Apocalypse Atlanta (66 page)

Dithering further, Jessica almost didn’t swerve to avoid the zombies that were starting to notice her car.  She realized she’d not only almost hit them, but that she was nearly into the middle of the intersection, and hauled the wheel around to head north on 124.  There weren’t any close gas stations in either direction, but two or three miles north they started appearing fairly regularly, so she went that way.

“Where are we going?” Candice asked quietly.

“Sweetie, we can’t stay at the house anymore.”

“But–”

“Candice, please!” Jessica said a touch sharper than she’d intended.  “Mommy needs to think.”

“Okay.” Candice said in a small voice.

“Thank you Candy Bear.” Jessica said, sparing a brief smile before she returned her full attention to her driving.  She noticed, almost immediately, there seemed to be a lot of dark spots on the road.  Normally 124 was well lit with streetlights and additional illumination from the stores and other buildings that lined it; but tonight there were entire blocks that were lacking power.  She wondered if that was a worse sign than she instinctively thought it was.

The first several gas stations she passed were dark, and she kept going.  Others had light but were empty with the closed signs hanging on their doors.  As she neared Highway-316 she spotted a Shell station that was lit up like a beacon, and her heart leapt further when she saw movement inside the well lit store.

However, just as she slowed and started to turn off 124 she saw the figures inside the store were not human.  Not any longer.  She jerked the car back onto the road just in time to avoid hitting the curb as she aborted the turn.  As she reached the big intersection at 124 and 316 – for the first time
ever
empty except for her Accord – she tried to think back to the specifications for her car.

She couldn’t remember exactly what the manual said about the low fuel light.  Obviously she was running out of gas, but she couldn’t remember if it came on when she was down to one gallon remaining, or two, or some other amount.  The car got excellent mileage, and two gallons of fuel was actually quite a lot unless she was taking a long trip.  But she couldn’t remember for sure, and the uncertainty was clawing at her nerves as she kept driving with the little light on the dashboard glaring accusingly at her.

Jessica decided to head west on Highway-316, which would take her toward I-85.  If she didn’t find anything along 316 itself, which the Georgia Department of Transportation had built up to an interstate in all but name, then surely something along I-85 would be open.  If she made it that far.

“Please, please, please don’t let us get stranded out here on foot.”
Jessica prayed silently as she drove right through the series of red lights and turned onto 316.  She kept her speed low and begrudged any amount of pressure she had to put on the accelerator.  Two exits down she saw a QuikTrip sign that was illuminated and took the exit lane to have a look.

The station was to the right as she came off 316 and just as well lit as the sign that towered up into the sky so drivers on 316 could easily see it and be reminded they could stop if they wanted to enjoy all a QuikTrip offered.  Jessica turned onto the intersecting road and drove slowly toward the gas station.  The doors into the store were standing wide open, but she didn’t see anyone inside.

She hesitated a few seconds, but she could see the faint glow of LED panels on the gas pumps, and that decided it for her.  She pulled into the lot and circled the pumps slowly, looking carefully around for anything dangerous.  As far as she could tell the area was deserted except for her and Candice.  Jessica slid the Accord in at the far end of the pumps and put the gearshift in park.

“We need gas.” Jessica said as she reached for Brett’s gun.  “Candice, are you listening?”

“Yes.  We need gas.”

“Right.  Now hopefully we can get some here.” Jessica said as she looked at the holster.  It had a big plastic clip that looked fairly secure, and she hooked it onto the waistband of her jeans on the right side.  It was light, it had to be, but the gun in it was quite heavy.  It dragged at her jeans as she tugged on it, making sure it wasn’t about to fall off.

“I need you to help me while I’m seeing about the gas.  I need you to help me keep a good watch for what’s happening around us, okay?  If you see anything moving, a person, a car, anything, you need to tell me immediately.  You understand?  Don’t wait.  Let me know at once, okay?”

