by David Rogers
Acknowledgements trickled in as Peter led the way around the edge of the first parking area and turned around to pull up along the school’s front walk. The police cruiser slid into one of the spaces near the front of the lot. Peter ignored the cruiser and parked at the very end of the available curb space and turned the Humvee off. He checked the area to confirm there were no zombies, then got out and closed the door, taking the AR with him. As the other convoy vehicles stopped behind him, he took a long surveying look at the area.
The school building looked fairly standard, if perhaps larger than he expected. The only real problem he saw with it considering the current circumstances was the main doors were glass, not solid, but at least there were no windows in the walls. However, he didn’t see anyone who appeared to be on watch covering the doors; either outside or from within, and that was a problem.
He shook his head. This was a joke. He couldn’t see how the whole place wasn’t overrun by now.
“Sergeant Gibson?” the state trooper asked as he approached from the parking lot. Peter had noted the man’s approach, but mostly ignored it in his disgust over the lack of security. Now he turned and fixed a neutral, vaguely pleasant expression on his face. The man was pushing a decent sized paunch, even allowing for the bulletproof vest beneath his uniform shirt.
Peter wasn’t surprised; cops only had the most token of fitness requirements, and spent most of their time riding in vehicles or standing around writing tickets. That sort of inactivity combined with a fast food diet and sugared coffee and the pounds had a way of piling on. Especially when the department didn’t emphasize fitness.
“Master Gunnery Sergeant Gibson, yes. Call me Gunny if you like.”
“Lieutenant Andrew Kinney, State Patrol.” the trooper grunted back. “You want to follow me?”
“I’ll come in with a couple of guys, but the rest need to cover our vehicles.”
“They’re safe here.”
“We’ve been through a lot, so I hope you’ll understand if we’re just cautious against what can happen if we don’t keep an eye out. My guys have had their fill of running from zombies. And anyway, the Humvees don’t have ignition keys and the trucks are hotwired, so . . . ”
“No keys?” Kinney asked, sounding surprised.
“Tactical vehicles.” Peter explained. Clearly Kinney wasn’t one of those cops who’d joined after prior service. He hoped that didn’t make the man one who craved the idea of what he thought the military was. In Peter’s experience, a lot of that sort were long on gung-ho and short on tactical sense. “They don’t use keys. Keeps units in the field from having to keep track of something that can easily get lost or left behind.”
“Ah. Well, the senator’s inside if you’re ready.”
“We heard there was a FEMA refugee camp set up around here.” Peter said as Whitley and Smith approached.
“This is it.”
“Where?”
The trooper gestured vaguely in the direction of the school building. “There’s four athletic fields on the grounds you can’t see with the school in the way. We’ve got tents and supplies on all four, and the school itself is serving as a processing and administrative center.”
“I see.” Peter said. “Well, lead the way Lieutenant.”
“Where’s all your security?” Whitley asked as they fell in behind the cop.
“I’m pretty short-handed on trained bodies, but I’ve got a few trusted civilian volunteers walking the fences on the fields. I’m actually pretty glad you turned up; I could use the help keeping a lid on.”
“How much have the zombies been bothering you?”
“Not too bad, but we’ve had some incidents. Sure am glad you showed up.” Kinney said as he opened one of the glass doors. Smith caught the door, with his left hand Peter noted, and held it open for the others to follow Kinney through. The entryway was dark with shadows, but light was visible a little ways down the broad hallway. When they made it past the school’s trophy case and bulletin boards they saw a glass-lined office sited at the corner of the main hall and an equally large cross-corridor that went left.
The people inside, behind the long counter, all had the slightly frazzled and worn look of folks on long hours and short downtime; plus makeshift living conditions. The men lacked ties to neaten their dress shirts, and the women had mostly pulled their hair back into tails or tamed with combs. Only some bothered to look up as the door opened and the foursome filed in. One eyed them briefly, then stood up and disappeared through the doorway that led deeper into the office area. The others kept working, pencils moving across paper, and Peter saw a lot of scratch paper being used to do calculations.
