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Georgia In My MInd	By : TheByronicMan Category: M through R > Newsflesh (trilogy) > Newsflesh (trilogy) Views: 2033 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own the Newsflesh Trilogy or any of the related works published by its creator. I do not make any money from this story.

Chapter List
- 8
- 9
- 10
I was jolted back to consciousness by the stinging sensation of something being injected into my arm. I tried to open my eyes, but it was too much effort. Moving any other part of me seemed to be a Herculean task. I could faintly hear someone breathing nearby, but that was all. After a few minutes, or perhaps a few eons, the drug haze was abruptly gone from my brain, replaced by a pounding headache. It was bad, but the migraines I used to get before I died had been far worse.
I opened my eyes and saw two men leering down at me. If you were filming a movie and needed to cast a pair of standard rent-a-thugs, these guys would fit the bill perfectly. They wore Kevlar vests and combat helmets, and each had a police-style baton hanging from his belt. They had khaki pants, and white shirts with seams that strained to contain the bulging muscles underneath. If you ignored their skin colors, they could have been twins. I was uncomfortably aware that I was still dressed in only the t-shirt and panties I had worn to bed. I never thought that I would miss the relative modesty of a hospital gown.
The one to my left said, “Ah, our little princess is awake.”
I tried to sit up and found that my hands were pinned down. My wrists were locked in padded cuffs that I recognized as psychiatric restraints. They looked clunky and clinical in comparison to the much sexier leather cuffs I had used on Shaun. Had that really been just two nights earlier? I looked across the room and saw Bobbie, tied down just as I was and apparently still unconscious.
“Don't worry,” said the same thug, “we'll come back in a bit and re-enact Sleeping Beauty with your friend.”
“But it'll take a lot more than just a kiss to wake her up,” the other one added.
“Too bad the boss won't give us a shot at you. I'll bet you got a real tight little pussy. If your brother can't get anyone but you to fuck him, he must have a pencil dick.”
As he spoke, his hand fumbled roughly between my legs. I tried to close my thighs but it was too late. He pushed the crotch of my panties to the side and shoved two fingers into me, thrusting them deep inside. Between the headache and the sudden flood of revulsion, it took no effort at all to lean over and vomit in his direction. Unfortunately, he was faster than he looked and I missed. He drew back his arm to backhand me across the face, but the other thug blocked him.
“The boss said no marks.”
The first thug subsided and glared down at me. “That 'no marks' thing only applies as long as you cooperate. You try to fight or get away and we can rough you up plenty.”
“I bet you say that to all the girls.” My voice came out dry and scratchy.
“Only the ones I really like.”
He and his buddy uncuffed my wrists and helped me to my feet. They each took an arm and marched me out of the room, down a hallway, and into a small office. It was furnished in a style sixty years out of date, which put it about right for a low-level bureaucrat around the time of the Rising. That reinforced my earlier impression that this place had the utilitarian, institutional appearance that government buildings have when they are far from the halls of power. The only modern touch was a wall screen to the left showing the feeds from a dozen or so cameras, including one in the room where Bobbie and I had been.
There were two men in the room. Standing by the door was another thug, leaner than the others and older, somewhere in his fifties. He was dressed the same, but lacking the helmet and armed with a handgun. He gazed at me with a calm, neutral expression that was somehow more menacing than the leers of his comrades.
The man behind the desk couldn't have been a day less than ninety. From his complexion, it looked like he hadn't seen the sun in years. What little hair he had was solid white. An air mask covered his entire face, fed by an oxygen bottle and a humidifier. An IV bag hung behind him, with a tube leading to his shoulder. Instead of the expected office chair, he was seated in an electric wheelchair.
