by David Rogers
“And it’s harder for a big group.” Peter said reluctantly, keeping his tone neutral with effort. He didn’t want to sound like he was bitter about the Cartersville refugees. He really wasn’t, but it honestly would be easier if he and the unit didn’t have to tend to the civilians. “We just loaded up on supplies that’ll hopefully keep the fifty we’re dealing with going for a couple of weeks.”
“Yeah, do the math dude.” Swanson broke in. “If all that food was just for us, it’d last three or four times longer. We made out okay in the store, but what if it’d been home to a bunch of zombies? And we didn’t know it wasn’t. Going in there was a risk.”
“So you’re all just like them assholes back there?”
“Swanson!” Peter said sharply when the Guardsman opened his mouth. Swanson looked at him, then subsided as Peter glanced over his shoulder briefly. “Law of averages says sooner or later risks will catch up with you. Can’t get lucky all the time. There’s always a bullet, or I guess now a set of teeth, out there somewhere with your name just waiting to find you. He’s saying you’re like them. We all are. Looking to live.”
“Selfishness is a survival trait.” Crawford remarked casually.
“So is cooperation.”
“Crawford!” Peter started, but she ignored him.
“Hang on Gunny. Let’s try it like this Harris. What’d you do before Friday? Your job?”
“Restaurant manager.” Harris said coldly.
“Okay, so would you agree there’s probably not a lot of that skillset needed right now?”
“Crawford.” Peter tried again.
“Gunny, you want this to come out here or back at the motel in front of everyone?” she asked reasonably.
Sighing, Peter shrugged. “Just keep it civil.”
“Harris?”
“I’m good at scheduling and inventory management, and I know a good bit about cooking, among other things.”
“Okay, so that’s something.” Crawford agreed. “But if you could only count on coming up with food and shelter for three people a week, and were by yourself with your wife, who would you take for that third spot if you had your pick of survivors? Restaurant manager, or someone good with weapons who knows how to hunt? Or a construction engineer who can build stuff that won’t fall down? Or a doctor?”
“Doctor.”
“Sure, because that’s what you need, because of your wife. And if you didn’t need the doctor, or the choice was one of the other two, you’d take one of them over the manager type. What if the engineer and redneck showed up with some others who had useless skills, and one of the good ones was willing to ditch the others to stay with you, who would you pick? Be honest.”
Harris was silent for several seconds, and Crawford grunted. “Exactly. You’d take the one who could help you and tell the others to take a hike.”
“I’m not an asshole.”
“Sure you are.” Swanson said. “We all are. When you strip all the bullshit out, just about everyone’s an asshole. Especially Crawford.”
“Same as you jackass.” she told him around her cigarette.
“That’s a real nice outlook.” Harris said in a very unhappy tone.
“It’s realistic.” Peter stepped in again. “And you’ll make out better if you start getting it in your head now that’s how most are going to be. There’s not a lot of leeway left anymore to make it past a bad decision intact.”
“Then why are you still here then?”
Peter sighed. “I told you, I’m just that stupid. Or idealistic. Or bored. I don’t know, take your pick. My wife died on Friday, but she’s probably still walking around somewhere in Gwinnett. We didn’t have any kids, the last of our parents died a few years ago, I’m an only child, and the closest extended family I might have left is somewhere in Colorado. If they’re even still alive.”
“Sorry Gunny.” Swanson said. Peter glanced at him and realized he hadn’t told any of the National Guard soldiers about his wife. He shrugged casually, refusing to give in to the temptation toward grief. He’d already dumped his sorrow, and there was too much to do for him to dive back into it again. Amy wouldn’t want him moping around with everything that was happening.
“It is what it is. Like I said back at the hotel, I’m just a guy looking to help where I can, but I’m probably the exception now.” Peter continued. “As for my people, you’d have to ask them why they’re sticking around.”
“Gunny’s old but he’s useful.” Crawford remarked.
