Dead South Rising: Book 1 (3 page)

David cringed. The ‘Z’ word. Mitch just used the fucking ‘Z’ word.
 

“Mitch, don’t say—”

“Right. I forgot. You don’t like it when anyone says, ‘zombie.’” He shook his head, launched another glistening brown wad over his lips, then climbed the porch steps. “Zombie, zombie, zombie, zombie. Jesus Christ. Give me a fucking break.” He slung the screen door open, stepping through before letting it slam against the door jamb.

Hand cupped on his neck, David stared at Angela, stewing over his own carelessness despite his avid vigilance.

* * *

Inside, the trailer house reeked of weed and booze and sweat. And it was hot, stuffy, and near unbearable. David took several deep breaths, calming himself, holding his temper. He half expected a contact high. As good as Mitch was with a gun, he possessed no other notable skill or talent. Or personality. David never understood what his cousin saw in Mitch. He diagnosed their relationship as a classic case of ‘I can change him.’ David was ready to pull the plug on that experiment.

But there were more pressing issues at the moment. Pushing Mitch to the back of his mind, David stepped into the dark hall, stopping just outside the back bedroom. He peeked in the open doorway before knocking lightly on the door frame. After the ruckus outside, he wondered why he bothered knocking.

“C’mon in.”

A Coleman lantern lit the room in a sterile glow, and a large man resembling a barrel strapped to a plank teetered precariously on a small folding chair at Jessica’s bedside. With a pudgy finger, he pressed his thick-framed glasses against his face, then looked up at David.

Jessica stirring, they spoke in hushed voices.

“David,” said the obese bearded man, smiling. “Glad to see you, man.” Sweat glistened on his bushy brow.

David nodded. “Randy.” He crossed his arms, clutching the paper bag. “How is she?”

“Well, thanks to you, she’s about to get a whole lot better a whole lot quicker.”

David held the white bag up for him to see.

“Did you find the
Levaquin?” Randy asked.

David nodded.

“
Perfect.” Randy took it, a relieved smile peeking out from under his thick whiskers. He shifted his bulk, and the flimsy chair creaked in protest as he went about the task of making Jessica well again. He picked up an IV needle. “I was praying they’d have some. Very effective stuff in treating acute pyelonephritis and I was …”

Tuning out Randy’s maundering, David crossed his arms again, leaned against the door frame while he rehashed events of the evening.

Got to be more careful. Got to be aware. Eyes open. Alert.

He rubbed his neck, the embers of a prior fire now simmering, coals calming down. He was already feeling stiff and sore. It couldn’t be helped, though. Jessica’s health—her very future—depended on this medicine. He didn’t fully understand, being a former cubicle farmer and all, but Randy knew what she needed. David had passed the baton to Randy, and now Randy would finish the race to keep her alive. They would win. She would live. Champagne for all.

Randy pushed to his feet with a heavy grunt, then dipped his chin toward the hallway. David led the way until they reached the living room.
 

David peeked beyond the curtained window before falling exhausted into the threadbare couch. The house seemed to shake on its cinder blocks when Randy finally collapsed into the sofa.

The large man spoke first, of another subject. “Any luck today?”

David simply shook his head, the gesture barely noticeable in the wan lantern light.

Randy stroked his beard and several minutes passed before they spoke again.

“So what now?”

David knew what Randy really wanted to say.
You tried, David. You really tried. You gave it your best. But you gotta face facts, man. She’s dead, David. Natalee’s dead. But kudos to you for going out there everyday and searching and looking and giving it your all …

Instead, David shrugged. “Priority today was getting the meds for Jessica. Tomorrow. Going to go out again tomorrow. Retrace my steps.”

Randy hesitated, then said, “Do you think that’s wise? I mean, you’ve been at it for almost a month, turning that town upside down—”

“Twenty-one days, Randy. It’s only been twenty-one days.”

“Okay. Twenty-one days. But—”

“She’s out there, somewhere, and she needs my help. It’s too early to stop.”

