Apocalypse Aftermath

by David Rogers

  There were hospitals and clinics in Athens and Atlanta; but as far as he knew, not only were both cities zombie occupied, medical centers had been in the first wave to fall to teeth and blood. He didn’t even know if – assuming they could get to one, get in, and get back quick enough to help – they’d find anything useful. EZ might be able to figure something out, but even he’d need reference to interpret the use of any drugs or equipment they came across.

  Darryl sure didn’t think hospitals had reference libraries; not in book form anyway. Everyone who worked at one was supposed to already know what they were doing. And they couldn’t bring Vivian along. Even if she wasn’t desperately needed here, risking her was out of the question. She insisted she wasn’t a doctor, but she was the only medical talent the Dogz had on hand. That made her priceless.

  The same problem applied to trying to take everyone somewhere. If Darryl couldn’t be sure of finding something to bring back, how could moving a bunch of seriously ill people in the hopes of finding help be any better? Odds were it would just make things worse, costing them whatever rest and limited treatment they were getting now.

  Pain in his fingers made him realize he hadn’t even taken but a couple of puffs from the cigarette before letting it burn all the way down. Dropping it hastily, he stepped on it with his boot and scowled. It was nearly noon now. He had about seven hours of daylight left before the sun started going down.

  Turning, he headed back to the tent city. Vivian was standing with EZ, sorting through the stuff the biker had retrieved. Both looked up as Darryl joined them.

  “How bad is this?” Darryl asked, flatly, but softly.

  “Bad.” Vivian said, looking around as she lowered her voice. “I worried about dehydration. Most of them either vomiting or shitting out just about everything we get into them. Pills don’t work if they don’t stay down long enough to digest, and neither do water. This keep on, and maybe a day or two from now, even if nothing else gets worse, they gonna start . . .”

  “Can we rig up some way to get IVs going into them?” EZ asked.

  “For water, maybe. I mean, I know fluids in hospitals just saline; that salt and water. A quart or two over half a day, especially with the way they are now, shouldn’t hurt anyone. But we need needles, tubing, stuff to hold the water and feed it. And it all gotta be sterile. As for putting drugs into them that way, I just don’t know.”

  “We can’t dissolve it in the water?”

  Vivian frowned and twisted her hands nervously. “I don’t know. I think dosage changes when you put stuff in direct to a vein, but I ain’t got no way to know how much. And I don’t know if everything will be safe doing it like that. And I not even sure what they need. I tried some antibiotics, ones I know is pretty common for general stuff, but either they ain’t staying down long enough or they not the right ones to fix whatever’s wrong.

  “And they ain’t just shitting and vomiting. Some of them got blood in the diarrhea, and that ain’t good. It mean they pretty fucked up for that to be happening, and that’ll kill them quicker than the dehydration if it keep on.”

  “We need help.” Darryl said calmly.

  “Yeah.” Vivian nodded. “You got any?”

  “I think I know where to find some.” Darryl said. “Maybe. But it don’t sound like we got much choice. Unless there a good idea someone ain’t told me yet.”

  “I flat out.” Vivian told him, looking pained and unhappy.

  “I know. You doing a great job. Everyone know it.” Darryl said before he stepped away from the tent and cupped his hands around his mouth. “Everyone gather up. Right now.”

  People working on tarps dropped them and trickled over. Water was left boiling in the big pots over the barbecue pit, and even the people moving among the sick under the tents stopped and looked at him. Darryl waited until everyone was in range to hear him, then shrugged.

  “We in a serious amount of shit, and that ain’t no fucking joke.” he began. No one laughed. “Everyone helping as best they can, and I know Bobo be damn proud if he weren’t laying on one of them damn mattresses. But we gotta get some help, fast.

