Marching Through the Apocalypse

by David Rogers

  Jack headed for the right hand lobby doors, avoiding the zombies in the way. It wasn’t hard, they were mostly all eating someone and interested only in their next bite. One that wasn’t seemed barely able to stay on its feet, wobbling badly as it staggered slowly toward them. Four steps put him under ceiling again, or rather, put the floor of the level above him over head so nothing could reach them from that direction. He kept moving, the doors were pretty close now.

  They were a pair of double doors, set in an airlock sequence that was supposed to help reduce how much air conditioning was wasted out them every time someone went through. Now, even with the power still on so the eyebeams that automatically opened them when someone approached were working, he saw the ‘airlock’ as a defensible position.

  “Hey, they’re trying to get to us.” he heard Sherry say.

  “Let’s hold here for a moment.” Jack said as he stepped into the airlock. He took a fast look out at the roundabout of the Marriott’s drive up, but it was hard to make out much detail. The helmet’s eye pieces were effectively sunglasses, and that made it difficult to see clearly. But he thought they would be okay at least for a minute or two.

  “Okay, I’ll give it a minute.” Nikki said as Jack turned to look over his shoulder. “But I’m not getting besieged in here.”

  “They’re coming, just wait.” Sherry said.

  Jack looked back inside the lobby. Bill and Stacy had managed to shove past the zombies and were now making for the doors where Jack and his group were sheltering. Stacy was moving freely, but Bill was having to drag a woman along as she clung to his ankle. Jack was impressed, the female zombie was not exactly in trim ‘Slave Leia’ condition, but Bill was managing to keep a pretty decent pace.

  Nikki stepped through the doors, past O’Riley who was slumped against the inner partition of glass, and stabbed a zombie who was staggering toward them. She stepped back and flicked her rapier. “They better hurry up, I see at least five coming this way.”

  “Just wait.”

  “I’m not dying for two people I don’t know.”

  “They’re our friends.”

  “Yeah, and he’s my husband.” Nikki said, jerking her thumb at Ike. “Nothing personal, and I’m sorry to have to say it, but if it comes down to a choice . . .”

  “Right.” Jack said, not saying he’d already arrived at the same conclusion. The only reason he was waiting was because Bill and Stacy were in motion, and because Sherry would be mad as hell at him if they left without at least trying.

  But Jack knew he was willing to live with the guilt if that’s what it took.

  He glanced out into the roundabout again, but he still thought they were okay for the moment. Stepping away from those doors a little, he turned sideway so he didn’t have to do anything except turn his head to look either outside, or back at the lobby.

  Stacy reached them a few seconds later. She was a good fifteen feet ahead of Bill. “Jesus, are you guys believing this?” Jack heard Stacy say, her voice unmistakably female even through the modulation of the helmet’s speaker.

  “Is he going to make it?” O’Riley asked, sounding like he was in a lot of pain.

  Jack looked, glanced the other way in the lobby, then back to Bill. “Nikki, Stacy can cover the door here. Go stab that one hanging off his leg, and we’ll be out of here in ten seconds.”

  For a moment he thought she was going to refuse, as he watched her check the situation in the lobby. Then she stepped back through the doors and sort half-skipped, half-glided over to the Hawaiian stormtrooper. Her rapier flicked out and down, and the zombie went limp. Bill was right behind her as she hurried back to the door.

  “Thanks.” he was saying.

  “Let’s go.” Nikki said, ignoring his gratitude. “You two, Bill and Stacy, take the sides.”

  “What?” Stacy asked, sounding confused.

  “Keep any zombies back so us musketeers can kill them.” Ike explained.

  “Oh, right. Sure.” Bill said.

  Jack stepped out through the outer doors. “Ike, we can’t see too good in the helmets. You need to say–”

  “Take the right side.” Ike interrupted.

  “Got it.” Jack headed around the big fountain in the middle of the roundabout, curving around on its right. There was a ramp down into the Marriott’s parking garage over on the left side, but it didn’t matter. His keys were up in the room. The van was useless to him. There was no way he was going back into the hotel.

  He had to grapple with another teenager zombie halfway across the roundabout, but Ike stabbed it pretty quickly, then they were on the sidewalk. Jack looked in both directions on Peachtree Center. The street was littered with bodies, easily two dozen just on this block alone. All of them had at least one zombie leaning over or crouching beside them, and the blood was flowing. One of the victims was the cop who’d been directing traffic, his neck already eaten clean like a chicken wing.

  “I guess north?” O’Riley panted as they all stood looking.

  “Why north?” Bill wondered.

  “Because the street south is uphill.” O’Riley said.

  “Good point.” Jack nodded, turning and heading north on Peachtree Center.

  The lane next to the sidewalk had cars parked in it almost bumper to bumper, all of them with special passes on their dashboards that were supposed to make sure a cop or a meter maid didn’t ticket or tow them. Jack didn’t care, but as he neared the intersection he heard Ike inhale sharply like he was about to say something. At the same time, Sherry shouted something, but he didn’t have time to hear it.

  There was a blur of motion from the left, then someone tackled him. Jack stumbled right and bounced off a stone pillar that anchored the edge of the steps up to the building that was to the Marriott’s north. He looked down. A zombie, a fairly muscular one, had wrapped him up in a bear hug. It wasn’t a fan, he could tell almost immediately. He didn’t see a convention badge, but really it was the Tennessee football jersey that gave it away.

  Jack tried to shove the zombie off, but it was strong as hell. He staggered sideways as the zombie leaned in on him. He didn’t know if the zombie was trying to bear him to the ground, but it didn’t matter. He didn’t want to end up on the ground with the thing on top of him. No way.

