Apocalypse Aftermath (55 page)

“Mendez is a solid guy, good head on his shoulders.  He’ll sort them out just fine.”

“I’m sure.  Assuming nothing blows up in our faces in the next seventy-two hours, I’m hoping you and he and whoever else you bring in on it will get some real shape knocked into place so everyone doesn’t have to be so terrified of waking up with a zombie in their face.”

“Count on it.” Peter nodded.  “My people have done enough running and shooting to last us quite a while.  In fact, once the refugees settle down some, it would be a good idea to put at least a couple hundred of them to work on laying in something better than chain-link fencing.  With that kind of manpower it won’t be too hard to get done.  The school isn’t too big.”

“Way ahead of you Gunny.  Unless you object, I want to spend at least two days gathering materials for the construction of a real perimeter.”

“Consider my blessing granted.”

“Why thank you.” Sawyer winked.  “There’s enough food and water to hold us a while, so my priority is security.  Then medical, then everything else, including calories.  And it would help a lot if we could get the word out that things are different here.  Carlson had several days to let rumors of ‘don’t bother’ spread, but I know there’s got to be other people out and about who need us as much as we need them.”

“See, you don’t even need me.  You’re doing just fine.”

“Bullshit.” Sawyer told him.  “Listen to Doug.  When he’s finished with you, I’ve set aside a classroom in the math hall for you and your people.  Red-5.  There are cots and blankets already set up.  I’ve got my people helping to make sure your guys and gals know about it.  Get a good night’s sleep, and we’ll see if we can figure out a way to get you around tomorrow without tearing the stitches.”

“Solid walls, good roof, a full night’s sleep; best offer we’ve had in a while.”

“Alright then.  You need anything, my door’s always open.”

She rose and gave him another smile, but stopped her turn when he spoke.

“Your dad would be damn proud of you.”

“Thanks.” she whispered, then she was off, headed briskly for the gymnasium doors.  His smile faded a little and became fixed when he saw Steve Harris step through.  The father-to-be looked around and fixed on him before heading over with a nod to Sawyer.

“Oh boy.” Peter muttered.

“What’s that?” Doug asked.

“Nothing.”

“Uh, Gunny Gibson?”

“How are you Mr. Harris?” Peter asked calmly.

“Better than you I think.” Harris said hesitantly.

“It’s nothing.”

“You can keep saying that all you want,” Doug chided as he went to work with disinfect again, “but it doesn’t make it so.”

“Sadist.”

“I wanted to thank you.” Harris said.

“It’s nothing.”
Peter repeated.

“No, it’s not.  They’ve settled
Carol in one of the classrooms so they can keep an eye on her.  The staff here have got training and resources to help her, now and in a month when the baby’s due.”

“We’re going to do our best sir.” Doug
said as he continued picking things out of Peter’s back.

“I know.  And I’m grateful beyond words.  Both to you and to the Gunny.”

“Mr. Harris.  Not everyone’s a bad guy.  People have priorities, but under half-decent conditions a lot of cooperation is possible.”

“That past few days have taught me indifference is sometimes the same thing as bad.”

Peter studied the man for a few moments.  “Things are tough all over.  But if there’s going to be any hope, people like you and your wife have to pull through.  Otherwise, what’s the point?”

Harris blinked at him. 
Peter realized the man was on the verge of crying.  The Marine had to stop himself from frowning.  Tears were acceptable, considering the stakes.  He didn’t blame the man.

“Thank you.” Harris whispered.

“You’re welcome.  Me and my people are going to be sticking around for the time being, so I’ll look forward to seeing your baby in a few weeks.”

“Yes, absolutely.”

“Do you know what your wife’s expecting?”

Harris grinned.  “We’ve been waiting to be surprised.  We wouldn’t let the doctor tell us what we were having.”

“Boy, girl, I’m sure he or she will be wonderful.”

“Thanks.  Really.”

“You’re welcome.  Really.  Now get out of here, go be with your wife before he starts sewing me up.  I’ve seen stitches go in, and it can be a little ugly.”

