Dead South | Book 2 | Dead Lies

by Bohannon, Zach

  They said nothing; there were no words. Instead, they all turned toward the back of the camp, where others were already headed to the memorial. Brooke’s left hand took Jon’s right, and he looked over to see she’d used her other to grab Terrence’s. Then Terrence grabbed the boy’s, and they walked together in unison to the memorial.

  They stood near the back of the crowd as Garrett made his way to the front. After the battle with the Vultures, there were just over thirty people left in the camp. Hugo stood to Garrett’s side, his arm around him, offering support for the wounded man. Garrett had ventured out of the hospital only once since he’d been shot. Any other time, he would have received an ovation for his bravery, but instead, the only sounds in the air were those of people crying and sniffling as they tried to choke back tears.

  When he made it up before the crowd, he signaled to Hugo that he was okay. Hugo hesitated to let go, but did, and then moved a few feet away from Garrett when he saw he could stand on his own.

  Garrett stared at the ground for a moment, clearly holding back his own emotions. He removed his green military style cap, revealing the gray hair on top of his head. He collected himself for another moment before he looked up to face the survivors of Hope’s Dawn. He scanned the crowd, looking into the faces of everyone. His eyes eventually locked onto Jon’s, where they remained focused for several moments. He acknowledged Jon with a nod, though Jon wasn’t sure what it meant or why he’d decided to single him out. Jon didn’t want to admit it to Brooke, but he still felt as if all of this was his fault. But he simply nodded back at Garrett, who then focused his attention elsewhere before he began his speech.

  “This is both a joyous and tragic day for all of us,” Garrett began. “I wish we were celebrating our liberation, but instead, we stand here forced to mourn those who sacrificed themselves for us to become free. These were strong men and women who understood what needed to happen for Hope’s Dawn to have a future. They made the ultimate sacrifice, and I pray they are looking down on us today in peace.”

  As Garrett continued talking, Jon scanned the crowd. Most people cried, but some showed other emotions. Jon noticed anger, frustration, sadness, and even hope in some of the people’s faces. He looked down at the ground and wondered about what would happen next.

  The fight with the Vultures had been a battle, but Hope’s Dawn had not won the war. Even if killing their leader had shaken the cult, Jon feared they would regroup. And even if they didn’t, there would be others out there wanting the same sort of control that Judah had sought. For all the people of Hope’s Dawn knew, there could be another militia on the highways already looking for their next community to vanquish. Not to mention that the “he” whom Judah had mentioned could be more than a ghost the Vulture leader had used to try to scare Jon.

  Whatever came next, Hope’s Dawn would have to be ready. No longer could they be in a position of weakness. The days of being passive were over. They could try to move forward with an eye on peace, but they couldn’t be caught on one foot if another group came to overthrow them and take all that they had worked so hard to build.

  A hand squeezed his, pulling him out of his thoughts. Brooke didn’t look at him, only having taken his hand for her own comfort.

  Jon turned his attention back to Garrett, listening to the rest of the memorial while he wondered what would come next for the people around him.

  4

  The knock at the door echoed through the mostly vacant room, but Malcolm Storm didn’t budge. Sitting in the wooden rocking chair in the corner, he kept reading Darkest Hour, a book about Winston Churchill taking power while Great Britain was in the midst of World War II. When the door opened slightly, he still didn’t look up. The person at the entrance waited for several moments in the doorway without saying anything before finally deciding to speak.

  “Um, sir,” the nervous male voice said, “I’m sorry to bother you, but I understand you wanted to know when it was ready for you to see.”

  Malcolm still refused to look up. He licked his finger and turned to the next page in his book. In all of the silence, he could hear the nervous breathing of the man who’d interrupted him. The apprehensive messenger still remained in the doorway.

