Apocalypse Atlanta

by Rogers, David

  Not the zombies. They were just there. You knew what they wanted, what they were going to try to do, but they themselves showed no reaction or visible opinion about it. It was as if they were just a force of nature, or robots or something.

  “It sounds like we might have a way to find out what’s going on.” Peter said when he got tired of looking at the zombies. It didn’t take long. They were still unsettling to him.

  Hernandez nodded. “I heard it.”

  “You okay to hold the fort here then?” Peter asked. “I’m going to take Whitley and head over to see about getting the power run in.”

  “Yeah, that’s no problem.”

  “Okay.” Peter nodded, started to turn away, then reached out and clapped the soldier on the shoulder. “Hey, cheer up. Things are looking better.”

  “I hope so.”

  Peter hid a small frown as he turned and went back to the door of the apartment they’d taken over. “Whit– oh good, there you are.”

  The woman was just stepping out of the apartment, her M-16 in hand. “Right here sarge.”

  “Come on, let’s go see about powering that computer up.” He turned and went down the stairs. Her footsteps sounded right behind him. As he glanced around the parking lots, he heard her skip forward two steps to come abreast with him. “Vehicle.” he said conversationally as they walked. “Need a vehicle.”

  “Car right there.” Whitley pointed at a Chevy Cavalier in a space about thirty yards away.”

  “I’m hoping there’s something bigger around here.” Peter said. “An older SUV or a full sized truck ideally. I don’t want to have to fool around with the stupid ignition code module, and the more power it’s already set to generate for itself the better we’ll make out.”

  “Okay, old SUV or a big truck, got it.” Whitley nodded.

  The complex was configured like a miniature city only a block in size, with little streets that wound around between the neatly laid out buildings. It took about five minutes to briskly walk around clockwise, glancing down the cross ‘streets’, but Peter finally spotted a Ford Bronco on the east side of the complex.

  Changing direction to approach it, he stopped at one of the landscaped flower beds and used his pocket knife to pry out one of the decorative brick border stones that edged it. “Watch out for flying glass.” he said to Whitley as they finally reached the SUV. She turned her head, and Peter threw the stone from about ten feet away. He closed his eyes right as he threw, but he heard the flat cracking sound of breaking safety glass, followed almost immediately by the whooping siren of the Bronco’s car alarm going off.

  When he looked, he saw the driver’s window was broken with a rather large hole through it, though a lot of the glass still clung to the opening. Peter unslung his AR and used the barrel to clear the window out, then reached in and unlocked all the doors. Reslinging his weapon, he opened the driver’s door and reached in to pop the hood, then went around to the front and raised it up.

  It took him a few moments to orient himself, but he was able to neutralize the after-market alarm by cutting it off from the vehicle’s battery. As the siren went silent, Peter pursed his lips as he considered the engine compartment for a few more moments. “Ah, there you are.” he muttered, spotting the starter solenoid. Using the blade of his pocket knife, he completed the circuit.

  The Bronco’s engine immediately started turning over, and caught after a second. Peter closed the hood and slid back behind the wheel. Using the knife again, he was able to jigger the steering lock off without too much trouble. “Okay, hop in.” he told Whitley, hitting the button to unlock the doors..

  “Damn sarge, you got me wondering now.” she said as she got in on the passenger side.

  “Why?” Peter asked, shifting into reverse and backing out of the space.

  “That was fast. You have a misspent youth or something?”

  “Hell yes.” Peter grinned. The gas gauge was showing just over half a tank was left, he saw as he glanced at the dashboard. That should be enough for the moment. “But I know how to do that because I’m a damn fine mechanic.”

  “I see that.”

  “To be fair, this is an old fucking car. The new ones are a lot harder to work around a missing key.”

  Peter drove around to building T and bumped the Bronco up over the curb, putting it as close to the hallway and stairs all the ‘T’ apartments opened out onto as he could without blocking them off. As he set the brake and got out, movement on his left caused him to spin and crouch.

