Zombie Dawn Exodus

by Michael G. Thomas

  Artur dropped back inside, looking excited.

  “I can see them, look!” he cried, as he pointed ahead and past the last vehicle. Nick squinted, trying to spot whatever it was that Artur was pointing at. The motorway was full of smoke from one of the trucks and it reduced visibility considerably. He tried to look though the occasional break in the smoke to see ahead but it was too thick. Slowing down some more he became a little nervous, this could easily be an attempt to mask some kind of additional ambush. It didn’t make sense though, the zombies should have finished them off at the blockade, so why would they expect them to come back?

  Then, as quickly as the smoke arrived it blew to one side and revealed the remnants of the convoy. They were already moving past the first abandoned vehicle and Nick had a clear view of the ambulance that had obviously tried to reverse out of danger. A number of zombies were milling around in the middle of the road and Nick did his best to avoid them. This wasn’t out of concern for them per se, more specifically he wanted to reduce the possibility of causing damage to the vehicle.

  What was more interesting however, was what looked like a very dangerous security van. It was scruffy and looked like it had been modified in much the same way that their vehicles had been. Nick eased off on the power, trying to reduce the sound of the Land Rover as they moved past the rest of the convoy. He glanced sideways, noting that the cars and trucks had been looted. There was no sign of the passengers anywhere near the scene. Looking back the van was in plain sight as were a group of five men who were dragging a body out of the last car and also stripping supplies from its roof. One of the men must have spotted them though as they spun around and then ran for the van.

  “Let’s go!” shouted Nick as he slammed his foot down.

  With a roar the Land Rover burst into life and raced down the motorway. Some of the men near the ambulance pulled out rifles and attempted to shoot at the approaching Land Rover. Bullets struck the snow plough that was fitted to the front of the Land Rover, the rounds chipped the thick steel but caused no serious damage. Artur was already in position and from his vantage point was able to put down heavy and accurate fire on them. His first burst killed two of the men and forced the rest into cover.

  Nick kept his foot down till the last minute, wanting to cover the distance in as little time as possible. When he finally had to slow down he jammed down hard on the brakes. The wheels locked up and with a loud screeching sound the heavy vehicle slid to a stop, leaving two long rubber trails on the surface of the motorway. The bus was a short distance behind them but that didn’t stop Nick grabbing his shotgun and tumbling out of the driver’s door and into cover behind the bonnet. More bullets impacted on the reinforced bodywork of the Land Rover but none were able to penetrate the armour. He leant around the corner and was immediately forced back by gunfire from two men who were now hiding behind the van.

  Artur responded with another dozen rounds fired into their direction. The loud hammering of the gun and the powerful bullets forced the men to take cover. With them pinned down Nick lurched out from cover and ran the short distance to the ambulance. One man emerged from behind it brandishing a crossbow. Without hesitating Nick pulled one trigger and then the other of the shotgun. The first shot was a little wide and just caught the man on the leg. As he stumbled and fell the second round hit him square in the chest. The round tore through the flesh and into his upper torso before he finally hit the ground gurgling blood.

  Nick reached the side of the ambulance and ducked down. More fire came down on him from the two men still left taking cover behind the security van. He snapped the barrel and pulled out the two shells. The heavy fire from the Bren was deafening but Artur wasn’t able to hit the men behind the reinforced armour of the van.

  As Nick fed in another two shells he noticed the smoke wasn’t actually coming from the vehicle but from burning foliage behind it, presumably from the previous struggle when the convoy had been hit. On the ground near him were the bodies of two people, he recognised them as the workers from the ambulance. They were neither trained nor equipped for combat, not that it mattered now.

  A loud bang came from the van and it was immediately followed by a smoke trail as a flare launched up into the sky. With a red flash it ignited, sending a signal out to whoever else was waiting. Almost as though the flare was a cue the bus finally arrived and from it spilled Jim and three more men. They spread out, adding their own fire to that of Artur’s, onto the van. It was now only a matter of time before they could move around the van and attack them from behind. Before they were able to get close enough though, the purpose of the flare became evident.

  From above the embankment a group of motorcycles raced over the peak and down towards the ongoing battle. One of them was a large trike and carried three more men on the back, each carrying an assortment of weapons.

  Jim fired three shots with his Enfield rifle, managing to take out the rider of the first bike. The bike tumbled to the ground and forced the rest of the group to spread out and move around the ambulance and van. As the bikers opened fire Nick threw himself inside the ambulance and dropped to the floor. Holes opened up all across the bodywork but luckily none of the bullets struck him. He looked out through the open door and saw a bike moving past with an outrider carrying what looked like a ball swinging from a chain. He lifted up his gun and fired a single shot into the centre of the bike. The shell knocked the passenger off and onto the ground yet but didn’t take him out of the fight. More fire hit the ambulance forcing Nick back into cover.

  The heavy thud of the Bren gun continued and Nick could only hope that Artur was having more success with the shooting than he was. As he considered what to do a hand grabbed at him from the front of the vehicle and started to pull him backwards. He turned to face his assailant only to find two zombies in the cab clawing at him. He fired the loaded barrel at the closest of the two, splashing its brains across the inside of the windscreen. The second reached out for his leg and in the struggle Nick flailed and kicked to get back into the rear of the ambulance.

