Deadland's Harvest (2 page)

He gave an almost imperceptible nod, which I returned with a soft smile before turning in the sand. I pulled off my thermal shirt, leaving on my sports bra. I glanced down at the Piper Cub aviation logo tattooed on my forearm, which reminded me of how far we’d each come. A little over six months ago, I’d sat in a cubicle every workday in a big insurance building. I’d fly for fun every weekend and work on my little bungalow at night. Clutch had been a farmer and a truck driver. His skills had proven far more useful than mine, especially considering he was also a military vet. He’d saved my ass ten times over.

“At the rate you’re healing, you’ll be back to your old self in no time,” I said before I dipped my finger into the cold water and shivered.

Clutch grunted. “Old is right. I’ve collected plenty of new aches and creaks in this old body.”

I smirked at his grumbly response and noticed his eyes focused on my none-too-ample chest. I gave him an appraising look from head to toe and back up again. “Not too old, I hope,” I said with a flirty smile.

A hint of lust twinkled in his gaze before his reality dampened his features again.

My heart skipped a beat. Even though it had been a fleeting glimpse, I considered it a success.
Any
improvement in Clutch’s emotional state, even if for only a second, I took as a sign that there was still hope. In this world, any hope was worth treasuring.

I turned and splashed cold water onto my face.
Goosebumps flitted across my skin as rivulets ran down my cheeks. In my wavy reflection, my cropped dark hair went out in every direction. I used the water to try to tamp it down, with little success. As I washed up in the cold stream, I dreaded what winter would be like. Even the outhouses being built by each cabin were already cold. Sitting in one when it was ten degrees outside would be absolute torture.

On this brisk morning, we shared the stream with three other bathers, but they were all a hundred or so feet away at their personal stations. Only those at a higher risk for infection, like Clutch, could use the park’s showers. Until the water froze, the rest of us had to use the trout stream to conserve the half-f rural water tower that fed the cabins and campgrounds. With over fifty survivors—and new arriving each week—at the park, the trout stream was never without someone bathing or collecting water. We’d all quickly learned to shed our modesty, though some still clung to old values and had strung up shower curtains next to the stream for changing and bathing.

Each person had their quirks. Life had gotten hard fast, and every single one of us had found ways to survive without going crazy. Taking a cold bath was nothing compared to learning how to walk again with only a general practitioner for a neurosurgeon. I leaned back on my heels, turned, and saw Clutch watching the horizon. My gaze fell on his wheelchair, and I thought of the battle he still fought. Seeing his trampled body following the Camp Fox attack was the worst image of every image haunting my dreams every night. It was worse than the school full of zombie kids, worse than sitting on a hot roof surrounded by a hundred zeds, even worse than all the different ways I’d imagined how my parents must have died during the outbreak.

I hadn’t seen how they died, so I tried to tell myself they went peacefully, that they hadn’t suffered. Like anyone else, I hated seeing those I loved hurt. That’s what terrified me about Clutch. He had been hurt so badly—and still hurt—that it nearly broke my heart every time I saw him wince from pain. And he winced far too often.

If he’d dislocated his back before the outbreak, modern medicine would have had him walking by now. Except there was no longer such a thing as modern medicine. His bones were healing, and the swelling on his spine was going down since he was regaining more sensation every week. Still, even though he had feeling in his legs and could sometimes move his toes, he might not ever walk again.

Since the attack, we hadn’t had sex. While I craved a deeper connection, Clutch couldn’t handle intimacy. He was struggling just trying to hold his personal demons at bay. I was afraid a simple kiss could topple his teeter-totter of control. So, I gave him his space, even though I felt so very alone.

The funny thing was that before the outbreak, I wouldn’t have considered dating Clutch. My parents would never have approved of a blue-collar man fifteen years older than me. We were from two different worlds. It would’ve been a shame, too. Instead, it took a virus to destroy the world for me to find someone whose spirit meshed so perfectly with my spirit.

“What’s wrong?” Clutch asked, and I st
arted, looking up.

I shook my head. “Nothing.”

After a moment, he gave a small frown and looked back toward the rising sun.

