Free Dead South Rising (Book 2): Death Row by Sean Robert Lang Page A

Randy exchanged glances.
    Randy said, “Janitor ain’t gonna like this.”
    The group could see the Janitor coming around the corner, leading another cluster of men.
    To Randy, Lenny said, “Better go check.”
    “Right.”
    “You three,” Lenny said, “Stay.”
    TJ said, “Hey, we ain’t no fucking dogs, man. Better show us some—”
    Lenny flashed a feint and a growl, and the three misfits flinched. TJ fumbled his rifle. Mallory stumbled into the wrought iron fence.
    Randy snickered.
    “Asshole,” TJ said. He waved a finger. “Both of you. Assholes.”
    Laura said, “This whole place is fucked up. I mean, shit. You people have deadies in the pool, deadies in the tennis courts. You weird fucks probably sleep with those damn things.” Throwing her hands up, she started toward the building. “We’re so outta here. C’mon y’all.”
    Mallory started after her, making a show of widely circumventing Lenny.
    “Don’t let the rattlers bite ya on the way out,” Lenny said.
    TJ didn’t move. “No, we ain’t going nowhere. The old man said we could stay.” His hand grasping the barrel, he thrust his rifle butt-first into the grass, as if planting a flag and staking a claim. “So we stay.”
    Lenny shrugged. “Whatever. It’s your funerals.”
    The trio looked around at one another. Finally, Laura said, “And just what the hell’s that supposed to mean?”
    “When Janitor finds out you killed a man, you gonna be just as dead.”
    Laura, TJ, and Mallory traded more nervous glances.
    TJ spoke up, pointing to the tree line. “But that dude, I mean… y’all was gonna shoot him, anyway. Wasn’t ya? Shit, man. We did you fuckers a favor. You fucking owe us.”
    “Let see what the Janitor has to say about that.”  
    * * *
    Gabriel Jones had his chin parked in its usual spot—in the ‘U’ of his tan hand. He stood there, staring down at the facedown body TJ had sniped from behind the wrought iron fence. After the third heavy sigh, he asked. “Sure that’s not him?”
    Lenny shook his head. “Don’t know, Janitor. Not for sure.”
    “Randy?”
    Randy stroked his beard, kneeling, pistol clutched at his side. “No, I don’t think so.” With the gun’s barrel, he poked at the downed corpse, just on the other side of the barbed wire. “This one’s been, well, undead for a while. See here? The texture? Color? Probably been wandering around for two or three weeks like this, I’d say.”
    The Janitor sighed his fourth sigh. More to himself, he said, “Wish Luz could see. Quit ignoring the facts…” He trailed off.
    Randy hesitated a moment, then continued. “Plus, Bryan said he was wearing a long, black leather coat and a cowboy hat, one with a wide brim. And this guy doesn’t have two pistols or a mustache and goatee, either. Bryan said it looked like one the devil would have.” He shuddered. “Creepy sounding guy.”
    “He calls hisself Doc Holliday?” Lenny asked, hand resting on his hatchet.
    Randy nodded, then twirled his forefinger near his temple.
    “Probably lit out a while ago,” the Janitor said, then spit a wad of chew. “Ain’t a stupid fella.”
    “Sure ain’t,” Randy echoed.
    Leonard started to pry at the barbed wire fence.
    “Whoa, hang on there, Lenny.”
    Looking back over his shoulder, the muscle man said, “He’s getting away. We gots to catch him. Iron’s hot, baby, and—”
    “We can’t risk it, big guy.” The Janitor rubbed his leathery chin. “Them three igits shooting at him, spooking him. If it was him. Ain’t no telling how much of a head start he’s got on us. Anyway, he could be waiting in there, ready to ambush us. Pick us off real easy-like. Could be his plan.”
    Lenny seemed to consider this, then looked beyond the fence like a caged dog aching to get out of the yard. He exhaled heavily, then straightened. “We could split up, go around. Catch him on the other side.”
    Randy chimed in, “Or we could send said igits after him. They seem