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

hell of a job, an all day event. And a dangerous one. Amazingly, no one had been injured—neither bitten nor scratched. He’d deemed the whole experience worse than just putting the dead down with a bullet or a blade, and he’d never forget that day.
    He was just about to ask the Janitor how long they could get away with keeping the rattlers penned up when a scream from up near the building interrupted him.
    Lenny’s eyes went wide. “Taneesha!” He practically bowled over the Janitor and Randy, his NFL physique in full form as though he’d never stopped playing, and rushed toward the Alamo’s iron fence, toward his sister.
    The two remaining men immediately started toward the source of the screams.
    Randy caught only a glimpse of Taneesha before she dashed back inside the building, disappearing from view. She looked as though she was crying, upset. She didn’t appear hurt. He hoped he was right.
    But it was what she was screaming about that disturbed him more than her hysterics.  
    “Did she say…?” the Janitor asked, but of course, Randy had no definitive answers, hearing as much as the old man had heard.
    But younger ears had an advantage over older ones.  
    “She said something like, ‘he killed them, he killed them.’”
    The Janitor’s eyes widened, and he forced his seventy-year-old legs to go even faster. The men hurried to the gate, still sitting open thanks to Lenny, and rushed in through the back dock door.
    * * *
    “I’m not coming in there as long as you have a weapon.” Dr. Gonzalez watched David closely, reluctant to enter Roy’s room.
    “I’m trying to tell you that he turned. He was bitten. Christ, you can see his arm from all the way over there. Look…” David started toward her, and she moved back farther into the hall.
    “Don’t. Stay away from me.” She held her palms to him. “Now… please, put the gun down.”
    Jessica said, “Luz, David’s not a killer. He’s never killed anyone in his life. He had to have a good reason—”
    “We don’t know that yet,” the doctor snapped.
    Jess eyed her curiously, visibly bristling at the insinuation. “What? Don’t know what yet? That David’s not a—?”
    “That people ‘turn’ or actually truly die from this. We don’t know that yet.”
    “Oh, come on,” David said. “You, of all people, should be able to see it. Scotty was dead. Long dead. Roy started acting strange—fever, sweating really bad, slurred speech. Then he collapsed and died. Then started moving again—”
    “Please… the gun.”
    David sighed heavily despite the strain on his bruised torso, and holstered El Jefe. He held his hand to her, fingers splayed.  
    “How do you know he didn’t just pass out and wake up?” the doctor asked. “People can pass out for a few seconds, David. Just because he passed out doesn’t mean he died.”
    “Then come in here and examine him. I’m sure—”
    “Well of course he’s going to be dead now. You shot him.” Doctor Gonzalez took another step back, turned to another person in the hall. “Go see if Taneesha found Gabriel. This has to be addressed immediately. Hurry.” Scowling at David, she added, “We can’t have a killer on the loose.”
    Jessica said, “Luz, listen to yourself. David’s not a killer. He was defending himself.” She shot a pleading glance at her cousin. “Right, David?”
    He looked at her as if he shouldn’t have to even answer. “Of course.”
    Luz crossed her arms. “I watched you, David. You were beyond angry when you left your room. You were planning to kill him. You’re not in your right mind.” She pointed to his side. “You’re still holding your dead wife’s hand.”
    He looked at it, realizing he hadn’t let it go since he’d gone to get his gun. And even then, it was only long enough to buckle the belt and pull on his boots. He actually considered for a moment that maybe Dr. Gonzalez was right, that he was indeed losing his mind, that the events of the