Apocalypse Atlanta

by Rogers, David

  “All the time?” Jessica persisted. “I don’t want Candice to get her hands on it.”

  William stopped and looked at her. She half expected him to be angry. Instead, his face was sad and hurt. “Jessica, honey, that’s not going to happen. It’s going to stay with me, even when I go to the bathroom, where the door will be locked.”

  Jessica thought of the police officers shooting into the crowd of students at the high school yesterday, and felt her eyes starting to moisten. She forcibly banished the image, replacing it of memories of Joey and Sandra’s last birthday parties. They’d been so happy then. “Promise?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

  Sharon whispered something sharp to him, her voice too low for Jessica to hear, and he gave her a look before returning his eyes to Jessica. “Sweetie, nothing’s going to happen to any of you while I’m here, certainly not my granddaughter. This is just a precaution.”

  Jessica wanted to argue. She didn’t like guns. One of the worst fights she’d ever had with Brett had been over his wanting to own and shoot a gun. He’d always say it was just a precaution, that it was a fun hobby, that it was for when the worst happened; she still didn’t like them. Yesterday had been a mixed bag as far as she was concerned. Part of her hated them more than ever for what had happened to Joey and Sandra, but another part of her was questioning that reaction after seeing what was happening out there.

  “Just be careful dad. Please.” Jessica finally said, twisting her hands in her lap.

  * * * * *

  Peter

  The living room was quiet except for the scrape of spoons in bowls and a steady undercurrent of slurping and chewing sounds. Peter would have been willing to believe that twenty-four hours ago these men and women, the survivors of over two units of Georgia National Guard, were at least moderately mannered and reasonably polite individuals. If so, they weren’t acting like it now.

  Most of those conventions had been set aside as they sat scattered across the living room of the appropriated apartment, hungrily consuming the food Roper had put together using things he’d found in the kitchen. Mostly it was two pots of soup thickened with ramen noodles; one based on canned chicken soup while the other was made of canned beef and vegetable soups.

  To compliment the soups, really to stretch them further, he’d used the oven to toast a loaf of wheat bread that had been found atop the refrigerator. A number of soldiers had protested when they realized what Roper was doing, but he’d just showed them the side of the margarine container. It didn’t say it needed to be refrigerated, he’d pointed out. So after a generous slathering of that on the slices and a sprinkle of garlic, it was ersatz garlic bread.

  Peter was on his second bowl of soup. He had effectively inhaled the first, and was now making himself down the second more slowly. The rest had helped, everyone, but Peter especially felt a lot better. Of course, he was still loading himself down with pain killers to chase away the aches. It had been years since he’d endured the kind of physical activity he’d gone through in the last day, and he knew there was likely more in store.

  “What about that meat in the freezer?” Smith asked abruptly, dropping his bowl on the carpet and sitting back.

  Roper shrugged. “Some of the packages are still partially frozen, but to be safe I’d only use the beef. Chicken goes bad real quick.”

  “So steaks then?”

  Hernandez leaned forward and ladled a bit more of the chicken soup into his bowl. “There’s seventeen mouths here. There’s probably not enough in there for all of us.”

  “Well, how long are we staying?” Roper asked after a moment.

  Eyes flicked over to Peter. He had been listening, but it took him a few seconds to realize they were deferring to him. Wiping his lips slowly on the cuff of his utilities, he set his bowl aside and sat straighter. “That’s the big question.”

  “I want to get the fuck out of here.” Candles said.

  “It ain’t so bad here.” Barker spoke up.

  “Maybe, but how long until the zombies figure out a way past the fence?”

  Peter made a patting motion in the air before him before anyone started going off on Candles’ comment. “Hang on.”

  “So, what’s the plan then?” Candles asked.

  “Look, we spent a lot of time last night trying to slide past the zombies, and all it did was whittle us down.”

  “No shit.” “Yeah.” “Fuck.” were the responses that bounced around the circle of soldiers.

