Dead South Series (Book 1): Dead South

by Bohannon, Zach

  “Have you about had enough? Because I can do this all day. I can give you a thousand kicks for each of our men that you killed. Now, get the fuck up.”

  Jon wanted nothing more. Even through the days of torture, he had remained committed to making sure these men knew they couldn’t break him. They’d have to kill him for that. Jon would die knowing that Judah had no power over him, and he would then get to go be reunited with Carrie and Spencer in whatever afterlife existed. He only knew there had to be one, and he would see them again.

  But he could no longer push himself up.

  He tried, but his arms gave out and his body dropped back down onto the ground. The taste of iron became more apparent as his mouth continued to fill with blood. Maybe he wouldn’t make it to some sort of execution. Perhaps he would die on the floor right there. Jon knew he’d be okay with that.

  The man spit on Jon’s shirtless back. “You pathetic piece of shit.”

  Jon could hear the man winding up for another kick when the door opened. He couldn’t move his head to see who it was, but he didn’t have to.

  “Hello, sir,” the tormentor said.

  There were several moments of silence before Judah’s familiar voice said to the other man, “You’re excused.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  The sound of the man’s boots marching across the floor and the door shutting echoed in Jon’s ears, drowning out the dull and constant ringing. He kept his eyes shut, but he could hear Judah’s boots on the floor, pacing around him. When he finally opened his eyes, Jon saw those boots standing next to him in a blur. Judah squatted down next to him, but Jon couldn’t look up enough to see his face.

  “Ah, so you are still alive. I wasn’t so sure. I was about to give you another good kick to see.”

  Jon coughed, more blood coming out of his mouth.

  “If you don’t mind, I’d like to have a face-to-face conversation with you. I hope this doesn’t hurt too much.”

  Judah grabbed Jon by the pants and flipped him over onto his back. Looking up, Jon saw three versions of Judah’s face. He tried to focus on the center one.

  Knowing that there wouldn’t be a repeat of when they’d first met because of how weak Jon was, Judah bent down and lifted Jon up under the arms. Groaning, Jon coughed and let out a cry as Judah sat him up against the wall. The sharp pains in his ribs stretched throughout more of his body as he drew in gasping breaths and watched Judah go to the other side of the room to grab a metal folding chair. Whistling an unfamiliar tune, he then brought it over in front of Jon and sat down in it, leaning down onto his knees. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a pack of cigarettes.

  “You don’t mind, do you?” Judah asked, putting one into his mouth and lighting it before Jon could even think about replying. He took the first drag and then pushed the smoke out into the air, letting out a relieved gasp afterward. “I’m glad this isn’t a habit of mine. These fucking things are sure hard to come by. But you know, it’s just nice to have one now and then.”

  Jon’s vision slowly returned, the center version of Judah coming more into focus. The pain hadn’t subsided, and wouldn’t for a while, but he could manage this much. It wouldn’t be long before he never felt pain again.

  “Anyways, I just wanted to come check and see how you’re doing. I have to say, you are one tough bastard.” Judah took another drag. “I’ll admit that I thought the whole ‘bad motherfucker’ gimmick was nothing more than an act when you walked into my house. But no, you really are a hardened son of a bitch. It’s no wonder those folks at Hope’s Dawn wanted to keep you a secret. And I guess it’s why I’m about to do what I’m going to do.”

  Judah reached into his pocket again, and Jon watched for him to pull out a knife or a gun. This was going to be it, the end of his life. But the insane cult leader drew neither. Instead, he had a towel. Keeping the cigarette pressed between his lips, he leaned in and wiped down Jon’s face. It stung, and Jon gritted his teeth to hold in a howl. His pride continued to haunt him, and he couldn’t even find the space in this physical state to scream. When he was done, Judah threw the now crimson-stained towel onto the ground and took another drag of the cigarette.

