Dead South | Book 2 | Dead Lies

by Bohannon, Zach

  While he knew these two zombies needed to be taken out before he went into the store, just so they wouldn’t surprise him later or garner the attention of any other creatures in the area, the encounter reminded Jon of his hunts. When he’d hunted the zombies for nothing more than the thrill of it. He realized he didn’t miss it and felt fortunate to be in a better spot mentally, where he didn’t have to stimulate himself by risking his life. At least now, the risks he was taking were for the greater good of others.

  He returned the bloody bat to the rack on the side of his bike and got back on. He then rode to the front of the store, navigating around abandoned vehicles and debris as he went.

  Jon stopped the bike near the entrance and shut off the engine. He stepped off the bike and slipped the backpack off, then removed his long-sleeved shirt. He’d broken into a sweat while fighting the zombies, and decided to go into the grocery store in a T-shirt. He draped the shirt over the seat, then put the pack back on.

  With the backpack strapped on, he couldn’t put any of his weapons on his back. Wanting to be smart, he knew he had to carry with him more than just the baseball bat. This wasn’t about the thrills anymore; it was about survival.

  Reaching into his saddlebag, he grabbed his pistol. He had checked it several times earlier and knew it was loaded, so he put it right into the holster at his waist. He also grabbed an extra loaded magazine and stuffed it into the backpack.

  Still wanting the gun to be a last resort if he got into a bind, so as to avoid getting the attention of other zombies, he decided to take the hatchet with him, as well. He had a place on his belt where he could carry it to keep his hands free, and he slipped it into that holster.

  Loaded up, he approached the shattered glass doors. He couldn’t see any zombies near the entrance, which was a good sign. He only hoped it would remain that way once he scoured the store.

  Jon closed his eyes for a moment and grabbed onto the handles.

  Then, he pulled open the double doors and headed inside.

  24

  Like everywhere else in the world, the inside of the store had been ravaged. Debris covered the floor. The front registers had been vandalized, likely due to looting during the beginning of the pandemic. During those first hours when chaos had reigned, so many people had gone into stores just like this one and headed straight for the cash registers or high-priced electronics. If only they’d had the foresight to understand that, within weeks, money and big-screen televisions wouldn’t mean shit, they might have thought smarter and gone for the things that mattered. Canned food. Bottled water. First-aid. Medicine. Batteries. Hell, a lot of people had gone for the toilet paper before food or water. Eventually, though, smart people had taken all of that in just about every place Jon had been, and it looked like this store would be no different.

  But he did hope to find some glass bottles along the way.

  It just wasn’t going to be easy—not with how trashed the place was.

  Jon started by searching near the front registers. He remembered how he’d often bought Spencer a drink while in line at the grocery store, and how many times those drinks had come in glass bottles. It had come back into fashion as retro had become cool in recent years, and nostalgia had meant dollars for companies. He went and checked inside each of the coolers at the start of the checkout lanes. Each was out of stock, as he’d expected, but he did find four empty glass soda bottles on the ground.

  “Not a bad start.”

  He searched every checkout lane, being sure to look under debris lying on the ground, but he found nothing else of use. Still, it was four more than he’d had before walking in, and he hadn’t even gone beyond the checkout area.

  As he turned to face the main part of the store, he felt overwhelmed. There was so much trash on the ground, including tipped-over shelves and packaging, and he knew the glass bottles he needed could be lying under any of it. But he didn’t have the time to do a detailed search of the entire place. Not if they wanted to go and take the prison that day, as planned. They needed plenty of daylight. So, he decided to go straight for the aisle which would most likely have the types of bottles he needed, and he could scan the floors as he made his way there.

  Jon didn’t expect there to be any alcohol or beer left on the shelves. Liquor had become like gold and was something that fetched a high trade value. But he hoped some looters would have drunk their alcohol there in the aisle and left the bottles behind.

