Dead South Rising: Book 1 (30 page)

David answered with a snappy,
No.
“I’ll do it. I found him, I’ll tell her. Besides, she might have questions. Since I was there, actually saw …”

And I need to tell her myself. Clear
my
conscience.
 

Randy accepted this, seemed relieved he wouldn’t have to be the one to relay the bad news.

David elected to keep the pond incident to himself. The part about Doc, too. No point in fueling Randy’s worries. The man was a worrier. A ‘worry wart,’ as David’s grandmother used to say. Plus, he had no plans to go back to Mitch’s place.

David was done talking about Mitch, his brother Sammy, and Gills. “So what are your impressions of this—”

Another knock at the door interrupted David’s question, and they glanced at each other. “Yes?” David said. He prayed it wasn’t Jessica, wanted to break the news to her in private.

The door swung in on well-oiled hinges. “Hey, man,” Lenny said, his hulking frame eclipsing the hall behind him. “How you feeling?”

David nodded, smiled. “Better, thanks.” He almost made a joke, but decided it would be in bad taste given the state of the world. Instead, he just added, “Much better, thanks. The shower did wonders and the pain pills are a godsend.”

“Good, man, good.” Lenny tossed a look behind him as someone walked by, then said, “Think you’d feel up to meeting with the Janitor in a bit?”

“I suppose so,” David said, cradling his wrist. “When would he like to talk?”

“‘Bout thirty minutes. He’s been out, handling some business, but he should be back right quick. That’s why he ain’t come by already and seen you.”

“Sure. That sounds good, Leonard.”

Lenny rocked his big bald head forward with a smile, then said to Randy, “How you hanging, big man?”

This time, David could make out the grin cracking Randy’s whiskers, despite the news of his former best friend’s demise. “Doing ok, brother.”

David guessed that Randy would be just fine without Mitch. He could see, in just a short amount of time, that these two were getting on quite well. A burgeoning bromance in bloom. And it was a good thing.

Lenny said, “Alright, brother.” He held out a hammer fist, bumping it with Randy’s. “Stay cool, brother. Talk to ya in a bit.”

“Right on,” Randy said.

Leonard closed the door behind him as he left.

David sighed again and said, “Well, guess I’ll get ready to meet with this Janitor fellow.”

“Strange title, huh?”

“Yeah. What does Leonard say about the guy?”

Randy pressed to his feet, and the chair seemed to breathe a sigh of relief, as though it’d been holding its breath, biding its time. “He didn’t say a whole lot, but what little he’s said has been nothing but good. Said he really wanted us to meet the Janitor for ourselves, form our own opinion, which is respectable.”

Another nod, and David stood as well. “It is. I appreciate folks who let me make my own decision when it comes to someone’s character.” He patted Randy on the shoulder as he turned to the door. “Leonard’s good people.”

“Yeah, he is.”

Randy left the room, and the door closed smoothly and soundlessly behind him. And David sat while his mind swirled a hurricane named Guilt.

* * *

It was more like twenty minutes instead of thirty. If the Janitor was one thing, he was punctual. Exceedingly so.

In some ways, he was exactly what David had envisioned. Physically, at least. Hell, the man was a living caricature of himself and his namesake.
 

The man’s a living, breathing … mop.

The Janitor was an old man, tall, lanky. A thick floppy tangle of gray and silver bedecked his crown, framing his face to his shoulders, while a push-broom mustache of similar shades protruded beneath his beak nose. His contrasting bushy, Sharpie-black eyebrows looked like expensive furs above his squinty eyes. But those eyes were wise with years.

He even donned a droopy jumpsuit, dark blue, zippered front. But David could just as easily imagine him in a cowboy hat and spurs, six-shooters on his hips, and blazing trails in the old west. Maybe thwarting a train robbery or two. The man teemed with wisdom, goodness, and purity. Like some southern Jesus. And David was concerned that Jesus the Janitor would see right through him.

They shook hands. Grips were firm, but not overly so. One pump, from the elbow. David imagined just sitting down and studying the old man’s hands would be like reading a book, bound in leather, about his life.
 

The Janitor spoke first. “Gabriel Jones. But most everyone here just calls me ‘Janitor.’”

“David Morris. Just David.”

“Alright, Dave.” The old man looked David up and down with one eye squinted, his head at a slight twist.

