Apocalypse Aftermath (25 page)

“Georgia, but all my people all lived more around Atlanta than up here.”

“Bad scene down there.” the man said, then nodded at the one who’d held up the goggles.  “Jake Denton.  That there’s my brother George, and most of these fellows here are friends of ours, less a few willing strays we picked up along the way.”

“Peter Gibson, master gunnery sergeant.”

Jake eyed the emblem embroidered on Peter’s cap.  “MGS?  That makes you a Marine don’t it?”

“President called for all able bodies with prior service to help out.  I was bored enough to listen, and ended up senior after all the dying settled.”

“Yeah, lotta that going around.” Jake shrugged.  “So, any idea how long until the gov’ment gonna get their asses in gear and sort these zombies out?”

“Your guess is as good as ours.  We haven’t been able to find any sign of other active units since it all went from bad to worse Friday night.”

“Fuck.”

“So this thing’s for real then?” George Denton asked, moving up next to his brother.  “Full on end-of-the-world?”

“Looks like it.” Peter replied.  “We could use some news if you’ve got anything you can tell us about what’s been happening around here.”

“Whole lot of everything.” Jake said as he took out a pack of cigarettes.  “Weren’t too bad compared to what the news from Atlanta was showing, until about Saturday I guess.”  He tapped the soft pack expertly against his wrist and popped two cigarettes out.  “That about right George?”

“Yeah, near enough.” George said as he produced a lighter and took one of the cigarettes.  “Some problems at the schools and hospitals, little more action around town hall Friday night, but come Saturday everything went straight down the crapper.  Fucking zombies everywhere.  Roads a damned mess.”  He flicked the lighter and lit his smoke, then held the flame for his brother.

“It was them damned feds.” one of the other men volunteered.  “Them and the state fellas.  They all started running around conscripting stuff, trying to set up emergency shelters.”

“Didn’t help none.” Jake admitted as he exhaled a lungful of smoke.  “Every place they was working on was crawling with zombies before noon.  That’s when me and George started rounding the boys up and headed for the hills.”

“So you’re holding out okay then?” Peter asked.

“So far.” George nodded.  “We got ourselves a place a little west of here near Johns Mountain.  Just need supplies.  What about y’all?”

“Same, needed supplies.” Peter gestured at the two trucks.  “So you don’t know of anything organized anywhere nearby?”

“Organized how?”

Peter tapped the Marine badge on his cap.  “Military, government.  Anywhere they’re still holding it together.”

“Naw.  It’s all gone to hell, like we said.” Jake shook his head.  “Y’all need a place to stay?  We got room up at our spread.”

“Yeah, bunch of cabins.” George offered as he flicked ash off his cigarette.  “Good stream about a quarter mile away, lot of hunting, just had the propane tank filled up last week so when it gets cold we’ll still have heat.  We could make room for some useful folks.”

“We rescued some people last night in Cartersville.” Peter said, tossing his head slightly at the civilians who were emptying the carts into the trucks, slowly and quietly so they could listen.  “They could use a safe spot if the offer extends to them.”

“How many we talking about?” Jake asked, while George narrowed his eyes and glanced across the non-uniformed members of Peter’s group.

“About thirty-five.” Peter admitted.

“Everybody relax.  Zombie.” Whitley suddenly announced.  Peter looked to see where she was aiming, and tracked left over to the west side of the parking lot just in time to see a staggering figure
emerging from the trees.  Her M-16 barked twice, and the zombie collapsed before it even made it to the parking lot.

“Getting better Whitley.” Swanson said admiringly.

“She could out shoot you with her toes.” Crawford observed.

“Please.”

“Where in the hell you find thirty-five people that needed rescuing?” Jake asked, and Peter looked back to the redneck as Crawford and Swanson, thankfully, fell silent.

“
Cartersville, FEMA camp that got overrun.  They were treed by zombies when we found them.”

“Shit.”

“Aw man.”

