped outside and approached the radio gear, still stood in the modified cart. On the floor was the metal tripod that supported the antenna. Jackson handed him the microphone and then flicked on the power. It took just a few seconds.
“Captain Black here, please respond.”
“Base Control here, what is your status?” came back the reply.
“My status is I’ve just hit the motherland, get Dr Garcia and get her fast,” he ordered.
The radio went quiet for a moment whilst presumably the radio operator went for the Doctor.
“Do you think they’re still alive?” asked Fernanda.
“Who knows, maybe. They were certainly well prepared and weren’t forced to leave, that suggests to me they certainly had a decent chance,” replied Black.
The radio crackled as the voice their leader Dr Garcia spoke.
“Dr Garcia here. What have you found?”
CHAPTER 13
Mexico
The forlorn group of five riders had been travelling for hours, through what was left of the night and into the hot glimmering morning. With only a few short breaks for water, they carried on through the day, no one having anything to say after the tragic night before. Finally, the bedraggled survivors came to a halt on an open plain with beautiful views across the land towards the canyons ahead. After they had sat down and got a fire started, they relaxed just enough to finally talk, recovering a small degree from their frightful experience.
“We heading into the canyons tomorrow?” asked Madison.
“I figure we will, yeah, be a change of scenery at least,” Jack replied.
“Is there anywhere left that we can go, Jack, anywhere safer than we have been before?” asked Wells.
“I’m all out of answers, we have travelled the lands for close to a decade now, and not one place has been better than any other.”
“Maybe we should have gone to sea and found an island in the beginning,” said Justin.
“Come on, you remember what happened in Hawaii, and that was after it was purged and re-colonised. The reality is there is no escape from this plague,” Madison said hopelessly.
“So you think as a species we were destined to die?” asked Jack.
Madison looked at Jack, “I’m not sure I believe in destiny, I think we have just met our match and are finished for good.”
“Perhaps God will save us,” added Wells.
“Yeah, we’ve seen a lot of evidence of that so far,” Riley sneered at him.
“Well perha
ps we aren’t the ones who are chosen by God,” said Wells.
“You think there are other survivors in the world? Still alive?” asked Riley.
“Why not, we managed, surely others did too?”
“Managed? Look at us, this isn’t managing, this is dying slowly and miserably.”
“Well you got any better ideas?” asked Jack.
“Don’t you think I might have mentioned it if I did?” Riley sighed.
“That’s enough, both of you! This is total shit, but nothing we can do about it. We are all still exhausted from last night, let’s chill out, get some proper sleep, and continue on with fresher heads tomorrow,” said Madison.
“Some good points,” added Wells.
The rest nodded in agreement but nobody spoke. They just unravelled their beds and laid to rest, to get what uneasy sleep they could. Madison wondered about Jack’s intention of going to the canyons. It was rough terrain where their speed would be reduced, and they had a greater risk of becoming trapped. It felt as if Jack was intentionally leading them into a fight, without admitting it they all thought it, but nobody questioned the tactic. Living had long been a nightmare, death didn’t seem such a bad thought any longer.
* * *
Madison awoke to the fresh warm morning, surprisingly well rested, perhaps the acceptance that they were all going to die sooner or later had helped, reducing the constant desperation and stress that they all felt. No one spoke of their fallen friends or the night which had caused their deaths. They were all happy to get on with the day, glad of each other’s company, it was their most valuable asset left in the world. The five survivors packed their gear, mounting their horses with a new kind of enthusiasm and relaxed vibe, eager to move on.
After three hours of riding they were only half way to the canyons ahead, and the heat beat down on them ruthlessly, they were glad of the water stores they had amassed.
“You know what I’d kill for right now?” asked Madison.
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