100 Days in Deadland (18 page)

Clutch took the lead and jogged us through the trees, keeping our weapons ready for any zeds that could be skulking around.

More cries followed, and we closed in on the pitiful sounds.

At the edge of the woods, three zeds tore at a fallen tree trunk. A fourth zed, several feet away, chewed on something with golden fur.

A tiny shriek shot out from inside the log, and I gave Clutch a quick glance. He gave a nod, and we moved in. One of the zeds saw us right away. It came to its feet with a moan, bringing the attention of the other two at the log.

Clutch swung first. He took the zed’s head clean off. My swing went wide and landed in the shoulder of the second. I stepped back and swung again, this time my machete lodged into the skull. I kicked up, planting my boot against its chest, and yanked the blade free. I pulled my weapon up just as the third zed reached for me, but Clutch decapitated it, just like he’d done the first, before slamming his machete through both heads on the ground.

The fourth zed looked up and snarled, its mouth covered in fresh blood. Bites and scratches covered its face, chest, and arms, enough that would have caused serious injuries in a human. It went after Clutch, and I stepped around it and took off half its head from behind. It fell, dropping the carcass it’d been feeding on.

I edged closer to the hollow tree trunk and got down on my knees. I rested my weapon against the trunk, and Clutch stood guard.

I leaned down to find the source of the whimpering inside.

Pups.

They were much smaller than the animal the zeds had been feeding on. She’d likely been their mother and had sacrificed herself defending her den. Two pups were already dead, one struggled to breathe. Without obvious injuries, I suspected they’d been crushed when the zeds dug at them in a frenzy. The fourth pup in the far back corner continued to whimper. I reached in. It cried louder and nipped at my gloved fingers.

I gently blanketed the pup with my hand. It was cornered and began to wiggle fervently. Wrapping my fingers around it, I picked it up as gently as possible and pulled it free. She screeched in my hand as I examined her, and then I pulled her against my chest. “
Shh. It’s going to be okay, sweetie,” I murmured.

She couldn’t have weighed more than a couple pounds. After a moment, the pup’s shrieks turned into whimpers before it finally quieted but continued to shake.

Clutch came up behind me.

“There’s another one in there, but he’s hurt pretty bad,” I said, while stroking the pup’s fur with my thumb
.

He took a deep breath, bent down, and reached in with both his hands. When he stood, his hands were empty. “It’s taken care of.”

I gave him a tight smile and held up the pup. “She’s definitely a mutt, but she’s cute in a mutty sort of way.”

He chuckled. “It’s not a mutt. It’s a mangy coyote.”

A coyote? “Oh. Well, it’s a she.”

He shook his head. “Coyote are wild. They’re not domesticated like dogs.”

“But she’ll die if we leave her behind.”

“That’s nature, Cash.”

“There’s been enough death already,” I said quietly.

After a moment, he scowled. “Let me see it.”

I reluctantly held her out.

He picked her up by the scruff of her neck, looked her over, and then handed her back. “It doesn’t look injured or sick. But it’s young, not even weaned yet. It’ll probably die, no matter what we do. I don’t know much about coyotes except that they’re a nuisance.”

The pup snuggled into my arm and I scratched her oversized ears. “I’ll take care of her.”

“I can’t believe you’re bringing a coyote home,” Clutch said.

I shot him a smile. “We’re all leftovers in this world. She’s no different.” I carried her in one hand, grabbed my machete in my other hand, and started heading back into the woods. “I think she’ll fit in nicely.”

Clutch caught up and we walked in silence through the woods. Once we reached the yard, I lifted the pup. “What should we call her?”

“Ugly.”

“
Har, har.” I smiled. “Jase is going to love her.”

By the time we crossed the yard and reached the house, the pup had nearly chewed a hole through my glove. Jase rode up on his bike and pointed, his head cocked.
“What kind of dog is that?”

“Coyote,” Clutch replied.

