Zombie Dawn Exodus (11 page)

Halfway through the evening Pastor Wells stepped out
from the room and into the kitchen. He returned a few moments later
holding several bottles of wine.

“Ladies and Gentleman!” shouted Wells.

The crowd went silent and turned their attention to
Wells, all surprised to see an alcoholic beverage anywhere in
sight.

“I have always been insistent that we remain alcohol
free in Babylon, not because the Lord wills it or the bible tells
us so, neither have any issue with alcohol in moderation. Our rules
have been in place so that we can all remain alive! However, we
have now survived a year in this new world, a world occupied by
evil. We have beaten all the odds, stuck together, and achieved a
sturdy and lively community. Let us all share a glass of wine
together in celebration, as you have all earned it!” said
Wells.

The crowd erupted with laughter, quickly taking the
bottles and passing them around. Each man and woman filled their
cups as high as they could go until the bottles were empty.
Finally, they sat quietly, impatiently and with all attention on
the Pastor, waiting for his approval.

“Now, let us drink to our fallen friends, our living
comrades, to the grace of God and the abolition of evil!” shouted
Wells.

The people all stood and raised their glasses before
taking their first sips. Jack sat down with a sigh, he was clearly
unimpressed by the gesture, though his dissatisfaction went
unnoticed by the Pastor, but not to Madison.

“What’s wrong, it’s what you wanted isn’t it?” asked
Madison.

“No, I said a beer, but that’s not the point. Your
father would never give out alcohol in this day and age unless he
considered it vital to morale, meaning, there are cracks appearing
in the community,” said Jack.

“Maybe he just thought we could all do with a
relaxing evening and a reward for our work?” asked Madison.

“No, it’s not the way the Pastor works. He’s
methodical, he makes actions for the greater good, not conscience
or instinct,” said Jack.

“Yeah, tell me about it,” said Madison.

“What is it?” asked Jack.

“Nothing, just him being his usual self,” said
Madison.

“Well, let’s at least enjoy this drink while we have
it,” said Jack.

It was a solemn evening for those who knew more
about the life and workings of Babylon than the majority, knowing
that this was the best it would get, and that it wouldn’t be
repeated often. Wells again rose to speak, his audience were
already silent before he had fully stood up.

“We’ve had a long and hard year, I will not deny it,
but you have all done well and continue to do so. On Saturday we
will have a baseball game, for all to watch. In fact, we’ll have
two, and cycle the sentries so that everyone has a turn to either
play or watch,” he said.

The crowd again cheered at their leader’s speech,
clawing at any hope or fun that they could possibly find in their
lives. The evening came to a close and Madison went back to her
watch tower to join the guard who was in it. It was not her turn
for duty, but she couldn’t tolerate returning home to her father
that night.

CHAPTER
SIX

ENGLAND

Nick pushed the gearstick into fourth as the Land
Rover picked up speed on the wide six-lane carriageway. He was only
doing twenty miles per hour but with the amount of debris scattered
across the lanes, any faster would have been suicidal. It was
amazing that after just a few months the road had deteriorated so
badly with holes, debris, abandoned vehicles and possessions.

Nick led the convoy of eight vehicles in a long,
scattered column across the deserted debris ridden motorway though
the heart of England. He drove a late nineties model Defender, the
same kind of vehicle used by British forces in Afghanistan just a
few years ago. It was of a similar size to an American Chevy
Silverado. It was a tough, utilitarian four-wheel drive and hadn’t
seen any serious changes in design since the sixties. The Defender
had been modified in several ways to make it useful and reliable in
these exceptional circumstances. The first addition was the wheel
protection made up of hanging metal slats over the tyres to stop
damage from wrecked cars and possible raiders. The doors and
windows were covered in thick mesh and sliding metal shutters. The
front of the vehicle was taken up with a large steel snow plough
and the roof contained an improved weapon platform with a hatch
that led down to the front passenger seat. It was heavy, tough and
easily maintained, perfect for use in an apocalypse.

