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

gung ho on killing him.”
    The Janitor chuckled, then waved his hand dismissively. “I imagine it’d turn out badly for those three. And as much as they probably deserve it, I don’t want it on my conscience when they finally do grab the lion’s tail.” Gabe stared into the underbrush for a moment, then added, “ Anyway, take too long. And we ain’t got the manpower. Don’t see any blood trail, so he’s probably not wounded. Besides, don’t know where he’s headed. Or if he even left. Hell, he could be watching us right now.”
    The old man’s observations made Randy’s arms prickle, and he gripped his gun tighter. He had no desire to die any time soon, and knowing a potential killer was stalking one of them—maybe all of them—fanned the embers of that self-preservation fire. Nerves alight, he said, “Maybe we oughta go back inside, get a game plan together.”  
    The high-noon sun wasn’t doing any of them any favors, anyway, handicapping their sight with salty sweat. Randy pulled his handkerchief from his back pocket, cleared the blur behind his glasses, then tucked it away.
    The Janitor nodded and the three men started back toward the building, their unhurried gaits as varied as their ages and backgrounds.
    Randy said, “What about those other three? The, uh…” and he dipped his chin toward the main fence surrounding Alamo Assisted Living.
    The Janitor said, “The igits?”
    Randy gave a nod. “Right.”
    “TJ the one that shot that rattler back there, you say, Lenny?”
    “Yes, sir. I told him no shooting. He went and done it, anyway. I knew you wasn’t gonna be happy ‘bout it, and I knows them Infirmary folks gonna be even more mad about it.” Lenny’s hand fell to his hatchet sheathed on his hip, fingers curling nervously, like he had something more to say, but wasn’t sure how to. “Janitor, I know we disagree ‘bout them three new folks.”
    “Igits,” Randy said, small smile peeking from his beard.
    Gabe glanced at him with a squinty eye, his own smile slipping out from beneath his mustache.
    Lenny continued, “But I’m afraid they’s gonna get someone hurt… or worse. Left they post while’s we was in that meeting.” He looked at the Janitor, who was now paying close attention to where he was stepping. “Anyways, I ain’t the kind to go blabbing other folks’ business, but that little boy, Bryan? He done slipped outside during they watch. And I caught ‘em, smoking the wacky weed in the warehouse. I just… well… if we gonna be safe… we gotta count on each other, you know?”
    The Janitor stopped, eyes still to the ground, hand hooked to his chin again. “Think we should cut ‘em loose?”
    Leonard exhaled another deep breath, scanned the field, eyes stopping on the mass of rattlers behind the chain link. “I know we ain’t never turned nobody away, but ain’t been nobody like them. They’s… not the responsible kind. They’s the dangerous kind.”
    “So you think we should cut ‘em loose?” This time, the Janitor made eye contact.
    After hesitating a moment, Lenny nodded small, tight nods.
    “Alright. Ain’t no need to chew the cud anymore on that one. We send ‘em packing. Even give ‘em a going away gift… some peanut butter and jelly and crackers or something. Ain’t that what stoners do? Smoke and eat? Then they get to hoofing it.”
    A look of relief crossed Lenny’s face. “I guess they do.” And the men started toward the building again.
    The lightened mood lasted only as long as the conversation. As they approached the Alamo, the sound of shoes scraping incessantly on distant concrete coupled with the moaning and groaning of the caged undead. His gaze uneasy, Randy looked over at the imprisoned mob behind the tennis court fences. He still couldn’t believe it, couldn’t fathom, that he and several other men had wrangled the dead like cattle and sheep and hogs, then herded them into the tennis courts and swimming pool. It had been one