Dead South Rising: Book 1 (12 page)

“No …
Doc
… scaring little kids.” David jabbed his thumb toward the truck.

His chuckle subsiding, confusion crossed the man’s face. “I don’t know what your beef is, mister—why you’d introduce yourself by pointing a gun in my face—but I couldn’t give two shits about you. I’m here to talk to Mitch.” He leaned in close, forefinger finding David’s chest, pressing it like a button with every word. “And
you
…
ain’t
…
him
.” A frown adorned his granite chin, his hands to his hips.

A sarcastic smile landed on David’s lips and he mimicked the man’s stance. “I get it. You get to be Doc Holliday, Mitch is Wyatt, and he’s …”—he pointed at the burly Latino—“wait, let me guess … Tonto?” He crossed his arms. “No, because that would make you the Lone Ranger, not Doc Holliday. Different story.”

Impatience ignited Jessica. “David, what are you talking about? Doc Holliday? Lone Ranger?” She sounded stuffy from crying. And aggravated. Shaking her head, she upturned a palm and motioned to the men. “This is Mitch’s brother, Sammy, and his friend, Gills. They’re looking for Mitch.”

David furrowed his brow, seemingly unconvinced.

Twirling his finger near his temple, Sammy said, “Sun scrambling your brain in there, David?” Turning to Guillermo, he added, “I don’t think our friend Dave’s quite all there. What do you say, Gills?”

“Loco.”

Sammy crossed his arms. “Yep. Got us a crazy one, here.” He whistled.

This time, it was David’s turn to lean in close. “I want to know why you were out snooping around the truck, bothering the kid. Calling yourself, ‘Doc Holliday.’”

“What kid? I don’t see any kid.” His head pivoted. Then to Guillermo, “You see a kid, Gills?”

Gills shook his head, his mouth a perennial frown.

“And I don’t call myself, ‘Doc Holliday.’” Sammy recrossed his arms. “Seems I remember things didn’t exactly go well for him.” Another chuckle spilled over his lips. “Now, you gonna tell me where my brother is? Or we gonna have to settle this O.K. Corral-style? Since you’re all obsessed with Doc Holliday.”

David tensed, and Jessica pushed herself between the two men, shoving them. “Enough already!” She threw her hands to her face. “Please, just … stop.”
 

She turned to David, dropping her arms to her sides, clenching her hands over and over. “Listen. There was a man on the radio. He said you were dead. Said Mitch was dead.” She pulled in a deep breath. “Where’s Mitch?”

David looked into her eyes, premeditated words eluding him. “He … I couldn’t find …”

Her chin trembled, her emerald dams breaking.
 

He pulled her into him. “Jess, I’m sorry.”

The conversation David had mentally practiced so many times was finally here. And he wasn’t ready for it. Because it was for real.

Her voice was muffled in his chest. “Is he … is he dead?”

“I don’t know. I found his bike. Looked for him.” He shot a flashing glare at Sammy.

She stepped back, looked up, studying his face. “But he left in the truck.
You
were on the bike.” Her brows dropped, eyes darting over his face. “Did you …?” More tears escaped.

“No, no, of course not.”

I was planning to, but I didn’t.

“You know something about my brother?”

David felt the anger mounting his heart. His neck burned, still aching and stiff from yesterday. He was hot, drenched. Tired. Aggravated and irritable. And now he had to deal with another man cut from the same mold as Mitch. Two of them. Fucking swell.

“You wanna go look for him,” David said, “be my guest. I’ve got better things to do.”

David took Jessica’s hand into his own and started towing her toward the truck. Sammy, he decided, was just an asshole. His buddy, a clown. His gut told him Sammy was not the man purporting to be Doc Holliday. This both relieved and worried David. He’d have to be on the lookout for some other lunatic.

But just to be sure …

“Got someone I want you to meet,” David said to Jess, popping the lock on the truck. He swung open the door. “How you doing, Bry?”

“Okay.”

“Bryan, this is Jessica. Jessica, Bryan and his friend, Charlie.”

Jessica rubbed her cheeks vigorously, trying to dry them, make herself more presentable. “Hi, there,” she said through a forced smile. She reached out her hand and gently petted Charlie on the head. He yawned.

David said, “Bryan, there’s another man here. I’m going to bring him over, and you tell me if it’s Doc, okay? Can you do that for me?”

