Apocalypse Atlanta (Book 1)

by David Rogers

  Properly oriented, she hoped, she hobbled up to the nearest door, a standard wooden interior type. The sign next to it proclaimed it to be ‘Ralston Survey Group, Suite 2B’, its lettering barely discernable in the faint glow of the exit sign. The knob did not turn; it was locked.

  Jessica shook her head and glanced up and down the broad passage. There were three more doors on the correct side of the building, but her leg . . . “Candice.” she said finally.

  “Yes mommy?” the girl said immediately. She was hovering right next to Jessica, not quite touching her but clearly wanting to.

  “Check the doors on this wall.” Jessica said, patting the wall. “See if any of them are open.” She didn’t like having to have Candice do it, but it would be quicker, and Jessica could see her no matter which of the doors she tried. “If one opens, do not go inside.”

  “Okay.” Candice scampered to the right and tried the next closest door. Jessica heard the knob rattling, and Candice shook her head. She went past her mother to the other side of the passage and tried the next. Jessica felt her heart sinking. She wanted to get inside one of the offices, but she really didn’t want to have to break in. She figured she could probably use the gun to shoot the lock out of the door if necessary but –

  The door to 2D opened at Candice’s touch, and Jessica opened her mouth to reiterate her instructions. But Candice had already released it and backed away. She looked at her mother with a hopeful expression. “This one’s open.”

  “Good.” Jessica said, hobbling that way. She eased past Candice and pushed through the door cautiously. The room beyond was dim but brighter than the corridor, lit by moonlight that streamed in from an internal door standing open opposite her. She limped forward to that door and found a pretty standard office; desk and chair, two visitor chairs, computer, shelves with books, and a little table that held a coffee machine. The windows behind the desk admitted enough moonlight see reasonably well by.

  Jessica went past the desk and peered out the windows. She had positioned herself correctly. Peachtree Industrial was visible outside, the Accord laying forlornly on its side in the street, just past the wreck that had concealed the zombie she’d hit.

  As she swept her gaze from one side to the other, looking as far in each direction as the window permitted, she saw two zombies off to the left, and one to the right. They were quite distant, seeming to be wandering aimlessly on the road. They didn’t look like they were headed to join however many were currently pursuing Candice and herself.

  “Close both doors.” Jessica said, sinking into the big chair behind the desk with a sigh of relief. “If there’s a lock, lock them.”

  Candice turned and immediately went to the outer door and pulled it shut, then came back and closed the room’s door with a soft click as the tongue went home in the latch. There was a second click when she pushed the button in the middle of the knob to lock it.

  “Good.” Jessica said, swiveling the chair slowly with her right foot so she was sitting sideways to the desk. That would let her see both the door and look out the windows. She kept her left leg stretched out as much as the chair permitted. Bending made it hurt more.

  “Now what?” Candice asked, still using that small voice that bespoke fear.

  Jessica looked at her and felt a wave of emotion flooding through her, almost strong enough to chase away the pain in her leg. Relief, that they were safe for the moment. Pride, that Candice had held it together without collapsing. Terror, at what could have happened. Anger, at having put her daughter in this circumstance. And love. A wave of care and concern and love so overwhelming that it all but cleared the other emotions out of the way.

  “Now you come here.” she said as normally and warmly as she could. “And hug me while I hug you.”

  Candice’s lower lip trembled for an instant, then she bolted around the desk. She flung herself at Jessica with such force the chair rolled back several inches. Candice’s arms went around Jessica, and her head came down on the woman’s shoulder. Her slim body shook and heaved as she sobbed, and Jessica felt the tears dampening her neck even as she enfolded her daughter in a heartfelt hug.

  “There, there.” Jessica murmured, holding her own tears back with enormous effort. She stroked a hand down Candice’s back and whispered soothingly. “We’re okay. It’s okay.” She blinked, trying to keep her eyes dry and clear, and looked surreptitiously out the window. She hoped she wasn’t lying.