  “There, you look much better.” He sat back in the chair again. “Now, listen, I’m a reasonable guy. I know that might be hard to imagine, what with how the last couple of days have been for you, but you have to understand the position I’m in here. Still, I want to make you an offer.”

  The blur had mostly gone away, and Jon could see Judah more clearly now. He wore a bandage over his broken nose and had a buttoned-up black shirt tucked into the same dark cargo pants he’d been wearing before. He finished the cigarette, tossing it down onto the concrete and putting it out with his boot in Jon’s blood. Then he looked back up into Jon’s face.

  “I want you to join us.”

  Jon heard Judah, but the words didn’t immediately register. They hung in the air before Judah continued.

  “You’re one of the strongest men I’ve ever met. We could use you around here. You can walk beside me as my number two in charge. I’m not going to find anyone else like you.” Judah snorted a laugh. “Hell, I might even let you have a room in that big ol’ house of mine. That’d be pretty nice, wouldn’t it?”

  Barely able to keep himself upright, Jon gasped for air as he continued to stare into Judah’s face. He’d registered what the man had said, but was so stunned that he didn’t know how to respond.

  “I know you can’t talk,” Judah said. “So, maybe just give me a wink or a nod to let me know it sounds good to you. Do that, and we’ll get you out of here. We can get you cleaned up in a nice bath and take you over to see our doctor. You’ll be good in just a few days. So, what do you say?”

  Jon breathed, not letting his eyes off of Judah as he looked for the words. He summoned the strength, knowing it was all he was going to be able to say.

  “G-go… fuck… y-yourself.”

  Judah kept his eyes focused on Jon for another moment before lowering his head to the ground. He shook it, running his hand over his bald head. Then he stood up and moved in next to Jon, who didn’t bother to look up at him.

  “You’re a stubborn man, Savage,” Judah said with a spiteful tone in his voice. “But it’s going to be a waste to watch you hang tomorrow.”

  Judah then kicked Jon in the arm, sending him back down onto the ground.

  Jon lay on his stomach, his eyes closed and his cheek pressed against the cold concrete. The door slammed as Judah left, and no one else came into the room.

  In almost no time, Jon passed out.

  33

  602 Days After the Outbreak

  Jon remained hidden in the tall grass, not too concerned that he hadn’t spotted any animals in the three hours or so he’d been out in the woods hunting. He just didn’t want to be at home.

  A part of him felt selfish about feeling this way. A big part. But it was a side of him that he’d learned to ignore. For months, he’d been the one keeping things level around the house. And the only thing that prevented him from snapping were these walks out into the woods to hunt.

  The quarantining in the cabin had taken its toll on his family. Nearly two years of seeing nothing but the walls around them and each other had made the three of them irritable, affecting their mental health. But Jon at least had these moments to hunt, and it was something he wouldn’t allow his wife and son to do. They did occasionally take walks, but that was only with an armed Jon accompanying them. That didn’t give Carrie or Spencer the space they needed away from the confines of the cabin, though, and he knew it.

  Spencer had learned to shoot, but he was still years away from being old enough to go out by himself or only with his mother. Carrie hadn’t shown any interest in learning how to handle firearms, though Jon had offered it to her many times. That, selfishly, comforted Jon. If she didn’t know how to protect herself or their son, then they couldn’t leave the cabin without him. He dreaded the ball of stress he
would be, sitting at home while they were out by themselves, and felt fortunate he’d never had to experience it.

  All of this, too, had depended on the weather. Sometimes it’d been too cold to leave the cabin at all. Those days had been the toughest times, the ones where Jon had felt he’d started to lose Carrie the most.

  At first, she had done an excellent job of hiding how she felt. But over time, it had become harder, and she’d begun to unravel. She’d started talking less, spending more time either in the bedroom by herself while Jon and Spencer hung out in the living room or else out on the porch. When she was around them, she’d begun talking less, continuing to isolate herself, usually on one of the barstools in the kitchen. Then Jon had started noticing changes in Carrie’s appearance. Besides the new gray hairs she sported, her face had started to change. She appeared older than she was, more wrinkles popping up, and her eyes were beginning to sink in. It was similar to how the stress of the job rapidly aged a President over four to eight years in the White House.

