Apocalypse Atlanta (Book 2): Apocalypse Aftermath (Book 2)

by David Rogers

  Silently, with not even a smile of anticipation, the zombie fell atop him as it tripped over the one that had been doing the grabbing. Peter grunted as the weight of a heavy not-man came down on his legs and arms, the AR serving as a brace to let him hold the zombie up and off. Fingers grabbed for his neck and shoulders, scrabbling against his utilities like so much meat. The face hovering inches above him was empty eyed but intent as it struggled to close the distance between teeth and flesh.

  “Move! Fucking move!” Peter heard someone shouting over more gunshots. He was abruptly in the dark, with no light outlining the creature atop him. There was a snapping click as teeth came together inches from his face, and he grunted with effort as he tried to bench-press the zombie further away from his head. A footstep landed, hard, beside him, then he heard a heavy, meaty thud. The zombie on him spun off to the left as a foot swept across him in a kick. Peter rolled right, toward whoever had just kicked, abandoning his AR and going for the M45 in his holster.

  He bumped into someone’s legs, but only briefly as whoever it was stepped over him quickly. A M-16 cracked off three rounds, granting him three illuminated frames of a zombie rocking under bullet impacts. Then he had the modified 1911 pistol out and clutched in both hands. All the firing stopped, eerily silent finally.

  “Gunny, you okay?” Crawford asked as she swiveled to cover down the food aisle opposite the clothing section. “I got right.”

  “Clear left.” Swanson said tightly. “Covering left.”

  Peter fumbled in one of his equipment pockets for the flashlight he’d picked up from the TravelCenter. Getting it out, he thumbed it on and joined its beam with Crawford’s as he crossed his right hand with the pistol over his left wrist to align with the flashlight. The shelves of cereal and cookies bracketed an expanse of floor empty except for a scattering of discarded boxes and packages. A body lay at the near end, the one that had grabbed him.

  “Clear right.” Crawford said. “Gunny, breathe. Just breathe.”

  Peter realized he was panting, hard and fast like he’d run a sprint. He pushed himself from sitting on his ass up to one knee and swung his hands around the area. “Everyone look in a different direction.” he got out, willpower making up for the shortness of breath. “Don’t fixate, check everything.”

  “Gunny, you okay?”

  “I think so.” Peter said, sweeping pistol and light around again before holstering the gun and grabbing for the AR. When he had it in his hands, he dropped the flashlight back into its pocket and stood.

  “You cover front.” Crawford said. “You, you cover this aisle here. Now! Gunny, hold still.” He heard her click the M-16’s safety on, then she shined her light on him.

  “I don’t think it got me.” Peter said, feeling his heart hammering in his chest. One mistake. One fucking mistake. One little fucking mistake. One stupid little fucking mistake. Oh Jesus.

  “Turn around.” Crawford said calmly. Peter rotated, holding his AR down as he did. Swanson was covering the clothing section with a steady back and forth sweep, and the civilians actually had managed to point their flashlights in five different directions as commanded. Three of them had pistols in their hands as well.

  “I don’t see any blood.” Crawford told him as he completed the pivot and faced her again. “No torn skin, nothing’s wrong with your uniform. You sure you’re okay?”

  “Fine. Thanks. Fucking zombies.”

  “Fucking zombies.” she agreed. “Want me to take point?”

  “I got it.” Peter said, willing his voice to come out strong and even. His heart was still racing. “Come on, let’s get moving.”

  They made the turn into the canned goods aisle without further incident, though Peter took it slower as they advanced. He knew he’d just burned up a lot of luck. The shelves showed some gaps, but there were still plenty of cans left. “Crawford, hold about three meters in and cover the main walk. I’ll take the far side. Swanson, middle and react as necessary. Everyone else, load up.”

  Cans began clattering into the carts as Peter moved to the end of the aisle and stopped ten feet from where the shelves ended. This side of the aisle faced out against the bakery department, and was mostly open except for tables with breads and pies set out. There were some open spaces on the tables, and the pattern of discarded and knocked over merchandise on the floor continued. He waited, sweeping his light back and forth across the width of the aisle and listened as the loading went on behind him.