  * * * * *

  Chapter Seventeen – Being brave sucks

  Peter

  “Okay, so that’s why no one’s been answering our radio calls.” Peter said sourly.

  “Yeah, there’s no one left.” Whitley agreed.

  “Shit, we’re going in there?” Harper asked incredulously, looking past Peter at the scene visible through the windshield.

  “You can get out here if you want.” Whitley said. “But we need more ammo.”

  “Fuck, this is the South.” Harper protested. “There’s gun nuts everywhere. Why we gotta go in there for it?”

  “Stop whining.” Candles said. “Clay’s the best place to get proper gear. We only gotta make it to the armory and inside before we’re loaded for bear. It looks like most of the zombies are hanging out near the administration buildings and barracks.”

  “You guys are crazy.” Harper muttered.

  Whitley reached for the door handle. “You want out?”

  “No.” Harper said quickly. “But we shouldn’t go in there.”

  “Noted.” Peter said crisply, though he glanced back at the others in the bus. Barker and Johns both looked a little uneasy, and Nailor seemed uncertain, but they didn’t say anything when Peter’s eyes came to them. “Okay. Let’s go.”

  Whitley took her foot off the brake and stepped on the accelerator. The bus surged forward along Cobb Parkway, then turned left into the main entrance of the base. One of the gates at the security building was standing wide open, which should never happen. Their observation from the road had already revealed why though; zombies were wandering all through the facility.

  One zombie emerged from behind the security building just as the bus approached the open gate, apparently drawn by the roar of the diesel engine. Peter winced, knowing what was coming. Whitley kept her speed steady at thirty miles per hour and didn’t flinch when the right front of the bus went over the zombie. The figure just vanished, one second staggering towards the bus eagerly, the next gone beneath it.

  Peter swallowed as the bus bumped over the body, but didn’t say anything. The road curved very slightly as it stretched away from the gates. Whitley followed it into the base, ignoring the little side streets that led to on-base housing and the PBX stores, past the first of the parking lots where base personnel and visitors could park their vehicles, and finally turned onto the first road that led into the base proper.

  She had to weave the bus some to avoid other zombies, but couldn’t entirely avoid them all. Three more were run over, each one nothing more than a thump and a couple of bumps before it was no longer an issue.

  Candles chuckled. “That’s what I’m talking about. Heavy metal, yeah.”

  Whitley’s lips compressed slightly, and her eyes flickered briefly to the Guardsman in the mirror above her. But she didn’t say anything, and neither did anyone else. The bus went through the last parking lot, threaded between the two primary administrative buildings, and out onto the northern runway aprons.

  There were two C-130s parked off to the left, near the hangers at the end of the apron. One of them was listing to the left, due to damage caused when someone had managed to ram a truck into the left side landing gear. The other looked okay, but it didn’t matter. None of the people on the bus were pilots, and the runways were too covered with wandering zombies to make takeoff easy.

  Whitley went across the main runway, several taxiways, then down a side road on the far side that was lined with trees. Peter didn’t know exactly where to go, he’d never really gone much past the f
ront section of the base, but Whitley seemed sure and none of the other Guardsmen raised objections. A minute later Whitley slowed to a crawl and peered forward as she leaned on the wheel.

  “One of those?” Peter asked.

  “Yeah, the one with the angled roof.” Candles said. “The two round ones are vehicle bays.”

  “Vehicles?” Peter asked.

  “Yeah, hummers and five tons. Repair shops” Whitley said. “And there don’t seem to be too many zombies over here.”

  “Makes sense.” Hernandez said, having risen and now hanging onto the overhead railing as he looked over Peter’s shoulder. “Barracks and housing are all on the other side of the base. Only reason to come over here is to load up or fix something.”

  Peter studied the scene. There were five zombies in view, three of them already having noticed the bus. The armory was a typical building, concrete block with a pair of big roll-up doors for when major loading or unloading operations were happening. He hadn’t considered it until just now, but laying hands on some humvees would be a good idea. They were still fuel hogs, but compared to the bus they were models of efficiency.

