Dead South Rising: Book 1 (29 page)

Finally, Lenny freed the gate, sliding it along the track and out of the way, then waved them in. Randy eased the custom four-by-four truck next to the building, opting to leave a bit of distance between metal and brick. He wasn’t quite confident in piloting the diesel yet, and took no chances knocking down a wall, compromising the structure.

Lenny waited for them by the back dock. “Anything you want me to help bring in?” he asked.

“Yeah,” David said. “Me.”

David could tell by the sympathetic look on Lenny’s face that the night spent inside the log had not been kind to him. He could only imagine how he must look to the musclebound fellow. How he’d strike Jessica, Bryan, and anyone else he met.
Would ya look at that poor fella over there, Margaret? Mistook him for a dead one, I did. But then he talked! Scared the bejesus outta me, I tells ya. Thought he was gonna take a chunk right outta me at first, but he ended up being a swell fella. Not dead at all, nope. Not dead at all.

But then why did he feel dead?

Maybe because you came damn close.
 

Lenny moved toward him, wrapped a bulging branch of an arm around him, and started up the steps. David imagined that this former wrestler could easily press him straight over his head. Probably toss him all the way to the tree line from where he stood with barely a grunt. His muscles were like rock beneath his skin, and David had never seen someone with such incredible physical form.

The guy’s a living, breathing, walking cartoon. Fucking Hercules, squared. Glad he’s on our side.

“Easy,” Lenny said.

David winced, his own muscles and joints protesting and pissed off. He didn’t realize just how sore and beat up he was until the pain-masking adrenaline had fully subsided. But Lenny was as gentle as a kitten.

The men proceeded through a side door next to the rollup one, then through a warehouse-style room, piles of boxes scattered about. Another door opened into a hallway.

“This way,” Lenny said, dipping his chin. His voice echoed a deep bass note through the empty hall.

“We going to the principal’s office?” David asked with a slanted grin.

Lenny gave an empathetic chuckle, appreciating David’s attempt at humor despite his obvious discomfort.

“Taking you to the nurse’s station, bro. Get you some pain killers, fix you up real good. Then you can get showered. Get you some rest. Then you can meet with the Janitor.”

The Janitor?

As happy as Lenny’s plan made David, he really wanted to see Jessica and Bryan before settling in.

“I’d really like to see—”

Before David could finish the sentence, a young boy flew around the corner, sliding in socks right toward the three men, nearly crashing straight into them. Behind the boy, a puppy desperately tried to gain traction on the buffed flooring, its legs a constantly churning sprawl.

The boy’s face lit up as he pinwheeled his arms to avoid a collision. “David!”

A happiness that David hadn’t felt in what seemed like forever flooded his core, a comforting warmth that cleansed his soul. Despite dehydration, his eyes went glassy wet, a mini flood threatening to breach his lids.

David broke loose from Lenny, dropping to one knee, arms wide. Ignoring the pain, he wrapped up Bryan, hugging him tight.
 

Charlie finally caught up, wagging his tail, sniffing David’s boot. He whimpered, jealous of the attention Bryan was getting. David let one hand drop, scratching the puppy’s little head. Charlie licked his finger with his rough tiny tongue.

“How are you, Bry? They taking good care of you, champ?”

Bryan took a step back, his cowlick bobbing furiously as he smiled wide. “Uh-huh. It’s fun here. Nobody’s sick. It’s a good place.”

David reciprocated with a wide toothy smile of his own, then creaked back to his feet, planting a palm on the boy’s head, tousling his hair. Maybe they’d found a safe haven. He trusted the boy’s intuition, and Lenny—or Leonard or Lumberjack or LJ or whatever the hell people called him—seemed like a good guy. Randy appeared comfortable, so maybe it would work.

“Tell you what, champ. I’m going to get myself cleaned up, then we can hang out a bit, okay?”

Bryan nodded so furiously that David thought the boy’s head would fly off and roll down the hall.

“Okay,” Bryan said. “C’mon, Charlie!”

The boy and his dog trotted off down the hall, socks slipping, tiny legs tangling, the two of them heading off to who knew where.

“Jessica?” David asked.

Lenny dipped his chin toward the end of the hallway. “Nurse’s station.”

