Apocalypse Aftermath (32 page)

“As far as the government goes, a few state governments are holding together, and there are some repeated rumors that what’s left of the federal structure is trying to reassemble in South Dakota, but I’m not sure how reliable those reports are.”

“Why South Dakota?” Dennis asked.  “I thought Denver was the primary fallback after Washington.  Something about Denver being in the center of the country, which is why there’s so many government installations there.”

“They weren’t hit as hard.” Vanessa shrugged.  “Or so the rumor goes.  Both Dakotas, Wyoming, Montana; they got off pretty light
, relatively speaking.  Apparently something to do with their population density.”

“Not enough people to fuel the chaos.” Austin said quietly.

“That’s what I’m getting.” she sighed.

“Who’s in charge then?” Tyler inquired.

“Depending on who we want to believe, it’s either the Secretary of the Interior, Secretary of Labor, or Secretary of Energy.  And that’s apparently as good as it gets.  The best number on Congress is less than ten percent of them are confirmed to be alive and in contact.”

“You said some of the state governments were still more or less intact.”

Vanessa nodded.  “The ones I already mentioned, plus maybe Iowa and Nevada.  But even if we can assume they are, they’re going to be weeks – probably months – reassembling themselves into something that might pass for a coherent structure that can exercise meaningful control.”

“Those are too far for us to consider heading to on unconfirmed information.” Austin said to Tyler.  “Not without making some more preparations, and taking some time to train our people up some.”  Jessica drew a breath that she only just managed to keep from being audible.  The thought of going all the way to South Dakota through the middle of a zombie apocalypse was . . . terrifying.

Tyler was silent for several seconds.  He started swiveling his chair back and forth slightly as he tapped the fingers of one hand on the desk slowly, then sighed.  “I agree.  If we’re going anywhere, we need to plan it carefully.”

“Why do we need to go anywhere?” Vanessa asked.  Jessica couldn’t help darting her gaze at the woman, but she did manage to keep her expression blank.  That insistent tone was back in Vanessa’s voice.

“We’re in good shape here.” Vanessa continued,
her
eyes fixed on her husband.  “If we take a week or two to shore up the grounds and lay in supplies, we’ll be ready to ride this thing out.”

“We are fairly close to Macon.” Tyler said slowly.  “I know my original thinking was that would be useful for the supply situation, but if the zombies keep spreading, we could be looking at some problematic harassment along the fence.”

Vanessa snorted, but Austin spoke up.  “It’s only about twenty miles before you’re on the outskirts of Macon.  A person could walk that in a day if they were in reasonable shape.”

“We’re not talking about people.” Vanessa said a bit snappishly.

“True, but there were still a couple hundred thousand people there before the outbreaks started.  If even half of them are dangerous now, that could conceivably leave us dealing with thousands, at a minimum, who find their way out here.”

Vanessa drew a breath, but Tyler rapped his
knuckles on his desk twice.  “For the time being, let’s work on our supplies.” he said mildly.  “I think it is a bit of a risk, but a small one, that we might face a big horde here at the building.  But we can’t do anything if we’re not eating, and we’re well armed.  Tomorrow I want the scavenging team to bring in as much food as they can Mr. Carter.”

“Yes sir.” Austin nodded.

“Wednesday we’ll work on food and water purification like the bleach Dennis mentioned.  Then Wednesday night we’ll reevaluate, but my feeling is unless you run into any problems we’ll probably be in a good position to look to medical supplies and construction materials we can use to strengthen the building and grounds.  If our luck holds, by the weekend we could easily be in very good shape to then start working on fuel, volume for water storage, and some of the optional projects we come up with that might bear fruit.”

“Yes sir.” Austin repeated.

“In the meantime, Vanessa you stay on the lines of communication you have available, and keep trying to build a picture of what’s happening elsewhere.  If you turn up anything promising, we’ll look at it.”

