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

by David Rogers

  “Sergeant Gibson—” Carlson started, but Peter shook his head.

  “I expect we’ll be back by dark. What schools are people being sent to?”

  “The other three Forsyth county high schools.” Sawyer answered. “Central, West and South.” She rummaged through the papers on her desk for a moment, then lifted a Post-It note. “Here’re the addresses.”

  “Whitley, grab that. Senator, Ms. Sawyer.” Peter nodded to them both and stepped past Carlson.

  * * * * *

  Darryl

  “DJ. Yo, DJ!”

  Darryl turned from the shopping carts full of charcoal at the shout. The list of things Bobo, or someone else with a good idea, decided they needed seemed to grow daily. Darryl was beginning to think they might have well just have taken over the Wal-Mart for their own. Or at least the Home Depot. Both had suffered so many trips for supplies at the hands of the Dogz that it was starting to get a little silly. Currently they were busy hauling charcoal out of the Wal-Mart, as a backstop against problems with the generators or the supply of fuel to keep them running.

  “What?” Darryl yelled as he scanned around the area. He couldn’t see anything that signaled a problem, but the trucks blocked his view down the side of the big store. And the burned out wreck of the police car from Friday night. He was past feeling truly guilty about that by now, but he still didn’t like being reminded of what had gone down with the cops who’d tried to stop the ‘looting’ the Dogz had been busy with.

  The same looting they were doing now. The only difference now was no one would call it looting anymore. Funny how a shitpot of zombies could change definitions.

  They had three trucks with them, and a total of twenty-five Dogz on this run. Six were acting as Guards at the moment, watching the area around the vehicles to make sure nothing dangerous showed up. Darryl was ostensibly an Escort, not a Grabber, but he was helping load so long as the Guards kept their eyes open. With as much as there was to do, he felt better doing more than just standing around with a shotgun in his arms keeping watch.

  Covering brothers who had their hands full lifting and fetching was important, but Darryl didn’t want anyone to think he was just taking the easy jobs. He was big and strong and more than capable of doing his share of lifting and fetching. It was just that he was also one of the more level headed Dogz, and one of the better shots as well. He hadn’t cleared his decision to split his time on the supply runs between the two roles, but he also didn’t catch nearly as much shit as the Dogz who stuck to just the Escort or Guard jobs did either.

  Every little bit helps. The realization had startled him, but he was seeing its truth as the work of surviving went on. Everyone was working hard, but some were working harder than others. Since he was often supposed to be organizing the work, he needed every edge he could get. Some of the lazier Dogz were already doing a lot of angling for rooftop duty at the clubhouse. Sitting and watching was a lot easier than sweating, even if it was boring.

  Darryl was just worried about the lazy ones getting too many of the soft jobs. Both because easy didn’t mean it wasn’t important, and also to stave off as much division and dissent amid the Dogz as possible. If people started laying into each other with teeth – metaphorically, thankfully – behind their usual exchange of back and forth abrasiveness, he knew it could get out of hand really quick. The last thing they needed was a split that led to fighting.

  “Bunch of cars rolling up on us.” Mad called.

  “Keep loading this shit in case we gotta move.” Darryl said to the Grabbers as he picked up his shotgun from the pavement beside the truck. Moving around the front of the battered Ford, he got a clear view out into the parking lot. The Dogz favored the side entrance of the Wal-Mart, the one that opened through the automotive and service department of the store. But if you moved out from the building some, you could see a good chunk of the store’s vast front parking lot.

  They’d bumped into a few other scavengers on previous trips, but never more than a couple at a time. This wasn’t a couple of guys, this was a full on convoy of eight vehicles; five pickups, two vans, and a big U-Haul box truck. He saw armed people through the windshields, some of them with long guns propped up and sticking out the windows.

  “Keep loading. And pay the fuck attention to what going on in the store and behind us down the side.” Darryl said loudly, knowing without looking a lot of the Dogz would be curiously watching what was happening. “We about full up anyway, so get it done and don’t let no damned zombies sneak up because someone gawking like a fool. And don’t nobody go starting any shit unless they start it.”

