100 Days in Deadland (28 page)

Clutch sped dangerously fast without headlights. I had no idea how he managed to keep the Humvee on the road. He pressed two fingers against his headset. “We have one man down.”

A pause.

“Affirm. Bravo team is still a go. Repeat, Bravo is still a go.”

A pause.

“
Wilco. Bravo, over and out.” Clutch grimaced and turned on the headlights.

My eyes widened. “What are you doing?”

Clutch clenched his jaw. “Alpha is rendezvousing with the tankers to provide firepower support to the Camp. We’re to lead as many Dogs as we can away from the convoy.”

I swallowed, found it hard to breathe, and immediately started reloading my rifle.

He glanced at me and then took a quick look in back where Tack was busy tending to Southpaw. “How’s he doing?”

Tack didn’t answer.

“Tack, report.”

The soldier looked up slowly. “It was clean, through and through, no organs hit. But…I think he’s gone.”

Clutch hit the wheel. “Fuck!”

“I don’t get it,” Tack added on though in a daze. “It wasn’t that bad of hit. He should be conscious and talking to us right now.”

I looked around and noticed lights—a lot of them—closing in. “Do you know this area?” I asked.

“Not good enough.” Clutch cranked a hard left, sending me against the door, and he barreled down the on-ramp and onto the interstate. “Let’s hope for no roadblocks.”

Something chinked the metal, sounding like a rock chip, except we were on pavement.

“Tack, take the .30,” Clutch ordered. “Cash, feed him ammo.”

I started crawling into the back.

“Fuck!” Tack yelled and jumped back.

“What’s wrong?” I asked.

“It’s Southpaw. He’s turning!”

“How’s that possible?” I fumbled with my rifle.

Southpaw plowed into the much smaller Tack, but I was close enough I barely had to aim. I fired an ear-ringing shot, and Southpaw collapsed on top of Tack.

Tack sat up and shoved off his comrade.

I kept my rifle leveled. “Are you bit?”

He kicked away Southpaw’s body. “No.”

“What the hell was that?” Clutch asked.

“No idea,” I said, making my way to Tack. We hadn’t been close to any of the zeds in the area. So how in the world had Southpaw gotten infected? More pings against the metal reminded me that I didn’t have the luxury to think right now.

Tack fired rounds at the headlights behind us. The first vehicle swerved but then straightened out, but at least we now had more space between us and them. Another pair of lights came up alongside the first, and flashes of gunfire from both trucks winked back at us.

“Can’t you go faster?” I yelled toward Clutch.

“Humvee,” he replied as if that explained everything.

I fed more ammo to Tack.

Clutch jerked the Humvee onto an exit ramp, knocking me across the floor and onto Southpaw’s body. As I pulled myself back up, I saw the sign that read
Fox Hills 3 miles
, and by the look on Tack’s face, he’d seen it, too, though he went back to firing.

“You’re taking us to Chow Town?” I asked.

“We can’t outrun the Dogs, and they’d be crazy to follow us into town.”

We’d
be crazy to go into town, I wanted to say. Instead, I warned, “It’s almost dawn.”

Clutch kept on driving. “I plan on only making a quick drive-through.”

As Clutch suspected, the Dogs backed off when we passed the sign that read
Welcome to Fox Hills, Midwest’s hidden gem, pop. 5,613
. Clutch drove the Humvee off the shoulder and through the ditch, around the blocked road, and into the Wal-Mart’s parking lot. Already, at least a dozen dark shadows lumbered toward us.

The truck behind us stopped but kept its machine gun leveled at us. The other trucks peeled out and headed in different directions. “Fuck!” Clutch stepped on the gas. “The shits are trying to block us in town.”

Clutch turned left on the first street, running over a zed wearing a gaudy shirt, its sequins glittering in our headlights. “Come on, come on, come on,” he muttered as he sped faster and faster.

When we reached the next road leading out of town, on the other side of the roadblock was one of the Dogs’ trucks. They fired off several shots, and Clutch slammed on the brakes. He made a U-turn and headed for the next street. The gunfire had drawn zeds out from the darkness. Clutch dodged some and hit more on his way to one of the few roads leading out of town. Chow Town wasn’t a large town. With a river running along two sides and all bridges blocked or destroyed during the outbreak, there weren’t many roads leading out of town.

Clutch slowed, and I saw the Dogs on the other side of the roadblock.

The wheel creaked under Clutch’s grip. “Shit.”

