Apocalypse Aftermath

by David Rogers

  “Sure thing.” He went over to the open window and started filling two plates.

  “And here’s Mr. Carter.” Tyler said, causing Jessica to look over her shoulder.

  Sure enough, Austin was entering with Isaac barely visible following along behind him. He crossed immediately over to their table and nodded to everyone. “Good morning Mr. Morris, Mrs. Morris, Doctor Morris.”

  “What do you think about the grounds?” Tyler asked, gesturing at one of the empty chairs.

  “Well sir, I want to discuss some contingency procedures with the guard force just in case, but basically I think we’re good.” he replied as he took the chair next to Jessica. “I’ll hold a briefing before we leave to escort Doctor Morris on his rounds into town.”

  Jessica smiled slightly, but she caught a flash of irritation flickering over Tyler’s and Vanessa’s faces. Both smoothed their expressions over rather quickly, but it was there. She wondered at that, but held her tongue. If Austin noticed, he also gave no sign. He went on with only a brief pause to allow the others to absorb his initial comment.

  “I figure with any luck we’ll be in and out of town by no later than mid-afternoon, which will give me some time to do another walk around before we lose the sun.”

  “Another one?”

  “This time with everyone, except the roof guards on duty.” Austin nodded to Vanessa. “I want them to have a chance to see what it looks like out there on the ground. In fact, I’d like to make it a standing routine to check the fence twice a day.”

  “As always, I trust your judgment.” Tyler said as he split open a muffin and picked up his knife.

  “How many are you taking into town?” Vanessa asked.

  “Five.”

  “Will that be enough?” she asked.

  Austin gazed at her calmly, wearing his professional face. Jessica studied him closely – though covertly – and couldn’t detect anything beneath his impassive features. “I don’t want the people in town to think we’re trying to intimidate them. And any more than that will strip the guards here down pretty thin.”

  “I’m more concerned with any, uh, rising tempers you might encounter on the trip.”

  “With who?” Austin asked her, with just a hint of curiosity.

  “Here we go ma’am.” Greg said, appearing behind Jessica with two plates of food. He reached over Candice and set them down on the table, along with silverware. “What about something to drink?”

  “Oh, thank you.” Jessica said, tearing her attention partially away from the others. “Milk for her, and coffee for me if you don’t mind.”

  “Happy to help.” Greg said earnestly. “How do you want the coffee?”

  “Lots of cream, lots of sugar.” Dennis said with a chuckle. “And you’d better make it two cups unless you can find a pitcher or a bigger cup.”

  “Dennis.” Jessica said in a hurt tone, though she smiled. “I’m not that bad.”

  “Yes, you are.”

  “Lots of cream, lots of sugar. Coming up.”

  Greg headed over to the drinks at the end of the counter without complaint. Jessica gave Dennis a severe look that was ringed with mirth, which he returned with interest. She let some amusement cross her face, then glanced at Candice. The girl was already digging into her food, which was scrambled eggs, bacon and sausage, hash browns and a big blueberry muffin. She gave no sign she was particularly focused on anything except getting down to eating.

  “I’m concerned about the unfriendly attitude we saw yesterday.” Vanessa told Austin.

  “They’re just a little tense. Everyone is.” Austin answered.

  “People under stress make hasty decisions sometimes.”

  “Very true, but I don’t think they’re looking for any problems.”

  “They were quite hostile initially.”

  Austin hesitated briefly, then shook his head slightly. “They were scared.” he said mildly. “And it was really just one out of five.”

  “The last census here put the town’s population at a little under a thousand.” Vanessa said with an air of lecturing. “And the surrounding area could easily add a couple hundred more to that total. One out of five who agree with that deputy could add up to as many as three hundred people who are looking for problems.”

  “Vanessa.” Tyler said neutrally.

  His wife’s eyes flicked to him, and she gave him a firm look. “I’m not kidding Tyler.”

  “Mr. Carter knows his business.”

  “Dennis could find himself in the middle of an angry mob. Our only doctor.”

