Free Dead South Rising: Book 1 by Sean Robert Lang

childhood. “Bryan, your grandpa was very sick.” He watched his eyes for understanding—and tears. “So sick, that he … he’d never really be … well … again.” David dropped his chin, pulled in a breath. “Do you understand?”
    “Will I get to talk to him again?”
    Through a thin, forced smile, David answered, “One day, Bryan. I’m sure one day.” He stood, squeezed Bryan’s shoulder, then patted him on the back.
    Bryan scrunched his brows in heavy thought. He turned and gazed at his grandpa again, seemed to ponder what he’d just been told.
    “How about you ride with me in Jimmy’s truck? We can borrow it together.”
    The boy looked up at David, hesitant to answer, then his eyes landed on the gun hanging at this stranger’s side. He stood there, unmoving, then his finger went to the corner of his mouth.
    “What do you say, Bry?” David eyed him carefully with a sideways gaze. “I get it. Your parents taught you not to accept rides from strangers, didn’t they?”
    Bryan nodded with a weak smile.
    “That’s good, Bryan. That’s good that you mind your parents. But I’m not a stranger, anymore. Do you remember my name?”
    He nodded again, this time bigger. “David.”
    “That’s right, Bryan. You have a good memory.” He wiped away the sweat trickling from his own brow. “And we can’t be strangers anymore if we know each other’s names, right?” Eager to get going, David tried to make him feel more at ease by compelling a genuine smile.  
    “I guess so.”
    “Let’s grab some of your stuff, then we’ll hit the road. Okay?”
    “Okay.”
    “Good. You’ll have fun riding in the big truck. I promise.”

Chapter 6

    Jessica knew she didn’t have much time. She could hear Sammy’s yammering outside, smothered by the thin trailer house walls. He and his buddy were already pushing Randy’s buttons, tearing him down, figuring him out so they could cajole him over to their side. Whatever side that was. She had to hurry.
    She found her Sig Sauer P238 compact handgun, a beautiful gift from Mitch, inside the nightstand drawer right where it should have been. Ejecting the magazine, she double-checked to be sure it was loaded, a habit she developed years ago. Satisfied, she thumbed the safety and tucked the gun between her waistband and the small of her back, hoping it would remain there. Unused.
    She needed to pee, wanted to lay back down, stick the IV needle back into her vein. The Levaquin had worked wonders in a short amount of time, but she was nowhere near better yet. Her back ached, especially her right kidney. Of all the times to get the worst UTI of her life. Randy had said it was serious. Life-threatening, if he couldn’t get it treated. He’d called it something else, though. Started with a ‘P.’ Fancy name for a glorified urinary tract infection.
    She took care of one of the three immediate needs.
    Voices and laughter. Outside. She drew her lips into a tight scrunch, angry that these childish men were picking on Mitch’s friend. Her friend. Of all the people Jessica had come to know in her life, Randy was tops. She often thought, especially when enduring a verbal lashing from Mitch, how different things would be had she met Randy first. Sure, Randy was no looker. But his heart was pure gold, and Jessica loved gold.
    When she’d finished with her bathroom business, she moved to the kitchen. She decided to make good on her promise to provide Sammy and Guillermo with some water. Maybe if she could just stall them, keep them contained, content. At least until Mitch made it home.
    She pulled two glasses from the cabinet and filled them from the tap. They had run out of bottled water only a week into the whole ordeal, but thankfully they had their own well. And she was just as thankful Mitch had the foresight to install a solar-powered setup. Water was no problem for them, as Randy had alluded to earlier. Maybe they didn’t have to leave. Maybe they could make this place