Dead South | Book 4 | Dead Love

by Bohannon, Zach

  "We can't stay back here," Brooke said. "We've got to advance our position."

  "Terrence," Raylon said, "can you stay here with a few others and provide cover, while the rest of us move up and fight these bastards off?"

  Terrence gave a thumbs-up.

  Raylon worked his way down the line, giving directions to the others. Since he knew everyone in both groups, it had made sense to put him in charge of the operation.

  Brooke worked her way down to the SUV furthest to the left. She'd take one group to the left, and Raylon would go to the right. Among a contingent from Freedom Ridge, Jada, Adrian, and Rosa from Hope's Dawn would be moving up the line with Brooke. With everyone in position, Brooke glanced over at Terrence and nodded. He returned the gesture.

  "Now!" he said.

  Terrence and his crew raised up and laid some cover fire. Brooke didn't hesitate. She ran out into the open, running toward a building to her left. Even with the cover fire provided by Terrence and the others, however, bullets still came flying toward Brooke. She didn't stop running, keeping her eyes on her destination ahead. Despite hearing screaming behind her, Brooke didn't turn around. She covered her head and made it to the side of the building where she could find more cover.

  Looking back, she saw three people on the ground. Sandy and Bill, two of the people from Freedom Ridge, had been caught in the crossfire. They lay on the ground unmoving. Lying next to their dead bodies was Adrian. She did appear to be moving, trying to raise her head and crawl.

  Adrian, stop moving.

  Rosa and Jada, who'd also made it safely to the building, watched alongside Brooke. Adrian lifted her head, and Jada used hand signals to try to communicate to her that she should stay still. They were only going to shoot her again if she kept moving.

  "I have to help her," Brooke said. She took one step to go after her friend, but someone grabbed hold of her arm. She turned around to see Jada holding onto her.

  "It's suicide," Jada said.

  Brooke took one glance over her shoulder at Adrian, and then looked back at Jada. "But we can't just leave her out there."

  Looking back again, Brooke watched Adrian raise her head once more. Her bloodshot eyes stared back at Brooke, and she found the strength to raise one of her hands. She was pleading for Brooke, or anyone, to come help her. But before they could reconsider their options, her head dropped to the ground, and her eyes remained open. She didn’t move.

  Brooke clenched her eyes shut. Inevitably, people were going to die in this fight, but actually seeing it happen hit her hard.

  A hand touched her shoulder. "We have to keep going," Rosa said. "You gave me the strength to keep going when Hugo died, and I'm here to do that for you now."

  Brooke bit her lip, but then she nodded. She had to keep her composure so that the rest of them could get out of there alive, and so that she could make it back to her son.

  "Rosa, come with me around the back of the building. We'll see if we can establish another position while the others remain here and fire from this position."

  Brooke peeked around the corner of the building, confirming their path was clear. Holding her gun up, she felt her heart racing, knowing someone could jump out at any moment. She peeked over her shoulder to confirm Rosa was behind her.

  "Follow me," Brooke said. "We'll keep moving and—"

  A door next to Brooke opened, and she felt herself being sucked into it like a bird in a jet engine. She hit the ground before she could even figure out where she was.

  Realizing she still had her gun in her hand, she pointed it up at the figure who'd pulled her inside, but they knocked it out of her hand. Enough light lit the room to where she could see the face of the man above her.

  Bennett.

  His unmistakable grin grew on his face. Reaching down, he grabbed Brooke by the collar of her shirt and picked her up, his strength apparent.

  Outside, Jada pounded on the door, but it had already been locked.

  "It's just you and me, darlin'." He licked his lips.

  Brooke grimaced, turning her head. She expected for him to try to kiss her after the face he'd just made, but instead his smile disappeared, and Bennett pushed her away from him.

  Stumbling backwards, Brooke could hardly keep her balance. Her back slammed against the wall and her head bounced off of it. She immediately cupped the back of her throbbing head, the pain coming fast. But before she could catch her bearings, the large man grabbed her again and tossed her to his left.

