Jessica lowered herself down to look more closely but experience told her not to touch the liquid. She sniffed before sighing.
“It’s fresh and it’s human, somebody has an injury and my guess is they’ve been hiding out in there,” she said, with a sound of dread in her voice.
Nick signalled for the three to follow him as he approached the door to the toilet area. It was the same spot that they’d cleared earlier, when the small number of undead had been waiting behind the door. He opened it slowly, half expecting to see another group of the creatures but instead all that could be seen was a body in the middle of the room, face down and surrounded by blood.
“Holy shit!” shouted Adam as he spotted the body.
They moved in slowly, Jessica watching the rear as they moved into the room. There were no signs of forced entry and no signs of a struggle. Nick leaned down, his machete at the ready and checked for signs of life.
“Anything?” asked Zack.
Nick twisted his head before reaching out and rolling the body over before jumping back in case the body turned on him. It was safe though and the body was still.
“Who is it?”
“Not one of our group, it must be somebody who was hiding out here. Where though?” asked Nick.
A series of gun shots came from inside the eating section, presumably from the recently discovered weapons and ammunition.
“Come on, we need to get back to the others,” said Nick.
“What about him?” asked Adam, as he looked down at the body of the unfortunate soul.
“You know the drill, we can’t leave a body like this behind.”
“Very true,” replied Adam as he lifted up his mace before giving Nick one last glance. Nick nodded in agreement and then turned for the door. Without pausing Adam brought the weapon down hard onto the man’s head, the heavy mace easily smashing deeply into the skull and brain. It was messy and violent but a guaranteed way to avoid seeing him again as a walking piece of carion.
They left and moved back into the centre of the building where they were met by Gary.
“The vehicles are fine but this place isn’t safe. We can see movement in the trees all around us. I think we should bug out and fast, they’ll be in the parking area in less than five minutes at this rate.”
“At the front maybe, at the back they’re already in, come on, we need to go!” said Nick.
The whole group rushed back into the eating area where all hell had broken loose. Zombies were pouring in from three breaches in the windows and walls, though so far they could see no injuries to the defenders. Whilst most of them joined the battle, Nick and Gary held back, looking quickly around.
“If we’re gonna leave we should do it now. Another minute and we’ll be surrounded,” said Gary.
Nick nodded, thinking quickly whilst further blasts and shouts indicated the ferocity of the ongoing fight. Another window shattered and two zombies pushed inside. Gary barged his riot shield into them whilst Nick and Zack hacked and stabbed, quickly putting the two on the ground. Through the new gap in the perimeter Nick could see shapes heading towards him.
“Right, we leave and I say we head for the marina, agreed?” he shouted.
“Fuck yeah!” answered Gary, whilst Zack simply nodded.
“We’re leaving!” shouted Nick loudly, though only those nearest to him could hear.
Nick grabbed Max and shouted so he could be heard over the din of the fight.
“Get the vehicles started, we leave in thirty seconds, got it!”
Max nodded and quickly grabbed some of the people around him and made for the front of the building. Nick, Zack and Gary worked around the group, providing help where needed but more importantly, telling them to grab their supplies and to head for the parking area. In just seconds most of them were heading for the front leaving Nick, Zack, Gary and Jessica in the middle of the room.
One of the older men turned, noticing how few were providing the rearguard. More glass shattered as a dozen zombies pulled themselves inside.
“Go,” Nick shouted, “make sure the vehicles are ready, we’ll follow soon,” he barked.
The four fighters took a few steps back, giving themselves a little more time before the undead reached them. Nick looked over his shoulder, he could see the people loading gear into the trucks and climbing aboard but over half were still not out of the front door and they obviously needed more time, even twenty seconds would help.
“Come on, they need time!” shouted Nick, as he slashed at the nearest zombie, his sharp machete easily slashing the hand from the wrist. They were hit on three sides but their skills and experience helped them stand firm and to concentrate on watching each others’ flanks whilst they worked quickly and methodically. Gary and Zack were now both carrying shields and with these they could block bites and flailing strikes whilst Nick and Jessica dealt the killing blows.
Something must have caught Zack because his feet were pulled out from under him making him fall flat onto his front. Jessica twisted around, spotting a large creature with almost no discernable clothes on his body bearing down on Zack. With a quick slash she brought her katana down from her shoulder and slashed from collar to thigh. The cut was deadly and almost split the thing in half. She reached down to help Zack and was almost struck herself by another that reached out to grab her. Luckily for Jessica, Zack was able to pull out his emergency pistol, a vintage seventeenth century wheellock pistol that he’d borrowed from the town’s museum. It was a beautiful work of art and to all intents and purposes looked like a traditional muzzle loading pistol. It was fitted with a complicated clockwork mechanism that allowed it to be fired without flint or burning matchcord. It made a few clicks and then a bright yellow flash followed by a huge cloud of white smoke that engulfed the group. The pistol was loaded with a heavy half inch wide lead ball and it could easily smash a zombie back a good distance.
