Zombie Dawn Outbreak (12 page)

“Fuck me, mate, that was rubbish,” said Barry.

“Tell me about it,” replied Dave.

Dave looked around, all was silent, the engine having stalled and nobody in sight. He reached for the ignition, the engine turned over, but nothing else happened. He tried again, and a third time, but nothing.

“Bugger,” said Dave.

All was looking hopeless. The two simply sat back, losing the will to live.

“Look,” said Barry.

He was pointing through his window down the road. About half a mile away the familiar shape of the shambling dead could be seen making their way towards the car.

“Great, that’s all we need,” said Dave.

He got out of the car and pulled his axe from the back seat. Walking over to the passenger side, Barry had not got out.

“Is the door jammed, mate?” asked Dave.

“Yeh,” he replied.

Dave put his hand onto the door handle and lifted, but nothing happened. Putting more pressure it would still not move.

“Hang on, mate.”

Dave walked back around the car and climbed in the back to find Barry’s hammer. Looking over his friend’s shoulder he could see a blood trail, not a good sign.

Dave walked back around to the passenger side and slipped the hammer forks in between the door frame and car. Prizing the two apart he did all he could do get the door open. The metal of the body buckled, but the door showed no sign of moving.

“Fuck!” he shouted.

“Mate, get me the fuck out of here!” shouted Barry.

He hammered on the door frame, as much in anger as desperation. Barry was panicking. Finally, he stopped, already tired, and having achieved nothing at all. Dave leant against the car, knowing nothing else to do that might help, and seeing the zombies getting closer.

“Mate, I’m done,” said Barry.

“What do you mean?” asked Dave.

“I’m stuck here, and even if you could get that door open, I doubt I could walk, my leg is mangled, and my hip wrecked,” said Barry.

“So what?” asked Dave.

“So, you can do me the courtesy of not leaving me to become one of those things,” said Barry

“What?” asked Dave.

“You’re free to run, and you should. I’m not, I would rather be killed by a friend than a zombie,” said Barry.

“No fucking way, mate,” said Dave.

“Then what, you’d rather leave me to bleed out and become one of those things?”

Dave stopped to think. It was a horrible situation, and the hardest decision he’d ever made in his life. The day had started in a rubbish fashion, but what was a boring office life seemed all too comfortable when faced with this.

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

“You have to kill me in the same way we killed the others, so that there’s no way for me to become one of them,” said Barry.

“Like how?” asked Dave.

“Take that hammer, and hit me on the noggin with it, hard,” said Barry.

“Jesus, mate, I can’t do that,” said Dave.

“Man the fuck up, you’ll be doing me a favour,” said Barry.

“Well it doesn’t feel like it,” said Dave.

“It’s been an interesting day, but it’s now time you got moving, now please, do it and go,” said Barry.

Dave picked the hammer up, it was still stained with the blood of several creatures. In his head this was the worst thing he would ever do, but in his heart he knew it was also the kindest.

“See ya, mate,” said Dave.

“Yeah, in heaven, I’ll be waiting there at the nearest bar.”

“Ha, sounds good.”

Dave faced away from his friend and quickly swung the hammer in horizontally at his head, striking the temple hard. Barry was killed instantly, but Dave didn’t look back to see the result of his work. He looked up, a scattering of creatures were enthusiastically stumbling towards him, now just a hundred yards away. Looking over at the side of a road, a bicycle was chained to the railings outside a newsagent.

A bike would be the last mode of transport Dave would ever choose to use, but he only had to keep a mild speed up to be free of these beasts, and there was no time to find anything else. With both weapons in hand he ran over to the bike. Looking down it, it was a nice new mountain bike and locked with a steel chain.

The door beside him suddenly swung open and Dave turned just in time to see the zombified storekeeper staggering towards him, finally something to take his anger out on. He put the axe loose in his left hand and took Barry’s hammer up with his right. Swinging at the man the first blow hit the nose, causing it to erupt in blood. Before the creature could recover he hit again, the hammer head smashing into the eye socket and forcing the eyeball out loose, dangling from the beast’s face.

