Dead South Rising: Book 1 (17 page)

Positive thoughts, Tom. Positive thoughts. You’ll find Kate. Nurse her back to life. Everything will be okay. No one else will have to die.

He thrust his knife almost reflexively, straight into the biter’s eye socket. It was easier, a more direct path to the brain, which he surmised the destruction of incapacitated the walking sick
.

If they’re just sick, then why are you killing them, Tom?

Because, if I don’t, they’ll kill me.

Do you know that for sure?

Well … no. But the news person said that a bite—

Do you believe everything you’re told, Mr. Mackey?

Of course not.

Then you must know in your heart they’re dead.

No.

Kate Mackey is dead, Tom.

No she’s not. She’s sick. She’ll get better. She’s not like the others. I just have to find—

You know what you’ll have to do when you find her, Tom. You’ve been doing it all along.

Tom shook his head and muttered under his breath, “No, no, no, no, no. You’re wrong. And don’t call me that. That’s not my name anymore.”

You ain’t no Doc Holliday.

Yes, I am. And she’s my Kate.

You won’t like what you find, Doc. You won’t be able to cure it. Because you ain’t no Doc.

“Fuck off,” Tom Mackey said aloud, startling himself.

He stood motionless, straddling the yellow lane divider in the middle of the highway. Blood dripped from the blade glistening in the rising moon.

“If they were dead, they wouldn’t bleed,” he whispered to the trees. “I can save her. There’s still a chance.”

Another shotgun blast. He was close. He flung as much blood off of the blade as he could, wiping the rest on the bottom of his pants leg. He moved over to the ditch, looking for a shortcut through the dense brush, but found none. He assumed a driveway must be close, hard to spot just as his own was.

The rising moon helped his vision. It wasn’t full, but one-quarter provided plenty of light on yet another cloudless, star-filled evening. He couldn’t even remember the last time he saw a cloud, the elusive wind-driven strangers that never came around anymore. It was as though they knew the area was sick, and chose to stay away. Far, far away.

Then he spotted it. A driveway reflector, sticking out of the ground at the edge of the road like a sweet beckoning lollipop. Had he looked away for even a second, he would have missed it, the moonlight glinting off the metal surrounding the round red reflector. He’d found his difficult-to-find driveway.

Trotting, he covered ground quickly, dodging two biters rather than stopping to take them out, carefully checking to be sure they weren’t his wife first.

I can feel it. I will find her tonight. After nearly a month, she’ll be home.

You won’t like what you find. I’m telling you, Tom.

My name’s Doc now. I don’t go by Tom Mackey anymore.

Whatever you say, Doc.

I’ll go back to ‘Tom’ when Kate comes home.

Better get used to ‘Doc,’ then.

He skidded to a stop, then cursed the other voice in his head, the taunting and truculent naysayer. He would show that disbeliever cowardly hiding in his subconscious. He’d show him.

Turning on his heel, he quickly stepped onto the narrow driveway, and started making his way, a confident gait, pressing inward.

I’m telling you—

You’re telling me what? This is it, I can feel it.

I’m telling you to turn around, now. Before—

Before what?

Before you can’t.

He slowed. The driveway was a virtual mini-canyon. If he twisted or broke his ankle here, that pugnacious pip-squeak yammering away inside his head would drive him insane while he lay wounded and captive.
 

Ring the dinner bell for the biters
.

With renewed vigilance, he moved forward, staying to the center of the drive as best he could, out of the treacherous ruts. Branches grabbed at him from either side, closing in. He was normally immune to claustrophobia, but something about this stretch of dirt. Something.

Something’s not right.

The stench of death almost backed him up, made him turn around. The small slice of dark but sparkling sky above was barely lighting his way, the moon obscured by overhanging foliage, but gaining and moving higher.

He considered using his flashlight, a palm-sized military-style light that he’d purchased from the army-navy store over a year ago. Touted as being the brightest, he thought it would come in handy living in the country. And he’d been right. Storms from months ago had induced power outages that lasted for days. One lasted a week and a half. That one light could illuminate a room and then some. He’d shone it over his yard once when he first got it. He bet planes could see it if he pointed it to the sky. If planes still flew. They were as extinct as the clouds these days.

