Apocalypse Atlanta (Book 1)

by David Rogers

“Damnit Joe, carry her in here by force if you have to. Get my wife back in the house.” Jim shouted back through the door.

  “On the couch.” Jerry said, mostly to William, as they turned into the front room. Jessica grabbed the end of the low sitting table and dragged it out of the way, clearing room for them to get the injured man to the couch without impediment.

  “What happened?” Jessica asked as she straightened from moving the table.

  Jim gave that brief laugh again as he sank down on the cushions and Jerry lifted his wounded leg up on the couch. “We were in the kitchen, didn’t hear the door over the teevee. Drew did though.”

  “There was a woman pounding on the door.” the boy said. Jessica looked at him, and saw he was staring at his father as Jerry opened the first aid kit on the carpet and started looking through it.

  “Damnit Drew, what have we told you?” Jim asked, his voice strained with pain. “You don’t answer the door, ever.”

  Drew’s tears intensified, and Jessica reached automatically to pat him on the back, trying to comfort him. Jim’s breath hissed out as his brother loosened the t-shirt on his leg and peeled it back, but he was looking at the boy. “Drew, Daddy’s not mad. But you have to listen, you have to do what we tell you. It’s important, especially now. You understand?” He was trying to sound gentle, fatherly, but the pain was ruining the effort.

  “Yes.” Drew whispered, his voice barely audible and thick with sobs. “I’m sorry.”

  “Okay . . .ARRRRGGGHHH!” Jim said, then shouted in pain as his brother poured something from a small bottle over the wound. “Fuck, fuck, fuck!” He yelped, pounding a fist on the back of the couch.

  “Sorry.” Jerry said, but he sounded distracted rather than apologetic, as he capped the bottle and set it aside. “Disinfectant.”

  “Christ . . . that . . . hurts.” Jim panted. Jessica could see the liquid pooling in the gaping wound on his leg, and the jagged edges of flesh were bubbling in some places.

  “Well what do you want me to do?” Jerry demanded as he started folding the bloody t-shirt to a clean spot. “Let you bleed out and die of shock sometime between now and tomorrow?”

  “Bathroom.” Jim gasped. “Cabinet. Pills.”

  “Master bedroom?” Jessica asked automatically, still rubbing Drew’s back, feeling his little body heave with sobs.

  “Yes.” he said, gritting his teeth and inhaling sharply as Jerry dabbed at the wound with the t-shirt.

  “I’ll go look.” Jessica offered. When no one objected, she headed for the stairs. At the end of the hall, she found the bedroom in the expected place, but had to walk around the bed to get to the bathroom. They’d put their bed on the wall leading to it, rather than against the far wall as she had.

  The light switch was in the same place though, and she opened the medicine cabinet, her eyes scanning. She saw a bottom of aspirin, but looked at the labels on the prescription bottles she saw. One of them was labeled ‘Percodan’, and rattled when she lifted and shook it.

  She looked on the sink counter, but didn’t see a glass or cup of any kind, so she took the bottles of painkillers and went back downstairs. Moving through the living room, she entered their kitchen and started opening cabinets. A big pot of something was simmering on the stove, it smelled like soup or stew, and she saw a cutting board out with a half chopped carrot. When she found cups, she put water in two, turned off the stove, then returned to the front room.

  Joe had got Maggie into the house, but it was really just a change of location. She was sitting in one of the other chairs, her eyes still fixed and distant. Jessica frowned slightly, but put the cups down on the sitting table and opened the bottle of prescription pain killers. There were about a dozen left in it, and she shook two out into her hand.

  “Here.” she said, stepping closer and reaching past Jerry to press them into Jim’s hands. She turned to get him one of the cups of water, but when she turned back he was dry swallowing them.

  Shrugging mentally, Jessica shook out a third pill, then went back into the kitchen. Taking up the knife from the cutting board, she scraped the carrots aside, then put the pill down and set the knife blade into the little divider line in the middle. Glancing around, she snatched up a towel that was draped over the sink faucet and dropped it over both knife and pill, then smacked her hand down on the back of the blade. There was a muffled crack-thump as the knife split the pill.