“If we can’t get out of town, we need to find a place to lie low until the Dogs clear out,” I said, fear tightening my muscles as I remembered how well that worked the last time I was here. I looked from Tack to Clutch. “Any ideas?”

“My apartment is about three miles from here,” Tack said.

I frowned. “Apartments sound too dangerous.”

“When that sun comes up, anywhere is going to be too dangerous,” Clutch said.

“How about the pharmacy we cleared out? It’s not far,” I said.

Clutch shook his head. “The glass windows will make it hard to hide.”

“My girlfriend’s house is across the street from First Baptist. She went to Des Moines with her parents shopping when…you know, so the house should be clear,” Tack said.

Clutch sighed. “Let’s give it a shot.”

Tack gave directions, and Clutch weaved around cars and cut through yards. A lump formed in my gut when I saw the zeds building behind us.

As soon as we hit a side street, Clutch stepped on the gas to put some distance between us and them. “We’re going to have to move fast. Run to the back door. Don’t be noticed. If you are, take care of any that home in on us. Tack, you make sure you get us inside fast. Then we’re going into silence so no zeds get a bead on us. Got it?”

“Got it,” I said.

“Tack, grab any extra ammo off Southpaw. I have a feeling we’re going to need every round,” Clutch said before relaying our next coordinates to Tyler.

A moment later, Tack pointed. “There. That two-story brick one. That’s the place.”

“Let’s do this.” Clutch cut the engine of the Humvee while it was still rolling into the driveway, and I jumped out.

It was dark enough that the herd of zeds about a block away was only an ominous fog of shapes. Sweeping trees cast ominous dark shadows over the yard, hiding God only knows what. Clutch scanned the backyard alongside me.

Tack checked the back door. When it didn’t open, he lifted a flower pot and grabbed a key. He opened the door and disappeared inside.

I went to follow but stopped cold. I pulled out my knife, walked down the steps, and stood on the patio. A zed emerged from the shadows. It groaned, and I lunged forward and stabbed it through the top of its head. I looked around for more. Clutch tugged my arm and motioned to the door.

I followed him inside. He locked the door, and I found us in a kitchen. Aside from the earliest glimmer of dawn coming through the windows, it was pitch black inside. I moved slowly to not make any noise and closed the blinds on the kitchen window. I turned, leaned on the sink, and inhaled.

Death.

I smelled death.

I stepped cautiously into the living room, where Tack was closing the curtains. The smell was stronger here. He noticed me, held up a hand, and whispered, “It’s Daisy.”

“Daisy?” I mouthed back.

“Golden Retriever.”

Relief replaced my tension. Now all we had to do was wait it out.

Something thumped against the window.

Tack and I both stiffened. Clutch walked silently into the room.
Thump.

I flattened against the wall and peered out of the crack at the end of the curtain. Several zeds grabbed at the Humvee. Even more zeds stood on the other side of the window, sniffing at the air.

Thump, thump.

I stepped back, mouth opened. Impossible. They couldn’t possibly find us through brick and glass. Clutch exchanged places with me and he looked outside. Tack looked outside from the other edge of the curtain.

Both looked as surprised as I felt.

The pounding on the glass grew, and more zeds joined in.

“If I can get to the Humvee, I can unleash the .30 on them,” Tack whispered.

“There’s too many,” Clutch said in a low voice. “When that glass breaks, we’re going to have to make a run for it.”

All three of us checked our weapons one last time.

The glass shattered.

Clutch yelled, “Run!”

And we did.

We bolted out the back door. Tack fired the first shots, clearing the patio. Clutch took the lead from there. I gripped my rifle as I sprinted behind him, with Tack at my side. It was still dark, but the coming dawn shed enough light to reveal outlines of zeds waiting in the shadows.

We ran in the opposite direction than we’d come. We ran through backyards, turning at fences and dodging zeds, shooting open escape routes. Once we broke from the herd near the house, Clutch set the pace at a quick jog, faster than any zed but slow enough that we could keep this pace for some time, if we had to.

And we had to. My clothes were soaked and my muscles burned by the time the sun reached into the sky. It was already easily eighty degrees and it was still morning. Body armor held the heat against my skin.

We could outrun any zed easily enough. But more just kept showing up. Around every corner, out of every alley. As soon as we got away from one herd, we’d find ourselves smack dab in the middle of another, and we’d have to zig and zag around houses and cars.