“That’s real nice Crawford.” Swanson said. “Really heartfelt.”
“You said the same thing last night. And I’ll feel your heart for you if you keep it up.” she told him. “I could show it to you if you want.”
“Don’t let her fool you, she’s really quite a bitch once you get to know her.” Swanson told the Humvee’s occupants. “I’m staying with Gunny because he got us out of Atlanta. Anyone who can manage that is better man than me.”
“I’m a better man than you.” Crawford said, so predictably Peter couldn’t even muster up the energy to sigh over it.
Swanson grinned. “Gunny, we should stop at a drugstore and get Crawford a douche. She’s starting to lose that fresh feeling.”
“Swanson—” Crawford began, leaning forward with an outstretched hand as Swanson swayed back against the dashboard to stay out of her reach.
“Knock it the fuck off.” Peter snapped wearily. “I swear, you two should just shack up and get it over with.”
“Fuck that.” both said in unison.
“So it’s every man for himself?” the other civilian asked in a tone that emulated Peter’s, one that made it clear he was ignoring the soldiers’ sniping.
“That’s not exactly how I’d put it.” Peter sighed again. “But it’s as good of an explanation as any. Don’t go looking for people to help out of the goodness of their heart and you won’t be disappointed. But I’ll tell you this; if you walk around treating everyone like they’re fuck-offs, you’re not going to see any charity.”
“Even if they’re as bad as Swanson.” Crawford said as she finished off her cigarette and tossed it out the window.
* * * * *
Chapter Six – Take a look ahead
Darryl
“Just meat and eggs?” Darryl asked as Tamera thrust a plate of food at him.
“We trying to work through it before we lose it all.” she shrugged.
“We got the generators.”
“Yeah, and you know better than just about anyone how we doing on gas for them too.” Jody said without turning from the counter. She was rolling ground beef into little balls before flattening them into patties and adding them to a big platter next to the stove, where Celine and Karissa were busy tending to pans of cooking eggs and meat.
“We ain’t near being out yet.”
“DJ, don’t go getting in my business. Not while I’m busy. Take your damn breakfast outside and eat it. We ain’t opening any cans right now.” Jody told him with an edge of sharpness in her tone.
Darryl took the plate, grabbed a fork off the table near the door, and headed outside without further comment. He was just hoping for some bread or something to go with the scrambled eggs and bare hamburger. As he stepped outside, he thought about the supply situation and shrugged to himself. He wasn’t in charge of keeping track of the food, or cooking it. Better to keep his damn mouth shut.
If only he could have remembered that about twenty seconds sooner.
He settled into one of the chairs outside, picking one near Bobo and Tank, who were talking with their mouths full.
“We still got boards.” Tank was saying. “Fixing it won’t take but a few minutes. Less if we just double the ones that fucked up.”
“I’m concerned about the next time we go through something that.” Bobo shrugged.
“Fence?” Darryl asked.
“Yeah. DJ, I want to get a real good picture of where we at, and we can’t wait too much on it neither.” Bo
bo told him. “After breakfast I want twenty brothers split into pairs and spending the morning cruising around taking a look at stuff.”
Darryl blinked. “Pairs?”
“Yeah, quicker. Ten teams and we can put someone down every road for miles around before noon. Then we know what’s what.”
“Ain’t that asking for trouble?”
“Naw, not if all they do is look.”
“We gonna have to pick who goes, real careful.” Darryl said, purposefully not flicking his eyes at Needles and Smoke sitting on the other side of the barbecue pit. They were sharing a morning joint while the food on their plates cooled. Darryl didn’t mind the joint, but he did when there were things to do. He knew better than to make an issue of it though. Needles was a junkie through and through. He was always on something.
“That why you doing the picking.” Bobo said. “And I want you to be one of the twenty. My fucking sergeant back in the day used to call that leading by example.”
