Apocalypse Atlanta (Book 1)

by David Rogers

  After he managed to get the magnification pushed back up again, which was tricky as hell to do while still tracking her in the scope’s field of view, he decided EZ was definitely right. As she ran towards the last house he saw she appeared to be crying. And she was barefoot, he realized as she ran up to the door of the house and slammed her fists into it wildly.

  He almost asked himself the question, reflexively, but then realized there almost surely was only one answer. Why would a girl be roaming around the Georgia countryside, barefoot, in her bed clothes, crying?

  “EZ, you feel pretty good looking for shit through that scope?” Darryl asked instead, watching as the girl screamed something as she hammered on the door. She was just far enough away that he only heard a faint sound, something he wasn’t sure he’d even notice if he weren’t watching the person who was making it.

  “Huh?”

  “The scope.” Darryl said again. “You picked her up pretty fast. Faster than me. You comfortable using it?”

  “Uh, yeah. I guess.” EZ said, his voice a little amused. “It ain’t that hard, you know?”

  “Good. I think she probably running from something. Maybe.” Darryl said, watching as she continued beating upon the front door of the house. There was a vehicle in the driveway of this one, a pretty old four door that looked like it was on its last legs. But the house itself was dark, and he was beginning to think it was vacant too. She’d been screaming and attacking the door for about a minute, and surely that would have woken up someone inside by now.

  “Yeah, that what I think too.” EZ said.

  “So look back along the way she come.” Darryl said. “See if you spot anything she running from.”

  “Yeah, okay.” EZ said after a few moments, his voice now thoughtful.

  Darryl didn’t lift his eye from the scope. The girl was moving. Turning, she ran out to the driveway and tugged on the door handles on the car. When they didn’t open she stood next to the driver’s side door for a few moments, her head turning back and forth. A few moments later she started running again, this time directly at the clubhouse.

  He didn’t stop to ponder why she was coming this way. It didn’t matter. Darryl watched her for maybe fifteen seconds, making sure of where she seemed to be headed, then leaned back from the scope and scowled. “Mad.” he said as he started to get up.

  “Yeah?”

  “Trade guns with me.” Darryl said.

  “What? Why?” Mad seemed surprised by the request.

  “Because I going down to the fence line to intercept her, and I don’t need no damn scoped rifle down there on the ground.”

  “Well I don’t know how to use no damn rifle.” Mad whined, clutching the shotgun against his chest protectively.

  “Bro, hand the man the fucking shotgun.” Tiny said without turning.

  Mad’s eyes flickered to the big biker, then he held the shotgun out to Darryl. He took it from Mad, then gave him the rifle. “There the safety. When you fire, you gotta work the bolt up and back, then forward and down. But don’t fucking fire unless I do, or unless you see some damn zombie or something about to eat someone.”

  “DJ, what you gonna do?” Mad said more than a bit sullenly, holding the rifle in his hands like it was radioactive.

  “See what she want.”

  “What if she wants in?” EZ asked. Darryl looked over at him, but the biker was still standing with his own rifle to his shoulder, looking southeast through the scope.

  “She ain’t fucking getting in here.” Darryl said decisively.

  “But y’all said she in trouble.” Psycho said, turning to look at him.

  “So?” Darryl shrugged, moving to the ladder leaning against the back wall of the clubhouse.

  “Well, she might need help or something.”

  “Bro . . .” Darryl trailed off momentarily, then shrugged again. “Look. What Bobo say yesterday?” Psycho and Madman looked blankly at him for a moment, and Darryl sighed. “Look, just watch your areas. EZ, you watch me when you hear me start talking to her, okay?”

  “I gotcha DJ.” EZ said.

  Darryl went down the ladder as quickly as he could one handed, holding the shotgun out to the side with his right hand. When he got back on the ground, he jogged around the south side of the house and headed for the front corner of the fence. The ground sloped gently up from the lake, but even so it took him a few moments to find her again now that he was down on the ground.

