Zombie Dawn Apocalypse

• CHAPTER 1
  
• CHAPTER 2
  
• CHAPTER 3
  
• CHAPTER 4
  
• CHAPTER 5
  
• CHAPTER 6
  
• CHAPTER 7
  
• CHAPTER 8
  
• CHAPTER 9
  
• CHAPTER 10
  
• CHAPTER 11
  
• CHAPTER 12
  
• CHAPTER 13
  
• CHAPTER 14
  
• CHAPTER 15
  
• CHAPTER 16
  
• CHAPTER 17
  
• CHAPTER 18
  
• CHAPTER 19
  
• CHAPTER 20
  

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This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously.
 
The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.

* * * * *

ZOMBIE DAWN APOCALYPSE

* * * * *

The March, United Kingdom

Nick and Carter crept over the ridge that ran along the high riverbank. Behind them was the churning River Wye, thick with the recent heavy rains that also added a muddy colour to the surface. A narrow bridge crossed the river to the small medieval town of Chepstow. It was all that was left of the Green Zone, the area set up ten years ago as a stronghold in the zombie apocalypse. The town still retained parts of its ancient city walls as well as a largely intact castle running along the cliffs. Though its size was much reduced it was well defended by the river on one side that was flanked by steep cliffs and on the other by the rebuilt and reinforced medieval town walls that stood twenty feet tall and were made of thick stone and masonry.

Nick had been fighting since the first days of the outbreak and it seemed liked the fighting had never stopped. From his escape in the early hours he had eventually taken over as leader of the scouting and combat sections of the Green Zone. His expertise in close quarter combat, and the group of vehicles he’d organised, had saved scores of people.

To his side lay Carter, a survivor that he’d rescued years ago when being held as a prisoner by a motorcycle gang. In the following years he’d grown into a successful hunter and had proven a valuable fighter and scout.

Both men wore a bizarre collection of clothing and equipment that made them look like a cross between an arctic explorer and a refugee. Their clothes were dull and repaired many times. They wore heavy boots and reinforced gloves and their arms and legs were protected by additional sections of armour made from pieces of car rubber. They also wore loose fitting bands around their necks to protect against throat bites. After ten years their equipment had changed to emphasise limb and neck protection, whereas most rookies protected the torso first. Carter carried a medium sized crossbow on his back along with a quiver containing scores of bolts. On his belt was a stag handled machete as big as his arm.
 
Nick on the other hand still carried his folding crossbow on one side and his prized
Glock
17 pistol that had been recovered a few years back from the bodies of four long dead policemen, presumably part of an armed response team. On his leg he carried a machete that was very similar to the one carried by Carter. The last piece of equipment though was his ‘bible chopper’, a weapon that was based on a medieval falchion, a single edge sword with a thick blade and a series of spikes running down the back of the tip. It looked like a weapon that most people would expect to be carried by a villain in a fantasy film. Incredibly though it was based on designs from an illustrated medieval bible. He’d picked it up before the outbreak when on holiday in Sweden.

Nick looked back, spotting the town and its large castle behind him with its tattered flag still flying. He scanned the outskirts of the town with his binoculars, checking for any potential problems. It was a trip that he did everyday to ensure the safety of this last enclave in Britain. As far as they knew this was the only inhabited area left on the mainland, not that it mattered though, they weren’t going anywhere.

“Looks clear,” said Carter.

“Yeah,” replied Nick as he continued panning across the horizon.

At least half of the town had been demolished in the last few years, mainly to fill the many gaps in the town walls and also to help build new sections where the old wall no longer existed at all. The original walls ran through the modern town so the buildings near it had been flattened with the end result that the town of Chepstow was now only a quarter the size that it used to be. The benefits were less space to defend, stronger defences and also more flattened space to use for industry and farming for the two hundred and twelve inhabitants still remaining.

The only ways to safely cross the river was to use the narrow, long steel bridge that ran cliff top to cliff top or a much smaller bridge that was also barricaded near the castle. The main bridge was a modern structure designed for trucks and cars but for years now had been barricaded at both ends. It was the only way in from the east and pointed like an arrow into the heart of the town. Through his binoculars Nick could see the four guards that were always on duty guarding the bridge.
 

He looked back at the ridge that lay ahead. The ridge was both the outer limit of their community and also marked the old borderline between the lands of Wales and England, a division that was now just a name, an irrelevance to both the living and the undead.
 
Nick lifted himself up and moved forward with Carter moving off at his side.
 
As they reached the ridge they looked down to the old widely spaced out suburbs of
Tutshill
. This area was now abandoned and much of it had been burnt in the various purging campaigns conducted by the defenders. Until three years ago it was still occupied, but growing pressure from the horde had pushed them back over the ridge and behind the safety of the river.

