Apocalypse Aftermath (66 page)

“You wreck us, I
gonna shoot you.” Darryl said loudly.

“We fucking out of here.” Weasel retorted.

“Not yet we ain’t.” Goat yelled, hanging on to the dashboard.

Darryl turned and looked out the back window as they headed up the side of the store.  He saw one of the semis begin to nose around the back corner.
  Two massive plumes of dirty black smoke were belching from the vertical exhausts as the engine shoved the cab and its trailer over and through the carnage.  Looking forward again, Darryl saw the plow truck was still moving, and finding the radio where he’d dropped it, he didn’t hear any chatter.  He guessed that meant everything was okay.

When they burst out into the front parking lot, Darryl blinked.  He saw broken and run over zombies everywhere; though there were even more
still on their feet.  He’d known the plow trucks were probably going to be trying to act as distractions, but the plan hadn’t been too specific as to how.  Apparently they had decided to do what effectively looked like big doughnuts and figure-eights in the parking lot.

The other truck was off in the far reaches of the lot, near the street.  Motionless.  It had a swarm of zombies around it at least ten deep, and they were blocking Darryl’s view of the passenger compartment.  All the windows except the back one
were broken with zombies hanging out of them.  He didn’t even bother to lift the radio to ask if the driver had gotten out.  Frankly, he didn’t fucking care.  Whoever he’d been, he wasn’t a brother.

And it was too late regardless.

The Dogz were almost out of here.  Almost.  All they had to do was get back across the Loop without getting stuck or wrecking, and everything should be okay.  Then they’d be back in Watkinsville, could take the doctor, and haul ass back to the clubhouse.

They were almost home.

Behind them, both semis were just emerging from the side of the store, followed by the other townie pickups.  He saw the men in the back were hanging on for their lives as the trucks rocked through the turn and juddered across bodies.  Some zombies had managed to grab onto the sides of the pickup beds, and both gunshots and hammered stocks were trying to dislodge them.  The drivers ignored what was going on behind them; staying in motion as the passengers battled the dead.

The radio finally spoke.
  “Jesus Jim, slow down a little.  We’re strung out.”

“Uh, right.  Sure.”
another man replied on the circuit.

“They slowing down?”

Darryl shrugged at Goat’s question, trying to play it cool.  He was still terrified, but he needed to keep his front in place.  He was supposed to be the Dog in charge.  He had to be the big dog.  “They want us closed back up.  Relax, we good.”

“You say so DJ.”

“Just chill.”  Darryl said calmly. 
“Like you ain’t about to shit your own drawers fool.”
he told himself, amazed at how unconcerned his voice had made the command sound.  Like everything was as cool as he made it sound.

Out on the road, the zombie horde
there looked thicker than it had when the convoy had come in.  The plow truck turned left and headed for the Loop exit.  The zombies started thinning out as they crossed the lanes and meridian of the ring road around Athens, and went from horde to thick wandering crowds when the vehicles went from Loop to grass to Daniells Bridge Road.  Darryl ignored the rough ride, but didn’t start breathing easier until he saw the bridge over the creek.  The zombie count was down to occasional twos and threes.

“Fuck me, we’re still alive.”

Darryl didn’t realize he’d been the one who’d spoken until the other Dogz in the car turned to look at him.  He made sure his hands were down at his sides so the others couldn’t see them shaking.  Everything smelled like gunpowder, hot iron, scorched plastic, and burned cloth.  His ears were ringing, his heart was pounding away in his chest, one of his knees was throbbing, and he felt like he’d been worked over by a jackhammer.

But he
was alive.  It was over.

He dug into his pockets for his cigarettes, then hesitated.  The Dogz in the car with him were glancing around at each other, even
Weasel in the driver’s seat.  If Darryl tried to light up, he’d have to raise his hands.  He took a deep breath as casually as he could, waiting for the shakes to stop.  Even if he didn’t need to hang onto his reputation as a bad ass, he wasn’t even sure he’d be able to work the lighter and hold the flame on the smoke so it’d catch.

He
really needed a cigarette.  Bad.

“Gunny.”

Peter looked up from the papers on the desk in front of him.  It was un-fucking-believable.  He would have either pitched a fit or laughed himself silly over it if he didn’t know how important the organizing was.  Even the end of the world couldn’t abolish paperwork.

Whitley stood in the doorway of the school registrar’s office; now the Cumming FEMA
camp security office.

“Problem?” he asked.

“Got a minute?”

“
Sure, anything to get away from this for a little bit.”

Whitley closed the door and dropped into one of the chairs facing the desk.  He’d cleared all the former owner’s effects off it earlier.  Staring at pictures of people who
were probably dead bothered him.  “I thought you’d be used to paperwork.”

“Used to it, yes.  Good at it, no.  Happy with it, hell no.
” Peter said sourly.  “I did my share, then got promoted higher and was able to stick others with it.  That’s what I’m missing, more subordinates.”

“
Uh oh.” she said with a brief smile.  “You need me behind a desk?”

“
No, I need you out there.  That’s why I’m promoting you.  You’ve got the right attitude for a NCO.” Peter said as he tipped his chair back, carefully.  His back was bothering the hell out of him, but he had refused all offers of painkillers.  He could handle a little pain.  The drugs might be needed by someone else more, and besides, the pain helped remind him of the stakes.

She gave him an odd look, and he gave up trying to find a comfortable way to sit in the chair.  “That what you wanted to talk about?
  Making sergeant?”

“What?  Oh, no.” she shook her head.  “I mean, I never figured on making sergeant
as a reservist, and especially not in the middle of a zombie apocalypse, on the recommendation of a Marine, but I figure you know what you’re doing.  I’ll even do paperwork for you if that’s what you want.”

