Dead South | Book 2 | Dead Lies Page 11

  The blood seeping from the baseball-size wound warmed his hand, and his arm pulsated. So many thoughts ran through his head. First and foremost, how long would it take for him to turn? He’d only been around a small handful of people who’d been bitten, and only stayed around long enough to see one of them turn. That turn had only taken a couple of hours, but he’d heard from some of the folks at Hope’s Dawn that they’d seen it take days for an infection to set in. He had no idea how much time had passed in the time since the man who’d bitten him had been infected. He also didn’t know if that mattered, or if everyone turned in their own time.

  Either way, Jon South was on the clock.

  And he didn’t know how long he had, but he hoped he’d at least have enough time to help with the prison raid before he became a zombie.

  For now, he had to stop the bleeding. He looked around and found some hand towels hanging on a nearby endcap. Some of them had fallen down on the ground, but a few remained on hooks. He grabbed a couple of the towels, pressing one of them against his arm to stop the bleeding.

  As he held the towel against his arm and made his way to the exit, Jon thought of another dilemma.

  What am I going to tell the others?

  Brooke was the first one to come to his mind. She was the only one who really mattered. He’d become friends with Terrence and Garrett and Hugo, and he knew they would miss having him around, but his connection with Brooke was different. He wasn’t sure if it was romantic or if it ever would have turned that way, but the two had a kinship that he hadn’t felt since Carrie had been taken from him. Brooke would be devastated when she found out about the bite, and it could affect her ability to concentrate on taking the prison. So, he decided that he couldn’t tell her. At least not until they had done what they needed to do at the prison. Jon only hoped he would last long enough to see the entire mission through, and to do his part to help them secure the place and find the supplies they needed to get back to the injured people at Hope’s Dawn.

  This brought forth the other question of whether or not he should even return. He was putting other people in danger, not knowing when he might turn. Was it worth it for him to go to the prison at all?

  Yet, he knew he had to go. If anything, he had to at least take everyone the bottles he’d found at the store. He could figure out the rest from there.

  When Jon reached his bike, he removed the towel from his arm to check the wound. He’d been able to stop the bleeding, but the skin had already started to darken around the edges. He could only look at the bite for a few moments without his stomach churning over seeing the muscle and tissue on the inside of his arm exposed. He used the towel as a tourniquet, securing it tightly to his arm. He then removed the backpack and put his long-sleeved shirt back on. He’d have to wear it while at the prison in order to cover up that he’d been bitten.

  He mounted the bike and sat there for a moment, caressing the handlebars. And as he cranked it up and revved the motor a few times, all he could think about was one thing.

  Would this be his last ride?

  27

  The bite burned like hell.

  Jon could hardly concentrate on the road. If it hadn’t been for the fact that he needed to help his friends take over the prison, Jon would have been okay dying out there on his own. Maybe he would ride the bike right off of a cliff. Or perhaps he would find a tree to go sit under and enjoy his last moments before putting a bullet in his brain to prevent his eventual turn into one of the infected monsters. That turn was going to happen, but Jon had more to do before that moment came.

  But the bite hurt so much. So, when he was within a mile of the prison, he pulled over.

  Shutting off the engine, he initiated the kickstand and dismounted the bike. Taking off his plaid button-up shirt, he unwrapped the blood-soaked towel. It peeled away from his skin like roadkill being shoveled up off asphalt. Jon gritted his teeth, shutting his eyes to try to think of anything else but the pain.

  The wound had turned blacker, with shades of purple. The rot was setting in. Jon could almost hear the ticking clock in his head.

  Reaching into his saddlebag, Jon found a spare t-shirt. He ripped off a section of it that was large enough to dress the wound and stuffed the rest of it into his backpack. He wrapped the bite again, grimacing as he pulled it tight. He only wanted to keep it from bleeding long enough for him to help with the prison and well enough so that Brooke wouldn’t figure out he’d been bitten. She couldn’t find out. At least not until they got past the prison yard full of zombies.

  Once he’d assured himself the injury was correctly dressed, he put his shirt back on and mounted the bike again. To his left, he heard a snarl. Jon looked over and saw a zombie slumped over, lumbering through the woods. The thing was aimless, clueless to the fact that Jon was there. Jon watched it, wondering if the creature had any consciousness or awareness of what it was doing.

  Jon put his hand on his gun.

  But it wasn’t the zombie walking through the woods that threatened him. It was the one waiting within himself.

  There’s no way in hell I’m going to turn into one of those things.

  The others were already waiting for him at the prison when he arrived. Between the two camps, there were around a dozen of them total who had volunteered. Considering that he wasn’t sure how much time he would have, Jon felt thankful he wouldn’t have to wait around for them to arrive.

  They had parked at the top of a hill overlooking the prison. As he approached, Brooke turned his way. She smiled and left the group she’d been standing with. Jon could barely get off the bike before Brooke was trying to hug him. He shut off the engine and engaged the kickstand.

  “I’m so glad you’re here,” Brooke said. “I was starting to worry about you.”

  Jon swallowed. Act natural. Don’t let her know anything happened.