He dipped his chin over and over, eyes never leaving David’s.
 

“Okay.” David stepped to the side, waving. “Sammy, c’mere a sec.”

Sammy shook his head slowly, muttering something David could not hear, but assumed was an obscenity-laced tirade. Gills fell in step beside him.

“Just Sammy,” David said. If this guy
was
Doc, then he wanted him separated from Gills, in case things went south.

Sammy held out his arm, nodding and giving the okay to Guillermo. Sammy moved forward. More muttering. He rounded the door, where Bryan could see him, stood there with a stoic stare.

“This the man you saw?”

Bryan looked at Sammy sheepishly, then shook his head.

“You sure?”

Another sheepish glance, another quick head shake. “No. That’s not Doc.”

David rubbed his own stubbly chin, feeling immediate relief. But now he knew they’d have to be extra careful. This Doc Holliday wannabe was still out there, and possibly dangerous.

“Alright,” David said, giving Bryan a smile, tousling his hair.

Sammy said flatly, “Ya see? So can I get out of the lineup now?”

David gave a brisk nod, and Sammy stomped away toward the porch, bumping Randy as he brushed past him. Gills fell in behind, following Sammy to the porch. David noticed for the first time the two pistols holstered on Guillermo’s lower back. Chrome with pearl grips, they were redolent of angel wings. Had a gunfight erupted, David would have been in some serious trouble.

Randy joined the rest of the group by the truck as David helped the boy and his dog out, along with the boy’s backpack.

David said to Randy in a low voice, “Do you trust them?” and nodded toward the porch. He wasn’t quite ready to turn Bryan and Jessica loose just yet.

Randy gave a thoughtful glance at the two men on the porch and said, “I wouldn’t use the word
trust
, per se, but I don’t think they’re going to kill us in our sleep.”

David exhaled deeply, a plan coming together in his mind.

Then, Randy added, “They helped kill a shitload of shufflers.”

David’s brow creased, his face a question mark.

Elaborating, Randy said, “In the back, behind the trailer. About fifteen or so, like a pack. A couple of them made it around the front. Sammy and Gills tore through them like they were pro assassins.” He pulled out his handkerchief, wiped down his face. “Don’t think it took sixty seconds.”

“They use guns?”

The big man nodded. “Yeah. It was the only way.”

David pursed his lips, shook his head. “That many rounds going off …” He thought of the .357 on Sammy’s hip and the two 1911s on Guillermo’s back. “Shufflers from miles around could have heard that. May as well have rung the dinner bell.”

Randy tried to defend their actions. “I only got a few shots off, but those things were coming so fast. Well, I mean, they weren’t running, but with so many of them—”

“I know, I know. You just did what you had to do. It’s okay. You kept Jessica safe. Good work, Randy.”

A smile carved his beard.

“Take Bryan inside, would you? Jess and I will meet you in a sec and you can show me this … pack.”

He nodded. “Sure.”

David introduced Randy and Bryan, tried to make the boy feel at ease. Afterwards, Randy and Bryan, along with Charlie, headed for the trailer.
 

Jessica’s complexion had grown worse, more pallid. Her eyes seemed sunk into her head and she swayed slightly. Even her speech had slowed.

David held her at arm’s length. “Jess, I mean this in the kindest way, but you look like absolute shit.”

She waved him off. “I’ll live.”

“Let’s get you back in the house, get your IV back in you.”

“Why would that man tell me you and Mitch were dead? Why would someone do that?”

He regarded her carefully, then started slowly guiding her by her arm to the trailer. Lowering his voice, he said, “I don’t know, Jess, but it doesn’t matter. I’m alive. And Mitch is tough. He’ll be fine.”

She stumbled, but caught her balance. “I was worried about you, and what this psychopath had done to you.” Her toe caught a rock, and she almost fell again. “It’s bad enough we have to deal with … shufflers … or whatever you call them, but to deal with some crazy asshole …”

“We need to leave, Jess. Tonight.”

She stopped, looked up at him. She was fading, and he needed to get her into bed, get her antibiotics started again.

“Do think you can handle that, Jess? Think you’d be strong enough to make a trip?”

She regarded him a moment, then nodded. “Where will we go? And what about those two?” She dipped her chin toward the unwelcome visitors. “They ain’t leaving without Mitch. And they won’t say what it’s about.”

