Apocalypse Atlanta

by Rogers, David

  “But–”

  “Look, call them yourself, give this address, and you can talk to the operator, okay?” Jessica said, stepping to the doorway and peering out cautiously. She could just see Wagner at the rear of the cars, he was still sitting rather than standing. She looked across the cul-de-sac, at her house, and suddenly noted she’d left her front door standing open. “I have to go. Call nine-one-one if you need to talk to someone.”

  “Jessica.” Pete said in a slightly gasping voice. Jessica paused, then stepped back to the edge of the wall and looked into the front room. “Thanks.” he said with a nod, giving her a grateful look.

  “You’ll be fine Pete.” Jessica said, managing a smile. She looked around again before she went back outside, then started across the front lawn at a fast walk. Mr. Wagner’s head came around as she moved, and she shuddered. She was into the street when she saw him fall over on his back, having twisted his head so much he overbalanced and toppled himself back to the driveway again.

  Shuddering again, she broke out into a fast jog as she ran up her driveway, up the front walk, and through the door. Closing it behind her, she heard her own breath coming fast, faster than the brief jog really dictated. She felt her heart beating within her chest, and closed her eyes as she took a slow, deep breath.

  When she exhaled, she could feel the difference in her pulse, then remembered the phone in her hand. Putting it back up to her face, she took another breath. “Hello?”

  There was a pause, and she was just wondering if she should maybe call them back, when the operator came back on the line. “Yes, hello? How are you doing there?”

  “I’m fine. Listen, the house you need to go to is 280 Summer Pond Drive. It’s right across the street from the address I already gave you.” Jessica said.

  There was the sound of a keyboard, then the operator spoke again. “I’m updating them now. How is everyone doing there?”

  “I’m fine.” Jessica repeated. “It’s my neighbors, at 280, the Johnsons. His leg is hurt, he’s in his house with his wife, and the . . . victim is in the driveway right now.”

  “Is he moving?”

  “Yes, but he seems to be having trouble getting back up. He’s been shot a couple of times. One of his arms isn’t working. It . . . it has him confused I guess. He’s sitting on the driveway right now.” Jessica replied, turning to the window and lifting the curtain to look back across the street. Sure enough, she could see Mr. Wagner was still on the driveway, and was still not on his feet.

  “Good, that’s good.”

  “Listen, I have to go.” Jessica said. “My daughter is here, and I need to check on her.”

  “I understand ma’am. Make sure your doors are locked.”

  “Yes, thank you.” Jessica said, turning and closing the deadbolt before twisting the locking tab on the door knob. She pushed the button on the phone that killed the connection, then peered out the peephole quickly. The little viewing glass wasn’t good for anything except checking her front porch, so she sighed and turned to put the phone back. She heard a noise and froze, clutching the phone. Then she heard it again, and her blood ran cold. It sounded like someone was moving around upstairs.

  Forcing herself to try and not overreact, she walked quickly to the bottom of the stairs and hit the switch that controlled the lights in the upper hallway. They came on, taking the stairs from shadows to an almost normal illumination. She didn’t see anyone, but a moment later she heard a voice.

  “Jessica?”

  “Dad.” Jessica said in relief, going up the steps quickly. Her father was wearing the same pajamas, well the same kind anyway, he’d been wearing since she was a little girl; white cotton with blue pinstripes. He was at the door to the hallway bathroom, and he looked curiously at her with an expression that showed he was half asleep.

  “What’s wrong?”

  She shook her head. “Nothing, just a problem across the street. The police, or someone, is on the way.”

  He blinked, and some of the sleep left his face. “Are you okay?” He said more alertly. His eyes tracked down, and he frowned. “You were outside?”

  Jessica looked down, and saw bits of grass sticking to her bare feet. “Yes, but I’m going to bed now.” She saw the frown forming, and shook her head with a wry smile she hoped didn’t look as forced as it felt. “You should go back to bed too.”

  “You’re sure everything’s fine?” he asked after a moment.

  “Yes. Goodnight dad.”

