“No fever? No fatigue? Cold sweats?”
Jon shook his head. “None of that. I’ve had a headache on and off, but as you can imagine, I think that’s mostly from added stress and dehydration.”
Enzo paused. He studied Jon for a moment before looking over his shoulder. “Bajen sus armas.”
Jon noticed the faces of the bikers change, and they lowered their guns. They still looked concerned, but most of the anger had disappeared. Jon scrunched his eyebrows together, confused.
“What the hell is happening?” he asked.
“What’s happening is that we are going to cook up a deer that my boy Hector over there caught earlier,” Enzo said. “We’re going to sit around a fire and eat, and then we’re going to sleep. I wanna get on the road early in the morning.” Enzo shrugged. “You’re welcome to join us.”
The crowd scattered, only furthering Jon’s confusion. He scratched a growing itch on his head. Enzo started to walk away, but Jon stepped in front of him.
“I don’t understand what the hell is going on. Thirty seconds ago, your gang was ready to take my head off.”
“You’re no threat to us. Gabriel and Rodrigo—the two men who pulled you out of that pantry—they were just being cautious. We’ve met some crazies out there, ese. But I told them not to kill anyone who doesn’t put up a fight. Even still, we’ve gotta be sure.” Enzo put his arms out to his sides and shrugged. “Surely, you understand.”
He then stepped around Jon, patting him on the shoulder, and started back toward his tent. Not satisfied, Jon stepped around in front of him again. He held up his arm, pointing at the bite wound. “And what about this?”
Enzo glanced at the wound, then back at Jon’s face. “We can get that cleaned up for you. We’ve got some alcohol and bandages we can put on it to keep it from getting infected. I’ll get one of my crew to help you out with it and get you what you need.”
“But what if I turn into one of those dead bastards while I’m here in your camp?”
Enzo smiled. “You’re not going to turn into one of them.”
“How the fuck do you know that?”
He put his hand on Jon’s shoulder and squeezed. “Because you’re immune, amigo.”
7
The air in the room grew chillier as the hours passed. Brooke didn’t know how long it had been since the men had come in, and she hadn’t a clue what time of day it was. The sun had been out when they’d opened the window before, but her sense of time was off. She could only guess from the colder temperature that night had come. Curling up, she hugged herself to try to keep warm. Brooke wore a button-up shirt over a tank top and a pair of jeans with a few holes in them. Her captives had taken her shoes and socks, leaving her feet bare and cold.
She could hardly keep her eyes open, but she couldn’t sleep. Not only was her mind keeping her awake, but she was also hungry and thirsty with no water or food to fulfill those basic needs. Above all that, she was scared. Not so much for herself, but for the others from Hope’s Dawn. Most of all, Brooke was scared for her son.
These men would not have killed children. Brooke couldn’t allow herself to think that was a possibility. So, she knew her son had to be nearby, somewhere. But how would she get to him? She didn’t even know where ‘here’ was. She worried for her other friends, as well. Were Terrence and Hugo alive, being asked the same questions that Brooke had been asked earlier?
Many thoughts and questions ran through her mind as she lay there with nothing else to do but think, being unable to rest. She had to focus and figure out how she was going to escape.
Breaking the chains was out of the question. She’d already pulled on them to the point where she’d rubbed the skin under the cuffs raw. They weren’t coming out of the wall or off her wrists without someone with a key taking them off.
The men would be back, and they would ask again about Jon. That seemed like her best way out. The problem was that she’d told them the truth; Jon had died. She could tell them about the prison, but that could put Freedom Ridge at risk if these people somehow found out they’d been involved in helping raid the place. Besides, how likely was it that they’d find the remains of anything that resembled Jon?
That thought haunted Brooke. It was part of the reason she’d refused to close her eyes. She didn’t want to think about what had happened to Jon when she and Terrence had left him, and she feared her mind would start to show her pictures of the possibilities. She refused to cry, as well, but it hurt like hell to think about Jon’s sacrifice.
