Apocalypse Atlanta (Book 1)

by David Rogers

  “What for?”

  “I’m a master mechanic.” Peter explained. “I can fix a lot of broken shit, but I need tools.”

  “Okay, I guess that makes sense.” Smith shrugged.

  “Shut up and help.” Peter said, slinging his AR and rolling a standup tool chest away from the wall. With Smith helping, he was able to get the tool chest loaded, along with a pair of oversized tool boxes that he glanced through briefly before deciding to take. The items he was grabbing weren’t as good as a full shop, and they were definitely not as good as the ones he had in Snellville at his own shop, but they’d do.

  He also, to a considerable amount of bitching from Smith, got an empty five gallon plastic gas can filled from one of the shop barrels of motor oil. While Smith was pumping the oil into the can using the barrel’s hand pump, Peter found three more gas cans and threw them into the humvees as well. They were empty too, but they’d come in handy if they had to ferry fuel back to one of the vehicles.

  “There, done.” Smith said as he finished loading the gas, now oil, can into the back of the humvee. Peter glanced over, prepared to remind the Guardsman, but saw that he’d already used a cargo strap to lash the can to the side of the cargo space’s wall so the can couldn’t tip over.

  “Great, let’s get ’em outside and see how everyone else is doing.”

  He rolled out of the building slowly and parked near the bus, but out of the way so the bigger vehicle could back up without hitting the humvee. As he headed for the bus, Whitley came around the rear apparently looking for him. “What’s the story?” Peter asked.

  She seemed more cheerful than she had when they’d pulled up. “We’re golden. They’re hauling stuff out and packing it into the bus as fast as they can.”

  “There’s a weight limit you know, even for a bus.” Peter said, glancing at it in concern as he tried to judge if it was riding lower than it was supposed to on the shocks. It didn’t look like there was a problem. He hoped he was just being overly cautious for no reason. Actually, he decided he probably was.

  After all, he’d seen MARTA buses during rush hour with every seat filled and more people packed standing room only all down the center aisle. That had to be something like sixty, maybe seventy people aboard under those conditions. Considering that the average American weighed more than two hundred pounds, he was definitely being too cautious. A case of 5.56 was about thirty pounds, so ten of them was effectively one fat man. The bus could handle some weight.

  “I know, but after all the crap we’ve been through, no one’s all that eager to hear about how we shouldn’t take this or that.”

  “Well what are we taking?” Peter asked.

  Whitley shrugged. “Lots of ‘16 ammo. I stopped counting cases at thirty. More ‘16s, so we have extras and parts, plus some M203s.”

  Peter shook his head. He couldn’t say he would turn down having grenade launchers handy, but he also couldn’t honestly say how useful he thought they’d be against the zombies. They didn’t wound like people did, and grenades were designed to wound not kill.

  “I was coming to find you and ask if we should bother with any SAWs or not.”

  Peter opened his mouth, then hesitated. Machine guns hadn’t been all that useful Friday night; wasting a lot of rounds for every kill shot they managed to land. But if things were as bad as they seemed, zombies might not be the only threats soon. “A couple, two or three.” Peter said finally. “And enough ammo to keep them going for a few fights, but let’s not go crazy on them.”

  “That’s kinda what I thought you’d say.” Whitley nodded. “I got two loaded on the bus now. I was wondering what else we should bring though.”

  “Like what?”

  She shrugged. “There’s at least a little of just about everything in there sarge. Hand grenades, mortars and mortar rounds, long guns, mines . . . hell I think I even saw a flamethrower or two stuck way in the back.”

  Peter considered briefly. “Make sure we bring a box or two of hand grenades, and a couple of the long guns. If there are M-24s, bring ten. And ammo. Don’t bother with the rest of it.”

  “Got it.” Whitley said, turning to head back around the bus.

  “Hey, you okay to keep driving that thing?” Peter asked.

  “The bus? Sure, why not.” Whitley said with a shrug, stopping to glance back at him.

  “Okay, then you’re on it for the time being.”

  “Where we headed next?” she asked him.

