by David Rogers
“DJ, you looking a little fucked man.” one of the pool players said with a smirk as he lined up a shot.
Darryl looked at him with a flat expression as he tapped a cigarette out, stuck it in his mouth, then returned the pack to his pocket and pulled out his Zippo. After lighting up and snapping the lid of the lighter closed, Darryl shook his head. “Man, don’t even.”
“So how was she?”
Sighing, Darryl watched as the cue ball slammed into the four and sent it off at a sharp angle to drop into the side pocket. “Last night, she fine. Today, she whack. Cops took her in.”
Exclamations of surprise and amusement sounded from the players, all of whom were his brothers in the club. Darryl followed that by relating the story again, though he embellished it a bit more than the version he’d told to Pinky. When he was done, he lit another cigarette and shook his head. “Dunno what got into that girlie. Meth I guess, maybe she needed her fix to act right.”
“What you gonna tell the O?” asked one of the players.
Darryl shrugged. “Nothing I guess, ain’t my problem. Ain’t like there ain’t enough girlies for the stages anyhow. Listen, Big Chief, what you got going on Monday day?”
Big Chief, the one who’d greeted Darryl when he came over, shrugged as he watched Mack study the table. “Not too much. Thinking about taking a cruise up 75.”
“Hey, if you don’t, I could use you and your truck. Need to get those doors in my pad replaced.”
Big Chief shrugged again. “Gimmie a ring around noon, we’ll see.”
Darryl inclined his head, then turned as he caught movement on his left. Shandrice was coming over with his nachos on her platter, along with another round of beers. He suppressed a groan, though he was hungry.
“Hey DJ.” she said, giving him a wink as she easily balanced the platter one handed and set the plate of food down on the counter next to him.
“Hey girlie.” he said, giving her a grin he hoped was friendly without being inviting. She’d been after him for months, and he knew it weren’t for no casual hookup either. Shandrice was twenty-eight, afraid she was starting to fade a little physically, and had got it in her head it was time to get married and have a man around.
Trouble was, she was a clingy, controlling woman, and a lot of guys were put off by it, Darryl included. She was sexy, but he didn’t need no girlie hooking into his life and running it for him. No sir, not Darryl Jacobs. Plus he knew too many guys who got married, then divorced, and ended up working two jobs just to pay off the alimony and child support bills they were loaded down with.
“You working tonight?” she continued as she set a fresh beer next to his half empty one.
“That’s the plan.” Darryl said, lifting his old glass and draining it. She reached to take it from him, allowing her hands to linger on his as she gave him a look, and he had to suppress another groan. He removed his hand and reached for his wallet. She didn’t seem to take the hint, waiting while he pulled out a ten and a five and dropped them on her tray.
“I was thinking about coming by when I get off.” Shandrice said.
“Sure, but you’ll be sitting alone.” Darryl said as he put the wallet in his back pocket and grabbed the plate of nachos. “Man don’t like us fucking off when we on shift.” Which, while convenient, was also true; Aaron Booth, the night manager at the Oasis, wanted everyone working to keep the club making money, not goofing off.
Darryl liked the job, getting paid for being polite and looking tough while keeping the place calm and incident free was the best gig he’d ever had, and it paid good. He’d worked there for five years now, and had no intention of screwing a good thing up. Plus the scenery at the strip club was excellent. If you had to stand around for eight or ten hours a night, better to do it with a lot of sexy flesh around to watch.
“They don’t give you breaks?” she asked.
“Yeah, but we gotta take ’em in the back.”
“Shandrice, leave my man be.” Bobo said from two tables away. “We thirsty.”
Darryl shot Bobo a grateful look as the waitress turned. He could tell by the set of her shoulders she was annoyed at the older biker, but she sauntered over and started unloading beers onto the edges of the tables. While his brothers distracted her and claimed their fresh beers, Darryl dug into his food hungrily.
The nachos were good here, especially when you got them loaded like these were. Thick cut chips, fried fresh and sprinkled with two kinds of grated cheese, none of that tasteless cheese sauce crap a lot of places used. Ground beef and shredded chicken next, then more cheese, and topped with pico de gallo, guacamole and sour cream.
Darryl shoveled them into his mouth hungrily, crunching his way through the plate. He was still in pretty good shape, though he’d put on ten or fifteen pounds since his college days when he’d been trying to land a spot on the basketball team. It took a lot of food to fuel his frame, which, so far, was still letting him not worry to much about how he ate.
He had packed away most of the nachos when a droning beep-beep caught his attention, causing him to look up. The televisions mounted up near the ceiling of the bar in various locations were all showing black screens with white lettering that read Emergency Alert System. Boos and curses erupted from the bar, mostly the Dark Dogz bikers, since the alert was interrupting the ball games and music videos the televisions had been showing.
“What the fuck they doing, running a test in the middle of the damn day?” groused one of the pool players, shaking his head as he walked around the table and considered his next shot.
Darryl’s attention focused on Bobo, who was looking at the nearest screen with a curious look on his face. “That ain’t no test.” the biker had time to say before the beeps stopped and a man’s voice came over the speakers, sounding from every television in the bar.
