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

The man walked several paces away from the pool before finally setting the terrified child in the burnt-up grass. Bryan did not turn around; he feared a spanking, or worse.

Behind the boy, leather creaked, the sound of someone making himself shorter. Bryan’s heart slammed a ferocious, fearful beat. Punishment was coming. Maybe a belt. He wanted to run, to get away. Far away. Hide under a bed. He shuddered, the memory of the stinging switch his grandpa often used on his backside fresh on his mind. He feared the switch, even more than the belt.

He flinched at the hand on his shoulder.

“You okay, Bryan?” The man’s voice was surprisingly soft, gentle. It didn’t sound mad or upset. And it rode on a heavy drawl, an accent that Bryan remembered from somewhere else. He hadn’t heard this voice in several days. Wasn’t sure at that time if he’d ever hear it again. But he remembered it, had definitely heard it before.
 

Chancing a scolding, the boy turned slowly to face the man crouched behind him, to face that familiar voice. The stranger smiled, his wide-brimmed hat casting a shadow across his face. Bryan wondered why this man wore such a big, long coat in the summer. He finally decided it was to hide the two guns he recalled seeing before.

Dropping his eyes, the boy answered the question with small, tight nods.

The man patted the boy’s leg with the lightest touch. “No scratches? No bites?”

 
Bryan shook his head, the stubborn little sprig of hair that would never lie down bobbing about.

The stranger’s smile widened, and he smoothed his wispy mustache while giving the boy another once over before standing, satisfied. “That’s good, Bryan. That’s very good.” He glanced around.

Bryan felt the need to explain himself, to make an excuse, but the words were stuck, choking him. He felt water in his eyes, and he blinked, not wanting to cry in front of this man or his friends in the pool.

Still glancing around, the man in the black coat and black hat held a hand to Bryan, silently urging him to take it.

Bryan hesitated.

“It’s okay, Bryan.”

The boy brought this hand to his brow again as he tried to look up at the cowboy man towering above him. He could no longer see the stranger’s face, and his eyes hurt from the stinging sun and unused tears. He wished he had his Batman sunglasses.

“Come with me, Bryan. Take my hand.” The man in the hat seemed to be in a hurry to get going now that he knew Bryan was okay.

Pressing his lips into a thin line, Bryan stood there, unmoving. He thought about what his parents had told him, to not go with strangers. But David said that if he knew someone’s name, then they weren’t a stranger anymore. Bryan had trusted David, and David was a nice man. He remembered this cowboy’s name. The man had told him while Bryan waited in the big truck for David to come back that day, on the side of the road. Doctor Holliday. Bryan still wasn’t sure what the name meant, why this doctor only worked holidays. But maybe this Doctor Holliday was a nice man, too.

The doctor who worked holidays crouched in front of him, and he laid his hands gently on Bryan’s shoulders. He tossed another quick glance behind him, then said, “Do I scare you, son?”

A shallow head shake.

“Do they scare you?” the man asked, dipping his chin toward the pool.

Another shallow shake.

The man’s eyes narrowed, as if thinking hard about something. “How curious.” Another glance around. “Would you like to help me with something?”

A glimmer lit Bryan’s eyes. Or it may have been a left over tear.

Doctor Holliday said, “Something fun?”

Bryan nodded a slow nod, the ghost of a smile tugging his lips. He started to relax a little. He was feeling better about this Doctor Holliday.

“I could really use your help, Bryan. Do you like presents?”

The corners of Bryan’s mouth curved skyward, and he nodded more enthusiastically this time, the stubborn sprig of hair dancing about.

“Do you believe in Santa Claus, Bryan?”

A full smile this time, another emphatic nod.

“I have a present I need to deliver, just like Santa Claus. But Santa doesn’t deliver during the summer. Therein lies my conundrum.” The cowboy scratched his chin, his eyes wandering to the sky, thinking. He snapped his fingers. “I know. Could you help me deliver it? Just like Santa Claus would? I’m sure you’d land on his ‘good boy list’ if you were to help.”