Candice’s eyes were wide, and Jessica could tell her daughter was both confused and scared, but the girl nodded.  “Good.  And you stay in the car.  Don’t open your door or window for any reason.”

Candice nodded again.  Jessica forced a smile she didn’t feel, then looked over her shoulder carefully before opening her door.  She got out, then reached in to open the back door so she could find her purse.  Digging through it, she grabbed the first credit card she saw in her wallet, then closed the door and turned to the gas pump.

It took her three tries, but she finally got her credit card to fit into the slot on the gas pump.  Jessica prayed silently as she pulled it out, glancing around as she waited for the miracle she needed.  The car had to be low, she needed gas.  She needed the pump to work and let her fill up.

The QuikTrip’s parking lot was still clear, she saw as she swept her eyes over and over the white concrete with its neatly landscaped grass borders.  Her eyes kept darting around nervously, as fingers of ice seemed to crawl up and down her back.  She felt the weight of the gun, riding heavily in the holster on her right side.

She wasn’t entirely sure how to operate the weapon.  The manual that came with it was supposed in the lock box.  Brett had showed it to her when he’d first gotten it, given her a little demonstration of how to load and ready it for firing, but she couldn’t remember anything.  She knew there was a safety, she thought that was the little wheel like lever on the side, and she knew what the trigger was supposed to do.  But as far as whether or not she could actually make the gun fire . . . Jessica was not sure.  She needed to test it, she reminded herself for the twentieth time since leaving the house.

Blocking the thoughts the house generated once more, refusing to dwell on anything except the immediate priorities, Jessica looked back at the gas pump.  The authorization was taking too long.  On a normal day, she swiped her card and the pump beeped readiness at her by the time she got the gas cap off.  She peered at the display, afraid of what she might see, but it still showed the ‘Processing’ message that indicated it was thinking about something.

Abruptly, the message changed back to the default ‘Insert Card or Prepay’.  Jessica almost swore but caught herself just in time as she looked around the parking lot again.  Still clear, no zombies.  She stuck the card back in the slot, drew a deep breath, and pulled it back out slow and steady.

“Mommy, is it going to work?”

Jessica put the card back in her pocket as she looked at Candice, waiting in the passenger seat and watching her anxiously.  The girl’s eyes were almost comically wide, looking big and round in the dark interior of the car, cast in shadows by the overhead lights of the gas station’s big awning.

“I don’t know sweetie.” Jessica said in a voice that was louder than she liked, but not nearly quiet enough to suit her.  She instinctively felt like whispering and creeping, not blundering about making a racket.  Something told her attention might not be the best thing to be drawing right now.

“What if it doesn’t?” Candice asked.  Jessica almost, almost, snapped, but caught herself just in time.  The question, impolitic as it might be, was reasonable.  Part of her was even proud of Candice for recognizing the need to try and look ahead to possible actions and necessities, even as she still felt like screaming in frustration.  None of this was Candice’s fault.  She couldn’t take it out on the girl.

“We’ll figure something out.” was all Jessica said, but as she spoke she heard an engine.  She lifted her gaze and saw headlights approaching from the south.  Jessica felt a surge of hope that shifted to terror almost immediately.  She . . . she didn’t know what to do.  People could help, but people could be dangerous.  There were no police to help, no friends or passersby that might ensure civility stayed the rule.  She watched the headlights resolve into the large shape of a truck, one of the oversized models she used to see on the commercials when Brett would watch football or baseball.

This one wasn’t pulling a camper, but she did see a rumpled tarp fastened down tightly over the bed, objects jutting up against it from beneath making it obvious there was cargo being hauled.  Jessica realized she was staring and glanced away, looking around the parking lot out of frantic embarrassment as much as a need to make sure she wasn’t being approached by a zombie while she gawked.  No, no zombies.  Not yet.

She looked at the gas pump.  The message had reverted back to the default instruction.  Jessica was trying to decide whether she would burst into tears or maybe scream in frustration when she saw the headlights sweep across her from behind.  Whipping her head around, she saw the truck turning into the gas station.  Her earlier considerations of what the truck might hold retreated in the face of sheer, abject panic that left her paralyzed with indecision.