She nodded, but her body language was a little tense.  Jessica held her tongue.  The woman was clearly . . . well Jessica wasn’t sure what the best description was.  Whatever it was, Vanessa wasn’t handling the situation as well as her husband was.

“Mr. Farring, I want you to do what you can to come up with any arrangements that might help with fortifications and contingencies for the building systems when we lose power and water access.  If you have time, do a little thinking about the battery idea.  Mrs. Talbot, if you could, please keep working on projections and inventory, so we have good information we can use to make decisions.  Your report so far is quite well put together.”

Jessica, feeling a little pleased despite her lingering uncertainty over the meeting’s fruits, nodded along with Isaac, and Tyler smiled thinly.  “Very well, thank you everyone.  Mr. Carter, I believe you wanted to do a perimeter check with most of the guard force.  I think we’re done here, so you’ve got a couple of hours of sunlight left to you for that task.”

“There they go.” Whitley murmured.

Peter glanced at her briefly.  “Less to worry about.”

“Who’s worried?”

“You’re not in charge.”

She chuckled darkly.  “Nope, all you Gunny.”

“Thanks a lot.” Peter said before turning away from the two carloads of departing people.  The Cartersville survivors had fragmented into factions throughout the day, though thankfully mostly peacefully.  The worst friction had been a little bit of back and forth over which groups’ decision was right; but only a little, and no one had even come to the point of yelling.

Ten, mostly the more able bodied survivors plus a couple less able ones who had managed to attach themselves, had decided to strike out for greener pastures elsewhere.  There had been some mention of finding a small town somewhere in the area and setting up shop, but Peter hadn’t really listened – or contributed much – to their plans.  It was their problem.

Of the others, eleven wanted to stay on at the motel.  They liked the location and the building, which was concrete over wood framing; plus they’d decided the elevation the second story with its walkway afforded was pretty secure.  Peter couldn’t really fault their logic, even if they were only piggybacking off what he and the unit had already
set up for them.  The close proximity to I-75 also gave them a chance to keep an eye out for a better option.

That left fifteen, including the ever anxious Harris couple, who had made it more or less clear they weren’t going to be separated from the National Guard unit short of force.  Peter wasn’t interested in squatting in place when there might be an organized body of proactive survivors somewhere.  Even though he’d made it clear his plan was to start by going nearly fifty miles east to check the situation in Cumming, he and the other soldiers were saddled with a collection of survivors that were determined to tag along.

They saw the unit as security, more than the motel or whatever the other group was hoping to find.  Even when he pointed out the travel was likely to bring more zombie encounters, and that Cumming or the FEMA camp supposed to have been located there might be as bad or worse than the Cartersville site had been, they wanted to go.

So he’d spent most of the midday rounding up some vehicles for the factions.  A couple of the refugees looked over his shoulder as he hotwired the vehicles and bypassed ignition key circuits, but he knew most of them would find getting the vehicles going on
their own difficult.  It wasn’t his problem.  Vehicles, some advice on how to get fuel out of gas stations at need, and three pistols with a couple boxes of ammunition for each of the groups not staying with him had been the limit of his generosity.

Well, that and a share of the food the unit had brought in.  He’d allowed the ones leaving enough to last them for two days, plus whatever they wanted to bring out of the Wendy’s, on the theory they’d be able to find more while moving.  He figured if they couldn’t come up with more calories to keep going before they ran through that, they were hopeless anyway.  The motel group he allotted enough for a week, plus making sure they had a map marked up with some suggested areas he and the Guardsmen had spotted while collecting vehicles.

The rest, enough for maybe nine or ten days, was going with him.  The MARTA bus had turned into their primary warehouse.  Most of the extra weapons and ammo retrieved out of Clay’s armory were still aboard it, and now the bulk of their pantry was as well.  Most of the seats had been removed and dumped in the parking lot, though some of the cleverer members of the motel faction had appropriated them fairly quickly to add to the barricades on the stairs.

