“We’re voting, and that’s mine. Keeping the utilities running is hard enough. We start handing supplies I need for the treatment plant or power grid out, or parceling out teachers and trainers from my work crews, and I can’t guarantee I’ll be able to maintain our services.” the man replied, setting his features stubbornly.
“Fine, I vote yes.” Luther said, still casting an annoyed look at Dominick.
There were several seconds of silence, as everyone’s eyes went to the last leader who hadn’t yet voted. “Zora?” Brenna finally asked.
The woman Peter remembered from the crossroads meeting sighed. “I think it’s risky. But everything’s risky. And if were me stuck somewhere, I’d want help. I vote yes.”
“Goddamnit.” Suzanne swore, throwing up her hands.
“Four to three in favor.” Luther said.
There was an undercurrent of discontent and disagreement, but the room seemed to mostly be in agreement with the leaders. A few people clapped, and there were some scattered and quiet cheers; but there were also some boos or shaking heads.
“Motion carries.” Brenna said, nodding briskly and looking at Peter. “We’ll take down names of volunteers, and figure out a schedule and some sort of procedure for the runs in the next day or so. That good enough?”
Peter nodded back. “Everything starts somewhere. It’ll work.”
Chapter Twenty - Don’t forget about me
The sound of fingers on a keyboard, the keys clicking rapidly, dominated the room. Peter stood watching as a pudgy man in his late twenties sat in front of two monitors.
“Yeah, yeah, not so fucking cryptic now that you’re alone are you?” the man muttered. “Where’s your admin now?”
Whitley looked at Peter questioningly, who just shrugged. He had only the most general idea of what was happening, and short of maybe fixing a generator or something like that if it was needed; had no idea how to help.
They were in one of the geeks’ rooms, which was remarkably like a college dorm room. Posters and printouts of movie and television images, celebrities in costumes, and more than a few comic book covers were plastered over most of the available wall space. Tables and desks were crammed in around the pair of bunk beds, covered with either stacks of board games and rule books or the detritus of a serious electronics and computer habit. There were even monitors and keyboard/mouse setups suspended from arms that lowered from the ceiling or swung out from the walls, including some that were obviously placed so they’d be accessible to people in the beds.
“I got your passcode right here.” the man muttered again, his typing suddenly increasing in speed from merely rapid to blazingly quick. Several windows on the monitor screens were filled with text that was scrolling and flowing, meaningless to Peter, but apparently just what the operator wanted to see. His typing pattern changed again, now coming in spurts with pauses of complete inactivity spaced irregularly out.
Abruptly, the man leaned back and stretched his hands over his head. As his hands rose, so did the hem of his t-shirt. Oblivious to the fact that several inches of his belly were now protruding from the bottom of his shirt, he cracked his knuckles and grinned lazily. “Got it.”
“You’re in?” a man sitting at another of the tables asked.
“Yeah, your turn Burt.”
The second man opened the lid of a laptop and started typing one handed while manipulating a mouse. His screen was filled with a graphical control panel that made no more sense than the windows of text on the other monitors, but Peter did recognize the part that was labeled ‘frequency’. One of those he’d given the geeks filled into that little part of the graphics display, and a few seconds later a crackle and hum of background static came from speakers resting next to the laptop.
“Okay sergeant, there you go.”
“Gunny.” Peter said mildly. “Just call me gunny.”
“Right. Gunny.” Burt said. “Anyway, here.”
Peter took the old-style microphone — exactly like the handset he’d always seen in trucker movies when he was younger — and held it up to his mouth.
“Bravo Mary two-one calling K4 G9D.”
The static went away when the speakers cut out, when he hit the button, then returned when he released it. Seconds ticked by, and nothing broke that light background of nothing on the frequency.
“Bravo Mary two-one, calling K4 G9D. Kilo Four Golf Niner David, in Cumming Georgia, you listening? Reply on this frequency.”
Still nothing. Peter waited ten beats, then looked at the two geeks with a polite question on his face.