The truck took the turn into the lot slow, seeming to pause just as its tires left the road, then accelerated slightly and swung over to one of the inner pumps.  Jessica watched numbly as the truck parked on the far side of the second pump over from her.  Its engine shut off, and the sudden return to the eerie silence emphasized how loud the rumble of the truck had been.

When the driver’s door opened, Jessica’s body finally unlocked.  She put her hand down on the holstered pistol, almost blinking in surprise both at how natural it felt, and how she’d automatically gone for the weapon.  She kept praying, though at the moment she wasn’t asking for gas or for her car to keep working.  Never in her life had she been more aware of being a female, of how being a woman instead of a man could affect how others saw and reacted to her.

“Hello.” the man who climbed down from the truck said in a normal sounding voice.  “There any gas?”

Jessica stared at him, ready to do something, but not sure what.  She was afraid, but hopeful, lot of things in between, and caught indecisively amidst them all.  He closed the truck door and stepped to one side of the pump to look at her.  He wore fatigues, but his were not the familiar beige ones she’d seen in news reports for the last decade as America concentrated on bombing various desert based countries back into the Stone Ages.

His were green and black and brown, splotched patches of color that seemed randomly daubed across his shirt and pants.  The baseball hat on his head was black and red, a Bulldogs hat she realized distantly, and one that looked comfortably well worn.  He also seemed older, maybe in his fifties, and was carrying a not inconsiderable belly that made her instinctively know he wasn’t a soldier.

None of that really bothered her all that much.  No, what she focused on immediately were the weapons he wore.  A pistol hung under his left arm, with another in a holster high on the right of his belt.  He also had a pair of knives that she could see, strapped across his chest and left thigh respectively, but the guns were what concerned her.

She saw something spill across his face, and felt herself tense.  “Hey!  Hey!  Easy now!” he blurted, stepping back a bit so he was partially hidden behind the gas pump.  “Calm down!  Just calm down, okay?”

Jessica realized she had Brett’s pistol in her hand.  She couldn’t remember taking it out, and she found herself blinking at it stupidly.  After a moment, as she heard Candice breathing very rapidly behind her, Jessica lowered the gun a little and found her voice.

“What do you want?” she got out, not shouting, but with enough strength that her tone didn’t waver.

“Gas.” he called back.  “Same as you I’d figure.”  He peeked out at her from behind the pump.  “I just need to fill up.  I ain’t gonna bother you none.”  His hands, empty she saw at once, emerged from behind the pump.  When she didn’t say anything, he wiggled his fingers and rotated his hands to make it clear he wasn’t holding anything.  “You gonna shoot me?”

“I . . . I don’t want to shoot anyone.” Jessica said after a moment.  “But . . .”

“I know.” the man replied, keeping his hands in view as he stepped slowly out from behind the pump.  “I don’t blame you.  Look, I’m Lonnie.  Lonnie Wilkerson.  I live a few miles down Sugarloaf Parkway, down there.”  He pointed south, keeping the gesture slow and simple.  “I ain’t sick, and I’m not gonna bother you at all, okay?”

The silence stretched out for several seconds, until Jessica realized that was her cue.  She had to kick herself mentally twice to get her gears unstuck, but she managed a nod.  “Okay.”

“Okay then.”  Lonnie lowered his hands slowly.  “Pumps working?”

“I . . . I don’t know.” Jessica said, lowering the gun but keeping it in her hand.  It was so heavy she wasn’t sure what would happen if she did fire it.  It seemed like it would likely knock her around like an enraged horse, and she reminded herself for the twenty-first time to read the damn manual and at least fire it once so she could be certain she knew how.  “It’s not taking my credit card.”

He nodded, looking at the store.  “Been inside?  The pumps probably just need to be turned on from the register.”

Jessica glanced at store, then quickly back to him.  “I don’t know how to do that.”