He spoke in a raspy, muffled voice. “You two go entertain our other guest. William can handle Miss Mason by himself.”
As they departed, leaving a spine-chilling cackle floating in the air behind them, he turned his attention to me. “Please, take a seat.”
He gestured towards a metal and plastic chair in the center of the room. I sat down. There was a table bearing a can of Coke and a couple of aspirins at my elbow. I instinctively reached for them, but hesitated. There was enough muscle on call to force-feed me any drugs they wanted, no need to resort to subterfuge. I popped the pills and washed them down my throat with half a can of Coke. That would help with the headache, and had the immediate benefit of clearing the lingering taste of vomit.
“I apologize for the way my men treated you. They exceeded my instructions. They're scum, but at least they are competent scum.”
I glanced over my shoulder at the guard by the door.
“Oh, William shares my opinion of them. He would rape a woman if I told him to do so, but he would question my orders first and would not take quite so much glee in the act. Alas, men of his caliber are hard to come by these days. But if I must hire scum, I might as well make full use of their limited talents.”
He aimed a remote at the wall and touched a button. The window showing Bobbie grew to take up the full screen just as the two thugs entered the room. The first one ripped her shirt open to expose her breasts and began roughly groping them. She didn't react at all. The other pulled her panties off, then shoved her legs apart and got on the bed to kneel between them. When he unzipped his pants he was already hard. He reached between her thighs and pushed a finger into her. I shuddered at the memory of that feeling. He pulled his hand back and spat directly on her crotch. Then he scooted up and rammed his cock into her. He thrust into Bobbie repeatedly while she rocked limply with the motion. Her lack of reaction just seemed to spur him on. He grabbed her hips and fucked her harder, his thighs forcing her legs farther apart until her feet hung off the sides of the bed.
I couldn't bear to watch anymore. At least there was no sound. “You apologize to me while sending them to do far worse to my friend?”
He used the remote again, and I glanced back at the screen to see that it was back to multiple video feeds. The one that would have shown Bobbie was blank.
“Her husband has been stalling for time. Getting a video of his wife being, abused, should encourage him to bring your brother to me.”
“Oh, well, that makes it okay.” I fought back the need to cry.
“No, it just makes it necessary.”
“Why! What the hell do you want?”
“Revenge. It's not a very noble goal, but it's all I have left.”
His decrepit physical state finally pinged something in my brain. “I get it. We have to die because we spoiled your plans to move into a fresh young body.”
“What happens to me is irrelevant. No, this is the reason you must die.” He pointed his remote at the screen again and the camera feeds disappeared, replaced by a still shot of woman of about thirty with long, curly red hair.
“I have lived a full life. But my wife was struck down by ovarian cancer in 1982, when she had barely begun to live.”
“I don't see how that is my fault. It's not as though you can dig her up and make a copy now.”
“She was cryopreserved within minutes of death. Once the technique used to give you new life was perfected, the next stage would have been to develop a method of reviving people who had been frozen.”
“Researchers have been trying figure out how to resurrect corpsicles for decades. What makes you think it could be accomplished now?”
“Bringing them back to useful, conscious life may be impossible. The plan was to introduce live state Kellis-Amberlee during the revival process.”
I stiffened. I could see why no one had thought of that before. What point was there to thawing out the frozen dead if they just ended up as zombies? But you could copy the brain of an infected person and load it into a clone. Or at least the CDC could, before the crackdown. If you deliberately infected a frozen corpse as it was being thawed out, it was conceivable that the Kellis-Amberlee virus would restart the brain before it was warm enough to decay.
“So, you see the implications.”
I thought for a moment. “You obviously have money. Have you considered funding private research? Texas Biomed is already working on memory transfer, I would think a substantial grant would get them moving in the direction you want.”
