Zombie Dawn Exodus

by Michael G. Thomas

  Bruce jumped around, expecting the worst.

  “Hey, mate. This place is fucking awesome!” said Connor.

  Bruce relaxed, being glad to have been surprised by the lack of the violent threat that he had expected. His friends looked so excited by the sheer quantity of food and alcohol before them. A year before, a well stocked supermarket was the most boring place a man had ever seen, but now it was more appealing than a kebab to a drunk.

  “Right, well you’ve got twenty minutes, clear this place out!” said Bruce.

  The men set on the shop like locusts, taking everything of value. The sheer quantity of canned food was enough to keep their group fed for a month or more, let alone the booze and soft drinks. Road Hog was filling up, they wished they’d brought another vehicle to stockpile supplies, but everyone understood the risks involved.

  As Bruce and his crew cleared out the supermarket, Walter and Bart were sat outside in their truck, a Toyota Hilux. Walter was smoking a cigarette as the two of them sat bored in the cab of the vehicle.

  “How about some music?” asked Walter.

  “How many fucking times do we have to go through this? No! We’re here as lookouts, anything that distracts us is a problem, is it that hard to understand?” asked Bart.

  “Alright, alright,” said Walter.

  The two men sat for several minutes longer as Walter smoked and Bart relaxed, increasingly bored of sitting around. Bruce’s raid on the supermarket was taking far longer than any raid they had ever done, and no matter what you were doing, sitting around in a truck got boring very quickly.

  “Fuck this, I’m taking a piss,” said Walter.

  “No, stay put!” shouted Bart.

  Bart grabbed at Walter’s coat to stop him from getting out of the vehicle but Walter shrugged him off, opening the door and stepped outside. He slammed the door behind him, taking one last puff of his cigarette before throwing it to the ground. Walter took a large gasp of the relatively fresh air around him, and then set off around a corner to relieve himself.

  “Stay in sight!” shouted Bart.

  Walter didn’t reply, he simply put up his middle finger as he walked away. Bart didn’t know what to do. He couldn’t force his partner back into the truck, nor reason with him. He sat in the driver’s seat in an uncomfortable silence. A minute later a scream rang out from the direction that Walter had gone. Bart grabbed his shotgun and jumped out of the truck.

  With his gun at the ready, Bart ran around the corner to see his worst fears realised. It was a long lane running between the shops, Walter was crawling towards him, a zombie holding onto his leg, and a blood trail running twenty feet back. An uncountable number of creatures were shambling towards him.

  “Help me!” shouted Walter.

  Bart did exactly that. He lifted his shotgun and fired directly into his friend’s skull, killing him instantly. He raised the shotgun at the creature that had been attacking his friend and fired the second round, the head nearly exploded as the body was thrown to the ground.

  “What a fucking idiot,” said Bart.

  He was kicking himself for having lost a friend, but more angry at Walter for being such a moron. Getting yourself killed in this world affected all of those around you in more than just emotional ways. He ran back to his truck and threw the empty shotgun in. Bart slammed the door and immediately picked up the radio.

  “Come in all units, we have a Code Red, I repeat, Code Red!” shouted Bart.

  The receiver sat unattended in the Hog, all of the survivors being inside the shop, filling their bags and trolleys with supplies.

  “This is Black Dog, where the hell is Road Hog?” asked Jerry.

  Jerry was on the radio in the second truck at the opposite end of the street to Bart.

  “Come in Road Hog, this is Big Brewski,” said Bart.

  The radio remained silent.

  “Bart, what the fuck do we do?” asked Jerry.

  “We have no choice, there are hundreds of zombies bearing down on us, if we wait any longer we will be swamped,” said Bart.

  “What about Bruce and his crew?” asked Jerry.

  “If they can get into the Hog they’ll be fine, if they can’t then it’s too late for them anyway. Let’s get the fuck out of here!” shouted Bart.

