The Complete Deadland Saga Page 7

  “I didn’t bury them,” he said aloud. “Mom and Dad. I-I couldn’t do it.”

  I paused. “I’ll see that they get a proper burial.”

  He swallowed visibly, and then nodded.

  I went back to shoveling. The hole filled in quickly, until a small mound of black soil was all that remained of Betsy. Leaning on the shovel, I looked at Jase. He was clearly exhausted. The poor kid should be at school, hanging with his friends, not burying his family. We had about an hour before the sunset. “I’m going to get started on dinner,” I said. “Take all the time you need.”

  With that, I left Jase to mourn. If he hadn’t turned yet, I figured the odds were low that he would. I returned the shovel to the shed, and headed back inside, locking the front door behind me, just to play it safe. Jase knocked just a few minutes later. I grabbed a garbage bag and went out to meet him. He’d already kicked off his tennis shoes. I held open the bag. “Anything with blood on it goes. Leave the shoes outside.” Though I had my doubts, I added, “We’ll see if we can scrub them clean tomorrow.”

  “I packed clothes. They’re still outside,” Jase said in a daze.

  “You can grab them in the morning,” I said, still holding out the bag.

  In went his T-shirt, then his jeans and socks, and I looked him over for bites. Other than some bruises and a few scratches, he looked unharmed. But the scratches worried me.

  When he went to pull his boxers off, I stopped him. “If there’s no blood on them, toss them into the washer in the mudroom on your way in. The shower is on the second floor. I’ll grab some clothes for you, and set them outside the bathroom door for you.”

  “Thanks, Cash,” he said and I moved to let him in.

  “And be sure to scrub good and hard.” After a moment, it hit me that I’d just echoed words Clutch had told me the first night.

  While Jase showered, I set three steaks under the broiler, skipping the sides. I was simply too hungry and too tired to go to the effort. I jogged upstairs and stopped outside Clutch’s bedroom door. I reached for the handle but paused. I’d never been in there, and it felt almost like I’d breach some unspoken rule by stepping inside.

  Instead, I turned and headed into my room and grabbed a pair of long johns and a T-shirt from my pile. They’d fit Jase better than they fit me and would get him through the night. Dropping the clothes at the bathroom door, I hustled back downstairs and finished cooking the steaks.

  I wrapped Clutch’s steak in tinfoil and set it in the refrigerator. Each of the remaining steaks went on a plate. Just like Clutch had done, I drizzled steak sauce over each steak and grabbed a bag of potato chips.

  Jase came down the stairs. “I’m not very hungry tonight.”

  I dumped some chips on both plates, and handed him a plate. “Eat. You need to keep your energy up.”

  He followed me like a lost puppy into the living room, much like I’d felt four days earlier. I took an edge of the couch and motioned for Jase to sit. I wolfed my steak down while he pecked at his. After cleaning off my plate, I grabbed a beer. I’d almost grabbed two but changed my mind and poured a glass of water instead for Jase. After a quick stop in Clutch’s office for something I’d need later, I scanned through the TV and radio stations but came across nothing but static.

  Clutch had left his phone at home, and I sent an email to my parents. Even though I suspected no one was left to read them, I kept writing them. I needed to send the email as much as I hoped my parents read them. By the time I sent the email, Jase had finished his dinner. He looked out of place, and I wondered if I’d looked that insecure when Clutch took me in. “Let’s get you to bed,” I said, coming to my feet.

  That it wasn’t yet nine and Jase didn’t object was a clear sign the kid was beat. He followed me up to my room. Instead of turning on the light, I said, “Now that the sun has set, don’t use lights upstairs. We don’t have the windows upstairs boarded, and the light is too easy to see from a distance.”

  “Okay,” Jase said as he felt out the dark room.

  Even though he didn’t act sick, I knew what I needed to do. I pulled out the zip ties I’d picked up in the office. “Listen, Jase…”

  He turned around, noticed the plastic. His eyes widened and he took a step back.

