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

Charlie, his puppy, followed with the same, depressed gait.
    David’s nails dug into his own palm as he worked to calm and quiet the erratic noise inside him. Seeing the boy and his dog was like Vicodin for his hurting heart. He kneeled, hiding his wife’s hand behind his back. No matter how distraught David was, he couldn’t subject Bryan to the sight of it.  
    But he couldn’t hide the tremble in his voice. “Hey, champ.”
    Upon reaching David, Bryan said softly, “Are you mad at me?”
    David held him by one shoulder. “Of course not, Bry.”
    “I heard you yell. Like you were mad.”
    “Not at you, Bryan. I could never be mad at you.”
    Brushing away an errant tear, Bryan said, “Who are you mad at?”
    David felt his throat closing, choking him. “Where did you get the box, champ?” He coughed lightly. “The present.”
    “Doctor Holliday gave it to me. To give to you. He said it was like a Christmas present, and that it was fragile .”
    Breathing became shallowed, and David dipped his chin to hide his own tear. Recovering quickly, he said, “Where… where did you see Doc?”
    The child pointed back behind him, toward the warehouse double-doors.
    “In the warehouse?”
    “No, outside.”
    “Outside? Past the fence? In the field?”
    “By the pool.”
    David hesitated, then said, “The pool? How did he get… Why were you by the pool, Bryan? We’ve told you to never go outside without an adult, no matter what. Remember? And to stay far away from the pool.”
    Bryan’s lips thinned, chin quivering again. A shallow nod.
    “Who gave you permission to go out there?” That familiar choppy anger churned just beneath his tone.
    The boy hesitated.
    Urging him on, David said, “It’s okay Bryan. You’re not tattling. I need to know.”
    “Mister… Mister Roy told me to go outside and play. That the adults were busy inside at a—”
    “Roy?”
    Bryan nodded.
    “He told you to go outside, by yourself?”
    Another nod. Trembling.
    And immediately, the pendulum of pain swung toward raging anger, smashing through the wall like a wrecking ball and exposing a newfound fury he didn’t know existed.
    But he was relieved to find it, that simmering misery of absolute hate that stoked his outrage and ate the pain. It was there, in his blood, seething. Always there, he’d tried his best to ignore it, leave it be, occasionally poking at it, teasing it, like some dangerous caged animal.   But always with his back to that wall, never breaking through. Until now.  
    And with rage and hate and hurt, an epiphany. He’d learned a critical life lesson recently, one that he’d failed to acknowledge before, but would certainly abide by forever going forward: finish what you start. Or someone else will.
    Had he killed Mitch, like he originally planned, these fallen dominos might still be standing. Instead, they toppled, loosing a hellish series of events that could only end in despair and ultimately death. David’s despair. David’s death. Their despair. Their deaths.
    Should have killed him. Should have killed Mitch. Should have killed Sammy. Guillermo. Should have killed them. Shoulda’… woulda’… coulda’… Will.
    And maybe had the Janitor executed David’s plan to flatten the shufflers that had surrounded the Alamo’s fence, Roy would still be acting like a normal person instead of sending innocent, defenseless children to their deaths. But the Janitor hadn’t, and Roy had. In a strange way, David welcomed it, because it gave him something to focus his aggrieved soul on since Doc wasn’t readily available to kill. A practice target. Roy had it coming.
    He pressed to his feet. He started to turn, then stopped. “Thank you, Bryan. You did nothing wrong. Hear me? You and Charlie… you’re good.” He actually managed a smile, then added, “Hang out with Jess for a few minutes, okay?”
    “Is Roy in trouble?”
    “You don’t worry about that, okay, champ?” He tousled the boy’s