to something that vibrated as he panned across the street. He focused on the front of the old church building, the doors shook, not through wind, but the force of creatures. He could see chains wrapped around the doors and secured with two padlocks, the doors thrashed against the chains, straining them.
“Jesus fuck me Christ, this is not our day.”
He ran back to the others. A look of dread on his face that the others had gotten used to understanding, they knew bad news would follow.
“That’s the church, it’s locked up and chained, but something is giving the door hell, I can only imagine it’s most of the former population of the village.”
“What do we do?” asked Madison desperately.
“We can’t stay, we have no idea on their numbers, and we are now so few.”
“So we just put our tail between our legs and run?” asked Justin.
“That’d be about it, yeah,” replied Jack.
“Let’s do this, I’m sick of the sight of this place,” said Riley.
“All agreed?”
“Not like we have a choice,” added Wells.
“Alright,” said Justin.
Madison nodded in agreement.
“Ok, we have no idea how long those doors will hold for, who knows, we must assume we’re on borrowed time,” Jack explained.
“What can we do?” asked Madison.
“We can’t take the wagon, grab your horses and a few spares, load up essential supplies only. Make sure we have as much water as possible.”
“And be careful about what you take, there’s a lot of blood around this camp, we cannot risk taking anything infectious,” Wells added.
Moments later the handful of survivors were busy salvaging everything they could, in just five minutes they had loaded and prepared all that mattered in their world. Jack pulled himself wearily up onto his horse. Setting out every day was tedious and miserable, but doing it with less than a quarter of your friends surviving, and too little sleep, made it feel more hellish than ever. Jack wondered about Madison’s desperate state the day before, wondering about their purpose in life, maybe they didn’t have one. Maybe life was over for them, and they were just prolonging their misery. He put the thoughts to the back of his mind, his responsibilities as the leader overtaking his personal misery.
The others mounted their horses, and without a word from anyone, they began their march onwards, none of them now knowing what to say. It was clear to all that the end of their lives was near, They only wondered when it would come.
CHAPTER 8
English/Welsh border, United Kingdom
The sun had now set and they had been on the road for nearly two hours without a break and it was starting to show. The dull yellow lights of the tired convoy made slow, wearied progress along the debris-strewn highway. The tiny group of battered, smoking vehicles were all that remained of the once strong compound known as the Green Zone, the last substantial refuge in the entire British Isles. After a long and bloody siege only a dozen vehicles had been able to try and escape from the burning town and of those only six had made it to the walled perimeter. In the ensuing violence only five vehicles were able to fight their way to the safety of the road outside. It was a terrible event, that so few people escaped from the population of the two hundred and twelve survivors of the zone. This was a tiny fraction of the brave souls, who had stood against the horde for an entire decade, and the morale of those left was low. The road led away from the zone and deep into the heart of what was the lightly populated region of Wales. The roads were barely navigable and signs of life and civilisation had long vanished in the battles, raid and fires that had ravaged the region over months and months. They had limited supplies, weapons and ammunition but even worse, they didn’t have a plan or even a real objective to aim for.
At the head of the column of vehicles was the battered and heavily scarred seventies Land
“Jesus fuck me Christ, this is not our day.”
He ran back to the others. A look of dread on his face that the others had gotten used to understanding, they knew bad news would follow.
“That’s the church, it’s locked up and chained, but something is giving the door hell, I can only imagine it’s most of the former population of the village.”
“What do we do?” asked Madison desperately.
“We can’t stay, we have no idea on their numbers, and we are now so few.”
“So we just put our tail between our legs and run?” asked Justin.
“That’d be about it, yeah,” replied Jack.
“Let’s do this, I’m sick of the sight of this place,” said Riley.
“All agreed?”
“Not like we have a choice,” added Wells.
“Alright,” said Justin.
Madison nodded in agreement.
“Ok, we have no idea how long those doors will hold for, who knows, we must assume we’re on borrowed time,” Jack explained.
“What can we do?” asked Madison.
“We can’t take the wagon, grab your horses and a few spares, load up essential supplies only. Make sure we have as much water as possible.”
“And be careful about what you take, there’s a lot of blood around this camp, we cannot risk taking anything infectious,” Wells added.
Moments later the handful of survivors were busy salvaging everything they could, in just five minutes they had loaded and prepared all that mattered in their world. Jack pulled himself wearily up onto his horse. Setting out every day was tedious and miserable, but doing it with less than a quarter of your friends surviving, and too little sleep, made it feel more hellish than ever. Jack wondered about Madison’s desperate state the day before, wondering about their purpose in life, maybe they didn’t have one. Maybe life was over for them, and they were just prolonging their misery. He put the thoughts to the back of his mind, his responsibilities as the leader overtaking his personal misery.
The others mounted their horses, and without a word from anyone, they began their march onwards, none of them now knowing what to say. It was clear to all that the end of their lives was near, They only wondered when it would come.
CHAPTER 8
English/Welsh border, United Kingdom
The sun had now set and they had been on the road for nearly two hours without a break and it was starting to show. The dull yellow lights of the tired convoy made slow, wearied progress along the debris-strewn highway. The tiny group of battered, smoking vehicles were all that remained of the once strong compound known as the Green Zone, the last substantial refuge in the entire British Isles. After a long and bloody siege only a dozen vehicles had been able to try and escape from the burning town and of those only six had made it to the walled perimeter. In the ensuing violence only five vehicles were able to fight their way to the safety of the road outside. It was a terrible event, that so few people escaped from the population of the two hundred and twelve survivors of the zone. This was a tiny fraction of the brave souls, who had stood against the horde for an entire decade, and the morale of those left was low. The road led away from the zone and deep into the heart of what was the lightly populated region of Wales. The roads were barely navigable and signs of life and civilisation had long vanished in the battles, raid and fires that had ravaged the region over months and months. They had limited supplies, weapons and ammunition but even worse, they didn’t have a plan or even a real objective to aim for.
At the head of the column of vehicles was the battered and heavily scarred seventies Land
Similar Books
