Apocalypse Atlanta

by Rogers, David

  “What, you guys just ripped the bastard off the wall?” Roper asked, sounding amused.

  “Why the hell not?” Swanson said, setting the box down and kneeling in front of it. “We might want to change units for some reason. This saves us another trip.” Metal jingled and clinked as he rummaged through the box, then he came out with a cheap wire ring that bore a single key and a small plastic tab with the door number on it. Peter, on his feet again, took it from him and handed it to Whitley.

  “Open it, cover me.” Peter said, hefting his AR into a carry position that left it pointing down but ready to snap up in an instant. Whitley unlocked the door, then turned the knob and pushed on it from the side. The door creaked a little as it swung open to reveal a dim darkness.

  Peter edged forward slowly, listening. The short entryway seemed to open up into a large room that expanded off to the right, but he sensed another one on the left too. There was a scattering of moonlight streaming in from a window or something up ahead, but the angle was wrong to let enough in to do more than just turn the room from pitch black to indeterminate shapes and shadows.

  “Light switch.” Whitley whispered from behind him. “Trying it.”

  Waiting, Peter heard the switch flip once, then several more times. “No good.” she whispered. He wasn’t surprised; most of Downtown seemed to be without power. He reached forward slowly and flicked on the tactical light on his AR, then panned it around. The beam revealed a neat but minimally appointed living or sitting room. One couch, two upholstered chairs, entertainment center, shelves with books and DVD cases, and a coffee table.

  On the left was a kitchen, and to the right he saw a second hallway. He eased into the residence, still listening hard for any disturbances beyond his and those behind him. The hallway had a trio of doors; ahead, left and right. These turned out to be a bathroom and two bedrooms, though one looked to have been converted into a sort of office / fitness center, with a desk and a treadmill set up inside. He checked in the closets and behind the shower curtain, but the unit was empty.

  Peter slid the tactical light off the under rail of his AR, then slung the weapon. “Okay, we’re holing up in here.”

  “How long?” Smith asked.

  “Until we’re rested, someone rescues us, or we get a good bug out idea that won’t wait.” Peter answered. “Speaking of which, who’s up for taking the first watch.”

  He was prepared to endure a certain amount of grumbling, but none surfaced. Instead there were a few seconds of silence, then Candles spoke up. “I’m good for a few more hours.”

  “Yeah, me too.” Dorne said.

  “Need three, preferably four.” Peter said, leaving unspoken the reason why. Everyone was hoping it wouldn’t happen anymore, for numerous reasons, but there had been more spontaneous zombie conversions. Fortunately they hadn’t been as bad as the earlier incident, but if it happened while everyone was sleeping, it could be much worse.

  Peter normally might have been willing to post an inside guard of only two, but until they knew for sure what was going on with the conversion thing, he wanted enough people conscious to give everyone better odds of having at least one person stay human if others started getting irrationally hungry.

  “I’ll stay up.” Whitley said. Peter waited. He was exhausted, and really wanted to grab some immediate shut-eye. He was willing to take a middle watch, which was a shit one that interrupted your sleep schedule, but he desperately wanted a couple hours of sleep first. It was the main reason he was asking for volunteers; if he ordered someone as tired as he was, it might be a problem.

  “Fuck it, I’m on first too.” Barker said.

  “Okay, good.” Peter said. “Everyone’s sleeping in here, so we’re all in one place in case anything happens.” No one objected to that, even though it meant most of them would have nothing more than a section of carpet to sleep on. Peter assigned three other watches of two hours each, putting himself on the second. That would take them to the afternoon, and give everyone at least six hours of sleep. He just couldn’t think much beyond that right now.

  “Questions, comments?” Peter asked, making his tone light. “No? Okay, first watch, stay alert. Close the door, lock it. Everyone else, flake out.” Peter claimed one end of the couch and collapsed on it. “Double check safeties.” he said as he ensured his AR was safed. Clicks sounded as others followed suit.

  As he jammed his weapon between his knees, using the ILBE to steady it so it sat butt down with the barrel pointed up at the ceiling, Whitley stepped over to him. “Sarge, let me have that light.”

