Apocalypse Aftermath (40 page)

“We haven’t had any one in town turn into a zombie.  Don’t know if that makes us lucky or if it means that sort of thing is done happening.”

“Hope it ain’t happening no more.” Darryl sighed.  “There more than enough zombies to go around.”

“Got that right.” Blake nodded.  “You sure you guys aren’t interested in switching over to us?  We’re demolishing buildings and using the debris to set up barricades that are working.  Maybe a week and a half, two tops, and we’ll have the town fully fortified.  Zombie proof.”

“I ain’t trying to be unfriendly, but we good doing our own thing.” Darryl said, reminding himself to not slip into annoyance or anything else that might be negatively received.  “We happy being neighbors, and saying hi on the way by when we run into each other is fine, but we doing okay.  And it sound like you are too.  Not so sure what you need us for anyway.”

“We’re short on good men, like I said.” the man replied, a strange look flickering past behind his eyes.  It took a moment for Darryl to place it, then he decided it might be desperation.  Not panic, but more like worried concern.  “You guys look like you’re eating good, you’re armed and organized, and at least everyone you got here is in shape.  Even if this is everyone in your club that fits that description, we could really use your help.”

“We ain’t the only ones.” Darryl said.  “We’re just the ones doing this right now.”

Blake nodded, though he was starting to look more unhappy.  “Glad to hear you guys are making out.”

“So far, but who knows what might start happening next.  Anyone see zombies coming last week?”

“No, I don’t guess anyone did.”

“Right.”

“Maybe we could work out some sort of labor sharing?  A trade or something in exchange for a couple days of work?”

“We got plenty of work to keep us busy.  Shit dangerous as hell out here.”

“DJ, we done.” 180 called from behind him.

“Look, glad to run into you, but we got to get rolling.” Darryl said, giving a little wave with his right hand.

“Just . . . think it over, please?” Blake said as Darryl took a backing step.  “About joining us.  We really could use you guys.”

“Good luck.  Far as we know the store ain’t got no zombies in it, but they wandering around everywhere.” Darryl said, ignoring the plea.

He backed up a few more steps, then turned and headed for his bike.  Nothing happened, but he felt like eyes were watching him as he walked away.  It wasn’t a pleasant feeling, even though he saw two of the Guards facing the Watkinsville men.

“Mount up.  Circle around the back of the building and we head out that way.” Darryl told Door Mat, who was the driver for the lead truck.

“Uh, sure.” the biker said as he bent to twist the ignition wires together.  Most of the Dogz had been given a crash course in hot wiring by this point, though only a few of them had any real chance of getting a vehicle that hadn’t already been prepared by EZ started.  This one had, and the truck started right up without a problem.

Doors slammed and engines came on as the Dogz piled into trucks or mounted their bikes.  Darryl kept an eye on his mirrors, watching the scene behind him.  Blake was heading back to his truck, talking to the other man.  That one stayed where he was, standing and eying the Dogz as they got ready to leave.  But that’s all he did, watch, until the bikers started moving.

Darryl pulled up and out of the way, then slowed with his feet walking the bike along at idle as his brothers roared past him.  The second Watkinsville man didn’t move to get back in his vehicle until the Dogz were all in motion and pulling away.  Darryl revved his throttle and roared after the rest of the convoy, catching up as they made the turn to the pavement that stretched behind the store.

The ride back from the Wal-Mart was routine enough to be dangerous, because Darryl knew if people started assuming this one would go as smoothly as all the others, they might not pay attention.  But nothing did happen, and soon enough they were rolling up to the gate at the clubhouse without incident.  As soon as the last truck and bike was through, Darryl left his Softail next to the barn and went looking for Bobo.

He finally found the Top Dog in the TV room, sitting with Mr. Soul.  There was no light in the room, the two television screens were already pulling from the generator and gave enough to see by.  Darryl noticed both screens were on, but showing nothing but static.

“What wrong with the TV?”

Bobo looked up.  “Nothing.  The channels are all dark.”

“They not broadcasting anymore?” Darryl asked, scowling.

“Not even test patterns.” Mr. Soul confirmed.

“So that it?”

“We thinking there are probably still other Georgia stations active, but the one in Athens is dark, so we ain’t getting no more rebroadcasts from the network.  And the student broadcast that was going on out of the UGA station stopped yesterday.”  Bobo sighed and stood up, stretching his bad knee out a little.  “Don’t matter.  We ain’t got no satellite and going looking for one a waste of time I thinking.”

“Yeah, we got enough to do.”

“Mr. Soul, I guess you off TV duty now.  You still our information guy, but it gonna be keeping track of anything the Dogz bring in that they see or hear.”

“I’ll do what I can.” the old preacher said with a nod.  “And I can help keep an eye on the children while I’m sitting around outside.”

“Wouldn’t hurt.  Some are getting a little wild at times.” Bobo nodded, then looked at Darryl.  “How’d y’all make out with the charcoal.”

“Second load back.  Don’t know how long any of it gonna last, but we cleaned the damn store out.”

“Good.”  Bobo studied him for a moment, then frowned.  “What else?”

Darryl pulled out his cigarettes, but he played with the pack rather than lighting one just yet.  “A convoy came up when we was almost ready to go.  Big one, nearly ten trucks, out of Watkinsville.”

Bobo shrugged.  “So?  We got most of anything worth getting out of the store anyway, unless they want spare tires or shit that plugs in to work.  Or clothes I guess, we left a good bunch of them.”

“That ain’t the problem.  They sent a pair of guys over to talk with us.”

Bobo’s eyes took on a hard cast, but Darryl shook his head quickly.  “Naw, nothing like that.  Though you may be right next time we see any of them when they figure out the store ain’t worth much now.  They wanted us to move over to the town.  Said they needed ‘able bodies’ to help them get the town sorted out.”  Darryl hesitated, then frowned.  “They was pretty eager to get us signed up.”

