Dead South Rising (Book 2): Death Row (27 page)

“Scared yet? Huh?”

Again, he pushed her forward, a teasing treat for the dead, and the ghoul lunged forward, groped. Denied once more, its arms came together against its own torso, snapping like an empty trap.
 

“Where you going, dahlin’?”

She’d found sure footing, scrambling in an attempt to flee his clutches. But her effort to break free was severely short lived. Doc’s grip still tight on her collar, he simply flung her around, mimicking the hammer throw at a track and field event, until she came full circle and again faced the vile beast.

Doc wanted her scared shitless. No, beyond shitless. He wanted her life passing before her eyes so brightly and so quickly that it scorched her retinas.
 

Burn, baby, burn.

That’s when he felt the sharp pain in his shoulder, the snappy
thud
against the leather that adorned his back, like a baseball hitting a catcher’s glove. And he heard something thump to the ground.

What the…? Was that a—

He’d only turned his head halfway around when he heard (more than felt) the next blow. Just below his temple, near his orbit. Stars exploded against a sudden black canvas. His skull rang like a thick, dampened bell, vibrating his teeth, his sinuses, his awareness. The strike was so sudden, so unexpected, that the pain had yet to register.

Doc felt the warmth of his own blood racing down the side of his head, his neck, into his collar. He swayed in his boots, and he blinked, desperately searching for focus. For sight. Already, his face was swelling.

Footsteps. Racing footsteps. Approaching quickly. Not a biter. Was too fast to be a biter. But someone
alive
. Someone who could throw rocks and throw them with precision.
 

He shuffled around to face his attacker, dropping the knife, his hands sliding against his coat as he tried to draw his guns. But Bessie and Bertha resided just beneath the long leather coat, on the inside. He finally managed to get his hands on their grips but it was simply too little, too late.

The last thing he saw before blacking out was the flash of an empty glass bottle racing toward his head. A familiar bottle that once consoled him as he cradled it, tipped it against his lips. Now in the hands of another, it dealt a crippling blow. Southern Comfort no more.

* * *

Jessica sat in the middle of the cramped path, her legs drawn up into her chest, arms wrapping them. She stared blankly at the dusty black heap only feet away. She couldn’t pull her gaze from it, her water-logged eyes locked on the blur of a body. Doc’s body. Her lip quivered, those last few horrible minutes playing over and over like some cruel gif, never to be forgotten.

She struggled to swallow, her saliva like sand. Never mind the smoldering in her neck and throat from an earlier fire, now doused.

The light was diminishing quickly beneath the thick umbrage above. The world had gone quiet, save for the noises that truly belonged in the woods during the late evening hours.
     

Taneesha kneeled on the ground beside her, rubbed her back. “It’s okay, girl. You okay. He ain’t gonna hurt ya.”

Taneesha’s words should have been comforting, calming. But Jessica found her vision blurring all over again. Her body shivered.

“You probably in shock,” Taneesha told her. “I ain’t no nurse, but we oughta get you back, quick-like. Get you checked out.”

On trembling legs, Jessica pressed to her feet, her gaze still on Doc’s leather-clad body. Her voice a scratchy mess, she said, “Is he… dead? Did you kill him?” She cleared her throat, brushing the bruises with her fingertips.

Please say yes. Please say you killed him.

Taneesha shook her head. “Naw. Knocked him the fuck out, though. Shitbag didn’t know what the hell hit him.” She chuckled, but a residual tremble remained. “Sure as hell gonna let him know when he finally wakes up.”

Jessica peered at the man who’d nearly choked the life out of her, barely noticed the rise and fall of working lungs. She wished Taneesha had killed him. Ended it. Wishful thinking.

Glancing around, she spotted another body several feet away, just off the path. She recognized it as the shuffler that Doc had tried to feed her to. Unlike her attacker, it was face down, its body completely still. No rise. No fall. She didn’t have to ask what happened to him. Despite burgeoning tears, she could make out the multiple knife wounds from a short distance.

“Bryan?” Jessica asked. “Is he okay?”

Taneesha nodded. “He’s fine. Had him head on up to the Alamo.”

“By himself? What if a shuffler—”

“Relax girl. Give the boy some credit.”

