Bloodshed (Book One in the Apocalypse Trilogy)

Chapter 1: Nightfall

Year: 2035

Location: Melbourne, Australia

Williams

A loud, screeching siren rang out over the desolate wreckage of Melbourne. Sirens that warned that it was time to hide and get inside, that it was time to hide from the moaning, flesh-eating creatures that had been the dominant species on this planet for twelve years, haunting the shadows of the world. The zombies had few weaknesses: sunlight, which made them rot faster, and gunshots to the head. The sirens were useful as warning, but not for protection. After an eight year war of apocalyptic chaos, there were few people still alive; all dead, killed by zombies and nuclear fallout.

The siren rang out a second time. Ex-corporal Lyon Williams slammed the door to the house, and marked the door with a red cross, using a can of spray paint. All along the street, the doors were adorned with similar crosses. He checked the bag. Only two cans of some fruit or vegetable and a small baggie of pot, making this another mostly unsuccessful supply run. The siren rang out again, meaning that it was going to be dark in an hour. Williams slung the pack and his rifle over his shoulder and climbed onto the black Harley-Davidson. Petrol, along with food and bullets, was getting harder to find. It was saved for the Harley and the Jeep.

He kicked the bike’s engine into life, and soon he was speeding along the Westgate Freeway, with the Yarra River to his left. Boats still floated in the toxic water, slowly dissolving. As the siren rang out the fourth time, things began to stir in the buildings, in the long-inactive sewer system and in every dark place where the sun didn’t shine in the whole city. Moans echoed from the alleys as the zombies awakened, and Williams continued to go as fast as he could. A left at St Kilda Rd, and he was ten minutes away from his destination. The siren rang out a fifth and final time. Five minutes til dark. He turned into Southbank, but that was when his luck ran out. The bike began to slow down, and finally screeched to a halt. He leaped off and quickly inspected the bike’s engine. The gas tank was empty. He swore, and dragged the bike into a bus stop, where he covered it with a fallen road sign. He’d come back for it tomorrow, when it was safe again. Then he took his Winchester off his shoulder and started running, loading it at the same time. The sun bathed the wrecked city in a red shadow as the zombies lurched out into the long-abandoned streets of Melbourne.

***

Williams stuck his head out from the alley that he had hidden in. Eureka Tower was across the road, but so were about a dozen zombies. He could run, but it would give away his position and possibly the other people in the Tower. The other option was to shoot them from there, but that would definitely give him away. He looked at the zombies again. They were scattered over a ten-metre space on the sidewalk, about fifteen metres away. He estimated that he could take out eight before the rest reached him. The odds were against him, but it was better than charging full-on.

He lifted the Winchester Model 70 to eye level. He was built the scope over a year, as soon as usable parts were found, including parts of night vision goggles. He pulled the bolt back and slid it forth, and targeted the head of the nearest zombie, putting one of its blank white eyes in the crosshairs. Here goes nothing, he thought, and he pulled the trigger. The .45 calibre bullet exploded from the barrel and buried itself in the rotten brain of the zombie. Its rotting head exploded, showering the others with blood. The other zombies reacted immediately, and started towards him. Two more went down, and a third stumbled as the bullet hit its chest. Four more went to the ground. They continued to come at him, and there were still six left, seven metres away. One more down and they were five metres away. He wasn’t going to make it. He threw his knife at one, and charged at the rest. Swinging his gun like a club, he managed to knock a few away, but it had no effect. So he cocked the Model 70 and shot one of the parked cars outside the Tower. The high-pitched alarm rang out through the night, momentarily distracting the zombies, who turned around in hope of finding more prey. A window on the eighth floor of the Tower opened. A silhouette stood by it, holding its arm out.

“Duck for cover!” followed by maniacal laughter. Moments later a small object was dropped. Williams, immediately knowing what it was, leaped behind a car.

The grenade exploded on impact, killing four of the zombies and disorienting the last one. Williams shot it in its burnt face and sprinted for the doors to the Tower. He got inside, and put the bolt and a tarp over the door. He stepped over the tripwire plastic explosives a metre from the entrance. With a final look through the grimy glass to check if he’d been seen, he strolled to the dent-covered elevator doors and forced them open.

Outside, the Undead roamed the streets as they had for the past twelve years.