An older man appeared at the office area entrance, wearing a jacket and tie that still held creases from ironing. His hair was going grey, and his face had a handsome lined appearance complimented by the practiced smile he wore as he moved forward and held his hand out. “Earl Carlson, State Senate.”
Peter took off his cap and tucked it under his arm, then shook the proffered hand. The man’s handshake was as well practiced as the smile, firm but not hard, brisk but not dismissive, and cordial without being too clingy. A politician’s handshake. “I’m the most senior state representative on hand, so I’m the one calling the shots.”
“Master Gunnery Sergeant Peter Gibson. Marines, though late of the Georgia Guard.” Peter said as he reclaimed his hand. “Where’s your FEMA rep?”
“She’s in her office, looking over the latest inventory figures.”
“Why don’t we move this in there then, or have her join us?”
Carlson blinked at him, but only for a moment. He recovered quickly enough Peter was sure most people wouldn’t have even noticed the reaction. But he was long used to dealing with superiors who didn’t have all the answers – or training or expertise – they fancied themselves possessing. One of the unspoken talents of a career NCO was knowing how to deal with, and manage, those who had titular rank but deficient ability. Especially those who had the first but were ignorant of their lack of the second.
“I suppose that makes sense.” Carlson said smoothly. “No sense in having to go over things a second time. He turned and gestured down the narrow hallway. Peter only saw one office that way that seemed to have light. Carlson preceded him in that direction and went inside. “Shellie, we’ve got some new arrivals.”
“And you didn’t shuffle them off to your secondary camps yet?” a surprised voice blurted out.
Peter reached the doorway and stepped past Carlson so he didn’t block Whitley or Smith from following him in. A woman behind the desk looked at him for a moment, then her gaze narrowed a little and seemed to take in his utility uniform before fixing on his collar. She burst from her seat and pumped both fists in the air. “Finally! Hallelujah, the Marines are here!”
“Don’t get your hopes up just yet.” Peter said. The woman’s happy tone was much different than the one she’d responded to Carlson with; her cheer seemed to fill the room despite her short stature. “I’m the only Marine. The rest with me are Georgia Guard.”
“Why do you say it like you found us stuck to your shoe?” Smith complained as he took one of the chairs facing the desk.
“He really loves us, he just doesn’t like to show it.” Whitley added as she slipped past Carlson.
“I don’t care. I need trained bodies in the worst possible way. And someone who can help me sort out how things are supposed to be operating around here.” the woman said. “Shellie Sawyer, Federal Emergency Management Agency, designated coordinator for Cumming Georgia. How many are with you Master Gunnery Sergeant.”
Peter blinked at her. Not only did she get his rank right, but she read it from the pin on his collar. That was . . . curious, for a civilian. “Just Gunny’s fine. Are you former service?” he asked, trying to keep his tone from implying he doubted she could be, though it was be an even bigger surprise if she were. Her height alone would have been a major obstacle, both for itself and how
it reduced her available body mass for building muscle. Plus she didn’t look that old, maybe thirty at most.
“Sort of, but not officially. My dad was a thirty-year master guns. I grew up all over the place, most of them on base.”
“Hmmm.” Peter observed, considering briefly. The Corps wasn’t that big; it was the smallest of the services after the Coast Guard, and like any good Marine he didn’t even really count the Coasties. The community of senior Marine NCOs, especially full term MGSs, was smaller still. “Um . . . Sawyer . . .” he finally said after a couple of moments. “Fireplug with red hair and a temper to match? Drinks Miller, smokes nasty little cigars, likes the 49ers?”
“That’s my dad, Kevin Sawyer. I got most of the height and all of the hair he lost along the way.” she nodded, tossing her hair behind her shoulder with a practiced flip of her head. “Where’d you run into him?”
“Just in passing a few times. The last must have been about ten years ago in Okinawa. How is he?”
