100 Days in Deadland (31 page)

Two days later

Tyler led a public tribunal for Eddy and
Smitty where shouts for death had erupted within seconds. Tyler passed judgment two minutes later and condemned both to die—not by hanging but by zeds. Not a single person cried for leniency.

It’d taken only three months for society to return to Old Testament ways of thinking.

Tyler delayed the execution one day to make arrangements and assemble volunteers. Jase had been the first to step up. I had been the second, quickly followed by Griz and Tack.

After I checked on Clutch, we headed out from the park in Camp Fox’s heaviest duty truck—a HEMTT—that was nearly impenetrable against zeds. It made Doyle’s garbage trucks look like
Tonkas.

Tyler sat up front in the cab with Griz, who drove us to Camp Fox. Tyler rode along because he felt like it was his responsibility to see his decisions through. He’d become a recluse since the trial. I imagined the hard decisions he’d been forced to make were tearing him up inside. Me? I thought
Smitty and Eddy had it coming after the pain they’d caused. They’d been idiots to believe there were safe zed-free zones out there, let alone that we could move hundreds of people across states to such zones. Before the outbreak, I never would’ve thought I could become so ruthless. Now, I realized it was the only way to survive.

The rest of us sat in the HEMTT’s open back with the prisoners. The numbers of zeds in fields and on the roads grew as we neared the camp, though we’d already figured most would still be within Camp
Fox. Zeds weren’t exactly adventurous unless in a herd. They were lemmings like that. Now if we could only find a giant cliff and lead them to it.

As we passed Doyle’s abandoned camp, I was surprised to find relatively few zeds in the area. I was even more surprised to find the gate closed. “I thought
Lendt’s guys had blown open the gate,” I said.

Jase shrugged, not taking his gaze off Eddy sitting across from him. “Guess not.”

The thought nagged at me until we reached Camp Fox. The gate stood wide open from when the base was evacuated, and several zeds wandered around near the guard box. Griz ran over three on his way through.

The HEMTT drove slowly down the road, swerving around bodies, and came to a stop a couple hundred meters inside. We couldn’t risk going too deep into the Camp where the risk of being overtaken by zeds was too high. Even here, I could make out over twenty stragglers wandering around the open grass area.

I stood. “This is it.”

Both Eddy and
Smitty looked scared shitless, though Smitty also looked pissed off as though he thought he should be exempt from punishment.

Jase grabbed Eddy’s arm and forced him to stand while Tack and I dragged
Smitty to his feet.

Eddy looked across our faces with wide eyes as though one of us could pardon him. He watched me and paled. Then I realized he was looking past me. “Mom?”

Eddy tried to lunge forward, but Jase held him back. “Mom!”

About thirty meters away, a female zed with the same hair color as Eddy cocked its head and sniffed the air. Then it started to shuffle toward the truck.

“Mom.” His lips trembled and tears fell down his face. “I’m so sorry.”

The breath hardened in my lungs. Of all the shitty, rotten luck.

Tyler climbed up. “It’s time. Eddy, you’re up.”

Eddy bit back a sob. “But my mom’s out there.”

Compassion flashed in Tyler’s eyes. He opened his mouth to speak but clamped it shut. After a moment he nodded to Jase.

With a clenched jaw, Jase nudged Eddy to the edge and cut his wrist restraints. I half expected Jase to shove his friend off the truck as payback for Mutt’s death, but instead he lowered Eddy gently to the ground.

Eddy stood there for a moment before looking up. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean for any of this to happen.”

“I know,” Tyler said quietly.

Eddy’s feet looked like they’d been tied to sandbags with the way he trudged away from the truck and straight toward his mother. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry.”

The zed held its arms out and pulled Eddy into an embrace that almost seemed motherly. Until it lowered its mouth, jaws wide open, and clamped onto his throat. Eddy screamed and fell back, taking the zed with him.

Smitty jerked, and I tightened my grip. “You did this. Watch,” I ordered, though it was taking all my strength to watch the execution play out. If I was here alone, I would’ve put a bullet through Eddy’s skull to end his pain, but Tyler had been adamant about setting an example of what happened to traitors. There simply weren’t enough of us left. We had to be able to depend on each other with our lives, or else we were all doomed.

Tyler had declared that Eddy’s death would be first so that
Smitty would have to watch what was about to happen to him. Everyone knew that Smitty had coerced the weaker boy to help. Eddy had simply been an unfortunate lackey, and I even found myself feeling sorry for the kid.

Smitty
was the real traitor.

Eddy’s screams turned into a gurgle before quieting. He
spasmed as a nearby zed joined in on his shoulder.

