Zombie Dawn Exodus Read online

  “Aren’t we forgetting about the elephant in the room?” asked Captain Black.

  “The zombies?” asked Dr Garcia.

  Captain Black nodded before continuing. “I’ve fought against these things in the open, at night, in the day, in cities and even on board ships. They do not tire, do not seem to actually need to eat and will not stop. The last town I saw put up one hell of a fight, but in the end each casualty they took simply increased the enemy’s numbers. What started as a few thousand people against a few hundred zombies turned into seven people trying to escape from a town overrun by thousands of zombies. We have tracked them moving hundreds of miles to find the living, even crossing rivers and deep lakes.”

  Mr Morton raised his hands, looking for silence.

  “I understand your concerns and you are of course correct. Make no mistake, these creatures have brought us to the edge, and I mean the edge, of disaster. We cannot however let this hold us back from our greater purpose of re-establishing our authority over this planet. We will of course start off small, just as many small groups are trying throughout the world. Already we know of at least seven groups in Europe, all working to rebuild small communities. In Australia we’ve heard rumours of nomadic convoys travelling the deserts and this has been repeated in the wilderness of Northern Asia. We will be careful and build in as many safeguards as we can.”

  He turned to Captain Black whilst hitting a series of keys.

  “You are right about the undead. The battle for New York lasted three weeks, and even with the intervention of over twenty thousand soldiers, airmen and marines the city fell with a loss of millions. This was repeated in most of the major cities across the country and the failed confrontations simply drained our resources away from evacuation.”

  Mr Morton brought up the screen that showed Hawaii.

  “The Sanctuary is an archipelago of eight major islands, several atolls and numerous smaller islets. In the first weeks of the outbreak the undead broke into the general population on the five largest islands. The casualties were severe but due to the substantial military presence there, all but Oahu were retaken. The population of the islands was quickly knocked down from over a million to just under two thousand, but this has stabilised. We have established new research facilities on the islands and are working on functional housing, farms and factories to eventually provide the things we need to get back on our feet. After the undead outbreak through the United States most of the combat units and ships redeployed to help where they could, and this has resulted in only a small military presence being retained on the islands.”

  Dr Garcia looked agitated as she received a message to her PDA device. She read the details carefully whilst Mr Morton continued describing the status of the Sanctuary. The PDA message was an update about the Cunard liner and that the UAV was about to reach the vessel. Hitting a button she stood up, interrupting Mr Morton.

  “Mr Morton, the UAV is in range and we have a live feed of the ship,” she said.

  “Put it through,” said Mr Morton as he sat down.

  Dr Garcia stepped forward, pressing a few buttons to transfer the video feed to the main screen. With several flashes the feed appeared, showing three different views from the autonomous vehicle. One image was a thermal display, whilst the other two were short and long range cameras. On the long range displays the ship could be seen in all her glory.

  “Any damage, it doesn’t look bad from here?” asked Captain Black.

  With a flicker the second display zoomed in closely to the ship, the detail was very fine and picked out the doors and windows on the upper hull, as well as the damage to boats and life rafts that were only half lowered. Dr Garcia tapped on her PDA and moved the camera down onto several key parts of the ship. The first was the deck near the bow where what looked like scores of boxes and cases were scattered. Nearby were barrels and liquid containers, some were still tied down with cables to pallets.

  “Looks like somebody was trying to unload her, possibly some of the fuel,” said Dr Willis.

  The thermal camera showed heat activity at several key points on the ship. One was near the stern whilst the rest were close to one of the large function rooms.

  “Interesting,” said Captain Black. “The heat could be from fires or potentially from areas that are still occupied.”

  “What is her complement?” asked Mr Morton.

  “Approximately five thousand, but we don’t have the figures for her last voyage,” answered Dr Garcia.

  “I’ve seen enough. We’ll continue this meeting tomorrow morning. Captain Mathius, Captain Black, Dr Garcia, if you could wait behind.”

