Dead South Series (Book 1): Dead South

by Bohannon, Zach

  Jon turned to head back inside. Leaves crumbled out in his yard, and he stopped.

  “Hello?” a female voice asked.

  Jon drew the gun from his waist and turned, pointing the weapon.

  The woman’s eyes widened, and she raised her hands in the air. “I’m unarmed,” the woman said. “Do you remember me?”

  He did.

  6

  Jon kept the gun fixed on the woman, aiming it between her green eyes. Her blonde hair was in a ponytail, some bangs hanging in front of her face. The top three buttons of her red and white plaid shirt were open, a dirty white tank top underneath.

  “Can you put the gun down?” she asked.

  “What the fuck are you doing here?”

  “I just want to talk to you. You ran off yesterday before I got the chance.”

  “Was it not obvious that I didn’t want to talk?”

  She raised her voice, her palms facing Jon. “Please, just put down the gun so we can talk.”

  Jon breathed steadily, looking down the sight of the gun. He sighed, lowering it.

  “Thank you,” the woman said, exhaling.

  “You’re lucky I didn’t shoot you.” Jon stuffed the gun back into his pants. “You’ve got two minutes before your ass is off my property, so say what you want to say.”

  The woman approached the steps leading up to the porch. Jon put out his hand, signaling her to stop.

  She said nothing, her eyes no longer on his face. Jon followed her gaze and realized she was staring at his bare chest and stomach. That she was gawking at his scars.

  He sighed again, taking the shirt off his shoulder and putting it on.

  “I-I’m sorry.” The woman extended her hand. “My name’s Brooke.”

  Jon crossed his arms over his chest and continued to stare at her.

  “Okay,” Brooke said, retracting her hand and wiping her palms on the front of her jeans, likely in embarrassment. “Can I at least have your name?”

  “Now, you’ve got one minute.”

  “Look, you saved us yesterday. There’s no telling what those guys would have done to me and Terrence if you hadn’t shown up. You have to at least let me thank you.”

  Jon put his hands out to the side and then into his pockets. “You just did. There you go.”

  Brooke glanced down and bit her lip before looking up again. “We see you out there all the time. The people from my settlement are scared shitless of you. At first, we thought you were one of them. But I saw otherwise, and you proved yesterday you weren’t. But you’re always out there killing the infected. Why?”

  “You said you thought I was one of them,” Jon said, ignoring Brooke’s last question. “Who is them?”

  “The Vultures.”

  Jon furrowed his brow and shook his head. “I don’t follow.”

  “Those guys you killed yesterday, they were part of them. They’re from a nearby settlement. You haven’t heard of them?”

  Jon shook his head.

  “Jesus,” Brooke said. “You really do keep to yourself up here.”

  “Who are they?”

  “They started out as just a biker gang before the world fell to shit. But as things fell around here, and they started to take over. They came and threatened us, killing some of our people and threatening to do a lot more if we didn’t comply with their demands.”

  “Demands?”

  Brooke put her hands on her waist. She turned her head, clearly holding back emotion.

  “We basically work for them. No, screw that.” Brooke’s voice raised, anger littering her voice. “We are slaves to them. They make us guarantee a certain amount of supplies. Food, clothing, medicine… everything we need to survive. And the number always changes. Sometimes they demand more than other times. But they own us.”

  “That’s no way to live.”

  “No kidding. It’s not the kind of world I want for my—”

  Whatever Brooke was thinking at that moment was what made her eyes finally well up. She wiped the tears away, drawing in a deep breath as she stopped crying.

  Jon asked, “Those guys yesterday… is that normal?”

  Brooke shook her head. “Their leader would probably be pissed if he knew that had happened, actually. They aren’t supposed to lay a finger on us unless provoked, and Terrence and I had done no such thing. Those two were acting on their own.”

