Dead South Rising: Book 1

by Lang, Sean Robert

  “I believe you, David.”

  “Good. That’s good, Bry,” David said, voice cracking. “You can trust me.” You can even call me, dad, if you’d like.

  David straightened, looked down at Bryan. “You want to go on a trip?”

  One corner of Bryan’s mouth turned skyward, and he nodded enthusiastically. “Can Charlie come, too?”

  David genuinely smiled this time. “Of course he can.”

  Bryan’s expression turned suddenly serious, as though he just thought of something hugely important. “David?”

  “Yes, Bry?”

  “Can Charlie get sick?”

  “I don’t know, but I don’t think so.”

  “That’s good. I would cry if I had to make Charlie better.”

  His heart sore from the conversation, David tousled the boy’s hair and reassured him. “You won’t have to. You’ll both be fine.” He quickly brought his finger to his eye, pretended he had something in it. “Now be sure your backpack is ready, okay? And stay inside for right now. I’ll let you know when it’s okay to come out.”

  Bryan nodded, and dashed back inside.

  * * *

  David was careful not to wake Jessica as he rummaged through the bedroom closet. He glanced over his shoulder every few seconds, just to be sure she was still asleep. Randy had evidently given her the good stuff since the gunshots from earlier didn’t wake her. She breathed steadily and deeply, and hadn’t moved since he entered the room. He hoped they could wake her later, when the time came to leave. Either way, they couldn’t stay. Not with what he had in mind.

  He pulled a box from the corner of the closet, a shoe box. Inside, he found a few things he could have gone without ever seeing or knowing about. He looked away, face flushing. He twisted his lip, then snuck another peek. Something useful caught his eye. But before he stuck his hand inside, he glanced at Jessica. She slept, breathing the same slow rhythm.

  He took what he needed, sliding his find into his back pocket, then returned the shoebox to the corner of the closet, being sure to secure the lid. Wouldn’t want Bryan poking around for whatever reason and finding the contents. David didn’t want to field those questions after the day he’d had.

  David exited Jessica’s room, closing the door half-way, then went into the living room. Bryan was busy working on his backpack, reorganizing it, working on a more space-efficient pack. David stopped and watched a moment, admired the boy’s attention to detail, his adeptness at spacial relations. He guessed the boy would be a whiz at Tetris, and made a mental note to himself to be on the lookout for the game during supply runs.

  Bryan looked up, smiled. He seemed genuinely excited to be going somewhere, anywhere. Or maybe it was the fact that he now had something to occupy his time with, a task, a goal. Something to look forward to. On the floor beside him, Charlie sat watching his master. He licked his lips, yawned, then resumed his droopy stare. He obviously wasn’t as motivated as Bryan.

  After crossing to the door, David stopped, glanced into the yard, then turned to Bryan and said, “Bry, I’m going to take care of a couple of things outside, okay? Shouldn’t take long.”

  Bryan smiled and nodded, his rebellious sprig of hair bouncing in agreement. “Okay.”

  David added almost reluctantly, “If you hear loud noises, like you did before, don’t worry, okay?”

  He nodded again, but more slowly, like he’d forgotten to oil the hinges in his neck.

  “Okay, then.”

  Pushing open the screen door, David stepped onto the porch, letting the door slap against the jamb. He descended the steps, then stopped, surveying the area. He half expected to see at least a few shufflers in the yard, given the ruckus from earlier. Happy to see the coast clear, he started toward the back, where he’d left Randy guarding the prisoners.

  Prisoners.

  Twenty-two days ago, David would never in his wildest dreams have imagined himself doing what he was about to do. In his mind, he kept justifying his actions of the day. But he couldn’t help but wonder if he’d gone too far, acted irrationally, putting Randy and himself in unnecessary danger. Maybe even put Jessica and Bryan in harm’s way.