Tom approached the heap lying in the driveway with extra caution. Just because it was down on the ground didn’t mean that it was completely dead. He’d seen it time and again on his outings. Had nearly been nipped in the ankle on a couple of occasions. Thank goodness for trench coats and cowboy boots. He’d put spurs on if they weren’t so noisy.

The corpse ahead reeked. He surmised death—true death—had occurred forty-five minutes to an hour ago. That’s usually how long it took before one really started decomposing the old-fashioned way. After another day or so, it would probably be unbearable. He’d joked to himself that it would strangle the hairs inside his nose.

His heart kicked up a notch. The corpse in the drive was a woman. His lungs clawed at him from the inside, scratching his throat with each labored breath. He preferred the branches scratching at him from the outside. He stepped closer, trying to ascertain her identity. It was the same way almost every time he came upon a woman biter—it wasn’t a biter until he’d verified it wasn’t his Kate. His beautiful Kate, Mrs. Mackey.

Once he ID’d the body, he would declare it a biter. Until then …

He stopped about five feet away, the putrid mass turning his stomach. As often as he’d encountered the smell, it was still tough getting used to. He wasn’t sure that he ever would. Once he found Kate and brought her home, he wouldn’t have to any more. Except to defend their home. But he had plans, tricky ways that he’d keep them at bay. Kate would like his ideas.

Get ready for I told you so.

He clenched his teeth, as much against the sick cauldron bubbling inside his gut as against the coward inside his subconscious, poking his head out to goad him.

I told you to shut the fuck up, already.

Whatever you say … Doc.

It was too dark. He couldn’t see, the moon taking its sweet time rising above. His eyes to the sky, he wagered it’d be another fifteen minutes or so before it would be high enough to light this thin strip he found himself in. He’d have to risk the light.

Fumbling in his coat pocket, he finally produced the small light. He was reluctant to sheath his knife. Biters had a way of sneaking up on the living. Ninety-nine percent of the time he saw them, heard them, smelled them. He had a feeling. Tonight was a night of one-percents. He wouldn’t chance it. If he was going to find his wife and protect them both, he had to be vigilant and on guard.

He exhaled deeply, then tried to avoid inhaling just as deeply, settling instead on shallow breaths through parted lips.

Let’s get this over with so I can get back to finding my love.

The light clicked on with the press of his thumb. The brightness surprised him, even though he knew what to expect. He shielded part of the intense glow with his weapon hand, the blade catching light. He couldn’t believe how much blood was still on the knife, even though he thought he’d wiped it clean.

He shuffled forward, hinging slightly, trying to get a good look. The woman was face down. He’d have to roll her over. His stomach stirred again, dreading the inevitable.

Just nudge her over with your boot.

But what if it’s … her?

You’ll never know until you—

He squeezed his eyes tight. The woman’s hair was blood-streaked blonde.

Kate’s hair is blonde.

The woman had a svelte build.

Kate is slim.

He stepped back. What if this was Kate? What if all of his searching, planning, hoping—was for naught? It couldn’t end this way. Destiny wouldn’t allow it. Heaven may have pissed and shit on him, but destiny surely wouldn’t be as dubious. He turned his back to the body, white-knuckling the knife.

He half expected the woman to stand, come for him. Talk to him. Maybe tell him where he could find Kate.

I am Kate. Look at me.

He shook his head, hard snaps. Lips pressed so hard they were nearly indiscernible.

 
Open your fucking eyes. Stay alert. You
trying
to die tonight?

For the first time that evening, the voice he’d been sparring with was right. Opening his eyes helped him open his lungs, allowing precious oxygen back in the supply chain.

It was time. Time to lay this distracting farce to rest. It simply couldn’t be her.

He turned back to the corpse. He thought for a second it had moved, changed positions. Mocking him.

Turn around again and see what happens. I dare you.

