Zombie Dawn Exodus (7 page)

A dull thump indicated the use of a grenade followed
by more rapid fire, presumably that of automatic weapons and
machine-guns. Captain Black turned to Dr Garcia only to find her
and her two guards already packing up her gear. He spoke into his
microphone.

“Hold steady, son, we’re coming for you,” he
said.

He grabbed his carbine and moved for the door. Dr
Garcia reached out, trying to stop him.

“We need to get the rest of the supplies off the
ship!” she ordered.

“No, you need to. My men will be on the forecastle
in five minutes. Be there or get left behind,” he barked and he
stormed out.

In the distance the gunfire was louder and the sound
of machine-gun fire increased. Dr Garcia looked at her two guards,
one of them shrugged then cocked his weapon.

“Come on, follow him,” she said.

* * *

Inside the ship Fernanda’s group made their way
towards the front of the vessel. Having moved out from the Grand
Lobby they had already passed through the planetarium and were
almost halfway back when they found the container. It was about
fifteen feet long and big enough to park a medium sized truck
inside.

Armstrong moved to the back of the container,
noticing one part was open. He looked inside, moving his torch
first one way then back again.

“Uh, Sarge, you need to take a look at this!” he
shouted.

Fernanda moved towards him, but signalled for the
rest of the group to keep moving. Once she reached the container
she peered around the corner to look at whatever Armstrong had
found. Inside were several shelves, each with a series of metallic
cases, one portable computer and lots of blood.

“Holy shit. What is this?” she said.

“No idea, I bet the doc would want some of it
though,” he replied.

“Yeah, good idea. Bag what you can then follow us.
We need to keep moving.”

An explosion rocked the ship, sending some of the
Marines hard against the walls of the corridor. Kowalski hit a
pillar hard, stunning him and knocking him to the ground. One of
the doors twisted and then fell down sending a fireball streaming
to the group. Two of the Marines took the full force of the blast,
their clothing and equipment catching alight and sending them
screaming to the ground. Another blast shook ahead as part of the
ceiling collapsed, blocking their route.

Fernanda lifted herself up, wiping the dust from her
face as she surveyed the scene. The two Marines were down, their
smouldering bodies needed no checking. The rest of the unit was
coming back to their senses when she spotted movement off into the
distance, it was the horde.

“Come on, we need to take the staircase, follow me!”
she shouted.

She turned back towards the container and tore open
the doorway that led to the staircase. Apart from the smoke and
dust it appeared clear. She moved inside first and started making
her way up the stairs, the rest of the group staggered behind
her.

“Captain Black, are you receiving, over,” she called
on the radio.

A voice came back but it was hard to hear, it
sounded like a broken voice, punctuated by noise. It went silent
then the voice came back.

“Sergeant, good to hear your voice. We’re under
attack near the bridge!” he shouted.

The audio crackled from the sound of small arms fire
in the background. There was shouting and screams before the calmer
voice of the Captain came back.

“We’re evacuating the area, falling back to the
forecastle. Can you make it there?” he asked.

Three zombies appeared on the staircase, staggering
towards her. She lifted her carbine and pulled the trigger. The
weapon clicked but jammed. Without hesitating she withdrew her
Beretta M9 9mm pistol and emptied six rounds into them. The first
two were knocked down but the third kept on coming. Armstrong
pushed past her and emptied a dozen rounds from head to toe into
the last zombie. The rest of the group chased behind, desperate to
reach the higher decks.

Another blast came from much closer, followed by the
entire ceiling collapsing just twenty feet away.

“Move it!” shouted Fernanda as she pushed the
Marines on past her.

As they went past another door a chink of light
appeared, presumably from one of the upper decks.

One of the Marines booted it open, letting in fresh
air and bright light. They staggered into the open as more blasts
shook the vessel.