  Brooke's feet came off the ground, and when she landed, she tried catching herself on a table, but still fell to the ground. As she started to push herself up off the ground, Bennett helped her by lifting her the rest of the way up. He slammed her down on her back on top of the table and then wrapped his hand around her throat.

  The large hand cut off her airway, and she stared up into his eyes, hardly able to blink.

  "You shouldn't have come back here, you dumb bitch. You were lucky to get out of here alive the first time, but that won't happen now. I'm going to kill you just like I did your stupid Mexican friend."

  Bennett squeezed harder, and all Brooke could do was open her mouth and try to find air. But she couldn't breathe, and she could feel her forehead pounding as new oxygen failed to enter her body.

  Tilting his head and studying her, Bennett said, "Now, I have to figure out how I want you to die. This seems too easy."

  But he still didn't let go, even as he looked around the room. When he finally did release her, Brooke gasped, sucking in air as fast as she could. Her hands went right to her throat, massaging it as she caught her breath. Her relief didn't last long, though, as Bennett sat her up. She didn't have the strength to do anything to fight as he ran his hand through her hair, again looking at her with cruel intentions. Then, he picked her up to her feet again and threw Brooke behind him. With almost no strength left, she fell to the ground, hardly able to catch herself as her palms slammed against the concrete floor.

  Footsteps moved across the room, and Bennett picked something up—the metal from it making a distinct sound as he ran it across a table. She didn't have the strength to look back at him as she tried to push herself up.

  "I think I'll take my time with you," Bennett said. "Cut you into little pieces and make it hurt real bad. And then I think when I'm done, I'll bag them up and personally hand-deliver them to that little bitch son of yours."

  Brooke opened her eyes wide, her nostrils flaring upon hearing the man bring up her son. The mere mention of Lucas gave Brooke a shot of adrenaline, reminding her why she couldn't die on this floor.

  She looked around the room, trying to find something she could use as a weapon. She hadn't seen where the gun had landed when Bennett had knocked it out of her hands, but she was desperate to find anything.

  Then, she saw a can on the ground—just out of her reach. There was enough light for her to see the label with pictures of wasps and hornets on it. She'd used the same aerosol spray to eliminate wasp nests at her house.

  "I wonder if I should start with your hands or your feet," Bennett said. "One foot might be fun, to make you mostly immobile."

  Brooke crawled forward, making it seem as if she were only trying to get away from Bennett. The can sat by the wall, and when she got there, she stopped.

  "There's nowhere to go, sweetheart," Bennett said.

  Brooke pushed herself up onto all fours. Her body ached, and she hardly had the strength to do even that. But she dug deep, knowing this was what she had to do to survive.

  "Oh, you want to get up? That's cute. I guess you want more of a beating before the fun begins."

  Brooke grabbed the can, hoping the man wouldn't notice. It was dark enough in the room to where he might not, and she hid it as best she could.

  Somehow, she made it to her feet. Bennett had allowed her to, further toying with her.

  "You dumb cunt," he said. "You should've stayed down. Now, I'm going to—"

  Brooke shot around, holding up
the can and pressing down on the nozzle. The white spray shot out of the can in a stream, and Brooke covered both of Bennett's eyes with the stuff.

  The man cried out, a meat cleaver Brooke hadn't seen before still in his hand. He brought his hand up to his eyes to block Brooke's attack and try to get the stuff out of his eyes, but Brooke had gotten enough in them to temporarily blind him and make his eyes burn like hell.

  "You bitch!"

  Bennett rushed forward, but Brooke sidestepped him. He caught himself on the wall and then turned around, swinging the cleaver. Brooke moved back, keeping her distance, but the man kept swinging, his other hand still covering his eyes.

  Brooke searched for anything more she could use as a weapon. As she backed up into a table, she looked down and saw an unopened paint can. She picked it up by the metal handle and then moved away from the table.