  There was shouting, but he couldn’t hear it through the helmet and the sound of teeth scraping against his breastplate. He staggered further and almost tripped when his foot descended an extra couple of inches past where he expected to find ground.

  “Curb.” his mind supplied almost absently as he struggled with the zombie. “I’m in the stre–”

  Something hit him from behind, hard. Really hard. He distantly heard an earsplitting crack of shattering ABS plastic, heard a screech of tires and the smell of burning rubber, then his head snapped back from the force of the impact. Glass shattered and there was a second impact across his back and shoulders.

  The next thing he knew, he was flying forward. The pavement of the street rushed up to greet him, and he realized he was skidding forward on his front. He stopped moving, then smelled the tang of iron. There was blood in his mouth. He couldn’t breathe. His lungs felt like they’d been completely emptied of air, and when he tried to draw a breath to fill them, there was only intense pain that perversely interrupted his attempt to breathe.

  “Jack! Oh my God! Jack!” he heard Sherry shouting, screaming really. He wheezed again, and tried to reach up to take the helmet off. Maybe that was why he couldn’t breathe. His arms didn’t seem to want to cooperate though. It was like they didn’t belong to him anymore.

  Other hands fumbled on the helmet, and abruptly it was being eased off him. Gentle hands were beneath his head, keeping him from banging it on the asphalt as the helmet was removed. He blinked, wheezed, wheezed again, then managed to resolve Sherry’s face above his.

  She was leaning over him, her beautiful features drawn white with stress and worry. There were tears on her cheeks. They were causing
her makeup to run. “Are you okay?”

  Jack wheezed again. His lungs felt like they were empty, even though he kind of thought he was managing to breathe at least a little now. A cough, barely a cough, sputtered wetly from his lips and he realized his mouth was full of blood. There was no pain. He heard a car engine idling really close. He couldn’t breathe, and there wasn’t any pain for some reason. Why wasn’t there any pain?

  “Sherry? We need to go.”

  Ike was above Sherry, looking around as he gripped his rapier. Jack blinked up once at the musketeer, then refocused his gaze on his wife’s face. She was past tears now, she was openly crying. He couldn’t understand why there was no pain.

  “I . . . I . . .” he said weakly, trying to force his voice to work.

  “Oh Jack.” Sherry sobbed, clutching at his armor.

  “Lov . . . yu.” he finished, hoping that would make her feel better so she’d stop crying.

  Sherry scrubbed her hand across her cheeks, under her eyes. She wiped them twice, then reached down with wet fingers and brushed them across his lips gently. He tried to smile, but he didn’t know if it was working.

  “Sherry, if you want to stay with us you need to come, now.” Ike said, gripping her shoulder. “He’s gone. Come on. He wouldn’t want this.”

  “I know.” Sherry said softly. She leaned down and kissed Jack, then got up and suddenly he was only looking at blue sky. It looked so peaceful. He wanted to nod, to call after her, to say everything was going to be fine. But he just felt like laying there. It was so nice just laying there.

  Sherry was safe. She’d gotten out of the hotel which was overrun with zombies. That was all that mattered. A cloud was drifting past above him, one of several. He was enjoying watching it when his view was suddenly obstructed by another face. It was someone he didn’t recognize, but there was blood smeared across it and staining the teeth.

  Jack wanted to frown, but it seemed like such an enormous amount of effort. And he wasn’t sure if he could. But he couldn’t see the cloud anymore, and that annoyed him. The face leaned down, and he heard a ripping sound. Then the face above his leaned back, chewing on something. There was a warm and wet sensation on his cheek, and he smelled something like iron and salt.

  The face leaned down again.

  ###

  If you enjoyed this short, you might find Apocalypse Atlanta entertaining. Free samples are available, so why not give it a try?

  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

  Bite Sized Apocalypse – an anthology of five short stories set in the universe of Apocalypse Atlanta. The common thread are 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.

  Better 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/

  Individual short stories

  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.

  www.amazon.com/You-are-what-you-eat/dp/B00ELLZGX0/

  Gut Check at the Choke-and-Puke – Lauren is a truck stop girl, just one more service provider riding the interstates and making a living. A layover south of Atlanta turns into more than just a fuel, food, and rest stop when zombies turn up. One thing leads to another, and soon it's everyone for themselves. Lauren has to hold on to both her stomach if she's going to hold onto her life.

  www.amazon.com/Gut-Check-at-Choke---Puke/dp/B00KMJNNTE/

  Working with Zed – One of the biggest problems someone faces in the middle of a zombie apocalypse is who to trust. One nine-year-old boy doesn’t have that problem. He knows who to trust.


  His dog.

  http://www.amazon.com/Working-Zed/dp/B00MXKIF84/

  Author Bio

  David Rogers was born in Atlanta and has lived there for over twenty-five years, with the only interruption between birth and Atlanta being a detour of about a decade into Florida. If you’ve never been to Florida, let him save you a trip. It’s very flat and quite tropical. Oddly enough, Georgia is very hilly and quite humid, so maybe there’s not so much of a difference between the two. Also, it wasn’t his fault. His parents made him go.

  Since escaping childhood, David has been a secretary, file clerk, tech support operator, telemarketer, gopher, FedEx truck washer, and office manager. He loves good stories in nearly all forms, particularly novels and movies, though television is gaining rapidly since some of the quality there has shot up quite a lot in the past few years.

  Every Christmas Eve he watches Die Hard and Lethal Weapon, because they’re the best Christmas movies ever made. Family, friends, and beating the crap out of the bad guy with your bare hands . . . what more do you want in a Christmas story? BB guns? Please, you’ll shoot your eye out.]]