Free Dead South Rising: Book 1 by Sean Robert Lang Page A

safe. Maybe David was wrong.
    But Mitch would still be there. She doubted they could convince Mitch to leave his own place. Then again, depending on what Sammy wanted to discuss, maybe it would just work itself out.
    She considered popping a pain pill, then thought better of it. She wanted to keep her wits about her, stay sharp. Well, as sharp as she could be, given her weakened state. The arrival of the two strangers had set off a surge of adrenaline, and she was riding high for now.
    Curling her fingers around the glasses, she started toward the door, then stopped. Propped against Mitch’s recliner was a walkie-talkie. With their smartphones no longer useful, the group had agreed early on to carry a communicator on runs. She remembered the range being around twenty-five miles or so. Her heart flipped, and she set the glasses on the table, practically dove for the device.
    She twisted the knob, powering it on. “David? David, are you there?” The button beeped when she let it go. Seconds crept by. “David?” Beep.
    After another few seconds, she tried again. “Mitch? Hello? Mitch?” She waited, the beeping of the button her only company. “Anybody there?”
    “Who is this?”
    Jessica didn’t recognize the voice. It caught her off guard.
    She stuttered slightly. “Um … who is this ?”
    A long blast of silence followed. Then, “I do believe I asked you first.”
    She didn’t like the tone. The slow southern drawl evinced arrogance. Whoever it was, he sounded like he was playing games, like in some ‘B’ horror movie.
    Against her better judgement, she pressed the button. “Where’s David?”
    Another long pause. “You sound downright delicious. What’s your name, darlin’?”
    The fuse to Jessica’s temper hissed an angry spark. She didn’t have the time nor the patience for this. And she didn’t like being called, darlin ’. “I asked you if David was there.”
    “No, I’m afraid David can’t come to the phone right now.”
    She sucked in an angry breath that fanned her ignited rage. “Well what about Mitch? My husband?”
    “I’m afraid he is indisposed of as well, darlin’.”
    She was already tired of this unproductive bantering. “Put David on.”
    “I told you, I’m unable to oblige you.”
    “Why?”
    “Because. David’s dead.”
    Her jaw unhinged, and she sank to her knees. Her lungs emptied, spilling precious air. Air she needed to keep her conscious and in control.  
    No. No way. This guy’s lying. Flat out lying . I call bullshit.
    She gulped a shallow breath, enough to challenge the voice drifting from the box in her hand. “What about Mitch then?”
    “I’m afraid Mitch is dead, too.”
    She shook her head, lips pressed into a thin line. Finally, she said, “I don’t believe you.”
    “Well, believe what you want, darlin’. But how do you explain the fact that I am talking to you right now using their CB radio?”
    Jessica shook her head again, this time with quick snaps, and fanned her face. She’d begun to sweat profusely.
    Wake up. Gotta wake up.
    “Easy,” she said. “You’re using your own radio. You just happen to be on the same frequency. Now get off this channel.”
    “Morris. David’s last name was Morris.”
    An eternity of silence. Jessica’s heart clogged her throat. Grainy drizzle clouded her vision. She couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t see. Heaving, she fell forward on her forearms.  
    Click … hiss … “Darlin’? You still there?” Beep.
    She glimpsed the two-way, but let it be. This was too much. This cruel man with the heavy southern drawl, calling her darlin’ , was fucking with her. That was all. She knew this. He had to be.
    She retched, but it was dry.
    Then, from outside the trailer, gunshots.

Chapter 7

    “Slow down,” David said to Bryan as the boy bounded up the steps to the old farmhouse. Seeing this boy in such a Norman Rockwell moment tugged at the corners of his mouth, and he smiled genuinely.
    Bryan turned to look back