  Day twenty-two. The day humanity passed away in David Morris. R.I.P., humanity. Ashes to ashes and all that …

  He couldn’t think like that. Not if the group was going to survive. Prosper. He was being dragged kicking and screaming into this abhorrent new lifestyle. It made him do things. Things he didn’t want to do. But things that needed doing. Denial meant death. And they needed him, depended on him. Randy especially. Book smarts would only get him so far these days. David was only doing what needed to be done. He told himself this again. Better one step ahead than two steps behind. And dead.

  Better them than us.

  David decided he would be more cognizant of the group and their needs, not run off on his selfish fool’s errands. His indulgence. He would have to accept that he failed to save his first family—his wife and daughter—but he could save this one. But they needed to trust him, even if he didn’t fully trust himself yet.

  As he rounded the corner of the house, the stench slapped him, and he stumbled, throwing his hand to his nose to close off the path. But he could still taste it somehow. He’d make this quick.

  In the back, he found Randy, Gills, and Sammy just as he’d left them. If anything, Randy was predictable, following instructions to the letter. David said to keep the guns on them, and it appeared as though no one had even moved, like mannequins in a storefront.

  David sidled up to Randy and stared at the two still on their knees. “Good job, Randy.”

  Randy glimpsed David, ghost of a smile cracking his beard, but not his eyes.

  Sammy took his hand away from his bleeding ear and spoke first. “Alright, David … El Jefe … whoever the fuck you are. Ha ha, you had your laugh. You got us. Good one. Touché and all that bullshit,” he said, flipping his hand. “You’ve had your fun.” He started to press to his feet.

  David drew his pistol. “You stand, and I’ll make sure you never stand again.” He dipped the gun barrel, aimed at Sammy’s knee.

  Sammy jutted out his granite chin, giving him the look of a dog with an underbite. He muttered obscenities at the ground that were meant for David.

  Randy swatted at flies while keeping the Colt 1911s on target.

  “Alright.” David, anxious to get things moving along so they could leave before dark, holstered his handgun, then clapped his hands together and rubbed vigorously. “Got a fun surprise for you two.” He smiled a toothy grin as he reached into his back pocket. From his finger dangled two pairs of furry handcuffs. “Who wants leopard and who wants pink?”

  Sammy shook his head vehemently. “Nuh-uh. No way. You ain’t cuffing me with those. You may as well go ahead and shoot me.” He pulled his arms back like he was about to be crucified, exposing his chest fully.

  “Pink it is,” David said. Then to Randy, “If he so much as even pretends to make a move, you fucking kill him. And if he turns into one of those things, kill him again. Got it?”

  Randy nodded quick nods, glasses slipping down his nose.

  David stepped behind Sammy. “Hands on your head.”

  When Sammy didn’t move, he raised his voice, “I get that you’re deaf in one ear now, so I’ll say it again for your benefit. Hands on your head. Now.”

  “What, no ‘please’?”

  David gave Randy a look, and Randy pulled the hammer back on one of the Colts.

  “Fucking okay, already.” Sammy acquiesced and his hands migrated to his head.

  David clicked a cuff around one of Sammy’s wrists, then yanked it from his head to behind his back. “Other one … please.”

  Mitch’s brother muttered something indiscernible, then gave up his other hand.

  After cuffing Sammy, David slid behind Guillermo. “You’re up, señor.”

  “Ain’t cuffing me, puto. Gonna have to shoot me.”

  David exhaled a sigh o
f exasperation. “I don’t have time to go into all the reasons why that would be a very poor option for you. Now, you can play nice and possibly live, or we can add you to that rotting pile over there. Which is it gonna be? You get one chance, so I advise that you choose carefully.”

  The seconds seemed to scrape painfully by, a rusty plow pulled by the most stubborn mule, leaving ruts in time, David’s vexation carved deeper with each one. This pertinacious Mexican giving El Jefe enough grief to make good on his promises.

  Gills said, “What you gonna do once you cuff us? Execute us? May as well fucking do it now.” Defiantly, he kept his muscled arms at his sides.

  David circled around to face Gills, then crouched in front of him. “I don’t want to kill you, Gills. It’s not my intention, and it’s not in my nature. I’m not a killer. Any other circumstances, you two might be fine company. But I can’t have you two throwing monkey wrenches into my plans. Taking my truck? That’s a wrench in my plans. Plus, it’s just rude.”