  As he said it the horde of zombies began to pour from the street. Bart turned the engine over on his Hilux and put his foot to the floor, the wheels spinning as his vehicle lurched forward. His roo bar clipped one of the zombies as he raced down the street the way they had come. The second truck reached the horde and rammed ten of the creatures square on, knocking their speed by half as bodies were thrown aside. It was lucky they got moving when they did, as with large numbers the vehicles could be brought to a standstill.

  Bruce was filling his rucksack with tins of tuna and corned beef when the little light they had began to dim. He looked down the aisle, already suspicious. He ran to the end of the aisle and his heart nearly stopped as he could see the silhouettes of countless zombies at the windows of the shop.

  “Fuck! Dylan, Connor! Everyone to the Hog now!” shouted Bruce.

  Connor appeared at the end of the aisle that Bruce had come from, looking at his boss in surprise.

  “What’s going on?” asked Connor.

  “Zombies, everywhere, get everyone back now!” shouted Bruce.

  He dropped the bag that he had in his hands and ran towards the door of their vehicle. The sound of the creatures beating against the glass was already getting louder, a frightening resonation. Across the shop Bruce could hear the sound of his friends shouting at each other, he could only hope they were sensible enough to know danger when they were told so.

  Bruce was just ten yards from the doorway of the Hog when a window broke and cracked beside him. The security glass was breached but didn’t completely disintegrate. Bruce drew his .45 Colt as the beast’s hands had pulled the glass apart, with a hole already big enough for one at a time to get through. He took aim and put a round into the first creature’s skull. As the first casing hit the ground, Dylan ran past Bruce.

  “What the fuck is going on?” asked Dylan.

  “Looks like we’re getting fucked!” said Bruce.

  “What do you want me to do?” asked Dylan.

  “Tell me when everyone is in the Hog!” shouted Bruce.

  The .45 rang out a second and third time, each a killing shot. It was hard to have anything else at this range that was a better instrument of combat. Connor ran behind Bruce as he fired his seventh and final shot. With no time to reload, he slammed the gun back into its holster and drew out his trusty machete.

  “That’s it boss, all aboard!” shouted Dylan.

  Bruce smashed his machete down on one creature that was part the way through the hole in the glass, the heavy blade cracking the skull. He turned around and made a run for it as more of the glass was smashed apart and the horde broke through. Bruce leapt onto the Hog as Dylan yanked the door shut and slid across the three bolts. Just seconds later they could already hear their enemies beating on the door. The five men relaxed a little, Bruce sat on the floor of the vehicle.

  “What the fuck just happened?” asked Connor.

  “I would say it’s quite clear, we just got hit by a fucking army, get on the radio and find out what the hell is going on!” shouted Bruce.

  Connor looked sheepish, having left the radio to forage for supplies, but it was Dylan who was kicking himself for suggesting it.

  “Big Brewski, come in, this is Road Hog, over,” said Connor.

  Bruce got to his feet and went to a window looking out onto the street. They were entirely surrounded by zombies already fifty deep in every direction, the numbers growing all the time. He went to the driver’s seat and started up the engine. Applying power, they moved just a couple of inches and came to a halt. Bruce tried reverse, and then forwards again, they were stuck.

  “We’ve got big problems,” said Bruce.

  “Come in Brewski, t
his is Road Hog, over,” said Connor.

  “This is Big Brewski, we had to bug out. There was no response from you. Walter is dead, the area is flooded! Can you get out?” said Bart.

  “Negative, the horde is too large, the Hog isn’t going anywhere,” said Connor.

  “Are you safe for now?” asked Bart.

  “Yes, all aboard and locked down,” said Connor.

  “Alright, sit tight, we’ll think of something and get back to you. Big Brewski out,” said Bart.

  “So what’s the plan boss?” asked Dylan.

  “Nothing we can do but sit tight and hope they come up with something. The Hog can’t move and we won’t be able to get out of this crowd on foot,” said Bruce.