Dave pulled the hammer from the socket and slammed it down on to the beast’s forehead, splintering the skull. Blood dripped down the creature’s mangled face, but it was still not dead. He lifted the hammer again and swung it down onto the beast’s head again and again, until it dropped in a lifeless mess.

Looking out across the wall of the shop, Dave could see a number of creatures getting ever closer. He took the hammer to the chain, but it wouldn’t break. He took the axe and stood up. Raising it over his head he smashed it down on the lock, but still no result. Dave hit it again and again, until finally on the sixth strike the lock partly broke. He wedged the forks of the hammer between what was left of the lock and prized them apart.

Unfortunately, Dave could no longer carry his beloved axe, as there was no means to do so on a bicycle. He took the hammer and jumped onto the bike. It was a bleak continuation from a journey which should have included both his two friends and treasured Type R.

As he rode off from the shop front pavement a creature took the turn around the wall ahead of him. Dave could have avoided this creature, but the absolute hatred he now felt for the beasts made him deliberately veer closer. Riding past leisurely to the left side of the zombie he smacked it hard in the face. The beast’s neck twisted sharply and it collapsed to the street. He continued on.

The relaxed fighting position and ride afforded him a comfortable journey out of the town, and the revenge he so desperately wanted could be had at any moment he chose. Every hundred yards, Dave would hammer another zombie in the face, each time feeling just a little better about things than he had before.

Finally, he reached a small bridge which crossed over the motorway. Getting to the railings he stopped to look below. The road was always busy, no matter the time or day, but now the traffic was stopped completely, but there were few people. Some creatures could be seen hammering on windows and staggering between the jam. However many people survived in those cars, they would not for long, and there was nothing Dave could do about it.

Looking back from where he’d just come two creatures staggered towards him in the distance. The only way was forwards. Dave was now quickly growing tired, he had the willpower to ride on, but little else. He followed the road to a village he’d never heard of, it would at least have as few people as possible, less potential enemies. Time was going on, with just a few hours of light, he only hoped he could find shelter before this terrible day was over.

Helmand Province, Afghanistan

It was Afghanistan and even though it was only 5am the marines were already feeling the start of the day’s heat. Though they’d been in the country for three months now, none of them enjoyed being out in full combat gear in the blistering temperature. The country was dry, barren and the dust and sand got everywhere. On top of this they were crammed in like sardines into the Osprey, an aircraft that on paper was state-of-the-art, but to the marines it was like every other vehicle they travelled in; noisy, dark and cramped!

Each of the marines was equipped with the latest Modular Tactical Vest (MTV) set of body armour which was the newest and most advanced vest in marine inventories. It offered better protection than previous vests and was proving invaluable in the continuing war with the insurgency. The marines also wore the latest Combat Utility Uniform that consisted of MARPAT digital camouflage blouse and trousers, green undershirt, and tan suede boots. On their heads they wore the new Lightweight Helmets that offered better protection than the previous ‘Fritz’ type designs even though they were less than light! These marines looked well armed and equipped and were the spearhead of the US Marines assault troops.

Reports had been coming in all morning and the stories were not good, not good at all. Private Torres, a twenty four year old marine tried to find out more as he read the latest on his Apple iPhone.  He was taller than average, shaved hair and was the stereotypical jarhead. He squinted as he tried to examine the small scrolling ticker at the bottom. The tiny text gave him the latest figures whilst on the main screen he was watching a live video feed.

He turned to the man sat next to him and thrust the phone at his face. Making sure that the display was placed right in front of his nose.

“Have you seen this shit?” he asked excitedly. “The attacks are spreading!”

The man ignored the phone and swore directly as Torres.

“Get that piece of shit out of my face!”

The other men onboard laughed at the usual banter between these two men. Torres was always waving his phone about, much to the annoyance of the rest who were convinced he must work for the company. Torres pretended to not have heard his comments and described what he had read.

