"So, we're going into Atlanta, to the CD freakin' C," Franics grumbles.
Louis and Yvette nod in unison.
"Do you know how dangerous that's gonna be?" Francis bellows, throwing up his hands in exasperation. "Atlanta is hella huge, and I'm sure it's not walled off like this fancy lil island, here. No, no, no. Hell, no. I have a baby on the way, man! No."
Zoey stands quietly, head bowed. She knew he'd react that way. Now that he knows he going to be a father, he's ready to dig in and keep her and the baby safe. He'd never risk them. She bites her lip. She understands where he's coming from. She wants to do the same. Still, she knows that if they're going to have any kind of future, this nightmare has to end. They need to get Yvette, along with her brother's research, back to the CDC.
"Francis," she whispers, pushing away from the wall and going to him. She touches his shoulder. He looks down at her, shaking his head.
"No way, Zoey. You are not going into Atlanta."
"Francis," she repeats, squeezing his shoulder with her fingertips. "You know we have to."
He shakes his head again, but she can see the fight dying in his eyes. "Why can't the freakin' Army escort her?"
"We have to finish this. It's important to me," she murmurs. She stands on tip-toes and kisses his defiant mouth. She turns to Louis and Yvette. "When are we heading out?"
Louis sighs, scratching the back of his neck. "Well, now? Yvette says there's a campground nearby. Maybe we can ... um ... borrow an RV? All the cars and trucks are either gone or vandalized."
Francis snorts. Zoey cocks her head to the side, thinking. She rubs Francis's shoulder in an unconscious affectionate gesture.
"An RV, huh?"
Yvette speaks up. "It makes sense. We have a ways to travel. Especially since we can't take the Interstate. It's a jumbled up mess. And an RV would hold the most supplies."
Zoey looks out at the dwindling day. "We'd be able to travel without having to stop, too. We could rest and eat. Have easy access to our weapons and ammo. The sound of a vehicle will attract zombies, though."
"Yeah," Louis agrees, "but we'll be moving a lot faster than them."
Zoey pats Francis's arm and bends to retrieve her stuff. "Well, let's get moving, then."
"You know, I don't like this idea. In fact, I hate it," Francis grumbles.
"We know," the other three say, sharing a look and smiling.
_________________________________________
Later in the evening, the group is on the move. Louis is at the wheel and Yvette is navigating. Zoey and Francis sit across from one another at the small table in the kitchen area.
"This is the worst idea ever," Francis mumbles.
"So you've said ... about a million times," Zoey says with a chuckle.
"Zo, you're havin' my baby! Can't you just ..."
"Can't I what? Not be me? You should know me well enough to know that I'm not about to sit on my ass when something needs to be done, and this needs to be done."
Francis places his hands over his head, growling in frustration. "Good God, woman. You're gonna be the death of me."
"I'm hungry," she states, ignoring him.
He drops his hands and laughs. "Of course you are."
"Shut up and feed me." She playfully kicks his shin under the table.
"It shouldn't take me long at the fort," Yvette tells them from up front. "I'll just go in and gather Emmanuel's supplies, then we'll head out."
"Should we just drive up to the place or do we need to be sneaky?" Louis inquires.
"I say we just drive right up. Hell, why not? How can that be anymore dangerous than driving into Atlanta?" Francis grouches.
Zoey rolls her eyes. She starts to give him a little reminder kick when he gets up and starts rummaging around for food. She smiles. Good boy.
"I agree, Francis. We might as well just drive on up," Louis says, his tone upbeat.
"We'll be there soon," Yvette informs them. "The fort is just outside the city. I don't think you all have anything to worry about. You're not outlaws anymore. Things are different."
"So, Yvette, we can get through the wall blocking off the island, right? I mean, we're not talking about a heavily guarded fortress we'll have to shoot our way through, are we?" Francis asks as he opens a package of tuna and crackers.
Yvette nods. "We shouldn't have any trouble getting through. It is manned, but I have military clearance."
