“What is he doing?” asked Connor.
“Looks like a man on a mission,” said Dylan.
The speeding car’s brakes were slammed on. A new cloud of dust was kicked up as the harsh sound of brakes rung out. The car had spun around and was now heading back towards them, again at speed. The sedan reached the group and its brakes were again slammed on, screeching the car to a halt next to them. The man wound down his window to look at the men, he looked a little surprised. This was to be expected, it is not every day that you see people in medieval plate armour carrying machineguns.
“Where you heading?” asked Bruce.
“To find my wife,” said the man.
“Why?” said Bruce.
“Because she’s my wife,” the man replied.
“What’s the point? She’ll be dead, dying or undead, none of which is helpful,” said Bruce.
“She might have survived,” said the man.
“People are dying all around, and you think one woman might have managed to make it through. Wake up!” said Bruce.
“What my friend is trying to say is, don’t throw your life away. We’ve just come from that way. It’s nothing but death and destruction,” said Dylan.
“Come with us, we have a chance,” said Bruce.
“No, I have to find my wife, she’s all I have left!” the man said.
“No, all you have left is your car and your skin, two of the most valuable assets in the world today,” said Bruce.
“Sorry, but I have to do this,” said the man.
Dylan took one of the rifles from the car and handed it through the window to the man.
“What are you doing?” asked Bruce.
“We’ve got more than we need, we can’t let him drive to his death without at least some assistance,” said Dylan.
“Oh what a fucking good Samaritan you are!” said Bruce.
The man took the rifle, not really knowing how to even hold it, he placed it into the foot well of the passenger side. The man was edgy, scared, it was obvious he would not last long with the odds against him, but who were they do stop him? Safety in numbers was of course preferable at this time, but only if every one of those numbers was a capable ally.
“Thank you, and good luck,” the driver said.
“And to you,” said Dylan.
The man rolled up his window and spun the car around, tearing off into the distance.
“Right, let’s move the fuck on before you give away the rest of our arsenal to useless fuckwits,” said Bruce.
He jumped into the Holden and they were back on their way. All wondered what had become of everyone else they knew in their lives. All of these men full well accepted that any friends and family were either dead, or had made their own way to safety. Going in search of anything except food, shelter, gas or weapons was now futile.
A couple of hours later they came to the sign to a small town, population of around three hundred.
“This could be a handy place to find a few coldies,” said Bruce.
Dylan snorted as he woke to the sound of a chilled beer being mentioned. The men had fallen into a broken sleep, tired physically and emotionally. The focus of driving was all that had kept Bruce awake.
“You should let me drive soon,” said Dylan.
“You’re not touching this baby,” said Bruce.
“And what happens if we get into a fight and you are too exhausted to move?” said Dylan.
“You worry about yourself, I kick arse on a regular basis with less rest than this,” said Bruce.
A loud bang rang out as the offside front wheel blew out and the steering pulled hard to the side. Bruce slammed the brakes on quickly to draw them to a halt.
“Fuck me, that’s all we needed,” said Bruce.
Dylan looked up ahead to the town, the edge of which was just a couple of hundred yards away now. It looked eerily quiet. A number of cars were parked up ahead as if nothing had happened. Had this sleepy little town remained oblivious to the world, or had the populace done a runner? It had to be one or another, because it was far too quiet for this time of day in any town. Dylan and Bruce watched as the shape of a person appeared in the distance. The two men were desperately trying to figure out whether the person was human or zombie.
“Mate, check the glove box, there should be some binoculars in there somewhere,” said Bruce.
Dylan rooted through the pile of junk before pulling out a pair of compact binoculars.
“I suppose you use these for bird watching,” asked Dylan.
“In the city, yeh. Give ‘em here,” said Bruce.
Dylan handed them to Bruce who held them up to look down the road. The person he was looking at was facing away from him, but turned whilst he was watching. The sight of a zombie’s ugly face stared directly at him.
“Shit!” said Bruce
“Zombie?” asked Dylan.
“Yeh, let’s get this wheel changed fucking asap!” said Bruce.
The two men jumped out of the car.