Brooke drew in deeper breaths, trying to push aside the thoughts.
She looked toward the door when she heard someone approaching outside.
Brooke sat up straight, refusing to appear weak to the men she felt sure would walk into the room. She rubbed her eyes and took another deep breath to collect herself.
The door opened. A candle’s light flickered in a person’s hand, but they held it low enough that Brooke couldn’t see their face. The person remained near the door for a moment before closing it and then moving toward Brooke.
She continued to breathe, not allowing herself to show any emotion. The person stopped in front of her, the light still not enough to illuminate their face, though she could tell now from their body type that it was a man.
The man sat down on the floor in front of her, setting the candle down beside him. He then put something on the other side of him, and Brooke heard a click before seeing a light illuminate the space around them. The portable, battery-powered light used a LED bulb that wasn’t too bright, and it shined light straight up and around the area to rid the immediate space of darkness. Brooke could see the man’s face now.
He was bald and appeared to be in his 50s or early 60s. A thick but well-maintained goatee was present on his face, and he wore eyeglasses with an aviator-style frame. He didn’t smile, and wouldn’t take his eyes off Brooke.
Something about the man intimidated her in a way she usually wasn’t. But she fought through the feeling, refusing to show the man.
“I understand that a couple of my men came to see you earlier today,” the man said.
‘My’ men. He must be the leader.
“You claim the man we seek is dead,” he continued. “Is that correct?”
Brooke hesitated, but then nodded.
“And you told them he was killed by zombies. Is this also correct?”
“He was.”
“And where did this happen?”
Again, Brooke hesitated. She didn’t want to put Freedom Ridge in danger. What if they’d decided to take a larger group back to the prison to scour it more thoroughly? Raylon had mentioned that possibility to her, though he’d said he wouldn’t go back to the kitchen. Even with a large group, it would be too dangerous. Either way, the people here could find them there, and Brooke didn’t want anyone from Freedom Ridge getting hurt.
After several moments passed with no reply, the man before her sighed. “The others aren’t talking, either.”
My friends are alive.
“I guess if you don’t know something, maybe I’ll go ask the others again,” the man said. “Of course, if they don’t know anything, either, then there’s no reason for me to keep them around.”
Brooke swallowed. Would this man actually kill Terrence or others from Hope’s Dawn if they didn’t answer him? She still hesitated.
“So be it,” the man said, beginning to stand. The man pushed himself off the floor and headed toward the door. Brooke’s heart raced, her throat dry.
“I’m telling you the truth!” she said. “He’s dead.”
“If he’s dead, then where is his body?”
Brooke bit her lip. This was the time to tell him about the prison. The truth could save her life, her friends’ lives, and perhaps her son’s. But what were the chances they would find any evidence Jon was there? As much as she hated to think about it, there likely wouldn’t be much of him left. Not with how many zombies had been in that kitchen. Sending the
se men there on a wild goose chase could only further her and her friends’ punishment if they didn’t find anything, and it could still put Freedom Ridge at risk.
“I don’t know,” Brooke said. “He went out on a run and never came back. It wasn’t like Jon to do that, so we just assumed that zombies got him.”
The man didn’t say anything. He simply headed for the door again.
“Wait,” she said.
The man turned around.
“Can you please tell me if my son is safe?”
Though she couldn’t see his face, she could tell the man was examining her. He stood there for a few moments before he turned again and headed for the door.
“Please,” Brooke pleaded, “I’m telling you the truth!”
But the man shut the door, locking it and leaving her in darkness again.
8
Jon sat in front of the campfire, surrounded by Los Muertos. The bikers tore into the venison as if they hadn’t eaten a meal in weeks. Jon had his own plate sitting in front of him, and although he was starving, he hesitated to eat.
Why was he here? He knew he should be dead by now. Over the past few days, he had survived more close calls than any person rightfully deserved.
“Why aren’t you eating?”