  Bennett continued to swing the cleaver as he cussed at Brooke. She remained patient, waiting for her opportunity to attack.

  As he got close to her, Brooke ducked and worked her way around the back of Bennett. Then, she kicked him as hard as she could behind his right knee.

  The man's legs buckled, and he fell down, all of his weight coming down onto the concrete with his knees. He screamed in pain, holding himself against the table.

  Brooke didn't hesitate. She pulled the paint can back and swung it as hard as she could. It connected with the back of Bennett's head with enough impact to send his head forward and down to crack against the table. He dropped the cleaver—his body limp and quivering from the impact.

  Going to the table, Brooke looked at her attacker, his head face-down on the table and with blood collecting in his hair. She bit her lip, the paint can still firm in her grip.

  "This is for Hugo, you son of a bitch."

  Screaming, Brooke swung the paint can straight down into the back of Bennett's head.

  She dropped it then and fell to the ground on her back.

  All she could do was lie there, all the strength gone out of her, and cry in relief as she listened to the firefight still raging outside.

  33

  With the help of some cover fire from his friends, Jon made it to the side of an antique store on the right side of the camp. He hoped he'd done so without being seen by too many people, as Black Hill folks should have had their hands full with his friends shooting at them.

  The only things now standing between him and the church were a few buildings. Jon decided he'd work his way down the fence line and navigate his way into the church in the same way he had left it before. He imagined there would be guards outside the church, assuming Malcolm was in there. From the little Jon knew about Malcolm, he didn't seem like the sort of leader who'd head to the frontlines when he had an army of desperate people to do it for him. That was the sort of coward Malcolm was. The same man who would murder an innocent woman and her child, and leave the bodies out in the woods to be picked apart by the undead.

  Keeping his rifle raised and his finger hovering over the trigger, Jon made his way down to the back corner of the antique store. He peeked around the back of it to see that the coast was clear, but he still needed to be careful. Even though they had a rough estimate, Jon didn't know for sure how many people were living in Black Hill. But he'd seen all the tents when he'd come here before to get Brooke and the others, and both Raylon and Brooke had offered their own estimates about how many people occupied the camp, figuring it was several dozen.

  Jon slid around the corner to the back wall of the building. He made his way down to the other side of it, his heart racing as his finger remained ready to pull the trigger at any moment. When he'd made it to the end, he looked down the alley between the antique store and the next building—a general store—seeing again that it was clear. Then, he hurried across the alley to the back of the general store, staying behind cover.

  As soon as he arrived at the back of the general store, someone walked into his path from the rear of the diner next door. The woman cursed and raised her gun to aim it at Jon, but it was too late. Jon had taken aim down his sight and pulled the trigger, loading several rounds into the woman's chest before she'd even had the chance to get one shot off. The woman fell backward, dropping her gun as she hit the ground.

  Jon remained in the same position for several seconds, waiting to see if anyone else would emerge from the diner, with his gun still aimed in that direction. When no one did, he continued moving.

  Again, he peeked down the alley when he reached the end of the general store, and then hurried across. The door remained open where the woman had come out of the diner, and Jon checked inside to make sure it was clear. He scanned the space and saw no one else. For a moment, he thought about reaching down and checking the woman for anything useful. He also considered grabbing her gun. But Jon had the pistol on his hip, an assault rifle in his hands, and his bat and hatchet on his back. So, he kept going, not wanting to risk kneeling down when someone could pop out at any moment, ready to shoot and kill him.

  In a brief moment of silence from within the camp, Jon heard something coming from his right and looked through the fence. A pack of zombies, maybe a dozen, were lumbering through the field—the same field which Jon had gone through to get in and out of Black Hill the last time he'd been there. The zombies were still some fifty yards away from the camp, but the sounds of the fight had drawn them in. There could be many more. Jon only hoped they'd be too stupid to find their way through the front of the camp, and would instead come and claw at the chain-link fence.

