Zombie Dawn Apocalypse

by Michael G. Thomas

  “No shit!” replied Kowalski.

  “Wait, can you hear that?” asked Black.

  They stood silently for what seemed like an eternity. There was the noise of movement and smashing glass then it went relatively quiet with just the sound of loud talking and the odd shout. There was another pause and then the scream of a woman’s voice.

  “Fuck, that sounds like the Doctor. Come on!” barked Black as he rushed off into the compound.

  They covered the distance in less than half a minute and without pausing ran directly into the long abandoned motor pool where Ford was standing with his arm around Dr Garcia’s throat.

  Fernanda moved to grab her rifle and one of Ford’s thugs lowered a shotgun, pointing right at the marine’s chest.

  “Hey, easy now, Ford,” said the Captain, trying to calm the situation, “what’s the problem?”

  “You know what the problem is,” replied Ford, as he manoeuvred the Doctor between him and the Captain.

  “This bitch is planning on leaving me here, yeah, I know your plan,” he said with a snigger.

  Kowalski, looked to the side and past the crazed Ford, “What the fuck!” he said.

  Ford, confused for just a moment looked in the direction of Kowalski’s gaze. It was all the time the Captain needed and in one smooth movement he whipped out his Colt 1911 automatic from his right thigh holster. The first bullet struck Ford in the shoulder and knocked him backwards. As he flew backwards Black fired three more shots, two striking the man with the shotgun in the chest and the third just missed the second and final man. As the injured Ford hit the ground, Fernanda rushed forward and punched the last thug in the side of the face. The blow was heavy and knocked the man to the floor where she followed up with several kicks to his chest.

  Captain Black moved forward and held onto Dr Garcia.

  “You okay, Doctor? Making me save your butt again I see,” he said with a grin.

  Fernanda had already clasped handcuffs onto the man she had struck whilst Kowalski checked on Ford and the man that had been hit in the chest. With the sound of the commotion a number of the people from the camp arrived, some with weapons though it was clear that the problem was over.

  “Ford is injured, the bastard will live though. This guy, well, he has a hole in his chest, I think it’s safe to call this one a kill.”

  The lights flickered and then most of them flashed on though a number remained down.

  Fernanda did a quick scan of the area.

  “Captain, we’ve got gaps in the line. I recommend we get on the ships and fast.”

  As if to signify the importance of their fragile situation a volley of gunshots came from the west.

  Captain Black shouted at the top of his voice.

  “To the ships, grab what you can and move it!”

  The marines made their way down the hill and towards the jetties where the boats and ships were moored. The largest were the research ship and a Harpers Ferry amphibious transport vessel, though there were a dozen smaller vessels tied up in various states of readiness.

  As the people made their way to the craft more gun shots blasted out. The evacuation siren sounded, it was incredibly loud and could be heard all over the base. It was not used for anything else as the sound was likely to attract the undead. Given the circumstances, it was hardly an issue. Dr Garcia was now recovering and trying to compose herself.

  “The craft are already loaded, we have all the equipment, supplies and weapons on board,” she said whilst moving up the access ramp to the deck of the research ship.

  More gunfire erupted across the camp though most of the people were now already on the boats and small ships. Kowalski ran up towards the Captain and Dr Garcia.

  “We’ve got a problem with the Harpers Ferry,” he said with a tone of urgency.

  Captain Black turned to the Doctor.

  “Get the Flotilla to sea and get started, we’ll catch up,” he said and then started back down the ramp.

  A group of a dozen marines dashed past, running along the water’s edge towards the marines’ personal vessel, the amphibious transport. Though they were marines they looked nothing like they had ten years before. Half of them were new recruits, whilst the others were seasoned veterans with long and tough careers behind them. As well as their well-worn combat fatigues they carried additional armour, especially around their necks and joints. They looked more like a cross between a conventional infantryman and a medieval knight. At their sides each also carried side arms and close quarter weapons such as machetes and maces. Times were obviously very different to their days fighting insurgents in Afghanistan.

  “What’s the problem?” asked Captain Black, as he and Kowalski fell in behind the group of marines.

  “There’s debris blocking our exit. We have three guys down there now but they say it’s going to be another ten minutes at least before we can move. Should we abandon the ship?” he asked.

  The camp was now almost completely empty save for a handful of people carrying the last few supplies to two small ships. The smaller vessels were already pulling away and the Moreau was belching smoke as she powered up her engines. With a final blast on her horn she started to pull slowly away from the quay. The marines were now just a short distance from the Harpers Ferry. The ship looked like a small merchant vessel but carried an interesting assortment of equipment on its deck, including two small hovercraft and a helicopter that was covered and lashed down. A dozen marines were standing along the deck firing down into the waterfront as the first of the zombies tried to get close to the ship. A volley of fire from the group running along the water’s edge cut them down and in seconds they were across the ramp to the ship. Kowalski and Captain Black were last across and as they hit the deck the ramp behind them started to lift. The Captain moved up to the firing line and lifted his M4 carbine from his shoulder.

  The second wave of the undead was much bigger and thirty or forty of them split off and made for the ramp. The marines’ fire cut down many but their numbers continued to swell until seven or eight of them were grabbing and pulling at the ramp.

