Dead South Rising (Book 1)

by Sean Robert Lang

  “Step-brother.”

  “Oh?”

  Sammy kneeled beside Mitch’s body, looking up at Tom. He grinned nice and wide. “See? Not much of a resemblance.”

  Gills said, “Probably more of one now since ‘ole Doc blew his face off.”

  Chuckling, Sammy stood. “Known him all my life, so we considered ourselves brothers. We’re both assholes, so folks automatically thought we was related. Never got on, though. A shame.”

  “Touching story. But I must implore we get going, gentlemen. A mutual enemy is on the move, and I made a deal with Old Scratch this evening that I’m inclined to keep.”

  Gill’s lips went tight, his fu-manchu bristling. “I think the doctor’s right. Merchandise ain’t going nowhere. And I’d like to see that motherfucker suffer.”

  Sammy nodded, thumbing his chin. “Guess the merchandise can wait. Come back for it later. I’ve got a bit of revenge fever, myself, anyway.”

  Tom smiled, happy to hear the men were on board, and more importantly, less of a threat than he had originally anticipated. He could envision a prosperous partnership developing. Maybe even one that would extend beyond his mission of non-mercy in the name of Kate Mackey.

  And if not, these men would meet Mitch’s fate. He had no misgivings about making it happen, either.

  Chapter 17

  It was something in the way Bryan had said it that threw David’s rationale into a tailspin. Initially, he felt good about his decision to leave those men shackled to that tree. They were dangerous, full of foul intent. He knew it, believed it, and therefore had acted without compunction. Those men were going to do bodily harm to one of them—or all of them. He’d done the right thing. He’d protected his family.

  But he couldn’t fend off pangs of guilt at how he’d handled them, treating them like dangerous junkyard dogs. Randy had questioned him, more than once, on his actions. But the big man was naïve and sensitive. Though come to think of it, in those kinds of situations, David typically was, too. He’d done what he thought was right at the time. Now he wondered if he shouldn’t turn around and undo the immutable.

  Right, Bryan had said, because we should always do the right thing.

  And just what was the right thing? Chaining two troublemakers to a tree, leaving them to their own shrewd devices? A possible, though unlikely, chance of escape? He’d set it up nicely, could still see the fear on the two men’s faces even though they’d tried to play the macho card. The dead pig was a nice touch, attracting the dead to distract them from thought, instill a terror-filled sense of urgency. The crowning move was throwing the handcuff and padlock keys onto the carcass.

  Good luck, boys. Have fun with that. Better hurry before a shuffler swallows them. I wonder if shufflers shit? Gonna have to wait awhile.

  It bothered David just how much he had delighted in the depraved act, his actions and conscience unfettered by guilt. He didn’t think himself a bad guy. No one ever thought that about themselves. These new dark days forced his hand in ways he never dreamed. He was only doing what he had to do.

  I did the right thing. I did the right thing. Did I do the right thing?

  Yes. He had derailed duplicitous intent. This was Mitch’s brother, after all. Two peas in an insidious pod. Hell, he’d planned to kill Mitch that very morning, end the man’s life.

  And start a dead one.

  He shook that last thought from his head.

  Got to focus.

  So what was the difference? Still, the image of Sammy and Guillermo cuffed to that tree … the section of chain-link wrapped around them …

  Mitch will free them. He’ll turn them loose. You’re worrying about nothing. Shufflers can’t get to them. Not easily, anyway. If anything, you should be getting as far away as you possibly can, because once they’re free, the dogs will be on the hunt…

  Bryan’s words echoed again, David’s conscience batting them around like a racquetball. He’d had time to ponder on the porch afterwards and while driving. His gut told him not to go back, to stay far away. His rebelling brain and contrite heart were in cahoots, two against his gut, and his gut was conceding.

  The feelings of dominance, of bloated confidence bordering on assholish arrogance, of invincibility—they were all fading so fast, so incredibly fast. It was like a drug high, and he was crashing NASCAR-hard. He needed those feelings, lest he fail his new family like he had failed his old one. These people, his nascent family, needed him to be strong. To protect them. To do the right thing.