“According to this report some of those guys managed to attack the English parliament.”

Fernanda, the unit’s only female soldier leaned forwards, looking towards Torres. She had short, dark hair tied loose behind her head and carried her M4 carbine across her chest.

“How many this time?” she shouted.

Torres examined the screen more closely, watching the video feed of the action. Though the footage was small he could see the inside of the building, incredibly the panic had been caught on camera. As armed police arrived, firing automatic weapons, the feed started to stutter and parts of the video froze.

“I’m losing the signal. I think it said the Prime Minister was injured and there are more than fifty more dead or injured. They said something about martial law I think,” said Torres.

Fernanda leaned back, “First Canada gets hit, then France. When is this gonna stop?”

The rest of the men were silent. They were all experienced marines from the 3rd Battalion, 4th Marines infantry battalion of the United States Marine Corps. Known by the rest of the armed forces as the ‘Thundering Third’, they had already accumulated an impressive score of victories in the country. Unlike their previous missions though, this was only their third in the new Osprey aircraft. They were sat inside the V22-Osprey and it was cramped, especially with the rest of the unit packed in. This aircraft was the latest piece of equipment in the arsenal of the US Marines and over time it would be replacing most of the battlefield helicopters. It was a tiltrotor aircraft with both a vertical takeoff and landing capability, and combined the functionality of a conventional helicopter with the long-range, high-speed cruise performance of a fixed wing aircraft.

The First Sergeant, a tough marine called Black was standing up, holding onto one of the internal rails whilst he spoke over the headset to the pilots. Something caught his attention and he moved closer to the front of the aircraft, engaging in a conversation for about a minute. The rest of the marines tried to hear what was going on. It didn’t matter though because after just a few more seconds he moved to the centre of the aircraft and tapped his ear, signalling to the men to fit their intercom systems on so they could be more easily heard over the sound of the two massive rotors.

“Ok ladies, listen up. We’ve received reports from Nawzad District that the operation has hit a shit storm,” he said.

Now that he had their attention he continued.

“The ANA units patrolling the Nawzad Valley were hit earlier this morning. Information from our Force Recon unit there says they’ve been wiped out and Nawzad itself has been hit by Taliban forces. That was an hour ago, since then we’ve heard nothing.”

The Sergeant looked around the craft, spotting the concern and anger amongst the men. He received more information and gestured to the marines to wait whilst he listened in.

Sergeant Black had been involved in operations in Nawzad three months earlier and he was dismayed to hear that this success story seemed to be unravelling. Though not particularly massive it was the centre of the Nawzad District in Helmand Province. The area had been fought over for the last few years by the Taliban forces on one side and the outnumbered British forces with their Ghurkha troops and small numbers of the new Afghan National Army soldiers. Though they’d fought hard their numbers just weren’t enough to do the job alone. With the heavy fighting over in Iraq they’d been able to transfer combat forces, including the Marine units, to Helmand Province to assist their comrades in the British Army. With the skills and knowledge of the area the British were capable allies and the process of pacifying the region was now coming to an end.

He stopped, listening to more news on his headset before continuing.

“We have the latest intel from the Reapers, it shows the area has been involved in some kind of action but there are no signs of insurgents moving in the area.

 “Any news on the garrison in the town?” asked Torres.

“Not since the start of the action. At 4.25am we received news that the civilians were being attacked and shortly after that the two compounds came under fire. All transmissions stopped at 4.42am and we have to assume that Coalition and ANA forces in the town have been neutralised. This area is critical to our progress in the Nawzad Valley.”

The Sergeant spoke a few words into his headset before turning back to Torres.

“Remember marines, we’re here to disrupt Taliban supply and communications lines and to remove his support in this region.”

He lifted himself up straight, looking at the rest of the marines in the Osprey.

“Either way we need to retake control and bring this town back under the control of the ANA,” said the sergeant.