  And through it all, Jon hadn’t known what to do.

  He’d spent hours on these walks and hunts, trying to think of a way to keep his family sane. But there was little they could do without risking danger. And between being safe and sane, Jon had chosen safety every time.

  His stomach growled now as he refocused on the land around him. It had been nearly a week since he’d caught anything. They’d been living off plants and berries, carefully rationing them out.

  Then he saw it.

  The wolf’s piercing blue eyes stared his way, though not looking directly at him. It didn’t see him. Knowing wolves usually traveled in packs, he looked around to see if there were any others, but there was no sign of more. Perhaps even wolves had become loners at the end of the world.

  Jon licked his lips, almost as if he could taste the meat.

  You just stay right there.

  He raised the gun back into position, moving slowly so as to not garner the animal’s attention. Then he stared down the scope, aiming at the wolf and breathing in. His stomach growled as if begging him not to miss.

  He didn’t.

  The bullet entered the wolf’s side, and it let out a cry. The grass rustled as the animal ran away, and Jon jumped to his feet and took chase. But the wolf only made it a couple of dozen yards before it fell.

  By the time Jon reached the animal, it was already dead, lying on its side with its eyes staring off at nothing. It should have felt more shameful killing an animal like this, but Jon felt no remorse. This was what he had to do to keep his family alive. Appeasing hunger would also keep them sane. This was what he had to do to survive.

  The wolf weighed down Jon’s back as he climbed up the driveway toward the cabin, but the adrenaline made it easier for him to carry the beast. He knew the taste of the meat would be worth it, and he couldn’t wait to see Carrie and Spencer’s faces when he showed them what he’d caught.

  He dropped the wolf on the back patio and caught his breath. A smile crept onto his face as he went to unlock the back door. But when he pushed on it, the door opened. Jon raised his eyebrows.

  “That’s weird.” He then pushed the door all the way open and walked inside, the smile returning to his face. “Guys, you aren’t going to believe what I got.”

  Looking around, Jon noticed no one in the living room or the kitchen. He wondered if they might be sleeping, but knew this would be worth waking them up for.

  “Carrie, Spencer… you’ve got to come out here.”

  Jon went to Spencer’s room first, knocking but not getting a response. He opened the door to find that his son wasn’t there. So, then he went and checked the master bedroom. The door was open, but there was no sign of Carrie or Spencer.

  His heart began to beat faster, but he stopped himself from panicking. Leaving the bedroom, Jon walked to the back door again and stepped out onto the porch. He noticed it was unlocked and opened it, stepping out onto the porch.

  Jon walked to the edge of it, looking out into the trees for any sign of his family. His baseball bat leaned against the wall, so he grabbed it and then hurried down the stairs to look around, still not seeing them.

  Now the panic had set in.

  “Carrie! Spencer!” he yelled, not caring if anyone or anything heard him. He just wanted to find his family. He continued calling out their names as he walked into the backyard to the tree line.

  Looking down at the dirt walking path that led into the woods, Jon noticed tracks. He squatted and studied them. They were fresh, and there were two sets. Standing up, he clenched his eyes shut and sighed.

  “Where did you go, Carrie?”

  He only allowed himself to be angry for a moment. In all honesty, he was surprised she hadn’t escaped her cabin fever by going for a walk sooner. Hell, maybe she had been doing this regularly when Jon had gone out to hunt, and they had always just been sure to get back before he did and keep it a secret from him. There’d be time to address all of that later. For now, all he wanted was to find his wife and son, so he followed the trail.

  The tracks continued down the familiar path. As a family, they had walked this trail so many times before. It spiraled through the trees, with beautiful sights and sounds of nature all around it, even in this newly barren world. When he reached the small pond on the other side of a break in the trees, he knew he’d walked about half a mile. This was usually where they would stop and turn around on their strolls, and he had measured the distance back when smartphones had still worked.