“So, is the janitor moniker legit?”

The Janitor nodded, “Mmm, hmm.” His voice was deep and rich, strong in spite of his age. “But, I wasn’t always a custodian in the sweeping and mopping sense.” He motioned David through the door marked ‘Administrator.’

David entered the office, the Janitor following behind. The door closed on its own.

Brushing the room with an upturned palm, the old man smiled and said, “Anywhere you’d like, Dave.”

“Thank you,” David said, choosing one of two chairs directly in front of a large resplendent oak desk.

The Janitor sat beside him, in the opposite chair. David’s brow lifted slightly.

“I’m not one for formalities,” the Janitor said, responding to David’s expression. “I’m no administrator or executive or president. None of that nonsense.” Leather creaked beneath him as he sunk into the expensive horseshoe chair, crossing his legs, his arms riding atop the curving wood. His pose reminded David of the Memorex commercial where the man gets blown back in his chair by incredible sound.

“My place ain’t behind that desk,” he added, lifting a lazy finger toward the oak monster.

He paused a beat, then continued, “Been there, done that, as they say. Whoever the hell ‘they’ are … or were. Spent most my adult life slugging it out in that screwed up corporate rat race, helping everyone else around me get richer. Financially, anyway. Oh, I did okay. Low six figures. But I woke up one day tired of chapped lips from all the ass-kissing, and said, ‘to hell with it.’” He flipped his hand at nothing.

David shifted in his seat, leather squeaked. Then, he felt the air conditioning kick on, that lovely luxury quickly becoming a thing of the past.

“Left it all behind about eleven years ago. You’ve heard or read about those folks who ‘leave it all behind’ for something more enriching, less stressful, I’m sure.”

David dipped his chin in understanding.

“Who would have thought,” the Janitor continued, “that I would have found such soul-fulfilling satisfaction sweeping halls and mopping up piss.” He chuckled. “The real satisfaction came unexpectedly in guiding old souls home. They trusted me, came to me with tough feelings, tough decisions. Ironically, that was my favorite part of the job.”

“Why didn’t you just become a grief counselor?”

“Grief counselor? Bunch a goddamn jaded worthless so-and-so’s. The ones around here were, anyways.” He waved his hand. “Old folks could see right through them.” He tapped the corner of his eye. “Especially the young ones. Went straight from diapers—beginning of their own lives—to trying to tell those on their deathbeds what they ought to be feeling and thinking at the end of theirs. Goddamn shame.” He rubbed his leathery chin. “No, residents may be old, but they were smart, the ones that still had their wits about them. I’d earned a sort of cult trust in my position as a custodian at the old facility. I was there everyday, and they didn’t need an appointment to talk to me. I was able to forge genuine, trusting relationships that way.”

David sat quietly, unmoving, nodding when appropriate.

“I mean, look at me. I’m an old fogey myself, not some kid with barely any life experience. I could relate. Plus, I didn’t want guilt by association. Anyways, it didn’t really matter where they found solace, just as long as they found it.” The Janitor paused, then chuckled. “But you’re not here to listen to me moan about what grinds my gears.”

“I’ve got nowhere in particular to be.”

Another chuckle. “Well I’ll spare you and get to it.” His cadence and features stayed the same. “Leonard tells me you and your group were run off by a … herd.”

David nodded. “Yes, that’s right.” He hoped he wouldn’t have to go into much detail about their stay at Mitch’s. A fresh start appealed to him. The fresher, the better.

“So you’ve got no place of residence?”

“We haven’t had the opportunity to scout out new places yet.”

The Janitor dipped his chin at David’s wrapped hand. “Looks like you need some time to heal up. And the lady …”

“Jessica.”

“Right. Jessica. She’s on an IV.”

“Yes. Antibiotics. But not for … you know. Anyway, Randy’s our resident nurse. Been taking good care of her.”

The old man propped his chin in the ‘U’ of his hand. “Could use one of those around here. Our acting nurse, Taneesha, doesn’t really have experience. Was a CNA for a time years ago. She does okay. Luz
 
Gonzalez is our doc. Stuck around, like me. Randy an RN?”

David was embarrassed to admit he wasn’t sure.

“I’ll talk to him,” the Janitor said, dismissing the topic. “Tell you what,” he said, standing. “We’ve still got a bit of daylight, and it should be cooling down some. Walk with me. Give you the grand tour.”