Another energetic nod. He’d forgotten all about being in trouble, his lost shoe, the broken stick. Tug-o-war. Instead, he was excited at the prospect of helping this man who smelled of leather and sweat and looked like a cowboy.

“I’ll help you, Doctor Holliday,” Bryan said, a smile in his voice.

“That’s wonderful, Bryan. Truly wonderful.”

Doc pressed to his feet again, taking Bryan’s hand into his own. And Bryan let him.
 

Bryan held the box tightly against his chest, his heart thumping it like a drum. Doctor Holliday had trusted him with it, emphasized how important the box was.

This is extremely important, Bryan. Can you be sure this gets to David?

Yes, sir.

Are you sure? You’ll give it to no one else?

No.

No, you aren’t sure, or no, you’ll give it to no one else?
 

Um, I’m sure… and I’ll give it to David. Nobody else.

Good boy, Bryan. Good boy.

It made Bryan happy, this special delivery. He felt important, needed. He liked Alamo Assisted Living and Retirement, sliding up and down the slippery halls in his socks, playing with his puppy, Charlie. Games of tug-o-war. But like any other kid, he got bored, craved something new, different. Exciting.

He wanted to shake the box, to hear the secret inside. But Doctor Holliday had warned him not to, said the contents were too important. Said they were
fragile.
Bryan wasn’t sure what
fragile
meant.
 

That means breakable, Bryan
.
What’s inside can break easily.
 

Of course, this made Bryan curious. He’d often shook presents at Christmas time or on his birthday, and he’d never broken one; he was sure some of those had been
fragile
.
 

Doctor Holliday had also said something else, but under his breath, like he thought Bryan couldn’t hear. But Bryan
did
hear. Something about David’s
fragile
heart breaking when he opened the present. He didn’t know what the doctor was talking about, what he meant.
 

He decided not to shake the package.

He continued holding it tight, listening to Doc’s words over and over in his head.

Don’t open the box, okay, Bryan? And don’t shake the box. See that only David gets the present. No one else. Okay?
 

Okay, Doctor Holliday.

And you can just call me, ‘Doc.’

Okay… Doc.

Bryan could handle it, would show Doc he could trust him.

Trustworthy
.

Bryan would prove himself
trustworthy
. He’d heard that word before, from his grandpa. That word, he understood.

Maybe if he did good carrying this special present to David, Doc would come back and ask him to deliver another. Bryan was enjoying playing Santa Claus. People smiled when they talked about Santa Claus. He made people happy. Bryan wanted to make people happy, just like Santa. He smiled at the thought.

Like hands tugging the reins on a horse, curiosity yanked him, and his pace slowed. He really wanted to know what was sealed inside the cardboard, what he was carrying.

What was David’s present? I want to know! I want to know!

He was approaching the loading dock, at the back of the building. He’d have to go in this way because the Alamo’s front doors were locked. The man named Roy had told him so. That same man had let him out through the back door beside the dock, said he’d leave it unlocked for Bryan.
 

The adults will be busy, Bryan. Council meeting. It’s safe inside the fence. Just don’t go outside the fence.

And Bryan hadn’t gone outside the fence, had stayed behind that barrier that looked like jail bars. He had obeyed Roy, until Doc gave him permission to go into the forbidden field with him. Took the boy to his truck. Doc was an adult, said it was okay. Bryan was sure Roy would be fine with this.

Bug-B-Gone.

That’s what the sign on the pickup truck said. It had made Bryan giggle, the funny cartoon bug running away from the spray can with arms and legs… and a goofy grin.

Then he stopped, looking all along the steel rods that kept them in, others out. And he wondered just how Doc had managed to get inside.

He’s an adult, of course.

Of course. The adults could get in and out through the gate. It was much too heavy for Bryan, no way he could ever slide the massive metal gate to the side so he could go for a walk in the field, where he was forbidden.

Forbidden
.

That was the word the Janitor had used. Bryan hadn’t asked yet to go out into the field and play, though he wanted to. It looked fun. Four big mountains of dirt with grass growing out of them like an old man’s hair rose out of the ground. There was a bulldozer and some other machines sitting around like jungle gym toys just waiting, begging to be climbed on. He and Charlie could have lots of fun crawling on and around those.

