100-Days-in-Deadland(30)

“Kids are resilient. Give it time. He’ll get there.”

We climbed in and headed down a different gravel road than we’d driven down the day before. Fields of black, waiting to be planted, went on for miles and miles.

“Where’s this surplus warehouse?”

“It’s southeast of town. At an old farmers’ co-op,” he replied.

We drove along for a while, past several farmhouses. I saw only one zed wandering in the fields, but I think I saw another one standing at the window inside one of the houses we passed.

The winds had started to pick up, almost whistling through the truck. Then I saw something. “Wait,” I said.

Clutch slowed. “What is it?”

I pointed to the big galvanized corn bins. “I thought I saw someone.”

“Zed?”

I shook my head. “A woman, I think. She was running too fast, but she must be running from something.”

Neither of us missed the two men sprinting toward the bins next, also far too fast to be lumbering zeds.

Clutch’s jaw clenched. “Sonofabitch.”

A woman’s scream pierced the air, and I gasped, cranking my neck to try to see anything.

“Fuck.” He yanked the truck into the driveway, throwing me against the door. He reached for the shotgun. “Stay here and stay low. Whatever you hear, do not let yourself be seen.”

“Okay,” I said, frowning.

“Is the safety off the .22?”

I pulled out the pistol and checked. “Yes.” I also unsnapped my knife’s sheath.

“Stay out of sight.” He gave me one last look and then jumped out of the truck and flattened against the side of the bin.

I moved the seat back as far as it could go and crouched on the floor, holding the gun in one hand, and the bolt cutter in the other. The driver’s window faced the bin, but from my low vantage point, all I could see was metal and sky.

Shouts and gunfire erupted, and I tried to make myself invisible. Then…silence.

A minute later, Clutch opened the door and I jumped up. “What happened?”

“I took down both tangos, and I’m going to check out the other buildings in case they weren’t alone. Stay put.”

“And the woman?”

He grimaced, and then slammed the door.

I retook my position on the floor and waited. Was she dead? Whatever it was couldn’t have been good because Clutch had looked enraged. I wanted to go check on the woman, to see if I could help, but I didn’t want to break my word to Clutch even more.

After three minutes ticked by, my muscles began to cramp. The door snapped open behind me, and before I could turn, an arm wrapped around my neck and yanked me from the truck. I tried to yell out but couldn’t breathe. I struggled but was only pulled harder against my assailant.

“Well, well, well. What do we have here,” an unfamiliar male voice whispered in my ear. His breath reeked of booze and his body stank of sweat.

I swung the bolt cutter behind me, and he cursed. His grip relaxed enough so I could suck in air. I twisted around and swung again. But, this time he was ready. He caught the bolt cutter and wrenched it from my hand. I went to punch him, but he grabbed my wrist and jerked me tight against him as though we were slow dancing. He chuckled. Shivers covered my skin. The winds howled around us.

I looked up into the face of a man with a half-grown beard and greasy hair. He pulled me even tighter against him while he licked my cheek, and I winced. “Oh, we’re going to have fun, you and me.”

He threw me to the ground and fell on top of me. My face was shoved into the dirt. Panic blurred my vision. He was too busy grabbing at my pants to notice that I still had the pistol. I couldn’t get onto my back, but when he yanked on my cargos, I was able to aim it under my armpit. I fired, and he cursed, jumping back. “Wha?!”

I spun onto my back and fired three more shots. The first shot had only startled him. My next three hit him solidly in the chest and stomach. It was different than in the movies. There was no blood spray, only three red dots growing on his shirt. He looked down and frowned as though he hadn’t felt any pain.

He looked up and his face turned red. “Fucking bitch!” he yelled, spittle flying from his mouth. He tackled me, punching me in the face, and—blinded by white and black stars—I pummeled his head with the gun handle. I kept pounding his temple until he fell lax. With a grunt, I kicked him off me.

I pulled myself up into a sitting position, gasping and spitting blood, unable to see through the stars. Every inch of my face hurt. He’d very nearly knocked me out. As my tunnel vision slowly widened, I could see Clutch running toward me. When he got close, he looked at me and then at the guy who was already starting to come back to consciousness. I struggled to aim my gun, but Clutch was in the way. He kicked the man in the gut and then fired two shots at my attacker’s head.