  “Get them off the ramp,” shouted Kowalski, as he aimed carefully at the nearest.

  More gunfire crackled as one zombie after another was flung backwards, yet for each one that fell another two appeared.

  “Where the hell are they coming from?” asked Captain Black as he added his own fire to the battle.

  With a sickening scream the motorised winch burnt out under the strain of the pressure and smoke blasted from its rear. The ramp dropped three feet and hit the stone quayside. The zombies almost seemed to sense their opportunity and made for the access to the ship with renewed zeal. Fernanda and two other marines had worked their way to the bow of the ship where she took control of the retrofitted weapons mount. It was fully manual, but these days simplicity was king. The two marines helped load the weapons whilst she spun the twin fifty calibre mount around.

  “Get back!” shouted the Captain as he quickly worked out her plan.

  The marines moved back a few feet and took up position on the deck where they could still pick off the odd creature. There were now a dozen of them on the ramp and hundreds more were pushing their way to the entrance. The first four were already stepping onto the deck when the marines’ rifle fire cut them down. This was nothing next to the power of the bow weapon’s mount. With the deck clear Fernanda opened fire. The Twin M2HB heavy machine gun fired a massive bullet that measures half an inch in diameter and was easily capable of shredding aircraft and lightly armoured vehicles. Against the undead this weapon was overkill but the kind of overkill that the marines could only applaud at. The first fifty rounds tore off arms and heads as the ramp was plastered in sparks and flashes. Only one creature made it across and Kowalski took care of it with a careful shotgun blast to the chest. As more attempted to cross Fernanda swung the weapon further to the left and started to cut apart the ramp with the weapon. The ramp structure shook and rattled as bullet after
bullet took chunks out of the structure. The second swarm did even worse than the first as not one made it across. With a loud grinding sound the ramp buckled in the centre and then with one final groan the last half snapped and dropped into the water, taking three of the creature with it.

  A great cheer rang out across the deck as the only access point to the ship was severed. Captain Black headed for the bridge, closely followed by Kowalski. As he made his way inside a marine approached him.

  “Sir, the route is clear, we’re ready to go.”

  “Take her out and join the Flotilla,” replied the Captain as he looked towards the shoreline.

  The entire camp was now overrun as the undead hunted for any signs of life.

  “I hope we left nobody behind, if we did they’re zombie food now,” he said grimly.

  With a mighty growl the engines revved hard and leaving a great plume of white foam the vessel pulled slowly away from the quay and out to sea. As the bow pushed out they could see the silhouette of the rest of the Flotilla across the low light of the rising sun. The largest by far was the research ship, but there were a number of slightly smaller converted cargo vessels and a good number of boats they had recovered over the years.

  A blast echoed from the side of the camp and the light exposed a great horde of dark shapes moving about.

  “Is it just me or do we always seem to be leaving our places of refuge with fires to the rear and the open sea in front of us?” asked Kowalski wryly.

  “Of course, we’re marines. That’s what we do!” answered the Captain with a smile.

  He turned back and watched the burning shoreline as they moved out to the deep sea.

  CHAPTER 17

  Resolution Island, New Zealand

  “Right, you lot, get out in front, shoot any bastard you can get a good shot at. Only fall back behind us if they get within ten yards or you run out of ammunition!” Bruce ordered.

  Ten minutes passed quicker than any of them had realised with very little progress made in clearing the trench, and the creatures were already arriving in greater numbers.

  “Hey, boss! We’ll be out of ammo in less than a minute!” Christian called.

  “Christ, we were never ready for this, this isn’t a skirmish, it’s a battle!”

  Bruce looked back at the trench and to their outer wall, and then to Keith who was overseeing the clearance of the trench.

  “How long do you need?”

  “I’d say half an hour at least!”

  “Fuck me, that’s not gonna be easy!”

  He looked out at the skirmishers as they fired off their last bolts and arrows.

  “You, go dump the bows behind the wall, and reassemble here!”

  As they ran back to the outer wall, Bruce looked out at the ever-growing horde. They had never had to deal with creatures in such numbers since establishing their causeway defences, it was if the hordes knew their defences were down.

  “Right boys, looks like it’s our fight from now on, we need time, so stay sharp and keep formation!”

  The zombies continued to stagger towards them in increasing numbers. The first few hit their shield wall and presented no real danger at all, but it was only five minutes longer until the sheer frequency of the beasts was becoming a challenge. Bruce looked along the line to see his soldiers hacking away, breaking skulls as quickly as they could, but it was not enough. He knew they could not last where they were, and they could not risk losing their best fighters in the initial engagement, the causeway was lost. He looked back to Keith.

  “We can’t hold out, get going, we’ll follow you!”

  The men working over the trench picked up their tools and made a dash for the outer wall.

  “Right lads, times up, back to the wall!” shouted Bruce.

  The Islanders made their final strikes before turning tail and heading for the gates at a steady jog, easily outrunning their attackers. Bruce was the last to go, heading up the rear. Finally, he got through the gates as Christian and Connor swung them shut behind him. He keeled over, panting heavily from the exertion.