  Assents rumbled and grumbled back. Darryl walked toward the rear truck, gripping the shotgun one handed down by his side where he hoped it was less threatening. No sense in giving them the idea the Dogz were looking for a fight. All Darryl wanted to do was finish with the charcoal and get back. They had most of what the store stocked on those shelves by now anyway. He had no idea how long it would last, but the tarp lined and covered pile in the clubhouse back yard near the outhouses was getting pretty big.

  One of the trucks in the newly arriving convoy swung out and slowed, the driver waving the others by him. Then he stopped as his fellows drove past, heading for one of the sets of front doors. Darryl waited, then – as the last of the vehicles disappeared in that direction – the truck turned and drove slowly toward them.

  “Stay fucking cool.” Darryl said immediately as Mad and 2C shifted a little on their feet. “Don’t start shit.”

  “I know, I know, jeez DJ.”

  “You know, you know, yeah right. Be cool.” Darryl repeated. “There ain’t no doctors so ain’t no need to get shot unless you looking to die.”

  The truck stopped twenty feet from them, and the doors opened. The passenger stepped out, but the driver just stuck his head out and yelled at them. “Friendly, we’re friendly. Just looking to talk.”

  “Talk is fine.” Darryl called back. “Ain’t no problem with talking.”

  The driver emerged and started walking toward him. Darryl moved to meet him halfway, though he noted the passenger stayed standing next to the truck, behind the open door. Smiling, the driver held up a hand in a friendly gesture. “Motorcycles, patches, you guys must be the biker club we heard about.”

  “Yeah, we Dogz.” Darryl nodded. “If you know us, guess that mean you either local or coming out of Watkinsville.”

  “Yup. I’m Blake Lehman.” the man said conversationally. He was brown haired with a medium height and weight, but his cheeks looked a touch sunken, and there were hollows beneath his eyes. He didn’t look like he was a drinker or a druggie, two types Darryl had seen a lot of bouncing at the Oasis, but if he wasn’t, then Darryl guessed that might mean he was either overworked or underfed.

  That might be a problem.

  “Darryl Jacobs, call me DJ.” Darryl said as he considered the man.

  “You guys look like you’re busy.”

  “Surviving ain’t as easy as it was last week.” Darryl shrugged. “Guess you figured that out as much as we have.”

  “That’s the truth.”

  “How things in Watkinsville?”

  Blake frowned a little, but Darryl didn’t take it as directed at him. “We’re running ourselves ragged. There’s a lot of area we’re trying to get set up so we don’t have to keep running patrols to make sure no zombies get in, and we got a lot of mouths to feed. Lot of women and children, lot of older folks; lot of people who ain’t good with weapons or putting in hours on physical stuff. To be honest, we could really use some more able bodies throwing in with us.”

  Darryl studied the man for a moment, using the time to make sure he kept his voice polite and calm. “Like I told your guy the other day, we ain’t looking to bother no one, but we okay on our own. We got our own people to look to.”

  “Wouldn’t it be easier for everyone if we all worked together?”

  “We ain’t so sure about that.” Darryl replied. “We go
t our own women and children and old folks depending on us. And we ain’t so sure yet the zombies done just showing up out of the blue.”

  “How do you mean?”

  Darryl shrugged again. “You ain’t seen none of that?”

  Blake blinked at him. “Well, we’ve got zombies wandering in from all over the place. It’s why we’re trying to barricade the town, so they can’t get in.”

  “Naw.” Darryl shook his head. “I mean, you ain’t seen someone just turn into a zombie?” Blake’s expression stayed a little confused, so Darryl elaborated. “Like, one moment they a person, then they just sort of shudder and maybe collapse, then they a zombie trying to eat someone. Like what happened to the President.”

  “Oh. Uh, I heard a few stories about that, but I haven’t seen it myself. Just the ones that are already zombies. I did hear about the thing with the President, but I wasn’t paying attention to the news until after midnight on Friday. I guess I sort of thought people were exaggerating things.”