Nodding, Darryl pushed aside his reservations about venturing out with only one Dog backing him up. “Alright, what we looking for?”
“Everything. Find some paper or something and make sure everyone got something to write with. We need to know stores, roadblocks, gas stations, abandoned trucks, houses with them tanks in their yards we was talking about yesterday, any big groups of zombies, places where people holding out.” Bobo shoveled a big forkful of eggs into his mouth. “Useful shit. You know what we need.”
Darryl nodded slowly, though he still wasn’t entirely sure how much he liked the idea of cruising around. He liked the idea of sending his brothers out cruising even less. Not everyone seemed to have fully grasped how fucked the situation was. Mr. Soul was the one doing all the news watching, and not everyone listened when the eighty-two year old gave one of his summaries of what was being broadcast.
It wasn’t that any of the Dogz questioned the zombies or that things were changing; but not all of them fully indicated they were aware of just how far down the scale of civilization everything was crumbling. To see some of them carrying on, even discounting the perpetually haze enshrouded Needles, they acted like this was just some sort of vacation that would end after a few weeks.
Darryl was beginning to think that wasn’t going to be the case. The news had still not reported any indications of organized efforts by the government – either fed or state – to get a grip on things. Just about every major city was covered in zombies, on fire, or both. And what little was coming in from outside the United States wasn’t any better. Even Hawaii and Japan, islands, were battling zombies. Fucking aircraft carriers cruising around in the ocean had zombies aboard; except, as far as he knew, the ships weren’t cruising so much as drifting.
Things were bad, and it was September. Winter in Georgia wasn’t too bad compared to states further north, but cold was still cold. People needed heat, needed food, needed shelter, and trying to pull all that together when they lacked all three would be tricky. Darryl wasn’t a big forward thinker – not on this kind of scale, usually – but even he could see they needed to have their basics well covered by the time September turned into fall, because winter was right behind that. Three months and change might not be enough. Not with zombies fucking wandering around eating everyone in sight.
“Okay, I guess you and Tank busy with the fence, right?” Darryl said after a few moments.
“Yeah, and leave Shooter out too. I want him around to backstop the roof guards, and he can spend some time trying to learn the rest of the fools on better gun habits when he don’t have to be up on the roof shooting at anything dangerous.”
“And we riding, not using any of the trucks?”
“Naw.” Bobo swallowed and glanced around. “I want an inventory of the sights worked out by noon. Riding be quicker, especially if they run into wrecks on the roads they need to get around. We can get back to grabbing shit off after we know where to go.”
Forty-five minutes later, Darryl led a double column of bikes into the parking lot of the closest gas station to the clubhouse. The bikes had already come in handy; SR-53, which was the most direct way to get over to 78, which the gas station bordered, had a collection of wrecked and abandoned cars a few blocks south of the highway. The bikers had been forced to slow down and all but walk their motorcycles through in a few places amid the obstructions.
Swinging off his Softail, Darryl didn’t bother to remove his helmet, though he did raise the visor. EZ got off as well, along with a few others, but the rest stayed in their saddles and looked around the parking lot and adjacent highway for signs of trouble. Darryl drew his pistol as he approached the gas station, which was already standing open courtesy of Big Chief’s fast and furious scavenging a few nights ago. But the club’s mechanic had been looking for food and other things on the way through, and Darryl was seeking something else.
The gas station’s interior was fairly standard, chest high shelves and glass fronted coolers lining the back wall. He eased through the doors, his boots crunching on broken glass from the front doors, looking and listening for any sign of trouble. Even taking his time, being cautious, it took less than a minute to assure himself there were no zombies inside.
Satisfied, Darryl reholstered his Glock and grabbed a double handful of prepackaged roadmaps off the little rack near the front counter. He went back outside and started handing them out, one to each pair.
“So we supposed to mark these up with what we see?” Stick asked as he tore off the plastic wrapping on the Georgia map.