  “Okay, park as close to the right loading bay as you can.” Peter said. “Shooters will clear the zombies in the area, then cover while the carry teams head inside and grab stuff.”

  Whitley nodded, and the few remaining soldiers who still had rounds racked back the charging handles on their weapons in a series of metallic clacks. Peter was still hoarding the boxes of AR rounds in the bottom of his pack, and at the moment it looked like he’d be able to keep doing so. Unless there was a problem inside the armory, they’d likely soon have all the ammunition they could handle.

  The bus started forward again, approaching the front of the building at just past a walking pace. Whitley turned early, too early, then let the turn widen out somewhat when she realized. The bus swung slowly around and ended up parked at an angle to the loading door.

  “Jam the front bumper right up against the wall.” Peter said, pointing. Whitley looked where he was pointing, then crept the bus forward another couple of feet until it bumped into the building’s wall with a solid sounding thump despite the low speed.

  “Okay, grab and go.” Peter said, charging his own AR and leading the way down the steps when Whitley hit the door control. They hissed back, and Peter came down looking to the right. He’d taped gauze into place around his abraded palms, but the wounds weren’t bad enough to keep him from using his hands. At least, not the AR, not at close or medium ranges when he didn’t have to make any thread-the-needle shots.

  He went toward the back of the bus cautiously, then paused about halfway down and crouched to look beneath it. The closest zombie feet he could see were too distant to be an immediate threat, so he hugged the side of the bus and covered left as he neared the edge of the armory. Experience downtown had taught him the zombies, always eerily silent, could ambush you if you went around corners and obstacles blindly.

  There weren’t any zombies on the far side of the building however, and he stepped out past the back of the bus. Hernandez already had his M-16 up to his shoulder, aiming, and as Peter scanned around the area the man’s weapon cracked. A zombie about twenty-five feet distant fell.

  “Nice shot.” Candles said, stepping up near Hernandez and dropping to one knee. He propped his elbow up on his upraised knee, steadying his weapon as he aimed.

  Peter left them to handle the zombies in view and gestured to Smith and Dorne. “Give me a hand.”

  “With what?” Smith asked.

  Peter pointed at the closer of the two vehicle bays. “I want to see if there are any hummers in there.”

  “Why?” Dorne wondered. “We got the bus, right?”

  “Hummers are better dude.” Smith said.

  “I like the bus.”

  “You would.”

  “Just come and cover me, okay?” Peter said, not interested in a protracted debate while they were standing around in the open.

  “Whatever.” Dorne said, shrugging. He followed Smith and Peter as they went over to the building. Peter tried the personnel door, then the big double-wide roll-up door. Both were locked. “Damnit.” he muttered.

  “Uh sarge?” Smith said.

  “What?

  “Allow me.”

  Peter stepped back as Smith brushed past him. When he saw the Guardsman pointing his weapon at the door, Peter stepped back a couple more feet and made sure he was to Smith’s rear. Smith fired, once as if to test out how it would go, then several more times in rapid succession. The rounds blew through the wooden door next to the door knob, and on the fifth Peter saw the door move a little.

  “Ta-da.”

  “Thanks.” Peter said, shaking his head. “Want to go first?”

  “Hell no. Right behind you sarge.”

  Peter stepped back up and nudged the door with his boot. It swung inward, and he eased in carefully. The interior was dim, but he saw a light switch on the wall next to him. They’d seen the power outages seemed to be mostly in downtown, and other parts of the base had security lighting on, so Peter reached out and flipped the switch experimentally.

  With a faint crackle the overhead fluorescents lit, flooding the building with stark white light. A short hallway stretched out before him, an open doorway on his left a little ahead where he knew the paperwork for the vehicles in the bay was done and kept until being filed with the base admin pukes. Beyond that were two more doors, both marked with pictograms indicating they were restrooms. Then the last door at the end, which opened out into the big workspace.

