Apocalypse Atlanta (Book 4): Apocalypse Asylum by David Rogers

morning.”

Chapter Five - Road less traveled
    “I hate to see you go.” Sawyer said regretfully as she watched the activity around the pair of Humvees.  The eastern horizon was awash with red and yellow as the sun crept into view to banish the night.  Shadows were long, but visibility was pretty good even so.
    Peter turned and gave her a steady look.  “Just make sure no one goes getting complacent and you’ll be fine.”
    “I’m worried about heat and food—” she began, but Peter shook his head.
    “No, trust me.  I’ve seen it before.” he stepped closer, lowering his voice some to make it less likely his words would carry.  “You and your people will figure out the survival and shelter aspects, no sweat.  What you need to be concerned with is staying on top of morale as winter sets in, and against people forgetting what you’re in the middle of.  If the scavenge teams stop paying attention, or if people forget to take fence duty seriously, or if the cranky factor from being cold all the time gets out of hand, then you’ll be in trouble.”
    “You’ve seen a zombie outbreak before?”
    “Funny lady.” Peter chuckled.  “No, I mean I’ve seen how easy it is to lose the edge.  Guys get bored, a routine settles in, and suddenly little things are being forgotten.  Then medium sized things are being forgotten.  Soon it’s big things, and if something hasn’t blown up in your face before then, you’ll definitely be in for a bad time.”
    “Only takes one.” Sawyer nodded, repeating back something he’d repeatedly told her as the camp had gotten stabilized.
    “Right, only takes one.  Don’t let it happen.  Work with Mendez on keeping the assignments rotated — including off days — so your sentries stay sharp and you’ll be okay.”
    “What about you guys?” she asked as Whitley stood at the back of one of the Humvees rummaging in a case of five-five-six ammunition.
    “We’ll stay sharp too.  It’s a long way from here to South Dakota.”
    “Be careful.   If you can’t pick your way through the . . . I mean, you can always just come back here.”
    “We’ll be fine.” Peter assured her calmly.
    Turning, he surveyed ‘his’ three people.  Crawford was already standing at the open left rear door of the lead vehicle, her face showing impatience as she stood waiting with her M-16 in hand and the pockets and fittings of her equipment belt and webbing bulging with gear.  Whitley looked to be just about ready, as she handed a stack of magazines to Smith for him to add to his own loadout.  Nailor and Dorne were already seated in the front seats of the lead Humvee, and Barker and Oliver were just settling themselves into the other one.
    “What’s the hold up?” Crawford called.
    “Control yourself.” Whitley answered, dropping — but not securing — the canvas flap on the back of the covering over the Humvee’s cargo area.
    “We’re burning daylight.” Crawford complained.
    “Plenty of time.” Smith told her.
    “Not with you two circle-jerking each other off.”
    “Jealous?” Peter asked Crawford after catching Whitley’s eye.  The sergeant gave him a subtle nod of acknowledgment, which he returned before he switched his attention to the impatient specialist.
    “Because they’re slow and needy?” Crawford snorted.  “Yeah, right.”
    “Sit down, shut up.” Peter said to Crawford as Whitley and Smith headed for the second vehicle.  He went around the front of the Humvee and unslung his AR-15 before sliding in and propping the weapon up between his knees.  Looking over his shoulder, he confirmed his pack and the other gear they were bringing was in the rear of the vehicle.
    Crawford hopped in and pulled her door closed with a bang that told of continuing impatience.  “Come on already.”
    “Crawford, you know here to there is something like fifteen hundred miles, right?” Dorne asked, turning to look at her.
    “I know sitting here in the parking