  “I really don’t think that’s likely.” Austin said, interjecting quickly before Tyler could respond. The big man’s tone was pitched to be reasonable and confident.

  “What if you’re wrong?”

  Jessica blinked, and stopped herself from saying something only from practiced habit. The woman sounded not only insistent, but also starting to shade towards a touch of anger. Jessica had to stop herself from glancing around at the dining room. It wasn’t like this conversation was happening out of earshot of everyone else. The room was well appointed and comfortable, but not overly large.

  “One milk and two coffees.” Greg announced as he returned. “Lots of cream, lots of sugar.”

  “Thank you.” Jessica said again, looking up at him gratefully.

  “No problem.” he said with a smile, though he didn’t linger after he put the cups down and returned to his seat. She shook her head mentally as Vanessa continued the thread of her conversation with Austin. This was not the place for this, if the topic under discussion was even appropriate at all. She picked up one of the coffees, which was a wonderful pale mocha color with a rich aroma of quality beans and expert roasting rising in the curls of steam escaping upward.

  “Well?”

  “Mrs. Morris, let’s say you’re right.” Austin said quietly. “If you are, taking everyone here who can point a gun wouldn’t be sufficient.” Jessica studied him over the rim of her cup as she blew on the coffee to cool it.

  “That’s—” Vanessa began, only for Tyler to touch his wife’s shoulder quickly. She turned to look at him, and her mouth tightened as he shook his head at her.

  “Vanessa, Mr. Carter is well trained in exactly this sort of thing.” he said firmly. “And he’s in charge of all decisions of this nature for the duration.”

  Vanessa wanted to argue. Jessica could see it immediately. She took a cautious sip of her coffee, which was still a little hotter than she usually liked, to help cover against the attention she was putting toward the redhead next to Tyler. Vanessa sat back slightly in her chair for a moment before giving a single nod; directing the gesture toward Tyler rather than Austin.

  “I don’t mean to give the impression I doubt your expertise.” Vanessa told Austin, though the subtle current in the back of her tone underlined her disquiet. “I’m just concerned.”

  “We’re all concerned.” Tyler said smoothly as he resumed buttering his muffin. “And by we, I mean everyone, not just everyone with us here inside the fence.”

  “The situation is rather unprecedented.” Austin said with a nod, giving every indication he agreed. “Assuming the zombie issue is starting to stabilize, it’ll take weeks before people settle down.”

  “Will it?” Jessica asked. Eyes around the table swung to her, and she shrugged behind her still upraised cup. “Will it stabilize?”

  Austin smiled, and there was that bit of genuine warmth she was learning to expect from him in his eyes as he did so. “That’s the big question.”

  “One of them.” Tyler said before he took a bite of his muffin.

  * * * * *

  Peter

  “Y’all military?” asked a short man with a faded and battered Bulldogs cap perched high on his forehead. His clothing was classic hunter’s; old-style military camouflage with a bright orange reflective vest, and no-nonsense outdoors boots. He was climbing down out of the cab of a Chevy 2500 that was tricked out quite a bit; bull
bars on the front, extra lights mounted on the roof, custom metallic paint, oversized tires. Everyone else emerging was dressed similarly, the most variation being jeans instead of fatigue pants, and a sampling of regional sports teams or sporting goods brands appearing on their caps.

  Peter smiled slightly. God bless rednecks.

  “Gotta be.” one of his fellows said. “Uniforms, M-16s . . . what unit?”

  Peter stepped up between the space separating the Humvee and Tundra, holding one hand up. “National Guard, out of Clay. We’re just here for supplies, same as you I’d expect.”

  “Guess you didn’t have any serious zombie problems inside. Anything left?”

  “Plenty. Store’s pitch black though. Hope you brought light.”

  “Better.” one said, holding up a set of NVGs.

  “You folks got any news?”

  “Yeah, what’s going on.”

  “How long until we start seeing some help?”

  Peter waved his hand a little. “Hold up, one thing at a time. Can I assume everyone here is friendly.”

