“Not a WCCW world champion, though.”
“True.”
Jessica’s gaze switched back and forth between the two men. “I still don’t get it. What’s WCCW?”
Leonard said, “World Class Championship Wrestling, from back in the day. Was part of the NWA.”
“Oh. But he was a world wrestling champion, right?”
“‘Was’ being the operative word. And he wasn’t in the WCCW,” Randy said. “He was with the WWF when he got really famous.”
“WWF? What’s the difference? Besides the letters? Ain’t a world champion a champion of the whole world?” Jessica said. “What’s the point of having a world champion if they’re only the champion of a certain set of letters?” She crossed her arms. “Doesn’t make sense to me.”
Lenny stroked his chin. “Your girl’s got a point, bro.”
Randy nodded, then smiled through his beard at Jessica. “I’ll explain on the way.”
An awkward silence tinged with distant groans of the roaming dead descended on their momentary respite from reality.
Leonard scratched at his cheek, turning his gaze to the fence, the chitchat taking the inevitable serious turn. “So you two is dead set—sorry, no pun intended—on going out there, huh? Ain’t no changing your mind?”
Jessica smiled, hoping to avoid another conversation like the one she and Randy endured in the Janitor’s office. “My cousin’s out there.”
“He seems pretty tough,” Leonard said.
“Well the world is tougher. Tougher than any one of us.”
“Can’t argue that.” Lenny pointed at a compact car beside the building. “You can take that one. Tank’s full. Been checked out. It’ll get you where you going safe and sound.” He paused a beat, then said almost apologetically, “I’d go with you, but things is a bit hairy here.”
Jessica’s eyes roved the fence and field, a nonverbal acknowledgement that she understood exactly what he was talking about. “Any idea what’s drawing out so many?”
Leonard just shook his head, eyes dropping to the pavement. “It’s sad, though. Got some fellas that’s still in denial. Don’t believe those dead folks out there is really dead.”
“I believed that, too, at first,” Randy chimed.
Jessica said, “I think we all did, whether we admit it or not. It’s just that some of us woke up to the reality of it sooner than others.” She jabbed her thumb back toward the door. “Sounds like a pretty heated debate about it going on right now. In the hall by the front doors.”
“Roy.” Lenny simply said. “His boy Scotty’s out front in a group of ‘em. Thinks he’s still alive and can save him. Was making threats when Janitor and David was planning on running down the dead with that”—he pointed across the field at the soil compactor—“thing out there. Well, when Roy realized Scott was out there, changed his tune on all the rattlers, not just his son. Thinks they all’s just sick.” He shook his head again.
Randy said, “Dangerous thinking like that will get them killed. I know, because it almost killed me.”
Another moment of silence.
Lenny waved another dismissive hand. “Well, they can go out there with they bottle of Tylenol or cold medicine or whatever and sees if that fixes ‘em. But they in for a rude awakening.”
A smile cracked Randy’s beard.
Jessica furrowed her brow, failing to see the humor.
Noticing her puzzled expression, he said, “Wrestling reference. Rick Rude. Back in the ‘80s. Had a finishing move called the ‘Rude Awakening.’ It was this DDT move—”
Lenny slapped Randy’s shoulder, shaking his head. “She don’t get it, bro. You gonna have to bring her up to speed on your little trip to town.”
Randy nodded. “Right. Lots to talk about.”
“Can hardly wait,” Jessica said.
* * *
By the time Jessica and Randy made it to Jayville, she was sick of professional wrestling trivia. She remembered Randy had watched it for entertainment before the world fell off a cliff, and that he got a kick out of the action and story lines, even though they were both faker than fake. An athlete’s soap opera. She got this. Understood it. Lenny, being a former pro wrestler in the new era, had sparked Randy’s interest in his once favorite recreational diversion again. A common denominator. She’d convinced herself, though, that if he didn’t say another word about wrestling for the next year, it’d be too soon. But he was smiling, chatty, in an oddly good mood despite the end of days pressing its boot heel against their throats, so she humored him.