  The two hugged, and Jon made sure he guarded his arm against rubbing on her, and against her unknowingly touching where he’d been bitten. When they pulled away, her smile faded as she looked into his face.

  “Are you alright? What’s the matter?”

  “I’m fine,” Jon said, stumbling over the words.

  “Are you sure? You look pale… and just don’t seem yourself.”

  Calm yourself, Jon.

  He put a hand on her shoulder. “I’m good. I’m just anxious to get this over with.”

  She cracked a smile for another quick moment before it went away again.

  Jon swung the bag off his shoulder, again avoiding the wound, and then kneeled and opened it. “I’ve got quite a few bottles here.”

  “Great,” Brooke said, still not sounding enthused. “You should bring them over here so we can get them loaded and ready to go.”

  Jon picked the bag up by one of the straps and walked over to the group. Terrence, Hugo, and Raylon stood there talking among the others, and shook hands with Jon as he approached.

  “Glad to see you made it back in one piece,” Raylon said.

  “Me, too,” Jon said, still trying not to show his hand. He set the backpack on the truck’s tailgate and pulled the bottles out, placing them next to the bag. “This is all I could find.”

  “It’ll be enough,” Raylon said, turning around to the people from his camp. “Maria, come get these bottles ready.”

  Jon stepped toward the prison, watching the zombies in the yard. Most of them had gathered at the fence, wanting badly to reach the humans on the other side. He stopped fifteen yards from the fence and just looked at them. The monsters screamed in a chorus of spitting snarls. Again, he wondered if any conscious thoughts ran through their minds or if the bodies were nothing more than vessels to hold the virus. He believed that the people inside were indeed dead—and that he would be, too, once the infection overtook him.

  A hand touched his shoulder, and it startled Jon. He turned to see Terrence holding his hands up.

  “Whoa, didn’t mean to scare you.”

  “It’s alright,”
Jon said.

  “You doing okay?” Terrence asked. “Something about you seems different.”

  Jon looked past Terrence to Brooke, who stood near the truck going over the plan with Raylon, Hugo, and others.

  “No. Things aren’t okay.” Jon refocused on Terrence. “There’s something I need to tell you, but it’s got to stay between us. You especially can’t tell Brooke.”

  28

  “I think we’re ready to do this,” Raylon said.

  Jon glanced over at Raylon, then back at Terrence. His friend swallowed, not having said anything since Jon had broken the bad news to him.

  “I can’t turn into one of those dead bastards, Terrence. If it starts happening and you’re around, I need to know that you’ll do what needs to be done.”

  Terrence bit his lip and put his hands on his hips, staring at the ground.

  “Terrence, you have to—”

  “I know,” Terrence said, cutting him off.

  “But I need to hear you say that you’ll do it,” Jon said. “I need to know that, if I turn, you’ll put me down.”

  Looking past Terrence, Jon saw Brooke approaching. Jon shuffled his feet and refocused on Terrence.

  “Terrence, I need you to say it.”

  “We’re ready, guys,” Brooke said.

  Terrence looked up at Jon and nodded. “You got it.” He’d said it loud enough to where Brooke could hear him, as well, and it sounded like he was responding to her. But Jon knew he was talking to him, and he felt confident that Terrence would do what needed to be done if necessary.

  But again, Brooke could see that something was wrong. She could see it on Terrence’s face now.

  “What’s going on?” she asked him, briefly glancing at Jon.

  “Nothing,” Terrence replied. “I’m just ready to get this over with.”

  “All of us are,” Hugo said, standing nearby.

  Jon went to his bike, sitting down on it. Half of the group then loaded into the pickup truck, ready to follow him, while the rest waited patiently.

  “Wait a minute after I pull away from here,” Jon said to the men in the back of the truck. “Then, once I’ve got them distracted, ride over and light them up.” He looked at Brooke, Terrence, Hugo, and Raylon. “Wait for my signal. When I feel it’s safe, haul ass over here and get through that gate. We’ll keep them distracted and then be right behind you.”

  They acknowledged the plan, and Jon started the bike, revving the engine a few times. He took a deep breath before looking over at Brooke. She stared at him with a blank face, her lips slightly parted. She knew something was wrong. Maybe not that he had been bitten by a zombie, but Brooke was smart enough to know something was up. In his mind, Jon did wonder if she knew he’d been bitten. He thought he could sense that she knew he’d soon turn into one of infected.

  Jon then glanced down at his handlebars and focused ahead. He gave the bike some gas and pulled away, speeding toward the prison.

  The creatures lumbered around the prison yard with no rhyme or reason. Jon gained speed as he approached, making the engine scream louder. He achieved the reaction he’d hoped for, garnering the attention of the beasts. Many already stood at the fence and started to snarl, and the engine gathered the attention of the rest of the horde.

  That’s right, you bastards. Come on.

  The zombies hit the fence, their ashen hands gripping the chain link. Jon worried the fence might buckle under the pressure. The prison had been closed for a couple of years now, and the fence hadn’t been maintained. But it did its job and held.