“They gonna be a problem?”

Darryl considered for a few moments, then shook his head slowly.  “I don’t think so, but people get funny when they down.  And the guy I talked to didn’t seem like he was getting much in the way of eats or sleep.  They start getting desperate, they might try something.”

“How much they know about us?”

“Unless they snuck by while we wasn’t watching, not much.  It ain’t like we been broadcasting what we got.  I ain’t told them shit except that we out here somewhere, we got people with us, and we doing okay.”

“Good, don’t.  Help me make sure all the Dogz know they to keep their damn mouths shut about what we got, how much we got, and how many here.  No reason to go telling anyone any of it.”

“Yeah, I already figured on doing that.”

Bobo scowled.  “Always something.  You right about how things might could go, but there ain’t much we can do about it besides what we already done.  Shooter was talking about maybe laying some sandbags in on the roof, but he was just kidding when he said it.  If we got to hold off people shooting at us though . . .”

“Getting shit like that up the ladder gonna suck something fierce.” Darryl said, thinking of how they might manage any sort of barricades to shelter the roof guards behind.  “And it make us look like we aggressive.”

“Only if folks come by testing us.”

“Bobo, the Dogz getting a little worn out.  I thinking we need to lay off, at least for a day.”  No one was fighting yet, but tempers were getting shorter.  Stress was building.  All the work was creating safety, but it was all hard work, some of it damn dangerous.  Whatever the result was, the more immediate issue was starting to be increased friction as the Dogz went about all of it.

The old biker frowned again, but more thoughtfully this time, as he considered Darryl’s words.

“Everyone needs a day of rest.” Mr. Soul offered, his trained voice resonating in the dimly lit room.

“Yeah, you both right.  I just . . . if them Watkinsville folks scrambling to stay fed, we gonna miss out on some stuff.”

“There’s plenty of places we can still get food from.” Darryl said, reluctantly.  “We ain’t hardly done much north of 78, or much past five miles or so from the house.
  If the whole state done got fucked up, there gonna be a lot of stores out there we can get to and bring stuff back from.”

“Longer trips, more danger.” Bobo sighed.  “But we got ourselves into about as good a position as I figure just about anyone left probably has.  Guess we can have ourselves a little bit of a party.”  He grinned suddenly, his teeth white in the half-darkness.  “That one thing we pretty good at.”

“Oh man, you’re fucking kidding me.” Roper griped as Crawford brought the Humvee to a halt a block north of where the map said South Forsyth High was.

“That’s a lot of zombies.” Swanson said.

“How do you know they’re all zombies?” Crawford shot at him without looking at the backseat.

“Crawford, I can’t say I hate to tell you this, but you’re a fucking idiot.”

“You’re just cruising for a beating when we get back.” she said dangerously.

“Look at that.” Swanson said, ignoring her threat.  “Blood all over them, dangling limbs, holes, ooooh there’s one that keeps tripping over her own intestines.  What the fuck else are they but zombies?”

“Maybe they’ve just been through a lot.”

“Maybe you’re just not paying attention, as usual.”

Crawford started to turn, but Peter slammed his hand against the headrest of her seat in a bid to keep her from reaching past him.  “Shut up, tired of it, get a room.” he ordered both of them.  “Any of this sound familiar?”

She cast a threatening look over the Marine’s arm at Swanson, then faced forward again.  The second Humvee pulled up next to them, and Whitley called through the windows that were cracked a few inches to permit air flow.  “Gunny, that’s a lot of zombies.”

“Yeah, I see that.” he answered, looking around before lowering his window some more.  “The Wonder Twins were just arguing about it.”

“Don’t call us that.” Crawford and Swanson said in unison.

“Shut it.” Peter explained, otherwise ignoring them as he continued talking to Whitley.  “They’re on both sides as well, and from the looks of it the back of the building is covered too.”

“
Yeah, the school’s surrounded.  What’re we going to do about that many?” Whitley asked.

“I’m thinking.”

The school sat on a very big lot, the sprawling building sited well back from the road, with quite a bit of grass and parking space between it and the four lane divided highway out front.  Parked cars and trucks had spilled off the parking areas out into the grass, a little haphazardly positioned but still with at least a vague sense of order.

Up close to the buildings, and flooding back around the vehicles, was a horde of zombies easily worthy of many the unit had seen back in Atlanta.  His guess was somewhere around a thousand, though with so many the exact number didn’t really matter all that much.  The zombies showed the usual mix of demographics, from children to the elderly, men and women, all manner of clothing including military and police uniforms, and a generous division between the common racial types in the state.

Those further back from the school were milling about a little aimlessly, but the tight pack close to the buildings indicated they were probably busily trying to batter their way inside.  He heard a smattering of guns going off on the other side of the mass of not-yet-dead corpses, which clearly argued for survivors holding out despite the sizable numbers outside the school.

“Did we even bring that much ammo?” Swanson asked, not entirely unreasonably.

“Yeah, but the shooting would have to be pretty on point.  There’s only a couple of cases in each hummer.” Roper offered.  “I could do some math if you want, but off the top of my head we’re looking at no more than two shots per zombie.”

“Better not let Swanson pull any triggers then.” Crawford said.

“I’ve got a better idea Crawford, we can drop you off and come back by in a few hours after you—” Swanson started, before Peter broke in tiredly.

“We’re not going to take out a thousand some odd zombies by shooting them all in the head.” Peter said sourly.  “That would take hours, and odds are the noise would just bring who knows how many more before we even started making a dent.  We’d start fighting the school and end battling the entire fucking city.”

“Maybe if we got some help?” Whitley asked from the other Humvee.  “Maybe go recruit some of the people from Central and arm them?”