Zombie Dawn Exodus (4 page)

The more Bruce thought about it, the more his head
hurt. Perhaps he didn’t do things the best way possible, but they
were at least still alive, and perhaps actually getting some
enjoyment out of life was more important than doing everything
perfectly and safely.

Twenty minutes later the three trucks were hitched
up to the crashed vehicle. They had decided to leave the survivors
and first aiders inside, have them hold on rather than escape
through the roof hatch, which was not easily accessible the way
vehicle lay on its side.

“Ready?” shouted Jake.

“Yeah, put some power down, but take it easy!”
shouted Bruce.

The dirty and battered trucks slowly edged forward,
taking up the slack on the ropes until they finally pulled taut.
Eventually the stricken vehicle was lifted off the ground, being
pulled back upright. Finally the balance of weight on the wheels
was enough that the last two wheels smashed to the ground,
uprighting it. Bruce rushed to the main door, knocking on it.

“Is everyone ok? Open up!” shouted Bruce.

The door swung open, and he went aboard. Aside from
the minor injuries and one broken leg, they’d had a lucky escape.
He went to the front of the vehicle where Jackson was beginning to
wake up, still sitting in the driver’s seat with his seat belt
buckled. Bruce released the buckle of his belt and grabbed hold of
his ear, forcing him to follow. He led the man out of the vehicle,
revealing him to the two dozen people stood in front of them.

“This fuck muppet had the good sense to buckle his
belt to save his own skin, and had no concern whatsoever for the
rest of his crew, or any of us!” shouted Bruce.

He slammed the man against the side of the recently
recovered vehicle, and punched him in the face, causing him to reel
in pain, blood spurting from his nose.

“Ordinarily I would suggest some severe punishment
for such blatant disregard for the group’s safety. Sadly, we cannot
spare one life, and that is the lesson that this idiot must learn.
We may not all share the same interests, or be compatible people.
Some of you may loathe others, but we are the lucky few, we can’t
be picky about who we call our friends anymore. Therefore, we’re
going to have to hope Jackson has learnt the errors of his ways,
because nothing we can say will change him,” said Bruce.

The group looked at each other, some mumbling,
others agreeing. Many of the survivors had hoped to see some
punishment dealt out to the man who had put them in such danger,
they were in part disappointed, but also relieved that it was
over.

“Jackson, wisen the fuck up, and don’t you dare
touch any alcohol for the rest of the week,” said Bruce.

The bloodied and dazed man nodded, knowing he had no
other choice. Bruce walked around to the side of the crashed
vehicle to survey the damage, it was largely cosmetic. However, the
mesh screens covering the windows were damaged and partly hanging
off.

“Jake, organise some guys to get this fixed. Connor,
we have wounded to attend to and vehicles to repair and check for
damage, we hold here for the day, rest up and continue tomorrow!”
shouted Bruce.

CHAPTER
THREE

NORTHERN PACIFIC OCEAN

The Landing Craft Air Cushion (LCAC) bounced gently
as it clipped the low waves of the ocean. The vehicle was an
oddity, a shallow hulled but very wide landing craft that operated
as a hovercraft. She travelled at forty knots and carried Captain
Black’s reconnaissance unit. Though the craft could carry half a
dozen vehicles or even a couple of hundred soldiers there were far
fewer onboard for this operation. Captain Black brought with him a
well-equipped Marine platoon, as well as several specialists from
the US and France that they had stuck with since their experiences
in Afghanistan in the months before. There was also a number of
civilian technical crew led by Dr Garcia.

Dr Garcia cradled her rugged laptop as she watched
the screen for useful information. The computer had a live feed to
the UAV that buzzed overhead and provided the unit with up-to-date
information on the ship and the immediate area around them. The
display showed several access points near the bow that were used
for loading materials directly into the hull. She turned to the
Marines that were readying equipment and spotted the Captain. She
waved to him, drawing his attention to the computer. He said a few
more words and then wandered over, shouting over the sound of the
loud fans.

“What?” he asked.