Louis glances in her direction, an apology in his dark eyes. "It's just hard for us to trust the military."
She nods sympathetically. "I understand. I really do. Things have changed, though. You'll see."
Zoey and Francis exchange a look as he places the food in front of her. Boy, I hope she's right. She reaches down to touch her belly. More than ever, I hope she's right. She sees Francis's gaze drop to her stomach, too, and she knows he feels the same way.
_________________________________________
Before Zoey can even finish her "meal," the RV is turning into the road leading to the fort. She gets up to look out the windshield. At the small guard shack, two uniformed guards, packing assault rifles, step out to meet them. As they draw closer, one holds up a gloved hand. Zoey's stomach does an uneasy flip as she recalls her last run-in with the Army. She places her hand on the pistol in its holster at her side. She sees Francis do the same. Then she squints her eyes as she realizes something ...
"Hey! No masks!" Francis points out.
Yvette smiles over her shoulder at Zoey. "I told you things had changed. These men are immune. They're carriers. Like you. And they're not outlaws; they're actually in positions of power. The military got smart. Instead of hunting down survivors to eliminate them, they've begun to use them to the benefit of everyone. There are a lot of survivors, too. There is hope."
Zoey swallows hard. She nods and moves back to her seat. Francis stands close to her, his hand on her shoulder. Yvette leans over Louis, opening the window to talk to the guards.
"Corporal Morgan." She hands over an ID card. "We ran into trouble. Dr. Fairchild ..." she takes a deep breath, steadying herself, "did not make it."
One of the men expresses his condolences. The other nods his head in acknowledgement of her statement and says slowly, "We had pegged you for a goner, Morgan. Glad to see you back."
Yvette smiles sadly as she takes back her ID. "I have these wonderful people to thank for that. They are survivors. They have offered to assist me in returning Dr. Fairchild's research to the CDC."
"You're just in time. We were going to send out a carrier tomorrow."
Yvette breathes a sigh of relief. "I'm glad you didn't have to. I brought back more of his notes, too. May we enter the fort? We're not staying. I want to collect Dr. Fairchild's research and get back on the road as soon as possible."
"I hear ya, Morgan. The faster the CDC gets a handle on this, the better. Be sure to report to Colonel Davenport," he says with a sly smile that makes Zoey's hair raise. "He'll want to know you've returned, and you'll need to acquire clearance tags for your team."
Zoey sees Yvette's jaw flex, but she smiles and nods, saying nothing as she sits back down in her seat. Louis edges the lumbering RV forward. Once again, Zoey stands and moves to stand between Yvette and Louis. She watches the fort come into view.
The stone structure is clearly old, its rock exterior worn and depressing-looking. It's also very evident that it now functions as a tourist destination thanks to the myriad informative signs staked at various locations. The parking lot that precedes appears to be freshly blacktopped, with the lines defining the spaces bright and straight. It contrasts jarringly with the antiquated appearance of the fort itself.
However, what seems perfectly normal, but not, are the handful of RVs parked in the lot. Yvette notices Zoey looking at them.
"Oh. A lot of people stay outside the fort. With Tybee being pretty much clear, the threat is low enough that they feel safe being outside the walls. Besides, the fort is pretty crowded."
Louis raises an eyebrow. "There are enough people on the island to fill this fort?"
Yvette nods. "Enough to fill all the available rooms. Some people even camp out in tents and sleeping bags on its turrets. I believe at our last headcount there were 374 people here."
"Are they all immune?" Zoey inquires.
Yvette shakes her head. "No. I would say less than 50 are. You will still see masks. Although, we can't spread it,like I said, we're still not entirely sure it's not also airborne in nature. Better safe than sorry. Hopefully, the CDC will have answers for us soon."
