Zombie Dawn Exodus (3 page)

“Morning, boss!” shouted Dylan.

Bruce looked back to his friend who was sitting in a
camping chair on the roof of their RV. All of the larger vehicles
in the convoy now had roof hatches and ladders to them. Each night
every other vehicle would post a watch on the roof. In total, the
convoy consisted of six RVs, four 4x4s that were all Land Cruisers,
and a Road Train. The Road Train truck had been converted to an RV
by having a caravan body fitted onto the back, but it still towed
fuel containers. Fuel was highly important to their way of life,
but fortunately it was still available in large quantities. The
survivors took any fuel they could at every opportunity.

“Gooday, fool!” shouted Bruce.

“Hey, Bruce, want some breakfast?” called Brooke
from their vehicle.

“Yeah, bacon and eggs!” shouted Bruce.

She laughed, but it was far from a new joke by the
fatigued leader. They tried to continue a life of fun and
camaraderie, but it was many of the little things in life they now
missed, largely many of the perishable goods.

“How’s some beef jerky and a coffee suit you?” asked
Brooke.

“Have to do, won’t it!” said Bruce.

“Yep!” said Brooke.

“Hey, Connor, get on the radio, tell the chiefs to
meet here in ten minutes!” shouted Bruce.

“Okidoki!” Connor replied.

Connor was still lying in bed. He’d only woken up
just seconds before at the sound of the shouting, but hadn’t had
any motivation to get up. He went over to the radio and called in
Bruce’s message to the chiefs. The term ‘chief’ was one that Bruce
had coined for the person in charge of each vehicle. He’d always
considered it important that each unit within a larger group have
their sub-commanders, no different to an office or an army.

Bruce climbed back aboard his vehicle and sat down
at the dining table. He ripped open the bag of beef jerky and began
to chew away on the tough meat. He could only dream of fresh bacon
and eggs, the luxuries that were long gone, but not forgotten. He’d
always preferred tea to coffee, but powdered milk was disgusting,
he’d rather drink coffee than stoop that low.

Ten minutes later the chiefs climbed aboard and sat
down with Bruce. The navigators of the trucks stood beside them.
They had this meeting each morning to assess their location,
supplies and intentions for the day. A lot can change in a day, and
therefore they always kept up this routine. The supplies, in terms
of people, equipment, food and water were equally spread between
the larger vehicles to ensure that a loss of a vehicle did not
significantly affect their resources. The Land Train towed by far
the largest amount of fuel, but all of the vehicles in the convoy
carried a sizeable number of fuel cans.

“Morning to you all, Brooke, more coffee for
everyone please!” said Bruce.

“What’s the plan, boss?” asked Damian.

“Honestly, I’m a little bored of driving, we have a
reasonable amount of supplies, let’s take a day off, we haven’t
done it in weeks,” said Bruce.

“You sure?” asked Keith.

“Yeah fuck it, the supplies aren’t going anywhere,
certainly not in a day, we’ve got a nice open plain here, let’s get
a game going, relax and enjoy ourselves,” said Bruce.

Connor and Dylan were listening intently from the
roof, pretending to be keeping watch but focusing all their
attention on eavesdropping.

“Alright, but tomorrow we need to be on the move,”
said Keith.

“What did I just say? I said take a day off, not
pitch up for the week,” said Bruce.

“Fair enough,” said Keith.

“Okay, all agreed?” asked Bruce.

The group smiling and nodding all agreed.

“Connor! Lay out a pitch and find the ball!” shouted
Bruce.

“Fucking ey!” shouted Connor.

“Right gents, four guards at any one time, cycle
your people, meeting adjourned. Let’s enjoy ourselves a little,”
said Bruce.

Half an hour later a rough football pitch had been
fashioned on the sandy dirt beside the road and seven men aside
were about to begin playing. The rest of the convoy’s people were
either on guard on the roofs of the RVs or sitting in the shade
beside them.

The goals were jackets spaced roughly the right
distance apart, it was a shirts and skins game. Bruce had joined
in, he never really was much into football, but the opportunity to
just forget all their woes and enjoy himself was something he could
not resist, even if he would look like a muppet.

