“One trebuchet isn’t going to do much to hold off a horde.” Peter observed.
“They say they’ve tested firing a bunch of rocks at once.” Smith said.
“How many? Does that work?”
Smith held his hand out and waggled it back and forth. “I think so. They say it’s like an artillery shotgun shell.”
“Hmmm.” Peter said.
“At the speeds and weights they’re getting on impact, even a zombie’s going to feel it.” Crawford assured him.
“Zombies don’t feel shit.” Whitley said.
“Yeah, but when every bone in their chest is broken they can’t walk or use their arms much anymore. And any limb that gets hit is going to shatter or be ripped off, including heads.” Crawford grinned. “Anyway, they say the rocks are mostly for testing and emergencies. Their plan if they have to use it for a real horde defense is to throw buckets of napalm.”
“Napalm!” Whitley exclaimed.
“Yeah.” Crawford laughed. “Should do a real number on anything near where it hits, especially zombies.”
“How are they making napalm?”
“It’s not hard to make.” Smith pointed out. “You just mix a gelling agent with gas and presto-bang. Big boom and a lot of sticky fire.”
“They’ve apparently got copies of some subversive stuff in their computers.” Crawford said, rolling her eyes.
“Subversive?” Whitley asked.
“You know, the Anarchist’s Cookbook?”
“They’ve also got the Army IM handbook.” Smith said.
Peter shook his head. He’d never actually laid eyes on the ‘cookbook’, though he knew a lot about it; but he was familiar with the Improvised Munitions Handbook. The latter was a very exacting guide for how to create a wide variety of things that would explode, from bullets to bombs. Napalm was one of the recipes, and — just as Smith had said — it really wasn’t very hard at all to make. “Well, I hope they know what they’re doing.”
“They do.” Crawford assured him. “They store the stuff in a dump next to the river, only bring it over if they anticipate needing it.”
“How are they igniting it when they fire?” Whitley asked. “For that matter, how are they firing it?”
“Buckets.” Smith said. “And we’re talking supernerds here.”
“Nerds have magic fuel igniting powers?” Whitley demanded.
“No, super soldering and wiring skills.” Smith said. “They’ve got some remote igniters rigged up that can be flung with the buckets.”
“It’ll work, as long as their device doesn’t break on impact.” Crawford said. “Their forward observer on the wall has a remote, and when he hits the button the device sparks up and boom. But they also have flares too; set one off, tape it to the bucket, and when that all hits the boom will definitely happen.”
“They haven’t gotten too fancy with any of the more complicated trigger systems out of the handbook yet.” Smith shrugged. “But even without them, the flares and devices will do the trick just fine.”
Peter shook his head again. “Let’s hope they never have to use any of it.”
“Let’s hope.” Crawford said. “So, what’s the plan?”
“That’s what I want us to talk about.” Peter said. “Pow-wow time.”
“Careful Gunny.” Smith said.
“What?”
Smith gestured broadly around the area. “We’re actually in the middle of Indian country you know.”
“What the hell are you talking about?” Whitley said.
“For once fanboy here isn’t talking out of his ass.” Crawford answered. “There’s like, I don’t even remember how many Indian reservations they mentioned that’re within three or four hundred miles.”
“And two that are pretty close, like an hour away or something.” Smith said. “Seriously.”
“Pow-wow is just an expression.” Peter said.
“Well, I’m just saying.”
“Enough.” Peter said, rolling his eyes. “Come on, let’s get some distance.”
“Are we having secret meetings?”
“No more secret than them.” Crawford said.
“That’s not fair.” Smith said.
“The fuck.” she shot back. “You think they’re not talking about us in that committee of theirs?”
“What committee?” Peter asked.
“The town has itself a committee that makes decisions.” Crawford said.
“Great, decision by committee.” Whitley sighed.
“They’ve got certain people designated for areas of responsibility in case of an emergency, but I think their plan is for anything that’s not urgent to be hashed out and agreed upon before acting.”