“Look!” shouted Dr Garcia as she showed him the
access hatches.

Captain Black nodded in agreement and gave her a
thumbs up gesture. He tapped his ear and then spoke into his throat
mic, giving directions to the crew of the craft. They were now only
half a mile from the bow of the massive ocean liner.

Overhead a helicopter buzzed past, it was the
research vessel’s own craft and carried an additional four Marines.
Moving swiftly past the hovercraft it approached the liner and
hovered over the bow of the vessel. Ropes appeared and in less than
a minute the Marines had rappelled down to the deck and started
fixing ropes to throw down to the hovercraft below. With the
Marines safely disgorged it turned and flew back to the ship.

Sergeant Fernanda organised the small group as they
hurled the ropes over the port side of the vessel. She was a tough
Marine and had been part of Captain Black’s unit back in
Afghanistan when they first encountered both the Taliban and the
undead.

“Captain, ropes are in. We’re securing the position,
give us thirty seconds, out,” she spoke on her hands free radio
equipment.

With just a single hand signal the Marines spread
out, examining the large front section of the super liner. The bow
section was shaped like a large letter ‘v’ and was completely flat,
save for the containers heaped onto the deck. The Sergeant moved to
the port side of the vessel so she could see down the side of the
ship. It all looked clear from her position.

“Port side is clear,” she reported on her radio,
‘waiting for the status of the starboard side.”

From opposite she spotted Brent, one of the newest
members of the unit, signalling the other side of the ship was
clear.

“All clear, I repeat you are clear to board,” she
said firmly.

“Affirmative,” came the response.

Sergeant Fernanda smiled to herself, recognising the
coolness she always associated with Captain Black. He certainly
didn’t like to waste words. Overhead the UAV buzzed past, its small
engine grumbling as it moved off towards the aft of the ship.
Fernanda pulled out her military issue PDA and accessed the live
feed the aircraft was transmitting. They had started using these
smaller, unit operated UAVs in the urban combat whilst she was in
Iraq and they provided a critical view when a unit’s line of sight
was blocked. As the craft continued she noted the missing life
craft and boats, as well as what looked like red or black marks on
the floor.

Brent arrived back whilst the other two helped the
first of the Marines from the hovercraft up onto the deck.

“Brent, look at this,” she said as she handed the
device over to him.

“Hmm, it could be a spill of some kind, looks like
dried blood though,” he answered as he passed the device back.

“Yeah, knowing our luck it will definitely be
blood,” said Fernanda sarcastically.

More of the Marines pulled themselves up over the
side of the ship and onto the forecastle. As each hit the deck they
readied their weapons and spread out to provide cover if needed.
Captain Black pulled himself over, assisted by another of the
Marines and dropped onto the deck. He spotted the Sergeant and
moved directly to her. As he approached she stood to attention and
saluted him.

“Report, Sergeant,” he ordered.

Sergeant Fernanda turned her PDA towards the Captain
and showed him the latest data.

“So far the upper decks look clear though we have
spotted signs of a struggle, especially in this area,” she said as
she hit the review button.

The display went backwards in time until it reached
the point where the UAV had passed what looked like blood. Captain
Black examined the feed in detail before making a call on his
radio.

“Bring up the doctor,” he turned to Sergeant
Fernanda. “Good work, set up a temporary command post in the
bridge, he pointed upwards to the large structure covered in thick
glass windows.

“Leave the ropes in position in case we need to
leave in a hurry. I want a three man detail guarding the
forecastle. The rest will split into two teams and work their way
up to the bridge. I’ll take the port side, you take the starboard
and we’ll meet in the middle.

“Just like old times, Sir,” replied Sergeant
Fernanda with a smile.

She moved off to organise the rest of the Marines
whilst Captain Black went back to his radio.

“Black here. We’ve secured the forecastle and are
moving onto the bridge. Any updates on signs of survivors?” he
asked.

There was a short pause before one of the crew from
the Moreau called back.