  I sighed. “I wish I didn’t have to do this, but it’s a necessary precaution until we have this whole zed virus figured out. If you turn, and I’m asleep, well, you see what I’m saying. We both know you’re bigger and probably stronger than me. If you fight, I won’t be able to get these on you. So I’m asking you…please let me tie your ankles and wrists. It’s only for tonight and it’s just a minor discomfort. Come morning, if you’re healthy, the ties will come off. Will you do that for me, Jase?”

  After a moment, he nodded and then took small steps toward me. He gave me his back, and I strung the restraint around his wrists, careful to not make them too tight but making sure they would do the trick. I went to the bed and pulled back the blankets. Jase laid down in an almost robotic manner, and I pulled the strap around his ankles.

  Stepping back, I tried to smile. “I know it’s not comfortable, but it’s only for one night. Try not to think about it.”

  “It’s okay,” he said, rolling to his side. “I get it.”

  I patted his back. “You’re a good kid, Jase.”

  “I’m not a kid,” he muttered.

  Sadness pricked at my heart. “No, you’re not.” Not after today.

  I locked his door, and headed downstairs. I cleaned the mudroom and headed back inside, leaving the SUV and everything inside for tomorrow. At eleven, after a hot shower, I locked the door, figuring I’d hear Clutch drive in. I curled up on the sofa and passed out within seconds.

  I was dreaming of cans rattling when something niggled at my subconscious, a warning percolating to the surface.

  Cans rattling…

  I shot awake.

  The sound of tin banging against tin continued. I jumped up from the sofa and grabbed my belt with the .22 and knife strapped on and was ready to go. That the cans still rattled was an ominous sign that a shitload of zeds was passing through.

  Once I pinpointed the direction the sound was coming from, I opened the window. From the outside, the window was completely covered by wood two-by-sixes, except for small sniper holes covered by plywood sliders.

  With a clear night sky and a full moon, the yard was brighter than the living room, and I sighed in relief. Only one adult zed. It was hard to make out any more details in the dark at this distance. Sure enough, the dumb bastard had snagged the tripwire and was now dragging a line of cans as it lumbered across the yard.

  I don’t know if zeds retained some hint of humanity and they sought out houses or if it was a predatory instinct. Whatever it was had the zed heading straight toward the house as it sniffed at the air. I scanned the yard for more, but saw no others.

  I glanced at the .22 in my hand. My heart hammered a warning: don’t go out there.

  I headed into Clutch’s gun room and used only a flashlight to not screw with my night vision. I shone the light over the guns, settling on a cluster of hunting-style rifles and shotguns that looked less complicated than the black military-style rifles. I grabbed the rifle in the middle that looked the most straightforward but also big enough to get the job done.

  Holding the flashlight in my mouth, I checked the weapon, burning precious time since I really had no idea what I was doing. Once I verified that its magazine was loaded, I turned off the light and headed back to the window.

  Careful to be silent, I slid the barrel through the sniper hole and took aim. The zed was less than a hundred feet away and lumbering through an open area, spotlighted by the moon.

  I pulled the trigger.

  Nothing. Not even a click.

  Mentally cursing, I pulled the rifle back and looked at it. Stupid safety. I slid the black switch and aimed again. My first shot clipped the zed’s neck and nearly knocked it down, but it kept coming. T
he recoil kicked my collarbone, sending white pain shooting through my shoulder. It took me a moment to fix my aim.

  “Cash?” Jase called out from upstairs.

  “Just a zed passing through,” I said. “Go back to sleep, Jase.”

  I took a deep breath. The second shot took out the zed.

  Silence filled the night.

  My collarbone pulsed from the recoil.

  I knelt against the window, watching, waiting for more zeds to show up at the sound of the shots.

  After my knees hurt and my tired eyes could no longer focus, I closed the sniper hole, switched the safety back on, and collapsed on the sofa.

  My grip on the rifle never relaxed as I faded off to sleep.

  ****

  I awoke the next morning to find Clutch watching me. He was in his recliner, eating steak sandwiched between two biscuits. He was wearing the same clothes from yesterday, and he looked utterly exhausted.

