Dead South Rising: Book 1 (28 page)

“High fences. Eight or ten feet high, like prison bars, all around the whole place. The building’s brick. They even built the thing to look kinda like the Alamo. The front of it, anyway.”

Skepticism morphed into intrigue, and David said, “It’s completely enclosed?”

Both Randy and Leonard nodded. Then Randy said, “I’ve only seen it in the dark, but from what I could make out, the fence was completely secure all around the building.”

“It is,” Leonard confirmed with big, swooping nods.

David stared through the windshield, reiterating. “Food? Water?”

“Gots generators, too,” Leonard said. “We don’t use ‘em all the time, though. Got running water. Showers. They’s comfy beds. Private. We found some lanterns and a ton of other stuff at a hunting and fishing store nearby.”

The mention of a shower piqued David’s curiosity and desire to get there in a hurry. Despite the air conditioner currently blowing overdue and much appreciated relief, his whole body felt beat up and abused. A dirt magnet. And on fire. And he could go for a hearty meal, a hot shower, and good night’s sleep.

“How far?”

“‘Bout an hour and a half,” Leonard said.

“Roads clear?”

“Eh, for the most part. Gotta take some detours. Straight shot’d be just under an hour or so.”

Randy said, “The cooler back there has water in it.”

“Thanks.” To Leonard, “What about the shufflers?”

“The what?”

“Shufflers … roamers … sick, infected … deadies …” He just couldn’t bring himself to use the ‘Z’ word. Mitch had, and look how he ended up.

“Rattlers.”

“Rattlers?”

“Yeah. We calls ‘em rattlers ‘cuz they hiss and snap and bite, kinda like rattlesnakes. Plus, when several of ‘em get to dragging they hands across the fence bars … sounds kinda like a rattler.”

Snakes. Swell. Fantastic.

David almost preferred ‘zombie.’ God he hated snakes.

Leonard said, “But, yeah, they come around. Can’t stop that. But we try to stay quiet. Noticed that noise brings ‘em.”

David nodded. “Yeah, we noticed that, too.” He scratched his chin. It was sandpapery with stubble and dirt. “Do they get hung on the fences or …”

“Sometimes a bigger group’ll come through. We’ll go inside, stay there for a while,” Lenny said. “Usually they lose interest, move on. But sometimes …”

“Have any ever gotten through the fence?”

Leonard hesitated, like he was just asked to disclose a political secret. “Yeah, there’s been a few. But they was … they was just little ones. Little kids. Squeezed through the bars.” He sat quietly for a moment, as though he were observing a moment of silence.

David understood his tentative answer. One of the most difficult aspects of dealing with shufflers was the unnatural need to kill all of them, no matter how big … or small. Old … or young. David had put it off for as long as possible himself, leaving the dirty work to others. It was tough to admit, to understand, that the children shufflers were just as dangerous as the adults. Especially since they could attack low, around the legs and ankles. Especially hands dangling at someone’s sides, a primary target. Sure, the older, bigger ones could be overpowering, going for the face and neck. But the little ones, they were stealthy. Your hand would be bit before you’d even realize it.

Sensing Leonard’s discomfort with the direction of discussion, David elected to switch subjects, hoping Randy wouldn’t ask about Sammy and Gills. “So what’s your story?”

Lenny sounded relieved to be talking about something else. “My ballerina figure don’t give me away?” Leonard chuckled, and David actually did, too.

“Man,” Lenny said, “I was living the dream. Did well enough in high school sports to get a full-ride at the college of my choice. Played me some college ball. Got drafted in the NFL. Third round.” He sighed, and though David couldn’t see it, he felt the stout man smile proudly. “Played pro ball for two years as a starter ‘fore I got hurt.”

David winced, thinking of his own pulsating wrist and leg.

“Tore my ACL. Some guys get surgery and bounce back better than before, like some bionic million dollar man or something. Me? Knee was never the same.”

“So what did you do?”

“I did what any former NFL player did when his number was up.”

“Commentary?”

“Hell, naw. Pro wrestling.” Lenny chuckled. “Dropping elbows, baby.”

David couldn’t help but smile. Lenny was likable, and David found his guard dropping like an anchor. “Even with your injury?”

