Apocalypse Atlanta (61 page)

“Eat up.” Peter said after a few moments.  “A couple more minutes won’t hurt, and you never know when your next meal might be.  If there’s anything left, I’d recommend throwing it into Ziplocs or something and bringing it along.  It might come in handy.  After that, or if you’re done, go scrounge up a weapon.  And then you can come help me get vehicles ready to roll.”

“I’m good on both counts.  I’ll go with you now.” Swanson said as he rose.

“What weapon did you bring?” Crawford asked.  “And if you refer to your groin I’m going to demonstrate the leg breaking I was talking about.”

“This.” Swanson said, sticking his hand into one of his pack’s pouches and coming out with a sheathed knife.  A big sheathed knife.  He unsnapped the catch strap and drew it from the sheath to reveal a blade that was very definitely not military issue.

“Jesus Swanson, compensating for something?” Crawford asked.

“Where’d you get that, a damn Hollywood prop website?” Johns said, shaking his head.

“Hey, this is cool.” Swanson said, wiping the flat of the blade down his left shoulder a few times to polish it up.  Peter didn’t really see the point of that, considering it was already quite shiny in the sunlight coming in through the balcony doors.  Plus, with all the jags and curves on it, most people weren’t likely to stop to notice how clean it was.

“If by cool you mean ridiculous, then yes.” Crawford snorted.

“You’re just jealous.” Swanson said, sliding it back into the sheath and starting to unbuckle his belt.

“Nope, and if you’re planning on showing your little Swanson off, don’t bother.” Crawford grinned.  “I already know the knife is bigger.”

“Hey, fuck you Ci–Crawford.” Swanson said, and Peter saw Crawford’s eyes flicker dangerously as Swanson changed what he’d been about to say just in time.  “No one’s around to tell me it’s non-reg, and I might need it, so it’s going on my belt.”

“Just–”

“Whatever.” Hernandez cut in as Crawford started in on some reply.  “Let’s get to it.”

* * * * *

Darryl jammed the shovel into the ground next to the loose dirt and stepped back.  He was sweating heavily, but he’d pushed the pace of the burial detail because he wanted to be done as soon as possible.  It was getting dark, and he instinctively did not want to be out here any longer than necessary.  Sure they had the new fence, but the events of the past thirty-six hours had awakened new fears within him.

Life wasn’t simple, or safe, anymore.

“Fuck DJ, you a damn machine.” Tiny said, standing with one foot propped up on his shovel, the handle leaning back against his shoulder as he gripped it in both hands.  “What got into you?”

“Naw, them the machines.” Darryl said, pointing at the two augers lying nearby.  Well, actually they were standing up on their drill bits.  When they’d finished breaking up the ground for the new graves, they’d let the augers drill themselves just far enough into the clay so they wouldn’t fall over.  The rest of it had been shovel work, clearing out the loose dirt.

“You know what I mean.”

“Yeah.  But we done now.”  Darryl was busy lighting up a cigarette.  The loft of the barn now held a literal truckload of cigarettes, courtesy of all the gas stations Big Chief had cleaned out the previous night.  Jody had raised some hell when she’d seen them, saying it was a waste of time and space to have bothered, but she’d been outvoted by the Dogz that smoked.

She’d been so upset about the cigarettes, some care had been taken to hide all the beer Big Chief had also brought back behind the smokes.  It wasn’t any of her business unless she wanted some, and the way she was carrying on no one really thought she did.

Darryl had tucked three cartons of his preferred Marlboro Lights away in the hard bags on his Harley, for a rainy day, but was restocking himself from the cartons that were being stored behind the bar in the lounge.  And he had four packs on him, just in case.  Now if he could just figure out if anyone had thought to pick up any Zippo fuel, he’d be all set to ride out the apocalypse.

“Think this the last of it?” Psycho asked, also leaning on his shovel.

“What?”

Psycho gestured vaguely at the fresh graves.  “Zombies.  People getting eaten.  You know.”

“Yeah, I know.” Darryl said, unable to keep the darkness from his tone.  “And no, I dunno.  We ought to be just about done with any supply runs and shit, so maybe if we just stay behind the fence ain’t nobody else get sick.”

“Yeah.” Tiny nodded.  “That’d be good.”

“Think it likely we gonna be that lucky?” Psycho persisted.

“Bro, I don’t fucking know.” Darryl said, annoyed.  “Anyway, we done here, so I’m going back and get me a drink and sit for a spell.  You bring in all the shovels, while the rest of us drag them augers back, huh?”

“Fine.”