  “That’s it? Sit and wait?” shouted Connor.

  “That’s right, this group has taken too many liberties with the rules recently and look where it’s got us. I won’t take this bullshit any longer, we’re sticking to the rules we set out! Now break out the supplies, we could all do with some food and water,” said Bruce.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  MID-WEST, UNITED STATES

  The week had finally passed, toiling of the land and the ever necessary and boring patrols. The community awoke on Saturday to the exciting thought of a ball game, something they’d only done three times since the Zombie outbreak.

  Madison got out of bed and within ten minutes was dressed and out of the front door. Jack and her father were talking by Jack’s truck in front of their church. She could already hear that the discussion had become heated, she walked cautiously forward.

  “No, no, no, this is a day to relax and enjoy ourselves, as a community!” shouted Wells.

  “Yes, and I appreciate that, but we’re also burning through supplies quickly, and those supplies are becoming more and more difficult to find, taking more time and work,” said Jack.

  “One day will not make all the difference, surely?” asked Wells.

  “Yes, it will, we’re just managing at the moment, but barely, with no leeway. What happens next time we go out and find nothing? A day lost, which would be disastrous. You’re suggesting we take a day off now, how is that any less disastrous?” said Jack.

  “We must learn to become completely self sufficient and not have to rely on things from the old world.” said Wells.

  “Yes, but we haven’t done that yet, have we? Until we have, I’m heading out!” shouted Jack.

  “No, you’re not, I order you not to!” shouted Wells.

  “Order? I take orders from no man anymore. I give all my energy every day to helping this community, I’ll be damned if you’re going to stop me doing that!”

  “Hey, hey, hey! Stop it!” shouted Madison.

  Her words and presence calmed the two immediately, them both now paying her complete attention.

  “That’s enough, arguing is achieving nothing! Father, you want to have your game, fine, for those who can and want to. We do not own Jack, we do not pay him and he uses his own truck risking his life to support this community. Let him do what he knows best,” said Madison.

  Jack looked thankful, her father disapproving and annoyed, he was already shaking his head. Wells knew he could not win this battle and must bend to their will, which he did.

  “Alright, go, good luck,” said Wells.

  Jack and his crew of five mounted up on their four dusty and dirty trucks and fired up their engines. The vehicles rolled on by as Wells took his daughter’s arm and led her into the church where no one could see or hear them.

  “You just lost us a lot of discipline and structure, and made me look like a fool!” said Wells.

  “I’m sorry, but I’m only doing what’s best,” said Madison.

  “What’s best? Best? You haven’t a clue what’s best for you, for me, for Jack or this community. We have stayed alive and free because the community has followed my command, you have no idea what you are doing!” shouted Wells.

  “And you have no clue about feelings. We’re human beings, we need more than a calculated existence of survival and nothing more!” added Madison.

  She shrugged off her father’s arm and ran out of the building. Wells was getting more and more angry, as he could already feel his hold on the community getting weaker. He may come across as a bastard to some at times, but he only ever acted in what he thought to be the best interests of the community. He was already growing to dislike this day, one that he’d allocated for fun and relief. Wells calmed his breathing and relaxed, deciding to forget his troubles and move on in the best way possible. He went outside and started preparing for the game in the field beside the church.

  It was a pleasantly warm and sunny day, they went on as planned, at least most of them did, playing their games. The Pastor sat on the sidelines with the few spectators and marvelled at the community he’d managed to sustain.

  * * *

  The truck rumbled along the sand and dirt covered road with Jack at the wheel, his navigator, Riley, sat beside him. His ‘98 Dodge Ram used to be a vibrant and deep red, but it had faded significantly since it had left the factory. Much of the rough bodywork was now covered with dirt, and the front wings were dented where the bodies of zombies had met with its metal. The truck had wire fence sections bolted over all the windows, taken from the local school.

