Dead South Rising: Book 1 (39 page)

Driveway
.

He’d stood on the brakes halfway down the driveway to avoid—

Shit.

He didn’t know if he’d hit a person or an animal or a shuffler that night. He knew he’d hit something, though. Assumed it was a shuffler. Or an animal. Why would a living, breathing person be wandering around on Mitch’s driveway? His aching stomach churned, sick at the thought of killing someone
alive
. Surely Doc’s wife hadn’t been alive. Oh, god. Surely not. He wasn’t sure if he could forgive himself. Ever.

Gills said, “I think el gato’s got his tongue again.”

“He does look a tad pale, don’t he?” Another irritating chuckle. “So looks like we got us a bonafide murderer,” Sammy said. “Got the blood of two people on his murdering hands.”

Gills stroked his fu-manchu, his lips forming the closest thing to a smile that they’d ever be capable of making. “Sounds like a serial killer to me, eh, Sam?”
 

“Sounds like it.”

“We should do a service to society, execute that murdering bastard. ‘Fore he kills again.”

“We should.” A deep nod. “And we will.”

David couldn’t stop it. He dropped to his hands and knees. And threw up.

Jessica Thompson strode through the main hall of Alamo Assisted Living. It was nearing noon, and she was eager to get on the road, to find David.

She didn’t doubt for a second that she and Randy were doing the right thing by going after her cousin, though she admitted—to Randy, anyway—that she might be overreacting. But she’d rather overreact than not react at all. And regret it. He agreed.

Besides, she’d sensed something off about David and their conversation from earlier that morning. Not necessarily that he had outright lied to her, but that he’d perhaps lied by omission, by not telling her
everything
that was on his mind. He’d held back. No doubt about it. Woman’s intuition and what not.

Anyway, she owed it to him. He’d done her a solid by essentially saving her life. Minor detail. According to Randy, without the antibiotics, her kidney would have been in a bad way—as in no way at all. Shut down. Closed for business. Useless. Hers had been an extreme case, unusual, out of the ordinary. Unsurprising, seeing as how these were unusual and unordinary times.

As she passed the front doors on her way to the back dock, she noticed a rather heated debate raging. Two groups, one larger, one smaller. The Janitor appeared to be heading the smaller group of about four, and someone he called Roy was representing the larger group of about eight. She considered stopping, but opted to slow her gait instead, picking up part of the conversation.

The Janitor had the floor. “…rethink this, Roy. We’ve been over this—”

“No, Gabe. You’re wrong about this. And I won’t be a part of no mass slaughter.”

Jessica slowed even more, listening at a discreet distance.

“Think about what you’re saying,” the Janitor said. “You’re condemning us—all of us—to death with that line of thinking. Now, c’mon back and we’ll—”

“You just don’t get it, do you, Gabriel? Because it’s not
your
son out there roaming the field.” Roy wiped at his cheek. “I’m going out there, and I’m getting my boy. My Scotty. And I’m bringing him in here.”

Gabriel visibly bristled, his shoulders pulling back, chest puffing. “I can’t let you do that Roy. It’s too dangerous.”

“You can’t stop me.”

The argument discomfited Jessica, and she almost went to get Bryan to take him with her in case things here got … bad. But she continued around the corner and toward the dock, the acrimonious dispute fading behind her.

She pressed forward. She didn’t have time to get involved. Besides, it wasn’t her place, wasn’t her fight. Not yet, anyway. She still considered herself a guest. They wouldn’t listen to her. The Janitor proved to be a persuasive guy, in her opinion. And besides, she had her own issues to contend with. David needed her, and she planned to be there for him just as he’d been there for her.

Jessica could still hear the blustering echoes behind her as the warehouse door came into view. She did like it at the Alamo, and hoped the men would resolve their differences. Hitting the road again, looking for a new home, fending for themselves—all unappealing prospects. She craved the safety and comfort a group with chemistry could provide. And she prayed the rapport of this place didn’t undergo a nuclear reaction and melt into resentment and animosity.

She pushed through the first set of double doors and strode into the warehouse. The same warehouse where David and the Janitor had earlier planned to remedy the problem now being disputed in the hall.

