Dead South Rising: Book 1 (23 page)

A shuffler brushed against the truck. Randy couldn’t see the thing, but he heard it, felt it, could smell the noxious nastiness on the otherwise pleasant night air. He tried to calm himself, tell himself it was the same creature that he’d heard only moments ago. But something was going on. Something unusual, even for these heretical times.

Then, his hearing was assaulted. In the distance. He actually leaned forward, turned his eyes to the strip of sky above, half expecting a Fourth of July fireworks display. He knew better, of course, but that’s exactly what it sounded like.

Pure panic twisted his throat, then lodged its choking fist into the bottleneck. He couldn’t say anything if he’d wanted to. Couldn’t retch if he’d tried. His own private fireworks were streaking across his vision from lack of air. He needed to get a hold of himself. He wasn’t the hero type, never had been. At least not in the
action
hero sort of way.

He half expected a barrage of bullets to rain down on them, pelting the truck like a freak hailstorm. But his thoughts quickly turned to David and what kind of trouble he was in. He just knew that David and Mitch were having it out. What else could it be? And based on the crazy amount of gunfire, Sammy and Gills were probably in on it, too. He cursed David for not listening to him. The man could be so damn stubborn …

Movement up the highway grabbed his eye, and he sucked in a squeal of a breath. He wanted to avoid disturbing Bryan and Jessica, but that goal seemed quite pointless given that their safety—his included—was in serious jeopardy.

Then, probably a hundred yards away, a bobbing light.

The big Dodge rocked as he hopped and slid across the seat. He prayed it was David dashing toward them. Figured it had to be him. No one else—to his knowledge, anyway—knew that they were there. Maybe Mitch and the others hot on David’s tail. Randy decided that he’d better be ready to take off, maybe go ahead and get the truck turned around so all David had to do was hop in and off they’d go.

He set the pistol on the seat within easy reach should he need to use it. Then he focused on familiarizing himself with the truck. He prided himself on being the logical sort, able to think things through. It was part of what he loved about nursing school. Figuring things out and fixing them. Life or death things.

But he didn’t like the insane pressure, the seconds stepping all over him, kicking him every now and again. He felt the need to wave his arms, shoo the seconds away like flies. Flies that bit and chomped and stung.

Calm down. Breathe. Think. Brake. Press the brake. Press the Clutch. Put it in neutral. Twist the key.

The bobbing light was headed his way in a wild hurry. Whoever held it was running at a full sprint, their arms chugging like a steam locomotive’s wheel coupling rods, tossing the light beam all over the road, the trees, the sky. They’d be at the truck within a matter of seconds. And Randy would be ready.

Rather than wait until David reached the truck, he twisted the key, waking the dozing diesel engine. It growled its mighty growl, disturbing whatever peace remained. Randy felt the rumble in his bones.

Hurry, hurry, hurry.

The light was almost upon them. Randy thumb-drummed the wheel, willing David to move faster. Not wanting to blind him with the headlights, Randy switched on the parking lights, giving David a visible bull’s-eye. But he’d wait until he was beside the truck to pop the door locks. Just in case.

In the distance, more shots thundered on the air, a war underway. Curiously, they didn’t sound any closer. The logic he loved so much told him they should be, given that their likely target was just ahead of him. But there was no time to ponder the possibilities, the whys and what fors. He just knew he’d better be ready when David reached the door. Take the initiative. Do something right.

With the flashlight beam bobbing and strobing at him, Randy couldn’t confirm if David was injured, but he had no reason to believe so, given how quickly he was moving. So when the fleeing man reached the door and slapped at the glass high above his shoulders, Randy hit the button without hesitation, launching the lock into the open position.

And instantly he regretted it.

“Open the door! Please!” The male voice pleaded.

The outside handle clicked.

“It’s open, it’s open!” A female voice responded.

It was not David pounding at the glass. These were strangers. Two of them. And it was too late.

The man flung the door wide, revealing an inky darkness behind him, save for the amber and cherry glow of parking lights. He shone his light into the cab, straight at Randy, blinding him.

Randy held up a palm to block the blaring light while groping for the gun with his other.

“Go, go, go!” The male commanded.

