Apocalypse Atlanta

by Rogers, David

  That was in evidence now, as Peter watched the troops struggle up the rope. They were expending a lot of effort for every couple of inches of progress. Their technique was wasteful and sloppy, and it was clear their conditioning was barely up to the task. He scanned the troops left below, trying to see who was down there.

  “Gunny.”

  Peter turned, not, quite, sighing in relief when he saw Foreman. “Sir.”

  “Gonna be tight.” Foreman said unhappily as one of the climbers got high enough for arms to reach down and haul him the rest of the way up.

  “Captain Philmore?” Peter asked, returning to his examination of those below.

  “He said he was going up last. Said he could ‘afford to be heroic’ since I was here.” Foreman said in a sour tone.

  Peter had just now spotted the other captain. He was on one knee with his weapon up and firing. Zombies were now within fifteen feet of the climbing ropes. The remaining Guardsmen were being pressed into a compact knot of bodies as they ran out of room to yield to their attackers. Peter started to raise his AR-15, then hesitated and glanced over at Foreman.

  The captain was standing at the fence, looking down with his own weapon slung. Peter looked around, saw hardly anyone had a backpack with them, and scowled. Foreman caught the expression on his face and returned an unhappy grimace. “Right. Do me a favor, get these assholes along the fence to switch to single shot. We’re probably going to need the ammo. I’d tell them to cease fire but . . .”

  Peter nodded, his own expression twisted unhappily now. “Hey, slow fire. Aim, take the time to aim. Head shots, hear me? Aim for the head. Anything else is a waste of ammo.” he started shouting over the bark and crack of M-16s.

  The units Clay had deployed into the city had initially been intended for crowd control and to assist civilian authorities as extra labor and expertise for things like clearing wrecks or setting up field ‘hospitals’. Their weapons and ammo had been issued almost as an afterthought. They had not deployed for combat operations. What extra ammunition the Guardsmen might have had was lost in the vehicles they’d abandoned on the Connector below.

  Effectively, the unit only had a limited amount of firepower left before they were out. Peter’s mind whirred as he shouted at and shook soldiers, trying to get them to stop raking the zombie horde below and fire in a slower, more controlled fashion. He tried to keep his thoughts focused on what was going to happen next, for the troops up top, and on how they’d have to manage the ammunition situation.

  He had a pretty strong idea what was only seconds from occurring down below and didn’t want to dwell on it. When it started, he couldn’t help but watch despite his hope to just move on with the job. It was like being a passenger in a car driving on ice; plenty of time to see what was about to happen and effectively able to do nothing to prevent it.

  The first of the soldiers still down on the Connector to be grabbed was a tall and fleshy man who’d lost his helmet somewhere. He was pumping rounds into the zombies as fast as his finger could work the trigger, probably wishing for the long since removed fully automatic fire mode the M-16s used to have.

  A pale hand with a mottled pattern of purple and blue and black visible beneath the skin made contact with his arm. The Guardsman tried to step back, but he was already pressed up against the remaining soldiers. There was no room, and it would have only bought him a couple of seconds anyway since there were zombies everywhere. He jabbed the barrel of his weapon up against the zombie’s head, which was leaning in towards the arm it had gotten a grip on.

  The zombie’s head exploded, but three more were already latching on. His pain fueled yell was lost amid the others that were rising. It took only seconds. One moment, there was a knot of men, and a few women, firing rifles at the encroaching horde. In the next, the weapons were silent, or being used as erstwhile clubs, as blood flowed beneath gnawing teeth. Weight of numbers bore the humans down as zombies grabbed at any part of a person they could.

  As the last of the people vanished beneath the swirling mass of zombies, Peter finally managed to turn away. It felt like he was leaving a piece of himself clinging to the fence, still staring in sick horror at the scene below, but there was nothing he could do. He knew if he’d had something heavy and explosive enough, maybe some phosphorus shells, he’d blanket the area below just to spare the poor bastards what was happening to them.

  “So.” Foreman said as Peter faced him again. “North looks the best.”

