Dead South Rising: Book 1 (40 page)

She braked, bringing the car to a near standstill.

Jayville’s choked city limits prompted Randy to cease his evocative jabbering. His head pivoted, scanning the mangled mess before them. Vehicles of various makes and models blocked their route, but she soon spotted a potential trail through the maze of metal, glass, and rubber.

“How’re we gonna get through that?” Randy asked.

“Practice.”

Easing off the brake, she feathered the gas and the car glided forward, finding the path David had driven day after day. She didn’t know this for sure, but suspected he must have. It was the only way she could see that a vehicle could get into town from this direction.

Glass and plastic crunched under rolling rubber as she worked the wheel with an expert’s finesse. She missed driving, cruising. It had been her therapeutic getaway, her Calgon equivalent.

From between two police cruisers, a shuffler stumbled, groping air. Randy sucked in a surprised breath, pointed, finger to the windshield. As slow as she was driving, she would not be treated to another rendition of ‘Fear in Falsetto’ as performed by Randy Phillips.

Jess said, “I see him.” Squinting, she visually verified its identity. Thankfully, it wasn’t David. Nor anyone she knew.

The shuffler impotently slapped at the windows and roof as they drove by, denied a fresh meal. And what a meal it would have been. She swore she could see disappointment on the thing’s face.

Too bad, so sad. Makes me glad.

“West Warner Drive, right?” Jessica asked. “I can see the place in my head, but with all this wreckage … it’s throwing me.”

“Yeah, pretty sure. Been awhile since I’ve been over there, but I’m pretty sure that’s right.”

“Okay.”

Navigating the wreckage was easier than she’d anticipated. The path seemed like it was carved out just for them, leading straight to where they wanted to go. Not that they had far to travel. Fortunately, David’s house was on the edge of the east side of town, the direction they had just come from. No need to penetrate the actual town.

Many residents fled the smaller communities like Jayville. Several fled to Dallas, Houston, Austin, Shreveport. At the start of it all, the radio and television reports strongly encouraged getting to a metropolis for medical care and safety, to ward off potential problems. Like death. Promises were made, filled with talk of enough room and supplies to weather a temporary storm. Funny how she didn’t hear much after that.

But not everyone had sought refuge in the big city. Obviously. If they had, there’d be no shufflers roaming about, trying to snag one of the living for a snack. She suspected more people had stayed behind, shunning questionable sanctuary. And that could be a good thing, or a bad one.

She was glad about one thing, though: that she hadn’t shot Lenny and Taneesha the night they jumped into the Dodge. She attributed this to being so drugged up that she would have missed had she tried. Thankfully, they ended up being good people. She would have killed them, though, had the need arisen. Never having killed anyone before, it relieved her that she didn’t have to, especially for Randy’s sake since he and the Lumberjack got along so well.

“Watch,” Randy said, wagging his finger at another staggering figure.

“Got it.”
 

Jess steered around another wandering, rotting corpse, being sure to look closely at who—or what—she was avoiding.

Within minutes, they rolled onto West Warner Drive.

Jess said, “Keep ‘em peeled.”

Their eyes searched the street for the commandeered Dodge dually that now seemed like part of the family.

“There,” Randy said, tapping the passenger glass as they rolled by David’s place. “That’s it.”

She scanned ahead. “Do you see the truck?”

“Mmm, no. Don’t see it.”

They cruised to the end of the block before turning around.

Approaching the house again, Randy said, “How about just pulling in behind this Chevy. We could keep an eye out for him.”

Jessica nodded, then eased in behind the ’87 Chevy pickup, which was parked across the street and about a half a block from David’s place. She had hoped for a discreet, stake-out style setup, and decided the spot would suffice nicely. Like a mouse, the compact car squeaked to a stop, and she shifted to park, killing the engine after cracking the windows for fresh air. Well,
fresher
air.

Something in David’s front yard caught her eye, and Randy noticed the concern crossing her face.

“Do you want me to check it out?” he asked, reaching for the passenger door handle.