  Peter nodded soberly. “Now it looks like the zombies eventually get bored, or forget, or something. They weren’t stacked up along the fence this morning, and if they stayed fixated they would have still been there.” He’d spent a some time on the little balcony after he’d woken the second time, at least until his presence started being noticed by zombies who stopped wandering and started congregating, and it had been the first thing he’d noticed.

  “You’re saying the fence is going to hold?” Hernandez asked.

  “Probably.” Peter said. “At least, it should. If we stay under cover and don’t attract the attention of any packs.”

  “So we’re just gonna sit in here?” Candles asked, frowning.

  “I want to spend the afternoon scouting and scrounging through some of the other units in the complex.” Peter said, choosing to respond positively.

  “Oh man.” Oliver moaned. “You’re kidding, right? Just squat and wait to be eaten?”

  “We’ll check the fence again to make sure.” Peter replied. “But it’s wrought iron welded to posts set in concrete. Unless the zombies figure out how to drive I don’t think we’ve got a lot to worry about if we’re careful to not hang around outside encouraging them to mass up on us.”

  “Why don’t we just boost some cars?” Dorne asked. “How many did we see in here last night Mendez?”

  Mendez scratched his chin for a moment. “Dunno. More than enough for us to use. Hell, I’m pretty sure there are enough for us to waste some if we want.”

  “That’s crazy.” Whitley said.

  “What, wasting cars?”

  “No, thinking we can just drive on out of here. What about all the zombies? You can’t just ram a car through that many.”

  “Why not?” Candles demanded. “Sarge here is a mechanic, so I bet he knows how to jury rig something to get them started. And once it’s going . . .”

  “Some of the streets are covered fifteen or twenty deep with zombies, for starters.” Whitley said a touch impatiently. “Hundreds of them, more than hundreds. A fuck-ton lot of them. Unless there’s a bulldozer or a steam roller or something, how do you expect to get through that many?”

  “Drive slow but don’t stop.” Candles shot back. “Shouldn’t be that much of a problem. Cars weigh enough to push through.”

  “Well–” Peter started to interject, but Whitley was talking.

  “And what about the gates?” she demanded. “There’s no power, so if we get them opened up there’s no guarantee we can get them closed again if we need to.”

  “So?” Hernandez asked, sounding genuinely confused. “We’d be gone.”

  “So, that plan requires all of us to go along with it.”

  “Okay–” Peter tried again.

  “No way.” Smith said, folding his arms and setting his face in a stubborn expression.

  Peter picked up his coffee and took a long sip, as much for the caffeine as to cover his frustration as the argument continued developing. The mug had a caption on it that read ‘Important Stuff to Know’, then below that a numbered list. The first entry was ‘Keep your mouth shut!’, followed by blanks for numbers two through ten. When Peter had first seen it, he’d decided whoever had lived here either had an odd sense of humor, or friends who did.

  “You just want to sit in here?”

  “Yup.” Smith said, nodding.

  “What the hell for?” Candles demanded.

  “Doom 3.”

  Everyone blinked, staring at the Guardsm
an and waiting for him to say something more. Peter was as caught out as much as everyone else and was still trying to get his thoughts back on track when Candles finally spoke.

  “What in the fuck does that mean?”

  Smith grinned suddenly. “What, I’m the only one who played that?”

  “The game?” Mendez asked, sounding puzzled.

  “Sure.” Smith said. A few heads nodded cautiously, but everyone was still eyeing him expectantly. He looked around, then heaved a sigh and spread his hands. “Okay, look. In the game, you’re a guy stationed on a base on Mars when some science weenies there accidentally open portals into Hell.”

  “Yeah, so?” Hernandez asked.

  “Well that means there’s all these demons and zombies and shit that start tearing the base and everyone on it apart. You’re the hero, so you’re running around trying to survive and figure out what’s going on so you can maybe do something about it. Eventually you fight down into one of the restricted levels where you find one of the key scientists hiding.”

  “Sounds like us.” Crawford muttered.

  “Yeah, but we’re not smart.” Swanson said with a laugh.