“But World Class Championship Wrestling was my favorite. It was here, in Texas, ya know,” Randy said.
“No, didn’t know that.” She stifled a yawn.
“Yeah. It was the best. The Freebirds, the Von Erichs, the Dynamic Duo of Chris Adams and Gino Hernandez…”
Jessica let Randy maunder on about his favorite pastime. Reliving it in conversation proved therapeutic, and she decided it wasn’t her place to quash its positive benefits by forcing him to ‘shut up about it already.’ She’d let him be.
The stereo clock silently and proudly proclaimed that two o’clock had arrived. It was funny, to Jessica at least, how time had no real meaning anymore. No meetings to get to. No appointments. Nothing to be late to. Or from. She just couldn’t see any benefit to knowing what time it was anymore. The dead didn’t care about the time. Why should the living?
“… took a folding chair right to Kevin’s head. Bam! Blood all over the place. Of course, that disqualified him, but Chris Adams still …”
“Uh, huh.”
The ride to Jayville had been mostly devoid of distraction or the dead. Mostly. Sure, there had been the occasional wandering cadaver, dragging its undead self along the pavement. Sure there had been a few close calls, allowing Randy to practice his signature tune ‘Fear in Falsetto’ a time or two. She wondered how a man so large could scream so much like a girl. Not that she was judging. It was just … comical. Her own therapy in laughter. Of course he’d glowered at her with a look that could boil water, to which she laughed even harder.
She was just thankful for the diversion, because her intuition was telling her awful things about David. She’d much rather listen to Randy ramble on about wrestling than listen to her gut deliver gloom and doom about her cousin.
To help ensure their safety and arrival, she’d fought her overbearing sense of urgency and had taken it slow, which allowed her to easily dodge the undead derelicts roaming the countryside. Traveling at a safe speed also allowed her to carry out the more important and dubious task of confirming none of those ambling corpses were David. Her heart karate-kicked her sternum every time they drove close to one. And not because she was afraid of what the shuffler might do, but because she dreaded who it might be. She still had friends out there. Friends whose fates she didn’t know.
Surprisingly, Mitch barely crossed her mind. Probably because he was reunited with his brother and that asshole friend of his, Mills or Gills or whatever his name was. They’d be just fine. Most likely sitting on Mitch’s front porch, chugging beer and plinking shufflers unlucky enough to wander into range. This messed up world was made for people like them.
She braked, bringing the car to a near standstill.
Jayville’s choked city limits prompted Randy to cease his evocative jabbering. His head pivoted, scanning the mangled mess before them. Vehicles of various makes and models blocked their route, but she soon spotted a potential trail through the maze of metal, glass, and rubber.
“How’re we gonna get through that?” Randy asked.
“Practice.”
Easing off the brake, she feathered the gas and the car glided forward, finding the path David had driven day after day. She didn’t know this for sure, but suspected he must have. It was the only way she could see that a vehicle could get into town from this direction.
Glass and plastic crunched under rolling rubber as she worked the wheel with an expert’s finesse. She mis
sed driving, cruising. It had been her therapeutic getaway, her Calgon equivalent.
From between two police cruisers, a shuffler stumbled, groping air. Randy sucked in a surprised breath, pointed, finger to the windshield. As slow as she was driving, she would not be treated to another rendition of ‘Fear in Falsetto’ as performed by Randy Phillips.
Jess said, “I see him.” Squinting, she visually verified its identity. Thankfully, it wasn’t David. Nor anyone she knew.
The shuffler impotently slapped at the windows and roof as they drove by, denied a fresh meal. And what a meal it would have been. She swore she could see disappointment on the thing’s face.
Too bad, so sad. Makes me glad.
“West Warner Drive, right?” Jessica asked. “I can see the place in my head, but with all this wreckage … it’s throwing me.”
“Yeah, pretty sure. Been awhile since I’ve been over there, but I’m pretty sure that’s right.”
“Okay.”