  “Okay.” someone said as the sound of cans stopped.

  “Full up?” he asked.

  “Yeah.”

  “Crawford, you okay to lead us back out?”

  “Takes a woman.” she answered.

  “Just do it.”

  Peter turned sideways and slid back the way they’d come in, splitting his attention between where he was going and what was behind them. He had to keep fighting the urge to quicken his pace, or to tell Crawford to hurry. Instead he distracted himself with paying attention to his sector, panning the light around, switching from walking sideways to backpedaling, then turning to slide sideways in the other direction, covering all the angles. Ignoring the nerves, the fear that kept dancing along his skin.

  Still, he was glad to see the shafts of sunlight on the floor as they drew near the doors. Then they were outside, and he gratefully inhaled a deep lungful of the late summer air. “Empty the carts evenly into the trucks.” he said without turning. “Whitley, what’s the word?”

  “Solid Gunny.” she called over the tremendous racket of cans bouncing into the truck beds. The Tundra had a bed liner of some sort, but it didn’t cut the sharp metallic rattle of the cans by much. Peter kept his attention on the store, with occasional quick glances off to the sides along the sidewalk. No problems were in view. Whitley and Oliver had the area under control.

  “You guys okay in there? Heard some shooting.”

  “Handful of zombies. We’re all okay.” Peter answered her, suppressing a shudder. So fucking close.

  When the noise finally stopped he took a look over his shoulder. “Ready?”

  “What are we going for now?”

  “A little more food, but we need batteries, medical gear, and some survival stuff.” Peter said. “Form up, same as before.”

  “What kind of survival stuff?” Tim asked.

  “Water purification tablets, matches, camp stoves and mess kits, I don’t know. We’ll take a look at what’s on the shelves. Take a look at what food stuff we pass, but don’t grab anything until we’re heading out. Just look and try to remember what looks good.”

  Perversely it was harder the second time. He felt like he’d already done it, and his fears resented having to buck up and go back in. But he reminded himself he was in charge. All he had to do was walk away and let someone else take over, but that would be an admission of defeat. The store was scary, but he had never given up on anything in his life. Now was definitely not the time to start.

  This time he led them all the way to the back, to the big cross-aisle at the rear of every Wal-Mart, then scanned carefully in both directions. He spotted the sporting goods section and turned toward it. The shape that had spooked him earlier was revealed to be a marketing stand-up of a man; something advertising the store’s pharmacy. Peter shook his head a little at that when he saw it. Shadows.

  “Okay Swanson, cover the end while I take a look.” he said when he’d gotten them into one of the desired section’s rows.

  The National Guardsman moved past him, and Peter turned his light on the shelves. A little disappointingly, everything looked untouched. Were people really that foolish? He shrugged and started pointing things out. “Six of those, two of these, a dozen of the propane bottles.” Peter said, indicating some hikers’ collapsible pot and plate sets, a pair of portable two burner stoves, and some fuel for them. “All of this crap here.” he continued, indicating some first aid kits and dehydrated food packets.

  Most of what he took was compact, and he
purposefully avoided the sleeping bags because of their bulk. He made sure to take all the tarpaulins there were, as well as every bottle of purification tablets. The packages of tent stakes and telescoping tent poles he was happy to see; they were useful as hell, and he didn’t want to grab any tents for the same reason as the sleeping bags. Tarps and stakes were enough to rig shelters with, generally easier to pack and carry than full on tents, and both were a lot more multi-functional than tents. He was disappointed to find only a handful of the big police style Maglites though.

  “Okay, batteries.”

  “I think there’s a big end cap a couple more aisles down.” one of the civilians said.

  “Crawford, you want me to take point again?”

  “I can lead us over there.” she answered.

  “Okay, go. We’re done here.”