  “You should be more careful.” Jon stood up straight and crossed his arms again. “I’ve given you more than two minutes. Now, if you will excuse me.” He turned his back to Brooke and reached for the doorknob.

  “Would you be willing to help us?”

  Jon looked down at his shoes and shook his head. “It’s time for you to go.”

  Brooke stepped forward, her feet landing on the wooden steps leading up to his porch. “At least come and talk with the others in my camp. Maybe if you can see with your own eyes how bad it is, then you’ll be compelled to change your mind.”

  Jon glanced over his shoulder. “Nothing is going to get me caught up in the middle of some stupid power struggle.”

  “It isn’t a power struggle. It’s enslavement.” Brooke walked up to the next step. “And what happens when the Vultures show up on your doorstep? You don’t think they know you’re here?”

  “That’s when they die.”

  Brooke scoffed. “You can’t take out an entire gang of maniacs by yourself.”

  Jon looked back toward the door, taking his eyes off of Brooke. He grabbed the doorknob again and pushed forward. “Don’t come back,” he said to her. “I might accidentally pull the trigger next time.”

  Jon stepped through the door, shutting it behind him. He locked it and put his forehead against it, listening as Brooke kicked the wooden banister and shuffled off through the leaves, away from his house.

  7

  Outbreak Day 0

  Jon sped into the driveway, hitting the brakes and nearly sliding into the garage as the tires squealed. He jumped out of the driver’s seat, turned the truck off, and pulled the keys out of the ignition. Slamming the door behind him, he ran into the house. Sirens rang out from all around, every emergency vehicle in the city out on the streets and creating a chorus of panic. Jon heard screams coming from either direction down the street, but ignored them as he ran into the house.

  The door was locked, and he fought off the urge to kick it down as he fumbled to get his keys out of his pocket. His hands shook and he cursed, almost dropping them. Then, as he was sticking the correct key into the door, it opened. Carrie stood there. Jon pushed past her, turning around and shutting the door and locking it. His wife had never looked so scared to see him.

  “Jon, talk to me.”

  “It’s time,” he said. “Grab your bag.”

  Spencer entered the living room. “What’s going on?”

  “Take care of him,” Jon said to Carrie. “Get your things and meet me in the garage.”

  The boy tried to get more answers from his dad, but Carrie pulled their son aside and hurried off toward the bedrooms. Jon and Carrie had talked through this plan, knowing it had the potential to come to fruition, and he trusted his wife to execute it.

  A couple of days earlier, as the threat of a global pandemic had grown, Jon and Carrie had decided to pack their Go Bags, agreeing to bring only essential items. Jon had hoped they wouldn’t have to leave, but was thankful they would at least have somewhere to go. That place was a log home an hour and a half away in East Tennessee, which Carrie’s parents had left her when they’d passed. The place was off the grid. It would be safe.

  Jon went to the hallway on the other side of the house and pulled the string to open the attic. Climbing the ladder, he grabbed a large duffle bag and dropped it to the ground below. He climbed back down and opened the bag, confirming its contents. The three guns he owned, including a shotgun, handgun, and rifle, were all inside, along with ammunition. He zipped it closed and picked it up.

  He then walked through the kitchen t
o the door to the garage, getting there at nearly the same time as Carrie and Spencer. Seeing that Jon’s hands were full, Carrie opened the door.

  In the garage, Jon set the bag down next to two packs of bottled water and a collection of non-perishable food they’d collected. Outside, the sirens continued to sound, and it would become louder once the garage door opened.

  “Dad, what’s going on out there?” Spencer asked.

  Jon ignored his son’s question. “Listen, when this garage door opens, you’re both to immediately get into the truck. Don’t look around. Keep your eyes on the truck and get inside. Do you understand?”

  Both his wife and son nodded and said, “Yes.”

  Seeing that his son was scared, Jon put his hand on the boy’s shoulder and pulled his focus from the situation in order to find a moment of empathy. “Nothing is going to happen to you. I promise. Just keep a hold of your mom’s hand and jump in the back seat of the truck. Okay?”

