Free The Survivors (Book 2): Autumn by V. L. Dreyer

Michael looked positively horrified .  “Zombie bunnies? That’s a thing?”
    “Yeah.” Hemi shrugged helplessly.  “Not always, though.  Just sometimes.  I guess it depends on the bunny.”
    “Are they violent?” Michael asked.  His expression was one of such distress that I felt an overwhelming urge to comfort him, despite the ridiculousness of it all.
    “Nah.” Hemi paused, then shot us a thoughtful look.  “Well, not usually.  Sometimes.  We usually shoot them if we see them, just in case.”
    “The poor little things.” Michael looked crestfallen.  Suddenly, he realised we were all staring at him, and his expression turned defensive.  “What? I like bunnies.  They’re cute.  There’s nothing wrong with a grown man liking bunnies.”
    “Whatever you say, honey.” I patted his hand, amused.  Who was I to judge? I liked bunnies, too.  Just not zombie bunnies.  Being the shining beacon of diplomacy that she was, Anahera discreetly distracted us.
    “The path should be just over there,” she said, pointing through the trees .  I couldn’t see anything, but our guides seemed confident that they knew where they were going.  Sure enough, a few minutes later sunlight broke through the canopy and we emerged into a clearing.
    My foot struck something solid as I stepped forward .  I looked down, and saw railway sleepers nestled beneath the short grass.  A glance in either direction confirmed my suspicion: the path continued along a tunnel framed by lush trees, the boughs arching high overhead but not encroaching on the path.  Even after all these years, the old railway line was still a solid means of travel.  Long after the trains had turned to rust, we could use the scars they left upon the landscape as a walkway.  Our boots crunched across gravel as we travelled southwards, but the grass struggled to take root in it.
    We travelled much faster once we were inside that emerald corridor .  As we walked, I looked around and saw the tell-tale signs of human occupation emblazoned on the local plant life.  The tracks left by human feet and small tyres grew in frequency the farther south we went, marking the routes that Anahera and her tribe travelled the most.
    An hour later, we left the tracks and followed a narrow path that branched off to the west .  This one showed even more obvious signs of human interest in the region; the trees had been cut back and the scrub cleared, to keep the passageway clear.  After following the slender green corridor for a few minutes, the trees began to thin out.  The sounds of civilization reached us before we saw it: a dog barked, accompanied by the distant murmur of voices raised in good-natured chatter, occasionally broken by the sound of laughter.
    We rounded a bend and came to a halt as the camp opened up before us .  Raw wooden palisades built atop earthen ramparts formed a wall, built up to a height of at least two metres.  In front of the walls, a carefully-planned line of trenches and platforms marked the hillside, forming an impressively formidable defensive position.
    Even I recognised the ingenuity of the design .  If an enemy force wanted to get close to this village, they would have to negotiate the trenches and platforms to reach the walls, which would slow them down significantly.  The heavy gates stood open at the moment, and a ramp had been lowered over the defences to welcome the travellers home.
    Within the compound, I saw a mixture of old, pre-plague buildings, and newer, rough-hewn structures made from local materials .  Rising high above the walls, an observation platform of carved logs stood silhouetted against the midday sun.  I looked around and realised the land had been cleared for more than a hundred metres in any direction, so neither friend nor foe could approach without being spotted.
    And spotted we were .  The sentry shouted something I couldn’t hear and waved broadly at us.  Anahera and Hemi waved back.
    “More than