  She had to shake the towel over the counter to find the two pill halves – they had shot off into the folds of cloth – but finally found them when they dropped out of the towel. She reset the blade on one of the halves, covered it with the towel again, and hit it harder to split the half again. When she found the quarter pieces, she took them with the half back into the front room again. Picking up one of the cups, she hesitated, then looked at Jim. Maggie didn’t look any better, so Jessica didn’t bother directing the question to her.

  “Is Drew allergic to aspirin?” Jessica asked, thinking of Candice. Her daughter was, she’d been hospitalized when she was three with hives and terrible stomach pains.

  “No.” Jim gasped. “Takes it . . . all . . . the time.”

  “Okay.” Jessica said, kneeling down in front of the boy. “Drew.” she said softly, holding up the cup. “You need to take this pill. It’ll make the pain better.”

  Drew blinked wetly at her, then looked at her hands. He reached for the pill quarter she was offering with trembling fingers, and almost dropped it twice before he managed to get it into his mouth. Jessica didn’t relinquish the cup after that, but merely let him guide it as she supported and tipped it for him to sip from. She saw him swallow several times, then lean back a bit from the cup.

  “All gone?” Jessica asked, realizing she hadn’t asked anyone if the boy knew how to take pills yet. Some children didn’t learn how to do that until they were much older. But Drew opened his mouth and showed nothing but tongue and teeth, so Jessica nodded and gave him a smile. “Good.”

  Putting the cup down on the table, she looked back to the couch. Jerry was busy taping a sterile pad into place on Jim’s leg. Maggie was still staring vacantly into space, and Joe was watching what Jerry was doing with a slightly angry expression. Her father was standing in the entryway, just past the wall. She caught his eye, and he gestured subtly toward the door. She frowned, then nodded after a moment.

  “Are you going to be okay?” she asked, facing the couch but kind of directing the question at the room.

  “Probably not.” Jim gasped with that same little chopped off chuckle. “But thanks for helping.” He turned his head awkwardly and looked at William. “Both of you.”

  “Sorry we can’t do more.” Jessica’s father said with a sad shake of his head.

  “I gave Drew a quarter of a Percodan.” Jessica said. “Just so you know.” She didn’t want them over dosing the boy, but she knew that bite had to hurt. If his father’s reaction was anything to go on, when they tried to clean the wound on his arm it was going to be hard on Drew.

  “Joe, you hear that?” Jim asked, and his voice sounded a little less stressed.

  “What?” Joe blinked, then looked from his brother to Jessica and nodded. “Yes, half a Percodan.”

  “A quarter.” Jessica said. “He’s probably about fifty pounds, that really should be enough. And he might go to sleep from it.” She hesitated, thinking of what the governor had said earlier, than pressed ahead. “You might want to call nine-one-one, or maybe drive into a hospital. Those bites look pretty bad.”

  “We’ll be fine.” Jerry said as he slapped his brother on the arm and picked up the first aid kit. Rising, he headed for Drew’s chair.

  “Okay. Good luck.”

  “Thanks again.” Jim said, and he was definitely sounding better. Jessica knew from experience how quick those pain pills could kick in, and was relieved for his sake.

  “Let’s go Jessica.” her father said from the entryway. She nodded and picked her way through the room to join him
as he opened the door. He went out onto the porch and down the walk to the driveway.

  Jessica couldn’t help but look at the body on the lawn. It didn’t seem to have moved, which she was grateful for. Some of the images the news had been showing were pretty graphic, and she wasn’t really sure how well she might react if the sick woman was still . . . alive, or whatever, after having been shot six times, including once in the head.

  They walked back to Jessica’s house, and she found she was having to quicken her stride to keep up with her father. When she glanced at him, she saw he was looking just about in all directions as they walked. “What’s wrong?”

  William was frowning, but his voice was almost routinely absent as he continued looking around. “If they’re this far out . . . that could be bad.”

  “This far out?” Jessica asked as they reached her driveway.