I splashed more water on my face.
The rumble of a motorcycle drowned out the sound of the stream and my thoughts. I glanced over my shoulder to see Jase ride down the trail we walked to get to our section of the stream. The sixteen-year-old pulled to a stop, kicking up dirt and leaves, and revved the engine one final time before killing it. His sandy hair was in much need of a haircut, but it fit his personality. He had grown into his body over the past several months, but he was still clearly a teenager.

He gave his famously endearing grin before climbing off the bike, the grin I knew hid nightmares. It was a bad habit he was picking up from Clutch: burying his pain, pretending it didn’t exist. Not that those two were alone in that bad habit. I found myself doing it enough, as well as most of Camp Fox. It was a survival mechanism. If we focused too much on the reality, it would swallow us whole. Every now and then, someone would break. Each person was different. Some would cry nonstop, some would eat a bullet, some would take on a blank stare, and some became hell-bent on destroying every zed in the world. I prayed that neither Clutch nor Jase would hit their breaking point.

Just like every morning, Jase pulled out a couple granola bars and tossed one to Clutch and me. For the first week or so after the Camp Fox attack, he’d rarely spoke. He’d lost too much in too short of time to be able to digest it all. Then, one morning, he’d awakened and started to speak. Acting like Teflon—like he hadn’t lost Mutt or his parents—had become his coping mechanism.

He leaned on the handlebars. “Looks like another quiet day.”

“Leaves are starting to turn,” Clutch replied.

Jase ignored him. “I’m going on a run today. Doc is running low on towels.”

“Count me in,” I said.

“I’ll go,” Clutch added on.

Jase’s brows rose. “But—”

“I’ll be fine,” Clutch interrupted. “I’ll stay with the vehicle and scan for zeds. It’s not like I’m going to jump up and run away.”

I clenched my jaw shut to keep from saying anything. Doc would get pissed if Clutch left the park, but I also knew that being caged up was driving him crazy. The idea of him heading out before he was fully recovered bugged me, especially given the lack of any decent modern medicine. If something happened, his temporary paralysis could become permanent—assuming that it was temporary now. Clutch needed action to survive. Every day spent doing nothing but PT at the park, he lost a little bit more of his spirit.

Jase didn’t look convinced but he also knew better than to tell Clutch no. “All right. I’ll prep the truck. See you guys at—”

We all jerked around to see one of the Jeeps used for guard patrol barreling down the lane. The driver’s white hair stood out. Wes came to a stop and stood up in the Jeep. He was one of the newer residents, having moved to the park less than a month ago. “We’ve got an all-hands call, guys. Captain Masden said I’m to grab every scout I can find and head to the church at Freeley.”

I stood up and pulled on my shirt. I was one of the scouts, Camp Fox’s protectors. Most were soldiers—National Guardsmen—but there were a few non-military scouts like Jase and me. Tyler had originally called us all soldiers, but then opted for a more neutral, “friendly” term. The label made sense. Scouting for supplies while watching for trouble was ninety percent of our jobs.

“What’s up?” Clutch asked while I wiped my face with my sleeve.

“We’ve just found out about some survivors trapped in Freeley. Sounds like they’ve gotten themselves surrounded by zeds.”

“On my way,” Jase said as he revved up the bike and peeled out.

Jase was always energetic like that. Other folks had even started calling him Teflon, since the nastiness of the world around us seemed to roll right off him. But I knew better. Jase had seen a lot of shit and buried his memories, fears, and emotions under a thick coating of that Teflon. Back at the cabin, when he was exhausted after a hard day, I sometimes saw the real Jase. The Jase that was still a kid and was struggling to fake it through each day. He’d toss and turn all night, often waking up in a cold sweat. I’d sit with him until he fell back to sleep. By morning, he was back to being Teflon.

When two survivors showed up at the park with a dog, Jase had avoided them for over a week until the kid—and his dog—cornered Jase one day. I’d noticed Jase’s eyes watered as he petted the dog that day, remembering things he tried so hard to forget. He wasn’t afraid to pet the dog after that. In fact, he seemed to seek out Diesel. I’d thought about finding a dog for Jase’s birthday but had decided it was still too soon. He had too many wounds in his heart that needed time to heal.