  Darryl couldn’t believe everyone hadn’t heard that story, but that wasn’t his problem. When the damn President of the United States got bit by a senior member of the military, live on television during a national press conference, he figured people were going to know about it. Especially since that was the last time anyone had seen the man. “Well, it good if y’all ain’t seeing none of that going on in your people, but we seen it a couple of times back in the weekend. We still waiting to see if everyone who left gonna stay breathing.”

  “We haven’t had any one in town turn into a zombie. Don’t know if that makes us lucky or if it means that sort of thing is done happening.”

  “Hope it ain’t happening no more.” Darryl sighed. “There more than enough zombies to go around.”

  “Got that right.” Blake nodded. “You sure you guys aren’t interested in switching over to us? We’re demolishing buildings and using the debris to set up barricades that are working. Maybe a week and a half, two tops, and we’ll have the town fully fortified. Zombie proof.”

  “I ain’t trying to be unfriendly, but we good doing our own thing.” Darryl said, reminding himself to not slip into annoyance or anything else that might be negatively received. “We happy being neighbors, and saying hi on the way by when we run into each other is fine, but we doing okay. And it sound like you are too. Not so sure what you need us for anyway.”

  “We’re short on good men, like I said.” the man replied, a strange look flickering past behind his eyes. It took a moment for Darryl to place it, then he decided it might be desperation. Not panic, but more like worried concern. “You guys look like you’re eating good, you’re armed and organized, and at least everyone you got here is in shape. Even if this is everyone in your club that fits that description, we could really use your help.”

  “We ain’t the only ones.” Darryl said. “We’re just the ones doing this right now.”

  Blake nodded, though he was starting to look more unhappy. “Glad to hear you guys are making out.”

  “So far, but who knows what might start happening next. Anyone see zombies coming last week?”

  “No, I don’t guess anyone did.”

  “Right.”

  “Maybe we could work out some sort of labor sharing? A trade or something in exchange for a couple days of work?”

  “We got plenty of work to keep us busy. Shit dangerous as hell out here.”

  “DJ, we done.” 180 called from behind him.

  “Look, glad to run into you, but we got to get rolling.” Darryl said, giving a little wave with his right hand.

  “Just . . . think it over, please?” Blake said as Darryl took a backing step. “About joining us. We really could use you guys.”

  “Good luck. Far as we know the store ain’t got no zombies in it, but they wandering around everywhere.” Darryl said, ignoring the plea.

  He backed up a few more steps, then turned and headed for his bike. Nothing happened, but he felt like eyes were watching him as he walked away. It wasn’t a pleasant feeling, even though he saw two of the Guards facing the Watkinsville men.

  “Mount up. Circle around the back of the building and we head out that way.” Darryl told Door Mat, who was the driver for the lead truck.

  “Uh, sure.” the biker said as he bent to twist the ignition wires together. Most of the Dogz had been given a crash course in hot wiring by this point, though only a few of them had any real chance of getting a vehicle that hadn’t already been prepared by EZ started. This one had, and the truck started right up without a problem.

  Doors slammed and engines came on as the Dogz piled into trucks or mounted their bikes. Darryl kept an eye on his mirrors, watching the scene behind him. Blake was heading back to his truck, talking to the other man. That one stayed where he was, standing and eying the Dogz as they got ready to leave. But that’s all he did, watch, until the bikers started moving.

  Darryl pulled up and out of the way, then slowed with his feet walking the bike along at idle as his brothers roared past him. The second Watkinsville man didn’t move to get back in his vehicle until the Dogz were all in motion and pulling away. Darryl revved his throttle and roared after the rest of the convoy, catching up as they made the turn to the pavement that stretched behind the store.

  The ride back from the Wal-Mart was routine enough to be dangerous, because Darryl knew if people started assuming this one would go as smoothly as all the others, they might not pay attention. But nothing did happen, and soon enough they were rolling up to the gate at the clubhouse without incident. As soon as the last truck and bike was through, Darryl left his Softail next to the barn and went looking for Bobo.