“Haven’t heard a thing from him or mom.” Sawyer said, some of her good cheer deflating. “If you know how bad things are in California . . .”
“Just rumors, but I get the idea. Sorry.”
“Don’t worry about it. He’d kick my ass if I sat around moping when there’s jobs that need doing. So, how many people did you bring me?”
“Eleven, plus some civilians. One of my people’s hurt but he’s okay to sit a watch or man a desk. Don’t suppose you’ve got any med staff on-hand? One of the civilians could use a look too.”
“What’s wrong with them?” Carlson asked immediately.
“My man caught a bullet in the leg back in Atlanta on Friday night, and the civilian’s pregnant.” Peter answered, eyeing the senator. “Nothing too serious, but the woman’s due in a little over a month and her husband has been going nuts to get her settled somewhere near a doctor before the baby comes.”
“Well, now that you’re here, maybe we can sort that out.” Sawyer said, gesturing at the seats across her desk. “Please, take a load off.”
Peter unslung his AR and stood it stock down between his knees as he took the chair closest to the door, leaving the middle one for Whitley. Sawyer’s desk had a name plate on it proclaiming it belonged to Daniel Weaver, vice-principal of discipline. It and some other stuff had been cleared off to the side to make room for notebooks and sheets of lined paper covered with notes and figures.
“Like I said, we came from Atlanta by way of Cartersville.” Peter began. “In case you’re wondering, Cartersville FEMA is completely overrun. That’s where we picked the civilians up. They were the last survivors on-site when we got there Sunday morning.”
“Wish I could say I was surprised.” Sawyer sighed as she dropped back into her chair. “Before I lost phones the rep out there was starting to report some problems with ongoing outbreak conversions. He was calling around trying to find any police or uniformed units to help him hold things together.”
“If he did, it wasn’t enough.” Peter nodded. “Sorry.”
“Can’t wait on sorry.” she shrugged. “But now that you’re here, I could really use your help.”
“Ms. Sawyer has proven quite adept at assisting with our review of available supplies, but she’s a little lacking in her view of the big picture.” Carlson said.
Peter turned his gaze on the senator. “What’s the problem?”
Carlson opened his mouth, but Sawyer spoke more quickly. “The problem is State Senator Carlson is throwing his weight around like he’s in charge.”
“I am in charge. Really, I thought this was settled already.” Carlson said, an edge of tightness creeping into his voice.
“No, you’ve just got all the guys with guns backing you up.” Sawyer disagreed. “FEMA is a federal agency, not state, and I’m the duly designated federal official for this site. I might be required to answer to the governor, but no one below that at the state level can take over my operation.”
“And as I’ve explained repeatedly, I’m the acting governor.” Carlson said calmly, but still with that subtle subtext of annoyance.
“I don’t see how that’s possible.”
“As you have told me every time this subject comes up.” Carlson replied. “Nevertheless, I am and that places me in charge.”
“Last I heard, the governor was still alive.”
“And has not been seen or heard from in over forty-eight hours. The state needs leadership, not rumors.”
Peter cleared his throat. “Was there a vote we missed while we were busy surviving the zombie infested wasteland between here and Atlanta?”
“Nine other state senators are here in Cumming, in the school in fact.” Carlson said smoothly. “We consulted and voted, and I was selected to serve as acting governor until the situation settles and proper elections can be held.”
Smith made a small sound that was suspiciously close to a snort of laughter, but he cut it off almost immediately. Peter ignored the Guardsman as he frowned slightly. “Is ten senators a quorum?”
“No, it’s not.” Sawyer said immediately. “I’ve been assigned to the north Georgia FEMA coverage area for six years, and things like this are part of what we cover. Well, not exactly like this – no one saw zombies coming – but emergency situations that result in massive depopulation are covered by our training and preparation. Including reconstituting state and federal government.