  Peter cleared his throat twice before he felt his voice was going to come out evenly. “Actually sir, 14th looks just like 10th.” he gestured behind him to the south, where zombies were continuing to stagger off the overpass and toward them. “But that hill there, we can hop up and then maybe find a path that isn’t already infested with these fuckers.”

  Foreman glanced at the landscaped hill Peter was pointing at, then nodded. “Move us out Gunny.”

  * * * * *

  Darryl

  Darryl gripped the panic bar above his head tightly as Low swung into the parking lot of the Wal-Mart. Burnout and Needles, with EZ and Joker riding tandem behind them, were angling away from the doors of the store toward a van that was parked all by itself nearly in the middle of the lot. Darryl could see EZ pointing at it.

  Behind them, 78 was visible in the distance. This was a rural Wal-Mart, one that served the county and plied the normally brisk traffic that zipped back and forth between Athens and Atlanta. Tonight though, 78 was almost deserted. For a Friday night, especially, that was strange as hell. Football fans and college kids would normally keep the lanes on the highway filled as they went one way or the other, either joining the party in the college town or going the other way to find supplies or visit family or friends.

  Low braked behind the pair of bikes as EZ and Joker hopped off. Darryl waited, glancing around the deserted parking lot. The store looked closed, in compliance with the governor’s order for all businesses. The sporting goods store they’d just come from had been equally quiet. The only problem had been the lack of a second cargo capable vehicle for them to boost.

  EZ was wasting no time. He did something to the van’s door with a long strip of metal and opened it, then slid into the driver’s seat. Darryl saw him bend beneath the dash. Seconds ticked past, then the van’s brake lights came on and he saw smoke coming from the exhaust.

  “Did he get it?” Low wondered.

  Joker jumped into the passenger side of the van when EZ leaned over and pushed the door open. As soon as the second biker was inside, EZ had the van moving.

  “Guess so.” Darryl shrugged. EZ was turning toward the side entrance to the big store. Low took his foot off the Silverado’s brake and followed, glancing wistfully in his mirrors as the two bikes accelerated around the slower vehicles and shot across the parking lot. Darryl knew the feeling. He missed his bike too, but bikes were shit for hauling anything except one or two people.

  The van pulled around to the right as they neared the automotive service center entrance. Low went past and parked just past the door, close to the wall. He glanced at Darryl, who nodded.

  “Yeah, this good.” Darryl opened his door and got out just as EZ started backing the van up. He curved around as he came, putting the van slightly at an angle behind the Silverado so its rear doors were facing directly at the truck’s tailgate. The two motorcycles came back past and stopped ahead of the truck.

  While the others were finishing parking, Darryl walked over to the door of the building, glancing disinterestedly past the closed and hours of operation signs to the store within. He saw the same low level of security lighting they’d seen at the last store, but no movement. That was good.

  He was a little less happy there’d only been the one vehicle in the parking lot, but a second cargo carrier was going to have to do. He knew a lot of travelers and truckers usually parked at the stores, which the company apparently encouraged since their parking lots were usually incredibly large, and they found most of th
ose stopping while traveling would often head into the store to make purchases before resuming their trips. Darryl had been hoping to find maybe a six wheeler truck or even a RV. Surely they could pack a lot of crap into a RV; but the van apparently was it.

  He studied the store’s interior as he heard the engines behind him shut down. At the moment, the store looked quiet. If anyone else had the same ideas the Dogz had about getting ready for what Bobo was sure was coming, they weren’t here yet. Darryl just hoped their luck kept holding.

  Satisfied for the moment, Darryl stepped to one side and waited for his brothers to join him. When the other five had, he nodded quickly. “Alright, y’all know what we grabbing. Pairs, stay with your partner all the time. Same rules if any problems come up, just deal with it. Get shit loaded as quick as we can, there a lot of things we need to get done before anyone gonna be able to sleep.”

