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

at David, an apologetic frown on his face.
    David waved him on. “It’s okay. Just don’t want you to slip and fall.”
    As Bryan reached for the familiar door knob, David grabbed his arm. “Wait.”
    “What’s the matter, David?”
    David stood there on the porch, listening, his head pivoting. He thought he heard something, but then dismissed it. “Nothing, Bry. But I think it’d be a good idea if I went in first, okay?”
    The boy nodded, stepping back.
    Twisting the old brass knob slowly, the door opened with barely a creak or any effort. This surprised David, given the humidity and age of the house. Old Man Bartlett must have kept the place tip-top. Any other wood-framed homestead would be swelled and bulging, with windows frozen in their frames, doors jammed in their jambs.
    A shadowy darkness oozed out. The two-story house didn’t have windows on the sides, only four in the front with maybe a couple in the back, from what he could recall. It wouldn’t be as well lit inside. He craned his neck, trying to garner a preview of what awaited them beyond the threshold. Given that the boy was okay and in good health, he suspected nothing.
    “Were you by yourself, Bryan?”
    He shook his head.
    “No? Who was with you?”
    Bryan’s lip twisted. “Grandpa.”
    David felt like an ass. “Of course, right.” He rubbed his neck, the whiplash fire mere embers now. “I meant to say, was anybody else with you and your grandpa?”
    Another head shake.
    “Okay.” He drew his knife.
    Bryan’s eyes widened.
    “It’s okay, Bry. It’s for ‘just in case.’ I’m sure we’ll be fine.”
    “Why is it for ‘just in case’? Aren’t you a policeman?”
    David volleyed Bryan’s quizzical gaze. “What makes you say that, Bry?”
    The boy pointed to the freshly donned pistol on David’s hip. “Wouldn’t you use your gun instead? I thought the bad guys used knives. To stab people with.” He blinked inquisitively.
    Another smile turned David’s lips. “No, Bryan, I’m not a policeman. But I’m not a bad guy, either.”
    “So what are you?”
    Well, you see, Bry, I’m just a normal guy trying to make it in this crazy, fucked up world we now share with the dead. “Just a normal guy, Bryan. Nothing special.”
    The boy nodded, seemingly satisfied with the answer. Or tired of the conversation. David couldn’t be sure which.
    David adjusted his grip on the handle, preparing himself for the unexpected. For the boogeyman to burst out of the coat closet. For a shuffler to hurtle itself down the staircase, bowling them over.
    But as he pressed through the doorway and into the small foyer, nothing came. Nothing jumped out to scare them. Nothing came barreling down the stairs. The stuffy house held silent, the last of its secrets now dead with the man on the fence.
    “Where’s your clothes, Bryan?”
    He pointed upstairs.
    Figures. David nodded. “Alright. You ready?”
    “Yes.”
    Upstairs, the boy packed his backpack, trying to stuff in as much as he could. His grandfather advocated playing outside, not inside with a bunch of electronic gadgets and gizmos, so Bryan didn’t have much in the way of toys or distractions. David wondered if he even knew what a smartphone was.
    If a smartphone would ever be again.
    The thought sparked memories of arguments with his daughter, Karla. She wanted the latest, demanded the greatest. And that wife of his had spoiled their kid beyond rotten. There was simply no talking her out of anything.
    While Bryan packed, David peeked out the bedroom window and into the back. He could see the pen where Mitch had killed the pig earlier. He wondered if Bryan had seen him do it.
    “You ready?”
    “Almost.” He was stuffing his backpack to near bursting.
    After another minute of coercing the zipper along its track, Bryan finally said, “Whew. Got it.”
    “Good deal.”  
    As they descended the stairs, David wondered if the farmhouse would make a good relocation spot. Tim had obviously