They stopped just short of the door, an inexplicable disquietude overcoming him. Maybe it would be better for him to wait, get cleaned up and rested before talking to her. Seeing him this way would surely upset her, and she would undoubtedly ask about Mitch. He just didn’t have the emotional strength to deliver the news. Not yet.

Lenny poised his knuckles to knock.

“Wait,” David said, staring at the door. Blood throbbed in his ears, his body pulsating. He wasn’t ready for this.

“You alright?”

David shook his head, lowered his voice. “No. Actually, I’m not.” He looked back down the hall. “Showers? I’ll get cleaned up, rest up a bit. Then I’ll see her.”

Lenny shrugged. “You the boss, my man.”

Randy said, “I’m gonna check on her.”

David nodded. Just as he turned to follow Lenny, the door opened and Jessica appeared.

“David?” she said.

He stopped, boots scuffing the shiny floor. “Jess.” He felt weak, like he wanted to faint.

His heart strangled his throat. Her color had come back, and she looked healthy again.

Before he could say another word, compliment her or tell her how happy he was that she was okay, she launched forward, throwing her arms around him. “Oh thank god,” she said, burying her face into his chest.

He exhaled through clenched teeth.

“I’m sorry. You hurt?”

He shook his head. “No, just sore.” He quickly added, “I’m okay, though. Nothing to worry about.” The corner of his mouth turned to the ceiling.

“Thank god. I was so worried about you.”
 

She hugged him again, with a softer touch this time.

He hugged her back, pulling her in close, his chin on her crown. She smelled great, fresh. Like vanilla and baby shampoo. She pressed in closer, and his own aching body screamed at him, suddenly self-conscious. Seeing her, inhaling her clean aroma, holding her—all revealed and magnified just how beat up, messed up, and foul-smelling he was. He quickly shoved her away.

Jessica turned her eyes to his, confusion shimmering in them.

He continued to hold her by her arms, his thumbs stroking her soft skin. “Sorry. I didn’t mean … I’m just …” He let go of her arms, and held his hands out to his sides. “I’m a mess,” he said through an uneasy smile.

I’m a mess, Jessica. Inside and out. Emotionally, physically. And I need a good scrubbing. Tons of guilt to wash away … Oh, and by the way, Mitch? Yeah, funny thing. He’s sort of … dead.
 

She smiled back, gave an understanding nod. “It’s okay.”

David jabbed a thumb toward the hall, but his eyes darted all over the place. “I’m gonna … get cleaned up. Visit with you later?”

Jessica smiled, her lips tight. “Yeah, sure. Sounds wonderful.”

He still had to deliver the news that she was now a widow. Not that she’d be that upset about it, probably. But even though she’d planned on leaving Mitch, it was something altogether different telling her that she’d never, ever see him again.
That he was dead.
Whoever had done him in had done a thorough job. Mitch wouldn’t be shuffling around with the other roamers.

“Okay, great.” David said. “I’ll talk with you a little later.”

* * *

David couldn’t sleep. He lay there on his back, his good hand tucked behind his head while he stared at the ceiling. His sprained/fractured hand was wrapped and resting on his chest. It was late afternoon, heat-of-the-day sun streaking through the window blinds, slanting thin orange bars across his cot. But the sun wasn’t the reason sleep eluded him. He had yet to tell Jessica about her newly dead husband, critical courage and the right words escaping him and robbing him of much needed slumber. And peace of mind.

There was a light knock at the partially open door. David rocked onto his elbows and cleared his throat. “Come in,” he said, his voice a crisp, snappy echo in the tiny room.

Randy appeared in the doorway. “Hey there, El Jefe.” He smiled.

David smiled back. “Hey there, big guy.” He waved him in with a stiff wrist. “Have a seat,” David said, then pressed to a sitting position, his back leaning against the white cinderblock wall.

Randy pushed the door shut behind him, his smile fading and sinking into his beard, and David guessed a serious conversation was on the agenda.
 

Not as serious as mine.

David actually didn’t mind, welcomed it. Anything to get his mind off those swirling, sleep-stealing thoughts of how to break the bad news.
 

Before the big man sat, he asked, almost in afterthought, “Can I get you anything? More pain pills? Water? Beer? Shot of whiskey? DQ Hungerbuster burger?”