  Shit.

  He pulled his foot from the accelerator, and the truck gurgled fumes loudly, stack-pipes backfiring and spitting their protest. Even the Dodge disagreed with what he was about to do.

  “What is it? Did you see something?” Randy seemed jumpy and nervous. David wondered if the man was reading his mind all along.

  “Going back.”

  Randy’s eyes grew wide behind his thick glasses. “What? Why?”

  David didn’t answer as he focused on turning the truck around.

  Randy inquired again. “Why, David? Did you forget something back there?”

  After a heavy sigh, David said, “What we did—what I did—back there … I’m not sure that I could live with myself …” He muscled the vehicle, trying to get it redirected without stranding them in the steep ditch.

  “But Mitch is there. He’ll turn them lose.”

  David worked the stick and clutch. “We don’t know that for sure, Randy. Could have been overtaken by shufflers before he made it down the hill.”

  “He had his shotgun—”

  Anger touched David’s tone. “Randy … we don’t know for sure.” After straightening the dually, he said, “I just … I had some time to think about it. I want to be sure y’all are safe, that’s most important. But I can’t …” He finished his statement shaking his head.

  “David, I see where you’re coming from, I really do. I questioned what we were doing, too. And I know I questioned you, more than once about it. But what’s done is done. We should leave well enough alone.” He looked out the passenger window at the darkness now zipping by. “Besides, you gave them a more than fair chance of getting away, even if Mitch didn’t make it to them. Anyway, if they can’t figure out those novelty cuffs, then … well maybe they don’t deserve to live. Thinning of the herd, you know?”

  It was a harsh statement for Randy. David had considered this last point, but hearing Randy vocalize it so he could hear it … Maybe Randy was right. What if they went back and Sammy and Gills were gone? Worse yet, what if they were there, waiting on them? No doubt the men were seething, their tempers as torrid as the Texas summer. Probably shoot him on the spot. Should have taken their guns, not left them in the trailer. A lapse in judgement.

  Something pushed him forward, though.

  Turn right, because we want to do the right thing.

  The right thing.

  “David, look. I don’t agree with what you did. Okay? But it’s done, man. Just chalk it up to experience. We’ll handle things differently next time.”

  Next time.

  David kept his eyes forward.

  Randy pinched nervously at his beard. “If we go back there, those guys are going to kill us for what we did. And I’m not being metaphorical. They will kill us dead. Do you hear me?”

  Bryan spoke up from the back. “Men are going to kill us?”

  David gave Randy a scolding look.

  See what you’ve done? You’ve upset Bryan.

  “No one’s going to kill us, Bry. Try to sit back and rest, okay? We’ve got a long drive.”

  “Did we turn around? Are we going back?”

  “I forgot something. Just going back for a minute. Then we’ll be back on the road.”

  “What about that mean man on the motorcycle? Won’t he hurt us? I don’t want Charlie to get hurt.”

  After firing off another scathing look at Randy, David said, “You and Charlie will be fine, okay, champ?”

  “What
about you? Will you be okay?”

  “I’ll be okay, Bry. We’ll all be okay.”

  The boy hesitated a beat, then said, “Okay.”

  “Okay.”

  They all went quiet, and David could tell Randy was stewing, upset and displeased. But Randy had to understand. If they were going to live in this world where life after death was the new reality, then there’d have to be some sort of civility. David had gotten carried away today, had seriously considered actually killing a man, tied two men to a tree and left them to die.

  He knew they had to leave the area, though. No way in hell they could stay. Not only would Mitch, Sammy, and Guillermo be constant and potentially deadly threats—if they were still alive, even—but there was the matter of a madman roaming the woods, calling himself Doc Holliday. Could that be the man he thought he saw on the edge of the road, smoking the cigarette when they left? He couldn’t be one-hundred percent sure, what with the night and all, but it sure looked like a man in a black trench coat and hat, smoking, the burning cherry glowing brighter as the truck rolled by. Probably his eyes playing tricks. But then again, maybe not.