“It’s not the worst idea I’ve ever heard.” Peter shrugged. “I mean, benevolent dictatorship only works as long as the benevolent part is true.”
“And the dictator isn’t an idiot.” Whitley pointed out.
“That too. Come on.”
Peter walked across the street, moving parallel to the wall and away from the trebuchet, before stopping a little way down the next ‘block’. Everything between the heavily expanded houses to the east and the newly laid wall to the west had been cleared right down to ground level, leaving open space in case defenders needed it behind the wall.
“Okay, it sounds like you two have been talking and checking out our hosts longer than us two.” Peter began, nodding at Smith and Crawford.
“We weren’t tired.” Crawford said.
“And it’s been months since I got to game any.” Smith added.
“Fanboy.” Crawford snickered.
“Hey fuck you Cindy.” Smith said. “You got your hobbies, I’ve got mine. That zombie rule set they came up with is actually a pretty clever way to wargame encounters and possible zombie combat scenarios we might run into.”
Crawford’s scowl was back. “Call me that one more time and I’ll break your arm.”
“You’ll try.” Smith sneered.
“Gunny, you had to open your mouth.” she said, turning her unhappy expression on Peter.
“I didn’t know I’d been sworn to secrecy.” Peter said mildly.
“Wait, how long have you known?” Whitley asked.
“It’s not important.” Peter said. “And Gunny knows all, haven’t you figured that out yet?”
“Oh yeah, then why are fanboy and I filling you in then?” Crawford demanded.
“So I’ll know. Talk.”
Smith cleared his throat. “So, committee. They’ve been seriously working on the town for about six weeks now, and their population has been climbing steadily for the last four.”
“That’s a lot of people they’ve added in the last month then,” Peter mused, “if they’re past five hundred.”
“Yeah.”
“Any idea why?”
Smith frowned. “They’re really worried about Ellsworth.”
“Anything new I didn’t already hear about that?”
“I don’t think so. A bunch of the adults, the ones who think they’d be pressed into service, are scared about maybe having to go be zombie killers.”
“And the rest, the ones who would be left behind, are worried about how they’ll survive without their brave people around to go out into the big bad zombie world and bring back supplies.” Crawford added.
“Can you blame them?” Whitley asked.
“No.” Smith said.
“Yes.” Crawford said.
“Have a heart Crawford.” Smith said. “Not everyone’s as crazy as you.”
“Not everyone’s got balls as big as mine.” she sneered. “Especially you fanboy.”
“There’s nothing wrong with someone who doesn’t want to frontline.” Peter said, slashing his hand through the air. “Plenty of work that needs doing that doesn’t require being a boot on the ground.”
“You say so Gunny.” Crawford shrugged.
“I was one of those guys behind the frontlines.” Peter pointed out
. “Or did you think I got all my mechanical skills from playing around with insurgent vehicles between firefights?”
“You’re a Marine.” Whitley said. “It’s different.”
“Yeah, but Marine or no, I still wasn’t a knife-in-my-teeth guy kicking down doors and crawling through the high grass just inland from the beach either. We’ve all got roles to play, and there’s jobs that need doing at every step along the way.”
“Well, that’s one thing; but if they’re right about Ellsworth’s plans, where do you think they’ll stick you when we sign up?” Crawford asked.
“I keep telling you guys, I’m in this to help.” Peter said calmly. “That’s all I’ve been doing since the shit hit the fan, and all I’m planning on doing until I can’t or the fucking zombies give it up.”
“How do we know Ellsworth really is gutting any settlements they can get at?” Crawford asked.
“The manpower and supplies have to come from somewhere.” Smith pointed out.
“Yeah, but at gunpoint?” Whitley asked.
“I didn’t say I agreed with that plan.” Smith said hastily, holding his hands up. “I just mean that places like this are about the only really viable place to tap to build up a true force that can deal with the zombies.”
“Last time I checked, it was supposed to be a free country.” Peter said.