* * *

Captain Black and his surviving three Marines worked
their way aft, on their way to Fernanda. Dr Garcia was close
behind, flanked by her two guards. Her personal communication
system beeped, informing her that the rest of her staff had
evacuated the forecastle. About twenty feet behind them a massive
horde gave chase, held back only by their slow movement.

“Black here, what is your status?” he called on his
radio.

“We’re topside and heading to you,” Fernanda
replied.

“Evac is on the way, meet at the landing pad forward
of the first funnel,” said Captain Black.

More creatures appeared in front of them, blocking
their route to the top deck. Black lifted his carbine and emptied
an entire magazine into the beasts. More zombies clambered over the
bodies, making their way towards them. A series of blasts shook the
corridor as the Marines attempted to hold back the horde.

Part of the false wall to the side of Garcia ripped
apart and two zombies fell out, one knocking her to the floor.

“Fuck!” she shouted as she hit the ground.

“Doctor!” shouted one of the guards and he rushed
forwards to help, followed by the second guard.

More fire poured from the Marines who did their best
to stem the tide. Dr Garcia lifted her Heckler & Koch MP7 from
her thigh holster and shredded the first zombie with a long burst
of automatic fire. One of her guards slammed his armoured fist into
the second whilst another zombie climbed out and bit down into his
shoulder. Luckily the reinforced armour protected him from the
strong bite long enough for his comrade to empty several rounds
into the creature’s face.

Sergeant Black helped her up and they kept moving
forwards, firing at the following undead. He kicked open the door
leading to the upper deck and led the survivors out into the open.
He ran down the staircase leading to the port side landing pad. It
took almost a full minute for them all to reach it. As they stepped
down onto the ship’s main deck they spotted Fernanda’s group
heading right towards them. A dark crowd of the undead was behind
them. The pad was only fifty feet away.

Off to his right Captain Black spotted the LCAC
drifting away from the ship, it looked loaded down with crates,
supplies and people. From its loading bay tracer arced, they were
presumably fighting off their own problems.

“Captain Mathius, where is that evac?” he called
into his radio.

With a deafening roar two Bell UH-1Y Venom Super
Huey’s swept past the ship, heavy weapons’ fire coming from their
door mounted machineguns.

“Holy shit, that’s good timing,” said one of the
Doctor’s guards.

“Come on!” shouted Black, as he moved to the landing
pad.

From the lower deck doors more zombies staggered
out, all of them heading for the noise of the first helicopter as
it descended to the pad. With the pads so low on the vessel they
were only just big enough for one aircraft at a time. As Captain
Black arrived at the edge of the pad he spotted the rescued
civilians packing into the helicopter, Fernanda had beaten them to
it. Lifting his weapon he fired another dozen rounds at the
zombies. Turning back he helped Dr Garcia and the rest of his
people whilst one of the Marines provided covering fire.

Sergeant Fernanda rushed over, tapping him on the
shoulder. Before she could speak, the first Huey lifted off, making
space for the second aircraft.

“You made it!” she shouted.

“You bet!” he replied. “Can we all fit on the next
chopper?” he asked.

She turned back, counting the number of people in
her head.

“No way, three of us are going to have to stay
behind!”

As the second Super Huey landed he started to strip
off his body armour and gear.

“How did your water training go, Sergeant?” he asked
with a grin.

Fernanda grinned as she pulled at the Velcro straps
on her webbing.

Armstrong appeared, helping Dr Garcia to the
aircraft whilst the rest of the unit piled into the helicopter.

“Come on you two, we need to go!” said the
Captain.

Armstrong turned back and was helped into the
overcrowded aircraft. Captain Black waved them off, shouting into
his headset to go. The zombies were now at the pad and lifting
themselves up. The Captain pulled out his handgun and emptied the
weapon at the first to climb the ledge.

The pilot, obviously shaken by the appearance of the
zombies applied power and the aircraft started to lift off, leaving
Captain Black, Fernanda and Kowalski. More of the zombies climbed
onto the pad and started moving towards their little group.