“Yup, and be as careful as you can about making sure you know where you is and where you marking when you put something down.” Darryl said loudly. “And label what you mark. Come back with a map full of dots and nothing else and I’ll beat your ass myself if Bobo don’t see to it.”
Darryl ignored the grumbling over his threat as he finished distributing the maps and dropped the extras into one of his Softail’s saddlebags before opening his own map. “Okay, Spider, Crown, you two head through here.” he said, unfolding the map to the Athens-Watkinsville area before going over to them and circling a spot on it with his finger. “See where I’m talking about.”
“Yeah, got it.”
“Good. You finish that, just sort of spiral out as best you can and look around some more. Everyone due back by noon. Remember, ain’t no fucking need to go fucking around with no fucking zombies.”
“Fuck no.” EZ interjected.
Darryl gave him a tired look as most of the others chuckled. “I serious. Keep your eyes open, stay clear of trouble, and just look and mark the maps. Always have one of you paying attention while someone writing on the map. And don’t fucking lose it.”
“DJ, you getting to be kind of a bitch.” Greasy said with a broad grin.
“Bitch or not, I serious. So is Bobo. We need to fucking know what going on so don’t none of us go wasting time we could be using to grab and work. But we don’t need no brothers getting eat either, so watch your asses.”
“Yeah, yeah.”
Darryl doled out areas surrounding the clubhouse to the other pairs, then waved everyone out before dropping his leg back over his own bike.
“What about us?” EZ asked as he adjusted the strap on his helmet.
“We heading over near Watkinsville.” Darryl said as he fired the Softail up. “Tank say he remember there a few construction companies out that way he done some work for.” he added loudly as he revved the throttle to make sure the engine was rumbling smoothly. “I know you remember what I done already gone over back at the house.”
EZ’s cheeks stretched in a broad smile. EZ was many things, but among them he was the most obviously smart member of the club. Everyone knew it, and somehow EZ managed to fit in and ride along without getting pushed out. The Dogz weren’t overly stupid, but more than a few of the brothers were content tooling through their lives with, in some cases, the cheerful obliviousness of the average.
“Alright then DJ, let’s do some riding.”
EZ revved his own engine and got rolling, circling around the gas pumps before heading back toward SR-53. Darryl followed, keeping about fifteen feet back. EZ held the speed down, cruising at thirty and thirty-five miles per hour, like they were just out for a pleasant morning ride. They passed a few wandering zombies, but never more than one or two, and the walking corpses never got close enough to bother them as the Dogz wove well around them on the motorcycles. Every time they stopped, Darryl served as guard while EZ handled the map.
They worked their way down SR-53 without problems until they found a pretty large fenced area just off the street. The big sign fastened to the fence proclaimed it to be Johnson and Sons Construction; but the site looked vacant and unoccupied. If Johnson or his sons were around, they were hiding. Darryl braked a few feet to the side of EZ’s bike and glanced around before taking a good look through the twelve foot chain link fence.
“That the kind of stuff Bobo and Tank looking for ain’t it?” EZ asked, gesturing at the construction vehicles visible behind and next a handful of portable office trailers. There was a simple one story building on the lot as well that looked like it was the permanent office for the company, but no civilian vehicles except a couple of white painted Ford F-350s with the construction firm’s lettering and logo on the doors.
“Yeah, I think so.” Darryl nodded as he took in the heavy vehicles. Two dump trucks, two long and low slung tractor looking vehicles that he guessed were graders by the big plow blades they had suspended from their midsections, three bulldozers, and two backhoes of different sizes. There were also three flatbed trailers that looked like they were there because they were used to haul the non-roadworthy equipment to job sites.
“Okay, keep an eye out then.” EZ said as he pulled out the map, unfolded it, and started making notes. Darryl saw nothing moving except grass and trees before the morning breeze, but it didn’t take EZ very long to update the map regardless. “You want to go inside the fence and check any of them out?”