  Tears in his eyes, Spencer nodded. Jon then looked at his wife. “You ready?”

  “Yeah, I think so.”

  Cupping either side of her face, Jon kissed her. Then, he went to the button for the garage door opener. Pulling out his keys, he hit the button on his keyless entry to unlock the truck's doors, faintly hearing the click come from outside.

  “Get in the truck, and I’ll load this shit up and be right there.”

  Jon exhaled, and then he hit the button as the sun poured into the garage from outside. Carrie took Spencer’s hand and hurried to the door, each carrying their bags. Without waiting for it to raise all the way up, Carrie ducked under, keeping a tight hold on her son’s hand and encouraging him to keep his eyes on the truck and not to look around. The sirens had grown louder with the door open, and Jon heard more screams coming from around the neighborhood.

  He grabbed the weapon bag first, tossing it into the bed of the truck. But as he turned to head back to the garage, he heard a deafening scream to his right. He followed it and watched as, two houses down, his neighbor Donna was attacked by an infected. The man tackled her to the ground and straddled her as she fought to get him off, pounding her fists against any part of him that she could. He leaned down to her, and she screamed louder as the infected man bit her.

  Jon heard another scream, this one coming from inside the truck. It was from his son. Carrie reached into the backseat and covered the boy’s eyes, telling him to look down at the floor of the truck.

  Jon had to get them out of there.

  He hurried back into the garage and grabbed more supplies, having to make a couple of more runs.

  On the last run, Jon was holding a case of water in his hand when he saw an infected man approaching the back of the truck. He lumbered down the side of it, his eyes focused on Jon. Jon realized his mistake as the man came toward him—he’d put all of the weapons in the truck.

  Carrie and Spencer cried out as they saw the man, but he kept his eyes on Jon. Dropping the case of water, Jon searched the garage for something, anything that he could use to combat the infected man. He looked to his right and saw something sticking up out of a box.

  Jon pulled the baseball bat out of the box as if he were unsheathing a claymore. He lifted it onto his shoulder as the man came running at him. Without hesitation, Jon swung for the man’s head, feeling his skull cave in as the wooden bat connected with his temple.

  The man hit the ground and his body trembled, reminding Jon of when his own childhood best friend Jake had had a seizure during a hockey game. The shaking now continued for a few moments before the body stopped moving, and the infected man lay there motionless.

  Jon had never killed a man. He stood there staring at him, trying to convince himself that it was no longer a man. But Jon didn’t have time to mourn his first kill.

  He picked up the case of water, keeping hold of the bat. He tossed the water into the bed of the truck and then got into the driver’s seat, putting the bat to his left and keeping it close.

  His family was safe. Now, all that mattered was getting them to the cabin.

  He started the truck, throwing it into reverse, and sped out of the neighborhood.

  8

  Jon waited until later in the day to go hunting. It had started pouring not long after Brooke had left his cabin and hadn’t let up until early in the afternoon. He thought about how it must have felt for the woman to be hiking back to her settlement with the storm pouring down on her, but that wasn’t his problem. She should never have shown up at his door.

  He’d spent the rest of the morning trying not to think about the visit from Brooke. While the rain had come down outside, he’d cleaned his clothes and repaired a wobbly leg on the dining room table, mostly out of boredom. But it had done little to make him avoid thinking about the woman, so he’d decided to get out on his bike despite the weather.

  Only two things could keep the demons from haunting Jon’s mind, if only temporarily.

  The open road and bashing in the brains of the dead.

  He came to an intersection and stopped the bike. Resting his feet on the ground, he glanced in both directions, deciding which way he wanted to go. It didn’t matter. The world was dead in either direction. Without thinking much more about it, he revved the engine and turned right.

  Jon hopped onto the long stretch of country road and opened the throttle, feeling inertia pull him as the bike accelerated.