“Time to go!” laughed Fernanda as she ran for the
edge and leapt off the vessel and towards the deep ocean.

CHAPTER
FOUR

ENGLAND

Dave was peering out of the window as the Land Rover
chugged on down the wet and muddy country road. He was armoured up
in an assortment of anything that would provide protection. A
battered old biker’s jacket was the base layer on his body, with a
custom built armoured vest on top. The last year had taught him
that he didn’t have to just protect himself from the zombies, but
hostile humans too. This metal plate lined armour provided sturdy
protection from a shotgun shell or hand-to-hand weapon. Around his
legs he wore thick leather armour, re-enforced with metal
splints.

Beside Dave sat Tommy, his closest friend over the
last few months. Tommy was an aggressive man who would always jump
in at the deep end, but was also a worthy ally. At twenty four
years old when the outbreak begun, he’d worked in a factory
assembling cars.

The old hunk of iron that carried them was a series
Land Rover, older than either of the men in it. The 109-inch
wheelbase truck that they lovingly referred to as Kate after their
favourite movie star, was retro fitted with armour plating and
chicken wire.

“That was a shit haul,” said Tommy.

“True, but it’ll help,” said Dave.

“It’s not enough though, is it?” said Tommy.

He was referring to their most recent haul. They’d
been on a raid to find supplies, them and the other vehicle behind
them. The second vehicle, a Daihatsu Fourtrak, also had two
occupants. The large quantities of red diesel held on the
surrounding farms had given them a great head start on keeping
their vehicles running. Two vehicles with two men each was the
group’s standard operating procedure, never risking too many people
outside their compound, but always having a backup vehicle.

They arrived at large gates built from a mix of wood
and metal parts bolted and welded together, with multiple layers of
chicken wire spanning them entirely. The gates were eight feet
high, the same as the walls they were attached to. This was the
entrance to the place that Dave and many other survivors now called
their home.

In reality, the compound was nothing more than a
wealthy landowner’s property that had been re-enforced with the
help of survivors. The owner still lived in the house and commanded
the ragtag group of survivors which had made it this far. The land
spanned a hundred acres or more, but they controlled and commanded
just ten.

The gates were pulled back by the man and woman who
were on guard at that time and let the vehicles pass through. Dave
gave a nod to Ben and Vicky who were on watch. They drove along the
farm track to the house. It was a large old building, with six
bedrooms, all now converted for them to live in. The lower windows
of the house were still heavily barricaded from by initial defences
from nearly a year before.

This compound housed just nineteen of the lucky few
who had made it this far. Nobody truly knew how many humans were
left in the world. Occasionally they met friendly survivors who
would either stay a while and move on or occasionally make the
place their home. More often than not the survivors they met were
hostile.

Dave could never understand the number of people who
turned on each other at such a time of crisis and need. Why, when
so few humans inhabited the earth, would they choose to fight each
other? Working together their odds of survival in both resources
and combat were hugely improved, though not everyone understood
that.

The vehicles pulled up in front of the old house.
Roger, the man in charge and owner, was already walking out to
greet them. The house was called Everglade, a name all now used to
describe their home.

“How’d it go?” asked Roger.

“Not great,” said Tommy.

“Didn’t you find anything?” asked Roger.

“Yeah, sure. We found some stuff, he’s just being a
miserable bastard,” said Dave.

“Fuck you!” said Tommy.

“Well come on then, let’s see what you’ve got,” said
Roger.

Dave opened up the back of the Land Rover. They had
foraged for supplies at a petrol station on the edge of a small
town. Their leader would never let them roam into areas that used
to be inhabited by large numbers of people. He deemed it far too
risky. Not all the party agreed with this, but the command had been
followed until this point. They had recovered various junk foods,
crisps, chocolate bars, soft drinks and some alcohol.

“No canned food?” asked Roger.

“Unfortunately not,” said Dave.

“Ah well, at least we can keep our sugar levels
high!” said Roger.