Dead South Rising (Book 2): Death Row (10 page)

I’m rubber, you’re glue, what bounces off of me,
kills you…

No, David fully acknowledged his own hypocritical history, saw it for what it was. Clear as motherfucking day, it was. And this—the fact that he recognized it clear as motherfucking day—actually scared him more than the dead roaming about and trying to take a bite out of him. He’d been bitten, alright. Bitten by the denial bug. He couldn’t claim he didn’t know. Couldn’t claim ignorance. Play dumb. Wouldn’t work here.

Can’t deny it.

And something else dug into his physically and emotionally abused gut. A realization that he never saw coming. He himself had become a liability. The same sort of liability he’d accused Mitch of being, warned Randy not to become—a reckless, unpredictable, deadly liability. A danger to others, to himself. The clouds of culpability gathered within him, prepared to unleash a sadistic shitstorm. He’d become what he’d tried so hard to destroy.

A critical decision stared him in the face, and he knew the answer to the question before it was ever asked.

“I’ll leave,” David said, a bluntness bouncing off the walls in the tiny room.

“Leave?”

A slow, deliberate nod.

After a doubtful, questioning look, the Janitor said, “Wasn’t gonna be my first suggestion.”

“The demons, Gabe. You were right about the demons.”

Gabriel just nodded, saying nothing more.

“Fuck, a bunch, of this, shit,” Mallory said as Lenny dropped another box on top of the two he was already holding. Now three boxes high, he could barely see over the top of the stack.

“Yeah,” TJ said, “y’all are being total assholes about this. At least hook us up with a box of ganja to go with the rest of the shit.”

Mallory laughed his annoying hyena heckle of a laugh, and Lenny cringed as the cackle seemed to catch in the warehouse walls and rafters, stuck there to forever haunt him.

Laura stood beside TJ, arms crossed, foot tapping. Lenny extended a box to her, and she refused it.

“Janitor’s being generous,” he said. “I’d take it if I’s you.” He pinched his shirt to fan himself as he held the box to her.

Laura huffed. “Do y’all have any idea what it’s like out there? All the deadies roaming around and shit? May as well just point a gun at us and shoot us. Same damn difference.”

“Deadies? That what you call ‘em?”

Toby Jack nodded. “Fucking A. That’s what they are. What do you call ‘em?”

“Rattlers. Eels if they get through the fence bars.” Lenny nudged Laura with the box, and she reluctantly took it.

Mallory peeked over his cardboard tower and said, “Why can’t we just stay, home skillet? We’ll help. Do our watch and shit. Smoke our shit outside.”

Lenny stopped reaching for another box, stood straight and tall, arms akimbo, exhaling a rumbling breath. He resembled a tall oak tree. “You all just don’t get it, do ya?”

“Get what, dude?”

“You three… you all’s dangerous. Just as dangerous as them… them… deadies, as you calls ‘em.”

TJ flashed a pained expression. “What a shitty, hurtful thing to say, man. Comparing us to… to them?”

“Yeah,” Mallory said, “what a hurtful thing to say to us, big dude.”

Twirling one of her pigtails, Laura asked, “Well, can we at least have a car? And some guns? Huh?” She batted her eyelashes at Lenny.

A sigh, then, “Already give you enough food for a week, and then some.”

“Oh, and we need a box of medicine, too,” Mallory said. “Case we, you know, get sick or something. Like some Vicodin, Oxycodin, Ambian… you know, basic cold medicine shit.” He smiled dopily, staring straight at Lenny, pupils barely peeking over the cardboard.

“This is what you getting. Be glad for it.”

“Gee, thanks, Dad,” said TJ.

Laura said, “So… about that car and those guns?”

“What’d you use before?”

“We didn’t,” she answered. “Why do you think we were so happy to find y’all?” She pointed to the door propped open beside the main vertical-rolling dock door that trucks would have used for deliveries, had the world not ended first. “I’m telling you, man. It’s tough going out there. And not just the deadies. People suck, man. Run you off. Curse at you. Shoot at you… and not necessarily in that order.”

Mallory chimed in from behind the stack of supplies in his arms, shades tucked in his wiry hair. “Yeah, big dude. People rude as all get out. Waving guns at us, and shit. Rude ass motherfuckers.”

“Yeah,” TJ added, “I used to think people were
good
. You know, like watched out for each other.” He shook his head solemnly, eyes to the floor. “Guess I was wrong. Dead wrong.” He lifted his accusatory glower, locking Lenny’s gaze.