  He started to drape the shotgun up across his shoulder, then stopped when he realized where that would leave the barrel pointing. He was pretty sure he wouldn’t fire the gun by accident, but he still wasn’t comfortable having the barrel pointed back towards the clubhouse. Instead he settled for gripping the stock, finger next to the trigger, and let the pump slide rest against the crook of his left arm, like he was crossing his arms with the gun in them. He left the safety on the gun off, so it was ready to fire without delay.

  The girl was audible well before she got near the fence. Her breath was coming in great gasps, and she was somehow managing to cry despite the exertion of her running. Her sobs were like choking gulps that competed for equal time against her need to breathe. Darryl couldn’t believe she hadn’t collapsed already; she seemed like she was about to hyperventilate herself into unconsciousness.

  “That far enough.” he called when she was maybe twenty-five feet from the fence. She’d clearly spotted him about twenty seconds prior, and as she drew closer Darryl had been able to resolve more detail about her. EZ was right, she couldn’t be any older than sixteen. Maybe younger; girls seemed to look a lot older these days for some reason, even though this one didn’t appear to be wearing any makeup or anything.

  He was also able to see with much greater certainty, almost total as far as he was concerned, that the stains on her clothing were blood. In addition to being on the trailing hem of her robe and long shirt, he saw more spots of red color across the lower front of her shirt, and down her left side and sleeve.

  As far as Darryl was concerned, that settled his last bit of doubt. He’d been reasonably sure of what he was going to do while he waited for her, but there had been a tiny voice in the back of his head that kept telling him it was wrong. That he needed to do the decent thing and help her. The blood settled it. There was no way.

  “Thank God!” she blurted, stumbling down from a run into a fast walk. Her head swiveled to look behind her, and when she faced him again she was crying twice as hard. The tears were starkly visible on her face, glistening in the moonlight. “Help me. Please, help me!”

  “I said stop.” Darryl called back. When she continued walking toward him, he lifted the shotgun and put it to his shoulder, but kept it canted down some. Not quite aiming at her, but ready to complete the motion and draw a bead on her very quickly.

  “What – help me!” the girl said faintly, slowing but not fully stopping. She was still sort of wandering toward him, like a slow walk that wove back and forth as her fatigue or maybe her emotional state left her struggling to walk normally.

  “Fucking stop.” Darryl said. He was jacking the slide before it occurred to him that was a fucking silly as hell thing to do. Sure enough, an unfired round ejected out of the port on the side of the weapon. But as it hit the ground next to him, he realized maybe it wasn’t an entirely silly thing to have done. The sound was distinctive. Almost everyone, certainly anyone who watched movies or television, knew what a shotgun’s slide being operated sounded like. And knew what it meant.

  She gave a little scream, almost squeaking in terror, but she finally stopped. She was now maybe fifteen feet from the fence. “Please . . . I’m Ann Newell. I live on the other side of the lake. I need help.”

  “There’s blood on you.” Darryl said. “What you running from?”

  Her face seemed to crumble into tears in an instant. He’d only thought she was crying before. Now the waterworks were really going. Darryl had to remind himself what was going on to avoid the automatic rea
ction her crying threatened to elicit within him.

  “My parents, my brothers.” she sobbed. “Oh God!”

  “Look, you ain’t coming in here.” Darryl said when he was reasonably sure she was too busy crying to address his question.

  “I need help!” Ann screamed at him. “You’re not listening!”

  “I hear you just fine.” Darryl said, making his voice hard. He told himself she was just one more unruly customer that he had to deal with, period. The reason, the story, the excuse . . . that never mattered. The result did. He was supposed to handle problems, not solve them.

  “Then why won’t you help me?”

  “There a lot of fucked up shit going around.” Darryl said. “Whatever you dealing with, it your problem.”

  “No, it’s not just my problem.” she screamed. “They’re chasing me.”

  “Who is?” Darryl asked, glancing automatically at the field between the fence and the road behind her. He didn’t see anything, or on the road either. That didn’t mean something wasn’t there, but if something was, he couldn’t spot it yet.