  “Woah, hold up!” Smith blurted, holding his hands up and out to show he was harmless.

  “Don’t sneak up on people, for fuck’s sake.” Peter grunted, removing his hand from the grip of his M45. “Especially in the middle of this zombie shit.”

  “Didn’t know you were jumpy.” Smith said with a grin.

  “Fuck jumpy.” Peter said. “I’m alive.”

  “Yeah.” Smith turned as the rest of his team joined them. Candles was nominally one of Smith’s people, but the angry Guardsman was still sulking back at ‘camp’. He’d been replaced by Oliver, who was unhappy but in a more general and fearful sense. Oliver just wanted to be safe, where as Candles was pissed about the others not signing onto his preferred plan.

  “How much cord is there?” Whitley asked.

  “We found two.” Johns said, shrugging. “Dunno if it’ll be enough.”

  Peter eyed the bundles Harper had in his left hand. “Bet they’re not. Give all of it to me and I’ll get started on hooking it up. Check with Mendez and see if there are any cords in that unit, then scrounge some of the other units in this building and see what you can come up with, okay?”

  “Yeah, got it.” Smith nodded, turning to the stairs. “He’s in seven, right?”

  “Right.” Peter said, taking the inverter Johns handed him. The unit definitely looked like it was designed for a camper who liked to bring some urban luxuries with him. It had four sockets on one end, and a long length of cable on the other that would connect directly to a vehicle’s battery with clamps like on jumper cables. He set it carefully aside and leaned back into the Bronco, popping the hood open so he could work.

  “Sarge, they might need me upstairs.” Whitley said.

  “You’re with me.” Peter replied. “This will only take a minute.”

  “It’ll fuck us over if those idiots upstairs start plugging things in willy-nilly.” she protested mildly.

  “What, you know more about it?” Peter asked, raising an eyebrow.

  “I do electrical work, both service and civilian.” she said with a nod. “In fact I contract out to a couple larger shops, or at least I did before all this started.”

  “Hmmm, good to know.” Peter said as he started unwinding the cables on the inverter. There was more than enough for him to set the inverter on the sidewalk underneath the SUV, then pay the cables out and up to the engine compartment. Carefully he clipped the clamps into place, then knelt and eyed the inverter. There was a switch on its front face. When he thumbed it, a green light lit reassuringly.

  “Well, let’s go keep willy and nilly from happening then.” Peter said. He plugged one of the extension cords into the inverter, then headed for the stairs to the second floor of the building, paying the cord out as he went. It was a short cord, he had to plug the second one into the first halfway up the stairs.

  The door to number 7 was standing open, with Dorne leaning against the wall next to it on guard. Inside, Peter found a pretty cluttered living room that had every inch of wall covered with shelves and bookcases. There were some books on those shelves, but mostly he saw cases for DVDs. There had to be thousands. The cord in his hands ran out right as he entered, so he dropped it and frowned.

  “Where you guys at?” Peter called as he took in the entertainment center at a glance. The television alone was bigger than his dining room table. Well, that probably made sense. Whoever lived in downtown Atlanta probably had money. The rent couldn’t be cheap. And some
one willing to keep that many movies on hand probably wanted to watch them on a nice screen.

  “Back here.” he heard a voice respond.

  Peter turned that way and saw Teves standing at the little intersection of the hallway. As Peter moved to join him, he saw the layout was identical to the apartment they were camping in. He heard activity in both bedrooms, but Mendez’s voice had come from the right so he turned into that one.

  “Inverter’s hooked up. We need at least one more cord to stretch into here.”

  “Yeah, I heard we needed more.” Mendez said without emerging from the closet. Peter took another couple of steps in to clear the doorway, to let Whitley in and also so he could see Mendez better. The Guardsman was digging through the closet’s contents without much concern for how he left them; there was a growing pile of items and boxes at the man’s feet.

  “Where’s the satellite come in at?” Whitley asked.

  “In here.” Mendez said, then cursed almost in unison with a particularly loud thump. “Goddamnit, that hurts.”