She thought for a moment, thumbing her lip. Then she leaned forward, tugging her Sig Sauer P238 from her waistband. Her gaze never left the yard. “No,” she said hesitantly. “I’ll go.” She needed to satiate her curiosity. See for herself. The whole point of the trip was to ensure David’s safety. She’d rather look with her own eyes, firsthand, and not glean the news from Randy’s reaction and body language. “Stay here. Will only take a second.”

“I’ll cover you.”

She frowned, but nodded her acknowledgement.

Randy stepped out, the small car rocking under his huge frame. Leaving the door open, he perched the rifle on the roof of the car, one foot planted inside to steady himself.

Jessica inhaled a breath of courage and confidence. She told herself that none of the bodies in the yard were David. Over and over, she repeated this until she’d convinced herself of the mantra’s truth. Then, she stepped from the car and into the street.

The block was deserted for the most part. And quiet. Eerily so. Not even a chirping bird. It bothered her, this vacuum of inactivity. Made her feel like the last person on earth. She reset her grip on the tiny semi-automatic sidearm, then counted down.

Three, two—

After looking both ways, her feet were in motion, crossing the street. She spotted one perambulating figure farther down the road, one they’d seen on the way in, but she’d be safely back behind the wheel before it ever reached her. Dismissing it, she hopped the curb, mincing to the first of three bodies.

She was lightheaded, and blamed her recent illness and medications. Then it dawned on her that she’d stopped breathing, holding her own breath hostage. She blew out the used up air her lungs had naturally tainted and stole a good gulp of the fresh stuff. Her body thanked her by clearing her vision and mind.

Since she’d been laid up with a urinary tract infection for the better part of two weeks, she was behind the curve in dealing with the new realities and threats of the world. No previous experience in the medical field or law enforcement or even the military steepened that learning curve. Dead and decaying bodies, especially walking ones, rattled her quite a bit. Just like now.

A shuddering breath blew over quivering lips. She continued her mantra.

It’s not David, it’s not David, it’s not David, it can’t be David, it won’t be David, it—

Whatever happened to these corpses, to these strangers, had happened simultaneously. They died as a group, the bodies clustered together for the most part, which made it easier to identify them with one cursory glance.
 

Her throat burned with bile, not so much from the sight than from the smell. Of course, seeing dead people bothered her immensely. How could it not? It was just that in the scalding afternoon heat, the cooking corpses reeked, and she could taste the rancid air. Actually
taste
it. And for some strange reason, she thought back to when her refrigerator had gone out while she had vacationed. That bad mayonnaise (it had already expired) and week-old raw hamburger meat. She should have known better than to unscrew that top and take a whiff, poke at the package. Damn curiosity. Just had to check. Another shudder.

Turning away, she shook her head at Randy. She could see his shoulders visibly slump in relief from across the street. Still, the inevitable questions of what happened here and where her cousin was fought for top billing in her swimming mind.

She considered for a moment going inside, checking the house. Judging by the looks of things, if he was around, he’d be in there. He certainly wasn’t outside in the yard. And she hadn’t seen him gallivanting around town or the countryside, though that was still a possibility. His house occupied the older, east side of town, so driving in the way they came, they avoided most of Jayville. Maybe he’d gone farther into the actual town.

Instead, she told herself they’d just missed him, and he was well on his way back to the Alamo. Gauging the layout of the land, she highly doubted that, though. They would have passed each other, or even blocked each other’s ways. The Dodge wasn’t exactly an undercover, low profile kind of vehicle.

Staring at the house, ruminating, she didn’t hear Randy approach. His touch on her elbow sent her hopping like a cat prepared to spend one of its nine lives.

“Jesus, Randy. Scared the shit out of me.”

He backed up a step, showing one palm. “Sorry. You seemed dazed, so I thought I’d check on you.” He looked at the bodies sprawled on and around the walk. “Knifed.” He sounded like he was trying to impress her with his street cred.

“Huh?”

He pointed with his rifle. “Killed with a knife. See the wounds? Stabbed in the eye sockets. That one in the temple.”

Her eyes immediately followed the barrel of the gun, but she looked away just as quickly.
Hmm
, was all she could manage, the flow from her stomach tickling and scratching at her throat again. She shooed a fly.