  David stood. “Now, things got a little heated a bit ago, I admit that. Said some things we shouldn’t have. Probably shouldn’t have shot part of Sammy’s ear off. For that, I’m sorry. But I have no plans to kill you outright as long as you cooperate and do as I ask. So?”

  Gills eyed him, lips scrunched in a frown. Then, he moved his wrists to his back.

  David smiled. “You’ve made a wise decision, Guillermo.” He circled the man again, snapping the fuzzy cuffs around his thick wrists, then stood back so he could admire his handiwork. “Comfy?”

  Silence.

  “Oh, and Gills?” David smiled. “The leopard looks great on you.”

  Chapter 12

  David took a long drag off the Marlboro Red drooping from his mouth while he worked on the laces of his boots. He squinted against the smoke coiling into his eyes, wishing for the relief a simple breeze could provide. As with drinking, he had shed the life-shortening habit years ago, only to recently start again. Something about perennially hungry, ambling cadavers that prompted one to reconsider just what was truly dangerous to one’s own health. Lighting up seemed much less invasive and menacing now, especially when compared to the alternative.

  Finishing the last loop, he straightened, plucking the half-smoked cigarette from his lips. A quick flick, ashes scattered, and it was back home. From the front porch, he scanned the yard, his eyes combing the long shadows cast by a late evening sun. Soon, the entire yard would fade into a blur of grays and darker grays, providing cover for things that go bump in the night. He hoped to be on the road before anything did.

  He started running through a mental checklist again when Randy’s heavy steps inside the trailer announced his arrival before the rusty squeak of the screen door could. The big man sidled up to David, dipping the porch slightly, smelling of cheap hand soap and perspiration.

  Reading David’s mind, he said, “They’re almost ready. Probably another five minutes.”

  David nodded, expelling a cloud of smoke. “Good.”

  They both stood, an undeniable tension wringing the air.

  Hesitantly, Randy started. “Look, David. I just want to say how much I—we—appreciate … everything you’ve done for us. I mean, I know how dangerous it is out there. The risks you take, to bring back not only yourself, but things that have helped us—food, medicine … even just basic necessities.” He scratched his beard while the toe of his boot fidgeted with the cracked boards, the man acting like he was trying to ask a pretty girl to prom. “Hell, you saved Jessica’s life with the Levaquin. So, I don’t want you to think—”

  “Spit it out, Randy,” David mumbled through the cigarette dangling on his lip. He pulled in another smokey breath, sucking the last bit of fire from his Red before letting the filter drop to the porch, extinguishing it with his boot.

  The large man exhaled deeply, as though he’d been the one puffing away. His reluctance toyed with David’s growing sense of urgency. Finally, “What happened today?”

  “We did what we had to do.”

  “No, I mean … it’s like … I don’t know. You seem like a different person … like a switch went off inside of you.”

  “I’m not sure I know what you mean.”

  Randy hesitated again, then said, “Well, this morning, for instance. Chasing after Mitch … pulling a gun on Sammy and Guillermo when you got back.” He chuckled an uneasy chuckle. “Jesus, you practically shot the dude’s ear off this afternoon.” He showed his palms. “Not that I’m saying he didn’t deserve it. The guy’s a douche and a half for sure, but … you even shot two shufflers. You’d been adamant about not killing any of them yourself.” He pointed to the Walther custom pistol still strapped to David’s waist. “And I don’t even remember you having a gun, certainly not like that one.”

  David let Randy’s words sit on the air for a few moments. “They threatened our lives.”

  Randy looked at him.

  David continued, “They did, Randy. Whether you could see it or not, those two had bad intentions. Guillermo went for his guns.”

  Randy shook his head, bravery bubbling up inside him. “He didn’t pull a gun on you. He may have wanted to, but he didn’t. They had every right to be pissed because I mistakenly shot at them when they showed up. I would have been pissed at me.”