  She took a deep breath and tried to compose herself. Darryl could see it, could already see the story being organized before she even started speaking. He’d seen that look hundreds, thousands, of times. Sometimes the story was true, sometimes it wasn’t. There was always a story, occasionally even a good one, a true one.

  It didn’t matter. It never did.

  “My parents pulled us all out of school Friday afternoon when the news started talking about problems.” Ann said, her voice admirably calm compared to the anguish visible on her face. “Alan . . . changed yesterday morning when he and Aaron were outside helping dad board up the house. He hurt both of them before they were able to close him up in the shed. A little while ago . . .” her resolve started disintegrating again, and Darryl almost didn’t need to hear the rest.

  “They both changed too.” he said.

  “Yes.” She sobbed. “I heard screaming, but by the time I got into my parents bedroom it was too late. They were . . . oh God, Mom!”

  “Yeah.” Darryl said, deliberately using his professional tone. The one he used to indicate it wasn’t personal, it was just the way it had to be. “I get it. So there two zombies chasing after you now?”

  “Yes! Please, you’ve got to help me.” Ann said desperately. “Dad had the keys to the car in his pocket, said it was in case we all had to leave the house in a hurry.”

  “The other way got people too.” Darryl said, pointing back the way she’d come from. That direction did, in fact, lead back to the roads that allowed access to and from the lake. There were neighborhoods that way. Not big ones, not like in the Atlanta suburbs, but still groups of houses. Probably four or five dozen at least within the next two or three miles. “Why didn’t you go there, instead of back here into this dead end?”

  “I don’t know!” Ann was crying again. “I don’t know, okay. But I’m here now, you’re here now. Please. I need help.”

  “No.”

  “Goddamnit!” She screamed, clenching her fists. Darryl shifted the shotgun, aiming at her from the hip. “Why–why won’t you help?”

  “We trying to keep from getting sick.” Darryl said, hoping maybe a bit of an explanation might keep him from having to shoot her. He really didn’t want to shoot her, but he was not going to let her come inside the fence. “You got blood all over you, and you done said a bunch of your family hungry and eating people now. You a risk we ain’t gonna take.”

  “Please.” she whispered, falling to her knees and folding her hands under her chin. Darryl had to step, very firmly, on his compassion. She was young and blonde and almost angelic looking in the moonlight, wearing the kind of clothes the heroine in a horror movie usually was all through the final act. Everything about her was the very picture of the modern damsel in distress.

  “Please.” she repeated, barely audible. “Please, please help me.”

  “EZ.” Darryl shouted without turning. The answer drifted back to him from the roof of the clubhouse.

  “Yeah DJ?”

  “You see anything back toward the road?”

  “Hang on.”

  Darryl waited, keeping the shotgun pointed at her. Ann stayed on her knees, her hands clasped together, watching him hopefully through her tears. He scanned the darkness behind her, still seeing nothing. He felt a minute tick by. Ann’s breathing calmed down as she finally finished catching her breath. If she lived on the far side of the lake, then she’d run over a mile to get here. He really wished she’d run the other way though.

  “DJ?”

  “What you got?”

  EZ’s voice was flat, almost conversational. “There two people coming down the road.”

  “People?” Darryl asked sharply.

  There was a pause, a long one, then EZ spoke again. “Well, they on foot, and they ain’t cars or nothing.”

  “How they walking?”

  “Like they can barely stand bro.”

  Darryl nodded. “EZ, you keep an eye on them, let me know if they go some other direction than here.”

  “Word.”

  Darryl looked at the girl. “Okay, I got a compromise for you.”

  “Compromise?” she repeated like the word didn’t make sense.

  “Yeah. You stay here. There, or whatever. Outside the fence. You ain’t coming in. But you can hang out here while we see where them two zombies is going.”

  “What if they’re coming here?” she asked, her lower lip quivering heavily.

  “Let’s hope they is.” Darryl shrugged.

  “What?”

