by David Rogers
Dennis climbed into the back of the truck and bent over the man. “Hold compressions.” he told Austin, and the big man leaned back on his heels, breathing steadily. A few seconds later Dennis shook his head. “No, he’s gone. He bled out. No heart activity at all.”
“Is he dangerous?” Tyler asked.
“What?” Dennis asked, turning to look at his brother.
“I’m serious Dennis, he could be dangerous.”
“Only if he’s infected.”
“How can you know he isn’t?”
“Tyler!” Dennis snapped again. “He would’ve turned already.”
“We don’t know that.”
“I do.” Dennis said, sliding out of the truck and heading back around to check on the driver.
“We can’t afford to lose you.”
Dennis ignored that as he knelt down to the other man. Austin and Lori got down from the truck bed, the woman standing watching while Austin joined the doctor. Jessica could hear Austin talking to the driver.
“What happened? Who did this?” he asked. The man answered in a voice too low to carry over to where she stood, but Austin spoke again. “Can you describe them? Anything about them at all?” Another answer, then Austin’s voice took on a more urgent tone. “How many did you see? Were they all dressed like that?”
“Shit.” Dennis cursed. “I don’t . . . I need . . . no, no, no, stay with me. Come on, stay . . . damnit!”
Jessica glanced at Tyler as he reached into his suit jacket and produced a slim pistol. She blinked in surprise – she hadn’t been aware he was going armed even inside the facility – as he racked the slide back and ran around the front of the truck.
“Dennis!”
“Mr. Morris.” Austin said quickly.
“Tyler, back off.” Dennis said angrily.
“What’s happening?” Tyler demanded, standing with the gun partially raised.
“He’s unconscious from blood loss.”
“Is he dead?”
“He’s going to be soon unless a miracle happens.”
“Then I don’t see what else you can do for him.” Tyler said.
“He needs a transfusion. I think I’ve got the bleeding stopped, but he’s lost a lot.”
“We don’t have any blood. You can’t save him.”
“Christ on a crutch, I fucking told you we needed to prioritize medical supplies better than this!”
Jessica saw a frustrated look cross Tyler’s face. He opened his mouth, then clearly stopped himself from saying whatever he’d been about to. Instead he hesitated a moment, then shook his head. “You’ve done what you can. Whether or not he survives is up to him and how well he heals now.”
“You’re all heart, you know that Ty? All heart.”
“Dennis, this is not my fault.”
“It’s not his either.”
“Mr. Carter.” Tyler said, switching his attention to Austin. “What did he say?”
“That can wait until we get him into the infirmary.” Dennis interrupted.
“No.” Tyler shook his head.
“What?”
“I said no.”
Dennis appeared as he stood up, stepping closer to square off with his brother. “Are you kidding me?”
“You yourself said his odds are low.”
“There’s a chance he might pull through.”
“At what cost though? How much more of our limited supplies are you proposing to invest in him?”
Dennis’ face was mottling as he reddened. “It’s not like I’ve got all that much to invest anyway.”
“Precisely my point.”
“Uh . . .” Billy said cautiously.
“Where do you get off Ty. He’s a human being who needs our help.”
“We’ve already helped him and the others in the town. This is not a situation of our doing.”
“Uh . . .” Billy tried again.
“What if we needed their help?” Dennis demanded, putting his face almost nose to nose with his brother’s. “You ever think of that?”
“Yes.” Tyler answered, clearly struggling to keep from shouting back. “That’s why I’m trying to keep you from wasting what little we have on a dying man.”
“Oh for—”
“Doc, his pulse just stopped.” Austin said loudly.
Dennis turned and disappeared behind the truck again as he knelt down. Jessica heard him swear, then a few moments later he stood up. His expression was furious, but there was a defeated slump on his shoulders. “Well he’s dead now. Happy?”
“No.” Tyler said evenly. “But it’s better he died now than after hours of lingering. We have people here depending on you in the event something similar happens to one of us.”