On the HEMTT, Jase reached under the seat and pulled out one of the long wooden spears the survivors had been making from the park’s trees. Camp Fox hadn’t had much ammunition before the outbreak. Now, their ammo supply was dangerously low and would likely run out by fall. We were forced to find new weapons. Jase walked to the side and skewered a zed that had been trying to climb onto the truck.

Eddy had quit moving, and I let out a breath. His suffering was thankfully over.

The zeds stepped back. They didn’t like the taste of their own.

It wouldn’t take long now.

The smell of urine snagged me, and I looked down to find that
Smitty had pissed himself. Not that I could blame him. Death by zeds wasn’t an easy way to go, but it was easier than he deserved.

The two zeds drenched in Eddy’s blood sniffed at the air and turned toward the HEMTT. At least a dozen zeds were already on the way from every direction. Jase killed another that had reached the truck.

Eddy’s foot jerked.

Smitty
tensed. “Don’t do this. Please.”

The two zeds reached the truck. Jase impaled the first, a male. He paused before killing what had been Eddy’s mother. He inhaled. Then thrust.

What had been Eddy climbed to its feet. Blood was already congealing and browning around its throat and shoulder. It turned to the HEMTT and started jogging toward us.

Tyler turned. “Now.”

We shoved Smitty off, and he collapsed, with his wrists still restrained, onto the ground ten feet below. He hopped up and started to run.

Tyler raised his pistol and shot the man in the leg.

Smitty grunted and fell onto his knee.

I reached down for a spear and killed an older zed bumping up against the back of the HEMTT.

Smitty tried to get back to his feet, but Eddy came up from behind and clamped onto his head. Smitty cried out and tried to shake Eddy off, but the zed held on, biting his scalp over and over. Smitty fell forward, screaming, twisting back and forth, but fresh zeds were strong, and Eddy hadn’t been badly injured before he turned. The zed pinned the man and tore at his face. Smitty’s high-pitched screams drew the attention of zeds that had been heading toward the truck.

Two more zeds joined in on
Smitty’s legs.

His screams abruptly stopped. A man could only take so much pain be
fore the body shut down. Though his heart must’ve still kept beating since the zeds continued to chew for several minutes before backing away, leaving behind a mangled corpse.

Eddy was the first to reach the HEMTT. Jase thrust his spear through Eddy’s eye, and the zed that had been Jase’s friend fell.

Tack and I took out the next two zeds.

We waited. More zeds came, and we killed them.

Smitty’s body quaked. It sat up. Its face and scalp were nearly gone, except for patches of skin and hair. For being a fresh zed, it took over a minute to climb to its feet with chewed up legs and restrained wrists. Once up, it hobbled right at the HEMTT.

Tack gave
Smitty final rest.

“Let’s go,” Tyler said and thumped the roof of the cab. The HEMTT roared to life, and Griz drove, leaving nearly a hundred zeds slowly wandering toward us from the bowels of the camp.

Tyler sat next to me, leaned forward, and put his head in his hands. Jase stared off into the distance, and Tack pretended to sleep. When we approached Doyle’s old camp, I stared at the gate. It didn’t make sense that they’d lock up after they cleared the place. Light glinted off the silo with the faded Iowa Hawkeye logo, and I narrowed my eyes. The silos were old. Nothing should be
glinting
off rusted steel and dull aluminum
.
Then I saw another glint.

Binoculars.

I nudged Tyler. He looked up, his features worn by exhaustion.

“Doyle’s camp isn’t abandoned,” I said.

He frowned. “I cleared it out myself. By the time I got there, the place was a graveyard. Doyle had already moved all his supplies out. Only three injured Dogs were left behind.”

I shook my head. “So why is there someone up on the silo watching us?”

When the truth hit, he leaned back and air whooshed from his lungs. “Jesus. Doyle’s been under our noses the whole time.”

Three days later

“I believe we should take him off the respirator,” the doctor said. “We simply don’t have the resources to use equipment and medicine on terminal patients when it could be used on others.”

I didn’t let go of Clutch’s hand. “You said he could still wake up.”

“He
could
, and I’ve seen much worse cases wake up in the past. But given these primitive medical facilities—”

“As long as there’s a chance, he stays on.” I came to my feet, kissed Clutch, and walked past the doctor. I paused at the door. “And if you take him off, I swear to God, I will crucify you in the middle of Chow Town for the zeds to tear you apart.”

Without waiting for a response, I stepped outside the park office AKA town hall AKA makeshift hospital. Wind cooled my cheeks, though anger still simmered just below the surface. It took several deep breaths before I could focus on what needed done.

My truck was parked just past the humming generators. I climbed in, gunned the engine, and put it into gear. With the window open, I rested an elbow on the door while I meandered through the park, savoring the fresh air, before finally heading into Tyler’s cabin, where all troops not sleeping or on guard-duty sat.