Looking out of the small rectangular windscreen Nick
could see cars and trucks littering the sides of the road. At some
point a large number of them had been pushed out of the way, but
even now some still forced him to slow down. With a clump the hatch
above him on the roof lifted open and Artur, a young Polish man
lowered his head inside.

“We’ve got something in the road up ahead,” he
called.

Nick nodded as he pulled the handset from the radio
that was tied with plastic cable ties to the damaged and worn
dashboard. He keyed the radio, holding the microphone up to his
face.

“Hammer One, this is Hammer Three, we’ve got
something up ahead,” said Nick.

There was a short pause, punctuated by static. As he
waited for a response he checked the map attached to the dashboard.
They’d left the outskirts of London in the early hours of the
morning, having collected survivors and supplies from the
Hammersmith Rescue Centre. The trip should technically only take
two hours back to the Green Zone but since the Zompoc the trip now
took up most of the day. Even worse was that if they hit a problem
then they would be forced to take cover for the night. Being caught
out of the Green Zone after dark was a big problem and one the
convoy avoided at all costs.

“Hammer Three, we’re slowing the convoy, check it
out. Hammer Two will join you,” came the response.

“Roger,” answered Nick as he replaced the mic back
on the dashboard.

Nick checked his side mirrors, noting the half a
dozen vehicles behind him were slowing down. Only one, a small bus
that was heavily modified stayed with him. At first glance it
looked like a conventional bus, but closer examination revealed the
windows were boarded up with reinforced metal shutters and it had
masses of supplies and boxes on its roof. There were weapon mounts
fitted at the front and back of the vehicle with hatches leading
back inside. A man was sitting at the front weapon mount, turning
the firearm as he scanned the surrounding area.

Looking ahead down the long stretch of motorway,
Nick steered the Land Rover through debris. He was extra careful to
avoid anything that could damage the tyres or underside of the
vehicle. They had learned the hard way that all vehicles hit
trouble once they sustained damage to their wheels. Unlike in the
movies, a simple glass bottle could shred a tyre and leave you
stranded and vulnerable.

The two vehicles weaved past several heaps of debris
and then slowed as they approached an area with scores of crashed
and burnt cars. These were different to other wrecked cars they’d
seen on the motorway. A few were still smoking and some of them
looked like they’d been carrying supplies. After a clear section on
the motorway there was a thick plume of black smoke ahead.

“Approaching a Z-Zone,” said Nick on the
handset.

Nick turned to Artur.

“Get ready, I don’t like it, this could be trouble,”
he ordered.

Artur looked confused. He’d only been on a few runs
with the convoy and this was the first time he’d come across this
term.

“Z-Zone?” he asked, as he checked his weapons.

“Yeah, you don’t see so many of them now. Back at
the start you’d get a whole section of road blocked off by a few
crashed cars. Once the road was blocked the rest of the traffic
would get stuck and people would abandon their cars. The zombies
would come and start attacking them and have easy pickings in the
panic,” explained Nick.

Artur opened up several cases in the back of the
Land Rover as he pulled out more ammunition for their weapons,
anticipating possible trouble ahead.

“What happened after the zombies attacked?” he
asked.

“In a few hours the road would be deserted apart
from the vehicles, supplies and bodies. You used to be able to spot
them by the car fires that would spread to anything nearby that was
flammable. There were times when we found hundreds of cars and
probably up to a thousand dead outside some cities,” answered
Nick.

Artur lifted himself back up so that he could see
out of the hatch that had been cut into the roof of the Land Rover.
It was roughly done and the edges were covered in a piece of green
garden hose so he wouldn’t be cut as he moved about. On top of the
vehicle, attached to a metal mounting was a vintage World War II
Bren gun. This distinctive light machine gun was a staple weapon of
the British Empire and this particular one had been deactivated for
a long time. The workers back at the compound had reworked it
heavily and added new parts so that it was once again functional.
The modification of weapons and supply of ammunition was a real
issue, but the vehicles of the convoys always got priority. One
very handy modification was the fitting of a large spotting scope
on a mount next to the main gun. It meant Artur could spot possible
targets from a long distance away. Artur pulled back the bolt and
then swung the weapon around as he scanned the surroundings. From
his position he could see a coach about three hundred metres ahead.
He banged his hand on the roof of the Land Rover, Nick shouted back
up.