  “You cut your hair,” he said, rubbing his shoulder.

  I sat up and ruffled my hair, and found that it was sticking up everywhere. After a couple attempts at trying to tamp it down, I gave up. “Your warning system works,” I said. “A zed snagged on it last night.”

  Clutch nodded like he’d already seen the corpse. “You okay?”

  “Yeah.” I reached for the rifle but realized it was gone. I glanced around, but it was nowhere in sight. I paused and remembered the most important thing. “Jase is staying with us now.”

  “I know,” he replied with his mouth full. “I saw the SUV outside.”

  I came to my feet. “I should go check on him.”

  Clutch swallowed. “Already did. He’s not sick, so I cut him loose, and he’s out cold.”

  I let out a deep breath and closed my eyes. “Thank God.”

  “You did good.”

  I swallowed and faced Clutch. “About yesterday, I’m sorry. I—”

  “Do we have any eggs left?” he cut in, coming to his feet. He stretched his back, and his joints cracked and popped.

  I frowned. “Yeah, I think so. Why?”

  “I’m hungry. If you wouldn’t mind cooking up a couple for me, that’d be great.”

  I thought about pressing Clutch to talk more, but then I simply replied with a “sure” and headed for the kitchen to fry up several of our last dozen eggs. I stood there, thinking about Clutch. He was the sort to shove things deep down. If he didn’t want to talk about something, it was impressive how quickly he could change the subject. I imagined he’d done that his whole life. I already knew about the bad dreams—I heard the muffled sounds and curses he let out in his sleep. Twice I’d stopped outside his closed bedroom door. Once I touched the handle. But I hadn’t entered. Not yet, anyway.

  I slid eggs on each plate, and I paused by the mudroom. Inside the door was a pile of military and hunting gear. Lots of OD—olive drab—with tags still attached.

  I headed back to the living room and handed a plate to Clutch. He glanced up with his bloodshot eyes.

  “Where’d you find all the military stuff?” I asked, taking my seat.

  “There’s a surplus store in town, and it hadn’t been hit yet.”

  I raised a brow. “I figured that would be a hot place for looters.”

  “Me, too. Surprisingly, it wasn’t even locked. Most of its gear was still there.”

  “Any zeds?” I asked.

  He shrugged. “Nothing I couldn’t handle.”

  The room was quiet, except for the clanging of forks on plates.

  “You were right yesterday,” I said quietly.

  Clutch paused for a second before taking another bite.

  “You’re right,” I said louder. “I’m not ready yet. But I will be. I swear it. The way I see it, there’s two types of people left in this world: survivors and victims. And I sure as hell plan on being a survivor. All I ask is that you give me a chance.”

  He gave a hint of a smile, but the dark circles under his eyes overshadowed any other expression.

  “Why don’t you get some sleep,” I offered. “I can work on whatever you need today. Once Jase is up, I can start getting him up to speed.”

  We sat in silence for a moment, before he nodded. “Move everything from the back of the truck to the office and sort it. I grabbed whatever shit I could, but there’s got to be a lot more to grab at the surplus warehouse out of town.”

  “You bet,” I answered, popping to my feet.

  He nodded, rubbed his stubble, and then stood and moved slowly and stiffly up the stairs. He paused. “Be careful out there, Cash. Zeds will start drifting through these parts in bigger numbers soon. I saw three on this road yesterday.”

  “I’ll keep on the look-out.”

  Ten minutes later, I had rubber gloves on and checked out the SUV, while keeping a constant watch for zeds. Fortunately, the vehicle had leather seats, making it easier to clean. Jase had put Betsy on the passenger floor mat, so I threw it out. After scrubbing down everything with bleach and disinfectant, I grabbed a wheelbarrow and went to the backyard to where I’d killed the zed last night.

  With most of his head gone, it was impossible to tell its age, but by the filthy coveralls and flannel shirt, I’d guessed it had been a nearby farmer. Spring winds buffeted me today, but at least the zed was downwind so I didn’t have to smell its rankness. After dumping the body into the fire pit and tossing the rubber gloves on top, I poured some gasoline over the corpse and felt pride when I tossed the lit match. I hadn’t freaked out. I’d protected the house. For the first time since this mess started, I felt like I had a shot at surviving in this new world.