  “Sir,” the messenger said, “did you want me to—”

  Malcolm finally glanced up from his book, focusing his dark brown eyes on the face of Chad, one of his many followers. He said nothing and didn’t have to. Chad’s face turned red, and he averted his gaze down to the ground as he shut the door and left. Malcolm stared at the door for another moment before focusing on his book again. He finished the page he was on and then stuck his marker inside, closing the book. Setting it down on the table beside him, he took a moment before standing up. The joints in his knees popped as he rose. He’d fought off some of the effects of aging with routine stretching and exercise, but the years were still catching up to him. The fifty-three-year-old man could do more push-ups than just about anyone else in the Black Hill camp, but he still wouldn’t win the fight against time.

  He exited through the study’s side door and entered his living quarters. The space had once been the church’s kitchen and dining area, but Malcolm had fashioned it into his bedroom when he’d moved in. He always kept the room neat, with nothing crowding the floor, any blankets folded and left at the edge of the bed, and all of his clothes put up properly.

  Malcolm grabbed his green jacket from where it hung in the closet and headed through the far door and into the sanctuary. He’d left all the decor intact, including the large cross hanging above the stage and the stained-glass depiction of Jesus on the far wall. Walking down the center aisle of pews, he exited the church.

  As he stepped out into the afternoon sun, Malcolm stood at the top of the stairs looking out over the camp. Several people had stopped what they were doing to watch the church, apparently awaiting Malcolm’s arrival outside. But once he stepped out of the Baptist church and glanced around, everyone went back to what they’d been doing as if they had never stopped. Malcolm pushed his glasses up onto his nose and walked down the steps.

  He kept his eyes forward as he moved through the camp—never acknowledging anyone around him, but also not letting his eyes wander to the ground. Malcolm stood tall and kept his focus. To let his eyes wander or to drop his head would have shown weakness. The people of Black Hill had remained his followers because of his strength in leading them.

  No one tried talking to him this morning. They knew better.

  Two men stood outside of the hospital, guarding the door. The building had once been a hardware store, but its layout and abundant space made it the perfect building to serve as the camp’s medical facility. The men stood up straight as Malcolm approached. One of them, a thirty-something-year-old dark-haired man named Lou, opened the door for Malcolm.

  “They’re waiting for you inside, sir,” Lou said.

  Malcolm ignored Lou, stepping on past him.

  Inside, several people were talking, but they stopped as Malcolm entered. He stood in the doorway, adjusting the collar of his jacket and studying the people in the room.

  The camp’s doctor, Dana Stewart, stood with two men and a woman who weren’t part of the Black Hill community. Bryce, who was Malcolm’s second-in-command at the camp, was there, too.

  Bryce said, “Sir, they’ve brought the—”

  “Which one of you is the leader?” Malcolm asked the unfamiliar people in the room, cutting Bryce off.

  One of the men, a burly guy with a scraggly beard, stepped forward. “That’d be me, sir.”

  “You stay. Everyone else, other than Dr. Stewart, can leave.”

  The man glanced back at his two counterparts and gestured them toward the door. Bryce hesitated, but eventually left the room without question. Soon, it was only Malcolm, Dr. Stewart, and the new man.

  “Show me,” Malcolm said to Dr. Stewart.

  “I think I should warn you,” Dr. Stewart said, swallowing. “It’s not pretty.” She moved
a few feet to a closed-off stall and slid the curtain aside, revealing a covered body lying on a table.

  Malcolm stepped toward the bed and said again in a calm tone, “Show me, Dana.”

  Dr. Stewart exhaled and pulled the covers back. She looked at the body for a moment before turning her attention to Malcolm.

  Malcolm’s expression didn’t change. He moved from the foot of the bed to the side of it. Dr. Stewart made room for him, stepping back. Malcolm studied the corpse before him.

  The blanket covered him from his bellybutton down. Everything he could see was charred black. Due to the extensive burns, not even the victim’s tattoos were visible anymore.

  It didn’t look anything like Judah.

  Not taking his eyes off the former leader of the Vultures, Malcolm asked, “You’re sure this is him?”

  “Y-yes, sir,” the man said. “His boots managed to stay intact, and he was wearing his rings on his fingers. It’s him.”