Jake looked over his shoulder with a sharp look at his fellows, and their comments subsided to a quieter muttering.  The man looked back to Peter and took a drag on his cigarette.  “Not so sure that’ll work out all that well.”

“Not that much room?” Peter replied, trying to keep things calm.

“Not for thirty-five, no.  Especially not if they’re all unused to rough living.  We could work things out with military types, even reservists, but if
your civvies was at the FEMA camp . . . not so sure we can carry that many city folks through the winter.  Already got our own families up there that need tending.”

“Do you know where a doctor might be?” Steve Harris asked suddenly, injecting himself into the conversation as he stepped around past the end of the Ranger.  “Or maybe a hospital nurse?”

“Definitely don’t got no room for injured survivors.” George said, his tone suddenly laced with an obstinate darkness.

“His wife is pregnant.” Peter said.  “None of them were hurt during the zombie attack except for a sprained ankle and a few bruises.”

“Sorry fella, don’t know about any docs who are still breathing.  Could probably point you to where you could find some still walking, but they won’t be all that helpful when you find’em.” Jake shrugged.  “Sorry.”

Peter gestured at Harris, who gave him a slightly angry look as he folded his arms.  “Yeah, I’m looking to move my unit out soon, and it just doesn’t seem right to leave them in the lurch.  Shit’s pretty bad, like you said.”

“Sure is.  Sorry, we’re just here for supplies.”

“I understand.” Peter nodded.  “Well, we’ll get out of your way then.  I guess we’ve all got things to do.”

“I reckon so.  Take care.” Jake gave him a friendly nod, then waved at his group.  “Come on fellas, let’s see about getting loaded up.”

“Mount up.” Peter called loudly, stepping back and looking to see that the shopping carts had been emptied.  “We’re rolling.”

“But—” one of the civilians started, only to stop when Peter shook his head.

“Let’s go.” he said, then reached for his radio.  “Mendez, Gunny.”  He waited a few seconds, while Whitley and Oliver got down from atop the trucks and people started getting in the vehicles, then hit the button again.  “Mendez, Gunny.”

“Must be out of range.” Swanson shrugged.

“Guess so.  He knows what to do.” Peter nodded.  He unslung his AR and laid it down next to the driver’s seat of the Humvee before getting in.  Checking to make sure everyone who was supposed to be in his vehicle was seated, he hit the radio again.  “Whitley, Oliver, we good?”

“Ready.”

“Yeah.”

“Okay, rolling.” Peter said, dropping the transmission into drive.

“Those assholes.” Harris muttered as the three vehicle convoy curved around the edge of the parking lot toward the exit.

“I told you, people are scared.” Peter said calmly.

“You heard him.  He had room and was ready to take people in until he heard who it’d be.”

“Can you honestly blame him?”

Harris met Peter’s eyes in the rearview mirror angrily.  “This isn’t the time for people to start being selfish.”

Crawford snorted a laugh around her cigarette, as Swanson less successfully tried to smother his own chuckle.  Peter frowned.  “I told you if you’re going to smoke in the vehicle to roll the window down.”  He knew it would be worse if he told her to put it out; she was nicotine addicted in the worst way.

“Right, sorry Gunny.” she said, cracking her window a few inches.

“What’s so damned funny?” Harris demanded.

Peter shrugged.  “Everyone likes to think they’re nice, generous sorts, but when the rubber gets hot they usually find out they aren’t.”

“I’m not like that.”

“No?” Swanson said suddenly, turning in his seat as Peter got the Humvee back on the road to I-75.  “Why are you looking for a safe spot then?”

“My wife—”

“Exactly.” Swanson nodded.  “Proving my point.”

“You’d let a pregnant woman fend for herself?”

“That’s not what he’s saying.” Peter corrected as he eyed the mirrors to make sure the two trucks were with him.

“Then what’s so damned funny?”

“You think there’s anyone left who doesn’t have problems?” Crawford asked as she tapped ash outside the window.  “Even if it’s just a loner, he’s still got to find food and shelter and stay away from anything without a pulse.  Think it’s easier to do all that for yourself or for a group?”