Pressing to his feet, David said, “Sounds great.”

* * *

Outside, the two men stood behind the wrought iron fence like two prisoners contemplating the vast freedom just beyond. David propped his foot on the bottom bar running horizontally along the fence, and grasped a vertical bar with his good hand.
 

The sun was strangely dull, floating like a big rubber kickball that got stuck sailing through the heavy air, never falling back to earth. And it didn’t hurt his eyes to look directly at it. It hung low, painting the landscape with a rusty hue and long dark shadows. Insects made percussive noises in the crunchy sun-fried grass, and occasionally a grasshopper would launch into a veering, arcing glide, only to disappear again. And oddly, there was no stench of death on the air.

“How long have you been holed up here?” David asked.

“Since before this whole godforsaken mess started.” The Janitor took a step back, let his chin drop, and spit a wad of chewing tobacco between his outstretched arms, then wiped his chin against his jumpsuit sleeve. “Was part of the prep crew, getting the facilities ready for fall. I stayed behind when most everyone else lit out, trying to get to their families and to the big cities.” He slitted his eyes against the descending sun, though he didn’t need to.

“Why’d you stay?”

“No one to get to.”

David chanced it. “Wife? Kids?”

“Gone and gone.”

David wasn’t sure what constituted the Janitor’s definition of ‘gone,’ so he left it at that.

“Besides,” the Janitor said, “my real family was here. Most of ‘em came over from the old building.” He turned his head, looked straight at David. “We’ve got a good thing here, Dave. Everyone gets along, does their part. Nobody causes problems. People here are good people.”

Staring out over the town, David barely nodded.

The old man continued, getting down to brass tacks. “You’re welcome to stay, you and your family. We’ve got the room … the resources, and it’s safe. We watch out for each other. Take care of each other. All we ask is that you reciprocate. Not take advantage or cause problems. Would hate to ask Lenny the Lumberjack to chop down any disagreeable trees.” He smiled, his mustache dropping over his top lip like a stage curtain.
 

“Of course,” David said, then locked eyes with the old man. “I just want a place where Bryan can safely be a kid. Not have to deal directly with what’s going on out there. At least not for a while.”

“Well make no mistake, we’re not completely immune to what’s going on out there. And it’s a tough call. Do we shield our children from the truth, or do we hit them over the head with it? Maybe somewhere in the middle? I’m torn on that, Dave. I really am. But I think you’re right. Let ‘em be kids for as long as possible, while they still can. God knows how long this death plague will last.”

“So you think this is the long haul? End of days and all that?”

“I do. And I think that’s why so many people got sick and died. They didn’t believe, thought it was just like any other disease that came and went. Only this one came and didn’t go. Hasn’t.” He spit. “Won’t. Better hunker down, ‘cuz this ain’t going away any time soon. I guarantee you that.”

“Yesterday was the first day I killed one,” David admitted.

“I know.”

David wondered if the guy didn’t ride brooms instead of sweeping with them. “You do?”

The Janitor nodded. “It does something to a fella, changes ‘em. These are strange times, Dave. The epidemic spread so quickly because people didn’t accept it, didn’t think it was possible. Or real. Treated the dead like they were just sick, thinking they’d get better. Couldn’t bring themselves to murder someone. It’s not easy to kill, not if you’re right in the head, anyway. But let’s face it. It ain’t murder if they’re already dead.”

“So you saw it for what it was right away?”

“Took me a few days, struggled with it a bit myself, but I caught on quick. Seen it happen right before my eyes, in town. Sort of a wrong place, right time kinda thing.” The Janitor lifted his head. “Not everyone here’s on board with the truth, though. Not yet. Still have a sect here who believe it’s just sickness. Our only real source of contention here. Thankfully, it’s a small group that hasn’t accepted the truth. So, keep that in mind. Some folks are a touch sensitive about the whole thing, understandably.”
 

David’s eyes roved the landscape as he nodded. “Is it always this quiet here?”

The Janitor shook his head, then dripped another glistening brown wad over his lips. “No. Usually a few of ‘em roaming the field or fence line at any given time. For the most part, we leave them be, and they eventually move on. Usually. But any that pose a threat, hang around too long, we take them out. Quietly.” He dipped his chin at the pistol on David’s waist. “For emergency use only.”