“Connor, get that machinegun ready! Christian, keep an eye out all around, me and Dylan will get this wheel changed,” said Bruce.
Connor hoisted the GPMG onto the roof of the car, slamming the heavy beast down on to the roof.
“Connor, watch the fucking paintwork!” said Bruce.
“What the fuck does that matter?” said Connor.
Bruce didn’t even respond, knowing he was right, but not willing to accept the fact publically. He had loved the UTE’s since he was a boy, and this was his absolute pride and joy. Christian jumped out and seized a rifle.
Bruce and Dylan grabbed the spare wheel, jack and wheel wrench from the tub. This would have to be the quickest wheel change they’d ever seen. Bruce shot a look up the street to see the number of zombies growing, a few already stumbling towards them. They must have some kind of group mentality.
“Should I shoot?” said Christian.
“If they get within a hundred yards, yes!” said Bruce.
He stuck the wrench onto the first nut and began loosening it off. Dylan slipped the jack under the car and wound it until it was firmly wedged between the floor and sill ready. By the time Bruce had got the first two nuts off the first zombie was already within the hundred yard range.
Christian fired off his first shot. The Steyr designed bullpup rifle fired the very accurate 5.56 NATO round. It was an exceptionally fine rifle in capable hands, but sadly Christian had never used anything but shotguns. His first shot missed the creature completely. He took better aim, the second shot hitting the shoulder of his target. The creature pulsated slightly with the hit, but it had no serious effect.
“Fuck sake, mate. Stop shooting like a girl, concentrate!” said Bruce.
Christian took a breath and held it to stop its effect on his accuracy. He aimed it dead centre to the creature’s forehead and squeezed the trigger, textbook shooting as his father had always told him to do. The round hit the skull cleanly. The small rifle calibre showed barely any damage to its target, but the zombie collapsed dead to the ground.
“That’s more like it!” said Connor.
The horde up ahead was now at least twenty zombies, and more were appearing from between buildings. Their number seemed to grow at an astonishing rate, as if the entire town was infected. This harsh reality crossed Bruce’s mind, three hundred zombies and no working car. This was about as shit as situations come.
“Connor, get that thing shooting!”
He opened fire with the FN MAG. The sound was deafening for Bruce and Dylan working below, the odd bullet casing pinging off the plates of their armour. The 7.62 light machine gun packed a hell of a punch. Even the rounds that hit the torsos of the creatures were ripping them to shreds. It was unfortunate that they only had a hundred rounds for the gun. Bruce had got to the final nut but it was stuck. He stood up and stamped hard on the wrench several times until it finally came free.
“Dylan, get it jacked up!” said Bruce.
He lifted his new friend from the car, the Minimi. The horde was growing to uncontrollable levels now and Connor’s FN was out. Holding the box fed machinegun at the waist, he opened fire on full auto. There was no time for clean kills and accurate shooting anymore. Connor and Christian joined his side with rifles and all three men fired away with everything they had. Blood splattered everywhere as clothes and flesh were ripped apart by the hail of bullets. Zombies were dropping dead every second, but their ammunition was reducing just as quickly.
Despite their best efforts and many kills, the unstoppable horde was now on them. Bruce passed the Minimi over to Connor and went back to Dylan. The car was jacked up but the wheel was seized to the brake and hub. Bruce kicked against the wheel, trying to break the seal.
The last rounds of the Minimi ran out and Connor and Christian ran back to the car to grab more ammunition for their rifles. The silence of the guns was one of the scariest and unpleasant moments all day. The only sound left was that of the groans from the evil horde and Bruce swearing whilst kicking the wheel.
The great sound of an old V8 turning over and firing up resounded in the background, perhaps only a few hundred yards in front of them in the town. So there was indeed life there. Bruce kicked the wheel hard enough that it freed up, but the power of the strike tipped the car from the jack sending the disc brake crashing to the ground.
“Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, shit, balls!” shouted Bruce.
They were now up shit creek without a paddle. The car could probably be brought back to life, but not with a bit of time to do so.
“Right, get some weapons, let’s give these fuckers hell!” said Bruce.