  As he sped away, he hoped his mind would open up as much as the road, but he couldn’t clear it. His thoughts jumped all over the place, mostly fixating on Brooke but also flashing him images of Carrie and Spencer. It all overwhelmed him.

  He began wishing the previous day had never happened. That he had never run across Brooke and the guy getting his ass beat out in the woods. Something terrible might have happened to them, but he would never have known it. And, sometimes, not knowing the truth at all was for the better.

  Raindrops fell in only a drizzle now. He thought of a time when he and Carrie had been caught out in the rain while swimming in a hotel pool during their first weekend trip together. It had started raining, and a family sharing the pool with them had gotten out in fear that lightning might come with the storm. But Jon and Carrie had decided to stay, having not heard any thunder.

  Jon had wrapped his arms around Carrie, caressing her bare back and reaching down to grab her bikini bottoms, squeezing her partially exposed ass. Carrie had moved her hands up his chest to his face and kissed him as Jon pulled her closer to him, pulling her over his aroused crotch.

  For the next twenty minutes, they’d made out in the rain, their hands all over each other. No one had been around to see her hand slide into his swim trunks and stroke him until he finished.

  The memory overcame Jon now, and he gripped the throttle tighter. As he rounded the next bend in the road, he gave the bike more gas. But the rush of speeding down the country road did little for him. Taking risks was only thrilling when you had something to lose.

  Coming to his senses, Jon slowed the bike down. He wasn’t sure how much he’d decreased the speed when the deer crossed the road in front of him.

  “Shit!”

  Jon cut the bike, narrowly avoiding the deer that had stopped to stare at him. He nearly grazed its backside, but managed to get around it.

  With the deer avoided, he fought to regain control of the motorcycle. He swerved off the road, but the cruiser slipped out from under him.

  He laid the bike down in the dirt, letting go and sliding as he yelled. The bike fell into a ditch, but Jon fought for control of himself now. Even with the leather jacket on, the dirt burned. By instinct, he lifted his hands onto his head to protect it since he hadn’t worn a helmet. He rolled a few times as he slowed down.

  When he finally came to a stop, Jon lay on his back with his hands still protecting his head. He tried sitting up, and that’s when the pain hit him. Grimacing, he felt paralyzed. The sharp pain cut into his legs, arms, back, and ribs. He tasted the blood as it hit his lips an
d managed the strength to turn his head. Fifteen feet away, he saw smoke billowing and figured it must be coming from his bike. Three different clouds and trees blurred together alerted him that his vision was fucked up.

  Then he heard the snarls.

  Even with a cloudy mind, he knew what that meant.

  Fuck.

  Jon managed to fight the pain and flip himself onto his stomach. Everything burned, and it felt like every bone in his body had broken. But he had to find a way to get to cover. He laid his elbows on the ground and tried dragging himself through the mud and into the ditch, but he only made it inches before his vision faded further away.

  Meanwhile, the snarls grew louder.

  He reached for his handgun on his waist, but it wasn’t there. Like always, he hadn’t brought it with him on the hunt. His other weapons had been on his bike and wouldn’t do him much good anyway. He’d have been lucky enough to be able to raise and fire the pistol if he’d had it on his person. No way in hell was he going to be able to swing a bat or a hatchet.

  The pain grew unbearable, and Jon couldn’t move himself any farther. He flipped onto his back, clutching his ribs where most of the pain was coming from. The snarls continued, but they were becoming more muffled by the moment. The trees around him and the sky above were fading into darkness.

  Human voices joined the growls of the zombies, but he couldn’t lift his head to see what was happening. For all he knew, the voices could be just an illusion.

  The snarls stopped, and Jon heard footsteps approaching him.

  The blurred images of two people stood above him, each appearing to carry some sort of weapon. One of them leaned down and tried talking to Jon, but he didn’t hear them.

  That was the last thing he heard and saw before his world went black.

  9