Dead South Rising (Book 2): Death Row

by Lang, Sean Robert

“I’ll help you, Doctor Holliday,” Bryan said, a smile in his voice.

  “That’s wonderful, Bryan. Truly wonderful.”

  Doc pressed to his feet again, taking Bryan’s hand into his own. And Bryan let him.

  Chapter 2

  Bryan held the box tightly against his chest, his heart thumping it like a drum. Doctor Holliday had trusted him with it, emphasized how important the box was.

  This is extremely important, Bryan. Can you be sure this gets to David?

  Yes, sir.

  Are you sure? You’ll give it to no one else?

  No.

  No, you aren’t sure, or no, you’ll give it to no one else?

  Um, I’m sure… and I’ll give it to David. Nobody else.

  Good boy, Bryan. Good boy.

  It made Bryan happy, this special delivery. He felt important, needed. He liked Alamo Assisted Living and Retirement, sliding up and down the slippery halls in his socks, playing with his puppy, Charlie. Games of tug-o-war. But like any other kid, he got bored, craved something new, different. Exciting.

  He wanted to shake the box, to hear the secret inside. But Doctor Holliday had warned him not to, said the contents were too important. Said they were fragile. Bryan wasn’t sure what fragile meant.

  That means breakable, Bryan. What’s inside can break easily.

  Of course, this made Bryan curious. He’d often shook presents at Christmas time or on his birthday, and he’d never broken one; he was sure some of those had been fragile.

  Doctor Holliday had also said something else, but under his breath, like he thought Bryan couldn’t hear. But Bryan did hear. Something about David’s fragile heart breaking when he opened the present. He didn’t know what the doctor was talking about, what he meant.

  He decided not to shake the package.

  He continued holding it tight, listening to Doc’s words over and over in his head.

  Don’t open the box, okay, Bryan? And don’t shake the box. See that only David gets the present. No one else. Okay?

  Okay, Doctor Holliday.

  And you can just call me, ‘Doc.’

  Okay… Doc.

  Bryan could handle it, would show Doc he could trust him.

  Trustworthy.

  Bryan would prove himself trustworthy. He’d heard that word before, from his grandpa. That word, he understood.

  Maybe if he did good carrying this special present to David, Doc would come back and ask him to deliver another. Bryan was enjoying playing Santa Claus. People smiled when they talked about Santa Claus. He made people happy. Bryan wanted to make people happy, just like Santa. He smiled at the thought.

  Like hands tugging the reins on a horse, curiosity yanked him, and his pace slowed. He really wanted to know what was sealed inside the cardboard, what he was carrying.

  What was David’s present? I want to know! I want to know!

  He was approaching the loading dock, at the back of the building. He’d have to go in this way because the Alamo’s front doors were locked. The man named Roy had told him so. That same man had let him out through the back door beside the dock, said he’d leave it unlocked for Bryan.

  The adults will be busy, Bryan. Council meeting. It’s safe inside the fence. Just don’t go outside the fence.

  And Bryan hadn’t gone outside the fence, had stayed behind that barrier that looked like jail bars. He had obeyed Roy, until Doc gave him permission to go into the forbidden field with him. Took the boy to his truck. Doc was an adult, said it was okay. Bryan was sure Roy would be fine with this.

  Bug-B-Gone.

  That’s what the sign on the pickup truck said. It had made Bryan giggle, the funny cartoon bug running away from the spray can with arms and legs… and a goofy grin.

  Then he stopped, looking all along the steel rods that kept them in, others out. And he wondered just how Doc had managed to get inside.

  He’s an adult, of course.

  Of course. The adults could get in and out through the gate. It was much too heavy for Bryan, no way he could ever slide the massive metal gate to the side so he could go for a walk in the field, where he was forbidden.

  Forbidden.

  That was the word the Janitor had used. Bryan hadn’t asked yet to go out into the field and play, though he wanted to. It looked fun. Four big mountains of dirt with grass growing out of them like an old man’s hair rose out of the ground. There was a bulldozer and some other machines sitting around like jungle gym toys just waiting, begging to be climbed on. He and Charlie could have lots of fun crawling on and around those.