Jessica had made it a point to check on Bryan and Charlie before leaving. It was obvious to see that Bryan was happy here. At least for the moment. There were two other children for him to play with, and Charlie loved the attention of all those little fingers scratching his head and belly. And Bryan just loved the buffed floors. Better than any toy Santa could bring. She swore he’d wear out a pair of socks a day just sliding up and down the halls.

Outside on the dock, she found Randy and Leonard. Of all things, they were discussing professional wrestling. Better to walk up on a conversation about faux fighting than the one she’d just fled from.

“Hey, Jess,” Randy said, turning to acknowledge her.

“Jessica. How you feeling, girl?” Lenny asked.

“Hey, y’all. Doing better. Much better, thanks. What are y’all talking about?” As if she didn’t know.

Randy smiled. “Best heavyweight champion in WCCW history.”

Leonard laughed, his mountainous shoulders shaking. “Your boy here seems to think that
real
pro wrestling died in the ‘90s.”

Randy poked the big guy’s chest. “The ‘80s was where it was at. Two words—Von Erichs. Best wrestling family ever.”

“But Kerry was only world champion for eighteen days after he took the
real
title from Flair. Ain’t no kinda reign.”

“
Took
the title? You make it sound like he just walked into the ring, picked up the belt and walked out with it. Kerry
won
it. He
owned
Flair. Plus, don’t forget Kerry’s brother had just passed. There was a lot of emotion that day that drove him to
win
it.”

Leonard gave Randy a dismissive wave. “Alright. I’ll give you that. But if we’s talking best of
all time
, I gots to give it to the Nature Boy, baby. The man’s a living legend. Held that title for
years
, not
days
.”

Despite being eager to get going, Jessica smiled, relieved there was a conversation going on somewhere in the world that didn’t involve the dead and how to handle them.

Joining in, she said, “What about Hulk Hogan?”

Randy and Leonard turned their heads slowly to look at her, their gaze broken only by disbelieving blinks.

She shrugged, “What? What’d I say?”

“Nothing,” Randy said, bringing his hand to his lips to stifle a giggle.

Leonard cocked his head at Jess. “Your girl don’t follow wrestling much, do she?”

“I give her an ‘E’ for effort. At least she knows he’s a wrestler. And he
was
a world champion.”

“Not a WCCW world champion, though.”

“True.”

Jessica’s gaze switched back and forth between the two men. “I still don’t get it. What’s WCCW?”

Leonard said, “World Class Championship Wrestling, from back in the day. Was part of the NWA.”

“Oh. But he was a world wrestling champion, right?”

“‘
Was
’ being the operative word. And he wasn’t in the WCCW,” Randy said. “He was with the WWF when he got really famous.”

“WWF? What’s the difference? Besides the letters? Ain’t a world champion a champion of the whole world?” Jessica said. “What’s the point of having a world champion if they’re only the champion of a certain set of letters?” She crossed her arms. “Doesn’t make sense to me.”

Lenny stroked his chin. “Your girl’s got a point, bro.”

Randy nodded, then smiled through his beard at Jessica. “I’ll explain on the way.”

An awkward silence tinged with distant groans of the roaming dead descended on their momentary respite from reality.

Leonard scratched at his cheek, turning his gaze to the fence, the chitchat taking the inevitable serious turn. “So you two is dead set—sorry, no pun intended—on going out there, huh? Ain’t no changing your mind?”

Jessica smiled, hoping to avoid another conversation like the one she and Randy endured in the Janitor’s office. “My cousin’s out there.”

“He seems pretty tough,” Leonard said.

“Well the world is tougher. Tougher than any one of us.”

“Can’t argue that.” Lenny pointed at a compact car beside the building. “You can take that one. Tank’s full. Been checked out. It’ll get you where you going safe and sound.” He paused a beat, then said almost apologetically, “I’d go with you, but things is a bit hairy here.”

Jessica’s eyes roved the fence and field, a nonverbal acknowledgement that she understood exactly what he was talking about. “Any idea what’s drawing out so many?”

Leonard just shook his head, eyes dropping to the pavement. “It’s sad, though. Got some fellas that’s still in denial. Don’t believe those dead folks out there is really dead.”

“I believed that, too, at first,” Randy chimed.

Jessica said, “I think we all did, whether we admit it or not. It’s just that some of us woke up to the reality of it sooner than others.” She jabbed her thumb back toward the door. “Sounds like a pretty heated debate about it going on right now. In the hall by the front doors.”

