Dead South Rising (Book 1)

by Sean Robert Lang

  Guillermo glanced back over his shoulder from his spot on the ground, and up at them as best he could. “You gonna leave us defenseless out there?” He shook his head. “May as well fucking kill us now. Shitty thing to do, cabrón. You just killing us anyway.”

  Sammy hissed, “Shut up. We know where the stuff’s at now. We just come back and get it. Be on our merry fucking way.”

  David said, “Listen to your buddy, Gills. He gets it.”

  Guillermo said, “You gonna leave us a way outta here, then?”

  “Yep. Harley’s still here. You two can decide who rides bitch. I have an idea who ought to, but I’ll leave it to you fellas.”

  “Fucking pendejo mother—”

  “Easy, Gills, easy,” Sammy said. “They’ll get theirs.”

  “Now,” David said, “get to hoofing it, before I change my mind.” And his mind was changing.

  Sammy started in. “You gotta leave us some weapons, El Jefe. Y’all killing us just by sending us out yonder. No guns? No knives? C’mon, whuddya say, huh?”

  “March,” David commanded. His anger knocked.

  The two outlaws grunted as they stood, brushing themselves of pastoral detritus, obscenities in two languages drifting dirty on the air.

  Sammy turned to face David. “C’mon, El Jefe. Leave us the truck at least. Need something to haul our stuff in.”

  With firm deliberation, David shook his head.

  “The car, then?” Sammy asked. “I mean, it’s all shot up and …”

  Another slow head shake.

  Sammy pouted like a kid who had landed on Santa’s naughty list, denied his favorite toy.

  “Our guns? You gotta leave us something, man.”

  “I am,” David said. “Your lives.”

  Guillermo grabbed Sammy’s upper arm, guiding him west. “Vámonos, mi amigo.” He gave David a look that evinced both disdain and gratitude.

  “Listen to your friend, Sam.”

  Sammy and Gills started toward the pond and beyond without another word.

  David, Randy, and Jessica watched the men go in silence, the outlaws’ figures fading into the ebbing eve. The night and darkness were quickly intruding, taking over. Gills handled a shuffler barehanded while Sammy stood back and let him, and they were moving again. Once in a while, Sammy would glance behind him, seemingly contemplating a change of heart. Wanting to turn around and fight. But Guillermo would pat him on the back or arm, and he’d turn back around to face west.

  David continued to gaze at the duo, gritting his teeth, his anger held in check. For once. A tough lesson, even tougher action. But he’d done it. And he now believed change was possible. Not easy, but possible. He’d badly wanted to shoot them both, be done with it. With them. He’d come so close …

  He dropped the hammer on the revolver, opened the cylinder, dropping the bullets into his hand. Then he threw them as hard as he could. It hurt, the mere motion of it, but it felt good in his mind.

  “What are you doing?” Jess asked.

  “Gonna leave their weapons.”

  “What? We could use these.”

  He shook his head. “Guess I’m superstitious, but I don’t want anything associated with those two.”

  She scrunched her lip again, unsure and a touch confused about this ‘new’ David standing before her. Following suit, she ejected the magazine from Guillermo’s Colt, emptied it, and tossed the bullets just as David had done. Afterwards, she hurled the magazine one direction, the gun another.

  He smiled at her, dropped the revolver. He staggered, then dropped to one knee.

  “David,” Jess said, reaching for his arm, steadying him.

  He waved her off, sat on the ground. “I’m … I’ll be alright. Just need … give me a sec.”

  “Go get the car,” Jess said to Randy.

  Randy nodded, and started away.

  “Wait,” David said. “Hold on.”

  “What is it?” Jess asked.

  “She left me,” David said. “Natalee.”

  Jess looked at him knowingly. “David, it’s okay. We can talk about this later, when we get you—”

  He continued, ignoring her. “After Karla died, she just couldn’t … She blamed me. For everything.” He wiped at his swollen cheek. “Can’t say I fault her. I was … hard to live with. Even before.” He swallowed. “So much … anger. Angry all the time. At her. At Karla. At myself … the world. God.” His decimated body was betraying him, making him struggle for every word, every breath. He clutched his side.

  And his confession continued. “It takes everything I have to … suppress it. The anger. Then the world went to shit … and for twenty-one days, I went home. I sat in my recliner, sipped scotch. All day. I wasn’t looking for my wife. Nat was there … had come home to get something the day … all this happened. She didn’t expect me to be there.” He sniffled, ran his finger under his nose and winced. “She wasn’t feeling well, asked if she could stay the night, leave the next morning. She woke up … dead. I know that now, but I thought … I thought she was just … sick. Kept her in the bedroom, while I sat there and drank the days away. End of the world made me want her back. I missed her. Bad. Just … couldn’t let her go.”