  “VD, Door Mat, Zeebo, Shooter; y’all on roof guard. Spell each other but make sure you paying real close attention when you up there. Last thing we need is a bunch of fucking zombies getting in here and finishing us off while we down. Everyone who ain’t patched, keep on helping however you can. Vivian in charge of all the shit about how to do it. EZ in charge of everything else. Ain’t no one been arguing or slacking, and this ain’t the time to start. What they say, do it. Don’t fuck with them, don’t go whispering around behind their backs, just fucking do it.

  “All the rest of the Dogz, get ready to roll out. Make sure you bring a lot of ammo for your guns, both pistols and shotguns. Shooter, handle that, and make sure you got enough left over in case y’all gotta cover the fence while we gone.”

  “Who we going to fight?” Weasel asked loudly.

  “I don’t know yet, but we ain’t going unprepared.”

  “Where we going?” Low wondered.

  “Watkinsville.” Darryl said. “They got a lot of people there, and maybe some of them is doctors. We going to find out.”

  “What, we gonna take a doctor hostage?”

  Darryl shrugged at Mad. “We gonna start with asking, then try trading, and I’ll figure out what happens next if we get that far. But we ain’t going if we ain’t ready for whatever need doing. We coming back with some kind of help, whatever it takes.”

  There was some muttering at that, but no one raised any further comment. Not overtly, anyway. Darryl gave it a few seconds, then gestured with both hands. “Arm up, load up, and pull your ride around to the front when you ready. Hurry the fuck up about it too. We ain’t got much time to waste.”

  The next ten minutes were a whirlwind of activity. Boxes of ammo were brought out from the clubhouse, where they had been stored as insurance against a last stand sort of situation that drove everyone back behind the building’s stone walls. Darryl stuffed shotgun shells into his vest pockets, loose nine millimeter bullets into his front pants pockets, and put two more full boxes into his Softail’s saddlebags. Some cord let him rig up a sling for the shotgun so he could carry it across his back.

  The other Dogz followed suit. There wasn’t much extraneous talk. The mood got serious as the weapons and ammunition were handed out and checked. Finally thirty-one bikers were sitting on idling motorcycles in the front yard, spread out to either side of the gravel driveway on the inside of the gate. When everyone was in place, Darryl nodded to Shooter, who pushed the gate open with Door Mat’s help.

  Leading the way, Darryl bumped down the long gravel drive to the road. He waited for his brothers to shake down into a long double column behind him, then laid on his throttle. The noise was glorious as the motorcycles blasted down the roads, their engines reverberating off houses and abandoned cars, slicing through the trees beside the roads; but he took no pleasure from it. They curved and threaded their way through the streets, weaving around zombies at need, and only once needing to reverse course when they came upon about ten of the still-active corpses in their way.

  About half an hour later they were on SR-53. Darryl slowed down as they neared where he remembered the town’s roadblock had been, and dropped the speed further when it came into view. Raising a hand in what he hoped was a friendly, non-threatening gesture, he led the Dogz right up to the cars that had been parked across the road. The chain-link fence flanking the cars had been reinforced with some piles of dirt, crumbled masonry, and broken up lumber. It didn’t look tall enough to keep someone from climbing over, but maybe zombies might find it a problem.

  Four people were standing behind the cars, and they looked nervous when Darryl finally stopped ten feet short of the cars and made a slashing motion to the side with his hand. The Dogz behind him shut their bikes off, leaving a silence that rang in the sudden absence of all the engine noise.

  “We need to talk.
” Darryl called to the guards as he slid his visor up.

  “What about?” a woman answered loudly.

  “Not to you, to your leaders or whoever calling the shots.”

  “What about?” one of the men repeated.

  Darryl sighed. “We got us a problem that we need help with. Way I figure it, you might be able to help, and we might can help you at the same time. Now you gonna let us in or what?”

  The guards conferred briefly, then the woman looked at him. “Hang on.” One of the guards had a walkie-talkie, and he started speaking into it. Darryl glanced behind him to make sure his brothers were keeping watch. Heads were turned in different directions, watching the sides of the road, and a few were even facing backwards to make sure behind them stayed clear too. There was a small pile of bodies off to one side of the road about even with him, but he ignored it. Dead zombies, ones that really were dead, didn’t bother him.