Tack ran out of ammo first. I was out eight rounds later. When Clutch’s rifle clicked empty, I think we all sucked in a collective breath. With nothing but pistols and knives, we kept running. The sun baked my head under the helmet, and I had to drop my rifle and backpack to keep up with the guys’ longer strides. My lungs couldn’t suck enough air by the time the zeds’ numbers dwindled and we reached an industrial park. Clutch slowed to a stop, bent over with his hands braced on his legs, and panted. I fell back against a wall, sucking air. Tack walked slowly, his hands on his hips, while he caught his breath.

Tack huffed, pointed to the north, his finger shaky. “There’s an old bridge that leads out of town just beyond these buildings.”

Clutch reported our status to Tyler, and then faced us. “They got the trucks back to Camp Fox okay.”

“Thank God,” I panted out.

Clutch did a slow three-sixty. Sweat dripped from his brow. “We have to keep moving. Too much open space. We’re easy targets out here.”

As though on cue, two zeds stumbled around the corner. The first, a farmer in jeans and cowboy boots, lumbered forward. At its side came a heavily tattooed biker zed with an intricate dragon climbing its sunbaked arm.

Two shots and the zeds fell. I turned to find Tack with his pistol still leveled where the zeds had been standing a second earlier.

Clutch sucked in another breath. “Let’s move out. It won’t take long for these guys’ pals to catch up.”

It took all my strength to push off from the wall and propel myself forward. Every boot step pounded the pavement. Every building seemed a mile long. We wheezed air. I stumbled over a curb.

At the end of an old warehouse, a bridge waited, its iron trusses reaching upward like welcoming arms. Several cars were smashed on it, preventing any vehicles from crossing.

Bodies rotted on the ground, but surprisingly, there were no zeds walking around.

I came to a stop at the same time Clutch and Tack must’ve seen it. A truck was parked not far from the bridge. The machine gun mounted on back was pointed right at us.

The Dogs were waiting for us.

“Shit!” I flattened myself against the wall, and Clutch and Tack did the same. “Think they saw us?” I asked.

“Maybe. Maybe not. But they had to hear Tack’s shots,” Clutch replied. “They’re probably stationed there to hold us back until the herd gets here. They’ve got front row seats for watching us get shredded.”

“There’s no way we can cross that bridge without getting gunned down,” Tack said.

“And there’s bound to be zeds in the river,” I added.

A zed came around the far corner of the building. It moaned and kept walking toward us, followed by at a least a hundred more, and more kept showing up. My heart lurched. “Looks like the party is about to start.”

“Time’s up,” Clutch said. “We have to take our chances at the bridge.”

“Wait,” I said, and I examined the iron bridge. “What if we go under the bridge?”

Both men looked at me.

“The undersides of some of these bridges are just big I-beams. We might be able to shimmy across.”

Clutch’s brow furrowed. “It could work. If we stay low and behind the roadblock, the Dogs might not be able to hit us.”

Moans and shuffling steps grew closer. The herd was halfway down the building now.

“Give it a shot?” Tack asked.

“Why not.” Clutch took off in a hunched-over run.

I followed and Tack hung back to cover our flank. It was hard to run bent over, weighted down by what remained of my gear and exhausted from nearly four hours of running through half the alleys and backstreets of Chow Town. I stumbled and Tack helped me back to my feet. My legs were jelly, but from somewhere deep inside, fresh adrenaline numbed my body and senses, and I kept moving behind Clutch toward the bridge.

Two zeds emerged from the bridge and came at us, but they were easy enough to maneuver around. I dove to the edge of the embankment. Clutch already had a leg over the embankment. He held out a hand. “Grab on to me,” he ordered. I reached out, and he snatched me against him and took a step down the embankment. He lost his footing and slid onto his back, pulling me against his chest. We slid several feet down before Clutch found traction again.

One of the zeds rolled past us and into the river below. The second followed a second later, grabbing Clutch’s arm on its way down. We were dragged several feet before I was able to kick it loose, and it tumbled away.

Clutch held me tight. I lay against him, panting. I looked down, and swallowed. If we’d slid another fifteen feet, we would’ve landed right on top of a couple dozen hungry zeds hungrily trapped at the edge of the river. They couldn’t climb the steep incline, and they couldn’t enter the river without being swept away (which I suspected was what had happened to quite a few zeds already).

“Don’t do that again,” I muttered against Clutch’s chest.

“Yeah,” he replied breathlessly. Then he pressed a couple fingers to his headset. “Bravo needs pickup
now.
We’ve got half of Chow Town waiting for us on one side of the bridge, and Dogs set up to chase us down on the other.”