  Heads nodded, and Darryl grunted. He stepped back in front of the door, adjusted his distance, then raised his foot and kicked in the glass. He was careful to not lean to heavily into the motion, to avoid putting his whole leg through and risking the myriad of razor edges that were cracking and falling as it shattered. After a moment, he kicked a few more times to dislodge some stubborn shards that were persisting around the edges of the door frame before bending and stepping under the single metal bar that served as a divider and door handle.

  As he straightened, he glanced around quickly, then jogged forward to clear the little waiting room where people waited for the ‘automotive technicians’ Wal-Mart employed to finish puttering through their oil changes and tire rotations. Looking around again, he was struck at how odd it seemed to see the cavernous store seeming so empty and quiet.

  When Low joined him, Darryl led the way as the Dogz jogged up to the front of the store. There, they used the flimsy metal sign stands, normally displaying in-store advertisements for the latest DVD or some special that was being run in the optical center or nail saloon, to smash through the doors that separated the store from the entryway where the shopping carts were kept. Taking two each, the Dogz scattered in pairs as they’d done on their previous runs.

  Darryl headed back for the camping section with Low trailing behind him, and turned the carts to face in the direction he’d be going once they were loaded before heading down the first aisle. He’d learned that little trick at the sporting goods store; the carts got pretty heavy when they were loaded full.

  From the aisle, he grabbed six battery powered camp lanterns, ferrying them back to the cart two at a time, then filled the rest of space with as many sleeping bags as he could fit in. The basket at the front of the cart, where kids were supposed to sit, he crammed with camper’s first aid kits and bottles of water purification tablets.

  For the second cart, he started with a pair of camp stoves, then a big armful of the little propane bottles that fueled them. A box claiming to be a waterproof and ready to assemble twelve foot square pavilion caught his eye, so he took that, along with as many air mattresses as he could fit into the cart. He finished the second cart off by loading the front basket with boxed pocket knives and multi-tools, and all the supposedly waterproof matches he could find on the shelf.

  While he’d been doing that, Low had loaded up on tents, tarps, a lot of rope and bungee cords, and some ponchos. As Darryl dumped his armful of matches into his second cart, Low reappeared from the aisle carrying hand sized boxes in his hand. Darryl looked, but the way the biker was carrying them prevented Darryl from making out the labels, especially in the dim lighting.

  “What those?” he asked.

  “Binoculars.” Low grunted with a shrug, cramming them into one of his carts. “Might come in handy.”

  Darryl grunted back, then started maneuvering his carts. By pushing one and pulling the other, and by wearing his gloves to keep the hand he was using to push with from getting compressed too much on the turns, it was possible to get the carts back to the door where the truck was parked. When he got there, he found EZ and Joker were back; Joker handing stuff out through the broken door to EZ, who was tossing it into the back of the van. He’d kicked most of the broken glass out of the way so he could lift and twist as he handed things through the missing pane.

  “Here, y’all load this shit too.” Darryl said, stopping his two carts just behind the four the brothers were already working on. “We going back for some more.”

  “Got it.” Joker grunted, the face that was normally so ready to laugh and tell some funny story lined with concentration as he worked to unload the stuff he and EZ had retrieved.

  Darryl turned without a word and jogged back up to the front of the store, where he and Low grabbed two more carts each. Another trip to the camping section cleaned out just about everything Darryl thought might be of the most use to the Dogz, though they did make a quick stop at one of the aisle displays on the way back to fill what space remained in the carts with batteries of all sizes from the cardboard stand.

  This time, when he and Low got back, there was a traffic jam of carts at the automotive waiting room, and Burnout and Needles were outside helping load things into the two vehicles. Darryl looked over the carts waiting to be emptied, and was about to ask how much room was left in the vehicles when he saw the brothers outside illuminated by headlights.

  Burnout, who was up in the back of the truck accepting things Needles passed along from Joker, looked toward the front of the parking lot and cursed. “Fuck.”

  Darryl stepped to the side of the door and motioned Low back out of sight as well. “Don’t look at me. What is it?” he said quickly.

  “Cops man.” Needles said, looking at the headlights.

