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

by Sebastien Woolf

  “Yeah, quite a few this time son,” Jon said, furrowing his brow. “Either a large herd or a swarm. They’ll be on us soon, we’re going to need all hands on deck.”

  “I’ll wake the others.” Josh turned and hurried back inside the house.

  More moans came, rumbling like thunder through the wastelands, they were a lot closer now. Jon heard the sounds but remained calm and silent, standing there with hands on hips maintaining his gaze out on to the intersection. More and more shadows began to move in the distance.

  Footsteps came from inside the house as everyone awoke and came scurrying to the door. Within minutes the entire Armstrong clan stood all in a row leaning against the railing on the porch. Amidst the shadows on the road cast by the morning sun, an increasing number of ominous shapes moved, reflecting off glass windows. Feet scuffed and shuffled up the road and the moaning grew louder.

  Jon cleared his throat. “They’re coming!”

  Faces on the verandah turned a whiter shade of pale.

  Tyler opened his mouth to speak, but no words came out. He stood in shock, dumbfounded as he stared at what was lumbering towards them.

  Despite having lived in a state of survival for some time now, none of the eleven members of the Armstrong clan had any real idea what had caused the world to change. All they knew was that everything had turned to custard quickly and life was now all about trying to stay alive, nothing more. They had each lost someone dear in the aftermath of the turn, dealt with difficulty of having people they once knew attacking them and trying to kill them. They had been forced to change, to fight and to become savages in their own right as a new normal evolved – it was now kill or be killed.

  The moaning continued across the street from where slow moving creatures had emerged, dragging themselves menacingly in the direction of the compound. Jon frantically continued with his mental arithmetic as they came into view. It did not take him long to ascertain the size of the wave that was about to wash down on them.

  “Okay everyone, it looks like we have got ourselves a bloody big group today, a swarm. It’s time to get ready, so suit up and get ready.”

  None of the eight men in the group were new to this drill, they had been through it many times before. They readied themselves for combat by sliding, stuffing and wrapping themselves into a selection of home-made armor and protective gear. Some time ago the group had raided Josh’s sports store, taking everything necessary to fashion armor that would help keep them alive. Football helmets, pads, hockey masks, cricket gear and a selection of various martial arts equipment all lay at their feet on the veranda.

  Combining the gear they had salvaged with custom-made metal plates and strips of rubber they managed to customize full body armor suits, tailored for each person. In no time at all the rag-tag army stood in readiness, dressed in their personal selection of protective gear. They looked ridiculous and they knew it and if not for the life-threatening seriousness of their situation, they would have probably all dropped to their knees in laughter. Funny or not, they all felt safe.

  Individual weapons had been chosen based on personal preference and suitability. How they used them depended on the situation – individual creatures or small packs were picked off with small arms fire, larger herds or swarms however, required bladed or blunt weapons to take them down. At their disposal were rifles, pistols, shotguns, and crossbows along with long-handle axes, hatchets, tomahawks and a huge selection of sports equipment. Baseball and cricket bats, golf clubs, hockey sticks and an array of martial arts weapons were readied for hand-to-hand combat.

  “Need I remind you all,” said Jon addressing the group, “of how important it is to keep your composure out there today.” Many in the group believed Jon’s sermons before each encounter with the undead felt a little like a pre-game pep talk. Each of them knew however, that his speeches contained a slightly more critical message each time and for that very reason they all listened intently. “We cannot afford any casualties so look after your mate, talk to each other, give warnings and whatever you do don’t get isolated. You all know the drill.”

  Jon looked out on to the road, sighing as he took stock of the situation. The intersection was now teeming with undead creatures, moving slowly but steadily amidst their collective moan towards the compound. The undead were ravenous, for they could now smell the sweet scent of human flesh and hungered for a long overdue feast.

  “There’s too many of them today, so we will have to thin them out first.” It was important not to just run headlong into the fray, which was precisely why Jon always took the time to formulate a plan and a strategy. “Once their numbers are low, then we will hit them with everything we have to finish them off.”