With the smoke providing cover they retreated to the entrance though they still had to hack and stab at anything that reached too close to them. Once outside Nick was pleased to see four of the vehicles were fully loaded up and a good number of the passengers were armed and waiting on the roofs and windows to fight off any threats.
“Why can’t we go anywhere nice?” asked Jessica with a grin.
Nick gave a strained smile before heading for the Land Rover.
“Come with me, we need to go!” he shouted as he pulled open the driver’s door. As he jumped in the other three opened the doors and jumped in. Before they could pull away a series of blasts came from the vehicle mounted firearms.
Gary was already on the Bren Gun fitted to the Land Rover and its heavy bullets smashed into the zombies exiting the service station.
The engine was already running and Nick simply dropped it into gear, hit the lights and started to move away. As the lights came on he saw the true horror of their situation. The entire vehicle parking area was full of hundreds of the walking dead. Where they had come from he couldn’t fathom but they were so thick he was immediately worried they would be swamped.
“Zack, I need the route to the coast, ideally the marina near the docks. We need to avoid the B roads if the motorway is anything to go by.”
Zack was already on it, “Out through the main entrance, back onto the circular and then take the south dual carriageway.”
“On it!” said Nick, as he swung the steering wheel and headed for the entrance road and the horde. Though he had the snow plough fitted he knew from experience that he had to judge the speed right. Too slow and they would be bogged down by the dead. If the undead could surround the rear of them then the rest of the convoy would be trapped. The Land Rover was the only vehicle that had the torque and horsepower to push through them. If he went too fast though he risked damage or losing control and a crashed Land Rover was a meat wagon.
Timing as well as he could, he moved up a gear and braced himself for the inevitable smash. As the blade hit the first few zombies there was a light s
hudder. The heavy mass of iron easily tore upon the frail undead, yet more were behind. As he smashed through the first dozen he could feel the vehicle slowing. Revving the engine, he did his best to keep up the power whilst the passengers fired weapons and hacked and stabbed from the windows with anything they could find. With one great jolt they slammed through the last four undead and were released onto the debris-strewn road. Nick looked over his shoulder, spotting the lights from the rest of the vehicles close behind.
The column of blood-spattered trucks moved off clockwise along the circular road until reaching the slip road leading to the wide dual carriageway. It was similar to the road they had arrived on though it had far less abandoned vehicles on it. This was probably due to the mass exodus in the early days when people deserted the cities and headed deeper into the country to try and escape. It was ironic, but they were now heading in the exact opposite direction to those early survivors. The city was the capital of this region and ten years ago had a thriving population of over a quarter of a million people. Now the city blocks were derelict and overgrown, few of survivors in the Green Zone had seen it for years. It was now simply known as The City and only a fool would try to enter.
The multi-lane road though devoid of substantial debris was littered with tiny groups of the undead, and as the convoy raced passed them they stopped what they were doing and started to head in the same direction as the smoke bellowing trucks.
“How far to the marina?” asked Nick as he reduced speed, always conscious of the excessive fuel consumption and risk or damage when moving too quickly on these roads.
“Uh, about twelve miles I think, assuming we can take the flyover, otherwise we’ll need to add on about another three miles,” replied Zack.
“Fifteen miles, we’ve got enough fuel for that right?” Nick asked.
“Yeah, we calculated about thirty miles left so we should do it with spare in the tanks.”
“Great, let’s just hope there’s something useful at the marina, we’re gonna need something pretty big for all these people,” snapped Nick.
“Don’t worry, last time we were there I’m sure there were still plenty of old boats lying about. There is one possible problem though?”
“Which is?”
Before Zack could answer a large dark object came rushing out from the side of the road and slammed in hard against the Land Rover. The shock of the impact threw the Land Rover over onto its side. The passengers were thrown about as the vehicle slid along the road several hundred yards before coming to a stop. Nick pulled on the door handle and it swung open to reveal several fires outside and lots of shapes moving. A volley of gunshots and shouting were the last thing he heard before passing out.
CHAPTER 11
Resolution Island, Five Fingers Peninsula, New Zealand, 6am.
Bruce lay back in his chair and propped his feet up on the outer wall of the tower he was sitting in. The wooden structure formed the tallest structure of their wall. He didn’t have to be on guard or even awake, and the very idea of seeing the sun rise was completely alien to him just a few years previously. Long having involuntarily given up alcohol, due to its rarity, and having bigger responsibilities, being awake to see the fresh new morning was an experience he had grown to enjoy.
Looking out across the causeway, which joined their guarded community to the mainland, the sun began to light the small open plain divided by their man-made river. The causeway was the only land joining them to Resolution Island, and they had been quick to dig a trench to split the two, effectively making them their own island, only ever joined by a simple swing bridge that had not been in use for two years. They had lights running the length of their walls, powered by batteries that were charged by wind and solar power, but they only kept the lights for emergencies, knowing that they attracted the hordes.