  As Jon worked his way farther into the store, the light coming in through the front doors and windows faded. He swung the backpack off his shoulder and retrieved a flashlight. Clicking it on, he shined it in front of him. On the way back to the liquor aisle, he found one wine bottle intact amongst the glass of several others which had been shattered.

  When he finally reached the aisle of destination, it looked about as he’d imagined it would. The shelves were empty aside from some leftover boxes and the broken glass of bottles and fluorescent lighting. The ground was covered, too, mostly in glass and the cardboard boxes of looted six-packs. But Jon did spot some bottles on the ground which hadn’t broken. So, he made his way down the aisle, glass crunching underneath his boots, and picked up those bottles. He quickly found three beer bottles and then spotted a fourth after another minute. But then the pickings turned scarce.

  He kneeled near the center of the aisle and moved cardboard and fallen ceiling tiles out of the way, careful not to cut his hand on any glass. He found a couple more bottles and added them to the growing collection in his backpack.

  Once he reached the end of the aisle, he turned around to make sure he hadn’t missed anything. He’d searched as best he could, and didn’t want to waste a bunch of time going back over the same area in the hopes that he might have missed a single bottle. Jon looked around. There were many other aisles in the store he could search, and while beer and wine bottles were the best to make Molotovs out of, there were other glass bottles that would do fine. But it was a big store, and he needed to hurry. The last thing he wanted was to be gone too long, and for Brooke to get worried and feel like she needed to come search for him.

  As he looked down to his right, toward where the meat section would once have taken up the shelves lining the wall, Jon saw two double doors. That had to be the stockroom, and he wondered if he would have better luck searching back there for empty bottles.

  It’s at least worth a look.

  He went to the doors and pushed them open. With no windows in the warehouse and no electricity to power the building, the space was left in pitch darkness. He shined the flashlight around the warehouse.

  Like the rest of the store, the warehouse had been ransacked, though it wasn’t in such poor of shape as the aisles. Jon noticed less trash and debris on the ground. The warehouse also wasn’t very big, so even in the dark, he knew he could do a quick search of the place.

  Jon started into the stockroom, pointing the flashlight around to search the room. Three pallets sat on the floor in front of him. Some boxes lay empty on the ground, surrounded by the plastic wrap they’d been covered in. Beyond them was a small desk with a computer, and he found a glass soda bottle sitting next to the keyboard. He took it and put it in his backpack with the others. Jon then flashed the light to his left, where there were two rows of metal racking. A couple of pallets lay on the ground, and much debris blocked the aisle. He shined the light up at the third level of the racks. Even the pallets on the top shelves had been looted.

  He’d walked to the aisle, ready to maneuver around the debris and search it, when he heard a faint noise coming from the warehouse’s corner. He remained still, listening to try to figure out what the sound could’ve been. After a few moments, he still wasn’t sure, so he tried to follow it.

  Jon moved carefully, so as not to make too much noise. Every few moments, he shined the light on the ground in front of him so that he could make sure he didn’t step on anything, but then he would point it back toward the corner of the warehouse, hoping h
e’d see what was back there. As he got closer, the sound only got a little louder, and he still couldn’t make out what it was.

  His heart raced. Sweat beaded his brow. But he wanted to know what the sound was, so he kept walking, almost as if his legs were moving involuntarily. Like he couldn’t have turned around even if he’d wanted to.

  As he rounded the racking near the back of the warehouse, Jon saw a couple more bottles on the ground, but ignored them for the time being. He would pick them up on his way out. For now, he flashed the light back to the corner where two pallets, stacked with flat cardboard boxes, obstructed his view. He stopped, listening to the noise again, but was still unable to make out what it was. Watching the ground in front of him, he continued towards it.

  The closer Jon got to the pallets, the more apparent it was that whatever was making the noise was behind them. But the boxes were stacked too high for him to see what it could be. He kept the light shined in front of him, not looking to his right or his left as he approached.

  But the closer he got, the more he could make out the sound.

  It sounded like a wheeze. Like labored breathing. Jon’s heart raced even faster.