  He was especially interested in the tennis courts, just beyond the mounds of earth. The pool near the building was fun, sure. No doubt about it, as his grandpa used to say. On the tennis courts, he could bounce a ball, climb the chain-link fence, jump the nets—all like he did at school. And he wouldn’t have to worry about Charlie running off, getting lost. He’d keep the gate door closed to be sure, just like the adults. Maybe if he promised to do this, like the big main gate stayed closed, the Janitor would let him play on the tennis courts. He bet Doc would let him.

  Before he and Charlie could play on the tennis courts, though, the adults would have to take out all those extra people, first. Put them in the pool with the rest of his tug-o-war friends. Right now, there was no room for him or Charlie in there. An even bigger group of ‘friends’ was busy playing behind the tennis court fences. He wanted to play tug-o-war with them, too. Not leave them out of the fun. But the field—and the tennis courts—were forbidden.

  Bryan wondered if he’d have to go back to school when summer was over, wondered if—

  “Ow, ow, ow,” he hissed to no one, hopping on one foot.

  He didn’t want to, had promised Doc he wouldn’t, but he had to set the important box down for a minute, a slight detour on his Christmas-in-July delivery mission. Something had pinched his shoeless foot. He tried to be tough, just like David, but he couldn’t ignore it. He decided he would leave this part out, about stopping to check his foot.

  Bryan really wanted to get his shoe back from his pool friends, but he’d been too nervous to ask Doc about it. Besides, the man seemed in a hurry to get the box to David, and Bryan’s friends were still playing keep-away with the shoe. They seemed to like them a lot—both the shoe and the game.

  Knowing time was important—‘critical’ was the word Doc used—Bryan sat on the concrete and tweezed at his sock, removing the offending sticker burr in a hurry. He drew in a shallow breath through clenched teeth, and a tiny dot of blood showed up on his dirty sock. It still hurt a little, but at least the sticker was out.

  Interest in his foot slowly trumped that of the box. He wondered how bad the hole was, how much it would bleed. Deciding he was just being a baby, he stood, flicking the burr toward the gate. He tested his foot, slowly shifting his weight onto it.

  Better.

  Satisfied with his handiwork, he snatched the box, climbed the dock stairs to the door that led into the warehouse. Beyond the double-doors would be the hallway, then finally David’s room by the nurses’ station. It was time to hurry, he reckoned. Doctor Holliday had said he’d watch Bryan to be sure he made it through the gate. Once inside, though, it was up to Bryan. He was on his own.

  I know you’re tough. You can do it.

  Bryan had smiled at this.

  Shifting the package to one arm, he tugged the heavy door open just enough for him and the package to slip through, and entered the warehouse. He couldn’t wait to see David’s face.

  * * *

  Even before the massive door clanked shut, shoving Bryan in the back like some playground bully, he heard the hissing whispers. His pupils fought to catch up with his ears in the wan warehouse light, the brightness of day hanging on tight. Robbed him of sight, allowing only ebbing shadows to mix with the fiery outlines of the outside still emblazoned on his vision.

  Somewhere, off to his left, a stack of boxes fell, and he flinched. A scuffing sound against the smooth cem
ent floor. More whispers. A cough. And a smell. A strange smell. One he wasn’t familiar with.

  His heart on high alert, he strained to see, his ears and nose telling him scary things. Things that his grandpa used to tell him weren’t really there. Things that were just in his imagination.

  Imagination.

  Another word he liked, enjoyed saying.

  It’s in my… imagination.

  But his imagination seemed awfully real right then, and he considered pushing back against the door that had pushed him so rudely, and wait outside for a bit. Let the shadows stop talking and go away. Maybe one—or more—of his tug-o-war friends had decided to play in the warehouse. Decided to play another game.

  Hide and go seek.

  Another cough, from the same area. A figure emerged. A scary silhouette. Then another.

  Bryan’s eyes were still telling lies. His throat felt fat, like he hadn’t chewed his food all the way before swallowing. Or evil hands had found his neck.

  The two figures moved closer.

  “Well, fuck me. It’s just some kid.” The man coughed again, waving his hand around his face. Turning to the other figure, he said, “False alarm, dude.”

  Bryan held the box more tightly against his chest, could feel his heart banging them both like a bongo. With his throat closed, it would have to stay right there inside his chest, beating away.