  The creature crawled over the body of the first zombie and inched towards him. From his belt he pulled out a wicked looking bowie knife and held it low and in front of him, waiting for the attack. The zombie reached out, attempting to grab at his arms. Nick easily evaded the first arm and slashed at the second, causing little damage to the already dead flesh. It moved closer and was now just a few feet away. Its mouth was contorted and its flesh pale and filthy. Cuts and abrasions on the arms showed that the creature gave no concern to its wellbeing and that it had already been through a violent second life. As it lurched forwards Nick thrust the dagger up into its throat and then pushed it up hard into the thing’s brain. After months of fighting these creatures Nick was all too aware of the strengths and weakness of the undead. The blade pushed through the brain stem and then on into the back of the brain. The creature spasmed and then collapsed to the side, the dagger still embedded deeply its flesh. With a tug Nick pulled out the blade and after wiping the gore off onto the zombie’s rags he replaced it on his belt. He checked his pockets before remembering he was out of shells, the rest of them were inside the Land Rover.

  The sound of the motorcycles had stopped though the gun battle itself was still going on. Nick climbed into the cab of the ambulance and was pleased to see the keys were still inside. Turning the key the engine burst into life. From what he could see in the mirrors there were two men crouching behind the ambulance and still one man behind the van. Gunfire continued to come from the bus and Land Rover so they were still in the fight. With no ammunition left it seemed that the only choice he had was to run for it or try and use the ambulance. He pushed down the accelerator and then dumped the clutch, instantly applying power to the wheels. With a screech it rushed backwards towards the van and exposed the dismounted bikers to the fire from the Bren gun. He kept the power on and smashed hard into the security van. The impact threw him hard into the seat and jerked his head backwards thro
wing everything into darkness.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  NEW SOUTH WALES, AUSTRALIA

  9AM

  The convoy was awake and ready to move. Normally most of the survivors were unenthusiastic about waking up and moving on, but after the disaster of the day before, everyone was keen to get going and forget it. It could not have been worse timing for morale, just after having their day off and fun games, which was now wasted. The convoy continued onwards, but the tone was now solemn and serious.

  It was two hours before they reached their destination, a safe open area, ten miles from the edge of the city. This was how they operated, one RV and two trucks would raid for supplies, whilst the rest waited ten miles away in a safe location. This was not a case of a baggage train situation, but about risking the minimal necessary people and assets, whilst always having backup units to hand.

  Every single vehicle in the convoy was armoured up and carried fighters, because any vehicle or person who was not in that category would not last in the Zombie Apocalypse. Bruce would normally spend this travelling time relaxing, watching movies or something similar, but not this time, his humour was lost. He sat in the front passenger seat, starring out at the endless road for the entirety of the journey, until finally called the convoy to a stop at the safe zone.

  “Get two of the trucks up here, we are going in on this one,” said Bruce.

  Connor looked at Bruce, a little surprised. Their vehicle rarely went on raiding missions, as it was the lead vehicle.

  “You sure, boss?” asked Connor.

  “Yes, I need something to do, and anyway, it’s probably our turn by now,” said Bruce.

  Connor nodded before radioing in for the two support vehicles. Bruce went to the back of the vehicle to his bedroom. The double bed en-suite room was absolute luxury in the nomadic lifestyle they had become accustomed to. He pulled open the wardrobe, revealing all of the equipment that he’d been wearing the moment the Zompoc had started. The full harness that he’d used for re-enactment was rather excessive for fighting zombies, the threats being so different for what it was intended for. The mail protection, often referred to as chainmail, was extremely useful having large body coverage, flexibility and exceptional bite protection. However the steel armour, intended to stop blunt trauma strikes and thrusts with metal weapons, was simply unnecessary.

  Bruce had quickly learnt to remove anything from his equipment which was superfluous, but never liked swapping for other items unless absolutely necessary as he was still sentimentally attached to his gear. His re-enactment armour had been treasured for years, a constant reminder of the fun he used to have.

  He pulled on the stained and worn old gambeson, tying it up at the front. Five minutes later he had the plate legs and motorcycle gauntlets on, his mail shirt over the gambeson. He pulled a set of military webbing on, a simple and effective set of load bearing equipment that also carried a handgun and a machete. He felt remarkably comfortable in his old equipment that had faithfully served him through zombie combat.

  The door of Road Hog flew open and Bruce stepped out onto the dusty road, the two trucks he’d requested parked next to him. He looked out towards the city, the old road signs still standing firm before them, just dirty and more faded than they used to be.

  “Ok, listen up. The place we are hitting is a line of shops on a main road into the city. There’s a medium size food shop, an off licence and a few other smaller establishments. There’s also a supermarket between here and there on the outskirts, but it has likely been emptied long before now, but we won’t rule it out completely,” said Bruce.

  The group of survivors formed before him were grinning, already dreaming of the delights that they were about to find.

  “It’s almost noon. This should be a two hour operation, potentially up to three, depending on what we find and how many places are worth stopping at. It could provide us with enough rations to last a month, so let’s do it right,” said Bruce.