  He stared at the pallet when he got there, and he listened. Then, he shined the light down onto the ground and saw a man lying there. Jon could only see him from the center of his chest up, the rest of his body being shielded by the pallet. The man stared up at the ceiling, his eyes wide. His chest heaved up and down, and that wheeze expelled from his mouth.

  Jon kneeled next to the man. “Are you alright?”

  The man didn’t respond at first; he only continued to stare upward. Then, Jon flashed the light down onto the man’s body and saw his hands folded over one another on his stomach. Blood covered his gray shirt and the top hand.

  Jon noticed something else, this lying near the man’s feet. He flashed the light there and saw another body. A knife stuck out of the forehead, and from the ashen skin, Jon knew it had been a zombie.

  He then shined the light back onto the man, and it hit him. He looked at the hands.

  The man had been bitten.

  He finally acknowledged Jon, looking up at him. The eyes stared upward, bloodshot and empty. Jon couldn’t tell if the man actually saw him or not.

  “How long have you been here?” Jon asked. “When were you bit?”

  But the man only wheezed, still saying nothing.

  Jon wanted to save the man, but he knew there was no hope. There would only be one way to help him now. He stood, and gripped his pistol. Jon took a deep breath, keeping it in its holster for now. Taking the shot could draw zombies in the area, but he had to put this man out of his misery. The gun was the only way.

  “I’m sorry,” Jon said. “This is all I can do for—”

  A snarl sounded from Jon’s left, startling him. On instinct, he turned and pointed the flashlight in that direction. A zombie lunged toward him, knocking the flashlight out of his hands.

  The thing pushed Jon up against the wall, and he had to pull his hand off the gun to block the creature. It snapped its jaws at him, only inches away from his face. Jon held onto the zombie’s shirt, keeping it away from him.

  He finally had a strong enough grip where he was able to throw the creature around and into the wall, switching places with it. When the zombie lunged forward again, Jon let go. The creature’s momentum sent it forward, stumbling onto the ground.

  Jon found it and, without hesitating, slammed his boot down into the back of the zombie’s head. He felt the skull being crushed beneath his sole, and the zombie convulsed for a moment before it stopped moving.

  Jon drew in deep breaths, relieved he’d survived the close call. He put his hands on his knees and tried to gain his composure. After a few moments, he stood up straight. He still had to help the man on the ground. He found the flashlight and clicked it on. Jon turned around and shined the light where the man had been.

  Nothing was there.

  All that he saw was a bloodstain behind the pallet where the man had been lying. He felt his heart race as he shined the flashlight around.

  Then he heard a scream from behind him and turned, throwing his arm up as was his instinct.

  The next thing he felt was the newly-turned creature’s teeth digging into the meat of his left arm.

  25

  Malcolm stepped out of the backseat of the SUV, adjusting the collar on his shirt. The meeting had been arranged in the same open field where he and Lennox had met a half-dozen times before. It was a fifteen-minute drive from both Black Hill and Freedom Ridge, and the location was secluded enough that no one from either camp would find them meeting.

  Lennox stood waiting for Malcolm to arrive. The vehicle Lennox had traveled in sat fifteen yards behind him, the two men he’d come with from Freedom Ride standing beside it. It pissed Malcolm off to see Lennox waiting on him. He hated feeling like he was late. Though he was on time, he felt weaker knowing that Lennox had made it there first. It wasn’t the way he was wired. But he pushed the feelings aside. Both Bryce and Bennett stood against the SUV and nodded at Malcolm. Each man was armed, but Malcolm knew no violence would take place here. They were more of a precaution and a way to show power.

  He made his way over to Lennox, stopping a few feet in front of him. Neither man extended their hand for a formal greeting. Malcolm wouldn’t have shaken his hand anyway. The leader of Freedom Ridge stank of marijuana—a smell that Malcolm wouldn’t be able to get off his hand for days if they shook hands.

  For several moments, both men remained silent, waiting for the other to speak and kick off the conversation. They simply stared at each other.

