Dead South | Book 4 | Dead Love

by Bohannon, Zach

  Garrett had been an outstanding leader for Hope's Dawn. He hadn't deserved to go out the way he had, murdered by some power-hungry barbarians.

  The longer she stood there thinking about it, the angrier she felt. None of these people had deserved this. The people of Hope's Dawn had only wanted to make a new normal for themselves in this very abnormal world. They hadn't hurt anyone, and had never planned to. They'd only wanted to keep to themselves and live their lives. But men's greed and unrelenting lust for power hadn't allowed that to happen.

  She held the handgun tight in her hand. Sweat collected around her palm, making the metal grip feel slick in her hand. Then, as she closed her eyes and worked to calm herself, she heard something coming from the entrance of the camp. The grotesque, spitting snarl was unmistakable. Turning around, she confirmed with her eyes what she'd only heard.

  A lone zombie made its way through the camp, lumbering through the front gate. It apparently hadn't recognized Jon or Brooke as potential victims yet, the van blocking the zombie's view of them. Brooke looked at Jon, who pointed to himself and signaled that he'd take care of it.

  But Brooke felt something rise inside her. She shook her head, marching over. Brooke loaded a round into the chamber of the gun she held, ready to shoot the zombie. Then, as she was passing the back of the van, she saw Jon's baseball bat and hatchet.

  She didn't see a point in wasting bullets. They were already short as it was. Plus, shooting the creature wouldn't bring her the satisfaction she sought in this moment. Tucking the gun into her waistband, Brooke grabbed the bat.

  "Brooke, stop," Jon whispered, grabbing her shoulder.

  Brooke shook him off, turning around to glare at him. She could tell by the look on Jon's face that he'd received the message. Then, with the bat in her hand, she marched over to the zombie.

  Once Brooke was in the open, it didn't take long once for the creature to see her. The monster snarled and came at Brooke. She raised the bat, tipping it up onto her shoulder.

  Based on the button-up shirt and tattered jeans, the slender zombie had once been a young man, though Brooke couldn't know that for sure. All of the creatures looked old once they turned, the virus shifting the flesh into a leathery, aged mess.

  But it didn't matter what the thing had been when alive. Brooke was going to put it out of its misery.

  When the zombie had arrived in front of her, reaching its arms out to grab her, Brooke aimed for the head and swung. The barrel of the bat connected with the creature's face, sending it tumbling down to the ground. It hit the mix of dirt and grass while still snarling. Blood poured from its head, but the thing still moved. It turned over onto its back and looked up at her, showing off the dent in its skull from where the bat had connected.

  Brooke wasted no time. She raised the bat over her head and swung it straight down into the zombie's face.

  And she didn't stop.

  Brooke kept swinging, bashing the creature in the face repeatedly. She threw in a few kicks, as well, but mostly used the bat to mutilate the zombie.

  All of the frustration had built up from the last several days, and it was finally boiling over now that she'd had to bury her friends.

  She couldn't stop.

  "Brooke!"

  She could hear Jon yelling her name, but it came to her in a haze. She paid no attention to him, only continuing to hit the thing which had no face anymore. The bat had flattened its skull, its brain matter spilling onto the ground.

  On one of her swings over her head, Jon wrangled the bat away from her. She turned to him and screamed, pounding at his chest with her fists a few times before collapsing into him.

  Jon dropped the bat and held her, running his hands through her hair.

  All of the emotion came pouring out, and all Brooke could do was cry to let out all the rest of her anger.

  15

  Jon could hardly focus on the road. He kept glancing over at Brooke, who sat in the passenger seat with her arms crossed as she stared aimlessly out the window. It wasn't as if Jon had known her for long, but he'd never seen her like this. When she'd seen the zombie coming into the camp, there'd been a certain fire in her eyes. It hadn't scared Jon, but it had worried him. He knew things were tough for the entire group now, but seeing Brooke react the way she had and finally break down after having to bury her friends had made it feel even more real.