  He made a placating motion with his left hand. “If they are, we’ll take them out. Then you can head back and find help. Maybe there still some cops out or something. I dunno.” He sort of doubted it however; the news had made it clear the police and fire departments, and the hospitals and paramedics, had taken most of the brunt of the zombie problem since Friday. There were very few left anywhere.

  “But–”

  “No buts.” Darryl said firmly. “That’s the deal. If they come over here, we’ll kill them, and you can go find some help without being chased. You staying on that side of the fence though.”

  “I . . .” she glanced behind her, then back at him with a contorted expression of fear and a bit of anger. “Fine.”

  “Good. So you feel free to get comfortable there if you want. It a long walk back that way.”

  She didn’t say anything, and he didn’t blame her. Darryl wasn’t sure he’d be unable to keep from cursing up a storm if he were in her shoes. Though, he admitted, he wasn’t so sure he’d ever actually end up in such a fucked up circumstance as she was. He’d gone armed since Friday. True, it had taken Bobo insisting for him to strap the gun on, but since then he’d kept it with him. He was reasonably confident he’d be able to handle a couple of zombies so long as he was armed.

  Minutes went by slowly. Darryl stood on his side of the fence, Ann stayed kneeling on hers. He watched the landscape behind her, searching for movement or shapes in the moonlight, but saw nothing. Finally he heard EZ call down again.

  “DJ.”

  “Yeah?”

  “They maybe half a minute out.”

  “Where?” Darryl asked, peering through the darkness and lifting the shotgun.

  “Look off to your right some. Little more. Yeah, that way. They coming from there.”

  “Okay. How they look.”

  “Like fucking zombies.” EZ said, clearly amused.

  “So you want to take some shots at them?”

  “Sure.” EZ said, still sounding amused. There was a scraping, scuffling sound that told Darryl EZ was laying down on the roof, then a long pregnant pause. When the rifle fired, it boomed loudly, echoing across the surrounding terrain. Darryl saw Ann flinch violently, but she stayed on the ground and didn’t look behind her.

  He heard EZ working the bolt action on the gun, levering another round into firing position, then ther
e was silence again as the biker aimed. EZ fired twice more, then spoke as he worked the bolt again for his fourth shot. “Wounded one. You see them yet?”

  Darryl did. They were only dim shapes, but clearly humanoid. The one on the right was closer, maybe four or so steps ahead of its partner. Darryl wondered idly if zombies even had partners, then shook his head and aimed the shotgun. He waited, not wanting to screw EZ’s next shot up, until he heard the hunting rifle fire again. The lead figure rocked backward but didn’t go down. As he heard EZ working his bolt again, Darryl fired.

  The Dogz hadn’t been picky when they’d cleaned out the gun and ammo section of the sporting goods store Friday night. In fact Darryl had been mostly interested in getting in and out as fast as possible, which had led him to somewhat overload the truck they’d stolen. Ammunition was heavy, much heavier than people who didn’t shoot understood. The truck had been riding especially low on its shocks, and he’d been a little concerned something was going to break before they’d gotten back to the clubhouse.

  About the only thing Darryl and Shooter had done with all the guns since was make sure anyone who was not confident in their shooting abilities was carrying a Glock, since they had trigger safeties that didn’t have to be operated separately, and that they had shotguns, since the spread of their shot was more forgiving to bad aim. Mad was one of these, and Darryl had his weapon right now. He was a little curious how well the gun was going to work.

  He couldn’t see the shot as it fired, especially not in the moonlight, but he saw the lead figure stagger heavily under the impact of the pellets. Darryl worked the slide without lowering the gun and fired a second time. Again the figure, the zombie – it had to be, to be ignoring without apparent effects of getting shot – staggered, but stayed on its feet.

  “Motherfucker.” Darryl muttered as he stepped back away from the fence. He was slowing it down, and could probably use the gun to knock the zombie off its feet, but either his aim was worse than he thought it was or the pellets weren’t penetrating enough to be dangerous.