“Yeah, I see it. Get ready,” he ordered.

Sound came through the radio’s speakers from one of
the vehicles.

“Any update on the route? Is it a Z-Zone?” crackled
the voice.

The Land Rover slowed down to almost a walking pace
as the two vehicles moved cautiously towards the smoke plume. As
they reached the two hundred metre distance they could make out a
crashed coach and at least three other large vehicles. They were
all badly damaged and all looked heavily modified, much like their
own vehicles. More importantly, they were completely blocking the
road ahead for the convoy.

“We have multiple vehicles blocking the route. Looks
like another convoy came this way,” said Nick.

With a squeal the Land Rover came to a stop. Nick
leaned forward slightly and pulled out a double-barrelled
hammer-lock shotgun. The weapon had been shortened at some point,
but even this modification failed to make the vintage weapon look
even close to a modern firearm. Nick pulled the lever and broke the
weapon’s barrel to expose the chambers. Placing his hand in his
combat vest he pulled out two red cartridges and slipped them into
the gun. With a click the weapon was ready and he took the portable
radio off its mount and slipped it onto his belt. He then slid back
the steel shutter and opened the door, the smoke from the fires
quickly entering his nostrils.

Artur heard the door opening and swung his Bren gun
around to cover the abandoned vehicles. The weapon swung quickly
around on its heavy, metal mounting.

Nick stepped out, holding the shotgun up to his
shoulder and looked around at the scene of carnage. He could count
five vehicles. Each one was heavily modified with extra cargo
straps, racks, reinforced windows and mounts for weapons. The
armoured bus stopped close to the Land Rover, the two vehicles
forming a ‘v’ shape in the road. The air operated doors swung open
to reveal the dark interior of the bus. Four men stepped out, each
heavily armed with firearms, crossbows and close-quarters weapons.
They moved forwards, meeting up with Nick.

Standing out at the front, a noise caught his
attention from the embankment on the side of the road. The first
thought that entered his mind was that this could be an ambush. He
dropped to one knee and aimed the shotgun in the direction of the
sound. A few more sounds came from the same direction, but before
he could move one of the vehicles in the middle of the road started
to shake. He gave a hand signal and without a word the men around
him fanned out. The two on the left moved to the embankment whilst
the other two approached the crashed vehicles.

From the top of the Land Rover, Artur had a perfect
view of the scene. He could see the two groups examining the area
whilst Nick watched. He heard another sound coming from inside the
bus and he swung the Bren around just in time to spot three scrawny
looking people stumble out of the damaged rear door. At first
glance it looked like the people were starving survivors, but Artur
knew better. A closer look revealed the torn clothing and blood
drooling faces that were the distinctive marks of the undead. Even
after a year these creatures were still moving and their bodies
were not decaying as they had first suspected they would. Of course
there was a good chance that these were newly made zombies, if so
then they had to be very careful. Artur had found out the hard way
what happened when people you knew were made into zombies.

Without hesitating he aimed carefully and squeezed
the trigger. Nothing happened.

“Shit,” muttered Artur, as he pulled out the
magazine and checked for the jam. He looked up, spotting the
creatures shambling out into the road and directly towards
Nick.

“Incoming!” shouted Artur pointing to the group
moving into the road.

Nick heard Artur and quickly turned, swinging around
to his right until he was facing the bus. Three of the creatures
were heading towards him, each of them was badly injured, either
from previous fighting or possibly from the crash on the motorway.
Without hesitation he pulled the first trigger of the shotgun and
emptied a custom shell into the group. These shells were all
handmade as was all the ammunition for the convoy guards. They were
designed to cause maximum trauma to flesh whilst having almost no
ability to penetrate armour or very thick clothing. Whilst this
reduced their ability against living targets they were perfect for
shooting the undead.