Crawford snorted laughter, then gave up trying to hold it in when their eyes swung to her. “Oh come on, really?”
“What’s wrong?” Whitley asked.
“How long have you been in Gunny, since the 70s?” she demanded. “They had the draft back then, right?”
“Actually, the draft ended before I enlisted.” Peter told her. “And what’s funny about that?”
“Nothing, but this hasn’t been a free country for a long time.” she said. “Or haven’t you checked who picked the channels before zombies grabbed all the remotes?”
“Jesus Crawford.” Whitley muttered.
“Hey, she’s not wrong.” Smith said. “It’s not like us little people had a say in how things went down.”
Peter spread his hands out. “Are we really going to stand around in the cold having a debate about the way things were before the outbreak?” Heads shook reluctant, Crawford’s the slowest and last, and Peter sighed. “My point was, theoretically,” he said, looking at Crawford, “drafts and requisitions are pretty extreme acts.”
“We’re in some pretty extreme circumstances.” Smith said.
“Does that change the rules this much though?” Crawford asked.
“But have they changed?” Whitley asked. “Who’s to say they have?”
“Well, these guys say Ellsworth changed them.” Smith replied.
“But did Ellsworth change them?” Whitley asked.
“That’s why I’m trying to figure out how to figure that out.” Peter said. “So we know where we stand.”
“Okay Gunny, so how do we do that?” Crawford said, lighting another cigarette.
“If we go ask, and Canton’s telling the truth about what Ellsworth has been up to, then we’re probably going to be kept there and plugged into the machine.” Smith pointed out.
“Would that be so bad?” Whitley asked.
“Hey, we can fuck around arguing semantics and shit, but bottom line, I was a volunteer every step.” Smith said, his voice growing a little heated. “Including when I stuck it out with Gunny. And especially when the four of us packed up and headed north. You remember Mendez? Roper? They all stayed in Georgia.”
“Cumming needs them.”
“Yeah, and what happens if Ellsworth shows up down there and strips Cumming?” Crawford asked.
“If a zombie-killing army makes it from here to Georgia, then things are probably more or less being won.” Peter said.
“Big if.” Smith said. “And not my point.”
“What is your point?” Crawford asked.
“What happens to Sawyer and her people if there’s no one left to hold the fences and run supplies? If ‘the big plan’ to deal with zombies means running around stripping all the survivor groups of their manpower and supplies, and leaving everyone else to fend for themselves . . . how does that solve the problem? There’s a lot of kids and non-combatants in Cumming remember.”
“I remember.” Peter said calmly. “I’m going to point out I haven’t said I agree with Ellsworth.”
“If that’s what Ellsworth is actually doing.” Whitley reminded everyone.
There were several moments of silence, then Crawford spoke. “Okay, so if we came up here to sign up with Ellsworth, and we’re not going to, what the plan?”
“Shit, you’d better not say head back to Georgia.” Smith said immediately. “One swim was enough to last me until at least spring.”
“One thing at a time.” Peter said. “The way I figure it, we can either go looking to bump into one of the recon teams, or—”
“Hey, fuck that.” Crawford said suddenly. “If they’re acting like these guys say they are,” she said, gesturing around at the town, “then if four of us bump into a scout platoon then that’s probably just as bad as walking right up to the base gates.”
“I had the same thought.” Peter replied.
“Good.” Crawford said. “Because being press-ganged into an anti-zombie squad ain’t on my bucket list.”
Whitley gave Crawford a tired look, but Peter just kept talking. “Option the second, we borrow or find a radio and have a conversation that way.”
“What good is that going to do?” Smith asked.
“Well, it’ll let us talk to them.” Peter said reasonably.
“Yeah, but if they are shanghaiing folks, are they really going to admit it?”
“We know more now than we did back in Georgia.” Peter said. “Whatever their exact answers are, whatever questions we come up with, it’ll give us a chance to feel out how we think things are going.”
