Apocalypse Atlanta (Book 4): Apocalypse Asylum Read Free Page A

a safe zone with fire or sparks or something, the truck burns.  But if you’re thinking it’d be like parking a bomb next to the buildings, no.  That’s Hollywood, not life.”
    She nodded slowly.  “So do you think it’s a good idea?”
    “Every little bit helps.  Hauling fuel back is heavy work.  If he can get the pumps worked out, I guess a couple of days would see what the camp needs closer at hand.  That would probably save some headaches when we get into winter.”
    “I’ll have another meeting with him then, see if the finer points can get worked out.”  She slumped in her chair and stretched her arms out across the desk, rolling her shoulders to work out stiffness, then gave him an impish smile.  “Why don’t you take tomorrow off?”
    Peter blinked at her.  “What?”
    “You’ve been out every day for the last three weeks, plus planning meetings, and your rounds inside the camp.  Take tomorrow and just chill.”
    “There’s always—” he began, but she sat up suddenly and shook her head at him.
    “No, I think I’m going to throw around a little of that weight you keep insisting I have.  Until the day after tomorrow, you’re off duty.  That’s an order.”
    “Okay, but if I’m off, then so are you.” he told her with a smile.
    “That what you told your officers when they gave you an order?” Sawyer chuckled.
    “My officers usually didn’t care if I overworked myself.” Peter told her, then let his expression sober a bit.  “If I can use some downtime, so can you.”
    Sawyer gazed at him for a moment, then nodded.  “If six weeks of plans and preparation doesn’t buy me a day off, then I don’t know what will.  You’re on.”
    “Alright.” Peter stood and adjusted his slung AR.  “You any good at poker?”

Chapter Two - Is there anybody listening?
    “Your shoulder hurts because you don’t listen.” Crawford said in a voice of dangerous patience.  “Stock pulled in tight, so it doesn’t kick back into you when you fire.  You were fucking around, and now you’ve got a bruise.”
    Peter carefully kept his face blank as he listened to the ‘explanation’.  It wasn’t quite fair to call it a ‘dressing down’, but Crawford’s tone was close to that description.  One of the scavenging teams had just gotten in with a load of supplies from a Wal-Mart on the northern edge of Alpharetta.  They’d come back with a tractor trailer full of food, and no one seemed panicked or upset except for the one civilian who was complaining about the shooting injury, so things must have gone okay.
    Today’s targeted Wal-Mart was part of the Atlanta outskirts, in a former suburb of the former state capital.  That had concerned Peter a little, but two hundred people had been assigned to the retrieval.  All had been armed, over half with M-16s and other rifles out of the camp’s armory.  And Mendez and two of his fellow Guardsmen had ridden along as well, to stiffen the civilians as well as provide a more trained source of leadership.  Plus the camp’s ongoing scavenging activities had more or less cleaned out all the really lucrative supply sources closer in.
    “Gunny, enjoying the day?” Whitley asked.
    Peter turned and glanced at the Guardswoman, then at the pair of sodas in her hands.  Beads of condensation were rolling down the cans.  “If one of those is mine, then yes.”  Drinks were not really rationed out very much in the camp, but cold ones were; space in the refrigerators was carefully monitored.  She must have pulled strings with someone to lay hands on cold sodas.
    “Well, far be it from me to stomp on your moment.” she laughed as she sat down at the picnic table and set one of the cans next to him.
    Rotating on the bench, Peter lifted one of his legs over so he was straddling it and grabbed the can.  The hiss-fizz provided a welcome counterpoint to the sharp metallic crack as he popped the top.  He took a long drink, enjoying the sharp