Randy jabbed a thumb at the window. “What happened to the rental car?”

“Died.”

Died. The rental … died. Just like the rest of the world was doing. Another casualty.

“It served you well while you had it.”

David sighed. “Yeah.”

All three of them—Mitch, Randy, and Jessica—had given David a rash of shit over that rental car. Called it a piece of crap, not worth the tires it rolled on. But for David … for David it was the last string tying him to his former life. A life in the old world. A world of life and the living, devoid of death and dying and then living again. A dead life. Maybe it wasn’t so different, after all.

Besides, David honestly thought this whole living-dead debacle was a temporary situation. Maybe last a day or two, surely no longer than a week. Then, he’d return the rental, get his own ride out of the shop, and get back to living in the real world. Back to his office crops in the cubicle farm.

Fuck you, dad. I
have
a real job.

“We need to think about our next move,” David said.

“Our next move? I thought we decided just wait things out here? It’s secluded, the pond is well stocked—”

“There were two of them, out on the road. Plus the two in the truck. That dually made an awful lot of racket, not to mention Mitch using the rifle.” He shook his head, scowling. “We agreed we weren’t going to use guns. At least not here.”

“You think more will show up?”

“Noise attracts them. We’ve seen it time and time again in town.” David hooked his chin in the ‘U’ of his hand.

Randy studied him a moment. “How many … have you killed? While out looking for …?”

“None.” He had killed exactly none, despite countless opportunities. “I just … I’m afraid … the day I do …”

Will be the day this all becomes … real.

Randy nodded a knowing nod, and David truly believed the huge man understood, knew where he was coming from, what he was getting at. David would put it off for as long as possible, hold onto his humanity for as long as he could. It was like growing up, going through puberty. Kissing a girl for the first time. Losing virginity. Innocence lost, gone forever. Things change, things change people. Sometimes, for the worst.

David counted five gunshots before he made it to the door, flinging it open and nearly spilling onto the porch. Mitch stood on the edge of the weed-choked yard, yanking the rifle’s bolt, and firing off another round. In the distance, just off the tree line, a man fell.

“Mitch!” David bounded down the steps. He squinted against a blaring morning sun.

“Morning, sunshine.” Mitch propped the rifle barrel on his shoulder before taking a drag off his roach. “Looks like some friends followed you home last night.”

David scanned the vast yard. He didn’t see anything or anyone else. “How many?”

“Four so far. Took two shots to bring one of ‘em down.”

“Is this really necessary? I thought we agreed no guns.” Anger churned his tone.

“Seems pretty pointless now, what with you playing pied-piper and all last night.” He dipped his chin at the Dodge, joint pinched between two fingers at his side.

David exhaled deeply, fists clenched. If it weren’t for Jessica, he would have cut Mitch loose weeks ago.

“Heads up,” Mitch said, sighting the gun toward the end of the driveway. He tugged the bolt, expelling a spent casing and lining up the next live round.

David grabbed the warm barrel.

“Hey, what’re you doing, man?” Mitch wrestled the gun from David’s grip, then brought up the butt of the weapon, threatening to crack David’s skull with it.

“Stop shooting! You’re just going to draw more of them over—”

“It’s too late for that. May as well break out the rest of the armory, ‘cuz the way they’re pouring in …” Mitch turned his back to David, aimed at the ambling figure at the end of the drive.

David’s hand fell to the knife on his hip, curled his fingers around the handle, started to pull.

“What’s going on out here?” Randy’s enormous figure filled the doorway. “Y’all are scaring Jessica. And I thought we said no guns?”

Pangs of guilt kicked David in the teeth. He didn’t see it coming, the white-hot fury that overcame him. Well, didn’t see it coming so quickly. For years he tolerated Mitch—at family gatherings, holidays, visits—and being stuck with him now in the worst of situations tested every ounce of restraint he could muster.