Each of the men grabbed one of the AuSteyr rifles and formed a line. Had they got military training in firearms usage they could have perhaps had a chance of stopping the horde, but sadly, they didn’t. They fired bursts off in an almost wild fashion. From behind the horde they could hear the roar of the V8 as several of the creatures turned around to investigate the threatening growl.
The survivors saw a rusty and battered old ford F150 power around a corner and appear behind the horde before them. Far from slowing down at the sight of the beasts, the truck stormed towards them at a hefty pace. The big chrome grill smashed into the mass of creatures sending them to the ground. Blood spewed up the bonnet, added to the dirt, dust and rust already decorating the old faithful workhorse.
The truck slid up alongside the survivors as the driver slammed on the old brakes, which could barely stop it. He was a man of about sixty, a rough old country man. A teenage girl was sitting beside him in the passenger seat with a Winchester underlever rifle.
“Get in!” the man shouted.
“Yes, sir! Dylan, Connor, grab the weapons and food from the car!” said Bruce.
The men hastily threw everything useful into the bed of the truck as the horde was just twenty feet away. Bruce jumped aboard as one of the zombies got within reach of the vehicle. He grabbed the flanged mace that lay next to him and swung at the beast’s head.
“Have this you bastard!”
The mace smashed the skull just as the driver put his foot down and raced away. The men watched the bloodied creature tumble to the ground for the last time as they moved quickly into the distance. Bruce made his way to the front of the bed and the driver slid the rear window open.
“You’re a life safer!” said Bruce.
“No, you are. The whole town had gone to shit and we had been trapped in our house for a day. It was only the ruckus that you caused that pulled those things away from us. We made a run for the truck whilst it was clear,” he said.
“Well thank you, we helped you quite by accident, you could have left us to it,” said Bruce.
“No worries, mate. We need your guns like you need our truck,” said the man.
“Fair point, I’m Bruce, what’s your name, mate?” asked Bruce.
“Jake, and this is Emily, my granddaughter, do you know what the hell is going on?” said Jake.
“Only what we’ve seen. There’s some kind of infection out there, spread by biting, or maybe because of the shared bodily fluids. Everyone we’ve seen that’s been bitten has become one of those things, which can only be described as zombies,” said Bruce.
“Zombies? Don’t bullshit me,” said Jake.
“Well what else should we call them?” said Bruce.
The man shrugged his shoulders, it was a lot to take in, and he had no answers. The men in the truck bed were all silent. Connor handed out a bottle of water to each of the group from the supplies they’d found the day before.
“If you don’t mind, son, how come you’re wearing armour and carrying army rifles?” asked Jake.
“That’s a fair point. We were doing an historical combat display when this all happened to us. We found the weapons earlier today,” said Bruce.
“Found?” said Jake.
“The previous owners no longer had any use for them,” said Bruce.
“If the army are incapable of surviving, then how are we?” asked Jake.
“We’ve managed so far, mate,” said Bruce.
The man nodded in agreement, it at least provided some comfort to him.
“So where are we heading, Jake?” asked Bruce.
“To my sister’s place.”
“Whereabouts is it?” said Bruce.
“Just about twenty minutes drive,” said Jake.
Bruce knew that the likelihood of the man’s sister being alive was pretty slim, but it was a minor inconvenience to them, and he knew there was no way he could convince the man otherwise. Plus, the man had just saved all their arses, it was no time to argue. He sat back as comfortable as he could in the bed of the truck, with his back against the cab. His friends were all more than a little tired.
Bruce took this time to relax for the first time since this had all started. Since the outbreak he’d done little but fight and drive. Relaxing back on the hard floor, he sighed in relief as the cool air whistled through his hair. It was a lovely cooling effect. All the comfort that was lost by sitting in the hard metal truck bed was made up for by the freshening feeling of doing sixty miles an hour in the open air.
Ten minutes later Bruce was alerted by the sound of gunfire, two shots, one after the other. He stood up behind the cab to try and get a better view of things. The location of the gunfire was not yet in view. He knelt down to the window of the truck cab.