  “Hey speak for yourself.” Oliver said. “I aced the hell out of the ASVAB.”

  “Big talk from someone who’s flunked Intro to Biology twice.” Dorne said, grinning.

  “Anyway.” Smith said while Oliver gave Dorne the finger. “The scientist explains why the monsters are there and says you need to go through a particular portal he can create using the equipment in the lab there. It’ll let you go straight into Hell, where, according to him, you can stop all the monsters and shit from coming through and shredding everything on Mars.”

  “So what happens next?” Jenkins asked, shifting against the cushions he was leaning against.

  “I dunno, that’s where I quit playing. Which is my point. That was a stupid as hell plan that guy had, so I said no fucking way.” Smith said.

  There was another moment, then several people started trying to talk at once. Peter made out “dumbass” and “you stupid fucker” among the comments being directed at Smith, though there were other things being said to him in a mishmash of simultaneous accusation. Smith waved his hands in the air, as if he were trying to fend off the verbal barrage with gestures.

  “Hold up, hold up.”

  “Thanks for story time with Specialist Smith.” Candles said, sounding pretty annoyed. “Now let’s get back to reality.”

  “No, you don’t understand.” Smith protested. “The game said the only way to proceed was to go into Hell, and I decided that if I were that guy there’s no way I’d fucking do that. So I quit playing. I always imagined loading up on coffee and camping in the corner of the lab for a couple of weeks with my gun pointed at the door until the reinforcements from Earth arrived.”

  “Dude, seriously?” Hernandez started to say, but Peter stood up and clapped his hands twice.

  “Knock it the fuck off.” Peter said, loud enough to cut through all the by play. He didn’t play video games, but Smith’s seemingly irrelevant story reminded him of a movie from the early 80s. It had been a while since he’d seen Wargames, but he remembered the computer at the end of the movie, which was trying to learn how to play games, decided some games weren’t worth playing. That it was a waste of time and effort to bother playing.

  “I think what Smith is trying to say is we spent all last night trying to get out of the city, and all we accomplished was get most of us killed or eaten.” Peter said slowly.

  “Killed and eaten, you mean.” Crawford muttered.

  Peter gave her a sharp look, and she shrugged. She didn’t say anything further as Peter continued. “Sure we’re rested and fed now, and we’ve had some time to wrap our heads around what we’re facing, but I don’t think we should just charge back out there so fast. I want to look around in the apartments or condos or whatever they are here and see if we can find a way to contact someone.”

  “Who?”

  “Anyone.” Peter said, suppressing a sigh. “Preferably Clay or someone in either the Georgia Guard or regular military chain of command; but honestly I’d settle for some kid in Smyrna or whatever. Anyone who can tell us what’s going on beyond the shit we’re stuck in right here. Anyone who maybe can help break us out of here, fill us in on what we need to know to have a chance to cut ourselves clear.”

  “There’s no power. There ain’t no phones.” Candles protested. “What are we going to hunt around for, a magic wand?”

  “Look!” Peter shouted, his grip on his temper finally starting to slip. “Calm down and listen for a minute.” He resisted the urge to put his hand on the grip of the pistol holstered on his right side. That might escalate things in the apartment in a way that would be dangerous, and completely unnecessary.

  There was really only one thing, technically two, Peter might be willing to shoot anyone else in the room over. Destroying or opening the fence, or if they tried to hurt someone else. Apart from keeping either of those things from happening, Peter didn’t care about much else at the moment.

  Candles had subsided, though he looked angry. “Here’s how I see things.” Peter said more calmly. “Unless and until I get in touch with some higher authority, I’m assuming the shit has well and truly filled the pot, and we’re deep in it. And not in a ‘things are bad so we need to hold on for rescue’ way either. I’m saying there might not be anyone left who’s able to rescue us.”

  Silence filled the room as Peter paused to let the weight of his words sink in a bit. He glanced around at the faces watching him, then sighed. “What I’m saying is I don’t think it matters all that much to anyone except us whether or not we get out of here.”