Dennis turned his back on his brother and strode out away from the truck, then stood looking out at the fence without speaking. Tyler gazed at him for several seconds, then returned his attention to where the victim lay. “Mr. Carter, what did he say.”
Austin stood up. “They were both on the town’s US-80 checkpoint. It was shot up by a group of armed men he says didn’t even try talking to them.”
“When?”
“He didn’t say, but based on how far we are from that checkpoint, no more than fifteen minutes ago.”
Tyler frowned, then looked around the grounds. “Did he give any useful details about the attack?”
“Well armed and that it happened fast. They stopped short of the checkpoint and came out of their vehicles firing. Shot everyone, then went around the barricade in the ditch and headed into town.”
“I want the roof watch doubled immediately.” Tyler said with barely a pause. “Contact the scavenge team so they can head back. And let’s get everyone inside under cover.”
“What about the bodies?” Austin asked. Jessica studied him closely, but he was wearing his professional face. From this distance she couldn’t catch any sign that might hint of what he was thinking.
“For the moment let’s get this one back in the truck, then park it outside the fence. We can look at something further to do with them perhaps tomorrow.”
“Very well.” Austin nodded. “Billy, give me a hand.” He bent, and a few moments later straightened up with the dead man’s legs in his hands. The two of them carried it around to the back of the truck and slid it in next to the other corpse.
“You three.” Austin said, pointing at a few of the lingering group that had been on the shooting range. “Head up to the roof and help watch the perimeter. Everyone stay sharp and report any movement. You, park this truck out beside the gate. Get it as far off the road as you can, make sure it’s not blocking the pavement.”
“I’ll go up too.” Lori said. “Just need to fetch my three oh eight.”
Austin nodded. Tyler did as well. “Dennis, come inside. We need to talk.”
Dennis turned, his expression stony. “Sure. As soon as I wash the blood off.”
* * * * *
Darryl
It was almost like everything was normal. People were milling about in the back yard as music blasted from the outside speakers hung on the back; the sound system having been connected to one of the extension cords. A few people danced, but most just kind of grooved to the beat as they drank beer and ate barbecue. If it weren’t for the berm reinforced fence and other new survival-oriented projects dotting the expanse of grass, it would have looked like just any other Dogz party.
Jody had raised hell at the notion of a barbecue, but she’d been overruled. Darryl wasn’t sure what she was complaining about; she was the one eager to get the stock of meat that needed refrigeration down. And Bobo and a few of the other grilling oriented Dogz had done most of the cooking. Burgers and dogs, ribs, a couple pork butts, and some chicken were taking turns on grates laid over the large fire pit. The smell as they sizzled and dripped fat onto the coals was heavenly.
All the ‘kitchen’ had been required to do was provide some salads and other side dishes, mostly out of perishable stocks that n
eeded to be eaten soon anyway. That and keeping the drink dispensing coolers filled with Kool-Aid and sweet tea had been the limit of what the grill wasn’t handling.
The Dogz had reacted predictably at the news of a party; which was to say, quite well. Especially when Bobo had promised tomorrow would be a day off, which made it a party day too. Everyone was tired. Of working hard, of being scared, and of constantly worrying. Big Chief had taken a team out to a liquor store that was mostly intact, bringing back not only more beer, but also a large stock of hard alcohol in a staggering variety of flavors and strengths. Though they were short on ice, the club mechanic had also managed to sneak a number of bottles into the fridges where they’d had a chance to cool before being transferred into a cooler lined with cold packs.
Darryl grinned a little from his perch on the roof. Maybe that was what had Jody so mad; the intrusion into the storage she was responsible for. He still thought she was overreacting. It wasn’t like food had been displaced to chill the drinks down, and even the party cooler in the back yard now hadn’t been in use for anything else. And Big Chief, out of anyone at the clubhouse, knew what was going into keeping the generators fueled to power the refrigerators. It was a party, followed by some R&R time for everyone. A day of rest, as Mr. Soul had put it. Being a little bad was okay.