  “Finish loading, then we’ll have ourselves a quick pow-wow and hash it out.”

  In short order the soldiers tired of playing the parts of kids in a candy store, and the trail of explosive goodies packing aboard the bus trickled off. Peter whistled the shooters all in, and everyone gathered aboard the bus with the doors shut for security.

  “Okay, so we’re out of immediate danger.” Peter said. There were some ragged cheers, which Peter didn’t bother to dissuade. He even grinned tiredly himself. “We’ve got transportation, we’re loaded for bear, so it’s time to decide what our plan is.”

  “I’m with you sarge.” Whitley said immediately, speaking loudly.

  “Kiss ass.” Candles said, though he didn’t sound too put out or angry as he spoke.

  “Fuck you for fucking with her.” Mendez said. “I’m with sarge too.”

  “Yeah. Right on.” a couple of other voices said.

  Peter spoke up as Candle’s expression began flashing towards actual irritation.

  “You haven’t even heard what I want to do next.” he said, smiling like it was funny.

  “You’re not crazy.” Whitley said. “And I’m pretty sure you’re not suicidal either. So what’s your plan?”

  Peter took a breath. “Okay, I think we should head for one of the evacuation points. The FEMA camps that are supposed to be outside of Atlanta.”

  Whatever people had thought he was going to say, some of them clearly had not expected that. There was an immediate tumult of noise as people exclaimed or protested or tried to weigh in with comments. Peter waved his hands, trying to encourage them to quiet down so he could be heard.

  “Hang on, give me a minute to explain.”

  “Sarge, people are dangerous.” Hernandez said, looking a little sullen. “Those camps would be like magnets for any zombies in nearby.”

  “Hell, they’d be buffets for anyone who converts in one.” Johns pointed out.

  “That’s why I want to go.” Peter said.

  “We don’t even know if any of them are still there.” Candles said.

  “The last information I found was current as of six pm.” Mendez said. “That wasn’t that long ago.”

  “Yeah, but it’ll take us hours to get to the closest one.” Johns frowned. “And there’s no guarantee it’ll still be there.”

  “Then we go to the next one on the list, and the one after that, and another after that, and so on until we find one that’s still there.” Peter said simply.

  “What in the hell for?” Candles asked.

  Peter shrugged. “I want to help. I have the training and the will, so that’s what I want to do.”

  “We just got clear of one big mess of zombies, one that’s so big whatever’s left of the government wants to drop a fucking fuel bomb on them, and now you want to head right into another big mess of zombies?” Hernandez demanded.

  “Well, what’s your plan then?” Whitley asked, glaring a little at him.

  “What, me?”

  “Yeah, you.” Whitley said. “You’re so sure sarge is wrong, what’s your great idea?”

  Hernandez hesitated, but Candles stepped into the void almost immediately “We find someplace defensible and hunker the hell down.”

  “Yeah, like where?” Swanson asked.

  Candles grimaced, but he gestured broadly as if trying to indicate there were so many options it was hard to list them. “Take your pick. There’s houses and stores and buildings all over the place. We go find something good and fortify the hel
l out of it, then wait until shit isn’t so fucked up.”

  “What makes you think it’ll get less fucked?” Roper asked.

  “What makes you think it won’t?” Candles replied.

  “Whether or not things get better, I don’t think running to the nearest mall and barricading ourselves in is a good plan.” Roper said with a frown.

  “I didn’t say mall.” Candles shrugged. “But now that you mention it, that doesn’t sound that bad. We could destroy all the stairs and escalators, and the zombies would have no way to get at us.”

  “Great, how’d we get down?”

  “Ladders.”

  “Food, bathroom, cooking, what about all that?” Mendez asked, sounding somewhere between mild disgust and actual curiosity.

  “A mall would have plenty of room for stuff to be stored. We could lay in stocks.”

  “So, just so I’m clear on your plan,” Dorne said suddenly, “you want to both fort yourself up and squat in a mall, but also go out scrounging for supplies so you don’t have to go anywhere?”

  Candles reddened a little. “Any plan’s going to have to allow for resupplying, whether you’re sitting or mobile.”