  The rest of the people stood up and after packing away their papers made their way to the guarded door. Once alone, Mr Morton continued.

  “We need firm intelligence on that vessel. I need the three of you to organise a reconnaissance operation to the Mauretania 2. For now I just need information, but be prepared for survivors. If you find anybody you will of course observe standard quarantine procedures. Captain Mathius, I’m putting you in charge of this operation, you will handle things from here. I want Captain Black and Dr Garcia on the operation.”

  “I’m sorry, I don’t need a civilian on this operation,” objected Captain Black.

  “Captain Black, perhaps you could be a little more condescending? I have been on scores of operations and have faced these creatures on multiple occasions. My technical and biological research expertise is unparalleled. You aren’t going without me!”

  Mr Morton raised an eyebrow in amusement at the verbal exchange.

  “As Dr Garcia has explained, she is our most experienced and knowledgeable person. She will assist in an advisory capacity. Understood?” he asked.

  Captain Black raised his hands in defeat.

  “It’s your operation, and we’ll play it your way, for now.”

  “Very good. I will leave you to your planning, report back to me when you have news,” said Mr Morton, as he moved to the door. He turned to them just before he left.

  “Just be careful out there, those things bite!” he said with a mischievous look.

  CHAPTER TWO

  NEW SOUTH WALES, AUSTRALIA

  8.15AM

  The heat beating down on the RV brought Bruce to a clammy and unwanted awakening. He’d become accustomed to sleeping in thick canvas tenting, a far more comfortable experience than the modern enclosed ways of sleeping outdoors these days. The thick canvas stopped the sun super heating the tent, and the air flow kept it fresh and comfortable. Bruce groaned as he sat up on the bed. He was in a thirty seven foot RV, a motor home, shared with four other survivors.

  Bruce wiped his brow, sweat had already begun dripping down his face. He was dehydrated from the many beers the night before. Opening the curtains nearest him, Bruce peered out across the open plain, along the line of vehicles. This was their regular routine for nights now, simply park up in a line on whichever road they were driving, in as open an area as possible. The beers the night before were considered by most of the group to be vital to the morale of the survivors. Bruce, who had fallen into the role of leader, told everyone to treat each day like a road trip.

  He peered through the window then shuffled around, peering out of the other windows. All he could see was a line of vehicles behind him, and sand and asphalt to the side and front. Bruce got to the main door of the vehicle and slid across the three bolts that were spaced evenly top to bottom. The security of an RV may have been good enough to keep out the odd thief, but that was then and this was now. All of their vehicles had received substantial armour and safeguards.

  The door of the lead vehicle swung open and Bruce stumbled out, he was wearing torn jeans, a faded Motorhead t-shirt and flip flops. Bruce liked to think of himself as a rock star on tour whenever he could, it kept him from depression. He unzipped his trousers and sighed as he finally began to water the sand. Looking down the line of vehicles, he could already see several people following his example. />
  “Morning, boss!” shouted Dylan.

  Bruce looked back to his friend who was sitting in a camping chair on the roof of their RV. All of the larger vehicles in the convoy now had roof hatches and ladders to them. Each night every other vehicle would post a watch on the roof. In total, the convoy consisted of six RVs, four 4x4s that were all Land Cruisers, and a Road Train. The Road Train truck had been converted to an RV by having a caravan body fitted onto the back, but it still towed fuel containers. Fuel was highly important to their way of life, but fortunately it was still available in large quantities. The survivors took any fuel they could at every opportunity.

  “Gooday, fool!” shouted Bruce.

  “Hey, Bruce, want some breakfast?” called Brooke from their vehicle.

  “Yeah, bacon and eggs!” shouted Bruce.

  She laughed, but it was far from a new joke by the fatigued leader. They tried to continue a life of fun and camaraderie, but it was many of the little things in life they now missed, largely many of the perishable goods.

  “How’s some beef jerky and a coffee suit you?” asked Brooke.