  “Okay, okay.” Darryl said, though he felt like cursing as well. As fucked up as things were today, he had a black man’s instinctive distrust of getting a fair shake. And, to be fair, they were stealing; but it wasn’t like they were taking things from people. Wal-Mart could afford the loss, especially since they weren’t likely to be doing much selling with everything effectively shut down until, if, things got better.

  “They probably going to try and arrest y’all. Just play it cool, don’t do nothing stupid, let me and Low handle it.” Darryl said just above a whisper, as the headlights came closer. “We gonna try to get the drop on ‘em. Y’all dive for cover when we start up, unless they decide to leave you alone.” Darryl put his hand on the grip of his Glock and drew it out of the holster, then gave Low a significant look. The biker looked at him with wide eyes for a moment, then nodded and drew his brand new Taurus pistol.

  Sporting goods super stores weren’t well known for it, but they often had rather excellent selections of both ammunition and guns. So far as ‘typical’ pistols and hunting shotguns and rifles were concerned anyways. And the stores weren’t as armored, alarmed, and as likely to be staked out by the owners as actual gun stores.

  Darryl had made it his first stop, where they’d basically cleaned out the aisle of ammunition, along with two carts of long guns and pistols, until he finally called it off when the Silverado started sagging rather low on its shocks. In fact, he was pretty sure they’d probably done some sort of damage to the truck by loading it down so heavily, but there was time to worry about that later.

  Now each Dog in his group was packing a pistol and at least one extra magazine. Darryl hadn’t let them spend the time necessary to dig through the haul, wanting instead to get back out and bring in more supplies. There’d be time enough for fine tuning armaments later, he’d reasoned, but he was now glad he’d told each of them to unbox a pistol and bring it.

  He heard the engine of the cop car become very noticeable as it pulled up next to the van, then heard a door open. “Hands, hands now.” a commanding male voice said. Darryl watched as Burnout and Needles raised their hands up above their heads. “You, step out of the doorway.” Joker ducked beneath the door’s dividing bar, moving slowly with his hands outstretched, and then stood waiting.

  “What’re you guys up to?” a differen
t voice asked, sounding tired and amused.

  “What it look like.” Darryl heard EZ reply. “Fucking world ending. We getting ready.”

  “Looting?” Darryl heard the second voice said dryly. “Getting started a little early aren’t you?”

  “Look man, we know there ain’t no talking our way outta this, so why don’t you just go ahead and take us in.” Burnout said from the back of the truck. “Probably safer in jail anyhow. Shit getting bad out here.”

  “Yeah, yeah. Alright, up against the side of the truck.” Darryl heard footsteps, then more as his brothers moved around to the far side of the truck. He saw Low, out of the corner of his eye, heft the Taurus questioningly, and Darryl made a wait motion with his left hand. He waited, listening, feeling his heart beating rapidly in his chest, and regripped the Glock carefully to ensure he had it comfortably in his hand.

  Darryl had suffered his share of run-ins with cops over the years, few black men in Atlanta, and especially black bikers, could really avoid them, but he was effectively a clean cut citizen. He’d gone to college. True, he’d barely graduated, and had only gone hoping to make it onto the basketball team, but he had a degree. Athletic training; useless at actually getting him a job, but then he’d never really planned on using it. It did come in handy when he was at the gym doing his own workouts, but that was about the end of it.

  But despite his intimidating looks and tough hobby and macho job, he was not the stereotypical biker you saw on television or in the movies, always ready to throw down, always in the middle of running drugs or guns or something else equally illegal. Darryl was, as a mother might say, a good boy.

  So now, as he waited for his chance to bail himself and his brother bikers out of this mess, he was nervous. But he believed Bobo was right, and nothing he’d seen so far had convinced him that was the wrong estimate to make.

  Deep down, Darryl was still sort of hoping things would even back out and return to some semblance of normality. Even though he might be on the hook for the stuff he’d done so far today if things calmed down, he figured a jail stint wouldn’t be such a bad thing compared to what Bobo thought was going to happen.