Carter pointed out into the distance.

“Can you see that?” he said.

Nick looked carefully with his binoculars, always impressed with Carter’s keen eyesight. He looked out to the edge of the housing areas to the open space ahead. At first he couldn’t see anything unusual. He looked to the left and then spotted them, a group of people lurking near the abandoned trucks.

“Oh yeah, I’ve got them,” he said as he stared intently.

The group seemed to be about a dozen strong and they were moving around the long abandoned vehicles from one of the battles years ago. Nick cradled the binoculars to reduce the shake so he could examine them more carefully.

“Are they survivors?” asked Carter.

“I can’t tell yet, they’re too far away,” he replied.

The two men continued examining the area for any other signs but the group was the only change on the landscape they’d seen in weeks.

“We need to get closer,” said Nick as he turned back down the ridge to the road.
 

Carter followed him until they reached the road that ran up to the barricades on the ridge. He walked alongside Nick.

“You thinking of getting the quad out?” he asked.

“I don’t like using it, fuel is nearly gone as it is, but we need to know what’s going on,” he said as he approached the guards.

The doorway slid open to reveal a mass of crates and tools that had been salvaged and stored on the bridge. One of the guards dropped down, he was called Tony and was one of the group they’d picked up in the shopping centre. He was opinionated and had been a real irritant but over the years had mellowed.

“Found something?” he asked suspiciously.

“Maybe, I need the quad,” said Nick.

“Must be serious, you want it now?” he asked.

Nick nodded whilst turning to Carter.

“If they’re survivors we’ll need an extraction unit to help us get them in,” he said.

Carter moved inside and picked up the wired intercom. Before he spoke though he turned back looking a little confused.

“What if they aren’t?”

“Simple, we put them down, all of them,” said Nick with a grin.

Tony reappeared, pushing a large quad from out of an awning where two more appeared in various states of repair. The quad was one of the larger all terrain vehicles and it had been slightly modified with racks for equipment and an enlarged rear seat so two could travel with equipment more comfortably.

“How much fuel do you need?” asked Tony.

“Enough for an hour, no more,” he replied.

Tony returned to the other two vehicles and unlocked a large metal storage bin. He returned with a green plastic container containing several litres of the precious fuel. He unscrewed the cap and proceeded to fill the tank.
 

Nick walked over to the shelter on the bridge where several storage lockers were placed. He opened the first to reveal a selection of weapons. The weapons were positioned at this end of the bridge for two reasons, the first being a handy location to rearm in case of attack on the bridge, the second was to rearm scouting units when the occasion demanded it. Due to the lack of supplies, and the ability to remake ammunition, it had become harder to make use of firearms so those that remained were kept in the best possible condition and close by.

Of the six guns in the locker, four were shotguns taken from local farms. There was also a small calibre target or hunting rifle that was useful for a variety of jobs. The weapon that Nick took though was one of the bolt-action rifles taken from the shooting range. It was an Enfield rifle, originally a No 4 weapon, that had probably seen action in World War II. In later years it had been stripped down and re-chambered for the standard NATO 7.62mm bullet and outfitted with a telescopic sight. It made for a powerful and accurate rifle, perfect for the zombie apocalypse. The only real problem was the shortage of bullets, though their raids a year ago into the other towns in Wales had produced small quantities of ammunition from the police stations and army barracks.

“There, you’re ready,” said Tony as he hit the start button on the quad.

With just a couple of squeaks the engine kicked and then started.

“Great work, Tony. You’re keeping them running well,” he said.

Tony nodded in acknowledgement before turning back inside the barricade. Carter came out and jogged over, jumping onto the back of the quad. In his hand he carried a flare gun from the stores.

“Okay, I’ve let them know what we’re doing. If we need help with survivors we do the usual flare in the air. If we hit trouble...” he said before being interrupted by Nick.

“If we hit trouble they’ll know from the gunfire,” said Nick dispassionately.

Nick revved the engine, double checking it was all running as it should.

“Good luck!” shouted Tony from the barricade.

Nick lifted his arm up, waving as he powered the quad and drove off along the road. With the road being of no importance anymore it had been reclaimed by weeds and rubbish over the years so that it was impassable to a normal car, not that any of those were still running. The quad bumped over the rougher ground until they reached the crest in the road that looked down into the suburbs. Due to the sunken nature of the road it was impossible to see out to the abandoned trucks. Nick kept moving at a steady pace whilst Carter hung over to his side, keeping a constant vigil. Their training, equipment and experience had kept them alive so far and they weren’t about to wander into trouble without knowing exactly what was happening.