“The doctors fixed me up pretty good. Not good enough to play the sport I loved anymore, but good enough that I didn’t have to sit behind a desk. Besides, I’ll let you in on a little secret.” Lenny leaned back a bit, his seat creaking, and David leaned forward, tilting an ear. “Wrestling ain’t nothing but a soap opera. Except we do it in our underwear and pretend to beat the crap out of each other.” He laughed, then waved his hand. “I’m just joshing ya. Ain’t no secret. People know. Kayfabe done went out in the eighties. But we was just actors. And I was pretty good at it. My character was called The Lumberjack.” Another chuckle. “But I loved football. Loved it. Always will. But I made some damn fine friends in the wrestling biz. Nicest guys you’d ever meet. None of ‘em hurt a fly.”

“So how’d you end up down here?”

“My sister, Taneesha. She was my ring valet. She wrestled a little bit, too. But mainly, she did her thing outside the ring while I wrestled. But when pop got sick, she came back home to help out. He got bad. Real bad. So’s when she called and said it was time, I took a couple weeks off.” He raised his palms as if summoning a spirit. “And voilà.” He shook his head. “Been stuck here beating down dead people ever since.”

David sat back, his body one big pulsating ache. They were silent for a few minutes, Randy concentrating on navigating the king-sized machine safely.

“So,” Lenny started, “what about you?”

Ah, you know, Lumberjack. Worked a dead-end job cubicle farming, lost my wife and kid, and now I’m just living the dream, killing cadavers. Again.
“Not much of one to tell.”

“Randy here says you El Jefe?”

David gave a quick huff through his nose. “Don’t know about all that.” He holstered his gun.

“Woulda been a great wrestling persona.” Lenny paused a beat, then said, “Randy says you was trying to do the right thing back there. Putin’ your life on the line, trying to help a couple of bad dudes that didn’t deserve to be helped.”

David sighed a long sigh. “Something like that.”

“Shows a lot of character. A lot of character.”

If only you knew, Lenny the Lumberjack, if only you knew. Had planned on killing a man yesterday. Left two others to die … I’m sure as hell no hero. Move along, people. Nothing here to see …

“I guess,” David simply said.

The men welcomed silence, and David delved back into the recesses of his own obsessions. The Alamo sounded like a sweet deal, almost too good to be true. He had more questions, but decided on the ‘picture worth a thousand words’ route. Would check it out when they got there. He hoped Leonard the Lumberjack was right, wasn’t embellishing. Was trustworthy. They could start a community behind those fences. Plant the seed, nurture the plant, watch it grow. Reap its fruit. Prosper. Actually live, not just simply survive.

PART THREE

Demons

David stared quietly out the passenger window as they rolled through deserted downtown Leeson. The town was tranquil, save for the dually’s lumbering grumble bouncing off buildings. His eyes roved, taking in the dystopian sights: abandoned cars … shattered store fronts … the occasional bodies. But no shufflers. None ambling about, at least.

Right out of a goddamn movie.

Seemingly reading David’s mind, Randy said, “Where are they all?”

Lenny responded. “Don’t know. They usually roaming the streets like stray dogs. Ain’t seen a one yet. Least not a live one.”

“Maybe the dog catcher rounded them up,” David half-heartedly joked, and the other two men laughed light, uneasy laughs.

Randy slowed the truck, carefully guiding it between two disabled cars. The Dodge’s protruding rear fender scraped one of them, and Randy apologized.

“Not that I’m complaining,” Lenny added. “I’d be alright if I never saw one a them things again.”

“Strange,” David said, his eyes still scouring the streets.

They continued wending their way down the main drag, heading for the east end of town, toward Alamo Assisted Living. The going was tedious, but manageable, and Randy succeeded in not killing the engine. A plus in David’s book.

David pressed a button on the door rest. It clicked, but nothing happened.

“Randy?”

“Yeah?”

“Would you mind …?” David knocked a knuckle against the glass.

“Oh, sure.” Randy slid the back window down.

David could see more clearly, the darkly tinted barrier no longer filtering his view. But that wasn’t all he was after. He wanted to hear, to smell. To use as many senses as he could, gathering clues as to why this once thriving town had become an abandoned shell.

When the window went down, he got a sultry slap in the face, the infamous Texas July holding nothing back. Practically incinerated the air in his lungs, spontaneously combusting. And it wasn’t even August yet, the worst still to come.