  Tyler wanted desperately to be the first one into the fight, he was itching for something to kill. Nocking an arrow he drew back his bow, held his pose and turned to his father for a signal. A smile split his young face in two as he received a nod of approval. “Watch this bro,” he said, confidently to his brother as he released the missile.

  “You’re a bit cocky today aren’t you?” Josh smirked at his little brother.

  Tyler’s arrow did the talking for him, flying through the air on an arc towards its target. With a slight whistle it descended on the incoming swarm, who were completely oblivious to the attack. The arrow thudded into flesh, piercing right through a creature’s thigh, pinning its leg to a parked car.

  “Holy shit! I nailed it!”

  “Not a bad shot to start with,” said Josh, reluctantly tossing Tyler a wry grin.

  “Not bad? Fuck bro, I totally nailed it.”

  Tyler released another arrow which again found its mark, landing flush in the skull of an advancing creature. The projectile pierced right through the brain and extinguished life immediately. One less moan went unnoticed amidst the thunderous roar of the undead on the road that morning.

  “Hell yeah!” yelled an over-excited Tyler. “Take that you motherfuckers!”

  Josh rolled his eyes. “You are such a bloody cowboy!”

  “Awww… stop being such a hater bro, I’m two from two. Beat that, I dare you!”

  “Oi! Stop flapping your gums you two,” said Jon, sternly. He was used to ticking his boys off like this, sick of it too. “Save your energy for the fight.”

  In his frustration Tyler fired off another arrow, this one a little loose and ill directed which flew aimlessly through the morning sky. Missing all lifeforms it bounced off the road, thudding into the wheel of an abandoned car.

  “Like I said, cowboy,” reiterated Josh. Picking up his rifle he moved to the far end of the veranda, where he got himself set.

  On they came; the hideous reanimated fiends, lurching, shuffling and moaning. Rotted flesh hung loosely from their decrepit bodies, saliva frothed and drooled from their open mouths as they gnashed rotted teeth in wanton anticipation of a meal.

  Josh wasted no time and opened fire as soon as he was ready. The first bullet pierced the skull of his target just above the right eye, exiting behind the left ear. Rotted skin and soft cranium peeled away as fragments of bone, flesh and discolored blood escaped through the cavity. The creature fell heavily to the ground, its dead head smashing against a curb.

  One less moan went unnoticed.

  Scanning the swarm of incoming savages, Josh picked his targets carefully. Each bullet was precious in this finite world and could not be wasted, all ammunition was dispersed and used sparingly. Multiple shots rang out from the veranda, multiple targets dropped never to rise again. Josh had become a skilled shot, an expert marksman. Closing one eye he took aim, fired again and took down another.

  “Hey cowboy! Five from five,” Josh yelled.

  Tyler grimaced. He had always looked up to his older brother, regarded him as somewhat of a hero all his life. He knew full-well that Josh was a great shot, which only served to spur on his competitive streak. The two Armstrong boys would often try to outdo one another especially at times like these, for they had spent a l
ifetime battling each other in healthy sibling rivalry.

  Behind in the body count Tyler quickly became annoyed, it was time to catch up. Dropping his bow he picked up his Heckler & Koch PSG1 sniper rifle, which had become a deadly weapon in his hands in recent times. Placing his finger softly on the trigger he took aim then fired, the silencer coughed quietly, somewhat politely. Tyler gave a small whoop of delight as he felled another creature.

  “I’m coming for ya!”

  “Yer still a cowboy.”

  Taking up arms Stuart, Colin, Gerard, Eric and Raj made their way down on to the roadside in readiness for the ground assault. Josh and Tyler were eager to join the cull, but they remained on the verandah with Jon clearing a path with their rifles.

  Gunfire continued to rage, echoing though the suburb for the next fifteen minutes. The barrage quickly cut the swarm to pieces and before long corpses were piled up everywhere, marinating in pools of blood on the road. Raising his hand Jon signaled for a cease fire, bringing the flurry of bullets to an abrupt end.