“Shhh, don’t say that too loud or they won’t let me sit in here doing paperwork while my back heals.
  I might not like it, but I can push a pencil with the best of them if it comes to it.  I need you young bucks out and about so I can take a breather.” he said with a theatrical eye flick toward the glass panel next to the door.

The woman chuckled lightly.  “If you think I can handle it, I trust you.”

“I do.  You and Mendez both, which is why I bumped each of you.  That, and I’m too old to keep running around all the time.  That’s what junior sergeants are for.  I say, you do, and the privates and specialists bitch about it.  All we’re missing is some officers for us all to unite in our disdain over.”

“Right.”

Peter studied her for a few more moments, then made a winding motion with his hand.  “But that’s not what you’re here for.  Spill it.  Talk to Gunny.”

“It’s Crawford.”

“What about her?” Peter asked, suppressing a sigh.  He wasn’t entirely surprised, especially not coming from Whitley, but he figured it might have taken longer for the question to come up.  He should have known better.  Mendez was a good soldier, but he was very job focused.  Whitley was better at keeping her finger on the pulse of the finer details that went on around the tasks.

“I’m not sure she’s dealing with things too well.”

“I was under the impression she walked her watches yesterday and today, on time and without incident.  Even shot some zombies while doing it.”

“Well, yes.  But . . . it’s what she’s doing the rest of the time that’s got me worried.”

Peter shrugged.  “What’s she doing?”

“She
keeps to herself, wandering around inside the secured perimeter playing with those RC cars Swanson insisted on getting.  And when she’s in the building, she’s moody and doesn’t talk to anyone.”  Whitley shrugged helplessly.  “She doesn’t give anyone shit, not even when Roper complained about having to help in the kitchen.”

“
You’re upset that she’s not being a bitch to everyone?” Peter asked lightly.

“You know what I mean.”

“Yes, I suppose I do.” Peter nodded, allowing himself a sigh.  “The short answer is, she’s probably going to be fine.”

Whitley frowned.  “Gunny, I think
I’m going to need the long version.”

“Everyone deals with loss differently.” Peter told her.  “If Crawford wants to do her job and mope for a while, that’s no one’s business but hers.”

“But—”

Peter shook his head.  “No buts.  It’s a problem if she skips duty or starts slacking when she’s supposed to be working; but she’s not doing that, is she?”

“No.” Whitley admitted.

“Then
my advice is for us to be there in case she comes looking to talk, or if she decides to reintegrate herself.  If she wanted to leave, she would.  She hasn’t, and she’s still working, so she must want to be here.”

“You’re not worried about her?  I mean, this really isn’t like her.”

Peter thought for a few moments, trying to decide how much of what Crawford had admitted to him to share.  “I won’t say I’ve served with people
exactly
like her before, but I’ve seen her type.” he finally said.  “If I’m right, she pushes people away because she cares more than she lets on, and it’s her way of coping.  Of readying herself against whatever might happen.”

“That . . . doesn’t make sense.”

“It doesn’t have to.  You’re not her.  All I’ll say is Crawford is working through some things that are none of our business unless she asks for help, or if she starts letting it impact her job.  Since she’s doing neither, and since I’ve had a chance to get to know her some, I think we should leave her alone until she’s worked through what’s in her head.”

“I get that, I guess.” Whitley said.  “But I’m afraid the way she’s acting might start creeping out some of the civvies.  A lot of them are still in shock over what’s happening. 
There’s still a ton of things to do that Ms. Sawyer needs workers for.”

“Leave Crawford be.” Peter said firmly.  “That’s an order sergeant.  You’ve brought it to me, which was the right thing to do if it was on your mind, but I’m aware of what’s happening, and I’ve listened, and I’m telling you to stay out of it for now.”

Whitley nodded, reluctantly, but without any sign of defiance.  Peter shrugged.  “Everyone’s a little crazy these days.  We’ve got batteries to spare.  If she wants to play with toys for a while, we owe her that much.”

“I don’t care about the batteries.”

“I know.  Neither do I.  I’ll keep an eye on her, and I know you’ll do the same, but she’s probably going to be fine.  In the meantime, it isn’t like we don’t have other concerns.”

Whitley’s mood shifted a little, from the reluctant concern to her more usual brisk confidence.  “
Andres says he’s got everyone we need for the planned runs over the next few days, loaders as well as security.”

Peter touched one of the papers on his desk.  “I saw list
Mendez worked up, and the targets he’s going to cover.  It’ll be a good test for the recruits, and the camp should see a lot of useful supplies out of it as well.”

“After everything we’ve been through, it feels
weird
sending civvies out to do things like this.”

“Hah!” Peter laughed.  “Be thankful Mendez did the picking, and offered to
lead the runs himself.  I was going to send you before he pointed out he’d been spending the most time with them.”

“Thanks a lot.”

“Price of success.  Besides, Smith and Oliver both are riding along to stiffen them up.  And they’re not going far, and only to little stores.  We’re not sending them into the depths of a dark warehouse store.  Yet.”  He suppressed his own shudder.

“Still feels weird.”

“Sergeant, I have a feeling we’ve only just begun to feel weird.  Remember, the world’s in the middle of ending.  We’ve done our share of heavy lifting.  As of this morning there are twenty-four hundred and seventeen people in this camp.  I’m too old to run around supporting them with just you guys.  Face it, we’re the vets in this thing.  Time we started acting like it.”

Whitley sighed.  “I’m beginning to see why you retired.”

“Questioning my senility?”

“
Who, me?”

Peter pointed at the door.  “Out.  Go be useful.  I’ve got a planning meeting to finish getting ready for.  Sawyer might be little, but I think she can probably kick even your over-confident ass.
  I sure as hell don’t want her up mine, so I need to be ready when I walk in there.”