“That's why I moved my operations to San Antonio. But it would require loosening the restrictions on cloning research. Instead, the government has tightened them by banning the use of memory transfer on clones. I subverted a few people on the inside, but there was no way they could covertly do research of this magnitude.”
“That explains how I got here. But why not Shaun?”
“Your brother was under constant monitoring. You weren't.”
“So, is there some school all you guys go to that requires some sort of villain rant?”
“No, just passing the time until your brother gets here to watch you die. Or maybe it will be the other way around this time. Besides, I would have settled for just your deaths, but since I have the opportunity it is much more satisfying to tell you why. I have so few pleasures these past several years.”
I was trying to play it cool and tough, but underneath my mind was roiling. No way would Rob hand Shaun over to this guy, or would he? Maybe if Shaun agreed and Rob could be guaranteed of getting Bobbie back safely. With her as a witness, he could call the police and let them rescue us. But there was no way he could be certain. No, I had to trust there was a rescue on the way. I may not be the religious type, but I had faith in my brother. He had already pulled off a rescue more miraculous than this one would be, and this time he had much more reliable local contacts. Still, I wasn't inclined to just sit here and wait for the cavalry. If I saw a chance, I would take it. And if I never got a chance, I would at least go down fighting.
“You seem rather thoughtful, Miss Mason.”
“Well, you know what they say about the prospect of being hanged.”
“Yes, I do. Hmm, hanging. Now that's an idea I hadn't thought of. Done properly it is a rather slow, unpleasant way to go. And that solves the problem of who goes first. You and your brother could watch each other slowly asphyxiate. The loading dock would be perfect. Would it be better if you were close enough to almost be able to touch each other, or would farther apart be more effective?”
His musings were interrupted by the sound of the door opening. I saw the surprise on his face and turned to look behind me. Bobbie had just entered the room, still wearing just a ripped shirt that didn't cover much of anything. William proved himself to be a true professional by ignoring the female flesh on display and drawing his handgun. Bobbie lashed out with a police baton that looked a lot like what my previous tormenters had been carrying and knocked it from his hand before he could bring it to bear. He attempted to disarm her, but she spun away from his reaching hands. She delivered a kick to his legs that threw him off balance, and completed her turn to slam the baton across the side of his head. He dropped like a sack of potatoes. I scrambled from my chair and picked up the fallen gun, turning to point it at our host.
His hands rested on the desk, empty, and he was careful not to move. “Mrs. Philips, you are more resourceful than I had expected.”
“My husband and sister-in-law are both qualified martial arts instructors. Did it not occur to you that they might have taught me a few things?” She closed the door behind her and locked it.
Hell, it hadn't occurred to me, and I had spent most of my waking hours for the better part of a week in her company. I asked her, “How did you get loose?”
“The second guy wanted to fuck my ass. When they uncuffed me to flip me over, I was ready.”
“You were awake the whole time?”
“Yeah, I heard them talking to you, so I played dead and waited for my chance.”
That was last straw, my tears started flowing freely. Yeah, I had a reputation as a tough chick who never cried, but that was because before my rebirth I couldn't. One of the best things about my new life was having that emotional release available. “So, what now?”
“Much as I'd really like to kill this asshole, we need him as a hostage to hold off his goons while we call the police.” She started walking towards the desk and the old-fashioned phone resting atop it. She got about half way but stopped, cocking her head to the side. “Never mind, Rob is here.”
I had been aware of music coming from somewhere, but it wasn't familiar so it didn't register with me. Listening more closely, I could make out lyrics.
Come tighten your girth and slacken your rein;