  “I was hoping . . . I was hoping this was maybe just contained to city centers.” her father said, still sounding distracted. “According to the news that’s where it’s been the worst.”

  Jessica thought about that as they went up the walk to the porch. As she opened the door and stepped inside, she heard Candice call out almost immediately.

  “Mom?”

  Her daughter appeared at the entrance to the living room, looking hopeful and worried. “Mom!” She ran to Jessica and flung her arms around her mother.

  “It’s me sweetie.” Jessica said, hugging her back. “Everything’s fine.”

  “We heard shooting.” Candice said, her face pressed against Jessica’s stomach. “Grandma wouldn’t let me go see what was going on.”

  “Grandma was right, I’m glad you listened to her.” Jessica said, stroking Candice’s hair gently. “There was nothing out there you needed to see.”

  “I needed to see if you were okay.” Candice said, and Jessica heard the beginning of tears in her voice.

  “I’m fine.” Jessica said, putting as much reassurance into her tone as she could. “And I’m glad you’re okay. That’s why you needed to stay here with grandma. So I’d know you’d be fine.”

  “I’m glad.” Candice said quietly.

  “What, no hug for grandpa?” Jessica heard from behind her. Glancing over her shoulder with a wry smile, she saw her father closing the door and grinning at Candice as she peered past Jessica.

  “I’m glad you’re okay too grandpa.” Candice said, leaving Jessica and going to hug him. Jessica noted he kept his right hand over the holstered pistol, hugging the girl only with his left. He met her eyes, and she couldn’t read the look in them.

  “Bill, maybe we talk about heading to one of the FEMA sites.” Sharon said after a moment. Jessica watched her father hesitated as he hugged Candice, then shook his head slowly once.

  “Why not? If things are getting that ba–”

  William shook his head again and cut his wife off, something he hardly ever did. “No.” He patted Candice on the back, then leaned down a little. “You go play your games some more for grandpa, okay? I’ve got to talk something over with grandma.”

  Jessica noticed Candice’s hesitation, but the girl nodded agreeably enough after a moment, and quickly enough that she wasn’t entirely sure her parents caught it. After Candice went back into the front room, William pointed and the three adults filed back in the living room.

  “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

  “Dad, I know you don’t like government, but if it’s safer . . . ?” Jessica spread her hands a little as she stood in front of her recliner without sitting down.

  “No, that’s not it.”

  “Then what?” Sharon asked, sounding a little irked.

  “There are going to be a lot of people there.” he said.

  “Right, but there will be protection too. The military is supposed to be guarding them, so it should be safer.”

  He frowned. “Think it through.”

  “Think what through?”

  “They keep saying this is some sort of a disease, but if it is, it’s spreading unlike any other we’ve ever seen. People are still just up and . . . turning, even people who are staying away from others.” William sighed. “What happens if you put a lot of people together in one place? And some of them start changing?”

  Jessica felt a chill ripple through her. Sharon’s frown deepened. “So what are we going to do then?”

  “Stay here, try to stay safe.” Jessica’s father said unhappily. “However we can.”

  “Hrumph.” Sharon snorted. “Well, I’m going to go start supper. I’m tired of sitting around watching the news.”

  She turned and went into the kitchen with a bit of a thump in her step, the same one she always had in her stride when she was less than pleased. Jessica looked at her father and managed a weak smile she didn’t really feel. He gave her one back that she was sure was just as much for show as hers. They both sat back down and went back to watching the television.

  * * * * *

  Peter

  Peter was keeping an eye on the situation beyond the fence, peeking through the vertical blinds over the sliding glass doors regularly. The zombies out on the street seemed to like to wander around unless something caught their eye. Without having to check, Peter knew their growing fixation with what was happening inside the fence was due to the comings and goings of the Guardsmen.

  The teams came and went, at first fairly frequently. Then, less often as Roper said they had enough food for the moment, and they started poking through apartments further away from the one they’d designated as home base. Finally the radio on Peter’s belt crackled.

  “Hey sarge?”