  As Jon got closer to the prison, more of the zombies poured toward the fence. He started to trail off to the left, heading toward the far left corner of the yard, where he would try to trap the zombies. He hoped he could get them to bottleneck in the corner and that the others could then come up behind them and light the creatures up with Molotovs.

  It worked.

  The creatures stumbled down the fence, tumbling over each other as they followed the motorcycle. Jon grinned as he reached the far corner of the fence and brought the bike to a skidding stop.

  He watched the creatures rush toward him as the first several slammed into the fence. Others gathered behind them, sending the front row down onto the ground and trampling over them. The horde continued to come in a large wave, congregating right where Jon wanted them to.

  Out of the corner of his eye, Jon saw the pickup truck steaming toward the prison. Wanting to make sure the zombies stayed clustered, he revved the bike, making as much noise as possible.

  “Stay right there, you stupid fucks!” he screamed. “You’re all going to fucking burn!”

  He waved his free arm, continuing to twist the throttle and scream at the creatures. For the time being, Jon managed to put aside the fact that he’d soon be no different than the ugly bastards on the other side of the fence he was screaming at. He was going to use his dying moments as a human to help out those closest to him.

  The pickup truck made it to the fence and had barely gotten the attention of any of the zombies. Jon looked at the group in the back of the truck.

  “Now!”

  They lit the bottles and tossed them into the air. Jon watched the half-a-dozen bottles arch over the fence and land in different parts of the horde.

  The fight for the prison had begun.

  29

  He watched the fucking bastards burn.

  The flames spread like wildfire as the people in the truck tossed the first round of Molotovs over the fence and into the heart of the horde. The monsters screamed, piercing Jon’s ears. He didn’t know if they were screaming in pain or why they shrieked. Once he turned into one of the creatures, he wanted to feel nothing. He only wanted to die, and the virus could do with his body what it wanted once he was gone.

  In the back of the truck, his friends lit the next round of Molotovs and tossed them over into the yard. Many of the zombies raged, gripping the fence and trying to break through to punish their attackers. Others scattered throughout the yard, running around as fireballs. The howls continued to ring in Jon’s ears, and then the smell hit his nostrils. He’d briefly smelled burning flesh when Judah’s house had been lit on fire, but that had been nothing compared to the stench he was experiencing now. He coughed a few times, then put his arm up to his mouth and kept himself from retching. He’d have to get used to the smell because it wasn’t going away anytime soon.

  Jon continued to watch the fire spread and the zombies burn. After only a few minutes, the Molotovs stopped sailing over the fence.

  “We’re out,” Jason said from the back of the truck.

  Jon looked back to where Brooke and the others were parked, waiting for their signal. He turned his attention back to the yard. Over half of the creatures had already fallen, and while they continued to burn, he could see they were motionless. Many others burned and ran around the prison yard in a panic. It was a good start, and more of the zombies caught fire as the burning creatures thrashed around.

  It was time.

  Jon gave the signal.

  The truck came rushing down the hill toward the gate. It was the same box truck Hope’s Dawn had used to sabotage the Vultures’ camp. Jon and those in the Molotov truck held their position. The plan was for them to wait until the last possible moment to move, wanting to hold the zombies’ attention while the other truck exploded through the gate. Most of the zombies kept their focus on Jon. They looked at him almost as if they knew he was going to become one of them. Like they could sense that he’d been bitten and now carried the virus. He grabbed the place over his shirt on his arm where he’d been bitten.

  Jon then pulled his pistol out of its holster and revved up the bike. And moments before the truck exploded through the gate, he pulled the throttle, and the bike took off.

  The box truck blew through the gate, and Jon and the other truck followed.

  Jon kept his eyes on the confused horde as he headed for the gate. The fire had continued to spread th
rough the pack, and more of the zombies were falling. But there were still plenty left to deal with—enough to take Jon and the others out.

  By the time Jon and the pickup made it through the gate, the zombies had already turned their attention from the corner of the yard. They were now running towards him and the others. Brooke and Terrence’s group had already made it to the prison entrance and were piling out of the truck, trying to get inside.

  The fire had apparently pissed off the zombies, which seemed to make them run faster. Jon had to decide to either race towards the entrance or try to take out some of the zombies. The gun felt clammy in his hands as he raised it and aimed it towards the oncoming creatures.

  He tried to pick his shots, not wanting to waste any ammunition, but so many creatures rushed at him that Jon didn’t have the luxury to be selective. He hit a couple of the zombies in the body, and it was enough to at least keep them back away from him, though it didn’t end them.

  Jon looked ahead, and could see Brooke and the others had gotten the door open and were shuffling people into the prison. The door was only about thirty yards away.

  Turning his attention back to the horde, Jon raised his gun again, only to see a zombie running at him and too close for comfort. It took him by surprise and caused him to panic long enough to jerk the handlebars with his free hand. He cried out as he laid the bike down and went sliding across the pavement.

  As he hit the ground, Jon had enough awareness to protect the arm which had been bitten. It would have hurt like hell to slide on it, and the ground could have torn his shirt and exposed his bite wound. But now he had to worry about the zombies coming at him.