  Colin pulled out his cigarettes, lit one and took a long, satisfying drag. “Idiots with guns,” mumbled the fat bald man to himself, staring through the smoke up at the verandah. Known as the ‘Mad Butcher of Bourbon Street’, he was tough, ruthless and unpredictable. He believed in the power of muscle and was always keen for a fist fight.

  Amidst the silence that followed came the sound of flapping wings. A thick blanket of darkness descended from the sky as a blanket of jet-black, evil-looking crows landed to feast on the carrion on the road. Such was the wasteland’s new and sinister food chain.

  “Are we ready?” Jon yelled, having joined the main group.

  Heads nodded. Colin smiled as he puffed on his cigarette. The time had come for the real fight to begin and he was champing at the bit to get stuck in.

  “Remember nothing stupid. This is life and death.” Jon’s final comment drove home the gravity of the situation which caused the men to check themselves. All, except one.

  Colin gave a war-cry, so loud that it turned heads everywhere. Even the undead heeded the call, changing course immediately zeroing in on the mad butcher. Colin spun his weapons in his hands in readiness, he could not wait.

  “Remember,” bellowed Jon, channel your energy, stand your ground and fight with controlled aggression. And most importantly, always have your mates’ back. Okay, let’s go!”

  With a collective hoo haa they moved forward and as one they met the swarm head on, picking off the creatures near the front with ease. Dozens fell, yet still they continued to relentlessly stagger forward at a steady pace to their doom. More unaware than undeterred the deaths of those around them did nothing to slow their advance.

  Tyler was excited to get into the fight, arriving just ahead of his brother. “It’s time to tame this chaos!” he yelled.

  “I have no idea what that even means,” said Josh with a raised eyebrow.

  Storming towards the right flank Colin was the first to reach the main swarm. The butcher was a thick-set man, big, strong and rugged with broad shoulders and massive forearms. He sported a beer-gut which protruded through the bloodstained mesh apron he wore over his makeshift armor. He was fearless and uncompromising in battle and morning sunlight glinted off his shaven head as he launched himself into the fray.

  Pressing a white gumboot against the head of a fallen creature, Colin attempted to work one of his meat cleavers from its skull under his foot. With a sickening sound the blade eventually came loose, awkwardly causing him to lose his footing and as he over-balanced he fell square on his arse.

  As he lay there seated on the ground he knew that he was vulnerable and exposed. However, as far as he was concerned it would be an icy week in hell before he fell victim to one of these things. To his right, a second creature lunged at him.

  “I….. don’t… think…. so…!” Colin yelled, righting himself quickly. Swinging the cleaver in his off-hand, he scalped his attacker clean through the forehead with a single, sickening, powerful blow.

  Rage and fury coursed through his veins. “Come on!” he yelled, taunting the undead. Turning to face the oncoming wave he raised both blades above his head, let out another long blood-curdling war cry, then launched himself forward to meet his foe head on. He was a berserker.

  On the other flank Gerard was teeing off with a three-iron. The former accountant liked the feeling of the fairway club in his hands, the shaft was longer than the other irons and it provided him with a much greater reach.

  Across his back was slung a golf bag, which acted like a quiver and contained a small selection of different clubs for different purposes. The sand wedge, with its heavier club head and greater elevation was perfect for his short game, but today conditions were different which was why he chose to play the longer. He was playing very well, almost faultless and today he felt his swing was better than it had ever been.

  Despite his tall lanky appearance Gerard was brilliant in battle. Whilst he lacked the brute force his butcher friend possessed, he was shrewd, clever and cunning, wielding his clubs with absolute precision. Tightening his grip with his fingers inside two black Nublik golf gloves, he rotated though the arc and swung hard again, connecting flush on the jaw of a creature in front of him shattering its jaw. A second blow with the flat club-head to the temple crushed its skull on impact.

  Sometimes, when he was in top form he would make a game of it by verbally commenting on his game. Often in this macabre match play that he played Gerard could be heard uttering the words ‘middle of the fairway’, or ‘on the green in two’. Perfect shots received a ‘hole in one’ call which he delivered with much glee, while miss hits came with the most common of all golfing catch phrases ‘four!’

