Apocalypse Atlanta (Book 4): Apocalypse Asylum by David Rogers Page A
Authors: David Rogers
Tags: Zombies
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lot isn’t getting us any closer to there .”
“Hum-2 ready.” the radio clipped to Nailor’s shoulder epaulette said in Barker’s voice.
“Let’s go.” Crawford said.
“By all means.” Nailor said, pushing the button to start the Humvee. “Quicker we get rid of you the quieter it’ll be.”
“Except for the squelch of you bozos jacking each other off.”
“Just drive.” Peter said loudly as Dorne opened his mouth. “Secondary vehicle park.”
Nailor put the transmission in drive and stepped on the accelerator hard enough to make the heavy vehicle surge forward. Peter steadied his rifle as the Guardsman whipped the Humvee around the curve of the parking lot’s lane and toward the exit. He just had time to reposition the AR so it was leaning toward the seatback and door before Nailor took the turn onto the road fast enough to make the tires squeal a little.
“Finally.” Crawford muttered, hanging onto the panic bar above the door with one hand as she kept the other on her M-16.
Peter kept his peace, merely checking behind them to make sure the other Humvee was keeping up. Nailor drove through the quiet streets of North Cumming which — excepting the overgrown grass in the yards and along the shoulders of the roads — was actually fairly orderly after all the ‘straightening up’ the camp had done. Zombie bodies were collected and moved to the town dump once a week, and burned whenever the gristly piles got too big to stomach.
The result was a town that, while deserted, looked as if it were merely waiting for its residents to return. Most of the close stores had been picked clean of every conceivable thing that could be of use to the thousands of survivors at the camp, but there were places being used as ‘off-site storage’.
One of these was an Ingles supermarket about five minutes from the school, or specifically the asphalt lot out front. Its parking spaces were nearly full; over two hundred vehicles in position, each one recovered, checked, and parked to wait for possible use by the camp’s scavenger teams. Mostly trucks and SUVs, the thinking was it positioned a ready reserve of transportation nearby in case it was needed. The camp’s own school parking lots were already hosting another hundred, and these were the backups to the backups in case of need.
They needed one now. Nailor slowed and turned into the lot, glancing over his shoulder at Peter. “Gunny, pick your poison.”
Peter scanned the waiting vehicles. He had a general idea of what he wanted . . . ah. “There.” he said, pointing at a green F-150 with a crew cab near the end of one of the rows. The body showed some dents, and the paint was scuffed from wear and coated with a layer of mud around the wheel-wells; but he remembered it from when it had been recovered. It had been found ‘parked’ in the middle of a road on the west side of Cumming; the doors open and with the keys still in the ignition. As far as he knew, it was in good shape.
Nailor circled around the edge of the lot and parked near the truck Peter had selected. Peter looked around the area carefully, paying particular attention to his side of the Humvee, before opening his door. He’d already had several close brushes with zombies, and didn’t want to chance his luck any further. But the area looked clear, and he settled the AR on his shoulder as he walked over to the Ford.
He checked through the windows to make sure nothing had taken up residence in the cab, then opened the driver’s door so he could pop the hood release.
“Can we start loading?”
“Unload the Hummers.” Peter said as he poked his head beneath the hood to give the engine a fast once over. “But give me a minute before loading. We’ve got a long drive ahead of us.”
“Sure.” Whitley said. “By the side here.”
Peter ignored the others as they traded comments with one another and got the supplies being brought north out of
“Hum-2 ready.” the radio clipped to Nailor’s shoulder epaulette said in Barker’s voice.
“Let’s go.” Crawford said.
“By all means.” Nailor said, pushing the button to start the Humvee. “Quicker we get rid of you the quieter it’ll be.”
“Except for the squelch of you bozos jacking each other off.”
“Just drive.” Peter said loudly as Dorne opened his mouth. “Secondary vehicle park.”
Nailor put the transmission in drive and stepped on the accelerator hard enough to make the heavy vehicle surge forward. Peter steadied his rifle as the Guardsman whipped the Humvee around the curve of the parking lot’s lane and toward the exit. He just had time to reposition the AR so it was leaning toward the seatback and door before Nailor took the turn onto the road fast enough to make the tires squeal a little.
“Finally.” Crawford muttered, hanging onto the panic bar above the door with one hand as she kept the other on her M-16.
Peter kept his peace, merely checking behind them to make sure the other Humvee was keeping up. Nailor drove through the quiet streets of North Cumming which — excepting the overgrown grass in the yards and along the shoulders of the roads — was actually fairly orderly after all the ‘straightening up’ the camp had done. Zombie bodies were collected and moved to the town dump once a week, and burned whenever the gristly piles got too big to stomach.
The result was a town that, while deserted, looked as if it were merely waiting for its residents to return. Most of the close stores had been picked clean of every conceivable thing that could be of use to the thousands of survivors at the camp, but there were places being used as ‘off-site storage’.
One of these was an Ingles supermarket about five minutes from the school, or specifically the asphalt lot out front. Its parking spaces were nearly full; over two hundred vehicles in position, each one recovered, checked, and parked to wait for possible use by the camp’s scavenger teams. Mostly trucks and SUVs, the thinking was it positioned a ready reserve of transportation nearby in case it was needed. The camp’s own school parking lots were already hosting another hundred, and these were the backups to the backups in case of need.
They needed one now. Nailor slowed and turned into the lot, glancing over his shoulder at Peter. “Gunny, pick your poison.”
Peter scanned the waiting vehicles. He had a general idea of what he wanted . . . ah. “There.” he said, pointing at a green F-150 with a crew cab near the end of one of the rows. The body showed some dents, and the paint was scuffed from wear and coated with a layer of mud around the wheel-wells; but he remembered it from when it had been recovered. It had been found ‘parked’ in the middle of a road on the west side of Cumming; the doors open and with the keys still in the ignition. As far as he knew, it was in good shape.
Nailor circled around the edge of the lot and parked near the truck Peter had selected. Peter looked around the area carefully, paying particular attention to his side of the Humvee, before opening his door. He’d already had several close brushes with zombies, and didn’t want to chance his luck any further. But the area looked clear, and he settled the AR on his shoulder as he walked over to the Ford.
He checked through the windows to make sure nothing had taken up residence in the cab, then opened the driver’s door so he could pop the hood release.
“Can we start loading?”
“Unload the Hummers.” Peter said as he poked his head beneath the hood to give the engine a fast once over. “But give me a minute before loading. We’ve got a long drive ahead of us.”
“Sure.” Whitley said. “By the side here.”
Peter ignored the others as they traded comments with one another and got the supplies being brought north out of
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