Dead South Rising (Book 2): Death Row (5 page)

After he rounded the corner, she started down the hall in the opposite direction, toward David’s room beside the nurses’ station. She really hoped he’d talk to her today. Since returning from their run-in with the two banditos, their chats skewed predominately to one side, and she really didn’t feel like carrying the conversation. She was feeling especially sensitive and grief stricken.

Call me a murderer. The fucking nerve Roy has.

As she neared David’s room, she didn’t slow, but kept going, rounding the corner, instead. Perhaps she just wasn’t in an altruistic mood, or have the strength to deal with two sets of emotions. She and David were so much alike…

She tossed around casual glances, the hall strangely quiet given the mass exodus from the conference room mere minutes ago. It was a rather strange place, the Alamo. Folks kept mostly to themselves, except when working on a project together.

Like herding shufflers into fences and pools.

Appalling. That’s what that was. Downright disgusting. Sick. And utterly dangerous. What if those things got out? Then what? Was someone going to just hop on their horse and spin a lasso above their head, roping the dead like calves at a rodeo? These people—these
Infirmaries
—they didn’t believe in killing shufflers, so they’d have to get their cattle prods and stun guns or whatever the hell they used, and ‘direct’ the dead back into their pens.

Outside the double warehouse doors, she spotted a peculiar sight.

What are you doing out here?

Putting her threatening tears and aggrieved feelings away, she walked up to the young boy with his ear pressed to the door, his back to her. He was oblivious to anyone around him.
 

Laying a hand on the boy’s shoulder, she said,
 
“Hey there, Bry—”

His poor little body jolted like she’d channeled 110 volts through it, and Jessica stifled a genuine giggle.
 

Covering her mouth, she said, “Oh, I’m so sorry, Bryan. I didn’t mean to scare you, sweetie.”

He looked as though he were about ready to cry.

She knelt before him, held him at arms’ length. “You okay, honey? I really didn’t mean to scare you or laugh at you.”

Bryan blinked away a tear, then ran his hand across his cheek. “It’s okay, Miss Jessica.”
 

“What are you listening to? We have pests in there?”

He swiped at his cheek again. “David’s present is in there.”

Raising a brow, she said, “Present?”

He nodded, stubborn sprig of hair bouncing.

“What sort of present?”

“It’s a surprise for David.”

“Oh,” she said, her question not really answered. “Well, why don’t we just go in there and get it? I’m sure a present would make David feel much better. Maybe help him get well faster.” She stood, her hand moving to the crown of his head. “I was just about to go check on him, anyway,” she lied.

“Lenny’s in there, talking to the bad people. He told me to wait out here.”

Her brow went high, a twinkle of concern danced in her eye. “The bad people?”

A nod.

Jessica had a pretty good idea of who Bryan was probably referring to. Was pretty positive, actually. The day after David’s near-death beating, a trio of troublemakers—she suspected as much, anyway—showed up at the Alamo. The same ones she and Randy had discussed only moments ago. She guessed they’d just run out of whatever they were smoking or sniffing or injecting, and had come looking for more.

She wasn’t one to judge folks on looks alone, but these people may as well have just tattooed ‘Addicts-R-Us’ on their foreheads. They reeked of alcohol and pot, reminded her of Mitch’s crowd. Jess was surprised when the Janitor allowed them to stay. Lenny didn’t think it was a good idea, outright opposed the invitation, even voiced his opinion right there in front of them. Maybe the Janitor and Lenny were playing good cop/bad cop or something, but Gabe overruled the big guy, laid down some ground rules, while the three vagabonds nodded stupidly like a box of Bobbleheads before the words had left the old man’s mouth.

Bryan referring to them as ‘bad people’ convinced her she was right about them. He’d barely had any interactions with them, that she knew of, and already he saw right through them.

“Three of them?” Jess asked Bryan.

He nodded.
 

“The girl with the dark hair and pigtails?”

Another nod.