Jon looked over his shoulder to see Enzo standing there. He sat in the empty space next to Jon, holding a plate of food in his hand.
“I guess my appetite disappeared,” Jon said.
Enzo took a bite out of the venison. “Well, you’re missing out,” he said, his mouth still filled with food. “Seeing even one deer out in the wild kind of makes me want to stay in Tennessee.”
“Where are you from?”
Enzo swallowed the deer before speaking again. “Ohio. Cleveland, to be exact.”
“Cleveland? I hope you don’t take offense to me asking, but how the hell did a bunch of Mexicans end up that close to the Canadian border?”
Enzo laughed. “Your guess is as good as mine, amigo.”
“My name’s Jon. Jon South.”
Enzo wiped his hand on his pants and offered it to John. “Good to meet you, Jon South.” The men shook hands.
“So, why are you here in East Tennessee?”
“We’re headed down to Georgia,” Enzo said. “Los Muertos has a chapter about an hour east of Atlanta.”
“Jesus. How big of a gang is this?”
Enzo grinned. “It started out small, but grew pretty fast. We’ve got several chapters all across the country, mostly out west. We’ve got pretty big chapters in Denver and San Francisco.” Enzo gestured toward Jon’s bike. “I’m surprised you haven’t heard of us with a nice ride like that.”
“I really only started riding since everything went to shit.” Jon shrugged. “My wife would’ve never let me own one before. But a motorcycle just seemed a lot more efficient in times like these. And she’s not around to tell me otherwise anymore.”
“I’m sorry to hear that. Either way, you’re lucky no one rode off with your bike while you were stuck in that prison. She’s a beauty.”
“Thanks,” Jon said. He finally took a bite of the venison, his appetite making its way back.
“How’d you end up in there anyway?” Enzo asked. “Hector told me they had to clear out quite a few diablos just to get to that pantry you were trapped inside.”
Jon used the food in his mouth as an excuse to hesitate and consider his answer. While it was true that Enzo or his crew could have killed Jon at any time and had instead chosen to feed him and let him sleep at their camp, he remained hesitant to trust them. Jon had just met this man. He knew it could be risky to say anything about Hope’s Dawn or his friends there. The Los Muertos were heavily armed and had obviously done a lot to survive in the wastelands. If they wanted to, they could hurt Hope’s Dawn.
Jon swallowed his food, washing it down with some water. Then, he cleared his throat and wiped his mouth.
“I had my eye on that place for a while. I just started to get a little desperate and wanted to see what was inside, so I went for it.”
“By yourself?”
Jon nodded.
Enzo scoffed. “You’re a stupid gringo if I’ve ever seen one.”
They shared another laugh. Jon then took another drink, and he lifted his left arm.
“How are you so sure that I’m not infected?” Jon asked.
“I didn’t say you weren’t infected. I said you were immune. Big difference.”
“Okay, but either way, I haven’t heard of anyone being immune. How do you know? Are you some kind of doctor going through a midlife crisis who decided to lead a motorcycle gang?”
Enzo shook his head and smiled. “Los Muertos of Cleveland was part of a larger camp. A guy was living there with us named Leon S. Keller—brilliant dude. Before the infection spread, he was working at the Cleveland Clinic. In the early days of it, before all went to hell, he was doing a lot of work on the infection. Somehow, he ended up living with us at our camp. He continued his studies there as best he could.
“We were out searching for some supplies and ran into a pack of infected. I lost two good people that day, and another, Vanessa, got bit. We were able to get her out of there and back to the doctor.
“Four days passed, and she never turned. She barely even felt ill, other than some stomach pains and, of course, the bite itself being painful. But Dr. LSK—that’s what we called him for short—was able to run some tests on her and discover she was immune. I couldn’t explain it to you—that shit goes way above my head—but he swore up and down it was true, and she never turned.”
“Is she here in the camp?” Jon asked. “I’d love to ask her some questions.”