He pulled in a deep breath, despite the pungency. He stepped up to the body and stopped. He simply couldn’t bring himself to use his boot. Kneeling, he put the flashlight in his teeth, held his blade at the ready, and used his newly freed hand to roll the body.

Everything inside him melted, felt like he was floating. Light as the lightest of feathers. If he fell backward, he wouldn’t have hit the ground. Probably the opposite. It was like the laws of physics had become capricious, undependable. If you fall backward, you should hit the ground, but not always. Depends. Depends on how the laws of the land were feeling. Tonight? They felt like fucking with folks—full-on fuck-with-people’s-head mode. In particular, folks who find their dead wife’s body face down in the middle of a remote country driveway.

His chin quivered uncontrollably, tugging his lips. He tried to see through the burgeoning blur, but it was a futile effort. Within seconds, the salty tidal wave crashed over his cheeks, and a whimper spilled over his trembling lips. They were hard tears. Hard sobs.

Told you so.

Shut the fuck up! Shut up! Shut up! Shut up …

His ass met the dirt, legs giving out on him. He didn’t care. His shoulders slumped, bobbing with each turbulent sob.

“My Kate. My beautiful Kate. Kate.”

A biter could have easily had at him, and he wouldn’t have cared. Wouldn’t have moved. Would have welcomed the bite.

Minutes dragged by, his sobbing subsiding with each one passing. And then he admitted what he didn’t have the courage to admit only minutes ago. He knew he’d find her tonight. He knew he’d find her dead.

You knew. You knew it would end like this. How could it not, Doc?

Destiny. Destiny promised we’d be together. That she’d get better.

Destiny lied, Doc. Flat out lied to your ass. Sounds like you lost another friend.

He wiped his eyes, then played his light over the encroaching bushes and limbs, behind him, and down the drive. Finally, he shone the beam on his wife. She glowed angelic in the light

His heart was a Tasmanian Devil on cocaine. He expected it to explode at any second. But he stayed conscious. Didn’t pass out, didn’t die on the spot of a broken heart. He wiped at his cheeks again, trying to clear the blur, determine what happened.

He worked on getting a hold of himself, shutting his prodding inner voice down. Emotions had to be set aside, room made for a pragmatic approach. Couldn’t break down again.

Then he noticed something. He cocked his head, another tear spilling down his cheek. Letting it plummet to the dirt, he reached out, brushed his fingers across his wife’s forehead, teasing her blonde tresses out of the way. The fetid smell had disappeared, now that he knew it was her. He imagined he could smell her lavender bath soap, her favorite perfume. Leaning over, he kissed her blue lips, and another wave of sorrow hit him. He was torturing himself, but he had to say goodbye. Kiss her goodnight one last time. His eyes roved over her stiffening body, stopping where he’d noticed the trauma.

Tire tracks. Fucking tire tracks. Two distinct treads—

like a dually

—on her legs. His gaze moved over her body again, and it was clear. Blunt trauma. She’d been hit, run over. Plowed into. He shone the light farther behind her, and fresh ruts where a truck had skidded in the dirt confirmed his diagnosis.

That goddamned truck. While I was standing there, that goddamn truck was killing my wife.

A seething fury unlike any he had ever experienced in his life lit his insides on fire, the flames licking away at his humanity. Heaven had told him to fuck off, find a new friend. And he instantly knew what he had to do. His new purpose in this sorrowful life. With open arms and a welcome mat, he invited hell into his heart. His new BFF. No one else—nothing else—mattered. Vengeance would be sought. He demanded restitution. And he would have it.

With the mini-flashlight clenched between his teeth, he moved Kate’s body off to the side of the driveway and into the encroaching underbrush. He would be back for her. Destiny could count on that. But right now, he had a promise to fulfill. His wife may be truly dead, but he would not go about his new calling morosely. He would savor the retribution, knowing it was for her honor. He would kill those who destroyed his life. His wife’s life. And if they were already dead, he would kill them again.

He kissed his departed wife one last time on her decaying lips, then pressed to his feet, a sudden prodigious surge of temerity towing him along, telling him where to go. To get his ass in gear. That was all he needed it to do, because he knew what to do once he got there.