  He finally found the Top Dog in the TV room, sitting with Mr. Soul. There was no light in the room, the two television screens were already pulling from the generator and gave enough to see by. Darryl noticed both screens were on, but showing nothing but static.

  “What wrong with the TV?”

  Bobo looked up. “Nothing. The channels are all dark.”

  “They not broadcasting anymore?” Darryl asked, scowling.

  “Not even test patterns.” Mr. Soul confirmed.

  “So that it?”

  “We thinking there are probably still other Georgia stations active, but the one in Athens is dark, so we ain’t getting no more rebroadcasts from the network. And the student broadcast that was going on out of the UGA station stopped yesterday.” Bobo sighed and stood up, stretching his bad knee out a little. “Don’t matter. We ain’t got no satellite and going looking for one a waste of time I thinking.”

  “Yeah, we got enough to do.”

  “Mr. Soul, I guess you off TV duty now. You still our information guy, but it gonna be keeping track of anything the Dogz bring in that they see or hear.”

  “I’ll do what I can.” the old preacher said with a nod. “And I can help keep an eye on the children while I’m sitting around outside.”

  “Wouldn’t hurt. Some are getting a little wild at times.” Bobo nodded, then looked at Darryl. “How’d y’all make out with the charcoal.”

  “Second load back. Don’t know how long any of it gonna last, but we cleaned the damn store out.”

  “Good.” Bobo studied him for a moment, then frowned. “What else?”

  Darryl pulled out his cigarettes, but he played with the pack rather than lighting one just yet. “A convoy came up when we was almost ready to go. Big one, nearly ten trucks, out of Watkinsville.”

  Bobo shrugged. “So? We got most of anything worth getting out of the store anyway, unless they want spare tires or shit that plugs in to work. Or clothes I guess, we left a good bunch of them.”

  “That ain’t the problem. They sent a pair of guys over to talk with us.”

  Bobo’s eyes took on a hard cast, but Darryl shook his head quickly. “Naw, nothing like that. Though you may be right next time we see any of them when they figure out the store ain’t worth much now. They wanted us to move over to the town. Said they nee
ded ‘able bodies’ to help them get the town sorted out.” Darryl hesitated, then frowned. “They was pretty eager to get us signed up.”

  “They gonna be a problem?”

  Darryl considered for a few moments, then shook his head slowly. “I don’t think so, but people get funny when they down. And the guy I talked to didn’t seem like he was getting much in the way of eats or sleep. They start getting desperate, they might try something.”

  “How much they know about us?”

  “Unless they snuck by while we wasn’t watching, not much. It ain’t like we been broadcasting what we got. I ain’t told them shit except that we out here somewhere, we got people with us, and we doing okay.”

  “Good, don’t. Help me make sure all the Dogz know they to keep their damn mouths shut about what we got, how much we got, and how many here. No reason to go telling anyone any of it.”

  “Yeah, I already figured on doing that.”

  Bobo scowled. “Always something. You right about how things might could go, but there ain’t much we can do about it besides what we already done. Shooter was talking about maybe laying some sandbags in on the roof, but he was just kidding when he said it. If we got to hold off people shooting at us though . . .”

  “Getting shit like that up the ladder gonna suck something fierce.” Darryl said, thinking of how they might manage any sort of barricades to shelter the roof guards behind. “And it make us look like we aggressive.”

  “Only if folks come by testing us.”

  “Bobo, the Dogz getting a little worn out. I thinking we need to lay off, at least for a day.” No one was fighting yet, but tempers were getting shorter. Stress was building. All the work was creating safety, but it was all hard work, some of it damn dangerous. Whatever the result was, the more immediate issue was starting to be increased friction as the Dogz went about all of it.

  The old biker frowned again, but more thoughtfully this time, as he considered Darryl’s words.

  “Everyone needs a day of rest.” Mr. Soul offered, his trained voice resonating in the dimly lit room.