The lazy crowd cheered on from the sidelines, not
ever getting up from their camp chairs and stools, except for food
and water. The game played on, players cycling in and out from the
side until after three hours, there was nobody left with the will
to play. Most of the group slept through the afternoon after
exerting themselves in the heat, it was dark when Bruce woke
up.

Yet again, he stumbled to his feet and looked over
to the table in his RV. Brooke, Connor and Dylan were watching a
movie, he got up and walked over to them.

“What the fuck are you watching?” asked Bruce.

“Love Actually,” said Brooke.

“You bunch of nancies,” said Bruce.

“Fuck you!” said Brooke.

“Not you, them! You’re supposed to be zombie slaying
action stars, not gay fuck muppets!” said Bruce.

“Haven’t you ever considered the fact that all the
action and violence we’ve seen over the last year is enough, that
perhaps when we don’t have to be fighting we don’t want to watch
more?” asked Brooke.

Bruce was taken aback by the comment, and he
actually thought about it for a minute. It was indeed true, he
played football for the very same reason, and that was a gay game,
so why not watch a chick’s movie and enjoy it for what it was,
peaceful. He may have thought it, but he’d never admit it.

“You bunch of poofters!” said Bruce.

He walked out of the RV to the delightful sight of a
roaring fire. It wasn’t needed for heat, but the light was
soothing, and he knew full well the naturally relaxing nature that
fire had on human beings. Bruce had spent many weekends before the
Zompoc sat around a campfire, an experience he’d always
enjoyed.

“Right, get the grog out!” shouted Bruce.

Ten people were gathered around the fire, out of a
total of forty six. It always felt like a good size group to be
part of, but when Bruce stopped to consider the fact that they were
some of the very lucky and capable few who were still human, it was
depressing. They carried on drinking throughout the night without
incident. The group called themselves The Wanderers, after one of
Jake’s favourite songs. He’d been a steady character throughout
their first year of survival, still driving his battered old Ford
F150.

All of the group’s vehicles were heavily outfitted
with armour and protection, with thick roo bars or improvised rams
on the fronts and mesh grills over all windows. They rarely saw a
zombie during their camping, because they always made camp in
isolated and desolate lands. However, they knew for a fact that if
they stayed long enough in any one place that some number of
creatures would always find them.

Since the first few days of the Zompoc beginning
Bruce had always made it his mission in life to face the zombies on
his terms, at a time and location of his choice, because too often
they had been forced into deadly situations.

The following day the group once again set out in
their convoy, heading for the outskirts of a nearby city, looking
to forage anything useful that they could find, as they had become
so accustomed to doing. Twenty five miles down the road, Connor
called Bruce to the front of the vehicle where he was at the
wheel.

“Bruce, one of the RVs behind us is all over the
road,” he said.

Bruce looked in the driver’s side mirror. He could
see the wagon veering across the road. This was not at all in
keeping with their strict manner of working.

“Dylan, get on the radio and find out what the fuck
is happening with that RV, it looks like Rattlesnake,” said
Bruce.

Each of the vehicles had a name, not just to create
a bond and attachment for its crew, but also a designation to keep
things simple and clear when discussing convoy formations and
tactics and logistics.

“Rattlesnake, this is Road Hog, come in,” said
Dylan.

“This is Rattlesnake, Jackson is at the wheel and
he’s been drinking, he’s pretty off it, over,” said Christian.

“Give me the handset!” said Bruce.

“Tell him to put the fucking bottle down and let
someone else take over, over!” shouted Bruce.

“I already told him that boss, he’s wild,” said
Christian.

“I’m bringing the convoy to a stop, over,” said
Bruce.

“Connor, bring us to a halt, slowly,” he
ordered.

Connor slowed the group down to a stop and Bruce was
immediately out the door and onto the hot asphalt. Before he could
step any further down the convoy to sort the mess out, Rattlesnake
pulled out of the convoy and accelerated down the line. Bruce
flailed his arms about, furious.

“Jackson! Stop the fucking vehicle!” shouted
Bruce.

It had no effect, the big RV stormed past him. Jake
pulled up with his battered old truck beside Bruce.

“Bruce, what’s going on?” asked Jake.

“That idiot is off his face!” Bruce replied.

“Jump in!” shouted Jake.

Bruce jumped into the truck bed, thankful of the old
man’s help just as he had been a year before. The v8 rumbled as
Jake followed on after the RV. Bruce stood up in the back of the
truck, holding onto the roll bar running over the cab.