  “I need to have a look at it.”

  “Yeah, well its all yours.” Mendez backed out with a scowl on his face and a multi-plug power strip in his hands. “I found three of these, but no extension cords.”

  “There’s more around here somewhere.” Peter said reassuringly. Even in the middle of Atlanta hipster central he’d lay incredibly long odds against there not being at least one more extension cord somewhere in the complex. Probably, if they bothered to find them all, they’d turn up at least a couple dozen. They were just one of those things people tended to have for one reason or another.

  “Good.”

  “Sarge.” Whitley interrupted from the closet. “Lend me your tac light.”

  Peter unlimbered his AR and slid the light from the mounting rail beneath the weapon’s barrel. Whitley’s hand was outstretched behind her as she poked at something in the closet, so he slapped it into her grasp.

  “Thanks.” She turned it on and shined it on the left side of the closet, high up on the wall, then frowned and backed out. “Is there a chair or something I can stand on?” She asked as she pulled the Leatherman out of her pocket. The previous owner was one of those who had converted and tried to eat them the night before, so Peter figured he wouldn’t mind that she’d appropriated it from him.

  “Desk chair, right here.” Peter pointed. There was a standard looking office type chair, with wheels on the bottom and reclinable.

  Whitley scowled. “No thanks, nothing with wheels while I’m working with wires.”

  “I’ll find something.” Mendez said, but Peter shook his head.

  “No, stay and help here. I’ll do it.”

  Peter went back out in the main living area, but the only furniture was an enormous couch and a long coffee table positioned precisely in front of the equally large television. He spent another few seconds peering around the room, then shrugged and went outside. In #8 he found a small dining table setup in the corner of the living room, complete with four wooden chairs. Peter grabbed one and went back to #7.

  “Here, this ought to do you.” he said as he reentered the bedroom.

  Whitley looked up from the back of the computer desk and saw what he had and grinned briefly. “Yeah, perfect.” She positioned it in the closet and climbed up on the seat. She propped the tactical light up on her shoulder, holding it there by leaning her head down atop it. With her hands freed and able to see, she started sawing at the wall with one of the Leatherman’s blades.

  “Yo, everyone decent?” Smith called from the living room.

  “You find more cord?” Peter called back in lieu of a proper greeting.

  A few moments later Smith entered, paying out a yellow extension cord behind him. “Sure did. Two more, in fact. Which was good, since they’re both really short for some reason, though I guess we’re good.” He shrugged as he made it to the desk without running out of cord.

  “No we’re not.” Whitley grunted as she continued sawing at the wall. “The satellite gear is wired into the house circuit directly, so I need to splice it in to something that’ll run off the inverter. Anyone know how to strip wire?”

  “Sure.” Smith said with a shrug. “I mean, it won’t be pretty, but it’ll be stripped.”

  “Great. Cut the female end off that other cord you found, then separate and strip the wires inside.” Whitley said. “And, just to be clear, you’re doing this without plugging it in.”

  “What do you take me for, a retard?”

  “Well you did compare this shit we’re stuck in to a fucking video game.” Mendez told him.

  “Hah fucking hah.” Smith said. He pulled a pocket knife out and went back into the living room.

  Whitley worked for another minute, then the sounds of the sawing stopped. “Okay. Uh, someone check the room light for me.”

  “What? Why?” Mendez asked.

  “Because I didn’t flip the house mains, and I’m just nervous about the power.” she shot back. “Trained habit.”

  “I can go hit the breaker if you want.” Peter said.

  “No, no.” Whitley sighed. “Just . . . someone humor me and toggle the light switch a few times so I’ll feel better.”

  “Okay.” Peter said, shrugging at Mendez who was giving him a look of ‘what the fuck’. He went to the doorway and flipped the light switch up and down a few times, making sure to do it hard enough that it sounded audibly as it went back and forth. “How’s that.”

  “Lovely.” Whitley said. Peter couldn’t see what she was doing, but judging by the lack of cursing or any long periods of inactivity he guessed it was going okay. By the time Smith came back with the extension cord butchered to her specifications, Whitley seemed satisfied with whatever she’d done in the wall.