“Wes says we’re on the satellite.” Burt said immediately.
“We are.” Wes replied defensively, though he immediately turned back to his monitors. His fingers danced over the keyboard, and more text flowed through the little windows on the screens. “Good signal, onboard diagnostic running, yeah it’s doing great. Nothing’s wrong up there.”
“This is going to work?” Whitley asked.
“Hey, we know what we’re doing.” Wes said, still typing and peering at his monitors.
“I know.” she said quickly.
“What she means, is, how do we know the signal is beaming down to the right area?” Peter said, making sure he pitched his tone politely and without any urgency.
“Absolutely.” Wes said, nodding vigorously. “Going right where we want it to. Telestar D14A, one of the primaries for the Southeast.”
“And it’s on that frequency? It’ll pick them up too?”
“Yeah, it’s just a software change to tell the transmitters to shift over. And I reconfigured one of the receivers too; it’s set to auto-rebroadcast anything coming from that area.” Burt chimed in. “Maybe they’re not listening?”
“Maybe they’re fucking asleep.” Crawford said quietly.
Not quietly enough though; several heads turned in her direction. Smith spoke up immediately. “She means in Cumming.” he explained hastily, making a soothing motion with both hands.
“Yeah, those lazy idiots were always slacking off.” she confirmed with a nod.
“We’re connected, the signal’s bouncing right, and if they’re live they’ll hear it.” Burt said, while Wes still studied Crawford speculatively. “You want to try one of the other frequencies?”
“Sure.” Peter said, looking down at his list to make sure he read the numbers off correctly.
Burt manipulated his computer for a few seconds, then glanced at Peter again. “Okay, try it.”
“Bravo Mary two-one calling K4 G9D.” Peter said into the microphone. “Respond on this frequency please.”
He waited again, and was about to press the button on the microphone handset when the speakers suddenly spoke in a human voice.
“K4 G9D, responding to Bravo Mary two-one. That you Gunny?”
“Fuck me it worked.” Crawford said.
“Alright!” Smith said at the same time.
“Shut up!” Whitley snapped at both of them.
Ignoring them all, Peter spoke into the microphone. “Roger, Gibson here. How are things at the school?”
“We’re hanging in there. You make it to the base okay?”
“Long story.” Peter said, shrugging involuntarily even though he knew they couldn’t see him on the other end of the transmission. “Listen, you might want to start recording. And send a runner to fetch some folks.”
“Sure, you need to talk to Ms. Sawyer?”
“Not a bad idea, but I was thinking maybe someone on her infrastructure team.”
“What for?” the Cumming radio operator asked.
Peter glanced at Brenna, who had been standing silent near the room’s door the whole time. She met his gaze and nodded, lifting a folder of paper in her hand as she did. “Because we’ve got some information should help you guys get power up without having to keep feeding generators all the time.”
“Copy. How’d you manage that?”
He grinned. “We made some new friends. Turning you over t
o Brenna Keane. Make sure you’re recording and listen up, you don’t want to miss this.”
# # # # #
Afterword
This came up in my afterword to Apocalypse Aftermath, but it’s even more relevant now.
Thank you, so very much, to everyone who’s picked these stories up and enjoyed them.
I know (or, at least, I hope, because I made one up that doesn’t match the format) call sign K-9 G9D isn’t a valid FCC call sign. That’s on purpose, because I didn’t want to step on anyone’s toes by listing a real call sign. I’m not a Ham radio enthusiast, but I talked to some via email while writing this story. They’re cool people who have a very cool area of enthusiasm. Borrowing someone’s call sign doesn’t seem very cool to me, so I made one up.
Crawfordsville, Arkansas is an honest to God real town. And it really is right next to Memphis. I didn’t make it up, but when I noticed it I knew it had to go in somewhere. Just to piss Crawford off.
The email address on the copyright page gets to me. Feel free to drop me a line.