But David didn’t care. He decided right then and there that if he ever saw Mitch again, dead or alive, it would be too soon. And Mitch’s asshole brother and friend could rot with him.

David stared at the heap of decay drugging the backyard air. He brushed away flies from his face, then hooked his hands back on his hips, but only for a moment. The shooing was never-ending and irksome. Eventually he resorted to blowing puffs of breath to discourage them, though it worked poorly for clearing the buzzing critters. They just quit landing on his face as much, opting instead for his ears and neck, which was somehow worse.

He badly wanted a cigarette or cigar—something to taste and smell other than the unappetizing goulash of ghouls slow-cooking in the July rays behind the double-wide. Plus maybe the smoke would help keep the buzzers at bay.
 

Bringing a hand to his brow, he looked up at the sky. The vultures had already started circling, anticipating. He noticed them more and more these days, filling the beautiful blue above or perched on useless power poles, dead trees and fences, waiting. He thought about going back inside so they could do their thing, clean up the mess for him.

Heavy footsteps signaled Randy’s approach. David turned, happy to give his eyes a break from the grisly scene.
 

“How is she?”

Randy nodded. “She’ll be okay. I’ve got her IV going again. And I slipped a little something extra in her water to help her sleep for a while. The antibiotics work quick, but she just needs to give them time to do their thing.”

David nodded, turned back to the tangled bodies. After another minute or so, he said, “Hard to get used to.” He dipped his chin. “The bodies.”

“Yeah.” Randy scratched his glistening beard. “Don’t know that I ever will.”

“They did this?”

Through steamy glasses, Randy shot David a quizzical glance, then understood. “Oh, yeah. They took most of them out.” He held a finger to his head, cocked his thumb, mimicked a gun going off. “I got a few of them, myself.”

David scanned the property, his head pivoting like a lighthouse beacon. “Surprised more of them ain’t shambling out of the woodworks, all that noise. How long ago?”

“Two, three hours.”

David cupped his chin in the ‘U’ of his hand, rubbing, then swatted at another fly. “Think she’d be able to travel tonight?”

“Jessica?” Randy shook his head. “I don’t think it would be a good idea. She really needs the rest. She came really close, could’ve had all kinds of problems with that kidney.”

“How soon?”

Randy thought for a moment, then said, “Three days, maybe. That is if she stays in bed and lets the Levaquin work.”

His pudgy face was already an unhealthy red, and he tugged his handkerchief to dry his face and neck. Tucking it back into his pants, he added, “Plus, it was such a stressful morning with Mitch running off, you running after him, those other two”—he lowered his voice—“idiots showing up. That asshole on the radio claiming you and Mitch were dead … It’s no wonder she fell out.”

Curiosity lit David’s face. He’d already forgotten about the man on the CB. “What was that all about?”

Randy filled him in as best he could, trying to recall all the little details like the heavy southern accent, odd pronunciations, and the fact that the man knew David’s last name.

David listened quietly, then said, “He knew my last name?”

“Yep. According to her, said your last name
was
Morris, past tense, as in rest-in-peace past tense.” He shook his head. “I don’t know how. Maybe I missed that part. We can ask her when she wakes up.”

Waving away more flies, David said, “I don’t want to upset her, okay? Let me talk to her about it.”

Randy nodded. “Okay.” He wiped his glasses best he could, then waved toward the festering flesh before them. “What about all this?”

“I was hoping to leave tonight, find somewhere else to stay for a while.” He breathed a heavy sigh. “But if we can’t leave for a few days …” He shook his head “Can’t leave them here. I mean the smell alone will get too bad and we risk getting sick ourselves with whatever’s causing this.”

“Stack ‘em and burn ‘em?”

“Away from here.” He lifted his arm. “Over there, near the tree line.”

David read the dread on Randy’s face, so he added, “Later, when it cools off a bit. Too hot right now. Wouldn’t be smart, anyway, in the heat of the day.”

Randy seemed to relax a little. When the shufflers first started ambling onto the property almost a month ago, only one or two showed up at a time, and not every day. Usually, one of them—Mitch, Randy, or David—would simply bury the hapless wandering corpse in a shallow grave near the tree line, away from the house. Randy even suggested marking the graves so that when the whole thing blew over, the bodies could be exhumed and given rightful funerals.