Zombie Dawn Apocalypse (27 page)

“Of course, we’re marines. That’s what we do!” answered the Captain with a smile.

He turned back and watched the burning shoreline as they moved out to the deep sea.

Resolution Island, New Zealand

“Right, you lot, get out in front, shoot any bastard you can get a good shot at. Only fall back behind us if they get within ten yards or you run out of ammunition!” Bruce ordered.

Ten minutes passed quicker than any of them had realised with very little progress made in clearing the trench, and the creatures were already arriving in greater numbers.

“Hey, boss! We’ll be out of ammo in less than a minute!” Christian called.

“Christ, we were never ready for this, this isn’t a skirmish, it’s a battle!”

Bruce looked back at the trench and to their outer wall, and then to Keith who was overseeing the clearance of the trench.

“How long do you need?”

“I’d say half an hour at least!”

“Fuck me, that’s not
gonna
be easy!”

He looked out at the skirmishers as they fired off their last bolts and arrows.

“You, go dump the bows behind the wall, and reassemble here!”

As they ran back to the outer wall, Bruce looked out at the ever-growing horde. They had never had to deal with creatures in such numbers since establishing their causeway defences, it was if the hordes knew their defences were down.

“Right boys, looks like it’s our fight from now on, we need time, so stay sharp and keep formation!”

The zombies continued to stagger towards them in increasing numbers. The first few hit their shield wall and presented no real danger at all, but it was only five minutes longer until the sheer frequency of the beasts was becoming a challenge. Bruce looked along the line to see his soldiers hacking away, breaking skulls as quickly as they could, but it was not enough. He knew they could not last where they were, and they could not risk losing their best fighters in the initial engagement, the causeway was lost. He looked back to Keith.

“We can’t hold out, get going, we’ll follow you!”

The men working over the trench picked up their tools and made a dash for the outer wall.

“Right lads, times up, back to the wall!” shouted Bruce.

The Islanders made their final strikes before turning tail and heading for the gates at a steady jog, easily outrunning their attackers. Bruce was the last to go, heading up the rear. Finally, he got through the gates as Christian and Connor swung them shut behind him. He keeled over, panting heavily from the exertion.

“That could have gone better,” he said.

“Well it could have gone a lot worse too,” Connor replied.

“Right, the lot of you stay here, we have no idea how long this wall will hold, Dylan is in charge, I’ll be back when I can!”

He leapt up onto his horse and headed off for the town. When he was clear of the walls he swore at himself, sick at the thought of failing, knowing full well how much trouble they were now in. He rode into town to find Hackett strapping on his armour and weapons.

“How’d it go?”

“We couldn’t get the trench closed, we were overrun, and we’re out of bolts and arrows already,” replied Bruce.

“Christ, that’s not a good start.”

“Tell me about it, any news on the fleet?”

“No, I haven’t exactly given them any thought.”

“Well maybe you should, they could well turn this fight if they could get here soon enough.”

“Alright, follow me!”

The two men stormed into Jake’s cabin.

“Jake, any word from the fleet?” asked Hackett.

“Yeah, I got through to them, they had a rough time but seem alright. I tried to tell them what’s happened, but the signal was bad.”

“Can you reach them?”

“Right now?” he asked.

“Fucking right, mate,” said Bruce.

“Yeah, I’ll try.”

“Do it,” ordered Hackett.

Jake picked up the radio handset, still a little alarmed by the men bursting into his home with such speed.

“Pacific Flotilla, this is Resolution Island, please come in, over.”

        
They waited a few minutes, nothing.

“Repeat, Pacific Flotilla, this is Resolution Island, please come in, over.”

 
“This is the Pacific Fleet, over,” replied the operator.

Hackett snatched the receiver from Jake’s hands. “This is Bill Hackett, get Dr Garcia, over.”

“Is this an emergency? Over.”

“Bet your ass, son, now get her on the line,” he shouted.

The three men waiting impatiently for a few minutes until the radio again sounded.

“This is Dr Garcia, I understand you have a problem there, over.”

“This is Bill Hackett, yes we have a situation, I’m
gonna
hand you over to Bruce, he handles our security.”

Bruce took up the radio handset from Hackett.

“This is Bruce. Listen up, lady, there’s a small causeway that joins us to the rest of the island. There are God knows how many thousands of zombies on that land, and the storm last night has closed up the trench we created to divide us. We have walls, but I can guarantee they will fall before long, we probably have a day if we are very lucky, over.”

“Can you not create a new trench? Over,” asked Garcia.

“Not without a lot of time, which we don’t have, over.”

“We are estimated two days away, can you not bolster your defences until then? Over.”

“We’ll hold out as long as we can, but I’d bet good money that if you take that long you won’t find any living left here, over.”

There was silence for a few minutes minute, the Islanders eagerly awaiting a response, desperately waiting for an answer to their problem.