  Several times, Jon almost reached over and took her hand. He wanted to be there for her and to comfort her, but he also knew he needed to give her some space. In fact, he was there for her. She knew she could lean on him or talk to him if she needed to, but Jon wanted to give her the room to process this herself. If there was one thing he'd learned about Brooke, it was how resilient she was.

  He looked down at his hand again, still wondering if he should offer it to her. Then, he noticed something between the seat and the cupholder. The light from outside gleamed off the shiny object. Jon reached down, stuffing his hand between the small space until he could grab the disc.

  Holding it up, Jon read the handwritten words "OLD SCHOOL MIX TAPE" on the front of the CD. He smiled, his curiosity getting the best of him as he slipped the disc into the radio. He figured it would at least break the awkward silence, and it wasn't like he got to listen to music that often anymore.

  Jon turned the volume knob back and forth to check that it wasn't too loud, adjusting it to 10 to start. The first song started up, and it wasn't loud enough, so he turned it up.

  He couldn't help but grin as the familiar instrumental opening of "Regulate" played over the speakers.

  The music got Brooke's attention as she finally looked away from the window. Jon glanced over to see her reaction. While she still hurt, Jon could see her face light up a bit. It appeared as if she wanted to smile, though she wouldn't simply let go and let it happen. Either way, Jon saw his opportunity.

  Leaning forward, Jon tried to get Brooke's attention. She finally looked over, cracking a bit of a smile.

  "I thought you'd be too young to remember this one," Jon said.

  "Too young?" Brooke scoffed. "I'm thirty-seven! 90's hip-hop was my jam when I was a teenager. This one put Warren G and Nate Dogg on the map."

  Jon raised his eyebrows. "Impressive."

  Then, the first bars kicked in and both Jon and Brooke recited the lyrics as Warren G spit about rolling around town by himself, before hanging a left on 2-1 and Lewis and getting into trouble.

  As the song continued, both of them kept rapping along. And though their rapping wasn't good and they sounded every bit as 40ish and white as they were, the music completely changed the atmosphere and the mood in the van.

  Reaching the end of the song where their current heroes Warren G and Nate Dogg killed some street thugs and picked up some "tricks" to party for the night, all Jon and Brooke could do was laugh.

  Brooke reached over and grabbed Jon's hand. "This is fun and it’s making me feel better. Thank you."

  Jon squeezed her hand, thankful to see that the music had shifted her mood. They made eye contact before meeting in the middle and sharing a kiss. He looked into her eyes for another moment before focusing on the road again.

  Then, Jon's smile disappeared as he saw a vehicle on the other side of the road coming toward them.

  The old pickup truck appeared to be moving faster than Jon was moving in the van, maybe around sixty miles per hour. And there were at least two men in the truck's bed, each one armed with rifles.

  "Get down!" Jon said.

  She lowered her head as Jon stayed upright, focusing on the road while working to ignore the passing truck. He looked out of the corner of his eye as they passed, and his heartbeat picked up. Glancing into the rearview mirror, Jon saw the brake lights go solid red on the truck as it slammed on the brakes and turned around.

  "Shit!"

  16

  Jon hit the gas, trying to speed away from the pickup. Using the rearview mirror, it was difficult to see through the small windows in the back
of the cargo van. So, Jon relied primarily on the side mirrors and Brooke's cues. He could see and hear the pickup gaining ground with its V8 engine.

  "They're coming up fast," Brooke said. "And I’m pretty sure these are guys from Malcolm’s camp."

  Jon gripped the steering wheel tight, but stayed calm and kept his focus on the road. It was mostly clear out in front of him, but he still had to avoid debris, the occasional stranded vehicle, and even corpses in the road—those of people, animals, and zombies alike.

  He peeked down at the speedometer.

  75 mph.

  Jon could feel every bit of the van moving that fast on this road. He knew it was going to be difficult to get the van to go much faster than this without stressing the motor, so outrunning the pickup truck would be out of the question. They were going to have to find another way to shake Malcolm's soldiers.

  Slowing down only enough to keep from flipping the van, Jon jerked the wheel to the left to head down another road.