“The Centers for Disease Control has issued a Health Alert for the metropolitan Atlanta area. A Health Alert denotes a medical or biohazard condition of the highest importance that affects the designated area or areas.”
“What the fuck?” Darryl muttered, echoing a number of others, as more people left off whatever they were doing and turned to look at the televisions. The message was repeating, even as it scrolled in text form across the screen. After the second time, there was a burst of static, then a different voice, still male, started speaking.
“Due to current events, the CDC is, and is instructing all medical facilities to be on heightened alert status to monitor for a unusual disease pattern associated with today’s events. The origin of this disease pattern has not been determined, but may be a result of chemical or biological agents. This Alert applies to the entire metro region, including all surrounding suburbs and counties. The CDC recommends all citizens remain aware of the following symptoms of this unknown disease.
“The symptoms are disorientation; confusion; a lack of awareness or acknowledgement of surroundings or communication; pale or cold skin; lividity, or discoloration of lower limbs and extremities; lack of motor coordination; and aggression. Victims suffering from this unknown medical hazard are to be considered a danger to themselves and others.
“Should you know, or see, someone displaying these symptoms, please contact the CDC or the nearest medical facility, immediately. If you are unsure who to contact, please use the 911 Emergency system so they can best direct your call. Do not approach victims if it can be avoided.
“To better facilitate the response to this Health Alert, all citizens are encouraged to avoid using the phone unless absolutely necessary, so as to keep lines open for authorities and first-line responders. More information will be released as it becomes available. Message repeats.”
Darryl watched as the text of the message scrolled across the screen, just above a pair of blinking lines that continually displayed a phone number labeled as the CDC Hotline, and an email address and website URL that both ended with dot gov. There was a moment of silence, then the burst of static sounded again before the same vo
ice began repeating the message.
“What’s up with that?” Low asked, looking away from the television.
Darryl didn’t say anything, thinking of Bethany, and how a lot of what the message was saying seemed to describe her. He caught Bobo studying him, and set his plate with the remaining nachos aside. The older biker looked at him for a moment longer, then turned and raised his voice.
“Yo, Pinky! Gimmie one of them remotes.”
Darryl looked at the bar, where Pinky was turning from the television above the mirror behind the bar. The bartender looked confused, and he opened his mouth to say something, but Bobo cut him off.
“The goddamn teevee remote, give it to me.” he said, dropping his pool cue and walking toward the bar.
“Yeah, sure.” Pinky said after a moment, reaching under the bar. His hand came out with a plastic television remote, which he held out to Bobo. The biker took it, and stood at the bar, pointing it at the television as he pushed buttons. Darryl watched the television switch to one of the local stations, then flip through some others in rapid succession. They were all showing the same black EAS screen, with the same message.
“It ain’t gonna show anything else until the cable company stop the EAS feed.” Pinky offered after a moment.
“Yeah.” Bobo said slowly, leaving the channel on one of the local stations and keeping the remote in his hand as he waited. The message finally ended, and the EAS beeps started sounding again. Then the screen blinked to solid black, flickered for a few seconds, and stabilized on a newscast.
Bobo immediately pointed the remote back at the screen and raised the volume. Darryl started to walk over, followed by a few others, but Bobo spoke without turning away from the television over the bar.
“Turn those other screens the fuck off.” he commanded, and Darryl found himself changing direction in automatic obedience as he reached up to slap the power button on one of the televisions in the pool area. It went dark, followed over the next few seconds by the others in the bar as people hit the buttons. A moment later, the only sound was that of the local NBC affiliate’s daytime news anchor’s voice.
“–are becoming overwhelmed all over the metro area. Eleven Alive has spoken with officials in Clayton, Cobb, DeKalb, Fayette, Fulton, Gwinnett and Henry counties, and they’re saying their emergency responders are not only tapped out at full capacity, but that they’re calling in off duty and trained volunteer personnel to help bolster their responses. We’re working on contacting officials in other metro area counties, but have no statements to give you at this time.”
“This shit for real?” asked Shooter.
“Shut up.” Bobo said, still without looking away from the television.
“The first notice of problems apparently started in school and college campuses across the city.” the anchor was saying. “Around eleven am this morning, students started acting quote strangely unquote, with reports of some of the affected students being aggressive even as they seemed completely unresponsive to any attempts to talk with them. When medical responders began arriving at the scenes, they found chaotic and panicked situations as teachers and unaffected students struggled with or fled from the victims.
“We’d like to show a clip from Stone Mountain High School in DeKalb County, which was sent in via email, apparently filmed by a student there. We should warn you, some of what you’re about to see is very graphic.”
The anchor vanished from the screen to be replaced by a shot of a crowd of people and a cluster of ambulances and fire trucks, with a concrete building painted red and brown in the background. Darryl heard a lot of shouting, mixed in with some screams and crying, as the camera shakily panned across what he guessed was a parking lot at the school. He saw blood on some people, and a lot of those who didn’t seem to be fire or medical personnel looked either shocked or in pain; though some of the rescuers were sharing those expressions.
