But she’d have to find a way to move on. What was done was done, and there was nothing she could do now to change history.
Leaning against the door, Brooke stared out into the night. The sky was clear, the moon a waning crescent with stars surrounding it. She wanted to think that Jon was looking up at the same sky, but knew it wasn’t the case.
Terrence drove, saying nothing as they made their way back to Hope’s Dawn. He had come to know Brooke well enough to understand when she needed silence. Jon had been his friend, too, she had to remember. It couldn’t have been easy on him, especially knowing what Jon’s fate would be—no matter what the end looked like for him during the entire mission at the prison.
All Brooke wanted now was to see her son. He was why she had done any of this to begin with, and the primary reason Jon had sacrificed himself to save her. Jon had been the kind of man who wouldn’t let a son grow up without his mom if he could have any sort of say about it.
Brooke was staring out the side window when Terrence slammed on the brakes, jetting her forward and nearly making her slam her head into the dash. She was lucky her head didn’t slam into the passenger side window it had already been resting on. Sitting up straight, Brooke looked over at Terrence.
“Why’d you do that, Terrence?”
He pointed to the horizon ahead. “What the hell is that?”
A cloud blotted out the stars and the clear night. It rose up from the ground, visible over the trees ahead.
“It looks like smoke,” Brooke said, now realizing by looking at the surroundings outside where they were.
Hope’s Dawn.
“Go!” Brooke said.
Terrence slammed his foot down on the gas, the pickup truck’s rear tires spinning and sending a screech through the silent night air. He approached sixty-miles-per-hour, which was much faster than they usually drove on these debris-covered roads and with the threat of zombies wandering out in front of them. But they had to get to the camp.
All Brooke could think about as they approached the camp was her son. Allowing Jon to be a martyr was one thing, but she would never forgive herself if something happened to Lucas while she was away.
As they pulled up to the front of the camp, they found that the gate was open. Terrence didn’t pull through. Smoke and fire billowed up from all around Hope’s Dawn, lighting the sky.
“Let’s go on foot from here,” he said.
“I have to get to my son,” Brooke said, panic in her voice as she opened the door.
Terrence grabbed her arm. “We’ll get to him. But we have to go in there quietly in case the people who did this are still here.”
Brooke had been so focused on Lucas that she hadn’t even thought about that. They could be walking right into their own deaths. But if she was being honest with herself, Brooke might welcome that idea if she lost both Jon and her son on the same day.
The fire had caught the attention of a couple of zombies wandering nearby, and Brooke and Terrence took care of them with their knives before entering the camp. They stayed low, entering the camp through the front gates, which was risky. They could easily be seen, but they couldn’t waste more time trying to find another way in.
“Jess!” Terrence said.
The young woman who’d spent more time guarding the gates of Hope’s Dawn than anyone else lay face-down on the ground, and they saw her as they entered the camp. Terrence went to her and continued to say her name, getting no response. He gently rolled her over, but her limbs fell limp. Terrence put his head to her chest, then settled his forehead there as he fought back tears.
Jess was dead, and it seemed that was only the beginning.
“We can’t stay here, Terrence,” Brooke said, still taken aback, herself. “We have to keep moving and checking the camp.”
It took Terrence another few moments to get up, but he finally did. They stayed low as they moved through the camp, smoke rising from the few buildings that had been set on fire. They came across the dead bodies of a couple more familiar faces, including Curtis. He had been with them at the prison, meaning this attack had happened recently.
The panic began to set in with Brooke. “I need to get to Lucas.”
“We will,” Terrence assured her. “But we have to be smart.”
Brooke wanted to sprint across the camp to their house to go to her son, but she stopped herself. Terrence was right. The people who’d done this could still be there, hiding in the shadows. It would do no good if she was shot running across Hope’s Dawn.
They stopped at the side of Garrett’s house. Brooke scanned the area and saw no immediate threat.
“We need to go inside and check on him,” Terrence said. “If he’s in there, he’ll know what’s going on. If he’s still….”
Terrence let his words trail off. Brooke knew what he was saying, though, because she was thinking the same thing.
Remaining cautious of their surroundings, they walked around the back of the house. Terrence walked in front of Brooke and went to the back door.
“Cover me,” he said.