Come buckle your blanket and holster again;

Try the click of your trigger and balance your blade,

For he must ride sure that goes riding a raid.
“If my husband has busted out the Civil War songs, he's ready to kick some ass.”
The man behind the desk reached for his remote. I thought about shooting him, but I had to admit that I was curious too. After he pushed a few buttons, the screen changed to an image shrouded in white smoke. I could barely make out a heavy steel gate, and beyond that a faint outline that suggested the shape of Rob's LAV.
“So, reports of your husband's injuries were exaggerated.”
Bobbie flung the baton away, sending it just past my head to bounce off the door and land at my feet, and advanced on him with her arms outstretched. “What have you done to him?”
“It was none of my doing, I assure you. Reportedly, he had an encounter with a guard at Texas Biomed while liberating Mr. Mason. Though I suppose I can't really trust news accounts concerning someone with such extensive media contacts.”
Bobby subsided and we returned our attentions to the screen. The Dilemma was in motion, smashing through the gate with ease. Flashes of automatic gun fire winked from the roof of the LAV, seemingly aimed right at us. After a short burst the camera was apparently knocked out and the screen went dead. A few seconds later everything went dead. The power had gone out. A pair of emergency lights went on, illuminating the room even more brightly than before.
“Well, I must say that this has been an entertaining evening. I haven't misjudged anyone this thoroughly in decades. Luckily, my self destruct has a battery backup.” Seeing the look on my face, he added, ”What, isn't every villain supposed to have one?”
His hand moved underneath the desk, and a large vent near the center of the ceiling released a reddish mist into the air. I had an unpleasant notion of what it was. Bobbie collapsed and went into convulsions. I raised the gun and pulled the trigger. Nothing happened.
“Silly girl. Without the right chip implanted in your palm, it won't fire.”
His hand came out from below the desk holding a gun identical to the one in my hand. He fired, and my left leg went out from under me. I looked down and saw a bleeding wound in the outside of my thigh just above the knee.
“I could kill you now but, given your history, amplifying will be so much worse. And by the time anyone gets here, no one will be left to testify that I was anything more than another kidnap victim. Luckily my captors let me keep my oxygen.”
Only my head was in his view, so I carefully reached for the outstretched arm of the unconscious guard, wrapped his hand around the butt of the gun, aimed as best as I could, and fired. The bullet hit him somewhere in the belly. I lost my grip because of the recoil, so I grabbed the fallen baton and used my good leg to propel me up and past the desk. He twisted to aim at me but as I fell to the floor I brought the club down across his wrist, knocking the gun from his hand. Using the wall for leverage, I hauled myself to my feet.
He gasped in pain, cradling his wrist. “Inhaling that high a concentration, you should have already converted.”
My mouth twisted into something that might be mistaken for a smile. “And with that bullet wound, you might take half an hour or so. But don't worry, you won't live that long.” I brought the baton down on top of his skull as he feebly raised his good arm to try ward off the blow. “And I'm going to make sure no one can resurrect you.”
I braced myself and put my full strength behind the club. When it hit his skull I felt something give. My arms rose and fell again and again. Soon his white hair was stained red. Blood, and later on, brain matter, splattered the front of my body, but I didn't care. I did glance down once, and my shirt was so soaked in gore that I looked like a contestant in some kind of macabre version of a wet t-shirt contest. Forty or fifty blows later, his skull was a pulpy, shattered mess. His eyes had popped out and would have been hanging down his cheeks had there been anything left that could be identified as a face.
That was one brain that would never be scanned and transferred to a clone. I slid down the wall and sat there watching Bobbie and the guard, wondering when one of them would get up and try to eat me. Distantly, I heard gunshots. That roused me from my malaise, and I took stock of the situation. The first priority was to stop bleeding all over the place. Not having any better options within reach, I tore some cloth loose from my shirt.
That was easier than it sounds. My sleepwear comes from a manufacturer that specializes in tearaway clothing, working on the theory that it's better to be naked if it means you're able to run away while leaving the zombie holding a handful of cloth. That also meant that the fabric was too weak to tie around my leg, unless I folded it over several times. I needed a lot of extra cloth, which left me wearing nothing more than panties and a ragged crop-top that barely covered my breasts. I bound the rest around my thigh, making sure that only the relatively clean cloth from my back touched the wound itself.
Meanwhile, the music had changed. It seemed to be coming from a different direction, suggesting that the Dilemma was driving around the building. A new song was playing, with lyrics that I found personally disturbing until I heard the chorus and realized it was intended as a CDC reference. It appeared that my brother and Rob weren't up to speed on everything.
Bring the good old bugle, boys, we'll sing another song,

Sing it with a spirit that will start the world along,

Sing it as we used to sing it, 50,000 strong,

While we were marching through Georgia,
Hurrah! Hurrah! we bring the jubilee!

Hurrah! Hurrah! the flag that makes you free!

So we sang the chorus from Atlanta to the sea,

While we were marching through Georgia.
The next priority was getting out of here. Sitting and waiting for our imminent rescue had seemed like a fine idea before, but now there was poison in the air. There was no way I could carry Bobbie, even without a bullet hole in my leg. I hobbled over to the desk and examined the wheelchair. After undoing a couple of buckles, I tipped the corpse out of it and rolled it over to Bobbie. That took a few tries, it was electric and I couldn't stagger fast enough to hold on to the controls. After a few minutes of effort, I was able to get Bobbie into the chair and buckled in. I needed weapons, preferably something better than a stick. I picked up both of the fallen guns and tried them, but neither would fire. I found an old-fashioned letter opener and used it to perform some impromptu surgery on the dead man's hand, eventually finding a tiny RFID chip just beneath the skin. I balanced it in my palm and wrapped a length of tape around my hand to hold it in place. Hoping it wouldn't need a biometric signature as well, I tried to fire a shot into the guard's head. It worked this time. I put a round from the other gun through his skull just to make sure.
I opened the door and sat in Bobbie's lap. I placed one gun between my thighs, held the other in my right hand, and awkwardly used my left to send the chair out into the hallway. It was much dimmer than the office had been, but I could barely make out three figures pointing guns at me. Luckily, Shaun's silhouette is burned into my memory, or I might have shot him. He ran to me, hugging me against his chest with his free hand. I didn't have to look up at him to know his eyes were still scanning for danger over my head. Too soon, he pulled back from me, and I noticed that he and his companions were wearing full-face air masks.