  These shadows, these figures, were not his pool friends. Or tennis court friends. They were strangers. His parents and his grandpa had told him never talk to strangers. He closed his eyes tight, reopened them, trying to clear away the bright of day still glowing on his vision. Hoping it was just his imagination. Though he knew better than that.

  Another figure emerged from behind a stack of boxes off to his left. A shorter one. Three of them now.

  “Where the hell he come from?” Another man’s voice.

  “Who cares? He ain’t gonna say nothing. Light that bad boy back up. Puff, puff, give, home skillet.”

  “Yeah,” the second man said. “Right on. Don’t wanna fuck up the rotation.” The two men giggled.

  Bryan’s eyes had started cooperating, focusing. Two men, one woman.

  The woman spoke next. “No, hold up.” She glanced at Bryan, eyed him warily. “Not in front of the kid.”

  Bryan watched one of the men tug a lighter out of his pocket, and light what appeared to be a small twisted piece of paper. He thought it might be a cigarette, like the kind his grandpa smoked, but he’d not seen one quite like this.

  The man puffed smoke, and that funny smell came back. Then, he handed the funny smelling cigarette to the man wearing sunshades. Bryan wondered how the man could see inside the dark warehouse while wearing sunglasses.

  “Mallory.” The woman in pigtails slapped Sunglasses Man on his arm. “I said not in front of the kid.”

  Blowing a cloud of smoke into her face, he smiled and pointed at Bryan with the twisted paper. “Who’s he gonna tell, huh?” He hinged his torso, hand on one knee, and extended the smoking paper to Bryan. “Wanna hit, kid?”

  Bryan could see himself in the man’s glasses. He scrunched his nose.

  The woman slapped the man’s arm again. “Mallory, Jesus, man. He’s just a kid.”

  “Fucking chill, Laura,” the bearded young man said. “We ain’t doing nothing wrong. Just taking a smoke break, that’s all.” He looked straight at Bryan. “Right, kid? You don’t care if we take us a smoke break, do ya?” His eyes had a mean look to them, like he was still fighting to see in the sun. Maybe he needed sunglasses, too.

  Bryan didn’t say anything, didn’t acknowledge them with a nod or a head shake. He simply stood there, his back pressed against the dock door, holding his box tight.

  The woman said, “Shit, TJ. The old man thinks we’re outside watching the place. Ain’t supposed to be nobody out there but us.” She narrowed her eyes at Bryan, then crouched in front of him. “So how’d you get out there, huh, cutie pie?”

  “Yeah,” the bearded man she called TJ said. “How’d you get by us, squirt?” He took the cigarette back from the man with sunglasses—Mallory—and sucked in smoke, making the end of the paper glow red, and held his breath. He never took his mean eyes off Bryan.

  Bryan’s lips thinned. He didn’t want to talk to these people. He wanted to get David’s present to him, prove to Doctor Holliday that he could be trusted with his very important—critical—delivery. And he wanted to make David happy, like Santa made people happy. He decided these people weren’t on Santa’s good list, that they were definitely on the naughty one. Maybe that’s why they were in the warehouse, trying to find their own box.

  TJ coughed out a big breath of smoke, waved away the cloud. “He ain’t talking.” Another cough. “Probably a mute. Retarded or some shit. Hell, he’s only got one shoe.”

  Laura stood like she’d been crouching on a spring, spun, and slapped TJ hard enough to ruffle the whiskers on his cheek. Finger in his face, she said, “Asshole. Don’t you ever use that word again.”

  He shrugged, smile slanted. “What? What’d I say?” He turned to Mallory. “What’d I say?”

  “You know she hates that word, dude. Call him ‘special’ or ‘mentally challenged’ or… ‘intellectually disabled’ or, I don’t know, ‘learning impaired.’ Don’t ever say the ‘R’ word, dude. So disrespectful and shit.”

  TJ glanced from his buddy, to the woman, and back again. Jabbing a thumb at Mallory, he said, “Coming from the regular short bus rider, over there.” He shook his head. “Fucking sensitive pansy asses. Fucking world’s gone to shit and you two fucks gotta be all politically correct and shit.”

  Laura held a palm to him. “Toby Jack, just… please don’t use that word anymore. Okay? For me.”