Zoey nods, unconsciously touching her belly again. Louis follows Yvette as she exists the vehicle. Francis puts his hand on the small of Zoey's back as they also move to leave the RV. They walk behind Yvette as she navigates a rough crushed-shell path. They cross over a small moat and through an arched stone entrance. They step into a grassy courtyard, filled with milling bodies. Zoey comes to a halt, taking in the busy scene. She wants to take it all in, but Yvette doesn't even pause and Zoey is forced to keep moving so that she doesn't lose sight of Yvette or Louis, who is hot on her heels. Zoey and Francis have to skirt around workstations (a canning station, a laundry station, a barber's station, and so much more) and people. Zoey finds herself smiling as she says, "Excuse me," or "Hello." It's so normal. Or almost normal. She still gets a jolt when confronted with a masked face. Still, she can't help but feel a tingle of hope at all the people she sees. People living, doing stuff, not giving up.
Yvette finally comes to a halt at one of the many rooms carved out of the stone fort. Its thick wooden door is open and from the inside Zoey can hear male voices engaged in a discussion. Yvette raps out a quick knock then steps forward, inching into the room.
"Colonel Davenport?" Yvette says, a slight question in her tone. Her posture is that of a soldier, ramrod straight.
Zoey slides a little closer, edging up to Louis, so that she can peer around Yvette. A tall, burly man with impossibly black skin skirts around an enormous wooden desk. He wears Army fatigues with rows upon rows of pins decorating his barrel of a chest. His rather round face splits into a smile, displaying perfectly straight, white teeth.
"Yvette! You're safe! We were just organizing a search party for you."
His loud voice booms off the rock walls. Zoey is shocked when he pulls Yvette into a bear hug. Her mouth falls open. She looks at Francis, who shakes his head.
"Dad," Yvette protests, her voice muffled as her face is smooshed into his broad chest. "Stop it! Not in front of ..."
Colonel Davenport pulls back and holds her at arm's length. He scowls. "Yvette, I don't care about the others. Yes, we are soldiers, but we are family first. I was worried about you!"
Zoey bets that if Yvette was of fairer complexion, she'd be blushing. Zoey crosses her arms. She feels a great deal of empathy for Yvette. She knows what it's like to want to be seen as just one of the guys and not Daddy's little girl. It's a struggle Zoey has known all her life. She's intrigued to discover that she has this is common with the older woman.
Yvette's shoulders slump in defeat. "Fine. I'm okay. I made it back ... thanks to ..."
Colonel Davenport finally takes notice of Yvette's company. He narrows his eyes as he takes in the faces of the three strangers crowding around his door. He turns back to Yvette with a question in his gaze.
"Dr. Fairchild?"
Yvette shakes her head and lowers her eyes. "Emmanuel didn't make it."
Colonel Davenport drops his hands from her shoulders, his dark eyes clouding over. "I'm truly sorry to hear that. He was a great scientist."
Yvette nods. "Yes, he was. I'm here to collect his research so that I may take it back to the CDC. These three have offered to escort me."
Once again, the colonel levels a steady gaze at the newcomers. Zoey forces herself not to fidget under its weight. Louis shifts nervously from foot to foot. She wants to poke him in the back, but she refrains.
"And you are?" Colonel Davenport asks.
"Survivors," Zoey states simply, holding his gaze.
"That much is evident," he retorts, his eyes narrowing to irritated slits. "Where are you from? What are your names?"
"Uh, I'm Louis, sir," Louis says, holding out a hand. He drops it awkwardly when it's ignored.
Zoey rolls her eyes. "My name is Zoey and this," she gestures toward the sullen biker behind her, "is Francis. We're from Philly. All of us."
"Philadelphia? You've traveled a long way from home."
"Yes, we have," she says quietly but firmly. "We had to."
She does not mention that they traveled farther than Georgia. She doesn't think he needs to know everything. He nods, returning his attention to Yvette.
"Take them to get their IDs. Gather any supplies you might need. Contact us once you reach the CDC."
"Yes, sir," Yvette replies sharply with a curt nod of her head.