  Behind him, he heard the squeaking rubber of the truck's tires, its back end sliding around as it turned. How the men in the back held on stumped Jon, but it was only a few moments before the truck was gaining on them again. He glanced in the mirror and saw one of the men in the back of the truck standing over the head of it, aiming down the sight of a rifle.

  "Shit! Get down!"

  Jon took his right hand off the wheel to push down on Brooke's head as the gunshots blasted from the truck behind them. They hit the back door of the van, and one of them shattered the rear window on the driver's side's rear panel door. That exposed Jon and Brooke, but he thought that if they stayed low, they'd be fine. His biggest concern was the man hitting the tires, but the gunman didn't seem to be aiming for those.

  "We've got to return some fire," Brooke said, flinching as another gunshot hit the back of the van.

  "Just stay down," Jon said. "I'll try to shake them."

  Jon then heard the roar of the truck's motor and glanced in the mirror to see it rearing up behind them even faster. It had to be going at least 85 mph. In only a few moments, the truck filled the entire back window as it rammed into the van.

  Both Jon and Brooke jerked forward, their necks whiplashing with the impact. Brooke had put her hands up on the dash to keep herself from slamming her face into it.

  "Motherfucker!" Jon yelled, refocusing on the road and pressing down on the gas. The pedal was hitting the floor, though, and the motor was doing all it could, but the van's engine was no match for the truck.

  The truck slammed into them again, rocking both their bodies once more. The van was built solid, but the old pickup truck could still do some damage. They couldn't take too many more hits than they had.

  "That's it," Brooke said, pulling the pistol off her waist. "We have to put some pressure on them."

  The rest of the guns and the ammunition lay sprawled across the back of the cargo van. They'd been sliding around due to both the speed of the van and the truck slamming into it. Brooke went to reach for one of them, but when Jon looked into the mirror again, he saw the guy with the rifle aiming down-sight from the bed of the truck again.

  "Watch out!" Jon pushed Brooke out of the way, but a bullet left the man's gun and grazed Jon's arm so that he cried out, the bullet hitting the center console and destroying the CD player, muting the 90's hip-hop for good.

  "Jon!"

  He held his arm, covering the wound. "It's okay. It's just a flesh wound. Just surprised me is all."

  In truth, it burned like a son of a bitch. But he'd been lucky. They hardly had any medical supplies back at the house. If the bullet would've gone through his arm, he could've risked infection—and possibly risked losing the limb.

  He refocused on their task of trying to get out of this situation.

  "You're going to have to give yourself some cover before you reach back there again to grab another gun. Fire a few shots out the back window; that should buy you some time."

  Brooke closed her eyes briefly and drew in a deep breath. Jon kept the van steady, looking ahead and being careful not to hit anything in the road that would cause turbulence and ruin her shot.

  Using the seat as cover, Brooke aimed from between the seats and fired off a few rounds through the back window.

  The truck swerved, and the driver slowed down. Jon saw the man who'd been standing in the back fall down into the bed of the truck. He'd barely held himself up to keep from falling out the back. But the plan had worked. The shots had bought Brooke the time she needed.

  "Go!" Jon shouted.

  Brooke threw herself between the seats after hearing Jon shout. Jon glanced back over his shoulder to see her lying on her stomach, picking up one of the assault rifles. Then, he looked back to the road.

  His eyes went wide as he saw a zombie lumbering across the road. "Shit!" Jon swerved, barely missing the creature.

  He heard Brooke slide across the floor of the van, and she cried out as she hit the side wall. Jon looked in the side mirror to see the pickup also swerving to miss the creature. How they both missed it was beyond Jon.

  "I'm sorry!" Jon said, wanting to look back to make sure she was okay, but needing to keep his eyes on the road. "You alright?"

  "I hit my shoulder pretty hard, but I'm okay."

  Jon heard the roar of the truck's engine again and checked the mirror. It had recovered from the swerve, and somehow, both men remained in the bed. How the hell were they going to get these assholes off their tails?

  He glanced into the rearview mirror and saw Brooke holding the rifle and raising her head.

