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

automatically seeking a clear signal.  He was used to DOD and DMA maps; which usually had river crossings clearly marked.  After all, there was a reason so many battles throughout history had been fought at or over bridges.  But even on the civilian sourced map he was still finding them without too much difficulty.
    Less than a minute later Crawford spoke again.  “Hey, check this out.”
    He glanced up in annoyance, ready to vent some frustration at her inability to just endure the ride without dumping her boredom on everyone else, when he saw what she was looking at.
    Up ahead, just to the right of the rural highway, the trees thinned out to reveal a building.  The sign marked it as a roadside bar, but the parking lot and state of the structure itself showed it had been turned into some sort of a holdfast since the outbreaks had started.
    Even from a distance, Peter saw the windows had been boarded over.  Vehicles were parked all around the building in a nose-to-tail line that was an obvious bid to add a barrier to keep unwanted visitors from getting too close too easily.
    It was also pretty obvious, even this far out, that all that effort had been for naught.  The structure had attracted an enormous horde of zombies.  And whatever had happened, it had to have been somewhat recent or the horde probably would’ve dispersed itself for one reason or another.
    “Think they got out?” Whitley asked quietly as the truck drew nearer.  Peter shrugged slightly, and for once Crawford didn’t have anything clever to say.
    As the distance narrowed, Peter was able to pick out more detail.  He didn’t bother trying to take a count — it didn’t matter — but it seemed clear a standoff had occurred.  Whoever had been behind the fortifications had fought hard and piled zombies up like cordwood, but the monsters had gotten in.
    Some of the barricades on the doors and windows had been beaten down; he saw zombies wandering in and out seemingly at random.  Bodies were visible around the circular line of cars and trucks; some of the clumps and piles were tall enough to be easily seen even though they were between the walls and autos.
    “Do we need to take a closer look?” Crawford asked when they were about ten seconds from the turnoff from the highway to the bar.
    “No.” Peter shook his head.  The area looked deserted except for the zombies.  The truck’s engine had started to draw the creatures’ attention; some of them were beginning to turn in its direction.  “Just keep going.”
    Crawford kept driving, drifting a little to the left even though none of the zombies were close enough to get to the highway before the truck got past.  Peter returned his attention to the atlas as they left the scene of the failed standoff behind.  The only thing he could do was keep heading to a group that could make a difference, and to do that he needed to get from here to there.
    As the miles rolled past, he traced out what he thought — hoped — was a reasonable route that was mostly due west, all the way over to Arkansas.  Even though it would definitely give Crawford something to mouth off about, he actually was hoping his concerns about possible problems with the river crossing would prove to be unfounded.  Putting up with Crawford’s crowing about how easy getting west of the river was would be a small price to pay compared to what he was afraid of.
    But, he was still working his way through the foldouts; tracking north along the Mississippi and marking other crossings.
    Just in case.
    * * * * *
    “Looking good so far.” Crawford said as she steered around a pair of abandoned cars.  The going was tight here; with concrete barriers guarding either side of the road as it rose from ground level to meet the bridge ahead.  But Crawford managed to slide the F-150 past the cars without unduly damaging the truck.
    “What about that shit over there?” Smith asked.
    Peter glanced again at the sprawling collection of