Ignoring Randy, Mitch squeezed off another shot, dropping the shuffler. A small cloud of dust kicked up where it fell. Mitch twisted his torso, presented a wide, shit-eating grin to the two men behind him. “Bull’s-eye, bitches.” He re-shouldered the gun and clomped his way back onto the porch, making sure to brush David as he passed him. “That’s how it’s done,” he said, before dropping into the creaky bench rocker.
 

He laid the gun, a Mossberg ATR long action rifle, across his lap and rocked, like he was living some backwoods Hatfield/McCoy feud. But instead of denim coveralls, he donned worn army fatigues and a tee-shirt. He stole one last drag off the joint.

With lips pursed, David stormed back into the house, the screen door slapping the jamb behind him. Randy nearly toppled over getting out of his way.

* * *

In the back bedroom, Jessica was sitting up in bed, had just started to swing her feet to the floor. Her eyes were deep and hollow, but a positive glimmer of life peeked through them again. And she was breathing. Alive. David surmised the antibiotics were adequately and efficiently doing their job. For this, he was thankful.

“How’re you feeling?”

Jessica smiled weakly. “Starting to feel human again.” After a pause, she added, “Thanks for getting the Levaquin. I owe you big time.” She rubbed gingerly at the IV plugged into her arm. Frowning, she added, “What was all the ruckus outside?”

He waved her off and thought better of throwing Mitch under the bus. “You don’t worry about that. Just feel better, okay?”
 

She nodded, summoning her weak smile again. Another moment passed, and she asked, “Any luck finding …?”

David simply shook his head, corners of his mouth diving along with his eyes.

She figured he’d go out on another run, so she quickly changed subjects, prodding him again about the incident from moments ago. “What are y’all shooting at out there?”

He considered a white lie, then decided she deserved the truth. A smart girl, she’d figure it out anyway. “Shufflers. By the tree line. We must have drawn some of them out last night.” He rubbed his stubbled chin, choosing his words carefully as to avoid alarm. “I think we should consider moving to another area … a safer place.”

Jessica looked confused. “But Mitch said this place is safe. And Natalee would know to come—”

“Mitch doesn’t know—” He slowed himself down, lowered his voice. “Mitch doesn’t know that, Jess. Not for sure. And he’s compromising the integrity of this place with every shot he pops off.” He stood at the foot of her bed, leaning on the footboard. “We’ve been lucky, up until now,” he said, not responding to her comment about his wife. “But I think in the next few days, when you’re feeling better, we need to move on.” He smiled and added, “Greener pastures and all that.”

Jessica looked confused, concerned. “But even you said—”

“I know what I said.” He arced his hand through the air. “But things have changed. It’s just not safe here anymore.”

With Mitch,
he wanted to add.

Instead, he continued, “Now, I’ve been thinking. Me and Randy, we could scout out another area, find us another spot. A less active spot. Somewhere those”—he pointed at the window—“things … can’t get to us as easily. Somewhere with walls or fences. Up high, where we can see them coming, better protect ourselves.”

Jessica bit at her lip, averted her eyes. Her foot fidgeted beneath the sheet, and David guessed she was close to losing it. He sat on the edge of the bed and stroked her arm.

“Jess, it’ll be okay. I promise.” Pulling her in to him, he rested his chin on her crown. He wanted to tell her that Mitch was dangerous, a cancer on their coterie. And just as he’d found the medicine for her, he’d find a cure for their ailing group.

“It’ll be alright. I promise.”

* * *

Outside Jessica’s window, the Dodge dually growled to life. David hopped up from the bed and crossed to the window. He slid the lacy white curtain to the side, peered out. The engine revved and the dual exhaust stacks exhaled matching clouds of black.

“Son of a bitch.”

Wrinkles of worry creased Jessica’s forehead. “What is it?”

David hurried to the porch, hoping to stop Mitch. By the time he made it to the bottom of the steps, the Dodge had already started down the bumpy drive.