  “Have to do, won’t it!” said Bruce.

  “Yep!” said Brooke.

  “Hey, Connor, get on the radio, tell the chiefs to meet here in ten minutes!” shouted Bruce.

  “Okidoki!” Connor replied.

  Connor was still lying in bed. He’d only woken up just seconds before at the sound of the shouting, but hadn’t had any motivation to get up. He went over to the radio and called in Bruce’s message to the chiefs. The term ‘chief’ was one that Bruce had coined for the person in charge of each vehicle. He’d always considered it important that each unit within a larger group have their sub-commanders, no different to an office or an army.

  Bruce climbed back aboard his vehicle and sat down at the dining table. He ripped open the bag of beef jerky and began to chew away on the tough meat. He could only dream of fresh bacon and eggs, the luxuries that were long gone, but not forgotten. He’d always preferred tea to coffee, but powdered milk was disgusting, he’d rather drink coffee than stoop that low.

  Ten minutes later the chiefs climbed aboard and sat down with Bruce. The navigators of the trucks stood beside them. They had this meeting each morning to assess their location, supplies and intentions for the day. A lot can change in a day, and therefore they always kept up this routine. The supplies, in terms of people, equipment, food and water were equally spread between the larger vehicles to ensure that a loss of a vehicle did not significantly affect their resources. The Land Train towed by far the largest amount of fuel, but all of the vehicles in the convoy carried a sizeable number of fuel cans.

  “Morning to you all, Brooke, more coffee for everyone please!” said Bruce.

  “What’s the plan, boss?” asked Damian.

  “Honestly, I’m a little bored of driving, we have a reasonable amount of supplies, let’s take a day off, we haven’t done it in weeks,” said Bruce.

  “You sure?” asked Keith.

  “Yeah fuck it, the supplies aren’t going anywhere, certainly not in a day, we’ve got a nice open plain here, let’s get a game going, relax and enjoy ourselves,” said Bruce.

  Connor and Dylan were listening intently from the roof, pretending to be keeping watch but focusing all their attention on eavesdropping.

  “Alright, but tomorrow we need to be on the move,” said Keith.

  “What did I just say? I said take a day off, not pitch up for the week,” said Bruce.

  “Fair enough,” said Keith.

  “Okay, all agreed?” asked Bruce.

  The group smiling and nodding all agreed.

  “Connor! Lay out a pitch and find the ball!” shouted Bruce.

  “Fucking ey!” shouted Connor.

  “Right gents, four guards at any one time, cycle your people, meeting adjourned. Let’s enjoy ourselves a little,” said Bruce.

  Half an hour later a rough football pitch had been fashioned on the sandy dirt beside the road and seven men aside were about to begin playing. The rest of the convoy’s people were either on guard on the roofs of the RVs or sitting in the shade beside them.

  The goals were jackets spaced roughly the right distance apart, it was a shirts and skins game. Bruce had joined in, he never really was much into football, but the opportunity to just forget all their woes and enjoy himself was something he could not resist, even if he would look like a muppet.

  The lazy crowd cheered on from the sidelines, not ever getting up from their camp chairs and stools, except for food and water. The game played on, players cycling in and out from the side until after three hours, there was nobody left with the will to play. Most of the group slept through the afternoon after exerting themselves in the heat, it was dark when Bruce woke up.

  Yet again, he stumbled to his feet and looked over to the table in his RV. Brooke, Connor and Dylan were watching a movie, he got up and walked over to them.

  “What the fuck are you watching?” asked Bruce.

  “Love Actually,” said Brooke.

  “You bunch of nancies,” said Bruce.

  “Fuck you!” said Brooke.

  “Not you, them! You’re supposed to be zombie slaying action stars, not gay fuck muppets!” said Bruce.

  “Haven’t you ever considered the fact that all the action and violence we’ve seen over the last year is enough, that perhaps when we don’t have to be fighting we don’t want to watch more?” asked Brooke.