  “Oh, yeah. Here.” Peter said, handing it to her. He briefly considered giving her the batteries he had in his pocket, then shrugged it off. He was going to be awake in two hours, and the light should be good until then. Then something occurred to him, and he unsnapped a pouch on his pack. “In fact, hang on.”

  He rummaged around in the pouch, then closed it and checked another. “Ah, here we go.” He pulled out a fistful of glow sticks and handed her two. They were small, the same kind kids usually used on Halloween when they trick-or-treated, but they were good for eight hours.

  “You want the light back?” she asked.

  “No, watch standers might need it.” Peter said. “Now leave me alone until it’s my turn.”

  She retreated, shaking the sticks to mix the chemicals up. He twisted his shoulders back and forth several times, digging a comfortable depression into the couch cushions, then folded his arms across his chest and let his head droop toward his right shoulder. He saw and heard Whitley snap the glow sticks, then closed his eyes as the green light filled the room.

  Ignoring the light and the movements and sounds of the others as they settled themselves down, Peter let his awareness slip away. He was asleep in seconds.

  * * * * *

  Chapter Eleven – The next day

  Jessica

  Jessica woke to the smell of cooking and the sight of sunlight filtering through the bedroom curtains. She yawned and stretched for a moment, then her head snapped around abruptly when her extended arm contacted nothing but pillows and sheets on the bed next to her. Candice was not there, and neither was Mr. Bear. Sitting up, she told herself to calm down. Her parents were in the house, and Candice knew enough even under normal circumstances to not leave the house without telling her mother where she was going.

  Still, Jessica got out of bed with rather more urgency than was her norm, and grabbed her robe. As she shrugged it on over her nightgown, she saw Mr. Bear on the floor at the foot of the bed. Stepping past the enormous stuffed animal, she opened the bedroom door and hastened down the hallway. As she descended the stairs, the cooking smells started to resolve themselves. Frying grease, probably bacon or sausage, a lighter, sweeter scent, and something else that smelled like bread.

  The television was on when she entered the living room, and she saw her father sitting on the couch, fully dressed with his hair neatly combed, a steaming mug of coffee on the table next to him, and the remote in his hand. He looked over as she appeared. “Good morning sleepyhead.”

  Jessica smiled, a touch weakly, but genuinely. “Morning dad.” She was about to ask where Candice was, then she heard her daughter giggling in the kitchen, and instead asked “How did you sleep?” as she belted the robe about herself. Her thoughts flashed back to Rebecca from last night, and she wondered if Pete was okay. She purposefully didn’t think about Mr. Wagner, save for remembering he had been the cause of the recollection.

  “Oh fine, fine.” William said with a smile in return. He lifted the coffee mug for a sip, then nodded at the television. “Thought I’d see if things were any better out there.”

  Jessica glanced at the screen, which was showing a graphic of the Atlanta area. Colors were shading across the map, mostly red and orange in and around downtown, and then radiating outward from the city center in streaks and splotches. There were fewer red or orange areas once she looked away from the center of the city, though there was plent
y of yellow and dark yellow there. The closest marked area to Lawrenceville seemed to be around Gwinnett Place Mall, which was right next to I-85 about twenty miles away.

  “Are they?” she asked after a moment.

  Her father grunted noncommittally, and the look he gave her held a measure of, almost, carefully hidden concern. But his voice was neutral and touched with just a hint of optimism as he spoke. “They’re saying military and medical units are pouring into Atlanta and getting themselves organized. With any luck, they’ll get a handle on things soon.”

  Nodding distractedly, Jessica went past him and entered the kitchen. She saw her mother, also dressed and with her hair still wet from the shower, supervising as Candice attempted to flip a piece of stuffed French toast. The girl was using both hands to manipulate the big spatula as she stood at the stove and tried to lift the toast high enough. As her head was only a few inches above the level of the griddle covering two of the side burners on the stove, she had to stand up on tip toes while trying to manage the flipping. Candice was concentrating so hard the tip of her tongue was sticking out of one side of her mouth.