  But the zombies weren't his concern right now. Jon turned his attention back to the church. He made his way down its side, encountering no other Black Hill resistance. Remaining low, he hid behind a dumpster when he saw several people run by in the road, heading for the front of the camp to help in the fight. He didn't know what to expect when he got to the front of the church, but he made his way down the wall. Looking around the corner, he was a little surprised to see that there was no one guarding the door. It was possible that Malcolm wasn't in there, and that he was fighting near the front of the camp, but Jon doubted that was the case. The Black Hill leader was inside the church. Now, whether or not there were people inside the church to guard him was another story, but that was a chance Jon had to take.

  Looking down to his left, Jon saw the people from Black Hill focused on the fight with his friends. So, he hurried around the corner of the building, up the steps, and to the door of the church. He stayed low and out of sight the best he could, the railing providing him with some cover. Turning the handle, he found the door to be locked.

  No problem.

  Reaching to his back, Jon retrieved his hatchet. He hit the wooden door several times, and the aged wood splintered. After only a few more strikes, there was a hole big enough for Jon to reach through and unlock the door.

  He returned the hatchet to his back and held the rifle ready again. He didn't know what might be waiting for him on the other side.

  Exhaling, he pushed the door open and entered the church.

  34

  Jon scanned the space after he entered, looking all around with his gun ready to shoot. Surprised not to see anyone, he wondered if Malcolm had perhaps fled. The Black Hill leader might have had some sort of escape plan in case the camp got attacked. Maybe he had a tunnel that led out of Black Hill, or some other way he could make a quick escape. But there was no guarantee that was true, so Jon remained on his toes.

  He walked down the center aisle, keeping his eyes peeled. Morning light bled in through the large stained-glass windows, allowing Jon to see. It remained possible that there was an ambush waiting for him, whether from Malcolm or some of his goons.

  Jon had reached the third row of pews and was looking slightly off to the right when a shadow appeared at the back of the stage.

  Malcolm had come out of nowhere, jumping out with an assault rifle pointed at Jon. He fired.

  Acting off nothing but instinct, Jon dove behind the row of pews to his
right. He landed on his stomach, staying low as bullets splintered the wooden bench in front of him. Malcolm screamed as he fired, continuing the onslaught of bullets.

  Jon knew he couldn't just stay still; he had to return fire. He sat up with his back against the pew, keeping his head below it. Then, he raised up the gun, pointing it back over his head and spraying gunfire toward the stage.

  The return fire from Malcolm ceased as Jon fired. He shot for several more seconds before stopping, and then slid down the bench, not wanting to stay in the same spot where Malcolm knew he'd been.

  Jon turned around, careful not to make too much noise in the quiet sanctuary. It was difficult on his knees, but the pew was tall enough for him to crouch behind without exposing his head.

  Here goes nothing.

  Positioning his gun over the top of the bench, Jon peeked over. He didn't see Malcolm and didn't know where he'd gone. He could have run back into his room, or he could be hiding behind one of several objects on the stage.

  Malcolm looked up from behind a piano, and Jon didn't delay. He fired.

  Malcolm quickly ducked his head, hiding out of sight again.

  Jon remained still. He could wait for Malcolm to make a move, which he inevitably would. All he had to do was be patient.

  "You know, it'll only be a matter of time before someone comes to check on me!" Malcolm said. "What are you going to do then?"

  Jon didn't reply. If there was one thing he would not do, it was play into Malcolm's head games. Though, the man had a good point. If someone came in through the front of the church, Jon would be in a tight spot with being trapped between them. So, he focused on what his next move would be.

  For now, he kept the gun aimed in Malcolm's direction. He could feel the sweat collecting on his palm, making the gun slick in his hands. But he kept his breathing steady and focused.

  Malcolm reached his hand around the other side of the piano and pointed the gun at Jon. Because he'd been focusing on the other side of the piano, Jon didn't see it right away, leaving Malcolm with time enough to get a few more shots off before Jon could duck. Several more shots went off, and one bullet soared by Jon's head, hitting the pew behind him before he took cover again.