Again, Lenny sighed. Uncertainty pricked him. Perhaps he’d been too quick to judge them, punish them by sending them back out to fend for themselves. He believed it was the right thing to do, for the good of the group. The existing group, anyway. His instincts, which were usually dead on, told him as much. Pleaded with him not to change his mind. Now, his finger was toying with the override button.

Lenny said, “You done got three strikes.”

Laura shot a quizzical glance at him. “How so?”

The big man held up one finger. “You left your post.” He held up another finger. “You put a little boy in danger.” Another finger. “You shot someone—killed ‘em—when we said not to. Three strikes. You out.”

“Technically,” Mallory said, “it should only be one strike. The leaving the post thing and the kid thing really go together. And you can’t kill someone who’s dead already. So, subtract two, big dude.” He actually had the audacity to smile, and another stupid giggle slipped over this lips.

“Three,” Lenny reiterated. “You… are… out.” He pointed at one of them with each word uttered.

TJ waved his hand, a flash of anger crossing his face. “You know what, man? Fuck you. Fuck you and fuck the old man and fuck your fat ass friend and fuck all you people and everyone here. Y’all are just a bunch of cold, heartless assholes. We ain’t done nothing to you people. We’ve done exactly whatever the fuck you asked us to do. But do we even get so much as a ‘thanks’? Fuck no. Not a goddamned ‘thank you’ or ‘good job for killing that fucker’ or nothing.” He breathed heavy, deep breaths. “Why the fuck can’t you motherfuckers just be thankful, huh? Quit being judgmental, holier-than-thou, and shit. Christ, man. All we ask for is a safe place to stay, food to eat, water to drink—”

“Pot to smoke,” Lenny interjected.

TJ crossed his arms tightly over his chest. “Judgmental fuck, like I said. It’s all we got left in this fucked up world. Something to make us feel good again, you know? Pot never hurt nobody. How many bar fights you hear about where the people were high, huh? How many traffic accidents? How many domestic violence calls? Huh? Shit, man. Pot smokers’re the tamest bunch around.” He waved his hand dramatically in the air. “Oh, well, we eat more than our share. Eat up all your precious fucking snacks. ‘Oh, no, dude! Hide the fucking Pringle’s, man! Oh, shit! Gonna eat all our Twinkies!’ Well excuse the fuck outta me.” He shook his head. “Give me a motherfucking break.” Then, wagging his finger, “The drunks. The alcoholics… those are the motherfuckers you gotta worry about. Not the potheads.”

Lenny said, “Ain’t just about that, man. I done told you, if you’ve listened. You put folks in danger.” He shook his head. “Can’t have that. Won’t have that. I’m sorry it’s tough out there, but you all’s gots to go.”

Laura shoved Lenny. Or at least attempted to shove him. The big man didn’t budge, not an inch. Like a gnat flying into a concrete pillar. Her insignificant stature couldn’t make a dent in his physical space. “You’re a bastard.” She looked around, pigtails whipping with quick snaps, then said, “Fine, we’ll leave. We’re as good as gone. You fucks don’t want us here? Then don’t worry about us. We’ll make it just fine. And when you assholes”—she practically ran her finger up his nose—“need help, you can go fucking find it somewhere else, ‘cuz we sure as hell ain’t gonna help ya.”

Lenny’s nostrils flared, the normally docile, hard-to-excite man visibly unsettled.

Mallory shifted the load in his arms, then said, “Let us talk to the old dude. Give him our side of the story.”

“Ain’t happening. He got more important things he’s tending to.”

Laura slapped her thigh. “Oh, so now we’re not even important enough to get five minutes of the old man’s time? How fucking swell is that? I think
you
don’t want us here.”

“Yeah,” TJ chimed. “You, uh, a little prejudiced there, big guy? Maybe a little, oh, I don’t know, hard feelings from back in the—”

“Don’t you even go down that road,” Lenny said. “Ain’t about race, ain’t about religion, ain’t about sex, ain’t about none of that. And you all’s small-minded folks if you thinks it is.”

“Then what’s it about? Huh? Bet you can’t even tell us—”

“It’s about surviving and not surviving,” Lenny said with no hesitation. “Simple as that. None of that other stuff matters. Not at all. You three… you all’s ignorant. Plain ignorant. And being ignorant’ll kill ya.”

“Bet he can’t even spell ‘ignorant,’” Toby Jack quipped.

“Oh, I can spell it, alright. I can also hear it, smell it, and see it—and I’m looking right at it. And it stinks.”