The Island of Resolution before the Zompoc was only inhabited by wildlife, but had quickly become a site of refuge during the crisis. The government had evacuated many women and children there, but within months the main island had fallen. The remaining survivors fled to the Five Fingers Peninsula, being eight kilometres long by a kilometre wide, on the south west coast of the country. This bottleneck had kept the community safe for many years, but with the ever threat of the main island’s inhabitants. No one knew how many creatures were there, but all were quite sure that the zombie population was likely spanning the tens of thousands. The single town they had established on the Island had a perimeter wall, but everyone knew that if the creatures ever reached it in large numbers it would be their end.
The crew of Bruce and the Road Train had travelled to this isolated community three years after the zombie outbreak, shortly after making radio contact in New South Wales, Australia. The Five Fingers Peninsula had since been renamed Resolution Island, the community doing their utmost to forget the horrors that had overcome the rest of the land mass. The population was just over four hundred, many being women and children under twelve. Of the entire population, only eighty were competent fighters, a mix of the original colonisers and Bruce’s group. Among the population were people with a wide variety of skills, from farmers to scientists, a broad enough section to continue with human civilisation.
Taking a sip of his lukewarm water, Bruce looked out as the daylight uncovered a single creature milling around by the causeway. He casually took another sip and then placed his glass down on the floor of the tower, picking up the crossbow that was propped against the wall. Firearms had long since become useless, the last handful of their ammunition being stored for a rainy day. Bows and crossbows had become commonplace with the survivors, who practiced on a weekly basis. Still sitting in his chair, Bruce wound the crank on the crossbow until it was full cocked loading on a bolt as he looked at his target.
For Bruce, seeing a zombie now was no real cause for concern, not like it used to be. The causeway separating them from the main island was just two hundred feet wide, and protected by three layers of defences. There were thirty-foot gaps between each ring wall, and only a single entrance to each barrier. Every Islander knew how absolutely vital the nature of their defences were and their relation to their survival.
Taking aim down the open sight of his crossbow, it lay solidly on the wall in front of him, Bruce took a deep breath as he took aim. Reaching the capacity of his lungs, he held the breath, finally happily with his position slowly breathed out and squeezed the trigger. The bolt struck the creature through the side of the skull, the bloody bolt exiting on the opposing side as the creature tumbled to the ground.
“Another fine start to the morning.”
The sound of a galloping horse was getting ever louder from behind the multiple tiered defences. Bruce laid the crossbow down beside him and turned to look out across the quiet barricades, just two other men on duty across the defences, which they referred to simply as ‘the walls’. A horse and rider shot through the open gate to the opening between the outer and middle defence walls. It was Dylan.
“Dylan! What’s up, mate?”
Dylan stopped and looked up to the twenty-foot tower, clearly relieved to find who he was looking for.
“There’s been a boat spotted off the coast!”
“Any signs of life?” asked Bruce.
“Na, mate, it’s just floating out there, what’ya think?”
“Hang about, I’ll be right down!”
He picked up the quiver of bolts and slung it around his waist, before throwing the crossbow over his shoulder with the leather sling. Picking up the glass of water he had been enjoying, he threw the last mouthful down his neck and climbed down the ladder to where his horse was tethered.
“We going out to it?” asked Dylan.
“We’ll have to, can’t leave it floating out there not knowing, last thing we need is something like that washing ashore and we have no idea what’s on board.”
“I was hoping you wouldn’t say that.”
“Why?” asked Bruce.
“Kinda hoping we could
let it pass.”
“Yeah, well, when have we ever got what we wanted?”
“True,” said Dylan.
Bruce leapt onto his horse and the two rode out across the island. It was a fifteen-minute ride to the shore where the boat had been seen. By the time Bruce arrived thirty of the Islanders had assembled at the beach, as much concerned as curious, they hadn’t seen any more evidence of humans since Bruce’s group had arrived seven years before. The leader of the Island, Bill Hackett was awaiting their arrival, he was a police sergeant in their previous lives. The capable ex-officer was now in his early sixties and had been a natural leader for the group, who had left Bruce primarily in charge of defences over the years.
Riding calmly up to Hackett who was intently watching the vessel through his binoculars, Bruce dismounted, but the old officer spoke before Bruce had a chance, or had even turned to see him.
“Morning, Bruce.”
“G’day, mate.”
“I take it Dylan has brought you up to speed?”
“It’s just what we see there, a boat with no sign of life?” asked Bruce.
“Yes, got any ideas?”
“Just one. We don’t know what is onboard that boat, and it’s entirely possible it could end up on our shore line sometime soon, so we need to check it out,” said Bruce.
“Is that you volunteering?”
“Well no other bugger will, will they?” asked Bruce.
“Good, then get a team together and head out, just be careful.”
Bruce shook his head without saying anything, not at all surprised to get the shit job of the day. However, for all of Bruce’s mumblings about his work, he was glad to have the role of security. It meant plenty of rest, no building, fishing or farming, preparing meals or any of the things that he despised so much.
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