  Crawford eased back up to the main cross-aisle and checked in both directions, then headed right. Peter scanned around to the sides as he followed behind the first two carts, which was slightly annoying because he had to bring his AR, and light, all the way down before swiveling to check the other side to avoid sweeping the barrel across the others. But the habit was far too ingrained to even think about changing; never point a weapon at someone – even by accident – unless you were ready to shoot them.

  “Yup, batteries out the ass.” Crawford remarked.

  “Take everything.” Peter said without looking. “Crawford, Swanson, don’t go anywhere and stay on your sectors, but tell me if you see anything else useful.”

  “I see housewares up ahead, and bed and bath past that, but that’s it.” she answered.

  “Great, we can get you a mop.”

  “Sure Swanson, I can ram it right up your ass.”

  Peter opened his mouth, but they ended the exchange before he could speak. Peter stepped of the way as the civilians crowded around the battery display and began emptying it into the carts. As he scanned around, letting his gaze check the aisles facing the back of the store and then sweeping across the clothing section on the other side, he considered the possibility of what might be on the bath shelves. After a few moments he decided against it; the motel had plenty of little convenience bars and bottles of soaps and other toiletries. Five or ten minutes there, and not in the dark, would yield all the unit needed for weeks, probably months, to come.

  When all the batteries were in the carts, Peter took a dirty estimate of how much space was left. “Okay, let’s head back the way we came and fill up on food that’s quick to grab. Anything shelf-stable, and no snack food.”

  “Hey, wait a second.” Swanson said suddenly.

  “What?” Peter glanced at him quickly. The man was staring at the toy section. “What?”

  “Give me a minute. Don’t go anywhere.”

  “Swanson!” Peter half snapped as Swanson held his rifle at the ready and stepped down one of the aisles.

  “Swanson you fucking retard, jack off on your own time.” Crawford hissed.

  “Maybe we should drop by bed and bath Crawford.” the Guardsman’s voice drifted back. “You need some vaginal lubricant.”

  “I promise you I won’t use any lubricant when I fuck you in—”

  “Enough!” Peter interrupted tightly. He gestured at the civilians quickly. “Everyone hold here, watch in all directions, and for God’s sake keep your fingers off those triggers unless you’re certain it’s a zombie. Swanson, what in the hell are you doing?” Peter moved to the aisle opening and pointed his rifle down between the shelves. Swanson was taking a few boxes off the shelves, piling them up in his left arm where he could cradle them against his chest. There was no way he could manage them and the rifle at the same time.

  Peter held his rifle’s light near Swanson so the side-scatter of illumination let him see what Swanson was holding. Toy cars; the kind that ran on batteries and had a remote control. Peter’s voice hardened. “Specialist, you are treading dangerously.”

  “These might come in handy gunny.” Swanson said, ignoring the threat in Peter’s tone.

  “I don’t see how.”

  “Distraction? RC bombs? Who knows?”

  Peter shook his head. “I knew I should’ve brought Dorne. You need sleep.” He glanced to his right, which was illuminated by the others’ flashlights as they kept watch, then back down the aisle. “Lose that crap and let’s go.”

  “Come on, three are worth a shot.” Swanson

  Peter decided it wasn’t worth arguing about right now. He could tear a strip off Swanson later. When they were somewhere less dangerous. “Fine, fuck it. But get your ass moving. Now.”

  Swanson came, dumping the toys in one of the carts before looking at Peter, who pointed a finger at him. “Cover the sides, from the middle. Focus. Crawford, shut up.”

  “I didn’t say anything.” she protested, though she was clearly amused.

  “You were gonna. Shut up. Let’s go. Quick food grab, and we’re out.”

  Peter led them back over to the food section, where they filled the remaining space in the carts with whatever was handy. Mostly dried pasta, which he thought was a pretty good idea. Water plus heat and you had a meal. Pasta was filling. And light. As the carts were almost packed to the limit, the radio suddenly squawked with Whitley’s voice.

  “Uh, we’ve got some visitors out here.”

  “How many?” Peter asked.

  “They’re not zombies.”

  Peter paused. “Threat?”