“Captain Black, we have a very weak signal coming
from the Grand Lobby.”

“What kind of signal?” he asked as he checked his
printed diagram of the ship.

The massive vessel contained over seventeen
passenger decks and the Grand Lobby was just over a third the way
along the ship and low down in the hull. It would take some time to
work their way from the forecastle to reach it. The radio
crackled.

“We are receiving a series of low frequency sounds.
They are unlikely to be equipment as they’re not in a continuous
rhythm. There’s a chance it’s survivors.”

“Yeah, also a chance of a hundred zombies in there
trying to claw their way out,” he muttered off the radio.

“Understood. Will reappraise the situation, once we
control the bridge section of the ship.”

“Good luck,” came the reply.

Captain Black turned to the troops on the deck. They
were already divided up into three groups, the smaller one stayed
near the ropes on the port side. The other two groups consisted of
a dozen Marines, each of them equipped with worn but functional
digital camouflage and a selection of body armour and weapons.
Unlike combat units of just a year ago there were some noticeable
changes to their clothing since the outbreak. The first was that
they all wore sturdy gloves with reinforced protection on the
wrists. On the rest of their arms were what looked like lacrosse
armour that ran from the forearm to the shoulder. The extra
armoured sections were made of toughened cloth and plastic and were
designed to protect against bites from the undead. On their legs
they wore similar armour that ran from the shins to just above the
knee. The final piece of unusual equipment was neck armour that
looked like a padded ring around the throat, a piece of equipment
often used in hockey to protect the windpipe. Though they were of
no use against combat units these modifications had saved the
Marines in scores of battles.

Each Marine carried a mixture of M16 rifles, M4
carbines, Heckler & Koch MP5 submachine guns and pistols. With
supplies running low each Marine stuck with the weapon they had
easy access to. This meant a few of them carried non-issue shotguns
and weapons taken from the battlefield. Though this led to some
irregularity with the firearms, it was hardly surprising in the
circumstances.

“Listen up, we have information on possible
survivors in the Grand Lobby section. We’ll secure the bridge and
attempt to activate the video feeds before moving deeper into the
ship. Assume every section is contaminated and exercise extreme
caution. I want a zero casualty rate on this one. Secure the
stairs, doorways and access points; once the bridge is secure,
nothing gets in. Understood?”

He was greeted by a chorus of “Ooh-rah”.

“Let’s go then!” he shouted.

Captain Black led the first dozen along the port
side of the ship, each Marine staying close to the edge of the
vessel and away from the superstructure. On the opposite side of
the ship Sergeant Fernanda led her unit towards the access hatch
that led inside the lower sections below the bridge. Upon her
signal Corporal Kowalski moved to the hatch and attempted to open
it. He was no weakling but the hatch refused to budge.

“Fuck! It’s locked down Sarge, probably from the
inside,” he called.

“Blow it!” said Fernanda.

Corporal Armstrong moved up to the door and placed a
small number of charges in place. It took just seconds to fit them
to the key points on the hatch. With a hand signal he ordered the
unit to pull back from the blast zone and when far enough away hit
the button. With a dull crump the hatch blasted inside and exposed
a space of approximately one metre wide, perfectly big enough for a
Marine to enter. Kowalski went in first, quickly followed by
Fernanda and the rest of the unit.

On the port side of the vessel Captain Black found
the doorway to the secondary stairwell was unlocked and still open.
He signalled to Gunnery Sergeant Freeman, a tough, well built
Marine, to clear the entry point before they moved inside. The
Marine moved to the entrance and pushed an electronic device inside
the doorway. The device was a remote camera system and provided
detailed thermal and visible light imaging of the area. He turned
back to the Captain.

“It looks clear to me, no sign of life or movement
anywhere in there,” he said.

Black gave the signal and the rest of the group
moved into the stairwell, each of the Marines scanned around to
make sure no surprises would impede their progress. The Marines
were all equipped with lanterns either fixed to their shoulders or
to their weapons. The beams provided a dull yellow glow to the dark
and dusty interior.