  “Well, I don’t like that plan.” Dorne said, folding his arms.

  “Mall wasn’t my idea.” Candles pointed out. “We could pick a bank, or a motel, or a house or something. Like I said, its not like there aren’t a lot of options around here. We can find something good.”

  Whitley threw up her hands, then stepped forward. “Okay, show of hands. Who’s for what Candles wants to do?”

  Peter glanced around. Hernandez raised his hand, followed a moment later by Johns, Harper, and Teves. He kept his expression calm, but that actually was better than he’d feared.

  “There you go, you’re out voted.” Whitley said with more than a trace of smugness. “That’s five, which ain’t enough.”

  “Okay, hold on.” Peter said, waving his arms over his head to draw everyone’s attention back to him. “As far as I’m concerned, we’re past things like ‘desertion’ and court martials. I will say that I’m keeping the bus and the two humvees outside with me, since it sounds like I’ll have enough people to drive all of them, but other than that if anyone wants to go off on their own, that’s fine. I won’t stop you.”

  “Well, I ain’t going out to any of the FEMA camps.” Hernandez said. “I’m not a coward, but I think that’s a pretty stupid idea. According to what Mendez found on the news, big concentrations of people are where all the zombies are.”

  “I’m not going to make you.” Peter confirmed with a nod. “I won’t even make you feel bad for not wanting to come. In fact, before we roll out of here, I’ll even help you carry some more supplies in from the armory. And I’ll help you find a vehicle somewhere nearby so you’ve got wheels. I’ll do that for anyone who wants to split.”

  Hernandez studied him for a moment, then nodded. “I’ll want to take two cases of ammo with me, and an extra M-16.”

  “Okay.” Peter nodded again, his expression calm. “Who else?”

  “Same for me.” Candles said, standing up. “I think you guys are crazy, and we’ve all got a better chance if we stay together and barricade ourselves in somewhere, but I’ll settle for heading off alone or with whoever wants to come with me if it comes to it.”

  Peter glanced around. “Okay, so that was five for the forting plan. It doesn’t matter to me if you’re going off together or alone, but are all five of you out?” There was a long pause, then Johns, Harper and Teves all nodded slowly.

  “Okay. Anyone else not going with me?”

  He waited, but no one spoke or raised their hand or otherwise indicated themselves. Peter let the seconds tick away, then finally forced a brief smile. “Okay. So five are leaving. Let’s get another ten cases of ammo and five more ‘16s in here, then we can roll out and go find you guys a couple of vehicles.”

  “You going to teach us how to hot wire a car?” Johns asked.

  Peter shrugged. “I’ll show you, but you’ll probably have to practice some to get good at it. I’m not planning on spending more than a few minutes on it. Lessons aren’t part of the deal. My advice would be to make sure you get somewhere safe before you start practicing.”

  “Whatever.” Candles said, squeezing past Peter and pausing at the front of the bus, looking out the windows. When he seemed satisfied there weren’t any lurking zombies, he turned and hit the door lever. “Let’s grab the last load and get out of here.”

  “One thing though for the people who’re staying.” Peter said suddenly. Several of the soldiers gave him puzzled looks. Peter smiled and shrugged. “Stop calling me sarge. Call me Gunny.”

  * * * * *

  Jessica

  Jessica opened her eyes, and then suppressed a violent start of alarm only because she had Candice draped across her. The girl had fallen asleep in Jessica’s lap, her legs on either side of her mother’s to keep most of her weight off Jessica. Candice’s head was nestled on Jessica’s shoulder, the girl’s hair mingled with Jessica’s. Even in the dim moonlight Jessica could clearly see the tear stains on her daughter’s face, the tears having been smeared around with fingers and left to dry.

  Her leg hurt. Not as much as it had, but still a lot. Jessica craned her head so she could see the door to the office. It was still closed. Next she listened carefully, trying to still her breathing some while she strained to hear anything past the sound of Candice’s steady breaths. After perhaps half a minute she decided she couldn’t hear anything.