“Okay, not the worst idea ever.” Crawford nodded. “So where do we get a working radio?”
Smith looked over at the people messing with the trebuchet. “I bet they’ll know.”
Peter grinned suddenly. “Yeah, but I bet I know where to find one too. And it should help us out however things go.”
Chapter Eighteen - Song remains the same
“You have got to be kidding.” Smith said.
“I’m dead serious.” Peter replied.
“Come on Smith, it’s going to be fun.” Crawford laughed.
“Leading a zombie horde around by the nose ain’t my idea of fun. Not on purpose.”
“Live a little.” she said.
“I plan to.”
Crawford opened her door and got out of the car. “You going to chicken out and let a girl show you up?”
Smith frowned unhappily, but he opened his door too. “I thought you were a man Crawford.”
“Just because I’ve got bigger balls than you doesn’t mean I’m not all woman.” she said as she untied one of the ropes holding the bicycle to the car’s roof.
“Remind me to track down an anatomy textbook for you if we live.” Smith muttered loud enough for his voice to carry.
“Just angle northwest across the field.” Peter said, getting out and pointing diagonally away from the intersection ahead. “When you get to pavement, come in from the west and get the horde’s attention then pull them after you. Then head south to the rally point and wait for pickup.”
“I know, I know.” Smith grumped.
“Sure you only need a mile?” Crawford asked as she lifted the bicycle down.
“Yeah. Either it’ll fire up or it won’t, and if it doesn’t then more time isn’t likely to improve my chances.”
“I thought you were a mechanic.” Smith said unhappily as he got the second bicycle free.
“Motor Tee.” Peter said. “And that means diesel. But there’s nothing that says whatever’s wrong with the Brad is something I can handle out here in the middle of nowhere.”
“So
this isn’t going to work, is it?”
“Shut up Smith.” Crawford told him. “Come on, let’s go.”
“If I get bit and you can’t even get the thing working I’m going to be pissed.” Smith said, still unhappy; but he settled his shotgun, checked his holstered pistol, then started pushing the bike. Crawford led off, both of them angling off road and heading for the western side of the road visible ahead, running east-west as it intersected the one the Dodge was waiting on.
“Seriously, this is going to work though, right?” Whitley asked as Peter got back in the car.
“I can’t guarantee I can get it running.” Peter said. “But between you and me I’m willing to bet we can get the radio working as long as the unit’s still intact. As long as it is, odds are we get power to it and we’re on-the-air. Even if we have to dismount the unit and take it with us.”
“What are they odds of that?”
“Come on, it’s armor.” Peter said, gesturing at the zombie infested intersection ahead, with the squat hulk of the Bradley Armored Personal Vehicle visible on the far side of the mass of vehicles and bodies. “A semi-truck could have smashed into it and odds are it’d just scratch the paint.”
“A semi?” she asked skeptically. “You’re exaggerating just a bit, right?”
Peter shrugged. “Maybe, but I’d still be willing to put money on the fucking Brad making it through in one piece over the truck. I mean, the damn thing weighs thirty tons.”
“Fully loaded a truck can weigh a lot more than that.”
“Yeah, but that’s mostly sheet metal and particle board.” Peter said. “And the trailer, the cargo in it; none of that’s rigid. It all goes flying on impact. The Bradley is solid, all the mass is mostly one piece.”
“Well, you’ll excuse me if — assuming we get the thing rolling — I decline to be inside when you decide to test that theory.”
“Okay, I wouldn’t want to be inside if it happened either.” Peter admitted. “But I’d still pick the armor to come out on top.”
They waited, listening to the car’s engine tick over at idle and the rush of warm air through the dashboard’s vents, as they kept watch on the area. In the daylight, the intersection where they’d first met the Canton group was an even bigger mess than it had appeared in the darkness. Whatever had caused the chaos, there had been a lot of it.
Apocalypse Atlanta (Book 4): Apocalypse Asylum Page 27