Apocalypse Atlanta (52 page)

“Jessica.”

She turned her head from the television as her father spoke her name, and found him looking at her with an expression she couldn’t remember ever seeing on his face before.  He looked serious and concerned to a level that went far beyond his normal mild mannered demeanor.  “Dad?”

“Do you still have Brett’s gun?” he asked soberly.

“What?” Jessica asked, shocked.

“Brett’s gun.  Did you get rid of it?”

Jessica stared at him for a few seconds, not hearing whatever was being said on the television.  “Why do you want to know?” she finally asked.

“Sweetie.” her father pointed the remote at the television and muted it.  “If you still have it, I want you to go get it for me.  We might need it.”

Jessica opened her mouth, then closed it.  She remembered Pete from last night, shooting Mr. Wagner.  But that had been self defense.  And the television, all those horrible scenes of what was happening downtown.  She heard, now that the television’s speakers were off, the faint sounds of Candice’s game in the other room, and found herself getting up before she realized she’d decided.

“It’s in my closet.” she said faintly.

“Do you want me to go with you?” her father asked gently.

She shook her head.  “No, I’ll get it.”

Feeling light headed, she went upstairs and into her bedroom.  Pulling the string dangling from the closet light to turn it on, she unfolded the little step stool she kept on her side, then stepped up and start rummaging through the things on the top shelf.  Very little of it was hers, since she found it inconvenient at five foot seven to easily reach the shelf.

Instead, she preferred to keep her things on the floor, or on the shelves lower down.  In the very back corner of the top shelf she found the metal box she’d made Brett buy for his pistol the week after she’d learned she was pregnant with Joey.  It had stayed there for the past couple of years, unneeded and almost forgotten.

It was heavy in her hands, which she saw were shaking a little, as she shoved things out of the way so she could slide it closer to herself and extract it.  When she stepped down, she almost dropped it, but tightened her grip just in time.  She stared at it for a few moments, then left the closet light on and the step stool out as she went back downstairs with it.

“Here.” Jessica said, handing it to her father when she reentered the living room.

He took it from her and set it on his lap, then looked back up at her.  “I hope you remember the combination.”

Jessica nodded.  “Zero four nine five zero.”

William began rolling the dials on the front of the box with his thumbs, inputting the number.  Jessica sat down as he worked.  She remembered the first two lock boxes Brett had come home with, both of which she’d made him take back.

The first had used a key, which she had pointed out could be found by the kids and thus the box opened.  The second had used only a three number combination, which she had similarly pointed out was not secure enough for her comfort.  So he had gotten this one, and she had reluctantly ceased her protestations.

The box clicked open, and her father reached inside.  The stainless steel pistol looked large and dangerous in his hand as he took it out and drew it from the nylon holster.  She flinched a little as he worked the slide with a loud metallic clacking, peering in the gun for a moment, then doing something with his thumb that made the gun click, then click again.  Setting it next to himself on the couch, he pulled a rectangular magazine out of the lockbox and examined it briefly, then took a box of bullets out as well.

“Dad, where are you going to keep it?” Jessica asked as he opened the bullets and started inserting them into the magazines.

“On me.” William said without looking up from the weapon in his hands.

“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.

* * * * *

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 Guardsman 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.”