  "Brooke, wait!"

  The man in the back of the truck took another shot, shattering the van's other rear window. Brooke lay near the back of the van in the fetal position, still holding the rifle even with the glass falling down onto her.

  "Are you hit?" Jon asked.

  "No, I'm good. Just a close call."

  Too close.

  "Stay down and let him shoot a few more times," Jon said. "Then, when I say, fire some rounds back there while staying down. Just stick the gun up and shoot. It'll be enough to hopefully get them to back off again."

  Brooke did as Jon said, shifting onto her back and staying as low as possible. She peered toward him, waiting for the signal.

  Jon watched as the man in the back of the truck started shooting again. He swerved, working to throw off the gunman's aim. He didn't know what the man was aiming for, but Jon mostly just wanted to make sure he didn't hit Brooke. The van's rear doors had withstood most of the bullets that hit them, but Jon didn't want to risk her being injured. He needed to shake this truck, and fast.

  The gunman fired a few more shots before he passed the weapon to the other man in the back of the truck to reload. Jon saw the chance to surprise them.

  "Now!"

  Brooke raised the gun, sticking the barrel out the broken window. Then, she pulled the trigger.

  Bullets sprayed the truck, initially hitting the grill before catching the windshield. The glass shattered, and the truck swerved. It happened too fast for Jon to see what the men in the back of the truck were doing, but they had to be sitting down and holding onto something, trying not to fly out.

  But then the truck narrowly missed a full-on collision with a stranded vehicle. The driver's side of the truck scraped against the side of it, and upon getting past the obstacle, the driver lost control of the pickup. Jon watched in the mirror as the truck skidded to its side. Trying to regain control, the driver hit the brakes. There was no hope for the two men in the back. Both went flying out of the back of the truck like they'd each been shot out of a cannon. At the same time the two men were in the air, the truck flipped onto its side.

  Jon turned his head away before the two men made impact with the pavement. The only way he knew they'd hit the road was when their screams ceased and all he heard was the sound of the metal truck rolling a couple more times.

  Brooke sat up and looked through the broken windows at the destruction, her
hand flying to her chest.

  His heart racing, Jon slowed a little, but he still maintained some speed with the truck.

  He wanted to get back to the house as quickly as possible.

  17

  Jon turned onto the familiar country road where the old house and the survivors of Hope's Dawn were awaiting them, still feeling shaken up by the encounter with Malcolm's men. He used his free hand to apply pressure to the wound on his arm where the bullet had grazed him before taking out the van's stereo. He'd been lucky that the bullet had only nicked his arm. The injury only burned, though the pain had worsened since his adrenaline had worn off. Even so, it was more irritating than actually painful.

  Glancing over at Brooke, Jon saw that she sat with her hand on her forehead. Not that the encounter had scared her. That wasn't Brooke. Jon knew she only worried about how they were going to get out of this mess. They both understood the stacked odds against them, and Jon was even reconsidering whether it was worth their staying and trying to defeat Malcolm. Maybe the idea that Malcolm would hunt Jon down, regardless of where he went, was bullshit. They couldn't know that for sure. In fact, Jon thought that maybe Malcolm had learned a lesson in his one encounter with Jon, possibly, and that he might feel fortunate if Jon just went away. It could be the best move for everyone involved.

  But logically, Jon knew it wouldn't be that easy. Not only because of the constant worry they'd experience, concerned whether or not Malcolm might indeed be coming after them, but more because Jon knew he couldn't let a man like that live. And it wasn't even just about Jon's family and what Malcolm had done to them. He simply couldn't let such a monster keep rule of an entire area, especially one that Jon held so sacred.

  Malcolm had to be dealt with.

  Now, it was only a matter of how to do that.

  Jon pulled the van into the driveway of the old house and drove straight back to the gate. Lucas was there on the other side, waiting for his mom to show back up. She sat up straight and smiled as she watched him open the gate for them. He didn't get out of the way at first, and Jon had to open his window and urge the young boy to move. When he did, Jon pulled the van through the gate and parked it out of sight in the backyard.