He was especially interested in the tennis courts, just beyond the mounds of earth. The pool near the building was fun, sure. No doubt about it, as his grandpa used to say. On the tennis courts, he could bounce a ball, climb the chain-link fence, jump the nets—all like he did at school. And he wouldn’t have to worry about Charlie running off, getting lost. He’d keep the gate door closed to be sure, just like the adults. Maybe if he promised to do this, like the big main gate stayed closed, the Janitor would let him play on the tennis courts. He bet Doc would let him.

Before he and Charlie could play on the tennis courts, though, the adults would have to take out all those extra people, first. Put them in the pool with the rest of his tug-o-war friends. Right now, there was no room for him or Charlie in there. An even bigger group of ‘friends’ was busy playing behind the tennis court fences. He wanted to play tug-o-war with them, too. Not leave them out of the fun. But the field—and the tennis courts—were
forbidden
.

Bryan wondered if he’d have to go back to school when summer was over, wondered if—

“Ow, ow, ow,” he hissed to no one, hopping on one foot.

He didn’t want to, had promised Doc he wouldn’t, but he had to set the important box down for a minute, a slight detour on his Christmas-in-July delivery mission. Something had pinched his shoeless foot. He tried to be tough, just like David, but he couldn’t ignore it. He decided he would leave this part out, about stopping to check his foot.
 

Bryan really wanted to get his shoe back from his pool friends, but he’d been too nervous to ask Doc about it. Besides, the man seemed in a hurry to get the box to David, and Bryan’s friends were still playing keep-away with the shoe. They seemed to like them a lot—both the shoe and the game.
 

Knowing time was important—‘
critical
’ was the word Doc used—Bryan sat on the concrete and tweezed at his sock, removing the offending sticker burr in a hurry. He drew in a shallow breath through clenched teeth, and a tiny dot of blood showed up on his dirty sock. It still hurt a little, but at least the sticker was out.

Interest in his foot slowly trumped that of the box. He wondered how bad the hole was, how much it would bleed. Deciding he was just being a baby, he stood, flicking the burr toward the gate. He tested his foot, slowly shifting his weight onto it.

Better.

Satisfied with his handiwork, he snatched the box, climbed the dock stairs to the door that led into the warehouse. Beyond the double-doors would be the hallway, then finally David’s room by the nurses’ station. It was time to hurry, he reckoned. Doctor Holliday had said he’d watch Bryan to be sure he made it through the gate. Once inside, though, it was up to Bryan. He was on his own.
 

I know you’re tough. You can do it.

Bryan had smiled at this.

Shifting the package to one arm, he tugged the heavy door open just enough for him and the package to slip through, and entered the warehouse. He couldn’t wait to see David’s face.
 

* * *

Even before the massive door clanked shut, shoving Bryan in the back like some playground bully, he heard the hissing whispers. His pupils fought to catch up with his ears in the wan warehouse light, the brightness of day hanging on tight. Robbed him of sight, allowing only ebbing shadows to mix with the fiery outlines of the outside still emblazoned on his vision.

Somewhere, off to his left, a stack of boxes fell, and he flinched. A scuffing sound against the smooth cement floor. More whispers. A cough. And a smell. A strange smell. One he wasn’t familiar with.

His heart on high alert, he strained to see, his ears and nose telling him scary things. Things that his grandpa used to tell him weren’t really there. Things that were just in his imagination.

Imagination.

Another word he liked, enjoyed saying.

It’s in my… imagination.

But his imagination seemed awfully real right then, and he considered pushing back against the door that had pushed him so rudely, and wait outside for a bit. Let the shadows stop talking and go away. Maybe one—or more—of his tug-o-war friends had decided to play in the warehouse. Decided to play another game.

Hide and go seek.

Another cough, from the same area. A figure emerged. A scary silhouette. Then another.

Bryan’s eyes were still telling lies. His throat felt fat, like he hadn’t chewed his food all the way before swallowing. Or evil hands had found his neck.

The two figures moved closer.