  Malcolm’s breathing remained steady as he looked at the body before him for another moment. Then, he raised the sheets back over Judah’s face. He could feel relief coming from the others in the room as he hid the blistered corpse again. He took another moment to stare down at the shape of the body before looking over his shoulder at Dr. Stewart.

  “Have Bryce arrange for his burial and then come back here and prepare him. I want him in the ground before sundown. And make sure his rings make it to my living quarters.”

  “Yes, sir.” Dana left.

  Malcolm removed his glasses from his face, pulling a cloth from his pocket. “What’s your name?” he asked the man as he wiped smudges from the lenses.

  “Bennett, sir,” the man said. “Bennett Owens.”

  “Well, Bennett,” Malcolm said, putting his glasses back on and stuffing the cloth into his pocket again. “Congratulations… you’re the new leader of the Vultures. How many of you are left?”

  “Less than a dozen, sir. Most everyone ran off after the raid.”

  “Don’t worry about them. God will punish them for abandoning us. You will find others.”

  “Yes, sir,” Bennett said, a slight tremble in his voice.

  Malcolm reached under his shirt and grabbed the necklace he wore. Wrapping his hand around the pendulum hanging from the end of it, he then looked up at the new Vulture leader.

  “What can you tell me about the man who did this? The man they call the Savage.”

  5

  Jon scooped the venison onto his plate and left the line. With the night had come a clear sky, allowing the residents of Hope’s Dawn to eat dinner outside. Jon maneuvered through the crowd and made his way to the table with the leaders of the camp. On his way, he noticed the abundance of empty seats, making the absence of those who’d died more apparent.

  The others were already there, and Jon took the seat next to Brooke which she had saved for him. Terrence sat at his left, and Garrett and Hugo across from them. They were already digging into their plates.

  “Mmm, this is delicious,” Garrett said. “Hell of a job bagging this, Jon.”

  “Well, as Terrence will tell you, it should’ve been him who killed it.” Jon elbowed Terrence, who laughed.

  “Yeah, whatever,” Terrence said. “I’m just glad to see you up walking around and here at dinner with us, Garrett.”

  “Trust me, I’m thankful to be here, too.”

  “It was brave of you to get up there and speak to everyone today,” Brooke said to Garrett. “I think it made a big difference.”

  Looking down at his plate, Garrett shook his head. “It won’t bring any of them back, but I pray that we can move forward from this.”

  Hugo shrugged. “That’s all we can do.”

  “And how do we move forward from here?” Jon asked.

  The others looked at him. From talking to them over the past couple of days, he knew this would be a debate. No one wanted to say that was why they were sitting together at this dinner, but it was. Brooke had even decided to sit with this group instead of with her son because she knew the conversation would come up. They could continue to mourn the dead, but they also had to think about those still breathing at Hope’s Dawn. After several moments of looking at Jon, the gazes made their way to Garrett.

  Glancing around into his companions’ faces, Garrett opened his hands. “We have to decide that together. With the Vultures gone, we have a lot of options.”

  “Who’s saying the Vultures are gone?” Brooke asked.

  Jon had wondered that same thing. He couldn’t get Judah’s ‘he’ out of his mind.

  Hugo gestured toward Jon. “This hombre sitting here killed Judah. And many other Vultures died in the fight while those who didn’t scattered and ran. We raided their camp, and much of it burned to the ground. With no leadership and no real place to live, I don’t think they’re a threat anymore.”

  “And that type of thinking scares the crap out of me,” Brooke said. “How can we assume they’ll just give up?”

  “Brooke’s right,” Terrence said. “Judah might be dead, but there are still people out there who bought into what he was selling. Now isn’t the time to be passive and assume they’re just going to run off without wanting some kind of revenge.”

  “And what are you suggesting we do?” Hugo asked, frustration building in his voice. “Send a task force out and hunt them all down?”