“I’m just…”

Taneesha patted Jessica’s shoulder again. “It’s okay to feel that way, girl. I don’t take no offense. I’d done chased him and that pup halfway to the Alamo when I noticed you wasn’t behind us no more. When I caught him, I told him to be super careful and go get help. Thought a rattler may have snuck up on ya. You had me scared, girl.”

“
I
had me scared.” Jessica managed a small smile. “Thank you, Taneesha, for coming back for me.”

Taneesha waved her off. “Aw, girl. Ain’t no worries. I know you’d’ve come back for me.”
 

Brushing her palms together, Jess said, “How’d you get the jump on him?”

“Throwed a couple of rocks at his sorry ass.”

“That knocked him out?”

“Naw. Got his attention, though. Knocked his ass out with that.” She pointed to the empty whiskey bottle on the side of the trail, then made a popping sound with her mouth.
 

Jess leaned over, getting a better look. The glass was slick, fresh blood obscuring the label. “Jesus,” she said.
 

“Never thought softball’d be a viable skill in real life, ya know?”

“You played softball?”

“Hells yeah, girl. Pitcher.” Taneesha mimed throwing an underhanded pitch.

“You hit him with an underhanded throw?” Jess didn’t know much about softball, but she did know softball and baseball pitchers threw differently.

Taneesha nodded again. “Yessum.” Gauging the skepticism crossing Jessica’s face, she added, “You ever seen any of them badass softball pitchers chuck a ball?”

Jessica shook her head, then winced, rubbing her neck. Her legs were starting to betray her, and she swayed slightly.

“Well,” Taneesha explained, guiding Jessica back to the ground, “I was one of them badass softball pitchers.” Then she smiled wide. “Pretty badass with a bat, too.”

Taneesha sat beside Jessica on the path.

Jessica’s gaze fell to an unconscious Doc. “I won’t argue that.” Dipping her chin at him, she asked, “So what do we do with him?”

“Tie his ass up, I guess. Torture him. Cut his nuts off and feed ‘em to him. Something.”

Jessica actually managed a grating laugh, her throat raw from Doc using her shirt collar as an impromptu garrote.

Jessica laughing actually got Taneesha giggling, which made Jessica laugh harder to the point of coughing out hoarse barks. That got Taneesha almost howling. They laughed so hard that they didn’t hear the voices. At least not at first.

The roses ain’t blue,

The violets ain’t red.

Inside the next box,

Will be your wife’s head.

—Your enemy in life and in death,

Doc

Enough of the box was still intact to identify its contents. Or rather…
remains.

Her heart. He was sure of it. David was no doctor or nurse or medical examiner. He was no pathologist or surgeon. Hell, he didn’t even do that well in biology, scraping by with a low ‘C.’ But he didn’t need to be any of those things. He’d seen enough pictures of the human heart to identify one. He’d watched the Discovery Channel a time or two and a few medical dramas. Even though he’d crushed the package with the soil compactor, he could still tell.

I’m so, so sorry. I broke your heart. Again.

He let the tips of his fingers brush it, and it was cold. In some sick, deep-seated desire, he wished it would beat again. Right there in his hands. At least it would give him… hope. Give him… something.

Beneath her heart, her other hand. Had to be. Except Doc had gotten creative, maliciously clever. Another message, no words written or spoken required. He’d folded down all her fingers except for one—her middle finger. A vicarious insult. David’s dead wife, shooting him the bird from beyond the grave, one last time. How fucking fitting.
 

Fuck you with all my heart.

David honestly didn’t know how much more he could endure. Life skirted the limits of existence. He wasn’t used to this, couldn’t imagine
anyone
having to go through this. Forfeiting his future crossed his mind more than once as he kneeled there in the curdling, pulpy death mire he’d created. Maybe he should have jumped off the machine while it was still rolling, and dived right into the gnashing drum. At least it would have been all over then.

He tried to think about something else. Anything else. Even
someone
else. That’s when he got help from somewhere else.
 

One by one, those still outside turned their attention toward the field, just beyond the fence he’d recently destroyed.

A boy. They’re saying something about a boy.
 

Still on his knees in the bloody morass, he turned to find Bryan in the distance, just outside the swath of destruction. He was calling out something, waving, all the while prodding his puppy along. Something seemed off.