Darryl left his shovel stuck in the ground and went over to the augers.  Mad helped him with the other end of one, while Tiny and EZ lifted the second.  People had sort of drifted back into the clubhouse following the most recent deaths.  The only ones outside now, in the last vestiges of twilight, were the diggers and the guards up on the top of the clubhouse.

This far away, near the back fence line, all of the guards were visible on the roof.  They were only shapes amid rapidly lengthening shadows, humanoids with the unmistakable outlines of long guns in their hands.  But the ground here was reasonably flat, at least on all the immediate approaches to the new fence.  Anyone up there had a good view all around the property, both in and out.

Except over past the barn. Darryl frowned as he carried his end of the auger toward the old barn.  It was taller than the clubhouse.  Its height blocked off direct view from the clubhouse roof to a section of the grounds, and the fence beyond, to the north.  He wondered if he was the first to notice it.  But he couldn’t think of what they could do about it . . . it wasn’t like they could demolish the barn.

And they sort of needed it for storage.  The people they had now were a tight fit inside the clubhouse.  Some holdouts, folks who hadn’t come yesterday, had now joined them, and inside space was getting to be a premium.  Especially since no one wanted to be assigned to sleep in the bedrooms.  In fact, people seemed to want to be around as many others as they could, for safety.

Darryl didn’t blame them.  He felt that way himself.  True, there was some talk about how likely it was for more people to suddenly turn zombie and get hungry, particularly directed at the newcomers who had only recently left Atlanta and its surrounding suburbs.  But that was only a quiet undercurrent for now, set against what might happen if you were near only one or two others, and one or two of those others abruptly decided people were yummy.  Better to be with many people.

He didn’t like to think what might happen if a whole bunch of folks turned at once.  He was currently of the opinion if it came to that, if that many people were abruptly converting and trying to eat the remaining few, that it was all over anyway.  It wouldn’t matter if  you survived the initial dinner bell or not.

They dropped the tools off in the barn and headed into the clubhouse.  The back door didn’t open when Tiny tried it.  The knob just turned without the door moving.

“Damnit.” Tiny muttered, lifting his fist and banging on the door several times.  “Yo, open up in there.  We done with the graves.”

One of the guards peered over the edge of the roof, looking down at them.  Darryl lit another smoke and glanced up without comment, then back to the closed door when he heard a faint voice from within.  “Ain’t no zombies allowed.”

“Fuck you Joker.” Tiny said loudly.  “Open the damn door.”

There was a scraping sound, then the door opened.  Tiny pushed through and reached menacingly for Joker, who was standing with the crossbar that had been blocking the door propped up next to him.

“Hey, I just playing around.” Joker protested, swaying backwards from Tiny’s clutching fingers.

“That ain’t fucking funny.” Tiny said in a low voice, lower than his usual tone.

“Yeah.  But get the fuck inside before you take his head off.” EZ said.

Tiny menaced Joker with one final look, then moved down the hall, making way for the others to file in.  Darryl left Joker to rebar the door as he stopped in the kitchen for the drink he wanted.  A pair of round drink coolers, like the ones on the sidelines of football games, had been setup on the small folding table near the doorway.  One was marked ‘Sweet T’, the other ‘Fruit’ in black marker.

When he held a plastic cup under the spout and pushed the button on the one marked ‘T’, brewed tea poured out.  Even before he sipped he could feel it was colder than the drinks had been all day, and when he did drink he found it was pretty good tea and definitely cold.  Darryl swallowed several gulps down, topped the cup back off from the cooler, then wandered into the lounge.

The interior of the clubhouse had undergone changes throughout the day.  The fruits of the looting runs were not contained to only the kitchen and basement; they were visible everywhere.  The lounge had a number of air mattresses, already inflated and ready to go, leaning against the inside walls, for later that night.  All the windows had been sealed up with plywood sheets reinforced by boards that were laid in a ladder pattern across them and screwed into the walls with big bolts.  Darryl was happy he hadn’t had to deal with that, but had heard a drill had been involved to start the holes in the rock of the walls.

There were only two doors into the house; front and back.  Both had been similarly reinforced, though there the security was in removable crossbars.  In fact there were three crossbars on the doors, though only one each was currently being used.  Bobo said the others were for if they had to retreat to the house under siege, that they were extra security.  Darryl wasn’t sure he liked the sound of that.

The televisions had been rearranged too.  One had been left in the ‘TV’ room, and both game consoles wired up to it for the kids to all share.  Darryl knew that meant there was probably going to be even more fighting than would have been normal, but that wasn’t his concern.  Low did car stereo installations, though he would insist to anyone who wasn’t talking over him he was a ‘mobile electronics technician’.  Whatever his actual title was, he knew how to deal with cables and stuff.