  “That could have gone better,” he said.

  “Well it could have gone a lot worse too,” Connor replied.

  “Right, the lot of you stay here, we have no idea how long this wall will hold, Dylan is in charge, I’ll be back when I can!”

  He leapt up onto his horse and headed off for the town. When he was clear of the walls he swore at himself, sick at the thought of failing, knowing full well how much trouble they were now in. He rode into town to find Hackett strapping on his armour and weapons.

  “How’d it go?”

  “We couldn’t get the trench closed, we were overrun, and we’re out of bolts and arrows already,” replied Bruce.

  “Christ, that’s not a good start.”

  “Tell me about it, any news on the fleet?”

  “No, I haven’t exactly given them any thought.”

  “Well maybe you should, they could well turn this fight if they could get here soon enough.”

  “Alright, follow me!”

  The two men stormed into Jake’s cabin.

  “Jake, any word from the fleet?” asked Hackett.

  “Yeah, I got through to them, they had a rough time but seem alright. I tried to tell them what’s happened, but the signal was bad.”

  “Can you reach them?”

  “Right now?” he asked.

  “Fucking right, mate,” said Bruce.

  “Yeah, I’ll try.”

  “Do it,” ordered Hackett.

  Jake picked up the radio handset, still a little alarmed by the men bursting into his home with such speed.

  “Pacific Flotilla, this is Resolution Island, please come in, over.”

  They waited a few minutes, nothing.

  “Repeat, Pacific Flotilla, this is Resolution Island, please come in, over.”

  “This is the Pacific Fleet, over,” replied the operator.

  Hackett snatched the receiver from Jake’s hands. “This is Bill Hackett, get Dr Garcia, over.”

  “Is this an emergency? Over.”

  “Bet your ass, son, now get her on the line,” he shouted.

  The three men waiting impatiently for a few minutes until the radio again sounded.

  “This is Dr Garcia, I understand you have a problem there, over.”

  “This is Bill Hackett, yes we have a situation, I’m gonna hand you over to Bruce, he handles our security.”

  Bruce took up the radio handset from Hackett.

  “This is Bruce. Listen up, lady, there’s a small causeway that joins us to the rest of the island. There are God knows how many thousands of zombies on that land, and the storm last night has closed up the trench we created to divide us. We have walls, but I can guarantee they will fall before long, we probably have a day if we are very lucky, over.”

  “Can you not create a new trench? Over,” asked Garcia.

  “Not without a lot of time, which we don’t have, over.”

  “We are estimated two days away, can you not bolster your defences until then? Over.”

  “We’ll hold out as long as we can, but I’d bet good money that if you take that long you won’t find any living left here, over.”

  There was silence for a few minutes minute, the Islanders eagerly awaiting a response, desperately waiting for an answer to their problem.

  “We will do everything we can to get to you as fast as possible, that’s the best I can do, over.”

  “Then that’ll have to do, don’t hang about, over and out,” said Bruce.

  They sat in silence.

  “Okay, what’s the situation?” asked Hackett.

  “We are now holding up at the outer wall, but we need ammunition. I’ll take what we have in the stores, but that won’t last much longer either, best thing we can do is get everyone capable of holding a weapon to those walls and hold out as long as we can.”

  “Alright, you get ammunition to the walls, I’ll amass every wea
pon and fighter I can and meet you there.”

  “Right, I’ll see you at the wall,” Bruce agreed.

  Bruce stormed towards his cabin and rushed in, again going straight to the large wooden chest, pulling out a wrapped up sheet, the only thing he hadn’t taken from the box earlier that day. He unwrapped the sheet to reveal his Colt 1911, the weapon he had become so attached to years before. He had only one magazine for the gun, and only five bullets left in that magazine.

  “Couldn’t go down without you, baby.”

  He slipped the leather holster onto his belt and was finally ready to continue with his mission. Moments later he had Hackett’s horse loaded up with all the arrows and bolts the town had left and was again heading out to the frontline. Bruce was galloping towards the wall, he was baking in his armour, sweat dripped from his hairline, the salt hurting his eyes. The only saving grace was that the fresh sweat had softened his gambeson, making movement so much easier and more comfortable.

  CHAPTER 18

  Research Vessel Moreau

  They had been at sea for ten days when the storm hit. It started with reduced visibility and then almost without warning the wind and rain hit hard. The seas were rough and it became difficult to stay out on the deck. For those on the Moreau and the Harpers Ferry it was just uncomfortable. For the smaller vessels it was a big problem. They were still several days out from the Island.

  Dr Garcia and Mr Morton were in the operations room, checking the level of supplies.

  “We should be okay, food and water are not an issue, assuming what they say is true at the Island,” said Mr Morton.

  “Well, we’re well past the point of no return now. I’m more concerned with this storm. Any idea how long it will last?” she asked.

  “We still have access to part of the satellite grid and from what we can tell we should be through it in a matter of five or six hours. It is a major weather pattern though, look at this screen,” he said whilst pointing to the display.

  They looked intently as the cloud formations covered parts of the northern coasts of New Zealand as well as large portions of the ocean.