“We will do everything we can to get to you as fast as possible, that’s the best I can do, over.”

“Then that’ll have to do, don’t hang about, over and out,” said Bruce.

They sat in silence.

“Okay, what’s the situation?” asked Hackett.

“We are now holding up at the outer wall, but we need ammunition. I’ll take what we have in the stores, but that won’t last much longer either, best thing we can do is get everyone capable of holding a weapon to those walls and hold out as long as we can.”

“Alright, you get ammunition to the walls, I’ll amass every weapon and fighter I can and meet you there.”

“Right, I’ll see you at the wall,” Bruce agreed.

Bruce stormed towards his cabin and rushed in, again going straight to the large wooden chest, pulling out a wrapped up sheet, the only thing he hadn’t taken from the box earlier that day. He unwrapped the sheet to reveal his Colt 1911, the weapon he had become so attached to years before. He had only one magazine for the gun, and only five bullets left in that magazine.

“Couldn’t go down without you, baby.”

He slipped the leather holster onto his belt and was finally ready to continue with his mission. Moments later he had Hackett’s horse loaded up with all the arrows and bolts the town had left and was again heading out to the frontline. Bruce was galloping towards the wall, he was baking in his armour, sweat dripped from his hairline, the salt hurting his eyes. The only saving grace was that the fresh sweat had softened his gambeson, making movement so much easier and more comfortable.

Research Vessel Moreau

They had been at sea for ten days when the storm hit. It started with reduced visibility and then almost without warning the wind and rain hit hard. The seas were rough and it became difficult to stay out on the deck. For those on the Moreau and the Harpers Ferry it was just uncomfortable. For the smaller vessels it was a big problem. They were still several days out from the Island.

Dr Garcia and Mr Morton were in the operations room, checking the level of supplies.

“We should be okay, food and water are not an issue, assuming what they say is true at the Island,” said Mr Morton.

“Well, we’re well past the point of no return now. I’m more concerned with this storm. Any idea how long it will last?” she asked.

“We still have access to part of the satellite grid and from what we can tell we should be through it in a matter of five or six hours. It is a major weather pattern though, look at this screen,” he said whilst pointing to the display.

They looked intently as the cloud formations covered parts of the northern coasts of New Zealand as well as large portions of the ocean.

“This must be hitting the Island hard as well, I wonder how they’re doing?” she said.

A knock at the door signalled the arrival of one of the technicians, a woman called Martinez.

“Sorry to intrude, we have an urgent transmission form the Island, they are in trouble,” she said with a slight sound of panic in her voice.

“Well, there’s your answer,” said Mr Morton.

“Come on, let’s go,” said Dr Garcia as she headed for the door and down the corridor to the radio room. Mr Morton was hot on her heels.

As they entered the room they found four more crew working on the equipment. The oldest in the room, a scruffy looking technician called Darcy, spoke first.

“We’re having trouble locking in on their signal, the weather is hitting us hard,” he said.

A voice crackled over the radio and Dr Garcia grabbed the headset and listened carefully.

“The storm has breached our perimeter. We have debris that has blocked off our drawbridge and they’re trying to break in,” the message was followed by more crackling before it continued, “outer barricades, trying to hold,” and then the signal stopped.

“This is the Flotilla, we are en route and will be with you in two days, do you receive? Over.”

There was more crackling and just a few words could be made out, but they added nothing to what they already knew. Dr Garcia lowered the headset and turned to the rest of the crew in the room.

“Did you get anything else out of them?” she asked.

“Only that they say they can hold for twenty-four hours, maybe thirty-six. They said something about a causeway but we didn’t get the rest,” said Darcy.

“Shit!” swore Dr Garcia.

“Look, they are holding, for now. Get the captains on the radio in the operations room, we have some decisions to make,” said Mr Morton.

Dr Garcia nodded as she left the room. As she moved through the door she turned back to Darcy. “Let me know if you get back in contact. Also, if you do, tell them we are coming, just tell them to hold on,” she said.

Darcy nodded as they left. Suddenly the radio crackled and he called Dr Garcia back. “They want to speak to you, Doctor.”

        
The operations room was bustling with a dozen people as well as the video conferencing facilities that had been organised years previously when the Flotilla had spent all of its time at sea. Using this technology the captains of the vessels could meet and discuss plans even when a long distance apart. The storm was starting to recede but it still rocked the vessel and forced anybody not standing securely to lose their footing. Mr Morton moved to the centre of the room and Dr Garcia stood nearby.

“As some of you have heard, the Island is under threat. From the information we have received, and checking our satellite surveillance, we think the causeway, that joins the Island to the rest of the peninsula has been breached by debris or fallen trees. The Island is well equipped and supplied but they are under attack. The last report said the undead were across the causeway and at their outer barricades. From what we can tell this causeway is large but they have cut a wide trench to create a natural barrier that is defended my multiple layers of walls. The trench is blocked and they are across and trying to break through the walls.