  “Okay, goodnight sweetie.” he said, turning on the light in the bathroom. Jessica went past him and turned off the hallway light before easing her bedroom door open. Candice was still asleep in the bed, though she’d shifted position and was now lying with her back pressed up against Mr. Bear. Jessica smiled, glad the girl hadn’t been woken up by what was happening outside. She was fairly sure that would have probably been a step back in the progress Candice had been making in calming down, recovering, whatever the word was, since the events at the schools.

  She used one of the washcloths hanging on the rack in the bathroom to clean her feet off, hung her robe on its hook on the back of the door, then slipped under the covers next to Candice. As she settled herself on the bed, Candice stirred a bit. Jessica lay on her side and watched her daughter’s unconscious face, taking comfort from the steady in and out of her breath, and the normal, half-content and half-thoughtful look all children seemed to have when asleep. It took her a long while, but she finally drifted off.

  * * * * *

  Darryl

  “Fuck, look at that.” Needles said in a disgusted tone as the van ahead of them turned into the Kroger parking lot. Darryl said nothing, merely studying the parking lot, and the activity he saw near the closely spaced doors of the grocery store. “Maybe we ought to find another store.”

  “Follow Bobo.” Darryl said finally, but he reached into his pocket and made sure the extra shotgun shells were still there. He had the two ridiculous thirty-three round magazines for his Glock with him as well, but he was hoping not to need any of the weapons. Much less the hundred or so rounds of ammunition he was carrying for the pistol and shotgun. First, because he didn’t want to have to shoot anyone else. But second, because he was hoping a show of force would dissuade any attempts at interfering with what the Dogz wanted to do.

  Their vehicle count, non-bikes that is, had grown to eight, not including the two Home Depot trucks. They’d taken ten minutes after getting back from their second Home Depot trip to throw together two crude wooden boxes that were then lashed down on the back of the flatbeds. It wasn’t pretty, and the extreme haste with which they’d nailed them together showed, but it gave the flatbeds foot high walls that could keep things from sliding off. Things like groceries.

  The two converted flatbeds were in the lead, with Bobo driving the first one since he was in charge. They had Big Chief’s F-250, the Silverado and three more trucks, the van, and a pair of SUVs they’d torn the back seats out of. And a big Cadillac, simply because it had a full tank of gas and they could cram six people in it to give them extra hands without giving up otherwise usable cargo space. Even with the Cadillac they’d still brought ten brothers on bikes to strengthen their numbers.

  Bobo’s truck pulled right into the fire lane at the front of the store, parking a couple of vehicle lengths past the three pairs of double doors at the front of the store. The other Dogz vehicles slotted in behind him as instructed, and doors opened immediately.

  “There can’t be nothing left in there.” Darryl heard Needles say just before they both got out. Darryl hefted the shotgun in his arms and glanced around, checking to see the others on the ‘escort group’ were present, but also looking at the other people who were nearby. The non-Dogz. He couldn’t think of them as threats, or as enemies, but Bobo’s rule was clear.

  There were the Dogz, and then everyone else. They had to put Dogz first, period. Time enough later to care about helping other people, maybe. If it was safe. If they could. B
ut helping others wouldn’t do anyone he cared about any good if it got Dogz killed. And according to the people they had manning the clubhouse, including Mr. Soul and a few others who had been assigned to monitor the news, things were getting worse by the hour.

  Now, Darryl gave his blank eyed stare to a white couple who had been in the process of leaving the store when the Dogz convoy rolled up. The look, at least, was something he was well practiced at. It was the same look he gave drunks and rowdy patrons at the Oasis when they started moving towards the lines they weren’t allowed to cross. It was a look that told anyone they were in for a bad time if they kept on like they were, but at the same time made it clear Darryl was just doing his job. Nothing personal.

  There’d been no time to give lessons or anything to the other Dogz, but Darryl had mentioned they should focus on being mostly silent and watchful. He’d found a heavy eyed stare often worked better than words. Words could be argued with. A look was much more difficult to dispute.

