Zombie Dawn Exodus (10 page)

CHAPTER
FIVE

MID-WEST, UNITED STATES

It was a mild evening and Madison sat rocking in her
chair. She could just about hear the sounds of her father’s sermon
echoing around the walls of their church. He would blindly live
under the assumption that his daughter was always on the important
duties of defending their community, that she had duties which kept
her from his services. In reality, she sat cradling her AK47,
looking out across the open plains.

It had taken months of bloodshed to purge their
small town of the zombie menace, that her father Richard Wells
called the Devil’s minions. Ever since that time she enjoyed what
quiet and peaceful time she could get.

The small town’s old name was cast aside with the
rebirth of the place, like the phoenix her father had told her. The
shelter they now lived in they called Babylon. Of the thousands who
had lived there, only fifty five now inhabited the area. No walls
had ever been built around their homes, only the individual
defences of each building, as they were all too far apart to easily
create boundary walls.

Babylon was miles from anywhere that had previously
contained people, a natural defence which the community relied
upon, supported by regular patrols and thick bars on their windows
and doors. Wells would never have them build walls, he said the
living should never have to live within the prison confines of
their own town and that they would use their labour to maintain a
free society. For this reason no alcohol was allowed, and every man
and woman was to be armed and ready at all times.

The silence was broken as Madison heard the sound of
someone climbing her watch tower, the clumsy noise of a man
stumbling as his slung rifle bashed against the ladder. This was
the familiar sound of Justin. He appeared at the top.

“Hey Maddy, what’s happening?” he asked.

She acted politely, but was more than a little
annoyed that her peaceful evening had been interrupted. Justin was
a capable fighter but simple minded, and only ever interested in
how many women he could bed, which was growing ever more difficult
in the small and close knit community.

“Hey, Justin, why aren’t you at service?” asked
Madison.

“Oh come on, it bores me to death, what’s your
excuse?” asked Justin.

“I’m on watch,” said Madison.

“Convenient that whenever services are held you’re
up here,” said Justin.

“He’s my father, I already know what he’s going to
tell you all, I hear it the rest of the day!” said Madison.

The glint of some movement in the distance caught
her eye. She stood up and squinted to make it out. Her sight
confirmed what her heart already knew, a zombie staggered down the
main road towards their homes. A crossroads at the church meant
that they could be approached from four sides, but fences and walls
in all homes and side roads meant that everything was channelled
down the main long roads. This meant the management of defences and
survivors was simple, without having to live within walls.

“We’ve got one,” said Madison.

“Shit, that’s the first one in a week!” shouted
Justin.

He leapt to his feet to look out down the open road.
Unslinging his rifle from his shoulder, Justin peered down the
hunting scope at the creature.

“Looks like a city boy!” he said.

“Yeah, I look forward to the day when the creatures
stop coming to find us,” said Madison.

“Yeah, how do you think they do that?” asked
Justin.

“I dunno, there’s so many out there maybe it’s just
luck, or maybe they can smell us from thousands of miles away,”
said Madison.

“I’d love to shoot this bitch right here and now,
one shot through the fucking eye,” said Justin.

“No, no, not with a gun!” shouted Madison.

“I know, just saying,” said Justin.

Madison propped her AK47 against the wall of the
tower and picked up the crossbow next to it. The entire community
owned guns, at least one, whether they had them before the Zompoc
began, or found them afterwards. However, Babylon had a simple
policy, guns were for emergency use only and the weapons with
easily replenishable supplies should always be used. A simple
routine cull of a single creature or two like this would never
necessitate the use of a gun. A silent weapon was also favourable,
as it didn’t break the peace and quiet that the town and parish so
eagerly protected.

The zombie was a hundred yards away when Madison
slammed the crossbow stirrup down onto the floor and put her foot
through it. She pulled the string back until it locked into place
on the trigger. Standing up, she slipped the bolt onto the track
and laid the rifle crossbow to rest on the wall. She pulled her
chair closer and sat down on it, providing the most comfortable and
steady position she could for shooting.

Peering down the scope at her target, Madison could
see the creature used to be an office worker, the typical simple
grey suit, now ripped and ragged. The shirt was so stained with dry
blood, dust and grime that it was hard to tell it used to be white.
She took careful aim at the beast’s skull through the red dot sight
and then finely squeezed the trigger, whilst Justin still watched
through his rifle scope.

The bolt skewed the zombie through the eye socket, a
well placed shot. The two watched as the creature staggered on a
few extra steps whilst spasming, until it collapsed to the ground,
finally lifeless, this time for good.

“Fucking right on!” shouted Justin.

Madison looked over at him with a grin. Despite his
annoying her, she was satisfied by the applause of the crowd she
had, revelling in her martial skill. She noticed lights appear in
the distance, the artificial light at night that only manmade
technology could make. She picked up the binoculars hanging from
her chair and looked out down the long flat road.

“It’s the hunters!” shouted Madison.

The town organised regular missions to gather
supplies from afar, essential items such as ammunition, medical
supplies and food products which they could not grow themselves.
These parties were called ‘hunters’, as they were in the
traditional sense, hunter gatherers. The hunters were the only
people allowed to use cars, except in cases of emergency. Madison
took hold of the bell ringer hanging off the side of the tower and
gave two bells, the signal that friendlies were approaching.

The doors of the church swung open, the light from
the candles beaming out into the street was quickly followed by the
congregation, led by Wells. The three pickup trucks pulled up
outside the church, each one armoured across its cab and with
supplies in their beds. The door opened on the first vehicle and
out stepped Jack, he was the leader of the hunter teams. Jack had
no farming skills at all, but had served in the Marine Corps
straight from school, making him naturally suited to the job.

