It was nearing midday, nearly 18 hours since our humble vessel had made ground off the Coast of Wollongong.
Miraculously, noone was hurt.
Our luck can't last I thought, gazing about our bruised and battered band. The sea was still boiling, even now, but compared to it's rage last night this was a welcome relief. We abandoned the vessel off the Port Bow, onto the small patches of sand guarded by the jagged rocks that'd speared our hope for easy passage north. It was treacherous, people slipped more times than we could count, and more people fell from the ship than jumped.
But in the end, we, as a whole, hiked our way from the rough coast into the harsh but spacious oceanside shrubbery that dominated the coast behind the rough sand and from there we turned toward inland. Our hopes were riding purely on finding vehicles to carry us along the Motorways.
But now, we stood in an open square, on the border between city and industrial port, jagged spires of abandoned steel works scraping our vivid horizon. Several corpses of corpses lay strewn about, with the wind in full howl and roar of the ocean combined with the dim lighting they never saw Harry coming. He took them one by one, each with a single strike the head. For once, we had the advantage against them.
They could neither hear nor see nor smell us.
Upon our wary approach into the city from the southside shrub, we'd spotted an information centre. Micheala and John broke through the remnants of glass, took a deadman each, and acquired several road and countryside maps- now the topic of closing discussion.
We had to make the roads, we had to move.
...and for that, we needed vehicles.
The wind screamed a sad song as cut between the tall, dead buildings, as if it were lamenting all the life that once flourished here. We found few Walking Dead, all of which were disposed of quickly. We were yet to find a vehicle in working order.
I was at the head of the group, scanning for any movement or threat ahead of us. I saw nothing, only one more broken and burnt Mac truck.
I took my first step past it's front wheel, a step to late, and picked the trap. My hand already wrapped around the hilt of the Machete drew, swinging at the figure leaping from the door. The jar ran up my around to the shoulder and followed by twist, tearing the hilt from my grip. I made to swing wildly around with my left, but before I could land a hit a blade was at my throat.
I was turned back to face the group, a hand clamped over my mouth. From both sides figures were moving from the buildings, surrounding our group. My weapons were freed, and clattered the ground at my feet.
Wasting no time, the new group herded us into the opening of what once was a shopping complex, over the howl of the elements I heard a shout and several shots. My captor turned, and I with him, to see John break the surrounding circle and slip away into the now sheeting rain.
Harry was nowhere to be seen. I wouldn't want to be them when he rejoins us.
Inside the complex, down two flights of stairs and the third, heavy, steel door on the left. We were in some old security room, where the two adjoin walls had been demolished, creating a long, wide, tall room. Hidden completely from above ground and seemly out of detection.
I couldn't count how many of them there were in the dimness, but I saw our weapons deposited into a strongbox against the left wall. I dozed on and off, trying once or twice to spit the gag from my mouth. Why were they holding us like this!?
Eventually, I was awoken by ear-drum destroying explosion. The roof to the far right of our little conglomerate of rooms had disappeared in a wave of smoke and rubble. Rain, from the surface was now falling through, cutting the curtain of dust.
Then, two figures cut their silhouettes against this ruinous backdrop.
Two figures that I'd recognise anywhere.
The light flooding in with the rain sang of the morning, as John swung his Steel with incredible strength and accuracy into the forehead of the first stunned captor. Harry was already burying his knife into the neck of a second.
Doors were flung and a pandemonium of chaos and panic took the room. A few more kills were made, but within a minute our ropes were cut. I could never describe the pride, and elation I felt in the dim light that morning.
Once again, John and Harry had saved the day. I was smiling like a fool.
Then that horrid, unnatural movement caught the side of my eye. I spun, catching more and more silhouettes pouring down the recently opened hole.
I turned again, to scream, to call retreat, to flee and ended up nose to nose with my old friend Lewis.
I watched, as the walking corpse behind him buried it's teeth into his shoulder.