The drinking had been about the only source of widespread grumbling. Even though they were taking some time for themselves, Bobo had warned that didn’t mean they could leave the roof empty. A watch had to be maintained. Darryl had nominated himself for a triple shift to allow others to cut loose; but that still left all the other slots needing to be filled by someone alert enough to actually pay attention. A couple of the older kids were taking turns filling out the watch, but a number of Dogz needed to either delay their drinking, or stay sober enough to be useful, for their scheduled shift.
But even with that one down note, the mood was relaxed and light. A basketball hoop had been put together out of fence posts and lumber and sunk in the middle of the yard. Dribbling on grass took effort and attention, but the half court that had been marked out with spray paint stayed busy with Dogz bumping and jumping. There was the usual amount of yelling and arguing over fouls and out-of-bound calls, but it held none of the sharpness and friction that had been building of late.
Along with the occasional yell to not dunk when someone went up and looked like they were going for a slam. The hoop and post were definitely not up to that kind of abuse.
“Think anyone expected the end of the world to be like this?” EZ asked.
Darryl glanced over his shoulder. The watch shifts were at the minimum of four people, each person parked in a chair facing out to the four cardinal directions. EZ was looking south, in the general direction of where the lake road disappeared into the trees after curving around the southern end of the water. Darryl was opposite him, watching the trees that shielded US-78 from view a mile or so away.
“Dunno.”
“Shit, here we go with the ‘dunno’ again.” EZ laughed.
“What up with that?” Darryl half-grunted.
“I done talked to Tiny some. He told me all about your ‘dunno’ shit.”
“You and Tiny ask a lot of questions sometimes.” Darryl grinned. “Dunno what I think about that.”
“You a philosopher in the making DJ.”
“Shit.” Darryl said as he lit a fresh cigarette.
“Someone gotta be.”
“Ain’t me. I just sitting, chilling. Glad to be breathing.”
“Got that right.”
“How you think all this got so bad?”180 asked.
“Dunno.”
“Fuck you DJ.” EZ laughed again. “But I guess you right for once.”
“Make sure you tell Tiny.” Darryl lifted his beer and took a drink. It felt good going down, even if it wasn’t quite as cold as he liked. There hadn’t been a lot of chances to do much beer drinking with everything that needed doing.
“Mr. Soul said everywhere done collapsed.” 180 said. “Fucking billions of people all over the world, soldiers and countries and all that shit, and ain’t nobody survived.”
“We surviving.” EZ pointed out.
“We surviving here.” 180 disagreed. “I talking about all of it.”
“Gotta start somewhere.” Stick laughed.
A ferocious argument erupted on the basketball court, but Darryl could tell almost immediately it was mostly just because the teams were enjoying squaring off as they went back and forth about whether or not Fish had fouled Smoke. Since Fish was brushing grass off his shirt, Darryl figured there was probably enough to argue about.
“It don’t worry y’all none, what happening?”
“The fuck makes you think I ain’t worried?” EZ told 180.
“You acting like nothing’s nothing.”
“What I supposed to do, go around wailing and moaning like a bitch?”
“That ain’t what I meant.” 180 protested.
“Everyone worried.” Darryl said. “That why we been working so hard.”
“But we screwing off now.”
“Gotta take a break every now and again.” Darryl shrugged. “People going crazy.”
“Crazy about the only thing about this shit that make any damn sense.”
Darryl didn’t disagree, but he couldn’t leave the impression that overreacting was helpful. “There different kinds of crazy. We crazy concerned, which fine. Fucked up crazy, not so much.”
“What’s the difference?”
“Like them fuckers who been wandering by. They crazy fucked.”
“What, the zombies?”
Darryl shook his head. “No fool, the damn breathing ones. The ones who show up and want help.”
“Well, they on foot with no place to go. You blame them for being crazy?”