“I’m in!” The female pulled herself onto the seat, sliding on her belly, legs kicking behind her.

“Hurry!”

“I’m trying! Push me!”

The sizzling light relented, but Randy still couldn’t make out who had invaded their safe zone. Panic ripped at this throat again, and he found himself without a voice and still groping for the gun. He was afraid it had fallen into the crack of the seat with all the commotion.

The woman yelled, “Grab my hand!”

“Just slide over! Move over!” The man was on the running board, working his way into the towering cab.

The truck shifted under the new weight. Whoever this man was, he was of substantial build.

Randy’s eyes were struggling to adjust from the previous onslaught of ill-aimed light, was still seeing fading images of brightness on his vision. His thick glasses had only served to amplify the laser-like attack on his irises. He blinked rapidly, hoping to clear his vision and head.

The man yanked the door closed with a robust slam. The intruders breathed heavily, no doubt from equal amounts of fear and running. The woman was hunched over on her forearms, pulling in deep breaths, the man leaned back, hands on his face.

Randy felt the need to urinate, his bladder playing Paul Revere, yelling to all the other organs of impending attack.

The shufflers are coming! The shufflers are coming! Run, now, while you still can!

“You okay?” the man asked the woman. “You bit?”

“No, I’m good. You?”

“I’m good.” To Randy, the man said, “Thanks so much, man. We owe you something big. Saved our hides.”

Randy’s eyes started to cooperate, bright grainy images on his irises fading, welcoming the wan glow of the dashboard instrument panel.

He must have stunk of fear, because the male stranger said, “It’s alright, man.” He showed his palms. “We ain’t gonna hurt nobody. You alive, right? Not one of them?” He dipped his chin toward the windshield.
 

Randy nodded hesitantly.

The man smiled, white teeth glowing in the dim light. “Good, then we on the same side, friend.”

The woman interjected, “Stranger, it’s not me to jump in someone else’s ride and start barking orders, but you probably wanna turn this thing around and get on the gas. Them things is almost on top of us.”

“Um …” Randy turned his gaze forward, but saw only a massive shadow.

The man said, “Hit your headlights, you’ll see what we’re talking ‘bout.”

Randy desperately wished he’d kept the gun in his grip, not been careless and set it down. The strangers clamoring to get into the truck had put pressure on the seat, enough to let the tiny pistol slip through the crack. It was surely wedged somewhere in there.

The man nodded again toward the way they’d just come. “Check it out.”

Against his better judgement, Randy lit the headlights. And he immediately wanted to turn them back off.

Holy mother of—

The man chuckled. “Crazy shit, right? Ever seen anything like that? Like a goddamn sue … sue-a-nom … Oh, what the hell that big ocean wave called, Taneesha? You know the one I mean. Not a tidal wave but—”

“Tsunami.”

“Right, tsunami. A damn big tsunami.”

Randy exhaled deeply, his gaze locked on the terror oozing toward them. He’d never seen so many together at one time before. Ever. Made the pack back at the trailer seem like a measly mud puddle compared to this ocean. It was just as the man said, a tsunami of shufflers headed straight for them.

Maybe it was the sheer number of them that broke Randy’s silence, the surreality of the scene, but he finally said, “You two … were in that? Outran them?”

Taneesha nodded. “Uh huh. Leonard was swinging his axe like on one of them horror shows, cutting ‘em down as quick as he could, but they just keep a coming.” She wiped sweat from her brow. Her breathing had slowed, but she was still somewhat winded. “He’d whack one, shoulder block another one—”

Leonard jumped in, “Never thought pro wrestling would a been a lifesaving skill. Just put my shoulder into ‘em, ya know? Drop some elbows. Don’t have to worry about a ref counting at me for choking nobody, though. Try to keep my hands as far away from them things as possible.” He wiped his cheek on his arm and chuckled.

Randy said, “How did you two get out here, in the middle of nowhere?”

Taneesha waved a finger at the windshield. “I really don’t mean to be telling you what to do, but them things …”

Leonard finished her statement. “Them things about to be on us like white on rice. No offense.”

“Trust us, you don’t want them things all around you, even if you in something like this.” She patted the dash.