“Especially mine.” Doug reminded him.

Harris nodded and bobbed his head a little.  Peter watched the man head back across the gym, then winced as a needle jabbed into his back.  Stitches.  Great.

“Where Bobo?”

Jacey shrugged at the stove as she stirred cooking scrambled eggs.  “Outhouse I think.”

Darryl nodded and drew a cup of sweet tea from the cooler on the table near the kitchen door, then took it outside where it was cooler.  The morning was sunny and a little humid, but it was still more pleasant than the clubhouse.  He knew Big Chief and Bobo had done a little talking
last night about rigging up some fans or something to provide circulation, but they hadn’t done anything about it as the drinking continued.

Lighting his first cigarette of the day, Darryl glanced around.  Then he frowned.  He
had gotten into the habit of waking a hell of a lot earlier than had been his routine prior to the zombies; usually around eight or so.   Most of the rest of the Dogz usually had to be rousted out of their sleeping bags or off the air mattresses.  There seemed to be quite a few awake though.  He would have thought more of them would be taking advantage of the day off to sleep.

And a lot of them looked . . .Darryl wasn’t sure.  The mood was a lot different from the day before, and that didn’t make any sense.  Hangovers were to be expected, considering how far some of the brothers had fallen into bottles, but what he was seeing didn’t seem to fit hangover.  Tired and looking pained, that sort of fit hangover.  But the degree of lethargy and wincing he saw was disturbing.

“Hey!  Hey, someone help!” a voice called.  Darryl’s gaze lifted and swept around the back yard before he spotted Burnout waving an arm from next to the line of outhouses.  “Bobo sick on the crapper.”

Darryl was out of his chair and moving before he even realized what he was doing . The just started cigarette fe
ll from his fingers as he broke into a run.  Two other Dogz were following him, but Darryl arrived first.

“What
’s wrong?” he demanded.

“Crapper was occupied, but I been standing out here for ten minutes.  They all busy.  Finally I started banging on doors, and I heard Bobo moaning in this one.”

Darryl frowned.  “He hungover?”  Bobo had done some drinking last night, probably to show everyone it was okay to let go and relax some.

“Don’t sound like no hangover I ever had.” Burnout said.

Feeling a cold chill of fear sweep through him, Darryl put his hand on the holstered Glock on his belt as he stepped over to the door Burnout was indicating.  “Bobo?” he called, rapping on the door.  “Yo, Bobo, you okay?”

He heard groaning inside.  It was definitely Bobo.  Darryl’s fear turned into a torrent that threatened paralysis.  Please, please, please don’t be a zombie.  Not Bobo.  Just about anyone else but Bobo.

“Mat, Zeebo, y’all stand back.  Cover me.”

“What?” Zeebo asked.

“DJ, he ain’t . . .” Door Mat began before trailing off.

“I dunno.  Just be ready.” Darryl said grimly, forcing himself to say the words, to
not just step away and wait for someone else to look.  He reached for the nub of wood that had been attached to serve as a handle and pulled.  The door resisted his efforts; the latch was down.  Bobo was still moaning inside.

“Bobo, open the damn door.” Darryl said, pounding on it harder.  No response came; at least, nothing intelligible.  Pulling out his knife, Darryl snapped the blade open and probed in the crack between the outhouse wall and door.  The blade caught the simple wooden lever latch and lifted it as he brought the knife up along the crack, until the lever was rotated to the vertical and out of the way.

Transferring the knife back into his left hand, Darryl used the same hand to tug the door open as he laid his right back on the grip of his pistol.  The door swung back to reveal Bobo sitting slumped against the side wall of the outhouse.  He was on the wooden seat with his pants down around his ankles, but his eyes were half open and moving beneath the fluttering lids.  The Dogz founder’s skin was ashen beneath his normal dark coloration, glistening with sweat.

Though the outhouses were not pleasant smelling, to Darryl it was even worse this morning.  The stench was thicker, more raw, and far more obnoxious than he’d grown used to.  Darryl waited for a moment, but Bobo didn’t try to come off the seat and lunge for him.  The vice gripping Darryl’s heart began to ease a little, then Bobo opened his mouth again.