“All the effort they wasting on crazy they’d be better of putting into thinking.” EZ said calmly. “You gotta keep your head when shit gets deep.”
Darryl heard 180 start to say something, then cut himself off. Darryl smiled. EZ knew quite a bit about shit stacking up. He was something of an outlier among the Dogz, one of the brothers who was closest to the stereotypical image of a bad boy biker. EZ was an accomplished car thief; enough so that he’d never had more than a few meaningless interviews from the police. Darryl figured anyone who could lift cars for over fifteen years and never even get arrested, much less charged, probably knew a few things about how to keep focused.
“Everybody different.” Darryl said into the pause. “Some more useful than others when it drop in the pot.”
“You and Bobo keeping your heads.” Stick said.
“Bobo keeping his. I just following his lead.” Darryl said, a little uncomfortably. He was still adjusting to the idea that he was supposed to be the second in command after the Dogz founder. Darryl had never wanted to do more than just hang out and ride with his friends. He’d never angled for any position in the club other than ‘member’, and now he’d been elevated to Second Dog for the duration.
And the duration was starting to look like it was going to be quite a while.
“Fuck that.” EZ said abruptly. “You making decisions, and good ones.”
“Yeah.” 180 agreed, while Stick made an affirmative noise.
“It ain’t like I solving world peace.” Darryl protested.
“Get working on it.” EZ laughed. “We could use some.”
“Like I got a shot at that.”
“Dream big.”
Darryl frowned. “My dreams are to eat and breathe, here where it safe. Beyond that, don’t seem like a whole lot of room left for dreams anymore.”
“Why you gotta be all down on it?” 180 complained.
“I guess I a realist.” Darryl said, remembering some of his courses at UGA. Vaguely. Most of his college memories revolved around playing basketball as often as he could get time on the court, hoping to get one of the college team coaches to notice him. But he had gone to class, an
d sometimes even paid attention.
“Realist can still dream.” EZ pointed out.
“I am. Food, life, Dogz. Ain’t got no need for nothing else.”
“Great, so DJ eyeing the little version of the ‘big picture’.” 180 said. “Where that leave the world if everyone go and do that?”
Darryl didn’t have a good answer for that one. He wasn’t sure if anyone could.
* * * * *
Chapter Eleven – This is crazy
Peter
“I still say we should’ve kept looking until we found a tanker truck.” Swanson griped as Peter stopped the Humvee half a block from the zombie infested high school.
“It took us an hour and a half to come up with all this. We’re losing daylight as it is.” Peter told him. “Be happy Crawford volunteered.”
“Crazy bitch.” Swanson muttered. “If they’re more interested in her than the meat, she’s gonna die.”
“We can bail her out if they don’t cooperate.”
“You hope.”
Finding a pair of trucks he could get running hadn’t been too difficult, though he certainly wouldn’t have objected to a gas tanker. But Peter hadn’t been willing to scour the town for hours in the hopes of finding one, especially since for that to have worked out as hoped it would need to still be loaded with fuel. His next best idea would have been to turn up a landscaping truck with a sprayer tank, but no dice on that wish either.
What they had come up with was a pair of simple pickups, though full sized ones with large beds. One had a small six foot trailer hooked behind it. The trailer carried a pile of propane tanks liberated from a tank exchange cage in front of a nearby Kroger, every one full of explosive gas. A hardware store had yielded enough plastic storage bins to line the sides of both truck beds. Filling them from a gas station had been the most time consuming part of the scheme, but he’d been wanting to find a transfer pump since Sunday anyway.
Hauling gas out of a gas station’s underground tanks by hand, with a bucket on a rope, was exhausting and slow. Especially when filling multiple vehicles, to say nothing of the MARTA bus’ enormous tank. The five battery powered pumps had let them siphon out several hundred gallons in about half an hour, enough to fill the truck bed containers to a healthy – dangerous – level. Other than the time, it had only cost them about thirty curious zombie kills while the pumping was going on at a handy gas station to the southwest.