It was the same as yesterday, and the day before that. Droning debates on how to attack Doyle with not nearly enough manpower and even less ammo. When it came down to it, there wasn’t a single feasible plan that didn’t run the risk of losing a life, and Tyler refused to sacrifice one more person for Doyle.

People rotated through as they rolled on and off shift. I listened, offering up a comment here and there, until it was my time to stand guard at one of the park’s four entrances.

The hours at the gate alongside Jase bled by.

“I heard what the doctor said,” Jase said a couple hours into our shift.

I leaned against a tree. “Yeah?”

“I would’ve punched him for even suggesting pulling the plug.”

“Believe me, I considered it.” I watched a bald eagle fly over.

“Don’t give up on him,” Jase said.

“Never.”

****

The following morning, I kissed Clutch good-bye.

“Be safe,” I whispered and left him.

Numb, I returned to my cabin, shaved my head, loaded everything I needed into the truck, and drove away from the park. I had a plan to take out Doyle that involved the loss of only one life, though I had “borrowed” some of Tyler’s ammunition stash during the night to make it work.

The Fox Hills Municipal Airport was only a couple miles northeast of town, not far from the river. I parked next to the only row of hangars, where seven old tin buildings of various faded colors stood side by side. I geared up with every weapon I owned and grabbed the crowbar.

A decrepit, lone zed meandered down by the last hangar. I rapped gently on the first hangar. Nothing. I checked the door. Locked. I pried it open and looked inside. An old Cessna 172. It would work but the nose wheel would make it more difficult to land in a field. I checked the next three hangars. One was empty, one held a Beech Bonanza, and I stopped at the fourth.
Perfect.
Inside awaited a yellow taildragger. On its tail, the Piper Cub logo matched the tattoo on my forearm.

The old hangar door pushed opened easily without power, and I pulled out the small plane. I returned to the truck and grabbed the duffel bag, admiring the way the airplane shone in the sunlight as I headed back toward it. Its owner had taken good care of the classic.

The badly decomposed zed had finally made it within twenty feet of the Cub. I met it halfway, and finished it off with my crowbar. I opened the duffel, kneeled, pulled out my knife, but paused before I cut the zed open. After a moment, I stood, sheathed my knife, and lifted my chin. “No,” I said simply.

I checked the Cub over, made sure the gas tanks were full, and loaded everything up. It took only two hand props to start, and I climbed inside, leaving the door and window open. I skipped the warm-up because engine noise would quickly draw attention, and a plane this small would never survive a collision with a zed. The wheels broke free from the runway at under fifty MPH before the first zeds emerged from the tree line.

The wind made the flight bumpy. They’d hear me coming, but I didn’t care. If Doyle hadn’t fled his camp already, he would never abandon his camp.

The silos of Doyle’s camp came into view eight minutes later. I descended as I approached. I flew right over the camp, looking down to see shaved heads looking up at me. They looked filthy and half-starved. Then I saw the only man without a shaved head. He waved his arms at his Dogs, and someone fired. Then a symphony of gunfire sounded around me.

Where the hell had they gotten their hands on all that firepower? Camp Fox had cut them off, yet these guys were shooting like they had an unlimited supply of ammo. Nevertheless, I couldn’t turn back now. I started my one-eighty.

Get ’em where I want ’em.

I grabbed the duffel from the seat in front of me. I set the bag on my lap and opened it. As I neared the camp with nearly all of its occupants outside firing at me, I searched out Doyle. When I found him, I pulled the pin on the first grenade and dropped it. But the wind and velocity grabbed at the grenade, and it blew at least fifty feet away.

“Dammit,” I muttered and quickly pulled the pins on two more, dropping them.

Dogs were running in different directions while continuing to send fully automatic gunfire my way. I tightly circled overhead, dropping grenades onto the camp.

Sudden agony pierced my calf, sending searing pain every time I touched the rudder pedal, but I remained focused on my mission.

The propane tanks in the camp exploded, and the blast rocked the small Cub.

I righted the plane and continued to drop grenades until the bag was empty. Then I broke away and cut the engine to land silently in a hay field just on the other side of a band of trees, hiding me from the camp. I went to climb out of the plane and winced, grabbing my left calf. My hand came away bloody.

I’d been shot.

If they were using tainted bullets, the virus was now flowing in my veins.

Not much time now. I had to hurry.

I grimaced and tied a bandana around the wound and climbed out. I reached in for my rifle and started to limp my way into the trees and toward the camp.

I figured the Dogs would’ve assumed this was a hit-and-run attack. Since no trucks broke down their gates, they were now safe.

That’s where they’d be wrong.