  Bruce was taken aback by the comment, and he actually thought about it for a minute. It was indeed true, he played football for the very same reason, and that was a gay game, so why not watch a chick’s movie and enjoy it for what it was, peaceful. He may have thought it, but he’d never admit it.

  “You bunch of poofters!” said Bruce.

  He walked out of the RV to the delightful sight of a roaring fire. It wasn’t needed for heat, but the light was soothing, and he knew full well the naturally relaxing nature that fire had on human beings. Bruce had spent many weekends before the Zompoc sat around a campfire, an experience he’d always enjoyed.

  “Right, get the grog out!” shouted Bruce.

  Ten people were gathered around the fire, out of a total of forty six. It always felt like a good size group to be part of, but when Bruce stopped to consider the fact that they were some of the very lucky and capable few who were still human, it was depressing. They carried on drinking throughout the night without incident. The group called themselves The Wanderers, after one of Jake’s favourite songs. He’d been a steady character throughout their first year of survival, still driving his battered old Ford F150.

  All of the group’s vehicles were heavily outfitted with armour and protection, with thick roo bars or improvised rams on the fronts and mesh grills over all windows. They rarely saw a zombie during their camping, because they always made camp in isolated and desolate lands. However, they knew for a fact that if they stayed long enough in any one place that some number of creatures would always find them.

  Since the first few days of the Zompoc beginning Bruce had always made it his mission in life to face the zombies on his terms, at a time and location of his choice, because too often they had been forced into deadly situations.

  The following day the group once again set out in their convoy, heading for the outskirts of a nearby city, looking to forage anything useful that they could find, as they had become so accustomed to doing. Twenty five miles down the road, Connor called Bruce to the front of the vehicle where he was at the wheel.

  “Bruce, one of the RVs behind us is all over the road,” he said.

  Bruce looked in the driver’s side mirror. He could see the wagon veering across the road. This was not at all in keeping with their strict manner of working.

  “Dylan, get on the radio and find out what the fuck is happening with that RV, it looks like Rattlesnake,” said Bruce.

  Each of the vehicles had a name, not just to create a bond and attachment for its
crew, but also a designation to keep things simple and clear when discussing convoy formations and tactics and logistics.

  “Rattlesnake, this is Road Hog, come in,” said Dylan.

  “This is Rattlesnake, Jackson is at the wheel and he’s been drinking, he’s pretty off it, over,” said Christian.

  “Give me the handset!” said Bruce.

  “Tell him to put the fucking bottle down and let someone else take over, over!” shouted Bruce.

  “I already told him that boss, he’s wild,” said Christian.

  “I’m bringing the convoy to a stop, over,” said Bruce.

  “Connor, bring us to a halt, slowly,” he ordered.

  Connor slowed the group down to a stop and Bruce was immediately out the door and onto the hot asphalt. Before he could step any further down the convoy to sort the mess out, Rattlesnake pulled out of the convoy and accelerated down the line. Bruce flailed his arms about, furious.

  “Jackson! Stop the fucking vehicle!” shouted Bruce.

  It had no effect, the big RV stormed past him. Jake pulled up with his battered old truck beside Bruce.

  “Bruce, what’s going on?” asked Jake.

  “That idiot is off his face!” Bruce replied.

  “Jump in!” shouted Jake.

  Bruce jumped into the truck bed, thankful of the old man’s help just as he had been a year before. The v8 rumbled as Jake followed on after the RV. Bruce stood up in the back of the truck, holding onto the roll bar running over the cab.

  “Pull up alongside the driver’s side!” shouted Bruce.

  They were nearing Rattlesnake when it swerved off to the side the road, a wheel clipping a rock and sending it onto two wheels before slamming to the dirt on its side and sliding for thirty feet. Jake slammed the brakes and slid to a halt not far behind it.

  “Fuck me!” shouted Bruce.

  “What do you want me to do?” asked Jake,