  I ran a hand through my short hair. Already I was glad I’d cut it, for more reasons than to eliminate the risk of zeds grabbing at it. The winds would’ve turned it into a snarled mess by now, and I no longer had to deal with the hassle of hair in my eyes.

  After the fire charred the zed, I cleaned out the SUV, dumping everything into the mudroom. From there, I headed to the truck. When Clutch said he’d loaded up everything he could, he wasn’t exaggerating. Both the bed and backseat were piled full of tan, green, and black gear.

  It bothered me that he had put himself in danger. He had gone on a looting run, with no lookout, no backup, because he couldn’t count on me. Never again.

  On my tenth or so trip, Jase joined me. He was still wearing the long johns and T-shirt from last night. He was moving slowly, looking around like a lost lamb. He’d pulled out a pair of jeans and a T-shirt from a bag I’d carried in from his SUV.

  “Hold up,” I called out and closed the distance and handed him the armful of duffels and other things. “Take this to the office. It’s past the kitchen and to your right. Then, once you change into your clothes, help me unload the rest of the truck.”

  “My shoes—”

  “Are now melted rubber,” I said. “Go through the gear in the office. There might be some boots to fit you. Otherwise, we’ll grab shoes from your house.”

  At the mention of his house, his face fell. Jase was quite a bit taller than me, but in his face, he was still a boy, a boy who’d seen far too much. I hadn’t really thought about how bad he’d had it since yesterday. I grabbed the armful back from him and set it on top of a box. “Let me see your wrists.”

  He held them out. There were some faint pink lines, but it was obvious he hadn’t struggled.

  “I’m sorry about having to do that. You know that, right?”

  He nodded. “Yeah, I know.”

  “Did you have breakfast yet?”

  He shrugged.

  I cocked my head. “What did you have?”

  He jutted out his chin. “I had some chips.”

  I rolled my eyes. “C’mon. I’ll make you something. You’re going to need your energy. I plan to keep you busy.”

  He muttered something but obeyed. I washed up and cooked up the rest of the eggs and toast. It was already ten in the morning. I figured it would get him through until lunch at least. “Clutch was ou
t all night and is sleeping in, so keep it down. Once you change clothes, you can help me finish unloading.”

  He slid the eggs between the slices of toast and squeezed the sandwich together. “Sure thing, Cash.”

  I ruffled his hair, and he wrinkled his nose.

  I smiled. “I think we’ll get along all right.”

  Several dozen trips later, Jase and I had filled the small space of the office with surplus gear and had sorted out the groceries, toilet paper, and other odds and ends from the SUV.

  We spent the next two hours quietly sorting all the gear into piles. Clothing by size, bags by type, cots, and everything else in piles of similar items. I even made a pile of my own stuff. Cargo pants with large pockets, button-down camo shirts made of not-so-soft hearty canvas, black sports bras, olive drab tank tops, a heavy-duty rain jacket, a thick winter coat, a tactical belt, and two pair of boots. My old Doc Martens had held up great so far, but the abuse was already starting to show.

  I changed in the mudroom. It felt good to wear something in my size. The knife and gun sat more comfortably against my waist on the smaller belt. For the first time in a long time, I felt a genuine smile.

  I went back to find Jase, and he started chuckling. “You look like G. I. Jane.”

  “Looks who’s talking. You look pretty badass yourself. OD looks good on you.” He’d already changed out of his clothes and into fatigues, changing his look from high schooler to soldier in the blink of an eye. He still had a youthful face, but the clothes infused him with confidence that I hadn’t seen this morning.

  “Dad always thought I’d join the ROTC,” he said, and the smile dropped from his face. His next words were barely a whisper. “I-I don’t think I can go back there.”

  I sobered. “Clutch and I will take care of it. Let me know anything else you want from your house, and I’ll see that we pick it up.”