  Whatever conversation was happening on the walkie-talkie, it went on for the better part of a minute before it finished. Darryl saw the man lower it and say something to the other guards, then the man looked at him. “You know where city hall is?”

  “Straight through, stay with the road when it curve right, and in the middle of downtown ain’t it?”

  “Right.” the man answered. “That’s where you’re going. You’ll be met there.”

  Darryl nodded and waited while one of the cars was started and moved aside to clear a lane. The noise returned as all the Dogz fired their bikes back up, then they were rolling again. Watkinsville was classic small town America, buildings spaced comfortably apart with plenty of grass and trees surrounding them. As they turned onto Main Street, the lots were a little closer together, but the buildings still didn’t fill them and it still looked rural.

  They saw people in a lot of the buildings they passed, visible on the front porches or through the windows of the stores they were occupying. They passed a construction pickup hauling a long flat trailer loaded down with rubble going the other way, the driver and others who were riding along on the trailer looking at the bikers curiously as they went past. No one seemed to be on foot, and except for that and the general lack of traffic, it all almost looked normal.

  City Hall changed that. The parking lot was jammed with vehicles, all trucks of some sort. The first floor windows had been reinforced with lumber driven into the bricks with screws or something, and a number of people were standing out front in a small group. They all turned as the Dogz roared up. Darryl took one look at the parking lot, which wasn’t that big to begin with, and just stopped in the street.

  He swung off the bike and left the helmet resting on the seat. As the other Dogz braked and shut down again, Darryl gestured to a couple. “Stick, Tank, Low, y’all with me. Everyone else, hang tight.”

  With the chosen three following, Darryl headed for the front of the building.

  “Heard you folks have a problem.” a tall woman with graying hair said when Darryl was almost to the sidewalk. He noted they were all armed, but then again, so were the Dogz. Guns weren’t alarming anymore it seemed. He wasn’t sure if that was good or bad, but it did have a certain measure of reassurance. After everything that had happened, who knew what might be next.

  “We got some sick people back at our house.” Darryl said, not seeing any point in wasting time with pleasantries. “We looking for a doctor or someone who can help. We got us a lot of pharmacy drugs, but no way to figure what’s wrong or how to use them to help.”

  “Sick people?” one of the group asked, sounding alarmed.

  “Normal sick.” Darryl explained. “Fever, sweats, diarrhea. Been that way all morning. They all breathing; they ain’t zombies. We seen people turn into zombies, and this ain’t what they got. They woulda already turned by now.”

  “And you brought it here?”

  “We think it food poisoning or bad water or something like that, but we don’t know how to fix it. If we right, it ain’t contagious. No one who been around them all morning coming down with anything.”

  “How ill are your people?” the woman asked.

  “Bad.” Darryl admitted. “We got us one girl who worked in a doctor’s office. She got a little training, but she in way over her head even though she doing the best she can. She saying they all starting to dehydrate from it; they can’t keep anything we give them down. If she right, people gonna start dying in a day or two.”

  “Doctors are pretty scarce. We only got two here, and one’s technically just a vet.”

  “We’ll take whatever we can get.”

  “Now hold on a—” one of the men said, but the woman reached out and touched him on the arm.

  “Tim, let me handle this.” she said to him, then turned back to look at Darryl as the other man fell silent. “I’m the mayor, Dottie Merrill. I’m sure we can find a way to help you and your people.”

  Darryl swallowed a little, forcing himself to stay calm. “We run into some of your people a few times. They said there was things you having problems with.”

  “Yeah, I know you’ve been around some.” Tim said quickly. “Now that you’re trying to paddle upstream you suddenly want to be reasonable.”