  It worked now, at least partially. The couple stopped, and he saw the woman blanch. Her eyes darted quickly along the line of bikers, some of whom had their denim or leather vests on. And everyone who’d been designated as an escort or a vehicle guard carried a long gun of some sort; either a shotgun or a rifle. Plus every Dog had a pistol holstered in plain view. She immediately plucked at the sleeve of the man she was with and whispered something urgently to him.

  Whatever it was, the man ignored it. “What, you guys taking over?” He asked loudly. Darryl suppressed a sigh, not eager to see where the man’s confrontational tone might take this line of questioning.

  “Naw, we here for the same reason you are.” Bobo said, coming around the truck he’d been driving and approaching the doors. “You take what you got and just go on about your business. Don’t bother us and we won’t bother you.”

  “What if I want to come back in for more?”

  Darryl stepped forward and made a motion with the shotgun, not missing how the woman’s eyes immediately moved first to him, then to the weapon in his hands as it jerked to the side twice. “You hear what that man said? Don’t bother us, we won’t bother you. Now clear out of the way or we gonna find out if your girlie there is a good nurse.”

  The man opened his mouth, face settling into angry lines, but the woman violently tugged on him. He looked at her, and she shook her head and said something in a very low voice. Darryl watched as he studied her for a couple of seconds, then looked down at the cart he was pushing. It was full of food, most of it things Darryl knew the Dogz weren’t interested in taking anyway.

  With a sullen glower, the man turned the cart to the right and began pushing it down the sidewalk; the quickest route to get around the Dogz vehicles on the curb. Darryl watched them for a few seconds, then traded meaningful looks with Bobo. The older biker gave him a significant nod. Darryl returned it, then raised his voice. “Escorts and Grabbers, let’s go.”

  EZ moved up with him, walking just slightly behind and to his left as Darryl went through the doors of the store. Just as at the other stores they’d visited it was lit only with security lighting. It was dim, but more than enough to see by. Just as long as you didn’t try to do any serious reading.

  The store looked untidy, even what of it he could see from the entrance. Most of the racks of candy and stuff that lined the register aisles were nearly empty, with only a few stray packages having fallen to the floor. Some of these had been trampled, their contents spilling out and staining or scattering across the cheap industrial style tiles. Darryl saw people moving further in, beyond the registers, pushing carts they were filling with things.

  He heard more shopping carts start rattling behind him, a lot of them, and stepped forward to clear the doorway. EZ stayed with him, and the two of them stood still, patiently waiting while the Grabber Dogz behind them got the carts they’d need to haul food back to the convoy with. It seemed to take too long to Darryl, but that could just be how exposed he felt.

  Most of the people who were moving around in the store were glancing over at the Dogz. Some had stopped and were watching them. A couple were ignoring them, just continuing to loop around from one aisle to the next as they grabbed things they were after. Darryl saw a few weapons, mostly firearms, but the Dogz were by far the most numerous and heavily armed group he saw in the store. By far.

  “We ready.” he heard a woman say behind him, Jody. She was the ex-girlfriend of Stick, and had risen to the top of the pecking order of the women at the clubhouse. Well, she’d been sort of verbally fighting her way into the top contender’s bracket, when Bobo had stepped in between trips back to the clubhouse to settle the bickering among the woman and name Jody as the one in charge of organizing the supplies. Darryl knew there was some resentment that was probably simmering over that, but he didn’t care at the moment.

  And he wasn’t sure Bobo cared, either now, or tomorrow, or ever. Bobo was as focused as Darryl had ever seen him. Bobo was often the one who kept the Dogz on an even keel, helping manage the comings and goings of various brothers, making sure people contributed to the cost of the parties and of maintaining the clubhouse. But since the incident earlier, he was taking no shit off anyone, for any reason. Bobo spoke, and expected things to happen promptly. Period.

  Oddly enough, Darryl was reasonably sure there was actually less unsettled feeling among the Dogz over Bobo taking control than there probably was among the women over Jody. The Dogz were used to pecking orders in the club. The Dogz didn’t have a heavily structured rank system like bigger clubs often did, but they were guys, and guys were used to having people be in charge. It was a guy thing.