  “No,” Brooke said. “But we need to be more prepared. We should reinforce the walls around the camp. Our defenses need to be stronger. With that in mind, we need more weapons, and we have to train more of the people here on how to use them. All of us should be walking around here armed and ready to act if something happens.”

  “I’m trying to give my family a normal life here,” Hugo said. “And now you want them to walk around here carrying rifles, living in fear that something is going to happen again?”

  “You know that’s not what I want,” Brooke said. “But this is the reality we live in, Hugo.”

  The two went back and forth for several minutes, and Jon found it best to remain silent. While he was a resident of Hope’s Dawn now, he was still the newest person here. He decided he’d listen and observe, and only speak when called upon to do so.

  “Alright, let’s settle down,” Garrett said, taking back control of the situation. He waited for the silence, clearing his throat. “I like the idea of raising our defenses. There’s nothing bad about making Hope’s Dawn more difficult to enter. We can probably do more to heighten our security, too. But, Brooke, I do worry about militarizing this place.”

  “I’m not talking about militarizing. This is about being more prepared.”

  “Yes, I understand.” Garrett nodded. “But there are ways to do that without making everyone walk around 24/7 with guns, and without arming the children.”

  “There’s nothing wrong with at least teaching the kids about gun safety and how to protect themselves,” Brooke said.

  “And there’s nothing wrong with allowing them to live normal childhoods, either,” Hugo added.

  They went back and forth some more before Garrett cut them off again. He then looked at Jon.

  “What do you think, Jon?”

  Jon leaned on his arms, elbows resting on the table as all eyes fell on him. He then sat back, breathing out and thinking before speaking. He glanced at Hugo, then at Brooke.

  “I think you’re both right,” he said, next turning his attention to Garrett. “You can’t afford to sit back and hope things are going to be fine. But at the same time, trying to make some semblance of normal life here is important. The thing is, like Brooke’s saying, ‘normal’ isn’t what it used to be. But that doesn’t mean that we can’t decide what that normal should look like now.”

  Garrett nodded, taking in what Jon said. He then hissed in pain, grabbing his stomach where he’d been shot. He leaned over onto Hugo, and Brooke and Terrence shot up and hurried around to the other side of the table. The commotion caught the attention of the rest of the
community, and everyone went silent.

  “You alright?” Brooke asked.

  “I’m fine.” Garrett noticed the rest of Hope’s Dawn looking his way, and he held up his hand. “I’m alright. Really. Everyone, return to what you’re doing.”

  As the chatter returned, Garrett sat back up without Hugo’s help. He grimaced for a moment before picking up his fork again.

  “We have a lot to think about,” he said. “But for now, let’s try to enjoy the rest of our meal and use this night to remember those who we buried today.”

  6

  Jon sat by the pond outside the gates of Hope’s Dawn, watching the sunrise. No matter how hard he tried or how late he went to bed, he couldn’t sleep past 6 a.m., and he’d woken up even earlier that morning. He’d sneaked out of the house without disturbing a snoring Terrence and had made his way over to the pond to enjoy the cool morning and be alone. Jon had also taken a hard look at his bike, thinking of traversing out of Hope’s Dawn for a morning ride to clear his head. But things had changed. Innocent people had lost their lives to save him, so he couldn’t take a dangerous joyride out in the open world for no good reason.

  As he sat by the water with his arms over his knees, Jon thought about dinner the previous night. Hope’s Dawn’s other leaders valued his opinion, but Jon had only wanted to sit back and observe. He was still new in this place, and truly wasn’t sure of the best thing for them to do. All he knew was that he agreed with Brooke, and that they couldn’t sit around trying to pretend like they could have a cozy life. Their old, cushy lives were gone, no matter how hard Hugo or any others wanted to act like it wasn’t. The Vultures were hopefully gone, but other threats would come. Hope’s Dawn had to be ready, even if they wanted to try to create a peaceful sort of life at the same time.

  He picked a stone up off the ground and tossed it into the water, watching it skip twice over the surface, before he pushed himself up to his feet. Wiping down the front of his pants, Jon headed back to the camp’s front gate.