  Candles opened his mouth, but Hernandez leaned in and spoke before the other could. “So what, we should just sit in here and wait to die?”

  “No, that’s not what I’m saying. I intend on living, and I want to get out of here. But if there’s a disagreement on how we go about that, then I’m not going to ride roughshod on anyone’s ass. If you think you have a better plan, then fine. Head on out, go do whatever.”

  “So what, it’s every man for himself?” Candles asked.

  Peter shrugged. “Sort of, yeah. I think our best chance is probably to still work together. But like I told whats-his-name last night, if you want to split, I ain’t got the time or inclination to stop you.”

  “We’re deserters then?” Mendez asked, sounding a little shocked.

  “No. We’re . . . look, it’s not deserting if there’s no one to report to.” Peter said. “And right now we are definitely cut off and on our own. If what’s happening here is even half as bad everywhere else, then I’m pretty sure it’ll be weeks, probably months, before what’s left of the armed forces, hell the government, get their shit together and organized again.”

  “Fine, then I vote for grabbing off some of those cars and rolling out of here.” Candles said.

  “I vote we sit in here until we come up with a good plan.” Smith interjected on the heels of Candle’s statement. “Going out there on a hope and a prayer is proven suicide.”

  Peter shook his head as Candles glared at Smith. “Whitley’s right. Using a vehicle from here means the gate has to be opened, and that screws over anyone who wants to stay.”

  “So everyone should come then.”

  Whitley threw her hands up. “Aren’t you listening? You want to go, then go. But just because you can leave doesn’t mean you have the right to make the rest of us come with you.”

  “Well I think Candles is right.” Hernandez said. “We should get the hell out of here, and we’ll have time to work on the cars without being bothered. It’s a good plan.”

  Peter waved his hands. “Okay, cards on the table. I’m pretty sure we’re just a bunch people stuck in the middle of a fucked up situation, not a military unit. Not anymore. But having said that, as a guy who’s stuck here right now, I’m not going to take it well if anyone tries to fuck me over.�
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  “Say what?” Roper asked. Peter ignored him, keeping his eyes on Candles and Hernandez, who seemed to be the most eager to split. They were studying Peter cautiously, though Candles had more anger in his expression than Hernandez’s did.

  “If you want to leave, then leave. I’ll even help you climb over the fence. But, at least for a while, I plan on holing up in here. That fence is basically almost all of the reason I want to do that. If you fuck with the integrity of the fence then that fucks me over.”

  Candles’ eyes narrowed as they met Peter’s, and the Marine felt himself stilling. As moments ticked by, staring at Candles’ face, Peter abruptly realized he was completely ready to shoot the other man.

  He hadn’t drawn his pistol, but he knew, absolutely knew, he could fill his fist with the M45 and put at least one, probably two or three, bullets into Candles before the Guardsman would be able to get his M-16 off the floor and into a firing position. A piece of him was shocked at the notion, but he knew he’d rather be alive to feel bad about it. He was completely ready to kill whoever he had to in order to live.

  He really didn’t want to have to though.

  “Okay, deep breaths.” Swanson said after a moment. “Everyone just ease down. There’s no urgency. We’re safe here. We’ve got time to argue about this all day if that’s what it takes.”

  “I don’t want to sit around in here bitching when we could be on the move.” Candles said, keeping his eyes on Peter.

  “No one’s saying you have to.” Smith said. “You can go or stay, however you want. But I’m with sarge. The fence is why staying here is gonna work. So whatever you do, don’t fuck with the fence.”

  Candles opened his mouth, but other heads were nodding around the circle. Hernandez leaned in again and touched him on the shoulder. Candles looked at him angrily, but Hernandez just shrugged and spoke pretty calmly. “They’re right.”

  “So you’re going to just squat in here with the rest of them?” Candles demanded.

  “Maybe, maybe not.” Hernandez said. “But the fence is what’s giving us the time to argue about this like a bunch of old women. And maybe there’s a satellite phone or something around here. For sure there’s probably food. I’m willing to give it at least a day.”