Navigating the wreckage was easier than she’d anticipated. The path seemed like it was carved out just for them, leading straight to where they wanted to go. Not that they had far to travel. Fortunately, David’s house was on the edge of the east side of town, the direction they had just come from. No need to penetrate the actual town.
Many residents fled the smaller communities like Jayville. Several fled to Dallas, Houston, Austin, Shreveport. At the start of it all, the radio and television reports strongly encouraged getting to a metropolis for medical care and safety, to ward off potential problems. Like death. Promises were made, filled with talk of enough room and supplies to weather a temporary storm. Funny how she didn’t hear much after that.
But not everyone had sought refuge in the big city. Obviously. If they had, there’d be no shufflers roaming about, trying to snag one of the living for a snack. She suspected more people had stayed behind, shunning questionable sanctuary. And that could be a good thing, or a bad one.
She was glad about one thing, though: that she hadn’t shot Lenny and Taneesha the night they jumped into the Dodge. She attributed this to being so drugged up that she would have missed had she tried. Thankfully, they ended up being good people. She would have killed them, though, had the need arisen. Never having killed anyone before, it relieved her that she didn’t have to, especially for Randy’s sake since he and the Lumberjack got along so well.
“Watch,” Randy said, wagging his finger at another staggering figure.
“Got it.”
Jess steered around another wandering, rotting corpse, being sure to look closely at who—or what—she was avoiding.
Within minutes, they rolled onto West Warner Drive.
Jess said, “Keep ‘em peeled.”
Their eyes searched the street for the commandeered Dodge dually that now seemed like part of the family.
“There,” Randy said, tapping the passenger glass as they rolled by David’s place. “That’s it.”
She scanned ahead. “Do you see the truck?”
“Mmm, no. Don’t see it.”
They cruised to the end of the block before turning around.
Approaching the house again, Randy said, “How about just pulling in behind this Chevy. We could keep an eye out for him.”
Jessica nodded, then eased in behind the ’87 Chevy pickup, which was parked across the street and about a half a block from David’s place. She had hoped for a discreet, stake-out style setup, and decided the spot would suffice nicely. Like a mouse, the compact car squeaked to a stop, and she shifted to park, killing the engine after cracking the windows for fresh air. Well, fresher air.
Something in David’s front yard caught her eye, and Randy noticed the concern crossing her face.
“Do you want me to check it out?” he asked, reaching for the passenger door handle.
She thought for a moment, thumbing her lip. Then she leaned forward, tugging her Sig Sauer P238 from her waistband. Her gaze never left the yard. “No,” she said hesitantly. “I’ll go.” She needed to satiate her curiosity. See for herself. The whole point of the trip was to ensure David’s safety. She’d rather look with her own eyes, firsthand, and not glean the news from Randy’s reaction and body language. “Stay here. Will only take a second.”
“I’ll cover you.”
She frowned, but nodded her acknowledgement.
Randy stepped out, the small car rocking under his huge frame. Leaving the door open, he perched the rifle on the roof of the car, one foot planted inside to steady himself.
Jessica inhaled a breath of courage and confidence. She told herself that none of the bodies in the yard were David. Over and over, she repeated this until she’d convinced herself of the mantra’s truth. Then, she stepped from the car and into the street.
The block was deserted for the most part. And quiet. Eerily so. Not even a chirping bird. It bothered her, this vacuum of inactivity. Made her feel like the last person on earth. She reset her grip on the tiny semi-automatic sidearm, then counted down.
Three, two—
After looking both ways, her feet were in motion, crossing the street. She spotted one perambulating figure farther down the road, one they’d seen on the way in, but she’d be safely back behind the wheel before it ever reached her. Dismissing it, she hopped the curb, mincing to the first of three bodies.
She was lightheaded, and blamed her recent illness and medications. Then it dawned on her that she’d stopped breathing, holding her own breath hostage. She blew out the used up air her lungs had naturally tainted and stole a good gulp of the fresh stuff. Her body thanked her by clearing her vision and mind.