  “Where’s, oh good. Give me that.” She said, looking around and holding her hand out to Smith. He gave her the cord. “Do NOT plug this in yet.”

  “You’re kind of a bitchy bitch, anyone ever tell you that?” Smith said.

  “Yeah, your mom every Saturday night when I short change her after she gets me off.” Whitley shot back as she turned to face into the closet.

  “Guess I can fill in for her then, since today’s Saturday.” Smith said with a smirk.

  “I know, she’ll be so disappointed.” Whitley said. “But she’s a lousy lay anyway.”

  “Hey now.” Smith said, his grin turning a little forced around the edges.

  “Don’t start shit you can’t take.” Whitley said with a chuckle. “And . . . this is done.” She got down from the chair and moved it out of the way. The cord hung from the left closet wall, and she picked up the plug end and the power strip Mendez had found.

  “Okay, everyone ready?”

  “Just do it.” Mendez said, dropping into the wheeled chair in front of the computer desk. Whitley shrugged and plugged the power strip into the end of the cord that led in from the inverter outside. Pulling it over to the desk, she moved the plugs that fed the computer gear from the wall outlet to the power strip, then plugged the closet cord in too.

  “Let there be no fire.” Whitley muttered as she flipped the switch on the power strip from off to active. A red light lit on it immediately. Mendez waited a second or two, as if giving her a chance to stop him, then reached down and hit the power button on the front of the computer.

  Immediately there was a whir and a hum as the computer powered up. “We have lift off.” Mendez said with a grin. He hit the button on the widescreen monitor to turn it on, then waited for the boot up cycle to complete. Peter tried not to fidget, but it was a chore as he watched the messages that never made any sense to him come and go on the monitor as the computer did whatever it did when it went from off to on.

  Finally the familiar Windows desktop screen came up, and Peter allowed himself a faint smile. “Is it working?” he asked.

  “Well, it’s not quite done yet. This guy’s got a bunch of stuff configured to run at boot.” Mendez said, movin
g the mouse around. “Let’s just cancel the anti-virus, don’t give a shit right now. Same for the program updates. Hey Whitley, look at the sat modem. Is there a ready light?”

  Whitley knelt and craned her head behind the desk. “Uh . . . green power, yellow incoming, yellow outgoing.”

  “Okay. Might take it a minute.” Mendez said. He clicked a few more things, then sat back and folded his arms.

  “What’s wrong?” Smith asked.

  “Waiting on the dish.” Mendez replied. “If it’s turned off it has to find the satellite again and sync up. That can take a couple of minutes sometimes.”

  “Oh.”

  They waited in silence for another minute until Whitley finally spoke again. “Okay, greens all the way down. Try it.”

  Mendez clicked an icon on the desktop. The computer thought about it and then changed the screen to an internet browser. Peter saw the Google home page come up. “We’re in?”

  “Wait.” Mendez said, clicking a link near the top. There was a pause, longer than Peter was used to waiting for the internet, then the screen filled in with a bunch of text and pictures. Peter moved closer, standing behind and to one side of Mendez so he could see the screen better.

  “We’re in.” Mendez said. “Those are current article links. Google’s servers are still active. Or at least their news servers are.”

  “And I guess some newspapers are too.” Smith said, moving closer as well. Whitley joined them behind Mendez, who was now clicking on links in rapid succession.

  “Just starting a few things loading . . . net seems slow, and it’s not just the satellite either. Haven’t had to surf like this since my dialup days.” Mendez said absently. He finished opening tabs, then clicked over to the first new one.

  “Holy fuck!” Whitley blurted. Peter could only nod in silent agreement, staring at the monitor with the rest of them. The top of the screen read ‘New York Times’, then the date, then a big picture of Times Square that appeared to have been taken from above. It was a sea of zombies, a mass of hundreds, probably thousands, of walking corpses all packed into the world famous intersection.