“And it’s harder for a big group.” Peter said reluctantly, keeping his tone neutral with effort.  He didn’t want to sound like he was bitter about the Cartersville refugees.  He really wasn’t, but it
honestly
would be easier if he and the unit didn’t have to tend to the civilians.  “We just loaded up on supplies that’ll hopefully keep the fifty we’re dealing with going for a couple of weeks.”

“Yeah, do the math dude.” Swanson broke in.  “If all that food was just for us, it’d last three or four times longer.  We made out okay in the store, but what if it’d been home to a bunch of zombies?  And we didn’t know it wasn’t.  Going in there was a risk.”

“So you’re all just like them assholes back there?”

“Swanson!” Peter said sharply when the Guardsman opened his mouth.  Swanson looked at him, then subsided as Peter glanced over his shoulder briefly.  “Law of averages says sooner or later risks will catch up with you.  Can’t get lucky all the time.  There’s always a bullet, or I guess now a set of teeth, out there somewhere with your name just waiting to find you.  He’s saying you’re like them.  We all are.  Looking to live.”

“Selfishness is a survival trait.” Crawford remarked casually.

“So is cooperation.”

“Crawford!” Peter started, but she ignored him.

“Hang on Gunny.  Let’s try it like this Harris.  What’d you do before Friday?  Your job?”

“Restaurant manager.” Harris said coldly.

“Okay, so would you agree there’s probably not a lot of that skillset needed right now?”

“Crawford.” Peter tried again.

“Gunny, you want this to come out here or back at the motel in front of everyone?” she asked reasonably.

Sighing, Peter shrugged.  “Just keep it civil.”

“Harris?”

“I’m good at scheduling and inventory management, and I know a good bit about cooking, among other things.”

“Okay, so that’s something.” Crawford agreed.  “But if you could only count on coming up with food and shelter for three people a week, and were by yourself with your wife, who would you take for that third spot if you had your pick of survivors?  Restaurant manager, or someone good with weapons who knows how to hunt?  Or a construction engineer who can build stuff that won’t fall down?  Or a doctor?”

“Doctor.”

“Sure, because that’s what you need, because of your wife.  And if you didn’t need the doctor, or the choice was one of the other two, you’d take one of them
over the manager type.  What if the engineer and redneck showed up with some others who had useless skills, and one of the good ones was willing to ditch the others to stay with you, who would you pick?  Be honest.”

Harris was silent for several seconds, and Crawford grunted.  “Exactly.  You’d take the one who could help you and tell the others to take a hike.”

“I’m not an asshole.”

“Sure you are.” Swanson said.  “We all are.  When you strip all the bullshit out, just about everyone’s an asshole.  Especially Crawford.”

“Same as you jackass.” she told him around her cigarette.

“That’s a real nice outlook.” Harris said in a very unhappy tone.

“It’s realistic.” Peter stepped in again.  “And you’ll make out better if you start getting it in your head now that’s how most are going to be.  There’s not a lot of leeway left anymore to make it past a bad decision intact.”

“Then why are you still here then?”

Peter sighed.  “I told you, I’m just that stupid.  Or idealistic.  Or bored.  I don’t know, take your pick.  My wife died on Friday, but she’s probably still walking around somewhere in Gwinnett.  We didn’t have any kids, the last of our parents died a few years ago, I’m an only child, and the closest extended family I might have left is somewhere in Colorado.  If they’re even still alive.”

“Sorry Gunny.” Swanson said.  Peter glanced at him and realized he hadn’t told any of the National Guard soldiers about his wife.  He shrugged casually, refusing to give in to the temptation toward grief.  He’d already dumped his sorrow, and there was too much to do for him to dive back into it again.  Amy wouldn’t want him moping around with everything that was happening.

“It is what it is.  Like I said back at the hotel, I’m just a guy looking to help where I can, but I’m probably the exception now.” Peter continued.  “As for my people, you’d have to ask them why they’re sticking around.”