The trio just gawked at Lenny for a moment, without retort. Maybe it was what Lenny said, or perhaps the way he said it. Or, could have been the look he gave them. Whatever the case, their virulent lips fell silent, the fight seemingly emptied out of them in an instant, drained like oil out of a car, their malicious engines seized.

“So that’s it,” Laura said flatly.

Leonard nodded. He almost said he was sorry, but it would have been a lie. Lenny was no liar.

“Wow. Hope we never run into you again, man.”

Toby Jack reached around Lenny, snatching another box. “C’mon, y’all. Let’s get the fuck outta here.” He muttered something else, though it was indiscernible to anyone else.

The trio started toward the door.

“Hold up,” Lenny said.

Tennis shoes squeaked on smooth cement. Mallory almost lost his towering load.

“What?” Laura said, a newfound urgency in her tone. “We’ve got places to go.”

“Just… just hold up another second. I’ll see’s about getting you some weapons. To protect you all’s selves.”

The three stood by the door, trading glances, then Laura nodded hesitantly. “Alright, man.”

TJ said under his breath, “The least you could fucking do.”

Lenny opted to ignore the last comment, instead listening intently to his own gut. Despite a sincere dislike for the three of them, and despite his eagerness to send them on their way, he didn’t feel right about sending them out defenseless. “Be right back. Just wait here. You can do that, right?”

“Yeah, we can do that,” Laura answered.

And they did.

* * *

The Janitor was just exiting Roy’s room when Lenny spotted him. The old man’s eyes looked weary, overburdened. Leonard didn’t study politics, nor did he care much for councils and the like. Thought they sucked the life out of a man, caused folks’ hair to turn gray—or worse, turn loose.

As he approached the old man, he considered not requesting the wanted weapons for the stoner trio. Probably a bad idea, given their careless and blatant lack of attention to assigned instruction. And their attitudes sucked. Most likely end up shooting themselves, anyway. But something scratched at his conscience, bringing beads of guilty blood as he strode down the hall. And he realized he just couldn’t do it, couldn’t send the three of them bare-handed back into a world that played much more unfair than ever before. No, not without a fighting chance. Besides, if they did manage to kill themselves, it’d be of their own volitional stupidity.

“Janitor.”

Gabriel lifted his gray eyes from the gleaming floor, aimed them at the hulking man headed his way. “Lenny. Everything okay?” The exhaustion in his tone mirrored that of his gaze.

“Janitor, listen. I hates to bug you. I know we gots bigger things going on.” He nodded at Roy’s room, acknowledging the most recent crisis. “But them three stoners…”

“They giving you trouble?”

“Nothing I can’t handle, but they’s asking for guns. And a car. I didn’t figure on no car, but… well… I’d feel mighty bad if they couldn’t defend theyselves from rattlers…”
Or other people.

Gabriel’s hand found its familiar perch on his chin, and rubbed. With all the chin-rubbing he’d done as of late, he’d make it clear to the bone by evening. He thought for a moment, gaze scouring the hall as the mental cogs spun, their axles loose and wobbly. After a moment, he said, “We can spare a shotgun. Couple boxes of shells, too. They got knives or any sort of hand weapons?”

 
“Don’t know about knives. Don’t think so, though.”

Waving his hand dismissively, the Janitor added, “Ah, hell, give ‘em each a knife.”

Lenny nodded, started to turn away to fetch the shotgun and shells.

“Lenny?”

He stopped, turned around to face the Janitor.

“Do you feel… safe… here?”

He looked at the Janitor for a long moment, gathered that the old man was driving at a deeper concern, but decided to dodge his drift. “I believe so. Them fences is strong and the courts seem to be holding—”

The Janitor shook his head while slicing the air with his hand. “No, no, no. I don’t mean from the rattlers.” He tossed a look down the hall, then leaned in closer, lowering his voice. “Do you feel safe here… with ourselves?”

Lenny frowned. He’d certainly feel safer once the druggie trio left, but he strongly suspected—
knew
—that the Janitor didn’t have them in mind. Nor was he referring to David’s group. “You mean the Infirmaries?”

Gabe’s lip curled to the floor slightly, and he nodded.

“I don’t believe like they do, but I’s being careful ‘bout what I says around them.”

The old man laid a hand on Lenny’s shoulder. “I know it’s tough for you, everyone not getting along. As much as I need the overt support, I think it’s wise and smart, you keeping somewhat in the middle. Playing your poker face like you’re doing. For now, at least. I just… I don’t feel right about things, where they’re headed.”