  Randy held his rifle to Jess, who took it. Then he leaned in, patted David on the shoulder. “It’s okay, man. It’s okay.”

  “No,” David said, “it ain’t okay. I wasn’t out looking for her, like I led y’all to believe. Y’all had no idea Nat had left me after Karla’s death. I lied to y’all. Everyday, I lied. When I went out each day, to go look for my wife, I lied. I didn’t want you coming along, because I was lying. I’m just a goddamned liar.”

  “You did the right thing today,” Randy said.

  “Maybe.” He tried to stand. “I need to go home … free Natalee. Do what I should have done … when this whole goddamned thing started.”

  Jessica cleared her throat and glanced at Randy furtively. “We were there. At your house. Today. Found the … the ‘Dear John’ note. She was already gone. Nowhere in the house. I’m sorry.”

  David stopped, Adam’s apple quivering. “Gone?” Out of habit, he patted at his chest pocket, where the note used to ride.

  Jess nodded slowly, her eyes swimming in sympathy. She touched his arm. “I’m sorry, David. I’m so sorry.”

  “I deserve this. She doesn’t. I’ve got to find her. I can’t let her just … exist … like that.”

  “No,” Jess said, “you’ve got to move on. Let it go. You did what you thought was right at the time, whether or not it was. There’s no changing the past. There’s simply no way to do it. All you can do is move on. Move forward. You’ve got Randy, Bryan … me. The Alamo’s a wonderful place, David. It’s just like the place you talked about, remember? Who knows how long this end-of-the-world shit will last. Until someone fixes it, all we can do is make the best of it. It’s hokey, I know, but that’s all we’ve got. And who knows, maybe we’ll be the ones who set things right.”

  David nodded, the touch of a smile breaking through tears.

  Jessica said, “Okay, I’ll drive the car. You okay to drive the truck?”

  “All the shifting?” Randy said for David. “I don’t think either of us could handle it in our conditions.”

  She considered this, and said, “Right. I’ll drive the Dodge, you drive the girl car.” And tossed Randy a playful smile along with the keys.

  “Today, I’m okay with that,” David said, easing himself onto his elbows, then onto his back.

  After fetching the car, Jessica helped Randy load David into the passenger seat. David was fighting it, but he was losing, slipping in and out of consciousness, the day’s pummeling having robbed him of strength and health. And vitality.

  Back at the trailer house, Jess climbed into the towering truck while David and Randy waited in the compact car.

  Just as they were about to leave, Jess honked.

  David looked up, managing to focus his good eye.

  “
These yours?” Jessica asked, holding up two shiny Ruger Vaqueros. “Or did they belong to those two?”

  David shook his head, “Not mine.”

  “Alright then. See you two at the Alamo.”

  And she dropped the pistols to the dirt.

  Chapter 41

  On a cedar deck splashed with blood and whiskey and glass, Thomas Theodore Mackey sat silently. His blood-caked fingers curled lovingly around the whiskey bottle’s neck while he balanced the chair on its two back legs. With his own legs comfortably crossed and propped on the railing, he flicked the business card over and over again in his fingers.

  Alamo Assisted Living, 889 Highway 259, Leeson, Texas …

  The darkness had stolen his sight, but that was okay. He’d memorized the address easily enough off of the card he’d found on the floor at the Morris residence. He suspected David Morris was dead by now, courtesy of two worthless gangsters. Gangsters that Tom should have killed when he had the chance. He’d heard the gunshots from across the way earlier that night. But until he knew for sure …

  Finally, he exchanged the card for the pack of Camels residing in his coat. Then paused.

  He tilted his head, ear toward the highway. A vehicle. A familiar vehicle. A grinding diesel. The same diesel that killed his Kate. He knew this, without a doubt. That sound would be eternally embedded and emblazoned in his mind—and in his anger—like a hot iron, branding him. Scarring him. Forever property of Vengeance Ranch. It would forever fuel his unforgiving fury.

  And that grinding metal beast, he could tell, was headed east. Leeson was east. Alamo Assisted Living was east.

  Soon, he’d head east, too.

  www.seanrobertlang.com

  My heartfelt thanks to…

  My one-of-a-kind, patient, and wonderful wife, Cass. Thank you for allowing me to pursue my passion. And for listening to me go on and on and on about it…

  My just-as-wonderful and supportive family and friends.

  Those brave enough to read my raw manuscript and give me feedback without worrying about my feelings. Thanks for helping make it a much better book.

  And to those readers who took a chance on me. My humble thanks to you.

  Sean