  Toby Jack huffed. “Fine. Whatever the fuck.” He started to plug the funny smelling cigarette back into his lips.

  The sunglasses man slapped TJ on the arm. “Hey, puff, puff, give, home skillet. You’re fucking up the rotation.”

  After handing off the smoking paper, TJ pointed to Bryan’s box. “So what’s in the box? Your other shoe? Maybe got some homemade brownies in there?” He snorted out a laugh.

  After taking in another drag, Mallory said, “Ooo, you got brownies in there, ‘lil dude?” He let the cigarette droop on his lips, clapped his hands together, rubbing.

  Toby Jack reached for the box, but Bryan yanked it away before he could lay his hands on it.

  The sunglasses man with the frizzy, curly hair giggled. “You been denied, motherfucker.” Summoning a horrible mock Japanese accent, he said, “No brownie for you,” then cackled like a hyena losing a tickle contest.

  TJ scowled. “Fuck you, Mallory.” Then to Bryan, “Hand over the box, kid.”

  Bryan’s heart started pounding harder. He didn’t like these people, didn’t find them nice at all. They used bad words, like his grandpa used when he was really, really mad about something. And he wondered why they were so angry. Especially the man with the mean eyes, TJ.

  Toby Jack wiggled his fingers at Bryan. “C’mon kid. Hand it over.”

  The woman said, “TJ, just leave him alone. He ain’t bothering nobody. We need to get back outside, anyway.” She looked back at Bryan. “You don’t have any friends out there, do ya?”

  Bryan thought for a minute, wondered if he should tell them about his friends in the pool. They were still out there, playing with his broken tug-o-war stick. And his shoe. Instead, he shook his head slowly.

  “No?” she said, sounding relieved. “Good deal. You oughta get on back inside, before your parents start looking for ya.”

  Bryan stared at her.

  “Go on,” she said. “Git.” She took the twisted, smoking paper from Mallory.

  Bryan pushed off from the door, eager to leave and get to David’s room.

  TJ clamped his hand on the boy’s arm as he tried to push through the group. “Aaa. Hold on, now, squirt. I said hand over the box. You wasn’t supposed to be outside,
so I’m sure you ain’t supposed to have this.” Before Bryan could react, TJ tugged the box from the his grip.

  “Give it back!” Bryan demanded, his tiny voice a surprise echo through the warehouse.

  Mallory said, “Whoa. ‘Lil dude does speak.” He let out another annoying, high-pitched laugh.

  Bryan said, “That’s not yours.”

  TJ smiled, held the box high—too high for Bryan to reach. That didn’t stop the boy from trying, though.

  “Toby Jack,” said the woman. “C’mon. Give it back. We’ve got to get our asses back out there before that old man gets out of that meeting or whatever the hell they’re doing and rips us a new one.”

  “Now hold on, Laura. We’ll just take us a little peek inside, then we’ll give it back. Right, squirt?”

  Bryan just glared at the man, reached for the box again with a little hop, and TJ lifted it higher, teasing him. Then, TJ did the unthinkable—he shook the box.

  “Don’t shake it!” Bryan yelled. “It’s fragile!” If Doc found out TJ shook the box, Bryan just knew he’d get the switch to his backside for sure. And he didn’t want that. Not at all.

  Toby Jack let the laugh of a bully roll over his lips. “Fragile, huh?” He put an ear to the cardboard, then shook it harder.

  “Don’t!” Bryan said. “Doctor Holliday said not to shake it! You’re going to break it and get me in trouble!”

  TJ scrunched his brows at Bryan, and huffed. Mockingly, he said, “Doctor Holliday, huh? What, is he gonna come shoot me, pump me full of lead? Huh, squirt? That what he’s gonna do? Ride up on his horsey and plug me with bullets? Is he my ‘Huckleberry’? Huh?”

  The clank of the door leading to the hallway startled the bunch, then a deep, booming voice. “Hey! I hear y’all in here.”

  Mallory dropped the smoking, twisted paper to the cement and covered it with his tennis shoe, grinding it frantically. He brought his fist to his lips, coughed.

  TJ swiveled on his heel, box still in his hands.

  Laura stepped in front of TJ. “Hey, Lenny. It’s Lenny, right? How’s it—”

  “Why ain’t y’all outside on watch?”