“Let’s roll.” Clutch headed toward the Jeep.

Wes looked confused. “Oh, I don’t think you have to come, Clutch. You’re—.”

“I’m coming,” Clutch interrupted. He then turned and pulled himself out of his wheelchair and onto the passenger seat using the Jeep’s roll bar and seat.

When I saw the intensity in Clutch’s eyes, I said, “It’s fine.” I came up and grabbed the wheelchair, folded it, and set it in the back before climbing in next to it.

“Uh, okay. You guys need to stop for any gear before we head out?” Wes asked as he sat down and pulled the Jeep back around.

“We’re good,” I said, knowing that Clutch never left the cabin without being fully prepared for anything, a trait I’d quickly picked up after a run-in at an elementary school.

I checked my rifle. Loaded and ready. I just hoped I wouldn’t have to use it.

“How many zeds are we talking about?” I asked, my question muffled from trying to talk while chewing on the granola bar Jase had given me.

“A big herd,” Wes replied as we drove through the opened front gate, which the two scouts on duty closed as soon as we went through. “Tack’s report was twenty, maybe even thirty. Always hard to count when they look the same and keep shuffling around each other. Tack said that the zeds have surrounded a house full of survivors, somewhere in the middle of town.”

“Shouldn’t be hard to find, not with a town the size of Freeley,” I thought aloud.

“These better not be bandits we’re risking our lives for,” Clutch said as he held onto the Jeep’s windshield. “Or else they’re going to quickly learn that they’d prefer the zeds’ company to ours.”

“Amen,” I added.

Most survivors had already joined with settlements like Camp Fox. Since the outbreak, civilization had been regrouping, finding strength in numbers against the relentless zeds that kept spreading out from the cities. Camp Fox had become a new home for survivors in central Iowa. Even larger, more powerful city-states were being formed across the country.

Bandits were a different story, and they were becoming more common to see than survivors. While everyone looted empty houses and stores, bandits were greedy outlaws, taking anything they wanted from other survivors and leaving bodies and scarred victims in their wake. I hated bandits more than I hated zeds.

Zeds couldn’t control their evil. Bandits could.

We drove past the gas station Clutch and I had cleared out before Camp Fox relocated to the park. We had avoided the station ever since, leaving it to other scouts to loot. No one else had come across the two zed kids that we’d seen there. They’d simply disappeared, even though all the doors to the restaurant were still closed. The pair we’d seen had watched us while holding hands, and it had freaked both of us out.

We’d run across a few non-violent zeds before, but what had really unnerved us was the intelligence in those kids’ eyes. Zeds weren’t supposed to have any kind of brainpower. If they did have the ability to think, we wouldn’t stand a chance. We’d told others about what we’d seen, but no one believed us. Well, no one
wanted
to believe us.

They had racked it up as just seeing a bit too far into something, which was common. After all, when a zed could be hiding around every corner, survival required a bit of paranoia. But, if some zeds could think, it would tip the odds even more against us. Not to mention, I couldn’t imagine the horror of zeds knowing who they were and the cannibals they’d become. I prayed those kids’ intelligence was just a figment of our imagination.

Wes slowed down once we passed the sign that read
Freeley, pop. 498.
The sun had just crested, sending a warm glow over the trees. Clutch was right—the leaves were showing hints of changing color. Fall had always been my favorite season. But now, rather than enjoying fall, I dreaded the season that would come next. Even with the gold mine we’d found at Doyle’s militia camp, we were nowhere near ready in terms of security and supplies. Plus, taking in more survivors meant that we’d have to pull together even more supplies and food before winter hit.

Wes drove the Jeep into the church parking lot near the edge of town. Aside from some corpses, I didn’t see any of the zeds Wes was talking about. We pulled up next to the Humvee where two of Tyler’s most trusted men stood on the hood. Tack was looking
through binoculars while Griz kept watch.

Tack had joined the National Guard a few months before the outbreak. He’d finished basic training, but still looked like he belonged in high school. He was as scrawny as ever, but no one messed with him. He was too damn likable.