Normally, a bright sunny day would equate with positive, happy dispositions. Good times and good vibes and all that. But these days, it produced quite the opposite effect. There was just no respite from it, especially with the power grid down. Day in, day out, the sun imposed its fiery despotic will on everyone and everything. Sometimes David wished they’d all just melt into a soupy, viscid goo. Drain it off. Start over from scratch.
 

Oppressive heat aside, the air flowed relatively fresh, only a hint of decomposition drifting subtly on the barely perceptible breeze. He actually caught more diesel fumes than anything. But the area didn’t reek of death, despite the few bodies here and there. Strange, given the hovering heating element set to ‘high’ glowing ninety-three million miles above. Should’ve stunk to high heaven.

“No people,” David said, more to himself than to the other two. He gently massaged his tender wrist. “You’d think
someone
would be out and scrounging about.”

Lenny said, “Mmm, hmm.”

David wondered if the herd he saw last night had migrated from this town. Perhaps something drew them away from here, something too tantalizing to pass up. But what? What would drive such behavior? His desire to learn more about such things grew hourly, though answers and understanding proved elusive. The more he thought about it, the more questions arose.

As the men continued their journey down Main Street, David made mental notes of possible resources. One business in particular snagged his eye—a travel trailer dealership. Fifth wheels, specifically, piqued his interest. He’d have to verify it, check it out for himself, but he believed that the Dodge could pull one, if the lift kit wasn’t too high. Should the Alamo not work out for whatever reason, a fifth wheel might be a viable second option.

A plan B.

The lot brimmed with plan ‘B’s. Sure, there were gaps in inventory, some missing, most likely absconded with in the aftermath. But there were still plenty to purloin. He would definitely be back.

After cruising past the dealership, Leeson seemed to end abruptly, no gradual fading of civilization, but rather a distinct cut off, like construction just … stopped. Died. Ahead, the road turned sinuous with a sloping uphill grade.

“How much farther?” David asked. But he needn’t have. Something glinted atop a hill in the distance.

Lenny pointed a thick digit toward the glimmer. “There. Can see the town from up there.”

David got that nervous feeling in his stomach, like he sometimes used to get going out of town on business trips to meet new clients.

They wound closer, and the building morphed out of the wavy, watery heat rising off the blacktop. True to Lenny’s description, it resembled the authentic Alamo. Well, the part that most people associated with the Alamo—the chapel. But instead of being tucked behind high walls like the real McCoy had been in the 1800s, the famous facade was featured front and center, the focal point, facing a circular drop-off drive. An iron palisade fence about eight feet high wrapped the beige structure, while brick and mortar pillars of the same hue spaced about every fifteen feet gave the fence added muscle and tough aesthetic appeal.
 

David had to admit—it appeared safe. Protected. Just like a property he had envisioned when he had talked to Jessica about leaving Mitch’s place.

“Home sweet home, baby,” Lenny said, a touch of eagerness and relief in his deep, rich tone. Turning to David, “You gonna like it here, bro. Good people.” He was excited, completely opposite of what folks heading to a convalescent home would normally have felt. Of course, those folks weren’t trying to outrun flesh-eating dead people at the time, either.

Randy passed the drop-off/pick-up area, following another drive that ran parallel to the sturdy fence and around the building.

Lenny said, “The gate rolls open in back. For delivery trucks and what not.”

David nodded. He suspected as much.

Within seconds, they pulled up to the gate Lenny had alluded to, and the former professional wrestler ejected himself from the cab. He fumbled a key out of his pocket and began working on popping the padlock that secured the gate.

David glanced around. Parked far off in the field behind the building were four different heavy construction vehicles: bulldozer, back hoe, road grader, and drum compactor. By the looks of it, the construction team hadn’t quite finished with the project. Mounds of exhumed earth sprouting with weeds rose volcano-like from the otherwise flat field. Between two of these piles, a dirt road had been started, but it simply ended halfway into the splotchy sun-scorched pasture of wild grass and dirt.

About the distance of two football fields behind the Alamo was a natural tree line barrier similar to the one at Mitch’s place, except a shiny new barbed wire fence bumped up against this one. The foliage and fence continued around one side of the property, effectively reducing wandering, undead surprises. The front and right side of the Alamo were exposed to highway and hill. And as Lenny had accurately informed him, the iron fence wrapped completely around the building. The place looked to be safer than any other structure David knew of in the area.