  ‘Not smart girl.’ Jessica thought darkly, suddenly extremely angry with herself. Falling asleep, in the middle of nowhere . . . that could have been very, very bad. Lethally bad. Well, not exactly in the middle of nowhere. Jessica glanced out the window. Peachtree Industrial was quiet, the scattering of wrecked cars interrupted only by five wandering zombies. She wondered where the others were.

  Frowning, Jessica tried to order her thoughts. The sleep had done her a little good, but her knee was still throbbing fiercely. No car, unless she could figure out a way to get the Accord back onto its wheels. Fat chance of that.

  She looked at the desk, seeing the phone’s display was still dark, indicating it wasn’t plugged in. Or, rather, that it didn’t have power.. No one used the old style phones anymore, the ones that drew their power from the phone line. No, they were all powered by the wall socket, and some didn’t even use the phone lines anymore. Now they made and received calls via the internet.

  Jessica tried to think. She knew about where they were; just north of Highway-120, which was known variously as Duluth Highway or Abbotts Bridge Road. She thrust aside her usual spurt of irritation over Atlanta’s annoying habit of naming the same road multiple things depending on where along its stretch you might be, and tried to summon a map in her mind.

  If she hadn’t crashed, she would have turned right on 120 and gone about a mile and a half before turning north into Dennis’ neighborhood. He lived sort of in the middle of his sprawling neighborhood, which was designed with winding roads and large lots that reflected the wealth of those who lived there. Worst case, she was about two miles from his house, three at most.

  She bit her lip. Carefully she shifted Candice over to one side of the chair, scrunching herself into the other. The girl didn’t wake as she was moved, and Jessica paused to make sure she was still breathing. No, she was fine, just O-U-T like a light. Jessica reached out and put a hand on the desktop and carefully heaved herself up out of the chair.

  Her knee immediately protested the movement as much as it did at not being somewhat horizontal. Jessica hopped on her right leg for balance, still leaning against the desk, and bent to examine her injury. After a moment she realized that wasn’t going to work; there wasn’t enough light and what there was she blocked when she leaned over.

  She slid her butt onto the desk, sitting on it so she faced the window. Her leg didn’t look too abnormal beneath her jeans, but when she touched it she could
feel the swelling beneath the denim. Her flesh was almost spongy in places, and her stomach roiled a little at the sensation.

  “Focus.” Jessica whispered, fighting the urge to cry. She couldn’t afford the time for tears. The safety this building provided might only be temporary, and regardless they couldn’t stay here forever. Unless there was a fully stocked mini-grocery somewhere else on the floor, and maybe a chainsaw so she could break through the door that guarded it.

  They weren’t that far from Dennis’ house. He’d said to get there, that they’d be safe there. That word, safe, beckoned to her like a siren song, like a magic spell that was warm and comforting. But to get there . . . she didn’t know if she could walk two miles on her knee. She sure as hell couldn’t run on it.

  She thought back to before she’d fallen asleep. The fast limp she’d managed had been enough to stay ahead of the zombies, even pull very slowly away from them. So her speed might be okay, she just had to be able to stay on her feet until they got to Dennis’. That was the problem. She wasn’t sure if she could do that or not.

  Jessica glanced around the office. The lettering on the book spines was hard to make out, but they seemed to all be accounting and computer related. She spotted a book she had in her own office, ‘Excel Secrets’. She got off the desk and managed to pick the bat up without falling over. Leaning on it once more she hobbled over to the door and put her ear to it. She counted silently in her head as she listened.

  After a full minute, or at least a count up to sixty, she heard nothing that made her think there was anyone, or anything, out there. Carefully she eased it open and peered around. The front office was dark, but she waited another thirty seconds, as if inviting anything that lurked beyond to try for her.

  Nothing attacked. Jessica thrust the door open fully so the moonlight from the windows could illuminate the room better. Pretty standard looking area, a combination secretary’s station and waiting room. Nothing special, and nothing that looked like it might be of use. There was another door next to hers, a short distance away. Jessica hobbled painfully over and listened at it for several moments, then knocked lightly and listened again.