  “Go ahead and get to the point, Malcolm,” Lennox finally said. “I know you’re not one for small talk. Why’d you call me here?”

  “You know why I called you here.”

  Lennox scoffed. “I don’t have a clue, actually. Why don’t you enlighten me?”

  “Don’t play games with me. I know he’s there.”

  “Who?”

  “You know who. The one who burned down the Vultures. The Savage.”

  Lennox crossed his arms. “I can’t say we have anyone at Freedom Ridge who goes by that name.”

  “He showed up there with the woman and the black fellow. You know exactly who I’m talking about.”

  Lennox put his hands up. “Hold up. The ‘black fellow,’ you called him?”

  Malcolm stepped forward, cutting the already thin distance between himself and Lennox in half. “I don’t give a shit what his name is. He’s part of that camp that attacked my people, and he’s friends with the man responsible. Are you telling me your friends with him, too? Because if so, we might just have a problem.”

  Lennox paused for a moment, clearly thinking about what he wanted to say next. That was a good idea as far as Malcolm was concerned—because the next words that came out of Lennox’s mouth would be crucial to how the relations between their two camps moved forward.

  “I’m not going to let you come up here and threaten me or Freedom Ridge,” Lennox said. “You understand me? We’ve done nothing but be respectful of everything you’ve done at Black Hill, whether we morally agree with it or not. And believe me, I’ve got a lot of problems with what you do. I’m not going to sit here and act like I shed even a single tear when I found out what happened to the Vultures. But who comes and doesn’t come into my camp is my business, not yours or anyone else’s. You feel me?”

  “I’m only giving you this one chance to turn him over,” Malcolm said.

  “And you know I’m not doing that.”

  “Then you’re making a big mistake.”

  Both men breathed heavily, but said nothing. Malcolm hardly blinked, his eyes becoming dry as he stared into the leader of Freedom Ridge’s face.

  “You’re sure this is how you want to handle this?” Malcolm asked, giving Lennox one last chance.

  “I didn’t stutter, did I?”

  Malcolm stared into Lennox’s e
yes for a moment, but said nothing else. He had given Lennox a chance. He turned around and headed back to his SUV.

  “I wouldn’t mess with him,” Lennox said as Malcolm walked away.

  Malcolm turned around. He didn’t offer a verbal response to Lennox, but it was clear from his face what he thought.

  As Bryce opened the backdoor of the SUV for Malcolm, the leader of Black Hill looked at Barrett.

  “You ready to show me that I picked the right new leader for the Vultures?”

  Barrett smiled. “Yes, sir.”

  26

  Jon screamed as the zombie’s decrepit teeth tore into the meat of his left forearm. It chewed and ripped flesh for a few seconds before Jon got his right hand up and worked to push the creature away. Its teeth tore away the flesh, and the wound throbbed, but getting the creature off of him gave Jon temporary relief. The zombie lunged to attack Jon again, and he sidestepped. The zombie hit the wall, and Jon drew the pistol off his belt. He raised it, felt the barrel hit the zombie’s skull, and pulled the trigger. The shot rang through the warehouse, and he listened as the creature thudded against the concrete.

  Then, he heard the snarls of other zombies coming from somewhere else in the warehouse.

  Unable to see and not wanting to waste bullets, Jon hurried back the way he’d come and followed the faint light to the two double doors. He crashed through them and then turned around, raising the pistol as he watched two zombies stalking him.

  The doors swung open, and Jon fired, taking the first zombie out with one shot. His hands being unsteady, he missed the next shot, but connected with a third right as the other creature was about to lunge at him. Jon remained in the same position, gun raised as he looked down at the two zombies he had taken out. After a few moments, his eyes went to the open wound on his left arm. Blood seeped from the bite, dropping down onto the ground below. The pain rushed into him all at once. It burned like someone was holding a blowtorch up to his arm. He dropped the gun and pressed his hand over the wound. His lips trembled, and he breathed heavily as the reality of what had happened set in.