Richard Wells trotted forward with his usual
enthusiasm, always treating the hunters like their saviours after
returning from any mission, an important task to maintain morale he
said. He stepped forward and offered out his hand to Jack, patting
him on the back. Jack took the gesture of good will, but didn’t
look particularly happy.

“Well done boys, another fine job! And I see God did
not let any harm come to you!” shouted Wells.

“No, but we didn’t come back with a whole load
either,” said Jack.

“I can see you have brought back a worthy haul, and
that’s all that can be asked of you,” said Wells.

“It doesn’t change the fact that these supplies are
becoming more and more difficult to find, with us having to travel
further all the time,” said Jack.

“Let’s not worry about the troubles of tomorrow,
when we have success and much to celebrate today. Let’s get these
trucks unloaded and sit down for supper!” shouted Wells.

The crowd cheered, appeased by the welcoming notion
of a warm meal in their bellies. Wells continually kept spirits
high by preaching the bible on a daily basis and re-enforcing it
with food and entertainment for the group. Plays and stage
performances were common, providing they contained good Christian
values. Card games were allowed to pass the time, but not with any
form of gambling involved. It was a pure and simple life that the
group led, and whilst it was at many times boring and drab, they
were all thankful to still be living. The men began unloading
supplies whilst Wells retired to his home for a short rest before
supper.

“Madison, please join me,” he said.

She followed her father back to their home, which
they had shared since the outbreak began. Her father was tired,
exhausted by the daily work and routine of having to manage,
motivate and entertain their community. He sat down with a huff at
their dining table.

“Would you like a coffee, father?” asked
Madison.

Her AK47 was still slung from her shoulder. Wells
looked up at her with his tired eyes, shaking his head at the sight
of her weapon.

“You know that there are better roles you can serve
here than that,” said Wells.

“But every person here must carry a weapon at all
times,” said Madison.

“No, not that, you spend all of your time with rifle
in hand, in watch towers, patrolling the perimeter,” said
Wells.

“That’s what we need,” she said.

“There are plenty of men who would be quite up to
the task. We’re a small community as it is, do you not think it’s
time you married one of the fine young men and brought new life
into this world?” asked Wells.

She slammed the coffee mug down on the worktop where
she was preparing the drink for her father. It was indeed true that
she was among the minority of the group, being a young, fit and
healthy female, but the suggestion did not at all meet with her
idea of life.

“I don’t want to marry and I don’t want children. Is
it not enough, the work I do for this town?” she asked.

“No, sadly it is not. In this world we must forget
what we want and do our duty. We all have to make sacrifices. You
are one of only a handful in Babylon who can spawn the next
generation, or we will all grow old and weak with no one to defend
us and carry on the Lord’s work,” said Wells.

“And what is the Lord’s work?” shouted Madison.

“My dear daughter, I thought you understood by now.
It is life, to live life according to good moral and principle
practice, which is largely to pro-create and keep evil at arm’s
length. You are doing a fine work of the latter, but it is time you
let others take on that responsibility and do what few can. You
will again do the work you do now, once your children are teenagers
themselves,” said Wells.

Madison walked across the room and ripped the door
open, furious at her father’s insights. She knew in her heart that
he was right, but it seemed so unfair, beyond levels she could yet
accept.

“I am not having children!” shouted Madison.

She slammed the door and strutted down the street
towards the dining hall. She already knew that she would have to
accept her father’s wishes, not only because he was her father and
Babylon’s leader, but because their survival as a community
depended on it in the long term. But she would hold on to her
current life as long as she possibly could. Since the Zompoc began
she had finally had a true purpose and role, beyond the toil of
everyday life in the safe old world, and she wouldn’t let anyone
take that from her.

Madison reached the restaurant that had become the
community’s dining hall, big enough for all of the survivors to sit
in at any one time, though they never would. Eight people remained
on watch at all times, two at each road leading to the
intersection. She stepped through the door to be hit with the warm
heat and light of the oil lamp lit room and the sound of joyous
discussion. Most of the community was already assembled, whilst the
smell of their supper cooking wafting around the room. The meals
they ate generally consisted of a combination of stews and soups,
because they were easy to make in large quantity with whichever
ingredients were available at the time. Madison walked over to a
table near Jack, who she held in high regard having been childhood
friends, and pulled up a chair to his table. He would like nothing
more than to marry and settle down with Madison, but was always too
busy and aware of the impending work and caution needed to give it
consideration or pursuit. Jack was sitting with three of his
friends, all of a similar age, the men that hunted with him.

“Hey Jack, how’s life?” asked Madison.

“So, so,” he said.

“How come?” asked Madison.

“We didn’t come back with half as much as I would
have liked, my truck is misfiring and I could kill for a beer,”
said Jack.

“It could be worse,” said Madison.

“Really, you’re sure about that? Afghanistan sucked,
but at least we always knew we had home to go back to. This sucks
as bad, with no hope of a better future.”

“Oh come on, you can’t talk like that, we’re doing
great. We’re alive and we have each other,” said Madison.

“Mmm, it’s better than being a zombie, I’ll grant
you that,” said Jack.

The night went on in much the same fashion as it had
started. Most of the people in the community lived blindly in a
happy but simple life, whilst Pastor Wells exhausted himself
physically and mentally to achieve and maintain their high spirits.
Meantime, those having to venture out into the rest of the world
were being beaten down by the depressing and tragic sights they had
to see each and every day, of ghost towns and decaying bodies,
whether they were still walking or not.

Those with the true insight into the world’s
situation were all too aware that life was only getting more
difficult, with what was manufactured in the old world getting ever
rarer, and the number of enemies staying constant.