“Doesn’t look like he’s here,” he said, though he didn’t sound entirely convinced. “He told you he was coming here, to his house?”

She simply nodded.
 

“Truck’s not here,” he added, stating the obvious.

She started up the walk toward the porch.

“Where are you going?” Randy fell in step behind her, clutching his rifle while tossing glances to either side, paranoid of an undead ambush.

“May as well check inside while we’re here.”

“Didn’t the Janitor suggest we just, you know, hang out in the car? Keep an eye out for him? Let him get whatever out of his system?”

She stopped and turned, aggravation seeping into her tone and creeping onto her face. She and David shared many traits, especially in the temper department. The Morris family line was so well endowed with anger issues that friends joked her and David had gotten in line twice when God was handing out tempers.
 

“Randy, the Janitor ain’t here. And it ain’t
his
cousin or
his
friend out here, neither. It’s ours. Yours and mine.” She punctuated the statement with a disappointed look, as if to say she shouldn’t even have to tell him that.

His head dipped forward, his beard ruffling above twisted lips.
 

Jessica continued, “I’m sure the Janitor or Gabriel or whatever he calls himself is a swell guy and all, but we need to watch out for our own.”

“Lenny says the Janitor is on the up-and-up.”

Jessica pressed forward, “I’m sure he is.” And she meant it.

Lightening their footfalls, they ascended the steps. As they neared the front door, Randy raised his rifle. They traded glances.

Randy spoke first, his voice just above a whisper. “Wonder if …”

Jessica started to reach for the splintered doorjamb, pulling back her hand just short of it. “Definitely kicked in,” she said, her voice low. With her forefinger, she drew air-circles around the carnage. “See the boot mark?” she asked, though it didn’t require remarkable acumen to ascertain what had gone down here.

Thank you, Captain Obvious.

A nod, sweat diving off the end of his nose. Jess wondered how much perspiration was heat induced and how much was stress and nerves.

Randy tossed his head back toward the car. “Maybe we should hold off, give it a few.”

Nerves
, she thought.
Definitely nerves.

Curling and re-curling her fingers around the handle of her Sig, she bent her knees slightly, bouncing, preparing and psyching herself as she reached out to twist the doorknob.

“Wait,” Randy whispered. Heavy breaths blew over his beard.

She froze mid-bounce, knees bent, arm outstretched, gun drawn. She twisted her head slowly.
What?
she mouthed.

He propped the rifle, butt on the porch, between his knees. Then he wiped his palms vigorously on his jeans and shirt, drying them as best he could.

She couldn’t tell if he was stalling or legitimately preparing himself.

“Okay,” he said finally. He lifted the rifle, aimed it at the door, and gave one full nod—up, down, center.

She dipped her chin once, then counted off with her fingers.

One … two … three
.

She gave the brass doorknob a quick spin, though the act was pointless. It no longer functioned as originally designed thanks to some vandal’s boot heel. Next, she shoved the door, and it swung only two or three inches before abruptly bumping something beyond the threshold. An unforgiving something. A heavy something. The door shuddered on its hinges

Both of them froze for a moment, glanced at each other. Listened. She gave the door a soft push with her finger, and it responded identically as before, traveling a few inches, stopping, bouncing back. This time, an eerie squeak reminiscent of a haunted house scratched the air.

Whispering, Jessica said, “Something in front of the door.” She pointed for emphasis.

“Back to the car?” Randy asked.

She twisted her lip in thought and consideration. If the door was blocked from the inside, chances were good that whoever had blocked it would still be inside.

“Let’s find another way.”

Relieved, Randy wiped his brow, and they turned from the door.
 

David was working as fast as his beat up body would allow. But it wasn’t fast enough for Sammy. Or good enough.

“Deeper,” Sammy said, pointing his pistol toward the hole David thought he’d finished digging. “You ain’t done. Far from it.” He held a bloody towel to what remained of his ear.

Working the shovel was killing David’s fractured wrist even though he’d switched grips to dig left-handed. The awkward approach left him stumbling half the time, his balance thrown off kilter, each leg questioning the other.