David pressed to his feet, bits and chunks of flesh and organs dropping to the ground, his pants soaked through. Those stains would never come out, tattooed in the fabric, an everlasting reminder.

Lenny started toward the boy, slipping several times as he navigated the slick sections.

David hesitated. He didn’t want to leave Natalee. But he didn’t feel right scooping up her heart and hand, then talking to Bryan.
 

What’s that, kiddo? Well, sure, I’ll introduce you. Bryan, this is Natalee, my wife. Natalee, Bryan. Care to shake hands?

He couldn’t shield Bryan from the horrors of this world forever, but now was not the time to introduce the boy to his estranged and mutilated wife.
 

Scraping up the saturated cardboard and its contents, he dashed toward the Alamo’s front wall, high-stepping through the gore. He dropped off Doc’s package, then set off toward Bryan, wiping his bloody palms against his ruined pants. Catching up to Lenny, they stepped through the mauled section of steel, then crossed the mashed bodies, meeting the boy just on the other side.
 

Bryan’s eyes were wide, scouring the muddled mess, trying to process what he was looking at while Charlie sniffed and nuzzled it. David immediately tried to distract him. No telling what kind of impression such a scene could leave on a young child, if he could even fathom what he was actually witnessing.

David snatched up the puppy, handing off Charlie like a football to the boy. Then, David placed his hand on Bryan’s shoulder, turning the boy’s gaze away from the grotesque aftermath and back to the more serene setting of the field and forest.

Lenny rested his hand on his hatchet, head pivoting, watching for more of the undead while David queried Bryan.

“Bryan, what were you doing in the field? It’s dangerous. You know you’re not supposed to go out there.” He pointed to where the child had just come from.

Bryan gave David a perplexed look. “I wasn’t out there by myself. I was with Miss Taneesha and Miss Jessica.” Charlie squirmed in his arms, whimpering again, unhappy that David had scooped him up, playtime cut short.

David and Lenny traded glances.

Lenny said, “I told Taneesha to hide out ‘round the waterhole ’til we came and got ‘em. Wasn’t sure how all this was gonna play out.”

David nodded. “So… where are Taneesha and Jessica now?”

“Miss Taneesha told me to come find you. She said Miss Jessica might be in trouble.”

“Trouble?” David kneeled before the boy, Charlie trying to lick his face. “Bryan, what kind ”—another lick from Charlie—“what kind of trouble is Jessica in?”

The boy frowned, obviously disappointed in himself for not being able to answer his hero’s question. “She didn’t tell me. She just said to come and get help. Then she went back into the woods to help Miss Jessica.”

David and Lenny again exchanged worried glances. And he could tell Lenny was thinking the same thing he was.

Was it a shuffler? Did she get bit? Did it finally happen?

It couldn’t be. It just couldn’t. David could never live with himself if the last words spoken between him and his cousin were slathered in anger.

Get out.

It simply couldn’t end that way. With Natalee, their last conversation had been an argument. And that was putting it tamely. His last interaction with his daughter Karla had been less than pleasant as well. It couldn’t be that way with Jessica, too.

The Janitor walked up on the trio. “Everything alright?” He locked his gaze on David.

David stood, laying a blood-crusted hand on Gabriel’s arm. Urgency roiled his tone when he spoke. “You got this up here?” He was already moving his feet toward the tree line.

Gabe nodded. “Infirmaries already fighting and bickering among themselves. That little demonstration did it, Dave. Got ‘em thinking ‘bout things.”

“Good.” David was glad to hear it, but was anxious to get moving. “Listen, Jess and Taneesha might be in trouble—”

“Go, go,” the Janitor said, shooing them like flies. “I’ll watch Bryan.”

“Thanks,” David said. “And don’t let anyone touch that box against the front wall. I’ll get it later.”

A nod and another wave.

David called across the front courtyard. “Randy!” Then to Lenny, “You don’t happen to have a flashlight on you, do you?”

Lenny shook his head.

Turning his gaze to the darkening dusk, David added, “Still got a little daylight left. Ten, fifteen minutes tops, maybe. Hopefully won’t need one.”

“Right.”