Jase raised a brow. “A coyote? For real?”

“She’s yours if you want her,” I offered.

His eyes widened. “Really?”

“Yeah, really.”

He held out his hands, and I handed the pup over. “Hey, little Mutt,” he murmured, scratching her back.

I smiled. As soon as I held the pup, I’d hoped she could help fill the void for Jase. “Hopefully, she’ll take to the powdered milk,” I said. “And you’ll need to make up a little bed or kennel for her.”

“Yeah, yeah,” he said and headed off into the house.

“Make sure it doesn’t have fleas before you bring it inside,” Clutch called out, but Jase was already gone.

Clutch tried to give me one of his hard looks but failed. When his lips curled upward, I knew he’d also seen the light in Jase’s eyes.

There were too few moments like that to brush them off.

“Let’s check the gate,” he growled. “The kid’s going to be worthless the rest of the day.”

I tried not to grin as I jumped in the Jeep, and Clutch shrugged off the backpack of extra gear he always carried now and drove us down the lane. About midway there, we heard the now-familiar sound of the garbage truck.

“Those sonsabitches just won’t quit,” he muttered before gunning the engine. “Get ready.”

I lifted my rifle.

He stopped at the bend in the lane, and we got out and took cover behind the trees.

The garbage truck had stopped and was in progress of backing up. Either someone different was driving today or Sean was drunk off his ass, because the truck nearly backed straight into the ditch.

It would’ve been a lot easier for us if it had. But the driver overcorrected at the last moment and nearly went into the ditch on the other side. The back of the truck smashed into the gate, and the dump box opened. The box needed a couple more feet of space behind the truck to rotate. Terrible metal-on-metal screeching sounds ensued as the box tangled in the gate, lifting it, until something broke, and both the box and gate slammed to the ground, taking several feet of the barbed wire fence with it.

One zed caught between the box and gate was cut in half. The remaining five zeds began to crawl over it and onto the ground.

“You got to be fucking kidding me,” Clutch cursed. “You got the zeds?”

My first shot went through a zed’s eye. “Yeah,” I said.

“Good.” Clutch walked straight toward the truck that was now trying to pull away, but it was locked onto the gate. It wasn’t an ordinary garbage truck. They’d welded metal over the wheels so we couldn’t shoot the tires. Same with the windshield and windows. With the exception of a few peepholes, everything had been covered by sheets of metal. Otherwise we would’ve shot them the first time they’d invaded our territory.

Its tires spun, trying to break free, and the collapsed gate protested.

I took down the next four zeds with easy back-to-back shots as they tried to drag themselves to their feet. One final shot took down the half of zed still caught between the gate and truck.

Clutch came to a stop less than a dozen feet from the truck. Its engine and wheels suddenly calmed. A barrel poked through the slot in the driver’s side window, but Clutch fired first. His shot was close enough to hit or scare the driver because the barrel disappeared back inside the cab, and the truck engine roared. The gate moved several feet with the truck.

Clutch jogged up to the window, stuck the barrel of his rifle through and started firing.

I sprinted toward Clutch, holding my rifle ready. He quit firing by the time I reached the truck. Everything had stilled, with only the sound of the truck’s engine going.

I reached for the door handle and looked up to Clutch. He took a step back, aimed, then nodded. I flung the door open and jumped back, pulling up my rifle. But the two men inside didn’t move. Blood had splattered the interior. The driver was slumped over the wheel, and the passenger was lying back, sprawled across the vinyl seat. Neither was Sean.

Clutch took a step closer and fired two shots, one into each man.

A couple months ago, I would’ve found that action heartless. Now, I would’ve done it myself if he hadn’t shot first. These Dogs had attacked my home and the only people left in the world that I cared about. There wasn’t much I wouldn’t do. The only thing that scared me was how quickly and easily I’d slid into a ruthless way of thinking.

Jase came tearing down the lane on his bike. He jumped off and jogged toward us, holding his rifle. “What the heck happened here?”