  Jessica smiled as Candice got the toast off the griddle, then tried to turn it. She didn’t quite have enough height or coordination to get it rotated over properly, and the toast fell off the spatula and back to the griddle. The top piece of the French toast slid partly off the bottom, spilling out some of the filling that had been sandwiched between the two layers. Candice stomped her foot in frustration, then glanced over and saw her mother. “Mom! Grandma is teaching me how to make your favorite breakfast.”

  Sharon smiled indulgently as she relieved Candice of the spatula and deftly flipped the toast over so it could cook on the other side. “I bet your mom wants a good morning hug.” She was adjusting the lie of the two halves of the toast so they were lined up again, and then quickly scraped the spilled filling off the griddle and dumped it in the sink by snapping the spatula with a quick flick of her wrist.

  Candice, who had looked up at Sharon when the spatula was lifted from her fingers, turned back to Jessica, then smiled and skipped across the couple of feet between them. Jessica bent down with her arms outstretched and scooped her daughter up into a hug, groaning theatrically as she straightened up with the girl in her grasp. “Oooofff! You’re so big already, I’m not sure we should be feeding you French toast.”

  “But it’s yummy!” Candice protested as she draped her arms around Jessica’s neck and laughed.

  “It is yummy.” Jessica agreed. “I guess you’ll just have to eat it and keep growing. Did you sleep okay in mommy’s bed?”

  “Yes.”

  “And what about Mr. Bear? He was on the floor when I got up.” Jessica asked mischievously.

  “Mr. Bear doesn’t sleep.” Candice protested gravely. “Mr. Bear is a toy.”

  “You got me there. Nosy kisses then, okay?”

  Candice beamed and leaned forward so she could rub her nose across Jessica’s, then giggled again. “Grandma said we should let you sleep.”

  “And have you been behaving for grandma and grandpa while I slept?” Jessica inquired as she leaned back and studied Candice. The shell shocked expression and demeanor from yesterday seemed a distant memory, and the only thing keeping Jessica from knowing it wasn’t a completely normal morning was the absence of Joey and Sandra. She banished the dark thought as Candice nodded eagerly.

  “Yes. Grandma said she was going to cook up a storm and needed some help, so we made coffee, bacon, scrambled eggs, grits, and stuffed French toast.”

  “Wow. It’s a good thing grandma had you to help her then.” Jessica said, leaning down to deposit Candice back on the floor.

  “She’s been a big help.” Sharon said as she dipped another piece of bread in egg. “Weren’t you about to set the table for grandma before we tried flipping the toast?”

  “Oh yeah.” Candice said with a guilty start. She went over to the counter on the other side of the sink and carefully lifted a stack of plates with silverware on them. Turning, she walked slowly past Jessica and into the dining room.

  “Stuffed French toast?” Jessica inquired with a grin, catching her mother’s eye. “My, you are feeling inspired this morning.”

  “Breakfast is the most important meal of the day, you know that Jessica.” Sharon said archly. “And there’s no reason it has to be something as boring as oatmeal.”

  Jessica laughed, knowing full well her mother hated oatmeal with a passion. “Thanks for keeping her occupied.” she said as she went over to the cupboards near the sink and took out a clean coffee mug.

  “Oh, it’s no bother.” Sharon said as she quickly transferred the fresh piece of toast to the griddle and started spreading creamy purple filling with chunks of blueberry and banana on it with a spoon. “I thought you could use the rest.”

  “It looks like it did her some good too.” Jessica said quietly, nodding in the direction of the dining room, where they could hear plates and silverware clinking as they were put on the table.

  “A good meal, a good night’s sleep, and a little love are often all someone needs to move past a bad thing.” Sharon replied as she dropped the spoon back into the bowl of filling and dipped another piece of bread for the top layer of the French toast.

  Jessica sighed. “Well it’s tomorrow, so I guess we can only hope everyone else got food, sleep and love, and they’ll be able to fix whatever this problem is.” She poured coffee into her mug, then turned to the refrigerator for the cream.