After Low was finished, the result was a pair of televisions each in the lounge and pool room, wired into the satellite dish’s feed and also spliced into the big sound system that normally ran off the stereo.  The box that controlled the satellite lived in the lounge now, so all anyone in the pool room could do was either ignore or turn off the televisions, or walk across the hall to get the channel changed.  Darryl didn’t think that would matter all that much.

Right now there seemed to be two main divisions as to ‘what to do’ among the Dogz.  The first were becoming news junkies, hanging off everything the televisions were saying and showing.  The second seemed to not want to know any details.  This second group wasn’t disputing anything, or telling anyone they shouldn’t pay attention to what was happening; they just didn’t seem to want to immerse themselves in the information stream.

Darryl had sort of, initially, been in the second group by default.  But after what he’d had to do, what he’d seen, he was now firmly a convert to the first group.  Knowing was better than waiting to find out the hard way.  Even if it was uncomfortable being clued in on the details.

As he made to move towards the bar side of the room, where the televisions were, he heard Bobo calling to him.  He glanced around again, this time actually paying attention rather than just looking past people, and saw Bobo sitting on a couch in the middle of the far wall.  He seemed to be holding a meeting, judging by the lawn chairs that had been setup in front of the couch in a small circle.

“What up?” Darryl asked as he wove around people sitting on sleeping bags on the floor, including a ten person poker game that was being played with spare change as chips.

“Grab a seat bro.” Bobo said.  “Low, get the fuck up and let DJ sit down.”

“Why he get the seat?” Low whined, but he was getting up.

“’Cause he been doing shit an you been chilling.” Big Chief pointed out.

“Tank, come on over here.” Bobo said, ignoring the cross talk.  “Chrome–”

“Yeah, I know.” Chrome said, vacating the lawn chair and pointing Tank to it as the big biker wandered over with a can of soda in his hand.

Darryl looked around.  There were some other people who were clearly paying attention to the group with Bobo, but those who had seats seemed to be the ones Bobo wanted to talk with.  He was sandwiched on the couch between Bobo on one side, and Mr. Soul on the other.  In the chairs before the couch were Tank, Jody, Shooter, Big Chief, and Vivian.

“Alright, so it time to go over stuff and see where we at.” Bobo said as Tank settled carefully into the chair, taking his time about it.  Darryl didn’t blame him; the chair looked woefully inadequate to supporting Tank’s bulk.  The chair creaked a little, but fortunately nothing more dramatic happened as the biker sat down in it.

“We here.” Shooter said, gesturing around.

“Yeah we is.” Bobo said.  “And we need to get a little more organized if we gonna stay here.”

“Fuck man, what else we got to do?” Big Chief asked, looking a little pained.  “I mean, we done cleaned out a bunch of the best stores that be close.”

“Naw, this ain’t so much about supplies right now.” Bobo said calmly, though he looked at Jody.  “We good on supplies now, right?”

Jody glanced down at a notepad in her lap, then nodded once, though her mouth was set in a firm line that Darryl recognized as stress.  “We good for now, I think.”

“How long we got on what in the basement?”

She flipped pages in the notepad, frowned, then finally shrugged.  “I’ve been too busy to do much real figuring, just quick doodles and that kinda thing.  But if everyone cooperates, probably five or six weeks before we down to the bare basics.”

“What’s that mean, cooperate?” Vivian asked.

Jody shrugged.  “All the men need to stop eating like pigs.”

“Hey, we been hungry.” Big Chief said, displaying a frown of his own.

“Yeah, it ain’t like you can work all day and not eat.” Tank put in.

“I ain’t saying y’all ain’t working.” Jody shot back, sounding annoyed.  “But if we gotta stay in here, it’ll help a lot if people get used to better portion controls.”

Darryl looked around as he pulled his smokes out.  Big Chief leaned forward and snagged an ashtray off the side table next to Bobo, handing it to Darryl without comment.  Darryl gave him a brief nod as he lit up a cigarette and balanced the ashtray on his knee carefully.

“That fine.” Bobo said to Jody.  “Ain’t no reason to put people on starvation rations just yet, but we can hold the eats down to something reasonable.  But there gonna be a little more work to do tomorrow.”

“What else is there?” Tank asked.

“Bathroom.” Vivian said, looking unhappy.

“What?  We got a bathroom.” Darryl said, exhaling straight up out of deference to Mr. Soul.

“Yeah.” Vivian replied.  “One.  And there’s like a hundred people here.  Shit, more.  I don’t remember the count, but there a lot.”

“Oh.” Darryl said, suddenly abashed.  “Yeah, that bad.” he muttered.