“George, are you okay?”

“No. But I'm still alive. Who are your friends?”

“Rob's sister, Jenny, and Dan, her team medic.”

Dan was already kneeling at my side to examine my wound. “Okay, this dressing will hold for now. We need to move fast. Can you walk?”

“Maybe with some help.”

“Jenny?”

“On it.”

I could see that Shaun wanted to object, but he changed his mind without speaking. I stood up, only remembering the second gun when it clattered to the floor. Well, it's not like I had any place to holster it. I threw my left arm over her shoulders and she held me around the waist. I hoped she could handle her rifle with just her left hand. Shaun put away his weapons and unbuckled Bobbie, then he lifted her up and heaved her across his shoulder.

“What happened to her?” Dan asked.

“As soon as that stuff started spraying from the ceiling she collapsed.”

“Damn. She's probably amplified. Shaun, you need to set her down.”

“No way,” my brother growled as he started walking towards a faintly glowing exit sign. “I can survive a bite or two, it won't be the first time. You just keep your distance.”

Dan fiddled with the controls on a headset he was wearing. “Ash, get your ass over here, now!”

We were soon at the door. Jenny leaned me against the wall to punch a code into the keypad set above the doorknob. There was a faint whirring sound, but when she tried the door it wouldn't budge. She muttered, “Damn! Battery's dead. Thank God the manual release is still there.” She tugged at a piece of molding running up the center of the door, and the bottom half pivoted up. When it was level, she pushed inward and gave it a twist. Then she shoved down. When it was about halfway to the floor, the door popped open. I reattached to Jenny and she helped me down a short flight of stairs.

“How did he get his wheelchair in and out of here?”

Shaun said, “Loading dock in the back had a ramp. I bet if we checked that van we'd find handicap plates.”

The Dilemma pulled up in front of us and Rob climbed out. Dan yelled, “Stay back! We're the hottest walking hot zones you ever heard of.”

Rob said, “Okay, we'll do a rough decon out here, then you can go through the shower in Jenny's RV.” He shouted back over his shoulder, “Riki, hit the power take-off for the pressure washer!”

Rob grabbed a spray wand that was clipped to the side of the Dilemma and fitted a broad nozzle to the end. He turned our way and began hosing us down with lukewarm bleach water. I disengaged from Jenny and turned in the spray, wincing every time I put weight on my bad leg. The rest followed suit, stripping off their masks and their outer clothing. Shaun set Bobbie down, and he and Dan turned her to make sure she was fully washed off. In the middle of this, a large motorhome drove in through the shattered gate and stopped nearby. Once the other three were down to their underwear and we were all thoroughly soaked, Dan led the way to the RV.

At least I no longer felt quite so under-dressed. Jenny's underwear was even skimpier than what I had on, not to mention being sheer and lacy. The RV had a shower just inside the door, and Dan went first with Shaun helping him get Bobbie in with him. Shaun and I took the next turn. I wanted to just cling to him for a few hours, but we needed to clear the way for the Jenny. There was a glass-fronted cabinet in the shower. Inside, a box of sterile dressings had been opened and one was sitting out. Shaun slipped the makeshift bandage off of my thigh as I got out of what little else I was wearing.

“George, how long ago did you get shot?” Shaun said, looking at the bloody cloth.

“Maybe fifteen minutes.”

“Then why is your blood brown? It's not dry yet.”

Further conversation was halted by the water coming on. At least this was properly hot and spraying from all directions, though I clenched my teeth at the pain from my leg. Shaun hurriedly slipped his shorts off in time for the first blast of bleach. After we were completely disinfected, and short spray of pure water rinsed us off, and powerful fans kicked in to dry us. I opened the cabinet and took the dressing, ripping the package open and covering my bullet wound.

The cabinet also held several robes sealed in bags. I took one of the two labeled “Jenny,” figuring she was about my size. It didn't quite close across my chest, but it covered all of the important parts. I didn't see the name on the robe Shaun took, but it hung on him like a tent and dragged the floor. He took the bloody piece of my shirt and sealed it in both of the bags, one inside the other.

As soon as we stepped out of the shower, he handed the package to Dan. “What do you make of this?”