  Josh positioned himself at the front of the group facing the swarm head on, for this was where he preferred to be and where he did his best work. In each of his hands he brandished a wooden field hockey stick, which he had sharpened and fashioned in order to inflict maximum damage. Speed and skill helped him to survive in battle and he fought with guile, displaying perfect technique and great leadership.

  He struck his first blow with the weapon in his left hand, shattering the skull of a suit-wearing creature right in front of him.

  The undead male looked like he had once been a successful a businessman or banker, wearing a fine suit, tailored shirt, leather shoes and all the trimmings. Whatever he once was, he was now experiencing his second death as his brain stopped functioning.

  Josh’s second blow with the weapon in his strong right hand was delivered with such a force the creature did not stand a chance. With a loud crack he inflicted maximum damage severing the head completely severed from its rotting spine. Blood seeped on to the fine pinstripe suit as the corpse fell in a heap at Josh’s feet.

  Ping!

  A familiar, hollow metallic sound came from Josh’s right as his brother-in-law Eric was hitting home runs with his aluminum baseball bat. With each swing he took with his favored weapon, one which he used to great effect in battle, he reached up and tugged at the peak of his Yankees helmet. Paused, reloaded, then swung hard again.

  Ping!

  Once a successful luxury car salesman, Eric looked more out of place in the new world than any of the others in the Armstrong group, somewhat of a fish out of water. He was a fast-talking, slick operator whose days of wheeling, dealing and negotiating on the car lot were now long gone. With a distinct lack of transposable skills and a penchant for the finer things in life he had found it harder than most to adapt when the world turned. He had little to offer the group in the early days, struggling to be of much value at all in their quest for survival.

  Having gained a reputation as a rude and obnoxious playboy, Eric had to work hard to try to fit in at the compound.

  He quickly came to the conclusion that the only way to gain acceptance within the group was to become more useful in combat. He had done better that that by becoming a relentless warrior, excelling in battle as evid
enced by the number of bodies that now lay at his feet. Flecks of blood and fragments of bone covered his white leather shoes, which he wiped on the back of his suit pants before leaning in for another lofty swing.

  Ping!

  Knocked another one out of the park.

  Losing their grip on the gooey bitumen Josh’s green sports shoes slid in a thick pool of blood. Falling heavily onto his back he was momentarily dazed and lay there in a vulnerable state. Creatures around him instinctively sensed an opportunity and they came lurching forward, hungering for his flesh. Upon seeing Josh’s predicament Zoe acted quickly and came to his aide. Reaching for her rifle she composed herself against the porch railing, took aim and fired. Fired again, then once more for good measure. Bodies fell to the ground, stone motherless dead.

  Josh staggered to his feet, looked to the compound and acknowledged the petite buzz-cut blonde with a quick two fingered salute from his forehead. Composing himself he sunk his boot into the closest corpse to him and then, swinging his weapons he returned to the battle.

  Clutching her rifle Zoe maintained her vigilance, keeping a bead on the road through her scope. She was now truly grateful for the private shooting lessons Josh had given her, teaching her to use the rifle effectively and efficiently. Today she repaid him in spades for all his hard work and toil. The two of them had developed a healthy understanding and friendship through the time they had spent together, but there was nothing more to it than that.

  Perhaps the oddest sight on this bitumen battlefield was that of Raj Singh. The middle-aged Indian gentleman who was fighting with tremendous poise and grace was a kind, considerate and contributing member of the group. An honest hard-working team player his was always one of the first hands to be raised when a volunteer was needed, regardless of the difficulty or gravity of the task. Mr. Singh was incredibly well liked by everyone at the compound for he was a chivalrous and polite individual.

  Everything changed when he stepped into battle as he transformed into an aggressive run-scoring machine, smashing everything in his path with his heavy cricket bat. Looking every bit resplendent in his cricketing whites when he went out to bat, Mr. Singh wielded the willow magnificently well. Having grown up in India cricket was in his blood and he was a master batsman never taking too long to get his eye in.