  Jack kept the speed to fifty. They had a simple rule to never go above that, as they needed to drive as economically as they could. High speeds in vehicles had been the end of many of their friends in the first days of the outbreak, hitting objects such as cars, zombies, or simply just losing control in the heat of the moment.

  The hunters were well equipped with protective gear and weapons, but like the guard and patrol duties in Babylon, they could not afford to use the ammunition. Back at the base they had thousands of rounds of ammunition stored, it was regularly picked up on hunts, but all knew that it was to be kept for dire need only. In fact, the hunters specifically avoided all contact with the creatures, only fighting in self defence. The column of vehicles had been driving for four hours when Jack squinted to comprehend what he saw before him in the distance.

  “Oh my fucking Christ!” shouted Jack.

  “What the fuck?” shouted Riley.

  The men were as shocked as each other. A mile ahead on the open plain they could see a horde of zombies, not hundreds but thousands, perhaps tens of thousands, all staggering towards them. Jack slammed the brakes on and the truck slid to a halt, the vehicles behind him braking and veering to their sides to stop. Jack opened his door and took a few steps in front of his vehicle whilst he simply looked out in astonishment. The five other men joined him, each as speechless as the other for a full minute.

  “What the hell do we do?” asked Riley.

  “I, I, I have no idea, we’ve never had to deal with odds like this!” Jack replied.

  “Well they’re heading straight for Babylon, what do we do? Why are there so many of them?” asked Riley.

  “This is a real shit storm, let’s get back to base, I’ll give it some real consideration on the journey back, mount up!” said Jack.

  The vehicles turned around and headed back to Babylon. The four hour drive home was an anxious one. Initially Riley tried to talk to Jack about it, but he was providing few responses, until Riley finally went quiet. For the long drive home Jack could only run all the potential actions through his head, though not finding a single one he was happy with.

  It was the middle of the afternoon when the three trucks rolled back into town. The populace of Babylon was spread around, relaxing and chatting after their day of games in the heat. As Jack pulled his truck up outside the church, Wells came to the door, surprised to hear vehicles at that time of day. He hadn’t expected them back for at least several more hours. Jack immediately got out of the vehicle to meet Wells, who already looked justifiably concerned.

  “What’s happened? What’s up?” asked Wells.

  “Four hours down the west road is a horde the likes none of us have ever se
en. Not hundreds, but thousands, as far as we could see,” said Jack.

  “Doing what?” asked Wells.

  “Heading straight here,” said Jack.

  “But how? Why so many and how do they know to head this way?” he asked.

  “I have no idea, maybe it’s simple coincidence, maybe they can smell us from hundreds of miles away, maybe they have group intelligence, but none of that really matters,” said Jack.

  “My God,” said Wells.

  The Pastor turned around, hiding his concern from those who could see him, simply staring up at his church. The two men were silent for a minute whilst both considered the situation.

  “How long till they get here?” asked Wells.

  “Well they’re no more than two hundred miles away, maybe less, and assuming they average two miles an hour, we have about four days, certainly no more,” said Jack.

  “Will they definitely not pass us by?” asked Wells.

  “It’s highly unlikely, they’re following the main roads right towards us,” said Jack.

  “Do you think you could stop them?” asked Wells.

  “With every capable man and woman here, with every firearm and round of ammunition we have stored, there is a chance,” said Jack.

  “How would you do it?”

  “Assemble about a dozen vehicles, and use them as mobile weapons platforms, matching the hordes speed and direction. The plan would work in theory, it would only be a question of do we have as many bullets as there are enemies, and could we kill them quick enough, before they reached Babylon?” said Jack.

  “Alright, assemble everyone except the sentries to the trucks here, we need to share this information,” said Wells.

  Wells walked back into the church with a hopeless expression on his face. He stood, silently and alone, looking at the cross before him, praying in his mind for victory. Twenty minutes later the people of Babylon were gathered by the trucks and church, the intersection that had become their town’s centre. Most of the crowd were still happy and content from the day of games, completely unaware of what they were about to face.