  “We ain’t got no choice.” Darryl said, keeping his voice level with effort. Just as they were short on time, neither could he afford pride. Not at the expense of people dying. His people. “I heard y’all needed men who can work. On your fence, I guess on other things too. Whatever it is, everyone I brought with me can work all day with a couple of breaks thrown in. We get our folks sorted out and you’ll get thirty men a day until you done. I talking weeks if necessary.”

  “How are we supposed to believe you’ll stick around to work after we get your sick back on their feet?” Tim asked.

  “Tim—” the mayor began, but he shook his head.

  “Dottie, it’s a reasonable question. They’ve already turned down requests to cooperate several times. Dr. Early is pushing sixty-five and has a bad leg. Putting him in danger puts us all in danger, because as nice a guy as Danny is, he’s only a vet. There’s a limit to what he can fix if the patient only has two legs.”

  “We’re willing to turn over our bikes and stay here for as long as the deal requires.” Darryl said. “We rode thirty minutes, past zombies, to get here. You think we’re going to walk that back without a damn good reason and you’re wrong.”

  “We’re still taking a risk.”

  “We can’t pay upfront; our people are dying now.” Darryl said, reminding himself of the stakes. He had to stay cool, had to put a reasonable face forward. There wasn’t room for argument and hostility right now.

  The mayor moved in front of Tim. “What we’re really having a problem of our own with,” Merrill said smoothly, “is our supply situation. Food, to be specific.”

  Darryl considered that for a moment. “There thousands here ain’t there?”

  “That’s right. Over two thousand, though we’ve been too busy to take a proper census.” a younger man next to and behind the mayor said.

  “We can spare some food, but I don’t know how far it gonna go trying to stretch for that many.” Darryl replied. “Even if we gave up everything we got so far.” In fact, if he remembered Jody’s last figures, the two months of food the Dogz had on hand would probably only last the town a week. Maybe. And he wasn’t even sure if he had the math right in his head.

  “We’ve been considering another plan, but we haven’t been sure how to make it work.” Merrill told him. “You and your people might be what we need though.”

  “I listening.”

  The mayor sighed and seemed to gather herself. “We are really busy with the fence, and a number of other projects are on tap once we get the security situation settled. At our current rate of construction, we’re looking at a couple of weeks, minimum, to get the town sealed up. The problem is, even doing some triage and rationing with the food on hand, it doesn’t appear we’ll have food to last that long.”

  “How
short are you?”

  “We might make it another week, if we’re careful and tighten the rationing to the bone, but even if we do, it still doesn’t change that we’re going to need a lot more to last past that.”

  “A lot more.” the only other woman in the Watkinsville group said with a nod.

  “There ain’t no . . . no, I guess there ain’t.” Darryl started to ask before correcting himself. Watkinsville proper had a couple of small local grocers in and around the town, but no chain supermarkets. The Wal-Mart was over near 78, the Kroger a couple miles outside of the town to the south, and that was it. The Dogz usually brought their party supplies in from Atlanta when they came down, or rode out to the Wal-Mart or Kroger when they ran low.

  Both those spots had been stripped clean, and the Dogz hadn’t gotten the lion’s share either. They’d pulled out quite a bit, but they hadn’t been the only ones grabbing since that fateful Friday. The food could be scatted all over the place by now. Getting some anywhere else quickly meant . . .

  “Oh fuck.” Darryl almost muttered. “You thinking about Athens?”

  “Our problem is one of available labor and how long we’ve got to fix the food situation.” Merrill said. “We’re still seeing a lot of zombies coming down out of Athens, plus the rest of the area, and it’s tying up most of our people just to keep them out. We’ve got patrols running the circuit and others circulating through town, and they rarely go more than an hour or so without encountering problems; even inside the fence.

  “A lot of the people who’ve come in are injured, in shock, or too old or too young to be really helpful for many of the things we need to do. It’s hurting us even to find people for supply runs into the surrounding area, and often they come back with just enough food to buy us another day. Sometimes less.”