Free Apocalypse Atlanta (Book 4): Apocalypse Asylum by David Rogers

“What’s after Cullman?”
    “Hmm?” Peter said absently.  “Oh, uh, hopefully nothing except the western Alabama border, then we’ll be into Mississippi.”
    “Isn’t South Dakota in the northern Midwest?” Crawford asked.
    “Uh, yeah.” Whitley said as Peter studied a portion of western Mississippi.
    “So why aren’t we going northwest then?”
    “Because I’m concerned about crossing the Mississippi.” Peter answered.
    “It’s just one more hick, redneck, and now zombie filled southern hellhole.” Crawford sniffed.  “Big deal.  We can handle it.”
    “No, the Mississippi.” Peter corrected her.  “You know, the fucking river?”
    “What about it?”
    Peter sighed. “Have you ever seen a big river?”
    “I’ve rafted the hooch.”
    “Jesus Crawford, ignorant much?” Whitley sighed.
    “Hey, just because you’ve traveled more than I have—” Crawford started, sounding annoyed, but Peter cut her off.
    “The Mississippi is a major river; major as in really fucking big.  So big, in fact, that there aren’t nearly as many bridges across it as it sounds like you’re assuming.”
    “People get from the east coast to the central and western parts of the country all the time.” Crawford pointed out in what she clearly felt was a reasonable tone.  “Some of them even come back this way.”
    “Not anymore they don’t.” Smith said.  “And I’m trying to sleep, remember.”
    “So fucking sleep then.  And my point stands; one side, then the other; it’s a river and you cross it.”
    “Yeah, over bridges.  And you’ve already seen how bad the interstates are.”
    “I thought we were up here in the sticks on this dinky little back highway because you wanted to avoid getting near any bigger cities.”
    “Yeah, and also because I don’t want to get cut off by a major roadblock.  Most of the evacuations were via interstate, and anytime a zombie problem got out of hand . . . you saw how bad the roads in Atlanta and north of it were.”
    Crawford shrugged languidly.  “So if it’s a bridge we’re looking for, why not just head northwest?  There’s got to be a bunch of them in and around Memphis.”
    “Because I want to get across the damn river as soon as possible so we’re a little freer in our route selection.”
    “That doesn’t make a lot of sense.” she said in a tone only a few steps shy of being snide.
    Peter ignored that — it was irrelevant, and calling her on it would only lead to hours of bitching as she sulked — and gestured at the atlas page he had folded out.  “Again, there aren’t as many bridges across it as you’re probably assuming.  I want to start checking them here and we can go north as necessary until we find one where we can make a crossing.”
    “What, we’re assuming the zombies have blown up all the bridges?”
    “Crawford, I know you’re not as thick as you’re making out.” Whitley said in an annoyed voice.
    “Hey, I’m driving.  I need to know where we’re going.” Crawford shot back.
    “Some of us are trying to sleep.” Smith said again.
    “Keep trying baby.”
    “Knock it off.” Peter ordered before anyone could respond to Crawford’s latest jab.  “Again, interstates, wrecks; I’m not counting on major bridges like that being any less of a mess than the rest of the major highways.  In fact, odds are they’ll be worse since anyone who was trying to flee over the Mississippi would have been funneled into one of the available crossings.”
    “Can I say I told you so if we get to the first bridge and roll straight over?”
    “No.”
    “Come on,” she pouted, sounding clearly put out, “that’d be very fair after the little lecture about how tough crossing the Mississippi’s gonna be.”
    “Still, no.” Peter told her.
    “Boring.” Crawford said, turning the radio back on and punching the scan button again.
    Peter ignored her and the crackle of empty frequencies as the radio dialed through them