“The full State Senate sits fifty-six members, so ten is nineteen short of a legal quorum under the Georgia constitution. And that doesn’t even taken into account whatever’s going on with the Georgia General Assembly. Or the state Supreme Court. Frankly, the whole thing stinks to hell and back.”
“No one, not even FEMA, anticipated a situation this bad happening this quickly.” Carlson replied. “But however unprecedented the circumstances may be, we are the surviving government of the state, and now more than ever the state requires leadership.”
“I’m not interested in arguing state constitutional law with you.” Sawyer shot back. “And it doesn’t matter anyway, as I keep telling you. This is a FEMA site. That’s federal, not state.”
“This is Georgia. You answer to the Georgia leadership.”
“I answer to the President, then the Secretary of Homeland Security, then the Region Four director, then the State Coordinator. You’re not on my list.”
“I’m afraid we continue to disagree on that point. And if you’d stay focused on the problem, things wouldn’t be as bad as they have gotten.”
“Hah!” Sawyer snorted. “Why don’t you explain to the Gunny here how you’ve been handling the problem.”
Peter glanced between them, then focused his gaze on the ‘acting governor’ steadily. “Well?”
“The situation at the Cartersville site only proves my point, which Ms. Sawyer has been disputing ever since my fellow senators and myself arrived. The outbreaks demand a cautious approach to avoid further disruption to what limited relief is left to us.”
“He means he’s thrown nearly everyone out he thinks he can get away with, and has turned thousands more away. I’m not being allowed to offer any relief.”
“Hang on.” Peter made a placating motion in the direction of the desk, but kept his attention fully on Carlson. “Have you been turning refugees away?”
“Security must be maintained or no one will receive any help.” Carlson replied levelly. “It’s not pleasant, but those are the simple facts of the situation. Cartersville only underscores that need.”
“Is that what you call the roadblocks?” Peter asked in an equally calm voice. “Security?”
“We can’t have refugees disrupting operations here at the site. And we’re saving them additional travel by meeting them further out while they’re still closer to the secondary sites.”
“Senator, that may or may not have validity, but conditions are bad out there. And from what we’ve seen so far in Cumming, they’re more on the bad side of average than some of the other places
we’ve passed through on our way here.”
“Again, only underscoring the need for my orders.”
“So what’s being done to assist the refugees?”
Carlson blinked, again just a slight tic in his manner and expression, but Peter spotted it. “We’ve directed them to several other nearby schools that have the room to get them under cover and behind walls.” he said reasonably. “And we’re currently making arrangements to start food and water deliveries soon.”
“You’re not even feeding them?” Whitley asked, her tone more than a little skeptical.
“We’ve been preoccupied with security, inventory, and some ad-hoc gathering of additional resources before determining what is available.”
“Gunny, it’s bullshit.” Sawyer burst out. “I’ve got tents and pavilions to house ten thousand on the school’s sports fields. Three of them are fenced, so I’ve been using the track and soccer field to park my trucks; which have shelf stable food and bottled water to last that many more than two weeks. But I can’t get any of it distributed, and my people haven’t been allowed to gather the manpower to put up more than a few of the shelters.”
“We don’t know how many refugees are ultimately going to need aid.” Carlson said, his tone showing the first hints of truly obvious anger at last. “Nor have we been able to make a full accounting of what the town might have available to stretch the supplies needed to support them.”
“Bull—” Sawyer began, but Peter held out his hand again and stood up. Lifting his AR, he took a certain amount of petty pleasure from how Carlson flinched at the weapon; but Peter just slung it carefully, avoiding sweeping the barrel across anyone in the office.
“Senator, I’ve heard you both. Now, here’s what I have to say. I’m going to leave some of my people to guard our bus out front. It got us out a really tight spot in Atlanta, so we’ve sort of gotten a little fond of it. We don’t want to come back later to find it’s been beaten into scrap by zombies or something. I’m going to take the rest of my unit and we’ll do a check on the secondary sites as you’re calling them.