“Two men, one with short hair and a beard, the other with red curly hair and aviator sunglasses?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Jessica tapped her chin. They were assigned to guarding the grounds. She wondered why they were in the warehouse and not outside where they were supposed to be. Of course, she assumed the worst, guessed that they were rummaging through the warehouse stores, looking for drugs. Stuff to make meth, probably. Even during the end of the world…

Laying a hand on Bryan’s shoulder again, she said, “Well why don’t we go wait somewhere else, okay?” Should things get ugly behind those doors, she really didn’t want Bryan to be around to hear it. Or worse, see it. The end of the world had enough abhorrent and detestable things—and people—in it
without
having to look.
 

His eyes flicked up at her, a panicked look on his face.
 

“We’ll come back, sweetie. I promise. You can get David’s present, and we’ll take it in to him together, okay?”

Heavy contemplation settled into his young, fresh features. Then, Bryan seemed to relax a bit, finally accepting the suggestion.
 

Jess held her hand to him, and he took it. “Okay. Let’s take a stroll.”

They started down the hall, hand in hand, covering only a few short steps when the door clanked open.

Jess turned. It was Leonard.

Relieved, she said, “Lenny. Everything okay?”

He twisted his lip, shook his head. “I dunno ‘bout them folks. They’s cut from a crooked cloth.”

“Those three new people?”

He nodded.

“Could not agree with you more.”

Lenny glanced at Bryan. “You okay, ‘lil man? They gives you trouble?”

Bryan hesitated, like he didn’t want to tattle, then said, “They tried to take David’s present away from me.”

“The box they says you took?”

The boy nodded.

“Uh-huh. I figured as much. Bunch a lying so-and-so’s. I think we oughta send ‘em packing.” He jabbed his thumb toward the warehouse door. “I smelled that wacky weed the second I walked through that door.”

Bryan giggled when Lenny said, ‘wacky weed.’

Smiling, Lenny said, “You know what the wacky weed is, son?”

Bryan smiled back, but wasn’t sure whether to nod or shake his head. He decided on a head shake.

“Well, it’s bad stuff, ‘lil man. Ain’t no good for ya. Especially when you gots to pay attention, keep your eyes good and peeled. They’s on watch, all high and stuff. They gonna get theyselves killed.”

“I think you’re right about that,” Jessica said.

“I know I am. I told the Janitor when they showed up that they’s gonna be nothing but trouble, and it’s already started.”

“They still in there?”

Lenny shook his head, “Naw, told ‘em they best get back on watch duty and quit picking on little kids, ‘cuz I’s about to start pushing them around and see’s how they like it.”

“Good for you, Lenny. Hope they peed themselves when you got in their faces.” She pulled in a quick breath, covering her lips, eyes wide at Bryan. He giggled.

The muscle man’s shoulders shook, huge grin spreading across his face as his deep laugh echoed through the hall. “I think ‘ole TJ did. Mallory’s too stoned to be scared.”

“May I get David’s present, please?” Bryan asked.

Lenny leaned over to tousle his hair. “You gots it, ‘lil man.”

Closure. David didn’t have it, but he desperately craved it. Needed it. He wasn’t sure how he’d get it, but he was sure that he couldn’t live without it. Tonic for his dehydrated soul.

His self-imposed mission of mercy and redemption had ended, the outcome questionable. He second guessed himself—triple guessed himself—his actions, his motivations. His fears. He’d hesitated when he should have acted, reacted when prudence would have prevailed. More questions, mistakes. Why he didn’t kill those two men, why he let them go. Twice. Freeing them was the right thing to do, of course. That was
why
. He wasn’t a killer. But they weren’t the ones he’d originally set out to free that second time around.
She
was.

Natalee.

He missed her terribly, his estranged wife. He didn’t care that she’d left him, had used blue ink and paper to tell him it was over. That they were done. He wasn’t ready to stop loving her, like she’d done so effortlessly. It wasn’t that easy for him, that simple. He had no switch, no button. No love batteries to remove, discard. Only a heart that still felt for her, beat… only for her.

He dismissed her cowardly proclamation, that their union was over, because she would always be his, and she’d proved it. She had come back, returned to him. Of course, he was lying to himself. She didn’t return to him. She had stopped by that day—the day the world died—to pick up something from the house, their home, not
intending
to stay. But she
did
stay, with the excuse that she was not feeling well. She didn’t
intend
to wake up dead, either.