David shook his head, smiling. “As tempting as it is to say, ‘all of the above,’ I’m good for now, thanks.”

A nod, and Randy sat, the chair creaking in strained complaint.

Before Randy could say anything else, David said, “I never thanked you proper, Randy. For coming back to get me.”

Randy waved him off, a blushing
aw, shucks
countenance shining scarlet through his beard. “The thought never crossed my mind not to.”

The corner of David’s mouth lifted a little. “Well … I just wanted you to know how much it means to me. Thank you.”

Randy’s gaze fell to the floor, the man unused to such heartfelt praise and appreciation.

“So what’s on your mind, Randy? I assume you’re not just making the rounds.”

Randy stroked his freshly trimmed beard. Having had the chance to clean himself up, he no longer reeked of sweat and death and fear. Instead, a pleasant generic soap smell bumped up against that of rubbing alcohol in the small space. He paused for a moment, seemed to think hard about what he wanted to say. Finally, “I figured you avoided my questions in the truck because you didn’t want to talk about it in front of Lenny.”

“Yeah,” David simply said. He could tell curiosity was eating the big man from inside out.

“So what happened? Were they still there? Did they figure out how to escape?”

David decided to use the conversation as a practice run for telling Jessica about Mitch. His recipe for repentance would include a display of feigned remorse with a sprinkling of sadness, and a dash of distress, which was difficult given
he
didn’t really miss the guy. Or care that he was dead. “They escaped.”

“Escaped? Did you see them?”

David slowly dipped his chin.
Yes. Saw one, heard the others.

Randy’s voice lower, “Did they see you?”

David shook his head
no
just as slowly.
Yes, though they didn’t know it. But you don’t need to know that.

Randy considered this for a moment. “Mitch turn them loose, you think?”

“Might have. Probably.”
Now’s as good a time as any.
He dropped his gaze to the gleaming floor, then looked Randy straight in the eye.
 
Take one. And—action. Clap:
 
“Randy, I’m sorry to tell you this, but Mitch didn’t make it.”

“Didn’t make it? You mean … Mitch is …
dead
?”

“Sshhh. Keep your voice down,” David said, jerking his head at the wall. “I haven’t told Jess yet.”

Randy covered his beard where his mouth would be. Just above a whisper, he reiterated, “Mitch didn’t make it? Was it shufflers?” He seemed to narrow his eyes at David, or maybe it was in David’s head. “Or …?”

You? Is that what you wanted to say, Randy? Do you think
I
killed that good-for-nothing piece of shit?
 

David pulled in a deep breath, then blew it out. He craved a cigarette. And a glass of scotch. He convinced himself that he was being paranoid for no reason. Randy was most likely referring to Sammy and Gills. But he’d seen David and Mitch interact. He knew David’s less-than-flattering feelings toward Mitch, and vice-versa.
 

David said, “Not sure what happened exactly, but it didn’t look like shufflers.”

He went on to explain how he found Mitch, face-up in the field, being careful not to be overly descriptive, but giving enough information for Randy to get a clear-ish picture. Maybe piece together in his own mind what had happened—and that Mitch was already dead when David got there.

“Jesus,” was all Randy said.

“I’m no forensics expert,” David said after he’d given time for the news to settle, “but it looked like the two shots were at close range. He never turned into … a shuffler. The bullet wounds killed him. Bled out.”

David couldn’t gauge how upset Randy was since the bushy whiskers and thick glasses obscured the majority of his face. But the slight tremor in his voice clued David in.

“So it wasn’t the rattlers that got him.”

David cocked a brow, then understood. Randy was using Lenny’s lingo to identify shufflers. Keeping his voice low, he said, “Right. Unless shufflers have learned how to use guns, someone alive killed Mitch.”

Randy let the revelation soak in another moment. “So what now?”

David shrugged. “I see no reason to go back there, especially since Sammy and Guillermo could have laid claim to Mitch’s place. That is unless those two got caught up in that herd. But we knew that place wouldn’t be safe much longer.”

This time, it was Randy’s turn to nod.

The men sat in silence for a few moments before Randy broke it. “When do you plan to tell her?”

Another deep sigh. “Tonight I guess … maybe tomorrow.” He rubbed his neck. “I don’t know for sure. I do know she’ll be anxious to find out what happened.”

“Do you want me to tell her?”