  But he still didn’t see his wife and son. The tracks remained heading down the path.

  Jon continued following the trail, eventually coming to a place where he had to stop and squat to observe the dirt again.

  No longer were there only two sets of human footprints. There were several now.

  As he moved a little farther, something else on the track got his attention. He kneeled to see a dark spot in the dirt and a white cloth draped over a flower. The fabric looked torn and had a crimson stain on it. He picked it up, noticing the familiar flower pattern from one of Carrie’s favorite dresses. Only one of the flowers showed, the rest of them being covered up by blood.

  Jon gasped as he heard the vulgar snarl that could only come out of one of the dead things.

  He raced down the path, following the zombie’s spitting growl. The sound eventually led him off of the trail at the point where he noticed the footsteps had come to an end. He heard the snarls coming from his left.

  Racing between trees and avoiding bushes and the thick brush, Jon eventually came to the source of the sound.

  Five zombies had huddled together, straddled over two bodies on the ground. Jon noticed his son’s sneakers first, and then his wife’s legs covered in blood.

  He fell to his knees, his whole body seemingly going limp as he slumped over. Tears poured from his eyes as he sobbed, and when he picked his head up again, a string of saliva ran from the ground to his mouth before it finally broke loose.

  Jon screamed.

  The zombies turned, finally discovering that he was there. A couple of them hissed, slowing making their way to their feet.

  Hyperventilating, Jon made eye contact with the things. He was frozen in shock. At that moment, he thought to just lie down on his back and let the things take him, too. To die right there in those woods with his wife and son.

  But then a new feeling rose up in him.

  Jon narrowed his eyes. He stood in unison with one of the zombies.

  Reaching onto his back, Jon took hold of his bat.

  The zombie snarled.

  Jon lunged forward, not waiting for the zombie to make the first move.

  34

  The door to the room swung open, the knob slamming against the wall. It jerked Jon out of his slumber. He hadn’t quite been asleep, but somewhere between consciousness and dreams instead, forging his way towards death. His body still ached, though not as badly as it had the day before. The end of the beatings had helped with
that.

  Sounds of footsteps filled the room, and Jon found the awareness to turn over and look upward. The two men who’d brought him to the room to begin with were there now.

  “Up,” one of them said.

  “It’s time,” added the other.

  Jon groaned, not hesitating to obey their commands. What was the point? He was ready to get this over with and end the pain for good. Moving into a tabletop position, he pushed through the aches to get himself all the way up onto his feet, but apparently, the men didn’t appreciate how long it was taking him. One of them hooked him under his arms and lifted, sending a sharp pain through Jon’s chest and stomach. His ribs screamed at him. Biting his lip, Jon groaned.

  “We ain’t got all fuckin’ day,” the man who’d lifted him said. “Against the wall, hands behind your back. And don’t you dare try anything.”

  Jon did as instructed, facing the wall and clasping his hands behind his back. He felt the zip-tie go around his wrists and then pull tight. He gritted his teeth as the bands cut into his wrists, and then the man spun him around, nearly sending him back down to the ground.

  “Come on.”

  Jon limped toward the door. The two men walked behind and on either side of him, each holding onto one of his arms. They pushed him along, forcing him to fight through the pain and walk faster. He could feel his legs wanting to go out from underneath him, but he fought through it and kept pace with the two men. The last thing Jon wanted to do on his march to death was to show any weakness to these bastards.

  They led him up some stairs and into the kitchen of a house, and for the first time, he realized he’d been in a basement the whole time. Jon had been unconscious when they’d brought him there. The place had been kept dark enough to where it had been difficult for him to grasp where he’d been, especially with as much blurry vision as he’d dealt with. Sunlight came in through the windows of the house, allowing Jon to see where he was going. He didn’t know what time of day it was.