“Pull up alongside the driver’s side!” shouted
Bruce.

They were nearing Rattlesnake when it swerved off to
the side the road, a wheel clipping a rock and sending it onto two
wheels before slamming to the dirt on its side and sliding for
thirty feet. Jake slammed the brakes and slid to a halt not far
behind it.

“Fuck me!” shouted Bruce.

“What do you want me to do?” asked Jake,

“Radio Road Hog, tell them to bring the convoy up,
we’ve got some mess to sort out! And tell them we may need some
medical attention,” said Bruce.

He jumped off the back of the truck and ran over to
the crashed RV. Bruce could already hear the groans of agony from
inside, at least that meant they were alive. These vehicles were
built to be completely sealed from zombies, and therefore were not
at all easy to get into. He got up alongside the roof, the hatch on
top being the easiest thing for him to reach.

“Christian, Christian! Open the roof hatch!”
screamed Bruce.

There was no reply, all Bruce could hear was the
sound of Jake talking to the convoy on his radio. Finally Bruce
could hear the sound of someone stumbling around inside the RV.

“Christian, open the hatch!” shouted Bruce.

The bolt slid across and the roof hatch swung open.
Christian had blood dripping down his face and was cradling his
left arm, he was battered and bloody.

“How is everyone else?” asked Bruce.

“Jackson is unconscious up front, Carly and Jack are
down on the floor, I think Carly’s leg is broken, Jack is just
bashed about,” said Christian.

“What a fucking idiot!” shouted Bruce.

The first vehicles of the convoy pulled up alongside
them on the road by Jake’s truck. Five people ran to the aid of the
stricken vehicle, those with first aid or medical experience.

“Jake, you and Dylan organise security, I don’t want
any more surprises!” said Bruce.

“No problem!” shouted Jake.

Jake looked at the people who had gathered before
him, doing their jobs correctly and in good order. He was pleased
that after such a display of stupidity and poor discipline the
majority were carrying on as they should in these
circumstances.

“Right, you’re going to have to get inside and take
care of them there, I’ll start arranging recovery of the vehicle,”
said Bruce.

The five helpers nodded in response and began
climbing in through the roof hatch. Bruce made his way back up to
the road to where Jake stood.

“Sentries are out, we’re all sorted,” said Jake.

“Good job. Now, let’s talk about getting this
vehicle back on its feet,” said Bruce.

“You want to recover it?” asked Jake.

“Yeah, it’s a good vehicle and it’s had quite a bit
of time put into setting it up right. I don’t see any reason why we
can’t get it back on the road in no time. Will the trucks be able
to pull it over or will you need something heavier?” said
Bruce.

“I guess if we get three of the trucks up here we’ll
manage it,” said Jake.

“Alright, get on it,” said Bruce.

He looked back at the vehicle resting on its side,
people clambering through the roof hatch.

“What a complete fuck up,” said Bruce.

He stumbled back towards his vehicle, now parked
fifty feet from the crash site. Bruce stepped up into the vehicle
and opened the onboard fridge. A beer was what he needed right now,
the heat and stress of the crappy morning being too much. Any
sensible leader would have kept strict rules on alcohol in the
Zombie Apocalypse, but not Bruce. He climbed up the ladder to the
roof where Dylan was sitting.

“How’s it going, mate?” asked Dylan.

Bruce sat down near Dylan, his feet hanging over the
edge of the vehicle.

“Not too great,” said Bruce.

“What’s up?” asked Dylan.

“Look at this mess. We were lucky this time that
such stupidity happened in a safe area. Next time it could be the
end of all of us,” said Bruce.

“But this was an accident, right?” asked Dylan.

“Not really, we treat life like a party, it’s hardly
surprising that we should then suffer the same crap that party nuts
always do,” said Bruce.

Bruce knocked back his cool beer, fully aware of the
contradictory nature of his words and actions. He thought about the
dangerous line they walked and the risks they took. Apart from the
careful and well planned image that they generally presented, the
group was gun hoe and took too many risks. Despite this, he
wondered if there was any other way. Humanity had never managed to
rid itself of vices such as alcohol, tobacco and gambling when it
was at its peak, how then could they be expected to be any
better?