David Rogers
Atlanta, Georgia
2015
ps: the best way you can get more books from me is to help spread the word. Please, return to the e-tailer site and leave a review. This only takes you a moment, but will pay immense dividends in helping me write more stories. It really does make that much of a difference. The reviews help modify how visible the book is, and affect what kinds of advertising I can use. Simply put, the more, the better. Thanks again.
Also by David Rogers
Apocalypse Atlanta – We’ve all seen it on the news every year. A hurricane, a tornado, a tsunami, a flood. A BAD thing happens, and all hell breaks loose.
Some people are caught in the chaos, others are victims, some run, others wait for help, most sit at home watching for everything to be fixed for them, and a few dive in to do whatever they can.
The thing about a zombie apocalypse is whether or not you’re in that initial wave of people who get hungry and start snacking. And where you are as few turn to many. As we all know, when it’s zombies, soon many turns to most. And it’s over when most become all.
Apocalypse Atlanta follows three people as the zombies start eating and bring the world down around them a bite at a time.
One is a retired Marine. The second is a widowed single mother. And the third is a biker.
Are there right or wrong answers when zombies are involved? Do things like morality and decency matter? Is it better to be alive to feel guilty, or dead an honorable? Who decides who’s right or wrong when a single mistake can make you dinner for a ravenous horde of the undead?
The story that started it all, the preceding book to Apocalypse Aftermath.
http://www.amazon.com/Apocalypse-Atlanta/dp/B00D538D6M/
Apocalypse Aftermath – the follow-up to Apocalypse Atlanta, continuing the stories of Peter, Jessica, and Darryl.
When an apocalypse starts, there's always running and screaming. Sooner or later, most of that starts to fade; if only because most of the runners and screamers are dead. Once the end of the world gets going in earnest, the sprint becomes a marathon. You can’t run all the time, can you?
Saving someone is easy. Helping them is what's hard. Heroes happen all the time. After those moments when you become someone's saviour, what comes next? One day turns to two, and then the days are a week. Time keeps ticking by, and if you're going to keep from being ground beneath the clock’s relentless push, you've got to find the essentials for life. Food, water, shelter, safety. Everything else is negotiable.
Apocalypse Aftermath picks up where Apocalypse Atlanta leaves off; following three people, each going in three different directions, all trying to survive the end of the world. The same question faces Peter, Jessica, and Darryl; what’s next? What’s a safe path to follow, one that doesn’t place them and those they’re with at risk of becoming a meal for the zombies? What’s the right move, and how do they see it for what it is in time to act? Which way is the right way?
Because whether you’re an aging retired Marine, a widowed single mother, or a biker who bounces, the problem is the same.
Zombies.
http://www.amazon.com/Apocalypse-Aftermath/dp/B00KKB43E8
Apocalypse Asunder – When zombies show up, the world usually goes to hell. They tend have that effect on, well, on everything. Zombies aren’t good, aren’t bad; they just are. They can’t help themselves. They destroy and consume because it’s what they do. Unfeelingly, unthinkingly, unerringly. But while a hungry corpse will hunt you down and chew you up . . . what people will do can be far worse.
What turns good people bad? It’s really not that hard to figure out. They want something more than you. They need something more than you. Because no one is stopping them. Trust is a casualty of the apocalypse as surely as safety and survival. Not everyone is bad, but apathy and a lack of concern kill the same as malicious intent. An awful lot of people will let a lot of awful things happen if it means they survive. They’ll even do them to you; who cares if they feel bad about it afterwards? Because that’s what it’s all about when everything goes to hell.
Survival.
In the middle of a zombie apocalypse, nothing is routine and nothing is normal. One mistake can be your last. With winter closing in and life stripped of all the things that turn winter from just one more season into something that can kill, Jessica has to decide which is more dangerous for her and her daughter. Do they travel across two states in search of warm shelter, or sit tight and pray for providence to see them through?