“We won this round,” I said since Clutch was busy examining the mangled gate.

The pouch attached to Jase’s belt wiggled and whimpered. I cocked my head. A furry head with big ears poked out and looked around before disappearing back inside the pouch.

“It’s okay, Mutt,” Jase said, patting the pouch. “Just taking care of bad guys.”

“The gate’s fucked,” Clutch said, walking up to us. He sighed and then kicked the gravel. “
Godammit. I’ve had enough of this shit.”

“Without their truck and two men down, it should take them some time to regroup,” I said.

“Doesn’t matter,” Clutch said. “The game’s changed. This is the second time I’ve killed Doyle’s men. He’ll up the ante next. I need to see what we’re up against.”

My brows furrowed. “What do you mean?”

“I mean,” he turned to me, “that I need to see what kind of numbers and firepower Doyle’s got at his disposal.”

My jaw dropped. “Going to see Doyle is suicide.”

Of all the shitty timing, the Humvee pulled up outside the gate. When Tyler stepped out, I kept an eye on Clutch to make sure he wasn’t going to gun down the newcomers. He didn’t shoot. Instead, he stomped forward to meet Tyler at the gate. I followed, not trusting the situation.

“What happened here?” Tyler asked as we approached.

While I knew Clutch had been in the military, it surprised me when he saluted Tyler.

Tyler’s brows lifted, and he saluted back.

“Captain,” Clutch said. “You can’t control your own goddamn militia.”

“They attacked again?”

“Every fucking day.” Clutch pointed at the truck. “Take a look. It’s pretty clear who the aggressor was here. We’re being forced to defend our home against the militia.”

Tyler walked alongside the truck, pausing at the open cab and again at the zeds, before returning to the gate by us. He leaned toward me. “Are you okay?”

I nodded. “No thanks to the Dogs.”

Tyler looked at Clutch. “You have my word. I’ll do my best so that this won’t happen again.”

“That’s what you said last time,” Clutch said. “No.
I’ll
make sure they won’t bother us again.”

Tyler ran a hand through his hair. “Those two minutemen lying dead in that truck were sworn in. Attacking the militia is the same as attacking Camp Fox. Even though this was a clear case of self-defense, I can’t let you go after Doyle on your own. We have to go through the proper channels.”

My hands flung to my hips. “So the Dogs have get-out-of-jail cards to kill, steal, and rape?”

“I’m not saying that,” Tyler replied quickly. “You have to understand. It’s a tricky situation.”

Clutch paced, stopped, and paced some more. “If you want to help, take us to Doyle.”

“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” Tyler cautioned.

Clutch spun on his heel and pointed at Tyler. “I’m going to see Doyle with or without your help, Captain. You can either take me to him or stay out of my way. Doesn’t matter.”

Tyler frowned and stared at the truck for several agonizing moments. Finally, he spoke. “I was going to see Doyle today, anyway. You can ride along.” He held up a finger. “But I have to take the lead. Doyle can be a bit…difficult.”

“Difficult?” I asked. “You said he reported to this Lendt guy.”

“He does, but
Lendt’s offered him some leniency as long as the militia delivers results,” Tyler said before motioning toward the Humvee. A soldier stepped out from the back, followed by a teenager in jeans and a T-shirt carrying a cardboard box.

“Eddy!” Jase called out, coming out from where he’d taken cover behind a shrub.

The new kid nearly dropped the box in his rush. Tyler grabbed the box, and Eddy hurdled a collapsed part of the fence. “Jase!”

While the two teenagers slapped each other’s shoulders and bantered, Tyler set the box on the gate. “MREs. Enough to feed six for one week.”

Clutch took the box, set it on the ground next to him, and rummaged through it. “How about ammo?”

Tyler shook his head. “I can’t authorize the transfer of ammo. Even if I could, Camp Fox is an armory, not a munitions site. We barely have enough for ourselves.”