  “If it’s so full of good stuff why don’t we take more vehicles and people with us, get more?” asked Connor.

  “Because these are the rules, we never send more than three vehicles into an unknown zone, we cannot afford to risk so much. Now mount up, it’s time!” said Bruce.

  A few moments later the vehicles were roaring off towards the city. Heading towards a former area of dense population was always an unnerving one. When the Zompoc began most people did their utmost to flee the large population centres, those who didn’t rarely survived. Therefore, deliberately heading back into such a dangerous area was very risky. Sadly, these were the sort of risks that were necessary now because anywhere safer had been raided long before by other survivors still around.

  They were approaching the area of the supermarket, Road Hog in the centre with a truck in front and behind. From the raised position of the RV, Bruce and Dylan could already see a large pile up of cars up ahead at the junction for the supermarket. They wouldn’t be able to get the vehicles within five hundred yards of the building with the huge line of cars between the crash and supermarket. Bruce picked up the radio set.

  “That looks like a cluster fuck, let’s head on to the next target, at least its quiet around here,” said Bruce.

  They drove on down the wide open road, heading ever closer to the city and reaching the suburbs where they would hope to find a fair quantity of food and drink. The streets were still lined with cars parked up as they always had been, but litter and debris were strewn everywhere. The occasional cat ran across the road, foraging for any food it could find.

  The streets were empty of zombies, a surprising sight. Bruce, just like the others, wondered where the hordes of creatures had gone. This was the largest centre of population they had ever ventured near since the beginning of the zombie outbreak.

  “Where do you think the zombies have gone?” asked Connor.

  “I have no idea, but I doubt they’ve gone far,” said Bruce.

  “Maybe they’re all home watching TV,” said Dylan.

  Bruce chuckled, but it was also a sad reminder of the fact that they could never return to their homes, never relax in the knowledge that civilised society allowed them to live without fear of death every minute of every day.

  They could finally see the food store up ahead.

  “Connor, stop thirty feet short of the place,” said Bruce.

  The vehicles slowed to a stop just shy of the building. Bruce and Dylan jumped out of the vehicle with sledge hammers in hand. They walked up to it, constantly looking around for danger. There was nothing and nobody of note in sight. They reached the doors, still sealed, that was a good thing. There was nothing more disappointing in this world than to travel all the way to a food store and find it had already been emptied of everything useful. The two men brought up their hammers and smashed the door through, before walking back to the Hog.

  “Take us up alongside,” said Bruce.

  This was their standard operation, never risk transferring supplies from shop to vehicle. Always close the distance, sealing off the area. Connor manoeuvred the vehicle just inches alongside the shop until Bruce told him to stop. They pushed the door out, it swung in through the demolished doors. Bruce looked cautiously into the shop, it being fairly dim due to the lack of lighting.

  “Right, this looks good so far, grab your bags, we’re going shopping,” said Bruce.

  The four men aboard cheered, Connor staying at the radio to maintain communication with the others. The foragers always worked as pairs, purely for security. Bruce and Dylan headed down the far left aisle, Drake and Gordon down the far right. It quickly became clear that the shop was much larger inside than they had realised.

  “Bruce, this place could keep us going for months, but we’ll need hours to clear it,” said Dylan.

  “We may not have that long,” said Bruce.

  “Then get more people in here,” said Dylan.

  “You know what a risk that is,” said Bruce.

  “Yeah, and
how much risk it would save us not having to do this for a while?” asked Dylan.

  Bruce thought about the idea, it broke the routine, but then they rarely seemed to keep to the systems they had set up anymore. Still, the idea of being overrun after such a hard year of survival was a horrible one.

  “Head back to the Hog, tell Connor to get in here and help us,” said Bruce.

  “That’s it? Just him?” asked Dylan.

  Bruce looked back at his friend, now far more serious.

  “Fair enough we need extra help, but we can only use what we have, and I will not take away our lookouts. That’s bloody suicidal. Now get to it!” shouted Bruce.

  “Alright, no problem,” said Dylan.

  He jogged off down the aisle back towards the vehicle. Bruce continued on, he was walking along the lines of freezers, all had their lights off. He stopped and walked closer to one and opened the door. Before him were bags of thawed out and rotten frozen pizzas, he picked one up and simply looked at it gormlessly. The photo of the juicy hot pizza which was displayed across the cover made his mouth water, remembering the joys of convenience food. The shop truly smelt bad, but they had grown used to ignoring such smells, all he could think of was the pizza he used to order every Friday night.

  Bruce dropped the box down into the freezer from where he’d got it from and carried on down the aisle. Up ahead of him he could already see the glisten of alcoholic beverages, his heart was immediately warmed. He missed a lot of the food they had to go without, but alcohol was the staple which had kept them sane. Alcohol was both a distraction from current events, as well as a reminder of the good times that everyone used to have.

  As he was walking down the aisle Bruce considered his old life, the boring visit to the supermarket, his brain cell killing job, all of it now sounded so appealing after a year of desperate survival on the road.

  “Bruce, Bruce!” shouted Dylan.