Ropes,
bungee cords and layered sheets serving as nets had been used to rig up storage areas throughout the bus.  The stacked supplies would probably still jumble themselves about during travel, but at least they wouldn’t be rolling and sliding all over the interior.  The remaining seats had been selected to allow three firing positions on each side, where shooters could stand and use the windows without seats being in their way.

He was keeping the Tundra and Ranger because they were trucks, and might be useful, but he had overruled adding any other vehicles to the convoy.  That left both Humvees with three passengers each, plus nine people riding in the truck beds, but he was already concerned with keeping everything fueled as it was.  A little bit of discomfort was something they’d just have to put up with; he wasn’t interested in the upkeep costs of two more passenger vehicles atop what the convoy already faced.

The bus in particular was an issue; it was handy as hell as a mobile warehouse and fighting position, but based on how much they’d put into the tank it needed about seventy gallons of diesel to fill up.  If he remembered correctly it might average three or four miles a gallon, but he knew the weight it was hauling would bring that figure down.  And he wasn’t counting on being able to get up to cruising speed for any significant amount of the driving time he had planned.  Its range could easily be below two hundred miles.  Maybe
well
below.

They’d managed to come up with nearly forty gallons worth of fuel containers, counting what he’d liberated from the mechanic’s bay back at Clay plus little dinky one and two gallon cans from nearby gas stations. 
They were all filled with diesel, even though the civilian vehicles ran on regular unleaded gasoline.  He was prepared to abandon them if it came to it, but he wasn’t overly concerned just yet.  Diesel could sometimes be a pain to find, but it wasn’t like they were in the middle of nowhere.

“Sure you don’t want to wait until morning?” Whitley asked as Peter looked over the waiting vehicles and their passenger loads.

“What?  Oh, no.  I’d rather get going.  No sense waiting around any longer.”

“Well, it’s not like we haven’t done some night fighting already.” she observed.

“We’ve got wheels this time.” Peter smiled slightly.  “And we’re not out of ammo.  Worst case, we might have to do some back and side tracking, but if we don’t run into too much of that we could make Cumming by early evening.”

“Famous last words.”

“Whose side are you on?”

“Just trying to lighten the mood.” she shrugged.

“Soldier, electrician, comedian.  We should put you through med school next.”

“Probably the only way we’re going to get Harris off our backs.”

“Ha!” Peter snorted.  “Just for that I’m going to keep an eye for any med textbooks so you can start studying.”

“You’re kidding, right?”

“Nope.  Just want to prove you wrong.”

Whitley shook her head, glanced at the Harrises sitting in Mendez’s Humvee, and headed for the bus.

She was the designated bus driver because she was the one Peter trusted the most.  And he had a soldier in the driver’s seat of the other vehicles for mostly the same reason; he didn’t want to have to go chasing after anyone who took off on their own.  When push came to shove, he was more willing to put his faith in someone who’d gone through boot camp and maintained their reserve status over a mere civilian.  And who had made it through Atlanta and stuck with him.  It might be unfair, but he was the one in charge.  And he wasn’t advertising his reasoning either.

“Bravo, Gunny.” Peter said, turning his head to his radio.  “Drivers, are we ready?”

Everyone reported they were good, and he took a last look around before heading for ‘his’ Humvee.  When he was settled in, he hit the horn and flashed a thumbs up out the window at Mendez, who led the convoy off.  Whitley followed, then the trucks, and Peter swung in at the rear of the line.  He took a last look in the mirrors at the watching people up on the second floor of the motel, then put them out of his mind.

He couldn’t save everyone.  And nothing said their choice was the wrong one.

Mendez had become the soldier Peter was most comfortable with being the advance recon guy, which was why he was leading.  Peter was a little less thrilled that the Harrises were the two civilian ride-alongs, but it was either Mendez or him who had to take them.  While he was trying to temper his empathy, it just didn’t seem right to make a pregnant woman ride in the back of a truck.  And Steve Harris refused to be separated from his wife, not even by the rear window of a truck.