  “Have heart.” Sharon told her with a smile as she finished sandwiching the latest piece of toast into place, then used the spatula to transfer the previous piece over to a baking sheet that already had six other browned toast sandwiches on it.

  Jessica was stirring sugar and cream in her coffee when Candice came back into the kitchen with empty hands. “Table’s set.”

  “Candy Bear, why don’t you be a dear and put the orange juice, butter, syrup and powdered sugar out for me.” Sharon said as she flipped the just assembled toast on the griddle.

  Candice grinned agreeably, then moved past Jessica and opened the refrigerator. She lifted out the gallon jug of orange juice with both hands and started back into the dining room. Jessica took out the syrup and put it on the island for her daughter, and moved the canister of powdered sugar from the back of the counter to the island as well. She downed her first cup of coffee while Candice finished ferrying things into the dining room and Sharon got the stuffed toasts into the oven to finish cooking.

  “Well, things look to be in order here, thank you again mom.” Jessica said as she put her mug down next to the coffee pot. “I’m going to go hop in the shower and get dressed.”

  “Take your time.” Sharon said as she wiped her hands off on a dish towel and glanced around the kitchen as if taking inventory.

  Jessica went through the dining and front rooms, pausing briefly to glance out the front windows out of idle curiosity. At first, she didn’t see anything that looked particularly amiss; everything seemed quiet, no wandering people with aggressive intentions and a strong need for medical assistance. The Johnson house, in particular, looked quiet, with both cars still in the driveway.

  Then it hit her, she didn’t see anyone out. Nor did she hear anything. Normally, by this point on a Saturday morning, the neighborhood was starting to come alive with lawnmowers, people out in their yards, or in their garages with the doors rolled up as they puttered around with this or that.

  Not today. Jessica shuddered internally and let the curtain fall. Going back upstairs, she closed the door to her bedroom and took off her robe. She looked through her dresser drawers until she found one of her favorite shirts, a green jersey knit pullover with a scooped neck and flowers embroidered around the hem. Laying it out on the bed, she found a pair of comfortable jeans, clean underwear and socks, and a pair of sneakers from the bottom of the closet.

  Leaving it all to wait on the bed, she went into the bathroom and turned on th
e shower. After stripping her nightgown and underwear off, she dropped them into the hamper and stepped into the shower cubical. She stood under the water for a minute with her eyes closed and face tilted up to the spray, enjoying the simple sensation as the shower splashed over her and ran down her body.

  Then she sighed regretfully and soaped up her loofah. After washing and conditioning her hair, and giving herself a good rubdown with the loofah, she allowed herself another minute of just enjoying the fall of water before closing the valves and stepped out on to the thick mat next to the cubical.

  It took her a couple of minutes to comb her hair out, and she reminded herself she really needed to get it trimmed soon; it was moving past the middle of her back again. As she combed, Jessica frowned at the slight shadows she saw under her eyes in the mirror. “Stress will do that.” Jessica told her reflection soberly, then grinned. She was only thirty-nine. That wasn’t old yet. Still, she dried her face off and took a minute to apply a little makeup to remove the signs of . . .stress . . . from her features.

  Snapping a scrunchie around her wrist so she could pull her hair back into a pony tail after it had a chance to dry some, Jessica went back into the bedroom and dressed. She felt almost normal when she left the bedroom, with only the sight of Joey and Sandra’s bedroom doors, each standing half open to reveal empty rooms, marring the sensation. Setting her face purposefully in a pleasant smile, she descended the stairs again and found her mother was just finishing laying the food out on the table in the dining room.

  “Bill, we’re ready to eat.” Sharon called, smiling at Jessica as she reappeared.

  “You sure?” her father called back, sounding wryly amused. “I could use some fresh doughnuts maybe, or you could mak–”

  “Hush you.” Sharon said primly, stepping back into the kitchen and pointing a finger at him. “There’s plenty for everyone, so let’s sit down.”

  Jessica reached to tousle Candice’s hair fondly as her daughter went past with a glass of milk, earning her a grin as Candice carefully set the glass down at her place and pulled her chair out. William emerged and shared a quick smile and a hug with his wife before selecting a chair as well.