“What the hell? Damn! Ash, get out the oxygen! They're suffering from methemoglobinemia.” Dan turned to me. “Was Bobbie standing closer to one of those vents than you?”

“Yes.”

“That explains why she's unconscious. She got a bigger dose than you.”

“Dose of what?”

“Nitric oxide. They must have been using it as a propellant for the blood.” A woman I didn't recognize, presumably Ash, handed him an oxygen tank.

“Laughing gas?” Shaun asked.

“Nitric, not nitrous,” Dan said, while placing an oxygen mask over Bobbie's nose and mouth and handing another one to me. “It's a vasodilator, opens up the blood vessels and increases circulation. No wonder the guards turned so fast.”

Jenny stepped out of the shower, the robe looking a lot more modest on her than on me. “Is Bobbie going to be okay?”

“I don't know,” Dan said. “We figured out why she's out, but her live viral load keeps oscillating up and down. I don't know why she hasn't amplified. She doesn't have a reservoir condition.”

“No,” I said, “but Rob does.”

“What?”

I sighed. “The government wants to keep this a secret, and for once I agree with them. But I guess you need to know.” As I spoke, Dan laid me down on a couch and elevated my wounded leg. “Frequent, intimate contact over a prolonged period with someone with a reservoir condition can confer immunity. Shaun got it from me, and apparently he passed it back to my new body. Bobbie probably has it the same way.”

Jenny's face took on an expression I had seen far too often. I met her gaze without flinching. “No one knows how prolonged, intimate, or frequent is necessary. Growing up with Rob, there may be a chance that you are immune too. But there's only one way to test it, and if you fail you're a zombie.” I slipped on the mask.

Dan interrupted. “I may regret this, Jenny, but I need you to drive. Get us to Sam-cee as quickly as you can, but take it easy on the curves.”

Jenny slid into the driver seat and we were moving within a few seconds. Dan pulled out some kind of electronic device, flipped it on, and set it on the dashboard. “That transponder will flag us as an emergency medical transport. It will speed us through checkpoints.”

Once that was done he took out a cellphone and dialed 911. “This is an emergency. I am Daniel Kane, a licensed paramedic. I am transporting five people, including myself, who have been exposed to a weaponized form of Kellis-Amberlee. Two patients are also suffering from acute methemoglobinemia. We are headed eastbound on Interstate 10 from Foster Road, en route to San Antonio Military Medical Center. I request police escort. We are broadcasting medical transponder code...” he reeled off a string of letters and numbers I didn't catch. He hung up and dialed a second number, repeating all of the above along a torrent of medicalese that I was too tired to try to parse.

We swayed going around a corner and I almost rolled off of the couch. “I thought you told her to take it easy.”

“For Jenny, this is taking it easy. Um, she's never tipped us over.”

With that faint assurance ringing in my brain, I reached out and took Shaun's hand. He sat down on the floor next to me. After another turn that I swore had wheels off of the pavement, the ride smoothed out. A few minutes later I heard sirens, and saw flashing blue lights reflecting from the ceiling. Since we didn't slow down, I assumed this was the requested escort. Ten minutes and another couple of turns later, we skidded to an abrupt halt. Dan keyed in a code that opened an inner door that bypassed the shower, and was met by people in biohazard gear who already had the outer door open.

They had us loaded onto gurneys and whisked us through an unmarked door in a matter of minutes. We were given multiple blood tests on the way, and given a thorough scrub down with an assortment of increasingly harsh chemicals. I lost sight of the others as I was taken into a treatment room. They injected me with something called methylene blue. They ran an IV line into my arm, gave my thigh several shots of local anesthetic. I closed my eyes as they started preparing to sew me up, not particularly wanting to see it. Between that, my exhaustion, and the gradual easing of the pain in my leg, I must have fallen asleep.
In the case of the United States of America v. Robert Philips, I find the charges against the defendant to be completely without merit. I hereby order those charges dismissed. I also order the immediate release of Antonia Guillen. In the matter of Mr. Philips' status as a fugitive from justice, given the spurious nature of the charges and the severity of the punishment mandated by a conviction, I am inclined to be lenient so long as he surrenders himself to the authorities within the next 48 hours.
- - decision rendered by Federal District Judge Maxwell Jonathan Post
- - July 31, 2042
Songs: Riding a Raid (Traditional), Marching Through Georgia (Traditional)
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Georgia In My MInd