  The wives and girlfriends though, some of them seemed to almost enjoy the bickering. Darryl had only caught a little of it since everyone had begun gathering at the clubhouse, but it had only gotten more spirited since Bobo began spurring the Dogz into action. He hoped the women would settle themselves as the Dogz seemed to have. If what was happening in Atlanta spilled out into the surrounding area, he didn’t think quibbling over who was doing which chores would help keep them safe.

  “DJ, you there bro?” EZ asked.

  Darryl shook his shoulders and glanced behind himself, seeing the carts lined up and ready to go. “Sorry, just tired.”

  “Have a smoke.” EZ suggested. “Keep you awake better.”

  “Yeah.” Darryl said. “Let’s get to the first aisle though.” He led the way down the broad space between the self-service checkout registers. Jody had some very clear suggestions, orders really now that Bobo had confirmed she was in charge of the supplies, about what they needed to be getting.

  Some of Darryl’s ideas, and apparently Big Chief’s on his previous food runs, were not the same as hers. She said they already had more meat at the clubhouse than they could fit into the refrigerators, and needed to focus on shelf stable stuff.

  So Darryl led the way, carts rolling behind him, right over to the canned goods aisle. There were some cans rolling around on the floor, but the shelves still had plenty of items remaining on them. Darryl went all the way to the end of the row and stepped out to keep watch on the cross aisle, EZ covering the other direction behind him.

  As Darryl pulled his pack of smokes out of his pocket, one handed so he kept the shotgun at least somewhat ready, he heard cans start clattering into the shopping carts. The sound was fast and furious, apparently little effort or time being wasted on stacking them neatly. He got a cigarette stuck into his mouth, traded the pack for his Zippo, and took a single glance back into the aisle as he lit his smoke. He saw whole shelves of cans were being cleaved into the waiting carts unceremoniously, heedless of any that might miss and fall to the floor.

  As Darryl returned his lighter to his pocket and puffed on the cigarette, a trio of middle aged men emerged two aisles over. They had a cart each, stocked mostly with the kinds of things Big Chief had been bringing back, and getting yelled at by Jody for. The men seemed a little taken back to see Darryl standing there, sho
tgun held loosely across his chest in both hands.

  “Uh, we were gonna get some canned stuff.” one of them ventured after a few moments. Darryl shook his head and shifted the cigarette into the corner of his mouth, using only his lips and tongue to move it.

  “Wait until we done.”

  “There gonna be anything left then?” one of the men asked in a challenging tone. Darryl had already noted all three men had holstered pistols, pretty good ones too. The one who was talking to him just now had a Sig Sauer. Darryl didn’t know which model it was, but Sig was not known for being a budget handgun manufacturer. Their weapons were pricey, and generally well made.

  “Ain’t got no problem with you.” Darryl said instead of directly answering the question. It never paid to argue in these sorts of situations, he knew from experience. Better to just explain how things had to happen, and go from there; not get caught up in debate. “Leave us be, we leave you be. But the way things are, just give us some distance. Okay?”

  The man with the Sig frowned, but said nothing when Tank stepped out from the aisle to join Darryl and EZ. Tank was another construction worker, and lost out in height only to Tiny. What he missed in a few inches of vertical reach though, he made up for in bulk and muscle. His build matched his height and profession, and his general demeanor was something he’d developed over the years.

  Darryl supposed when you went though life being the big guy in every situation, it would color your outlook. Tank’s was one of confidence in his ability to handle any physical challenge.

  “We here for the same reason you is.” Tank rumbled. “Don’t bother us none, we won’t bother you none.”

  “Right.” one of the men behind Mr. Sig said with a short nod. The Sig guy turned and looked at him, his expression a little cloudy, but he turned with the others and they went up a different aisle with their carts.

  “We full up.” Psycho said. Darryl backed into the aisle, then turned and walked sort of sideways as he now brought up the rear of the line of carts. It was awkward, and he kept weaving a little like a drunk, but it let him watch behind them as he moved. A few loose cans got in the way of his boots, but Darryl had expected that, and was keeping his feet low enough that he only kicked them rather than stepping down on and tripping over them.