Griz, on the other hand, had over a year under his belt in the Army before the outbreak. He had plenty of muscle, and was a Golden Gloves boxing champ. A trader had dared to mess with him once. No one ever messed with Griz again.

Griz eyed Clutch. “You sure you should be out here today?”

“Fuck off” was Clutch’s quick response.

Griz lifted his hands in surrender and smirked. “No harm, no foul, man.”

Tack lowered his binoculars to look Clutch over. “Good to have you back, man.”

I jumped out and walked over to stand at the front of the Humvee.
Even from this distance several blocks away, it was easy to guess which house the survivors were in. Hanging from a second story window was a bed sheet with the word
HELP
written across it.
And, it was the only house surrounded by zeds.

“Son of a bitch,” I said. “There must be forty zeds.” We couldn’t take that many without burning through precious ammunition. “You sure there are even survivors left inside?” I asked, selfishly hoping we didn’t have to go near a herd this size.

“I’m sure,” Tack replied, not looking very happy about the fact. “They hung that sign after they saw us. And they’ve been antsy ever since.”

The rumble of a big engine came up from behind. I turned to find Tyler and several more of Camp Fox’s scouts arrive in a Humvee. Tyler jumped out. Sometimes, I thought he seemed too young to be leading Camp Fox, but then I remembered we were the same age. After the outbreak hit, being nearly thirty wasn’t seen as young anymore. Especially since there was hardly anyone over the age of fifty remaining. Then again, there was hardly anyone of any age remaining anymore. 

When Tyler saw Clutch, he raised a brow, clearly surprised. “Sarge.”

“Captain,” Clutch said as Tyler approached Tack and Griz’s Humvee.

Over the past few months, Tyler and Clutch had
almost
become friends. Well, at least they put up with each other. Tyler respected Clutch’s experience, but he’d never gotten over the fact that Clutch had refused to report to duty when the outbreak first hit. Clutch respected Tyler’s leadership, but he’d never forgiven Tyler for abandoning me in the middle of a zed-infested wasteland. I knew the only reason Clutch stayed with Camp Fox was because of Jase and me.

Out of over thirty troops at Camp Fox, Clutch was the n
ext-highest ranking officer after Tyler. Always one to follow the rules, Tyler had gritted his teeth as he made Clutch second-in-command of Camp Fox.

“What are we looking at?” T
yler asked, all business.

Tack handed him the binoculars. “A large herd surrounding a house with six or more occupants, including at least one kid.”

That a kid was with them was important. It meant that there was a good chance they weren’t bandits. Bandits tended to ditch anyone that would slow them down—and they often ditched them by using them as zed bait.

“The front door is broken but barricaded. There are three vans parked outside, but there’s no way for them to get through the herd and to their vehicles. I’m guessing they’ve been in there a while since the zeds aren’t attacking, but there are some curious zeds sniffing around the porch. The folks holed up inside look to be in rough shape. I doubt they can hold out much longer.”

“Well, they’ll have to wait just a little longer,” Tyler said, turning to face our group.

“Are we going with the Pied Piper plan?” I asked.

He nodded and then looked over all of us. “It saves our ammo and minimizes risk. The Jeep will lead as many zeds away as possible, and we’ll take out the rest. My team will go in for the survivors. Griz’s Humvee will take out any zeds that stay behind.”

A chorus of
yes sirs
and
hooahs
erupted.

Tyler nodded in Clutch’s direction. “Sarge’s team is with the Jeep. We need to get the zeds at least three miles out of town before you break and head back to Camp Fox. Call in if you run into any problems.”

Tyler had given us the easy job. Lure zeds away while keeping a safe distance. With each passing month, the zeds were moving slower and becoming less of a threat. I wasn’t surprised he’d assigned us as the Pied Piper vehicle. It was by far the least risky role to play in this gambit. Wes was old yet often overconfident. Clutch…well, everyone knew Clutch’s weakness. Heck, I was surprised Tyler was even letting Clutch participate today. He could’ve ordered him back to the park.

Then again, we all knew how well orders went over with Clutch aka Sarge.