“Oh my God. Oh my God.” Darryl could hear, very close to the camera. The voice, which was male, was repeating, saying the same thing over and over, as whoever was holding the camera started walking closer to the school. Darryl surmised the voice must belong to whoever was shooting the video, and watched silently with the others in the bar. After a few moments, the viewpoint had moved between a number of emergency vehicles, and he saw sidewalks that bordered the parking lot’s curb and terminated at a number of double doors.
Darryl blinked, hearing mutters from those standing next to him. There was a . . . shuffling mass of people, kids, who looked completely expressionless as they emerged from the doors through a number of firemen and paramedics who were hopelessly outnumbered. Nearly everyone on the screen was bloody, though most of it was on the students’ faces and necks. As he watched, rescuers were trying to restrain the students, but when they did, the kids were grabbing onto them and trying to bite.
“Fucking zombies.” someone said.
“Shut up.” Bobo said again.
“It is man.” Zeebo protested, though he flinched a little when Bobo took his attention off the television long enough to fix him with a steady, threatening glare.
Darryl said nothing, watching as the firemen, as paramedics, started going down under the weight of numbers. In many places students were getting close enough to grab onto them, and were bearing them to the ground. Fresh screams, voices full of pain and surprise, sounded as blood flowed and flesh tore.
Darryl saw one female paramedic writhing beneath a trio of kids who were chewing on her limbs, both legs and one of her arms. She was beating her free hand, closed into a fist, desperately at the back of the neck of the student fastened onto her other arm. The blows seemed to have no effect; the teenager merely continued eating her arm.
“Again, that was the scene just over twenty minutes ago at Stone Mountain High School.” the anchor said as his image replaced the gruesome footage. “We’re being told the governor is about to make a statement, so let’s go to the Capital Building downtown now.”
The screen changed again, showing a podium with the state seal adorning it. A pair of flags, the United States’ and Georgia’s state flag, flanked it behind and to either side. Darryl heard a jumble of voices, which he guessed were reporters, then a raised voice cut through the din. “Ladies and Gentleman, “The Governor of Georgia, George Deal.”
A vaguely familiar figure appeared in frame, coming from the left and walking briskly to the podium. He looked a little … dazed, Darryl guessed the best word was, but the politician’s suit was sharply creased and his tie was firmly knotted around his collar. The man rested his hands on the edges of the podium and gazed out at the people listening, looked across the cameras broadcasting his image, then cleared his throat.
“This is a confusing, a very confusing day, for everyone in the state.” he said, and the voice Darryl remembered from the blizzard of campaign ads last year seemed more hesitant, less confident, than it had during the election. “I can tell you that my office is in constant communication with officials in all parts of the state even as I stand here speaking to you now. I’ve also brought some folks with me to try and answer the questions I know are coming, but I’d ask you to hold them, please hold all questions, for the moment.”
He raised his hands and made waving down motions with them, then cleared his throat again and replaced them on the podium. “At this time, I am declaring a state of emergency across the entire state of Georgia. This is accompanied by a curfew, which will go into effect in a little over four hours, at five pm. My office feels this is the best way to deal with whatever is happening, but I want to assure all the citizens of Georgia, that this is for your own protection.”
Governor Deal drew a deep breath, then continued. “The curfew is to try and stop the spread of whatever this disease is. My instructions to all the police agencies in the state are to simply direct that citizens return to their homes. There are not to be arrests, and there is not to be any use of force or crowd dispersal tactics. Everyone, authorities as well as citizens,
are urged to remain calm, and to follow these instructions.
“At this time, all businesses and places of public gathering are to close. Go home. Go home and wait for further communications from my office or your local authorities. All members of the Georgia National Guard, active or reserve, are to contact their commanders and bases immediately for instructions.
“I am directing that all local authorities and all medical, fire, and rescue departments cancel all leaves immediately, including all hospitals and clinics; public or private. If you are a fireman, a policeman, a doctor, a nurse, a paramedic, whether a regular employee or a volunteer, please contact your supervisors and staff immediately. We need you.”
The governor drew another deep breath, then forced a smile that Darryl felt was anything but reassuring. “Now, I know there are a lot of questions, and I’ll tell you now we don’t have all the answers yet. With me are representatives from the CDC, Grady Memorial Hospital, the State Patrol, and the Georgia State Defense Force.” he gestured to his right, and the camera panned across to show four people, three men and a woman, all standing in a line.
Behind them, Darryl saw a cluster of other people, who all had the look of aides and assistants; most of them with phones either at their ears or positioned before their faces as they tapped briskly. Despite the obvious attempt to project confidence and assurance, Darryl saw some of the eyes looked worried.
“I’d like to start with Doctor William Shreve, of the CDC. Doctor Shreve?”
The governor stepped aside from the podium as the camera panned back to him, and a moment later a middle aged man with a rather noticeable bald spot and wire framed glasses took the governor’s place at the podium.
“As Governor Deal requested, I’d like to again ask that all questions be held. I will tell you everything I can, which is to say, everything the CDC knows at this time.”