  “Not sure. How quick can you get back out here. There’s a lot of them.”

  “Don’t start anything unless you have to.” Peter ordered. “We’re coming out now.” He released the radio and glanced over his shoulder. “Come on Wonder Twins, and the rest of you too.”

  “I wish you’d stop calling us that.” Swanson complained. Peter ignored him.

  Everyone followed him out as he headed back to the doors. He had to keep reminding himself to not hurry, to make sure he checked the corners and swept everything before advancing. It only took a single mistake for something dead and hungry to ruin your day. He’d made too many since Friday.

  The engine noise of multiple vehicles was audible even before he made it through the doors. As he emerged back out into the sunlight he saw a line of cars and trucks had pulled up short in the parking lot, near the Humvee and its two accompanying trucks, but still with a comfortable separation. People were getting out of them, and every one had a weapon in their hands.

  * * * * *

  Jessica

  Jessica opened her eyes. The room was unfamiliar; this wasn’t her bedroom. Then her confusion faded as her mind kicked into gear. She was in Knoxville, fleeing zombies. Same old same old.

  She relaxed slightly. Her gaze darted to the alarm clock on the bedside table, which showed it was just past seven thirty. Morning sunlight outlined the edges of the curtains over the windows, but the real light came from the bathroom where she’d left the light on and the door cracked just enough to provide some illumination. Otherwise the room was dark and quiet. And cold; the building’s air condition was top notch.

  Candice lay beside her, having snuggled up even closer during the night. After her cry, Jessica had cleaned herself up and climbed into bed to wrap her arms around her daughter and take solace in the girl’s steady breathing and reassuring warmth. The pillow was squished between them, but despite its soft intervention Candice had still managed to get close enough to drape an arm across her mother’s waist.

  Jessica reached carefully and stroked a long fall of hair back from Candice’s face. The girl wore the typical guileless expression of a sleeping child. She looked contented as she lay there, showing no sign of the hell both of them had endured over the past few days. Jessica was glad for that. Things were tough enough; actual nightmares were not necessary to further augment – and disrupt – the waking one they were living through.

  The crying had been necessary; Jessica knew that. If she hadn’t released the built up sorrow, it would have erupted somewher
e and sometime else. And it had sharpened her feelings of guilt, at least initially. After she’d gotten the initial wave of tears out, she’d known Austin was wrong. Known it in her heart as she wiped at the tears on her face and tried to get undressed for a shower. She wasn’t as strong as he thought; she couldn’t be if she needed to collapse into a fetal position clutching half-ruined pictures.

  But laying there next to Candice after a full night’s sleep, she realized he was right. He and her mom both. Friday after Joey and Sandra had fallen into the zombie hordes, Sharon had given her an outlet to dump her soul wrenching agony. Helped her get it out, but away from Candice so the girl didn’t have to bear Jessica’s sorrow along with her own. Mom was gone now, but she’d shown Jessica how to get rid of the worst of the emotional weight; and Austin’s words had made her believe she was holding up better than she wanted to admit.

  It hurt. God how it all hurt. But she still had Candice, and the two of them were safe here. It was enough for her to latch on to and use to stay focused. She missed everyone who was gone terribly, but the box of pain was manageable now. She could keep the lid on without it threatening to spill over catastrophically.

  She had to, because there was nothing else but to keep going.

  Though she was cherishing the quiet moment of just being with her daughter, her right arm was also damn near completely asleep from Candice’s weight. As Jessica tried to ease it out, the girl stirred, then opened her eyes. She blinked a few times, darting her eyes around the room with increasingly wildness, then sat up abruptly and grabbed at Jessica. “What’s wrong?”

  “Shhhh, nothing’s wrong.”

  “We’re . . .” Candice trailed off momentarily, looking around again, still blinking, then focused on Jessica. “We’re safe?”

  “We’re safe.” Jessica assured her, trying to hug the girl. It was difficult when she couldn’t feel her right arm through the building pain of pins and needles as blood flooded through the compressed muscles. “We’re safe.”