  The man with the Bulldogs cap frowned a little. “Well shit, why wouldn’t we be?”

  “Never hurts to be sure.” Peter replied calmly. “Y’all local?”

  “Yup. You?” the cap wearer started slinging his rifle behind his shoulder, a semi-auto hunting model that looked vaguely familiar. Peter followed suit, though he glanced around to make sure at least Whitley and Oliver kept theirs ready.

  “Georgia, but all my people all lived more around Atlanta than up here.”

  “Bad scene down there.” the man said, then nodded at the one who’d held up the goggles. “Jake Denton. That there’s my brother George, and most of these fellows here are friends of ours, less a few willing strays we picked up along the way.”

  “Peter Gibson, master gunnery sergeant.”

  Jake eyed the emblem embroidered on Peter’s cap. “MGS? That makes you a Marine don’t it?”

  “President called for all able bodies with prior service to help out. I was bored enough to listen, and ended up senior after all the dying settled.”

  “Yeah, lotta that going around.” Jake shrugged. “So, any idea how long until the gov’ment gonna get their asses in gear and sort these zombies out?”

  “Your guess is as good as ours. We haven’t been able to find any sign of other active units since it all went from bad to worse Friday night.”

  “Fuck.”

  “So this thing’s for real then?” George Denton asked, moving up next to his brother. “Full on end-of-the-world?”

  “Looks like it.” Peter replied. “We could use some news if you’ve got anything you can tell us about what’s been happening around here.”

  “Whole lot of everything.” Jake said as he took out a pack of cigarettes. “Weren’t too bad compared to what the news from Atlanta was showing, until about Saturday I guess.” He tapped the soft pack expertly against his wrist and popped two cigarettes out. “That about right George?”

  “Yeah, near enough.” George said as he produced a lighter and took one of the cigarettes. “Some problems at the schools and hospitals, little more action around town hall Friday night, but come Saturday everything went straight down the crapper. Fucking zombies everywhere. Roads a damned mess.” He flicked the lighter and lit his smoke, then held the flame for his brother.

  “It was them damned feds.” one of the other men volunteered. “Them and the state fellas. They all started running around conscripting stuff, trying to set up emergency shelters.”

  “Didn’t help none.” Jake admitted as he exhaled a lungful of smoke. “Every place they was working on was crawling with zombies before noon. That’s when me and George started rounding the boys up and headed for the hills.”

  “So you’re holding out okay then?” Peter asked.

  “So far.” George nodded. “We got ourselves a place a little west of here near Johns Mountain. Just need supplies. What about y’all?”

  “Same, needed supplies.” Peter gestured at the two trucks. “So you don’t know of anything organized anywhere nearby?”

  “Organized how?”

  Peter tapped the Marine badge on his cap. “Military, government. Anywhere they’re still holding it together.”

  “Naw. It’s all gone to hell, like we said.” Jake shook his head. “Y’all need a place to stay? We got room up at our spread.”

  “Yeah, bunch of cabins.” George offered as he flicked ash off his cigarette. “Good stream about a quarter mile away, lot of hunting, just had the propane tank filled up last week so when it gets cold we’ll still have heat. We could make room for some useful folks.”

  “We rescued some people last night in Cartersville.” Peter said, tossing his head slightly at the civilians who were emptying the carts into the trucks, slowly and quietly so they could listen. “They could use a safe spot if the offer extends to them.”

  “How many we talking about?” Jake asked, while George narrowed his eyes and glanced across the non-uniformed members of Peter’s group.

  “About thirty-five.” Peter admitted.

  “Everybody relax. Zombie.” Whitley suddenly announced. Peter looked to see where she was aiming, and tracked left over to the west side of the parking lot just in time to see a staggering figure emerging from the trees. Her M-16 barked twice, and the zombie collapsed before it even made it to the parking lot.

  “Getting better Whitley.” Swanson said admiringly.

  “She could out shoot you with her toes.” Crawford observed.

  “Please.”

  “Where in the hell you find thirty-five people that needed rescuing?” Jake asked, and Peter looked back to the redneck as Crawford and Swanson, thankfully, fell silent.

