into our path, only
to be smashed down by the massive grill guard mounted to the front of the Ford
then pulped under the oversized off-road tires.
Finding the Ford
was a blessing. Short of an armored car or a military vehicle it was about the
best vehicle for our situation, and with the added benefit of a beefy four wheel
drive system we weren’t restricted to pavement. I glanced at the dash and
noted the fuel tank was over three quarters full. I also noticed a switch on
the dash marked ‘fuel’ and realized the truck had dual tanks. I flipped the
switch to change tanks and the gauge quickly swung all the way past the full
indicator. God Bless rednecks!
“Where are we
going?” Rachel leaned forward and adjusted the AC vent that was blowing
directly on her.
Her question hit
me like a slap across the face. Katie! My wife was in Arizona and I’d been so
focused on the crisis at hand I’d forgotten about what she must be going
through. Guilt washed over me, sapping most of my adrenaline, my shoulders
slumping.
“What?” She
asked, looking around in a panic, thinking my reaction was due to some new
threat.
“My wife.
Katie. She’s in Arizona. Alone.” I squared my shoulders and started
thinking.
Katie was a farm
girl, raised in Michigan by a Marine who survived Pearl Harbor and the fighting
in the Pacific. She’d been the only girl, and the baby, in a family with three
boys. She could fight and shoot with the best of them, but had she had the
chance to arm herself and fight?
“I’m going to
Arizona.” I announced without giving it a second’s thought. “I’m going to
find some food, water and weapons, and then I’m going to get my wife.”
Rachel was
quiet, staring ahead through the windshield for a time before she spoke, “I’ll
help you. I’ve got no one, and from the looks of Atlanta I don’t even have a
home anymore.”
If I’d been thinking even half way
clearly I would have been amazed at how quickly we had adjusted to a world that
had just fallen apart around us.
9
We drove a
couple of miles south before finding a major road that turned to the west and
looked like it would provide us access to the expressway that ran through the
area. The road I was looking for was GA 400, an eight lane toll road that
serviced the suburbs of Atlanta. I really needed a map. I knew the geography
of the US pretty well, but I didn’t know the routes to get out of the Atlanta
area without getting lost in suburban and rural areas.
We drove and
pushed through more wrecks, regularly bouncing infected off the front of the truck
as we made our way towards the expressway. The road we were on swept up a rise
and as we gained elevation I could see the signs for the toll road entrances to
go north and south. I slowed as we approached the northbound onramp, not
knowing which way to go, but hesitant to go any closer to the inferno that
Atlanta had become. Idling past the entrance we crested the overpass and I
brought us to a gentle stop. The northbound lanes were partially clogged with
crashed and abandoned cars, but were passable if one drove slowly enough. Southbound
was completely empty for as far as I could see. Infected shambled on the
pavement, turning to face us as they heard the sound of the idling diesel
engine. More of them crawled on the pavement and in the grassy median,
apparently too damaged to walk, but not damaged enough to be down for the
count.
I looked south,
to my left, and the scene was repeated. Raising my eyes I could see the thick,
oily, black smoke boiling up from Atlanta, and even in the daylight it glowed
within from the fires burning in the city. Rachel gasped and grabbed my arm,
pointing ahead across the overpass.
Not a mile ahead
of us was a gas station with attached convenience mart, but I didn’t see
anything more unusual than abandoned cars and shambling infected.
“What do you
see?” I
to be smashed down by the massive grill guard mounted to the front of the Ford
then pulped under the oversized off-road tires.
Finding the Ford
was a blessing. Short of an armored car or a military vehicle it was about the
best vehicle for our situation, and with the added benefit of a beefy four wheel
drive system we weren’t restricted to pavement. I glanced at the dash and
noted the fuel tank was over three quarters full. I also noticed a switch on
the dash marked ‘fuel’ and realized the truck had dual tanks. I flipped the
switch to change tanks and the gauge quickly swung all the way past the full
indicator. God Bless rednecks!
“Where are we
going?” Rachel leaned forward and adjusted the AC vent that was blowing
directly on her.
Her question hit
me like a slap across the face. Katie! My wife was in Arizona and I’d been so
focused on the crisis at hand I’d forgotten about what she must be going
through. Guilt washed over me, sapping most of my adrenaline, my shoulders
slumping.
“What?” She
asked, looking around in a panic, thinking my reaction was due to some new
threat.
“My wife.
Katie. She’s in Arizona. Alone.” I squared my shoulders and started
thinking.
Katie was a farm
girl, raised in Michigan by a Marine who survived Pearl Harbor and the fighting
in the Pacific. She’d been the only girl, and the baby, in a family with three
boys. She could fight and shoot with the best of them, but had she had the
chance to arm herself and fight?
“I’m going to
Arizona.” I announced without giving it a second’s thought. “I’m going to
find some food, water and weapons, and then I’m going to get my wife.”
Rachel was
quiet, staring ahead through the windshield for a time before she spoke, “I’ll
help you. I’ve got no one, and from the looks of Atlanta I don’t even have a
home anymore.”
If I’d been thinking even half way
clearly I would have been amazed at how quickly we had adjusted to a world that
had just fallen apart around us.
9
We drove a
couple of miles south before finding a major road that turned to the west and
looked like it would provide us access to the expressway that ran through the
area. The road I was looking for was GA 400, an eight lane toll road that
serviced the suburbs of Atlanta. I really needed a map. I knew the geography
of the US pretty well, but I didn’t know the routes to get out of the Atlanta
area without getting lost in suburban and rural areas.
We drove and
pushed through more wrecks, regularly bouncing infected off the front of the truck
as we made our way towards the expressway. The road we were on swept up a rise
and as we gained elevation I could see the signs for the toll road entrances to
go north and south. I slowed as we approached the northbound onramp, not
knowing which way to go, but hesitant to go any closer to the inferno that
Atlanta had become. Idling past the entrance we crested the overpass and I
brought us to a gentle stop. The northbound lanes were partially clogged with
crashed and abandoned cars, but were passable if one drove slowly enough. Southbound
was completely empty for as far as I could see. Infected shambled on the
pavement, turning to face us as they heard the sound of the idling diesel
engine. More of them crawled on the pavement and in the grassy median,
apparently too damaged to walk, but not damaged enough to be down for the
count.
I looked south,
to my left, and the scene was repeated. Raising my eyes I could see the thick,
oily, black smoke boiling up from Atlanta, and even in the daylight it glowed
within from the fires burning in the city. Rachel gasped and grabbed my arm,
pointing ahead across the overpass.
Not a mile ahead
of us was a gas station with attached convenience mart, but I didn’t see
anything more unusual than abandoned cars and shambling infected.
“What do you
see?” I
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