  Peter moved slowly, taking his time. The office was empty, as were both bathrooms though they could stand a solid cleaning. When he stepped out of the hall he paused, his instincts lighting off.

  “What?” Smith asked after Peter had stood almost fully blocking the door for over half a minute.

  “You don’t smell it?” Peter answered softly.

  He heard Smith take a sniff, then another. “Smells like a garage to me.”

  Peter frowned. The air was heavy with the odor of gas and oil and grease, ever present in any working garage, but beneath those familiar smells was another. Fresher. Fouler. Something was rotten in here, and he didn’t like it. There were three humvees in the building, one of them straddling a lift. A parts cage was in the far corner, and tools were on tables and in rolling chests along all the walls. It looked normal, but he didn’t trust it.

  “Hello?” Peter called, finally tired of waiting for something to happen, but unwilling yet to push into the room.

  He waited for several moments. The workspace remained quiet. Peter was about to step forward when he heard a muffled thump. He scanned around as he heard another thump, but nothing looked out of the ordinary. Then he noticed the humvee on the lift was rocking slightly on its shocks.

  “There.” Peter gestured at the suspect vehicle. “See it?”

  “Yeah.” Smith said, doubt no longer present in his tone.

  “Gonna check it out.” Peter said, moving forward slowly. He crossed to the humvee, weapon up and pulled in tight to his shoulder, his eyes examining the vehicle carefully. When he got close enough, he peered inside. Front seat, back seat; both empty. This humvee had a hard shell cover on the cargo area at the back, so he eased around and looked in the back window.

  “Oh man.” Peter said, his nose wrinkling as he recoiled a step.

  “Zombie?” Smith asked.

  “I guess.” Peter said, fighting the urge to vomit.

  “How bad can it b–?” Smith said, stepping around and looking into the back of the humvee. His voice trailed off, and he stepped back from the humvee as well.

  “Okay, I believe you two.” Dorne announced.

  “I didn’t say anything.” Smith said.

  “Yeah, but it’s gotta be bad.” Dorne shrugged. “Since no one’s shooting yet, I guess you two can handle it without me. I’m going to go push the button for the bay doors.”

  “Right.
” Peter said, shuddering.

  “Sarge, do we have to do anything about it?” Smith asked as Dorne started walking over to the front wall of the bay.

  Peter opened his mouth, then hesitated. After a moment, he shook his head. “I guess not. Unless it turns out we need the vehicle.”

  “There’s two more.” Smith said hopefully.

  “I’m agreeing with you.” Peter said. “I don’t think that one’s going anywhere, so let’s just leave it.”

  “Good.”

  There was a rustle and hum as the door started rolling up, metal rollers sliding back in their tracks as the electric motors powered the door up. Peter stood still, waiting, until the door was fully up. He saw a couple of the shooters outside covering the door as it retracted, but they relaxed when they recognized Dorne and Smith and Peter inside the bay.

  “So check that one there.” Peter told Smith, pointing at one of the other humvees. “If it starts, leave it running and check the fuel gauge.”

  Smith nodded and started over to the indicated vehicle. Peter went to the third one himself. He quickly, but carefully, checked the interior out before opening the driver’s door and sliding in behind the wheel. Out of habit, he checked that the parking brake was set before he put his finger on the starter button and pushed. The engine turned over and caught immediately.

  Peter revved the engine a couple of times, but it sounded fine to him, and had three-quarters of a tank of fuel. He got out and walked around the humvee a second time. He finally decided it was either already fixed, or had been put in the shop to have some scratches on the right front panel touched up. Some officers got real anal about penny-ante shit like that.

  “Other one’s fine too.” Smith yelled, and Peter glanced over to see the second humvee idling with trace wisps of black smoke emitting from its exhaust.

  Peter walked over. “Gas?”

  “Half.”

  “Okay.” Peter nodded. He glanced around, jerked his head. “Help me put a few things in them.”

  “What are we grabbing?”

  “Tools.” Peter said as Smith followed him over to the nearest work table.