  It would take some time to get back. They’d almost made it all the way to town, could already see abandoned vehicles ahead, glass and reflectors visible in the truck’s beams. He hoped he was making the right decision, going back to free those men. His gut was screaming, yelling for him to turn right back around again and head straight into town. And beyond.

  He wondered what Mitch would do to him, especially when he discovered his wife gone, his brother and friend bound to a tree. Perhaps he could be reasoned with. Mitch’s ego seemed bruised this morning after their altercation on the road, where David killed his first undead. Who knows what was going on in Mitch’s head, where he’d disappeared to for most of the day. After Doc, maybe? Didn’t matter. He may not even be alive.

  The dually ground down the highway, David keeping the beast at a safe speed. Seemed to be more undead shuffling about than normal, not to mention the occasional possum or deer. Better cautious, taking it slower, rather than plowing through whatever may wander out in front of them, risking a wreck. The truck was substantial, no doubt about it. But he’d seen bigger vehicles stopped in their tracks from far less. He’d exercise caution.

  And he decided to tell Randy and Jessica the truth about his daily outings these past twenty-two days. Not tonight, of course. Randy was already disconcerted and Jessica was in no condition. Plus, he didn’t want Bryan in on the confession. It could get emotional, probably would, and he had to be strong and calm. The boy looked up to him, more so than his own daughter ever did. But David respected this little person who had stolen his heart in a matter of a day. Bryan had a heart of gold, and David would be his Fort Knox.

  * * *

  Beads of nervous sweat glistened on Randy’s brow. Or at least David thought he saw sweat. The pickup cab was dark, the lights doused, only the anemic moon teasing them with sight. Given Randy’s proneness to perspiring, especially when unnerved, he guessed his big friend was a tub of sweltering anxiety.

  “David, I really wish you wouldn’t do this.”

  David was topping off El Jefe’s magazine.

  “Are you hearing me? It’s just too dangerous. I wish you would reconsider—”

  “Lower your voice.”

  Randy glanced toward the backseat. Bryan sat right behind him, so he couldn’t glimpse the boy he was supposedly upsetting. Plus, it was just too dark to see him back there. David had made his point, though.

  He brought it down a notch, but Randy persisted. “What if something happens? Let’s find a place close by, hunker down for the night, then come back and check on them in the morning.”

  David stopped thumbing rounds into the magazine, focused his gaze toward Randy. “Because, it may be too late by then.”

  The big man sighed, muttered under his breath, “Probably already is.”

  “Randy,” David said, “I’ll be fine. I’m going in the back way. It’s a short jaunt through the woods there”—he pointed, tapping the window with the magazine—“and I can get relatively close without being spotted. I’ll check things out, then sneak back this way.”

  “Sammy and Guillermo were pretty pissed when we left.”

  David ignored him, continued explaining his plan. “If they ain’t figured out the cuffs, I’ll clue them in, then I’ll toss in the padlock key for the fencing, high-tail it out of there. By the time they get themselves free, I’ll be long gone, and we’ll be well on our way out of here.”

  “You threw the keys on that hog. With those shufflers chowing down, one of them probably swallowed it.”

  David pried into his pocket, producing a single padlock key. “Kept one.”

  Tired of arguing, Randy raised his hands and said, “Fine. Whatever you say.”

  Keeping his voice low, David said, “Just stay with the truck. I’ll leave the keys with you. Y’all should be safe from shufflers in here.” He eased the magazine into the pistol. “But if that Doc fellow comes nosing around, you get the hell out of here, okay? He might be harmless. Just some nutjob running around freaking people out. But I’d rather not chance it.” He jerked his head toward the backseat. “Just keep these two safe, okay? I’ll figure out how to meet back up if you have to take off.”

  Randy nodded. He had no more to say.

  “Okay then,” David said. “Bry, I’ll be back in a few minutes. I want you to do what Randy says while I’m gone, okay?”

  The boy nodded, wan moonlight catching sprigs of hair dancing with every dip of his chin.