  Peter unhooked the radio and adjusted the volume knob slightly before answering. “What’s up Mendez?”

  “Yeah, we’re in . . . where are we again guys?” Mendez said. “Ah, T-7. Anyway, there’s a desktop computer in here that’s connected to a satellite modem setup. As far as I can tell it should be good to go if we can get power to it.”

  Peter thought for a few moments. They were plenty of apartments in the complex yet to be checked, but he wasn’t holding his breath for a generator to turn up anywhere. It simply wasn’t the kind of thing he’d ever expect an apartment dweller to have around. “Can you bring it back here?”

  There was a pause. “Uh, it’d really be better if we left it in place. I wouldn’t want to screw anything up by trying to unhook it all. Plus taking the satellite dish would mean un-snaking some cables that go through the walls, and the dish itself is bolted to the building’s roof.”

  Crawford, who was lingering in the small entry hallway to the apartment so she could smoke without getting yelled at by any of the non-smokers spoke up. “A couple of the places we ransacked had them battery things Smith was talking about.”

  “UPS units.” Whitley said.

  “Yeah, them.” Crawford drew on her cigarette and turned her head sideways so she blew out of, instead of into, the door. “Maybe we could run around and collect a bunch of those.”

  Peter frowned. “Aren’t those things supposed to only be good for a minute or two.”

  Crawford shrugged. “We could plug them up together or something I guess?”

  The radio in Peter’s hand sounded again. “Hey, did I hear someone say they needed some power?”

  “Yeah smart guy, what’ve you found?” Mendez said before Peter could respond.

  “Well, I think I just became the Goddamned hero of the day.” Johns said, and Peter could definitely hear the grin in the man’s voice. “We found an apartment where whoever lived here was apparently a big camper. There’s enough gear here for two or three carloads of city pukes to ‘rough it’ hipster style out in the sticks.”

  Peter waited a moment, as Johns stopped speaking. When the man didn’t resume, Peter depressed his transmit button. “Okay, so what’s the good news then?”

  “There’s a huge honking inverter here, right next to a little mini fridge and a set of camp lights and some other stuff that uses power.”


  “Inverter?” Peter asked, then his eyebrows went up. “Like for a car?”

  “Bingo.”

  “Hey.” Mendez broke in. “How big is it Johns?”

  “It’s portable, less than a foot square. Not too heavy, weighs about as much as a bag of sugar I guess.”

  “No you fucking idiot, the rating.” Mendez snapped. “The power rating.”

  “Uh . . . how do I tell that?”

  “Christ, look on it. It should be marked somewhere. How many watts?”

  “Oh.” Johns sounded a little sheepish. “Says 1500 watts.”

  “Mendez, is that enough to run that computer?” Peter asked.

  There was a pause, then the Guardsman’s voice came back, sounding optimistic. “I think so.”

  “Great. Johns, look around for any extension cords, and get them and the inverter over to Mendez.” Peter said. “And for fuck’s sake, be careful you don’t drop it.”

  “We’re on it.”

  “Good. Mendez, you hold there. What are you again, V-7?”

  “T-7. Tango-7.”

  “Okay, sit tight.” Peter clipped the radio back on his belt and picked up his AR where he’d left it next to the glass doors. “Where’s Hernandez?”

  Crawford nodded from her position at the door, indicating he was outside. Peter brushed past her and found Hernandez standing a little back from the back side of the upper landing. The Guardsman was eyeing the zombies that were in view along the fence. Peter joined him and studied the fence for a few moments as he slung his weapon behind his shoulder.

  There were maybe fifty or sixty zombies at the fence, all of them pressed up against it. They’d been watching the humans moving inside the complex for the last hour or so, as the recon teams ran around searching apartments. They were like dogs who were fascinated by the actions of nearby humans. Hungry, ravenous dogs. Peter almost wished they were dogs; at least dogs would show some emotion if they were going to act that way.

  Not the zombies. They were just there. You knew what they wanted, what they were going to try to do, but they themselves showed no reaction or visible opinion about it. It was as if they were just a force of nature, or robots or something.