Nick turned around to face the passengers.
“We’re here to help you. Keep quiet and keep your heads down. Are there any other prisoners here?” he shouted.
Some of the passengers kept talking but one was a gunner from their own convoy. He shouted out to Nick.
“Nick, it’s me, Carter!” he called.
Nick signalled for him to come to the front.
“There were three others, they took them to the other bus about an hour ago. That’s it,” he said.
“Glad to see you. How about our people, how many of you made it?” asked Nick.
“Only eleven, they shot some of us on the way here!” he shouted.
“Fuck!” muttered Nick.
He reached inside his jacket and pulled out another pistol and handed it to the man, indicating to the window on the left. The young man moved to the window, watching for trouble. The Johnson brothers were already back and climbed inside the bus.
“Just bodies on the bus, they all had their throats cut, there’s some sick shit going on here,” said the younger of the two.
The older Johnson smacked his little brother on the head.
“Watch your language!” he said before turning back to Nick. “Where’s Richard?”
“Dead,” he replied.
A bright flash lit up the area followed by a series of gun blasts. This was quickly followed by the sound of shouting and more gunfire.
“Good job,” said Nick, “come on, we haven’t got much time, we need to go.”
Pushing the key into the ignition Nick twisted the key and for a moment his heart nearly stopped, nothing happened. He pulled out the key and then tried again, with a shudder the engine started and the interior lights all lit up. Nick revved the engine and then hit the lights switch, instantly lighting up the campsite and revealing the swirling melee of bikers, men and zombies. There were people on the ground and the zombies seemed to be getting the upper hand already.
“Do it!” shouted Nick.
The older Johnson pulled out a squat looking pistol and held it out of the closest open window. With a blast it fired upwards, leaving a bright red trail behind. Nick put down the power and the bus started to move slowly forwards.
Holes appeared in the windscreen as the raiders attempted to halt their progress, but the fire was sporadic and poorly aimed.
“They’d better get here fast,” shouted Nick as he floored the accelerator and turned towards the entrance and a number of armed guards.
The bus was heavily loaded down with people and took quite some time to pick up speed. More bullets struck the glass and a few made it inside, hitting the passengers. Some started to shout and at least one started screaming. Carter and the brothers opened their nearest windows and returned fire as best they could.
Several bright lights lit up ahead and then flashes from a large number of weapons erupted. No bullets struck the bus though and it rushed out of the entrance unscathed. As they moved past the outer guard post Nick spotted their own armoured bus and Land Rover bristling with men and weapons. Their fire was overwhelming and it dealt with the immediate threat of the raiders giving chase. As the bus continued off down the road the other two vehicles turned and followed, all three heading for the opposite motorway exit that would allow them to avoid the roadblocks set by the raiders. It took just two minutes for their small convoy to reach the motorway and the open road.
Nick pulled out the radio he’d been carrying.
“Why didn’t you use it earlier?” asked the younger brother.
“Simple really, the raiders are well equipped and these radios are just normal short range CB sets. They’re easy to listen in on with any other CB equipment. We couldn’t take the chance. Now we’re on the road the risk is worth it,” said Nick.
“This is Rescue One, we all good?” he asked on the radio.
“Good to hear you, man. Yeah we’re all good here. Did you get them all?” asked Jim in the armoured bus.
“Yeah, all that were left. Any sign of pursuit?” asked Nick.
There was a silence for a short while.
“Looks clear at the moment, give it time though, those bastards won’t let this lie.”
Nick nodded as he placed the radio on the dashboard.
Carter moved up to the front of the bus to speak with Nick.
“What’s the plan?” he asked.
“We’re going to get to the Green Zone asap,” answered Nick.
There was a scream from the back of the bus. Nick looked in the large mirror but couldn’t quite see what was happening.
“Carter!” he shouted, “take over!”
The young man grabbed the wheel and then slid into position as Nick moved. The bus lurched a little to the left and then continued on its straight path. Nick moved down the bus and past the scared looking people. There was a struggle at the back. He pushed past them until he was just a few feet from the rear. Two men were holding down a woman and the other passengers were shouting and trying to get away.
“She’s infected, look!” shouted the taller of the two men.
Nick looked closely, the woman did have the tell tale signs of a bite, she was pale and already biting and grabbing at the two men. Either she had turned or soon would. In a year of survival in the Zompoc Nick knew that once bitten you never survived, it was just a matter of time before you turned.
“Everybody move back!” Nick shouted as he waved to the front of the bus.
Nobody moved. Most of them were too stunned to do anything.
Nick pointed the gun at the roof and fired a single shot.
“Move! Now!” he shouted, this time they listened.
As the group cleared just the two men and the pinned woman remained. Nick stepped forward and hit the emergency open lever on the rear door. With a hiss it swung open to reveal the blackness outside. The two men grabbed the struggling woman and dragged her to the door. Though slight in build she held on with surprising strength. Nick held out his shotgun, placing it just a foot in front of her chest. The woman showed no concern and simply growled at the muzzle.