Since she’d been laid up with a urinary tract infection for the better part of two weeks, she was behind the curve in dealing with the new realities and threats of the world. No previous experience in the medical field or law enforcement or even the military steepened that learning curve. Dead and decaying bodies, especially walking ones, rattled her quite a bit. Just like now.
A shuddering breath blew over quivering lips. She continued her mantra.
It’s not David, it’s not David, it’s not David, it can’t be David, it won’t be David, it—
Whatever happened to these corpses, to these strangers, had happened simultaneously. They died as a group, the bodies clustered together for the most part, which made it easier to identify them with one cursory glance.
Her throat burned with bile, not so much from the sight than from the smell. Of course, seeing dead people bothered her immensely. How could it not? It was just that in the scalding afternoon heat, the cooking corpses reeked, and she could taste the rancid air. Actually taste it. And for some strange reason, she thought back to when her refrigerator had gone out while she had vacationed. That bad mayonnaise (it had already expired) and week-old raw hamburger meat. She should have known better than to unscrew that top and take a whiff, poke at the package. Damn curiosity. Just had to check. Another shudder.
Turning away, she shook her head at Randy. She could see his shoulders visibly slump in relief from across the street. Still, the inevitable questions of what happened here and where her cousin was fought for top billing in her swimming mind.
She considered for a moment going inside, checking the house. Judging by the looks of things, if he was around, he’d be in there. He certainly wasn’t outside in the yard. And she hadn’t seen him gallivanting around town or the countryside, though that was still a possibility. His house occupied the older, east side of town, so driving in the way they came, they avoided most of Jayville. Maybe he’d gone farther into the actual town.
Instead, she told herself they’d just missed him, and he was well on his way back to the Alamo. Gauging the layout of the land, she highly doubted that, though. They would have passed each other, or even blocked each other’s ways. The Dodge wasn’t exactly an undercover, low profile kind of vehicle.
Staring at the house, ruminating, she didn’t hear Randy approach. His touch on her elbow sent her hopping like a cat
prepared to spend one of its nine lives.
“Jesus, Randy. Scared the shit out of me.”
He backed up a step, showing one palm. “Sorry. You seemed dazed, so I thought I’d check on you.” He looked at the bodies sprawled on and around the walk. “Knifed.” He sounded like he was trying to impress her with his street cred.
“Huh?”
He pointed with his rifle. “Killed with a knife. See the wounds? Stabbed in the eye sockets. That one in the temple.”
Her eyes immediately followed the barrel of the gun, but she looked away just as quickly. Hmm, was all she could manage, the flow from her stomach tickling and scratching at her throat again. She shooed a fly.
“Doesn’t look like he’s here,” he said, though he didn’t sound entirely convinced. “He told you he was coming here, to his house?”
She simply nodded.
“Truck’s not here,” he added, stating the obvious.
She started up the walk toward the porch.
“Where are you going?” Randy fell in step behind her, clutching his rifle while tossing glances to either side, paranoid of an undead ambush.
“May as well check inside while we’re here.”
“Didn’t the Janitor suggest we just, you know, hang out in the car? Keep an eye out for him? Let him get whatever out of his system?”
She stopped and turned, aggravation seeping into her tone and creeping onto her face. She and David shared many traits, especially in the temper department. The Morris family line was so well endowed with anger issues that friends joked her and David had gotten in line twice when God was handing out tempers.
“Randy, the Janitor ain’t here. And it ain’t his cousin or his friend out here, neither. It’s ours. Yours and mine.” She punctuated the statement with a disappointed look, as if to say she shouldn’t even have to tell him that.
His head dipped forward, his beard ruffling above twisted lips.
Jessica continued, “I’m sure the Janitor or Gabriel or whatever he calls himself is a swell guy and all, but we need to watch out for our own.”
“Lenny says the Janitor is on the up-and-up.”
Jessica pressed forward, “I’m sure he is.” And she meant it.
Dead South Rising (Book 1) Page 31
