Zombie Dawn Exodus by Michael G. Thomas Page A

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