Brooke kept his pistol at the ready. Terrence checked the door, and the handle turned. He pushed through, and they entered the kitchen.
It was pitch black inside. They were hesitant to turn on flashlights, unaware if any enemies were lurking inside. So, instead, they remained quiet and listened for anyone in the house.
Brooke heard a groan. Terrence must’ve heard it, too, because he started in the direction it had come from. They moved through the kitchen and into the living room, stopping there.
The groan came again.
“Garrett,” Terrence whispered when he should’ve remained quiet.
No response came back, and Brooke headed down the hallway and to Garrett’s bedroom. His door was slightly ajar, subtle light illuminating the space through the crack. Brooke pushed it open with Terrence at her back to cover her.
Her eyes immediately went to the floor, where a pair of legs lay visible at the foot of the bed. She hurried over, the candles in the room being bright enough to reveal Garrett lying on his back on the ground.
She didn’t immediately see the blood as she focused on his face. But then she noticed Garrett’s hand over his stomach, and he slid it out of the way to reveal the gunshot wound.
“Garrett,” she said, “we’re going to get you out of here.”
“No,” he said, barely speaking so she could understand him.
“Are the people who did this still here?” Terrence asked.
Garrett hesitated. “Run. You have to run.”
“Not without you,” Brooke said. “I’ll go find Dennis. We’ll get you—”
“Go,” Garrett said. “You must—”
He took a gasping breath. His eyes went wide, and his lips parted.
“Garrett.” Brooke put her hands on his face. “Garrett, talk to me.”
But there was no response. He stared off into nothing.
Brooke bit her lip as she touched his face. Then she turned around to say something to Terrence, and that’s when she saw the dark figures standing over them.
Before she could react, the butt of the gun came down onto her forehead, knocking her out cold.
40
The dead bastards screamed on the other side of the door as they beat on it.
They wanted inside. They wanted to finish the job. To feast on his flesh. But he’d managed to outsmart the monsters.
Jon South was trapped in his own hell, but he was alive. Now, the question was whether or not this hell, the storage room and pantry, was going to become his tomb. It was a only question due to ignorance. One with only a single possible outcome. It wasn’t a question at all, really. It was a fact.
He was going to die alone in this small room.
Would he later regret not just falling off of the stove and countertops, his arms spread wide, and allowing the horde to take him? Or not putting a bullet in his brain? The latter was still an option. Maybe he’d see how long h
e could stand to hear the creatures beat on the war drum.
After a few minutes, the adrenaline started to wear off, and the pain from his new wounds hit him. He’d been bitten at least two more times. One bite was on his left hand, joining the original injury he already had. The other was a flesh wound on his right ankle. One of the zombies had grazed him, but it, fortunately, hadn’t hurt him enough to where he hadn’t been able to jump off the stove and run away.
He didn’t know why he’d made the run for the pantry, though. In all likelihood, the act had merely come from his overwhelming instinct to survive. If there was one thing Jon South had learned about himself at the end of days, it’d been that he was a stubborn son of a bitch when it came to dying.
His stubbornness meant nothing now. It would only be a matter of time. If he didn’t bleed out, then the virus would take him and turn him. But he wouldn’t allow that to happen. That was the line to his pride. He wasn’t going to turn into one of them.
But why wait?
He stared at the gun lying next to his hand. He only thought for a moment before picking it up. Jon studied before placing the barrel in his mouth.
Jon pulled the trigger without hesitation.
But all that came was a hollow click.
He’d forgotten the gun was empty.
Jon sighed, balling up his fist. As the pain hit him from his new wounds, he grew more frustrated. His body temperature seemed to go up. Outside, the zombies continued to snarl and beat against the door. Jon slammed his fist against the door.
All he could do was scream.
But no one heard it.
Not a single person.
No one.
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About Zach Bohannon
Zach Bohannon is a horror, science fiction, and fantasy author. His critically acclaimed post-apocalyptic zombie series, Empty Bodies, is a former Amazon #1 bestseller. He lives in Tennessee with his wife and daughter. He loves hockey, heavy metal, video games, reading, and he doesn’t trust a beer he can see through. He’s a retired drummer, and has had a beard since 2003—long before it was cool.
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Dead South | Book 2 | Dead Lies Page 15