“Now!” shouted Nick and the two men jumped away from the woman.
Without hesitating Nick pulled the triggers and put two shells into her chest, blasting her into the motorway and into the darkness. He turned back and returned to the front of the bus, noting the groans and complaints from what they probably thought was excess force in his part.
From out of the windscreen he noted the armoured Land River overtake them and then take up position in front of the bus. Nick turned back to the passengers, signalling with his hand that they needed to listen.
“I know you’ve had a bad time, things are about to get better though. We’re heading for the Green Zone. For those of you who haven’t heard of it you’ll be pleasantly surprised.”
A man stood up, shouting Nick down.
“What if we don’t want to come with you? What if you’re no better than those raider bastards?” he asked angrily.
“It’s up to you. If you want to stay just say so and we’ll let you out,” he gestured to the front door.
A young woman at the front waved to get his attention.
“What is the Green Zone?” she asked.
“We set up the Zone over three months ago as a safe area. We have food, clothing, weapons and you can get back to some kind of a life. I suggest you all get some rest, it will be a few hours before we get there and who knows what we’ll run into on the way,” he said.
Nick slumped down into the front seat, opposite the driver and for the first time in over six hours closed his eyes.
The much depleted convoy continued down the motorway, towards the Green Zone and to safety.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
ENGLAND
Dave drove out with the usual crowd, some of the idiots who had put them in such a sticky situation the day before. Only one of the fools, Richard stayed behind. He said he was feeling the effects of a cold. Each team of ‘collectors’ was si
x men, four needed for missions, a further two were substitutes and spare men enabling them to cycle people, accounting for illness and exhaustion. The group went on, Dave, Tommy, and the other two idiots from the day before. The task today was to raid a petrol station seventy miles away, but safely on an A-road miles from any major populace centre.
It was a hot day, too hot to be stuck inside a Land Rover with very few ventilation areas and no cooling. All the windows were covered with wire mesh and bars, restricting the little airflow they could get into the vehicle. The vents running beneath the windscreen could no longer open, restricted by the windscreen protection they had fitted. Luxuries were something they were becoming used to living without, but not quickly or easily.
It took the group two hours to reach the service station, going along small roads and keeping engine revs low to conserve fuel. They arrived to the pleasant sight of an abandoned area. In life before the Zompoc a desolate location was a depressing one, but now it signified the kind of safety they desired.
It was a small village petrol station with a shop that was smaller than most children’s bedrooms. Someone has clearly grabbed a few bags from this place before, but quite some time ago considering the dust build up on the empty shelves. Many months ago, people would just take what they needed short term, or as much as they could fit in a rucksack. The more prepared and well organised survivors that had made it through the first year knew to never leave anything behind, unless it risked death or infection to a group member.
Dave’s system revolved around his standard group of four people and two vehicles. The drivers stayed at the wheels of their trucks, parked at opposite ends of the location, whilst the two navigators would raid for supplies. In an ideal world, he would always have wanted six people for such a mission, but lives were simply too valuable to risk.
The two navigators in this situation, Tommy and Dave, each carried a large army Bergen on their backs, and pulled along big wheeled bags behind them. Both men carried a club hammer, the default and easily findable weapon for all members of the group. These were carried on lines attached to their belts. They also carried a few small bladed weapons, both for utility and backup defence.
The small refrigerator that used to carry sandwiches and other savoury snacks was completely empty. The shelves of chocolate bars and crisps were only mildly depleted. The two men began stuffing their bags with supplies.
“Oh, yeah!” shouted Tommy.
Dave looked around to see what had got Tommy so excited, a shelf of corned beef, tinned hot dogs and beans. These were the kind of luxuries to get excited about in the world they lived in today. It was just a small shop, but it was a trip well worth making. Dave leapt behind the cashier’s desk. A large amount of tobacco and alcohol had been taken, but there was still plenty left. The cash register was open and empty. This place had obviously been done over soon after the Zompoc had begun, before people realised quite what an apocalyptic scenario they were facing.
In just a matter of two minutes they had filled their bags with everything worth taking from the shop. They threw the bags back into the vehicles. Clearly this station still had plenty of fuel in it, but they were well stocked back at Everglade for now, having copious amounts of red diesel stashed from all the local farms. Dave looked out down the small street where about a hundred yards away a solitary zombie was staggering towards them.
“Let’s kill that fucker!” shouted Tommy.
Tommy jumped onto the side of the Land Rover, waving his driver on. The vehicle lurched forward and raced towards the single beast. Tommy, hanging on with one hand on the galvanised roof rack, drew his club hammer from his belt. As the vehicle stormed past the creature Tommy swung the hammer into the zombie’s face, the speed and force sending it tumbling off its feet and into the air. The creature slammed quickly down to the tarmac, its face demolished by the blow. The vehicle turned around and pulled up alongside Dave who was stood next to his vehicle.