“Viv . . .”

“What?”

“Viv . . . ian.” Bobo repeated thickly, slurring the name like his tongue and mouth didn’t want to cooperate.

Darryl clicked the knife closed without looking at it, thrusting it in his pocket as he turned.  “Mat, go get Vivian.  Now.”  Door Mat took one look at the flat expression on Darryl’s face and bolted for the clubhouse.  “You two, help me get him up.” Darryl told Zeebo and Burnout.

“He ain’t dressed.” Zeebo protested.

“He fucking sick.” Darryl snapped.  “He our brother.  It ain’t pleasant but I don’t fucking care.  We ain’t leaving him out here with the shit.”

Burnout stepped up and reached in with Darryl, the two managing to grip the old biker’s arms and get him standing.  Bobo staggered as they tried to get him out of the small wooden shed.  His skin was slick from sweat, and he was tripping over his pants as they tangled around his ankles.  They managed to pull him out onto the grass and Darryl spoke without looking.

“Zeeb
o, get the fuck over here and hold him the fuck up.”

Zeebo moved
closer and took over supporting Bobo.  Darryl knelt, turning his head to avoid staring, and pulled Bobo’s jeans and underwear back up from the sides.  He didn’t bother with the zipper, he couldn’t make himself go that far just yet, but he did pull Bobo’s belt through so he could buckle it to keep the pants up.  Bobo’s breathing was labored, and he was swaying between the two men.

“We gonna carry him over closer to the house.” Darryl said.  “Get him by the shoulders, and don’t let his head flop around and fuck his neck up.”

The other two supported Bobo as Darryl lifted the founder’s ankles, and all three started walking toward the patio area.  They were halfway back when Darryl saw Vivian appear at the back door, Door Mat right behind her.  She ran to meet them.

“Put him down.” she said as she arrived.

“What, here?”

“Put him down.” Vivian ordered.

They complied and stood aside awkwardly as Vivian dropped to her knees next to Bobo and felt his forehead.  “He burning up.”

“He ain’t . . .” Zeebo tried again, but still unable to complete the sentence.

“No, he ain’t.” Darryl said firmly.  “This normal sick, not zombie sick.”

Vivian was holding some fingers against the side of Bobo’s neck. “DJ, go open up the back bedroom where all the medical stuff at.  Get me the bag with the red cross on it.”

Darryl looked around.  There were thirty people in view, and some were still in their chairs.  He nodded unconsciously.  “Everyone who feeling fucked up, come out here.” he shouted, gesturing at the center of the yard.  “Anyone who okay, check the other two outhouses; there people in them.  And check through the house too.  See who else not doing good.”

People blinked at him, and Darryl’s mouth tightened.  “Fucking now!” he roared.

Movement started, and Darryl jogged for the clubhouse.  He went past the kitchen and turned down the little hallway that led to the bedrooms.  The last one on the left had a latch with a padlock on it.  Bobo had insisted on locking all the pharmaceuticals up to keep people from getting into them; kids as well as Dogz like Needles who were always looking for a good buzz.  Only the designated ‘leaders’ had the combination.

Darryl had to try the dial three times before he managed to input it properly and pull the lock open.  The room was barely lit, with only a rim of sunlight trickling in around the boards sealing the window shut, but he saw a big canvas shopping bag laying in the middle of the bed.  Red marker had been used to draw a thick cross on it.  Grabbing
the bag, he hustled back down the hallway and outside.

People were cooperating with his instructions.  Some chairs had been moved over to the middle of the yard, and the ‘hungover’ Dogz and others were sitting in them, or on the grass itself.  Other Dogz were carrying PK and Tiny over from the outhouse.  Tiny was damn near seven feet tall, and even though Tank, who was maybe two inches shorter than Tiny, was ‘bigger’, Tiny’s height still meant he was a heavy load.  There was a Dog holding on to each of his limbs and they were still almost dragging him across the grass.