Silence except for the growing hum of moans and shuffling feet.

Clutch scowled. “Copy that. Three hours. Over and out.”

I pulled out a flask and took a quick drink. It was still half full, but no telling how long we’d be out here. There was no sound of engines, which meant the Dogs were still there but hopefully still oblivious to us. “Did you see how many Dogs were in that truck?”

Clutch shook his head.

I continued. “Once we get across we might be close enough to get clear shots.”

“That’s assuming they don’t take us out while we’re climbing across,” Clutch replied.

“I guess we’ll find out soon enough,” I whispered and glanced back to find Tack climbing up onto an I-beam under the bridge.

I pulled away from Clutch but kept close by his side as I crawled toward Tack. The underside of the bridge was a zigzag of iron. After cracking my knuckles, I grabbed onto an I-beam. The beams were large, so there was plenty to grab on to, but I wasn’t convinced I had the strength in my fingers and arms to get all the way across. I slid my legs around an I-beam and shimmied toward Tack.

He was already several feet ahead and putting more distance between us. I followed, with Clutch behind me. It wasn’t a long bridge by bridge standards, but the arm strength it took for pulling myself across, it could’ve been the Golden Gate. Every time a gunshot rang out, I froze, waiting to feel horrible piercing pain. But none ever came. At only about a third of the way across, my arms shook, as much from my fear of heights as from my own body weight.

At the halfway point, two I-beams intersected and I was able to lean on one to catch my breath, though the humid air did nothing to help my breathing. Afraid if I stopped too long, I’d never get across, and so I continued. Minute by minute, putting one hand before the other, I made it to the three-quarters point, then only ten feet left. Eight, six, four.

By the time I reached the end, I had nothing left. I literally dropped off the bridge and collapsed onto the ground next to Tack. I rolled onto my back and grasped long grass with both hands.

Clutch dropped next to me, and we all lay there for several moments. When Tack moved, I stayed put, watching him Army crawl up the hill and scout the scene. This side wasn’t quite as steep and—thankfully—zed-free. He backed himself down to us.

“SITREP?” Clutch asked.

“I see only two Dogs,” Tack replied in a hoarse whisper. “One driver and one gunner. The driver looks like he’s taking a lunch break. The gunner is busy watching the herd behind us. I think they’ve got him spooked. I count three zeds at the tree line. A few more dead on the ground.”

Which explained the random gunshots.

“Can we get close enough to take them out without being seen?” Clutch asked.

“Maybe,” Tack replied. “It looks like the gunner is still watching the other side of the bridge for us.”

Clutch nodded and pulled out his pistol. “We head for the tree line. That way, if we’re seen, we can still find cover. Cash, you take the driver. I’ll take the gunny. Tack, make sure we’re covered.” He didn’t wait for a response.

“There’s no telling how many zeds are in those trees,” Tack warned.

I shot him a quick glance, grabbed my pistol and crawled up the hill, and stopped next to Clutch while he scanned the area. The truck sat less than a hundred yards off. Easy shot with a rifle any day of the week, except I no longer had my rifle. The driver’s side window was open, and he was taking a bite out of an MRE. The gunner in the back of the truck was leaning on the cab, still intently watching the bridge.

Clutch took off at a run toward the trees, and I dragged myself behind him. No shots fired from the truck. Clutch slid behind a wide tree, and I slammed into him, unable to stop my forward momentum. He caught me before I knocked us both down. Tack grabbed the tree next to us. A shadow moved several feet away, and Clutch took off, weaving around trees for the truck. A skinny zed emerged from a tree to our right, and Tack shoved a blade through its head.

When we reached the trees closest to the truck, we were no more than ten feet away from the zeds making their way to the truck.

“Ready?” Clutch asked.

“Ready,” I whispered.

He motioned. “Now.”

We ran out and started firing. Out of the corner of my eye, I could see the gunner spin the .30 cal toward us. Machine gun fire drowned out the pops of our pistols. My first shot planted harmlessly into the truck door, but as I closed the distance, my aim improved. The driver snapped back, and red splattered the passenger window. The .30 cal died soon after, leaving behind silence.

“Clear,” I said.

“Clear,” Clutch echoed before turning around. “How many zeds now?”

“Five,” Tack replied, coming up from behind
.

I sighed, and Clutch rubbed my shoulder. “Just a bit longer,” he murmured.

