26. Leaving The Swamp
Bougie Apocalypse
The last morning in the swamp dawned quiet and heavy. I ground the final measured portion of good beans while the percolator hissed on the Coleman stove. We drank the coffee slowly, savoring every sip, knowing it would be a long time before we had another pot this strong. The rich aroma mixed with woodsmoke and the ever-present damp rot of the swamp.
After the coffee, we turned to the hard work of leaving. I spread the topographical maps across the hood of the 4Runner. Northern Florida, Georgia, and into Tennessee. The group gathered close under the dappled light filtering through the cypress trees and hanging Spanish moss.
Sarah traced a finger northward. “Knoxville. That’s where we should aim. If anyone could pull people together, it’d be Glenn Reynolds.”
Tom nodded. “My boys might be trying to get there too.”
I tapped a spot on the map. “There’s something we should check first. I’ve heard rumors about a hardened military data center built as a post-disaster contingency. It’s closer. If it’s still running, we might find supplies, fuel, or real answers. Some of those facilities were designed with AI systems and massive backup power. If anything survived the Cough, it might be there.”
Raych studied the map, then looked at me. “Data center first, then north.”
Mikey looked up. “Could the computer there help us?”
I gave him a small smile. “Maybe. Let’s find out.”
Decision made.
We loaded the vehicles with careful precision, supplies split between the 4Runner and the F-150. If we lost one, the other could still survive. Raych rode with me. Tom, Sarah, and Mikey followed close behind.
I gave the final instructions over the walkie-talkies. “I’ll lead. Stay close. Call out on the radio if you have trouble. We don’t stop unless we have to.”
Before we pulled out, we took one last look at the camp that had kept us alive. The lean-to shelters, the central fire pit, the stumps we had dragged into a circle for seating. The small hammock of higher ground ringed by black water and thick cypress. It was rough, but it had been ours. A fragile pocket of stubborn civilization in the middle of the swamp.
I poured the last bit of coffee on the ground as a farewell.
“Time to go.”
As the 4Runner rolled forward, I glanced in the mirror. Tom’s truck was right behind us. Hope and determination settled in my chest. We were prepared. We had a direction. We had each other.
That’s when we saw it.
A large mass of Walkers, dozens of them, came crashing out of the treeline with ugly coordination, heading straight for the now-empty camp. They were too late.
“I knew it,” I said out loud, voice tight. “They’ve been scouting us. That’s why they kept pushing deeper into the swamp.”
We accelerated away. The swamp disappeared behind us as the horde descended on what we had left behind.
We weren’t running.
We were moving forward, toward the data center and whatever came after.
Jack Harlan’s adventures continue right here.
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Next chapter drops June 7th — Book 1: The Cough Is Loose - Complete!
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