  “Good boy.”

  David pulled in a deep breath, then pushed the door open and slid out of the truck. He shut the door as quietly as he could, shoving his shoulder against the bottom half of the door so it clicked rather than slammed shut. His eyes adjusted quickly, the moon high above now, illuminating the cramped road.

  Before the outbreak, the two-lane highway was scheduled for widening into a four-lane. The encroaching trees were to be knocked back several yards, opening the roadway, letting it breathe and ultimately making it safer. David was glad it hadn’t happened, despite feeling claustrophobic. A wider road meant a more travelled road. More people. More shufflers.

  Ignoring the ambling figure in the distance, he crossed the deep ditch, leaving the truck parked on the side of the road. He should have known the area well, having traversed this stretch of highway day after day over the last month. Should have. If his inner compass was true, Sammy and Gills should be more or less a straight shot through about a mile of woods. He’d come in on the south side, through the tree line, and the pond would be directly ahead. The tree he’d left them cuffed to would be just on the north side of it.

  He started up the other side of the ditch, feet slipping, having to use his hands to claw at the wild weeds and grass. When he reached to the top, he brushed his hands together, releasing debris into the breeze.

  The bushes and trees appeared as an impenetrable wall, but he pressed into it, thick bush swallowing him with its scratchy maw. It was dark. Scary dark. Like he’d entered some closet from his childhood, the clothes pressing in on him, smothering him. The susurrous canopy above immediately hid the sky, allowing only the occasional stingy glimpse. He glanced behind him, gathering his bearings. At least that’s what he told himself he was doing. It was more like taking that last breath before diving into the deep end, intending to swim the length of the pool on one gulp of air.

  Cicadas and crickets sang a calming song of false comfort. David welcomed it, needed it. Was happy to hear it. Along with the light wind rustling above, it made things seem almost normal. Except roaming this stretch of woods at this time of night was far from normal.

  His sternum took quite a pounding from his over-anxious heart, felt bruised from the inside, and his ears throbbed with every punch. Willing himself forward, he broke farther into the barrier, eyes closed tight against the branches scraping and groping him from head to toe. He hoped
the foliage would open up a bit, otherwise it would be a tedious trek to his destination. Not to mention noisy.

  David stopped only ten feet in. A sound to his left. Grunting, huffing. He stood there, listening, trying to match the noise with an owner. It didn’t sound human. But then shufflers didn’t necessarily sound human.

  His hand hovered above his belt buckle, equidistant between his gun and his knife. He craved the comfort his pistol provided. Though he wasn’t yet a proficient shooter, he had a knack for it. With some practice, he could be deadly.

  More snorting.

  A digging sound? Rooting?

  Then David realized what he was hearing. The area was a hotbed for hogs. He’d seen the feral critters crossing the road more often as of late. They tended to stay down by the river and only traveled up near the road when the water rose significantly, after a week of non-stop rain, for instance. With the absence of rain, it could very well be something else forcing them to leave the river bottom. He supposed they had every right to be here. This was their house, after all.

  Still, he erred on the side of caution, and he drew his gun, the heft in his hand a shot of repose. He moved forward, stopping every few feet or so. The sounds to his left stopped only for a moment. He envisioned the beast with its soil-laden snout in the air, sniffing him out. Then the grunting and pawing at the earth commenced. Apparently, this bipedal oddity that didn’t stink of death was of no concern to this animal. David wondered how it would react had he been a shuffler.

  Gun tight in his grip, he continued pressing forward, skinny branches clawing and slapping his entire body. He tried not to second guess himself as he was more apt to do these days. He’d done it his entire life—school, career, marriage. Didn’t matter. Funny how the end of the world could put so much into perspective, though. He had to admit, he felt more alive in the world of the dead than he ever did in the world of the living. He prayed for the feelings he’d experienced earlier today to return, the brazen aplomb he’d exuded and wielded. So sure of himself. But the words of a little boy held more power and control over him than he’d ever thought possible. He hoped the kid wouldn’t be his undoing.