  “Randy, I’ve been naïve since this whole thing started, thinking it would blow over in a few days. Maybe a week or two. But we’ve seen it only get worse with no end in sight. Take a look around. The signs are all over the place: no power, no TV, no radio, no planes … cars. People just outright taking what they want with no respect for other people’s property. Or lives.”

  Randy stared, listening.

  “But I woke up today. I saw the proverbial light, and now I’m a convert. Mitch? A liability. Dangerous to himself and others. Reckless and careless. Those … things”—he pointed to the yard—“didn’t even start coming around until one of his drunken, hillbilly backwoods Rambo stunts with an AR-15 went south, making all kinds of racket, drawing them in. They’ve been showing up in droves ever since.”

  He leaned against the railing, pinching at the same peeling paint that Jessica had picked at earlier that morning.

  “Did … did you … kill him? Is Mitch … dead?”

  David stood with his gaze over the yard, not looking Randy in the eye. He wrapped his hands around the decaying two-by-four railing and squeezed as he leaned. He bit down on pinched lips, debating on whether to tell Randy the truth about his premeditations.

  “No, Randy. I didn’t. I don’t know where he is or where he went. That’s the truth.” He cut a sideways glance at him.

  “Are we going to look for him?”

  David craved the hit of another cigarette and for this conversation to end. Shaking his head, he said, “No. This may be hard to hear, you two being good friends, but our chances are better without him. I’m sorry.”

  Randy nodded, eyes dropping to the porch where his boot still flirted with the cracked boards. Had he been in the yard, he would have already dug a hole. “Jessica feels the same way.” He sounded like he didn’t want to admit it out loud.

  David fought the muscles trying to tug his lips into a smile. This was great news. Fantastic news. He had dreaded trying to persuade her to drop Mitch, not just as her husband, but from their group. His heavy plate was now a touch lighter.

  “You see? Even Jessica gets it. It’s tough, Randy, I know.” He lifted his eyes to the first star of the evening. “I’ve had to come to the same realization myself. It’s time to admit, as hard as it is, that Natalee—”

  Randy laid his hand on David’s shoulder and squeezed.

  They stood together silently, watching shadows fade while twinkling stars came out of hiding, both star and shadow immune and oblivious to the dangers of these new times.

  David pulled himself back to the now, careful not to get caught up in an emotional storm at such an inconvenient time. Danger still lurked, and he needed to be sharp and alert.
For himself, for them. Until Jessica beat her nuclear UTI, Randy was his only real backup. Though Randy’s intentions and heart were top notch, his actual abilities were lackluster at best. Sitting on the porch plinking shufflers was one thing as was holding a gun on already subdued troublemakers. Actively overcoming said troublemakers or shufflers was another thing entirely. Out in the open, it would be critical. Life and death critical.

  David said, “Did you tell Jessica what I told you to tell her?”

  Nodding, Randy said, “Yeah, that Mitch’s brother and his friend decided to go looking for Mitch themselves.”

  “She believe you?”

  He nodded again. “Far as I can tell. Seemed relieved when I told her.”

  “Good.” He read the concern on Randy’s face, and put a hand on his shoulder. “We did the right thing. Don’t worry. That’s all she needs to know for now. I’ll set the record straight when—”

  “David?”

  David turned to the child’s voice addressing him from inside the screen door. “Hey, Bry. How’s it going in there, champ?”

  The boy smiled, pleased with this new nickname, and hugged Charlie against him. “Miss Jessica said to tell you she’s almost ready.” He touched his cheek to Charlie’s head.

  David dipped his chin, smiled. “Okay, champ.”

  Bryan padded away into the darkening house.

  David lowered his voice, this time reading Randy’s thoughts. “I know you don’t like lying to her. I’ll take care of things, okay?”

  Another nod.

  “Any more thoughts on where we’re headed, El Jefe?” Randy asked, trying to change the subject and lighten the mood with a good-hearted jab.

  Hooking his hands on his hips, David blew a breath laced with humility, and smiled. “Cut that shit out.”

  Randy returned the smile. “It does kind of fit.”

  David patted the holster housing his Walther P38. “This is El Jefe.”