The five zeds had broken from their way to the truck and reached out toward us. That zeds always seemed to prefer their prey living over the freshly deceased had never made any sense to me. I would’ve thought they’d go for the easy meal, but it seemed like they were predators at heart.

Tack took down the nearest zed. I fired a single shot at the zed on the left, and Clutch fired several shots to take out the cluster of three. No one bothered to make sure they were down for good. Seemed like we all had the same idea: get away from Chow Town as quickly as possible.

Tack jumped in the back of the four-by-four and threw the dead gunner off. I opened the door and found the driver still sputtering blood. Air hissed through the hole in his cheek. He wasn’t moving, just in the final death throes. I grabbed his shirt and pulled him out the truck, let him collapse onto the ground at Clutch’s feet.

Clutch rifled through the man’s pockets. Movement caught the corner of my eye, and I noticed another zed emerging from the tree line. “There are more headed our way,” I said.

Clutch climbed behind the wheel, and pressed his headset. “Bravo is Oscar Mike in a Dog truck. Repeat, Bravo is Oscar Mike. ETA is one hour, over and out.”

I sat down on the leather seat and sighed. Every muscle in my body was exhausted. After two long breaths with my eyes closed, I grabbed bottles of water and protein bars off the floor and tossed them to the guys. Between bites, I sifted through the glove box, finding a box of condoms, a flashlight, and a six-shooter. I grabbed everything.

I checked out the handheld radio on the seat. “I wonder when these guys were supposed to check in.”

“Fingers crossed, they just did,” Clutch said. “We could use extra time to put some distance between their last location and us.”

If Clutch had said anything else, I missed it. I fell asleep somewhere between ten and twenty seconds into the drive.

I awoke with Clutch nudging me, and I grumbled. “
Lemme sleep
.”

“We’re at Camp Fox.”

I may have snarled at him, but I opened the door, climbed out, and grunted at my quickly stiffening muscles. I wasn’t going to be able to move tomorrow.

“Damn, you’re a sight for sore eyes,” Tyler said walking toward us with a wide smile.

Jase ran out from behind his captain and pulled me into a hug. Mutt hopped around us. Jase stepped back and wrinkled his nose. “Jesus. You guys need showers.”

“Happy to see you, too,” I mumbled, and I really was. Seeing the kid alive and well made me feel like everything we’d gone through had been worth it.

“How many were lost?” Clutch asked.

“Three brave souls,” Tyler replied. “But we gained fuel trucks and cut into Doyle’s numbers.” Then his jaw tightened. “How’d Southpaw bite it?”

“It was the darndest thing,” Tack said. “He was shot. Then he turned.”

Tyler frowned. “Same thing happened to two of Alpha team. The only thing we can figure out is that the Dogs dipped their ammo in zed blood.”

I raised my brows. “Wow, that’s low.”

“But smart,” Clutch said. “They don’t have to be accurate, only good enough to nick one of us with a shot, and we’re no longer an issue.” Then he frowned. “I’d think the guns would jam from sticky bullets.”

Tyler grimaced. “It’s messed up, true enough. Let’s head to my office and debrief.”

“Later,” Clutch said. “Bravo team needs rest first.”

Tyler moved his gaze slowly over the three of us before nodding. “Understood. But we need to debrief as soon as you’re up. We have extra racks in the troops’ barracks if you want to stay. Tack can show you around.”

Clutch looked to me, and I shrugged. “Okay, for now at least.”

Tyler smiled. “You’ll find Camp Fox is more secure than ever. You’re safe here.”

“You haven’t seen our camp yet,” Clutch replied.

“No, I haven’t,” Tyler said. “Where are you at now?”

Clutch paused before speaking. “We’re at Fox Park. Cash and I thought it could be made into a solid fallback location for the Camp. It needs a lot of work, but we should always prepare for the worst.”

“Agreed. I’ll mention the park to Colonel Lendt. A fallback location doesn’t sound like a bad idea, though I doubt we’ll need it. We’ve got Doyle on the run and the zeds will be gone come winter.”

“What makes you so sure the zeds will die out when winter comes?” I asked.

“Their bodies are decaying, and they are running off the most basic of instincts,” he replied. “They’ll die from exposure because they’re not smart enough to seek shelter. That is, if their bodies don’t rot away by then.”

After watching a zed continue to function completely under water for days, I had my doubts. “And if they don’t die off or rot away?”

Tyler shrugged. “Then we keep killing them.”