Sick. She was
sick,
not dead
.

It was easy, telling himself lie after lie. The child and the man inside believed every last one. He was gullible like that, because he trusted himself. And why not? He knew himself better than anyone, that’s why. Lie away, El Jefe. Lie like the liar you are, because you believe you and everyone else does, too. Practice makes perfect, and you’re as perfect as they come.

Liar.

He ignored the knock at his door, wasn’t ready to face anyone just yet. He knew it wasn’t the doctor. Doctor Luz Gonzalez would knock, then immediately enter. She didn’t wait for him to answer. But others knocked, waited. When he didn’t answer, didn’t say,
come in
, he could hear them shuffle away inside a cloud of whispers.

He’s still sleeping. But it’s been almost three days. What did Dr. G. say? Coma? Exhaustion? Concussion? Let’s try again later. Give him time. He needs rest.

He sat there in bed, staring but not seeing anything beyond the bright glass. Nothing registered, his mind shackled by guilt and second chances out of reach. He pined for the past. His emotions, his existence—they were like a vehicle stuck in reverse, unable to move ahead. Force it forward, and the gears would grind away, or worse, snap in two, never to move again.
 

Another tear slipped from his eye. Another goddamned tear. He was tired of tears.

They came easily today, even more so than yesterday. His logical side said dehydration had held them back, sparing him. His emotional side said they’d been there all along, locked away, awaiting release. For the right time, if there were such a thing. Regardless, they were free now.

David touched the bandage that wrapped his head, the gauze covering one closed eye. Everything was still tender to the touch. Dr. Gonzalez said that Sammy and Guillermo had
done a number on him
. Beat his body badly. Given him a concussion. But she said David was strong, a fighter, and that he’d pull through. He guessed she told that to all her patients, her canned pep talk. David had no doubts he’d pull through. He just questioned whether he wanted to.

For Bryan’s sake, he’d asked Dr. Gonzalez to cover as many of his wounds as she could. Didn’t want the boy to see all his cuts, his plum of an eye, his battered and broken nose. The thread in his face. She obliged as best she could, saying she was going to anyway, after she stitched him up, closed his cuts.

The knock at the door persisted, and his lips thinned. He wished whoever it was would go away. He wasn’t done, too busy feeling sorry for himself, inflicting an internal beating Sammy and Gills could never deliver.

The door clicked, opened with a slow swing, dainty fingers curled around the edge.

“Knock, knock,” Jessica said, her voice soft and low.

David thumbed away the errant tear. His voice cracked. “Yeah.”

“Hey.” She smiled, almost apologetically. “Someone wants to see you—”

He turned his head back to the window, and gave a shallow head shake. “I don’t know, Jess.” A light cough. “I’m not really ready…”

Jessica cleared her throat, and Bryan stepped into the room, a sheepish smile on his face as he gripped a small cardboard box tightly against his chest.

“An
important
visitor,” she said, an urging in her tone and eyes.

David turned back, glanced at the boy and the box, then shot Jessica a look that begged,
later
,
let’s do this later
.
 

Her brows soared, eyes widened, a mother silently prodding her child.

Feigning enthusiasm, he acquiesced. “Hey there, champ.” It was less than convincing.

The boy looked up at Jessica, unsure, the vibe in the room an unpleasant one.

“Bryan brought you a present.”

A weak smile, a nod, then David turned his eye back to the window.

Jessica twisted her lips, sighed. Patting Bryan on the back, she started to steer him back into the hall, but stopped. “Here.” She reached for the box. “Let me take that. We’ll leave it for him so he can open it when he feels better, okay?”

Bryan hesitated, clutching the present. “It’s for David.”

“I know, sweetie. We’ll give it to him. Those bad people won’t take it again.”

The boy pressed to his tiptoes and whispered, as though he were telling the gods a secret. “I have to.”

She eyed him curiously. “He’ll get it. I promise.”

Reluctantly, his small hands released their grip, allowing Jessica to take the gift.

She crossed the room, set the box on the edge of the bed. She glanced back at Bryan, then told David, “Look, I know you’ve been through a lot. We all have. But, please, for the boy’s sake… he’s been eager to see you. He’s been so patient.”