They leave the colonel's headquarters. Under Yvette's brisk guidance, they get their IDs made and gather supplies in less than half an hour. Francis practically drools when they stop by the armory. Zoey practically drools when they collect real food from the makeshift mess hall.
Once everything is in order, they make their way back to the RV. Louis, in his enthusiasm, is nearly skipping as he walks. Zoey can't help but laugh at him. His exuberance is contagious.
"Louis, you are downright perky!"
He turns to her, flashing a grin. "Zoey, I've got a good feeling about this!"
_________________________________________
As they make the trek toward Atlanta, Zoey seizes the opportunity to question Yvette about her father.
"So, Yvette ... Your dad is a colonel?"
Yvette turns in her seat, gazing intently at Zoey. "Yes. I should have mentioned it, but with you all not trusting the Army ..."
Louis shakes his head. "Nah. We understand."
"Speak for yourself," Francis grumbles.
Zoey rolls her eyes. "No, I do understand. It's okay. So is that why you went into the Service?"
Yvette nods. "I'm his only child. Emmanuel, as I said, was my half brother."
Zoey nods. "My father was a cop."
Yvette nods again, sharing a knowing look with Zoey. "That would explain your knowledge of guns. I was impressed, by the way."
"I was an only child, too. I always went with my dad to the shooting range."
"Your dad ... Is he ...?"
Zoey swallows hard. She shakes her head. "He, um ... He's not with me anymore. Or my mom."
"I'm sorry," Yvette says sincerely. "I lost my mom before this. Cancer."
"I'm sorry," Zoey offers.
Yvette nods her acceptance of the sentiment, then a silence falls. Zoey looks out at the black night as it rolls by.
"Hey, Zo, why don't you go rest for a bit?" Francis suggests.
She looks at him, smiling. "I am tired."
"Want me to go lay down with you? We have a couple of hours before we hit Atlanta."
She smiles wider. "Would you?"
He stands up and holds out his hand. She takes it and stands up.
"I'll let you know when we get closer," Louis tells them.
They make their way to the back of the RV. They open a door and find a nice size bed. Zoey tumbles down onto it gratefully. She curls up on her side. Francis slides up behind her, spooning her affectionately. Within minutes, the rocking of the RV soothes them both to sleep.
* * *
"Zo? Hey, Zo? Where are you, firebug?"
Francis climbs the stairs in the factory, moving toward the rooftop. From up there, he can hear the rat-a-tat-tat of gunfire. When he opens the door at the top of the stairwell, he cautiously pokes his head out.
"Zo?"
He doesn't see her, but the sound of gunfire is closer. He steps out of the door and walks slowly around slumbering air conditioning units, moving closer to the pop of gunfire. When he finally spots her, he stops and his mouth drops open.
"Zo?"
Zoey is sitting on a crate near the edge of the building's roof, her sniper rifle leveled at her eye, munching on a bag of chips. Her obviously pregnant belly pops out from her hoodie. Francis shakes his head. Then he hears her grouch in between shots:
"Why do I gotta repopulate the world?"
"Zoey, what in the Sam Hell are you doing???
* * *
"I'm trying to sleep," comes a muffled reply.
Francis jolts awake. He looks down at Zoey's serene face. Then he looks down at her waist, her still tiny waist. He grimaces.
"What a crazy fuckin' dream!"
"Hmmm?"
"Nothin'," he mumbles, giving her a gentle squeeze.
"Um, hey, Francis! You should come check this out," Louis calls from the front of the RV.
Francis scoots to the edge of the bed and stands.
"This better be good, Louis," he grumbles.
As he moves closer, Louis glances over his shoulder. "I don't think I'd call it good ..."
Yvette is standing up, peering anxiously out the windshield. Francis moves between them, following her gaze.
The RV is moving at a crawl, and Francis can see why. Moving toward them is a wall of zombies. They push and shove, stumbling over one another in their haste to reach the rumbling object moving toward them.
"Well, shit," Francis growls. "Welcome to Atlanta, huh?"