“Roy.” Lenny simply said. “His boy Scotty’s out front in a group of ‘em. Thinks he’s still alive and can save him. Was making threats when Janitor and David was planning on running down the dead with that”—he pointed across the field at the soil compactor—“thing out there. Well, when Roy realized Scott was out there, changed his tune on
all
the rattlers, not just his son. Thinks they all’s just sick.” He shook his head again.

Randy said, “Dangerous thinking like that will get them killed. I know, because it almost killed
me
.”

Another moment of silence.

Lenny waved another dismissive hand. “Well, they can go out there with they bottle of Tylenol or cold medicine or whatever and sees if that fixes ‘em. But they in for a rude awakening.”

A smile cracked Randy’s beard.

Jessica furrowed her brow, failing to see the humor.

Noticing her puzzled expression, he said, “Wrestling reference. Rick Rude. Back in the ‘80s. Had a finishing move called the ‘Rude Awakening.’ It was this DDT move—”

Lenny slapped Randy’s shoulder, shaking his head. “She don’t get it, bro. You gonna have to bring her up to speed on your little trip to town.”

Randy nodded. “Right. Lots to talk about.”

“Can hardly wait,” Jessica said.

* * *

By the time Jessica and Randy made it to Jayville, she was sick of professional wrestling trivia. She remembered Randy had watched it for entertainment before the world fell off a cliff, and that he got a kick out of the action and story lines, even though they were both faker than fake. An athlete’s soap opera. She got this. Understood it. Lenny, being a former pro wrestler in the new era, had sparked Randy’s interest in his once favorite recreational diversion again. A common denominator. She’d convinced herself, though, that if he didn’t say another word about wrestling for the next year, it’d be too soon. But he was smiling, chatty, in an oddly good mood despite the end of days pressing its boot heel against their throats, so she humored him.

“But World Class Championship Wrestling was my favorite. It was here, in Texas, ya know,” Randy said.

“No, didn’t know that.” She stifled a yawn.

“Yeah. It was the best. The Freebirds, the Von Erichs, the Dynamic Duo of Chris Adams and Gino Hernandez…”

Jessica let Randy maunder on about his favorite pastime. Reliving it in conversation proved therapeutic, and she decided it wasn’t her place to quash its positive benefits by forcing him to ‘shut up about it already.’ She’d let him be.

The stereo clock silently and proudly proclaimed that two o’clock had arrived. It was funny, to Jessica at least, how time had no real meaning anymore. No meetings to get to. No appointments. Nothing to be late to. Or from. She just couldn’t see any benefit to knowing what time it was anymore. The dead didn’t care about the time. Why should the living?

“… took a folding chair right to Kevin’s head. Bam! Blood all over the place. Of course, that disqualified him, but Chris Adams still …”

“Uh, huh.”

The ride to Jayville had been mostly devoid of distraction or the dead. Mostly. Sure, there had been the occasional wandering cadaver, dragging its undead self along the pavement. Sure there had been a few close calls, allowing Randy to practice his signature tune ‘Fear in Falsetto’ a time or two. She wondered how a man so large could scream so much like a girl. Not that she was judging. It was just … comical. Her own therapy in laughter. Of course he’d glowered at her with a look that could boil water, to which she laughed even harder.
 

She was just thankful for the diversion, because her intuition was telling her awful things about David. She’d much rather listen to Randy ramble on about wrestling than listen to her gut deliver gloom and doom about her cousin.

To help ensure their safety and arrival, she’d fought her overbearing sense of urgency and had taken it slow, which allowed her to easily dodge the undead derelicts roaming the countryside. Traveling at a safe speed also allowed her to carry out the more important and dubious task of confirming none of those ambling corpses were David. Her heart karate-kicked her sternum every time they drove close to one. And not because she was afraid of what the shuffler might do, but because she dreaded who it might be. She still had friends out there. Friends whose fates she didn’t know.

Surprisingly, Mitch barely crossed her mind. Probably because he was reunited with his brother and that asshole friend of his, Mills or Gills or whatever his name was. They’d be just fine. Most likely sitting on Mitch’s front porch, chugging beer and plinking shufflers unlucky enough to wander into range. This messed up world was made for people like them.