Randy’s mind was a whirlpool on steroids. He had to make a decision. Now. These two strangers showing up out of nowhere… David still gone …
 

What would David do?

He didn’t want to leave David behind, especially with the surprising arrival of outsiders. But his window of opportunity wasn’t just closing, it was slamming shut. David did say if things took a bad turn to take off. He’d find them. And Randy suspected he would. But what if these two were not good people? Would they kill him? Jessica? Bryan? He had an obligation to protect them. David had said so.

Randy imagined that, if left to their own devices, Sammy and Gills would have killed him. Would have killed Jessica. Maybe even Bryan. He wasn’t sure why he was so certain of this, just that he was. And now these two. They seemed harmless enough. Well, harmless to humans, at least. They appeared genuine. His gut felt good about them, but it was too early to tell.

He had to move, though. The approaching army of dead determined his next course of action, nothing and no one else did. But his nerves played havoc on his decision making, not having driven a stick shift vehicle in such a long time.

Ever.

Randy slid the seat forward so he could comfortably work the pedals, then jammed on the clutch. He wobbled the stick into first, pressing the gas, foot slipping off the clutch. The dually lurched, died.

The strangers looked at him, deep concern in their deeper eyes.

“I got it,” Randy said. “Hang on a sec.”

Taneesha said, “That’s about all the time we got.”

Twisting the ignition, Randy brought the truck back, its heavy metal engine pounding out a powerful song. He played with the friction zone for a moment, rocking the truck a few times, then inched it forward. Gears ground, the engine revving high.

“You gonna be able to drive this thing?” Leonard asked.

Randy tossed him a look that begged Leonard’s patience, and Leonard held up his hands.

Breathing deep, Randy worked to quiet his screaming insides. He knew he could do it. Would do it. Had to. He just needed a second, get the feel of things.

The big Dodge eased forward then to the right, the headlights swinging off the horde clogging the lanes ahead. Turning the beast of a vehicle would be a challenge given the narrow road and sloping ditches on either side. He wished so badly for David to pop out of the underbrush and take the wheel, setting the pickup back on course.

Leonard’s eyes got wide, and his hands shot to the dash. “Whoa, whoa, whoa—”

The truck jerked to a stop, front tires short of the steep ditch. Their transport would most likely be okay if the front end went into the channel. The vehicle was four-wheel drive, after all, and tall as skyscraper. Still …

More grating of gears, passengers whipped forward. In the next instant, the back end dropped, the truck poised like a rocket on a launching pad. Randy thought he heard the snapping of metal, the four-link suspension rods, maybe. He prayed he’d backed into and over the small tree that had fallen into the ditch. He just couldn’t be sure. Only one way to know.

The truck bounced like some supermarket sidewalk pony ride that had eaten too many quarters. Rubber grabbed at road and dirt, desperately vying for traction. The diesel sounded pissed, angry. Randy imagined that if it could talk, it would tell him to get the hell out of the driver’s seat, leave the wrangling to someone competent. A quick glimpse through the cracked window revealed a wall of shufflers pressing in on them.

He realized then that he’d failed to engage the four-wheel drive. Hadn’t even thought to, figuring there’d be no need. He didn’t anticipate crawling out of a ditch or even having to drive at all. David should be the one at the controls, getting them out of this jam.

Randy’s eyes then drifted to the rearview mirror. It happened out of habit, most likely, since he couldn’t see past the blacked out back window. But he did notice Jessica sitting up and fully awake. Her gaze was stern, serious, but she crossed her tight lips with a single forefinger, then held up the missing Sig Sauer P238.

A wave of relief washed over Randy. He wasn’t in this alone, had backup should things go sour with the newcomers. With everything happening so fast, he really hadn’t slowed down long enough to wonder why Bryan and Jessica—or even Charlie, for that matter—had remained so quiet, disengaged. Now he knew. She and Bryan were wide awake, but keeping quiet. Still, he wished David would come back.

After engaging the four-wheel drive, the truck clawed its way out of the deep ditch and back onto the blacktop. Randy’s efforts weren’t elegant, but he’d gotten the job done. As he straightened out the behemoth, both strangers looked relieved but anxious, eager to get much farther away.