Dead South Series (Book 1): Dead South

began registering the pain in his arm. Still, Jon shrugged it off. He was used to being sore after hunting.
Jon had just lifted his leg over the saddle when he heard a woman scream nearby. He looked back, following the direction from which it had come. He remained still, listening for it again.
“Help!”
The scream sounded like it had come from inside the woods across the street. Hopping off his bike, Jon took his hatchet from his back and crossed the road. He crouched, keeping his footsteps light in stepping over the pavement. He made it to the edge of the trees as the scream came again. The woman sounded more desperate. Jon gave up on silence and hurried into the woods.
Forty yards into the trees, when he expected to hear the snarls of the dead bastards, he instead heard other humans. Men. He moved swiftly, careful not to make too much noise, finally seeing the humans beyond some trees.
“Stop it!” the woman said.
The woman had tears in her eyes as an overweight man held onto her arms from behind. Another man was on the ground on top of someone. Jon watched him raise his fist and bring it down onto the victim, ramming it into their face.
“You’re going to kill him!” the woman said. “Please stop it!”
“Maybe his black ass shouldn’t be walking around with a pretty white girl in the woods,” the man holding her said.
She lifted her foot and kicked her heel into the shin of the man holding her. He cried out, loosening his grip on the woman. She tried to get away, but he brought her back to him.
“Fucking cunt!”
The man turned the thin woman toward him and backhanded her across the face.
Jon had seen enough.
He stepped out from behind a tree and whistled. The only one who didn’t look his way was the man lying half-conscious on the ground.
“I know I didn’t just see you hit a woman.”
The man beating up the guy on the ground let go of the beaten man’s collar and stood. He had an inch or two on Jon and at least twenty pounds. He laced his bloody fingers together and popped his knuckles.
“Get the fuck out of here, man,” the guy said. “You don’t want to mess with us.”
“That’s where you’re wrong.” Jon drove the hatchet into the tree next to him and took off his jacket, hanging it on a branch. He tossed his bat onto the ground. Then he stepped forward and raised his fists in a fighting stance. “I’ll even give you the first swing.”
The man laughed and glanced back at the overweight guy holding the woman.
“Get ‘em, Rog,” the plump guy said.
Rog shook his head. “You’re dead, motherfucker.”
He came at Jon and raised his fist. As Jon had promised, he gave Rog the first swing. The punch connected, sending Jon back but not onto the ground. The iron taste of blood hit Jon’s tongue, dripping from his lip. He wiped his mouth, then flashed a crimson smile at Rog.
“That all you got?”
Rog snorted and bared his teeth, raising his fist again. He reared back and lunged forward, aiming right for Jon’s nose.
Waiting until the last second, Jon shuffled to the right, moving out of the way. Rog’s fist kept going, though, soaring past Jon and landing in the tree behind him. The bones in Rog’s hand were crushed on impact, and the man screamed. He raised his hand to look at his mangled fingers, only to see blood pouring out and two of the fingers crooked like question marks.
Jon grabbed the stunned man by the hair on the back of his head and slammed his face into the tree. It hit the trunk with a splat, and Rog fell limply onto the ground.
Turning around, Jon looked at Rog’s buddy. The man shook, unsure of what he’d just seen. As Jon started toward him, the man let go of the woman, and then turned and ran.
Jon drew his knife from his waist. The guy was breathing hard as he moved, and once Jon was past the woman, he aimed and threw the knife. It entered the man’s calf, spraying blood, and he fell down screaming.
Jon walked over to him, taking his time. He pulled the knife out of the guy’s leg and the man screamed again. Jon kneeled down next to him as blood poured from the wound.
“You might want to be quiet. If I haven’t already killed all the deads in this area, they’ll follow your whiney voice… if they don’t already smell the blood.”
The man turned over onto his back. “Please don’t kill me, man.”
“That’d be too easy,” Jon said. “But I promise you this. If you happen to make it out of here and I see you hanging around these woods again, what I did to your friend or what the zombies would do to you if they found you here would seem merciful compared to what I’ll do.” Jon playfully slapped the man on his chubby face. “Now, I suggest you find a way to patch that shit up before you bleed out so you can limp your fat ass out of here before the deads come.”
Jon stood and made his way back over to the woman and the victim. The man had made it to his feet, his face already swelling and blood leaking from his mouth. He had his arm around the woman, who was holding him up.
“You alright?” Jon asked the man.
“Yeah,” the man said with a cough, clutching his ribs. “I’ll be fine.”
“Thank you so much,” the woman said, her green eyes staring at him. She pushed her blonde hair out of her eyes. “You have to let us repay you for helping us.”
“There’s nothing you can offer me,” Jon said. “Arm yourselves next time if you’re going to hang around these woods.”
He moved past them and headed back toward his bike.
“Wait,” the woman said.
Jon stopped, but didn’t turn around.
“You have to at least tell us who you are.