One thing Jessica’s learned amid the apocalypse though . . . help comes to those who help themselves.
http://www.amazon.com/Apocalypse-Asunder/dp/B00P07HDNU/
Apocalypse Asylum – In the two months since they brought the apocalypse down on the world, zombies have reduced everything to a shattered scattering of isolated survivor groups clinging to what’s left of their lives. Living day to day, hand to mouth, constantly fighting amid the ruins of what’s left of a civilization that was over seven billion people strong; it isn’t much, but it’s that or become one more monster.
One thing zombies have going for them is persistence. Zombies never give up, never get tired, and are always hungry. Zombies might be clumsy and slow, but humans get distracted and make mistakes. The patience of death will always win out against the imperfection of humanity. The clock is ticking on the living, not the dead.
Peter Gibson has survived some of the worst the zombies could throw at him in downtown Atlanta, and has managed to help his battered squad carve out a safe spot in rural north Georgia for five thousand souls. But squatting in a tent village, spending the days guarding the perimeter and making scavenging runs for more canned food and dry goods, praying that a zombie horde big enough to roll over the humans doesn’t show up; that’s just a holding action. It doesn’t address the real problem.
Zombies.
What’s left of the government has been gathering itself at an Air Force base in the northern Midwest. They say they’re working on holding and expanding a secured area, eventually aiming to retake the entire continent. When his camp picks up those radio transmissions, that’s what Peter’s been holding on for two months to hear. But it’s eighteen hundred miles from Georgia to South Dakota, and between the Atlantic and Pacific are over two hundred million zombies.
Getting there will take a road trip of nightmare proportions.
http://www.amazon.com/Apocalypse-Asylum/dp/B00TD7NS1O/
Bite Sized Apocalypse – an anthology of five short stories set in the universe of Apocalypse Atlanta. The common thread is the zombies. Each story looks at a different little slice of the apocalypse as it gets going for those particular characters. Little bite-sized chunks of it.
Is that a dinner bell I hear?
http://www.amazon.com/Bite-Sized-Apocalypse/dp/B00DUFWNKW/
The five stories in Bite Sized Apocalypse are also available individually.
B
etter to be Lucky – You've thought about it. What would the first few hours of a zombie apocalypse be like? For one company of military police, it was like almost any other job in the service. Boredom with flashes of sheer, howling terror.
http://www.amazon.com/Better-be-Lucky/dp/B00DENSDNG/
Marching through the Apocalypse – Many things might be happening when a zombie apocalypse begins. For some of the most genre aware people in Atlanta, their survival wasn't so much who or where they were, but rather what they were wearing when people started getting hungry.
http://www.amazon.com/Marching-through-Apocalypse/dp/B00DEKA1IY/
There goes the Weekend – A bail bondsman's, er . . . woman's, day can be boring or interesting. Boring can be profitable, and interesting can be fun. But there is such a thing as too much fun. When Darla goes looking for a wife beater right when the zombie apocalypse kicks off, there goes the weekend.
http://www.amazon.com/There-goes-Weekend/dp/B00DSGFGBQ/
Smoke ‘em if you’ve got ‘em – Life is about rules. Lots of rules. But when zombies start eating people, the rules change.
http://www.amazon.com/Smoke-youve-got/dp/B00DTI8S7C/
A little me time – Every year, Lloyd spends a week hiking in the North Georgia mountains. This year, while he's getting away from it all, everything goes straight to hell.
www.amazon.com/little-me-time/dp/B00DR5IPF2/
Apocalyptic Appetizer – a second anthology of five short stories set in the universe of Apocalypse Atlanta. Each story looks at a different little slice of the apocalypse as it gets going. Little bite sized chunks of it. A tasty meal ahead of the main course as full-fledged apocalypse gets going.
Bon appétit.
The five stories in Apocalyptic Appetizer are also available individually.
You are what you eat – When a zombie apocalypse starts, everyone has problems. Well, everyone who’s not a zombie I guess. For one student in a small South Georgia town, her problem was zombies don’t respect dietary restrictions.
Apocalypse Atlanta (Book 4): Apocalypse Asylum Page 31