As for my case, Tyler had always been protective of me, but assigning us as the Pied Piper vehicle was more than for my protection. It was a matter of practicality. For one thing, my injured leg was still slowing me down. Another reason Tyler intentionally kept me on the sidelines of trouble was my unique skill. I was Camp Fox’s only pilot. My patrols were critical to helping us stay ahead of zeds in the area. I could easily cover a fifty-mile radius and report back any herds heading our way. We’d finally reached the point of being a step ahead of the zeds. It was our first break since the world had ended.

We were still waiting for a second break.

“Are the streets cleared?” I asked finally.

Tack shook his head.  “The north and west has been mostly cleared, I think. But as far as I know, no one’s started on the
east or south yet.”

“Avoid the east and south. Got it. We’ll see you back at the park.” I grabbed the extra bag of ammo Tack held out to me and headed back to the Jeep with Wes. We waited with Clutch while the attack-force with two Humvees checked their weapons. There were as many homemade machetes and spears as there were rifles. Next to food, ammo was the most valuable resource. We’d collected a couple hundred thousand rounds in Doyle’s stash, but we knew that once it was gone, there would be nothing left. So, we were careful with every round.

Tyler turned to us. “You’ve got a green light. Be careful and keep a safe distance.”

Wes started the engine and pulled out. Tyler waved as we headed past.

Two minutes later, we slowly approached the intersection closest to the white two-story house. It sat in the middle of a street surrounded by other houses. At the sound of the engine, the zeds turned in our direction. Some started heading our way. The disease that had taken everyone I’d known in my past life seemed to be slowly eating away at their bodies. Scouting patrols over the past month all reported the same: the zeds were definitely getting slower, smellier, and uglier. Now, if we could finally get a bit of luck, they’d all die out this winter. The poor souls deserved peace. Hell,
we
deserved peace. Until then…

“I’m ready,” I said. “Lead the zeds either to the north or west. The south and east might not be safe.”

“Let the games begin.” Clutch turned on the CD player. Heavy bass blared as Avenged Sevenfold blasted through the speakers. The zeds around the house immediately turned and began to migrate in our direction en masse. A man came to the second-story window and held out his hand, waving wildly. A little girl with golden hair came to his side. She was clenching a stuffed doll against her chest, and she watched us with big eyes.

The zeds became more and more frenzied as they moved in our direction. It had been nearly seven months since the outbreak. The zeds that had managed to avoid the elements and keep well fed were still in relatively good shape. Luckily, most of these had managed neither.

They stumbled, crawled, and shambled toward us.

I let out the breath I’d been holding. “It’s working.”

Wes revved the engine.

“Not yet,” Clutch said.

Wes gripped the steering wheel, his knuckles white.

I got up on a knee, supporting myself against the roll bar in case Wes hit the gas, and I readied my spear. The first zed was less than ten feet away.

“Now,” Clutch said.

The Jeep lurched forward, then Wes slowed down somewhat.

Over the next block, I watched as the zeds behind us grew smaller. I yelled to Wes over the music, “Slow down! We’re going to lose them. Three miles, remember?”

I kept my spear ready for any coming at us from the side, but it seemed like every zed in town had been at the house.

The Jeep came to an abrupt stop, and I was thrown against the back of Clutch’s seat.

“The road is blocked!” Wes shouted.

I jerked up to see what looked like a nasty car accident blocking the entire street and debris littering the front yards. The wreckage was dusty, and the bodies inside the broken windows were little more than bones. The roads weren’t anywhere near cleared enough.
Shit.

“Then turn around and take the last intersection,” Clutch said.

Wes did a hard U-turn, which put the zeds at our twelve o’clock. He stepped on the gas and sped toward the herd.

“Don’t turn left,” I said, noticing the dead end sign at the upcoming intersection.

Wes cranked the wheel hard left. Wheels squealed.

“I said
don’t
turn left!” I yelled.

“You said turn left!” Wes yelled back.

I hollered out a string of profanity.

Clutch killed the music, and winced, grabbing his ribs. “Get us out of here, Wes. In one piece would be nice.”

Wes whipped the Jeep around again. The zeds had come around the corner, blocking our escape route.