Enzo looked at the ground and exhaled. “Unfortunately, she couldn’t handle the guilt that she survived, but her friends died.” He pointed at his head and made a spinning motion. “Made her go loco. About a week after she’d been bit, a member of my crew found her hanging from a chain in her room one morning.”
“I’m sorry.”
Enzo shrugged. “We’ve all lost people close to us, either because they die or simply because we grow apart.”
Jon bowed his head. He thought of his family, but he also thought of Brooke and his friends at Hope’s Dawn. They thought they’d lost Jon to death. He looked up at the sky and wondered if Brooke was doing the same right now.
“When we’re done eating, I’ll have one of my crew grab you some alcohol and a fresh bandage to wrap that shit up with. It’d be a shame for you to die from a bacterial infection now.”
“I appreciate that.”
“It’s no problem, amigo.” Jon put his hands on his knees and leaned over toward Jon. “Look, it’s tough to make it out here alone. I don’t know how in the hell you made it that far into the prison, but I know that Los Muertos could use a man like you in our crew. Your skin might be a little lighter than the rest of us, but you ride, and you’re a survivor.” The surrounding men laughed before Enzo finished the offer. “You should join us, ese.”
“I don’t know,” Jon said, looking around. “This place is my home.”
“No offense, but it doesn’t seem like your home is treating you too well. You should consider going nomad and riding with us down to Georgia.”
Jon thought about it. He’d often told Brooke how he regretted getting caught up with them. He’d said and believed that Hope’s Dawn would be better off without him. She thought Jon was dead now. What better time to start over?
“Sleep on it,” Enzo said. “We aren’t leaving until the morning, so you’ve got some time.”
Jon hesitated, but then he nodded. “Okay. I’ll sleep on it.”
9
Jon couldn’t sleep that night. He’d expected to be in eternal sleep by now, and that thought kept him awake. He knew the lack of rest would eventually catch up to him, but for now, he couldn’t slow his mind down. For most of the night, he laid on his back staring up into the clear sky. Every once in a while, he’d hear a zombi
e or two approach their camp. But the night guards took care of them without waking any of the others.
Early in the morning, as the sun came up, Jon took a walk nearby. The bikers on guard didn’t stop him, but out of respect, he stayed within a distance where they could keep an eye on him.
He spent the time reflecting on the last several days. He knew he should have died in the prison. Why had he been afforded more time? Jon had begun to wonder if it was even possible for him to die. Of course, it was, but after Carrie and Spencer had been killed, Jon had spent so much time being reckless and hoping death would find him. He’d been too cowardly to finish the job himself instead of expecting some outside force to do the work for him.
Then, he had found a reason to live at Hope’s Dawn. And right when he’d prepared himself to die again at the prison, life had given him yet another new lease. Jon had no doubt now that he wanted to live. However, the question still remained as to what he would do with this unique opportunity, assuming he really was immune.
Jon held his arm out in front of him and looked at the bandage covering the zombie bite. Enzo had seemed confident in telling Jon he would be fine, but he couldn’t know for sure. The man led a biker gang. He wasn’t a doctor. How could Jon know this Dr. Keller even existed? And if he did, how sure was he that Enzo’s friend had been immune? She’d killed herself shortly after the bite. It wasn’t like she’d been living with it for a couple of years now. Jon couldn’t be sure that he wouldn’t fall to his knees and turn into one of the dead bastards at any moment.
As the sun came over the horizon, the symbolism of it wasn’t lost on Jon. It wasn’t only every day he couldn’t take for granted, but every moment. He considered all of his options as he made his way back over to the temporary Los Muertos campsite.
Most of the bikers had woken by now, and were stirring around the camp as they prepared to leave. As Jon approached the camp, Enzo stepped out of his tent. He raised his arms into the air and stretched, catching a glimpse of Jon coming toward him. The gang leader grinned as he let out a yawn.
Dead South | Book 3 | Dead Hope Page 3