“You see that? Fucking beautiful!” said Tommy.
“You’re an idiot,” said Dave.
“We have to start mopping up sometime,” said Tommy.
“Not for killing it you idiot, but for being so reckless,” said Dave.
“Just having some fun, you should try it sometime,” said Tommy.
“Look, there are hundreds of thousands, maybe millions of those creatures in this country alone, and just a handful of us. One accident is more than we can afford, so start acting with some god damn sense!” shouted Dave.
“Alright, alright, we going then?” asked Tommy.
“Yep, load up, we’re done here, time to go back and maybe enjoy some of this,” said Dave,
“Mmm, sausages!” said Tommy.
Dave grinned as he got back into his vehicle. Tommy was a reckless fool, but one could not afford to be picky about choosing their friends in this day and age. The vehicles trundled on back to the compound. It was a long and boring journey, though the day was already beginning to cool slightly by the time they reached sight of Everglade. It was the same place they had left earlier in the day. So many of them were forced to simply keep running and stay on the move after the Zompoc had begun. The chance to have a home to return to or stay in each and every day was a luxury they all appreciated.
It was already well into the afternoon when the vehicles came to a halt within the walls of the compound. Roger was there to welcome them as ever, to review their day’s haul and assess any problems.
The work day was over for them now. Roger had a number of the survivors working the land in an attempt to grow their own food. This was only recently started and would take time until they could see any results. It was quite clear to all of them that scavenging from remnants of the old civilised world that they used to know would go on for some time to come.
Dave went to bed that night, content in the knowledge that the status quo had been maintained, and that they were now in a better position than they’d been at the beginning of the week. Sadly, he had no idea what disaster was about to ensue. Richard, who had been ill after their rescue attempt, had deteriorated in his own bed. No one had checked on him, having been so annoyed at him for his foolish activities. Nobody had considered the possibility of infection from the rescue at the supermarket.
The close proximity with such large numbers of creatures could easily have infected several of them, but the elation of everyone being rescued had made them all throw caution to the wind and forget all of their sensibilities and concerns.
Dave was awoken by the sound of screams, never a pleasant sound, but especially when you knew they were more likely a result of zombies than domestic violence. He was still mostly dressed, as everyone stayed at least partly ready to move at all times in the zombie infested world they’d come to know. He pulled his boots on and picked up his club hammer. He ran out of the room to find Graham stood in the corridor, looking down it, but too scared to move.
They were on the second and top floor of the house, the screams were from the first floor. Tommy joined Dave’s side and Roger came rushing out of his bedroom, shotgun in hand. The double barrel shotgun was the only firearm they had in the group, a personal item Roger had owned since long before the Zompoc. Sadly, he only had a handful of shells left for it, using most of them to save his skin in the first weeks of the outbreak. One of the women, Sandra, came running up the stairs.
“Help, help!” she shouted.
“What is it?” asked Roger.
“Zombies, they’re in the building!” she screamed.
“Are you sure?” Roger asked.
“Yes, I saw Richard and Scott, they were already turned. I couldn’t see how many more, but most of the floor,” said Sandra.
“Shit!” shouted Roger.
Before they could think any more one of the zombies was nearing the top of the stairs. Roger shouldered his shotgun and fired off a round, the scatter shot obliterating the creature’s head. The creature was Scott, one of their friends until a few hours before, a
man who had survived a year in this horrible world.
The screaming and sounds of fear and pain got louder as more and more of the building was being consumed. They had never had much of a plan in place for this sort of situation, as they’d only protected themselves from the outside world.
“How the hell could this have happened?” asked Dave.
“Somebody must have got infected, it’s the only way,” said Roger.
“But how?” asked Graham.
“After Tommy’s fuck up the other day, who knows,” said Roger.
Before they could carry on the conversation the sound of an engine roaring to life outside got their attention. They ran to a side window in the hallway to look out. The Land Rover Discovery was roaring towards the gates with no intention of stopping.
“That’s my truck!” shouted Graham.
The armoured vehicle smashed through the gates, knocking them both off their hinges. It was a dire sight for the survivors that now stood together. Somebody had obviously been selfish enough to bolt at the first sight of danger, with no consideration for their fellow survivors. Had that not happened, there was a chance of again purifying the complex, but not now. With the gates down and a substantial number of creatures amongst them, anything could happen in the time it would take to fully clean up.
“What do we do?” asked Dave.
“As much as this is our home, it is now too dangerous to stay here. Even if we could win the fight, the risk of infection is too great and not just from these creatures, but any that could flood through the gates, as well as infectious material now scattered through the complex,” said Roger.
“But what about everything we’ve built here?” asked Graham.
“It is irrelevant, all that matters is us, the survivors. Buildings can be replaced, there are certainly enough vacant ones around now,” said Roger.
Zombie Dawn Exodus Page 14