  “Cartersville, FEMA camp that got overrun. They were treed by zombies when we found them.”

  “Shit.”

  “Aw man.”

  Jake looked over his shoulder with a sharp look at his fellows, and their comments subsided to a quieter muttering. The man looked back to Peter and took a drag on his cigarette. “Not so sure that’ll work out all that well.”

  “Not that much room?” Peter replied, trying to keep things calm.

  “Not for thirty-five, no. Especially not if they’re all unused to rough living. We could work things out with military types, even reservists, but if your civvies was at the FEMA camp . . . not so sure we can carry that many city folks through the winter. Already got our own families up there that need tending.”

  “Do you know where a doctor might be?” Steve Harris asked suddenly, injecting himself into the conversation as he stepped around past the end of the Ranger. “Or maybe a hospital nurse?”

  “Definitely don’t got no room for injured survivors.” George said, his tone suddenly laced with an obstinate darkness.

  “His wife is pregnant.” Peter said. “None of them were hurt during the zombie attack except for a sprained ankle and a few bruises.”

  “Sorry fella, don’t know about any docs who are still breathing. Could probably point you to where you could find some still walking, but they won’t be all that helpful when you find’em.” Jake shrugged. “Sorry.”

  Peter gestured at Harris, who gave him a slightly angry look as he folded his arms. “Yeah, I’m looking to move my unit out soon, and it just doesn’t seem right to leave them in the lurch. Shit’s pretty bad, like you said.”

  “Sure is. Sorry, we’re just here for supplies.”

  “I understand.” Peter nodded. “Well, we’ll get out of your way then. I guess we’ve all got things to do.”

  “I reckon so. Take care.” Jake gave him a friendly nod, then waved at his group. “Come on fellas, let’s see about getting loaded up.”

  “Mount up.” Peter called loudly, stepping back and looking to see that the shopping carts had been emptied. “We’re rolling.”

  “But—” one of the civilians started, only to stop when Peter shook his head.

  “Let’s go.”
he said, then reached for his radio. “Mendez, Gunny.” He waited a few seconds, while Whitley and Oliver got down from atop the trucks and people started getting in the vehicles, then hit the button again. “Mendez, Gunny.”

  “Must be out of range.” Swanson shrugged.

  “Guess so. He knows what to do.” Peter nodded. He unslung his AR and laid it down next to the driver’s seat of the Humvee before getting in. Checking to make sure everyone who was supposed to be in his vehicle was seated, he hit the radio again. “Whitley, Oliver, we good?”

  “Ready.”

  “Yeah.”

  “Okay, rolling.” Peter said, dropping the transmission into drive.

  “Those assholes.” Harris muttered as the three vehicle convoy curved around the edge of the parking lot toward the exit.

  “I told you, people are scared.” Peter said calmly.

  “You heard him. He had room and was ready to take people in until he heard who it’d be.”

  “Can you honestly blame him?”

  Harris met Peter’s eyes in the rearview mirror angrily. “This isn’t the time for people to start being selfish.”

  Crawford snorted a laugh around her cigarette, as Swanson less successfully tried to smother his own chuckle. Peter frowned. “I told you if you’re going to smoke in the vehicle to roll the window down.” He knew it would be worse if he told her to put it out; she was nicotine addicted in the worst way.

  “Right, sorry Gunny.” she said, cracking her window a few inches.

  “What’s so damned funny?” Harris demanded.

  Peter shrugged. “Everyone likes to think they’re nice, generous sorts, but when the rubber gets hot they usually find out they aren’t.”

  “I’m not like that.”

  “No?” Swanson said suddenly, turning in his seat as Peter got the Humvee back on the road to I-75. “Why are you looking for a safe spot then?”

  “My wife—”

  “Exactly.” Swanson nodded. “Proving my point.”

  “You’d let a pregnant woman fend for herself?”

  “That’s not what he’s saying.” Peter corrected as he eyed the mirrors to make sure the two trucks were with him.