100-Days-in-Deadland(55)

They came running to me, clucking happy little welcomes, and I grinned. “They’re tame.”

“Get them loaded up,” Clutch said from the doorway. “I’m going to check out the fuel situation, and see if the vehicles have anything worthwhile.”

“I’ll take it from here.” I didn’t even look up. I was too busy enjoying being the center of chicken attention.

“And be careful,” he warned.

I was sweating by the time I got three of the five chickens loaded into the carrier. Just because they were friendly creatures that couldn’t fly didn’t make them easy to catch.

Taking a break, I grabbed the three large bags of chicken feed from inside the building and tossed them in the truck next to the portable fuel tank, which Clutch was finishing siphoning gas into from the Piersons’ two cars.

Finished, he disconnected the portable pump’s cables from his truck battery, and slid the pump handle behind the tank. He’d used the portable tank for his tractors in the fields, but it hadn’t taken him long to dump the diesel from the tank so we could use it for gasoline.

Clutch eyed the two chickens still milling in their fenced area and raised an eyebrow.

I shrugged. “They needed a break.”

He smirked, leaning on the truck.

I went back to work getting the last two chickens into the carrier. I must’ve worn them out because I caught both in less than five minutes, only falling on my ass once. The scraggly chickens didn’t look pleased to be cramped in a little cage, but I figured I’d earn their forgiveness by giving them a dry home with plenty of food and water.

I turned to find Clutch with his head in his hands. “What’s wrong?”

He looked up, laughing. “I’ve never seen anyone work so hard to catch chickens before.”

I lifted the cage. “Want me to release them and you take a shot?”

He cleared his throat. “You know, they’re starving. You could’ve put a bit of feed in the kennel, and they would’ve practically run into it.”

I wanted to snap back some smart remark, but he was right so I flipped him the bird instead.

A boom sounded in the distance, and Clutch’s face fell.

Confused, I looked around. “That didn’t sound like thunder.”

His brow furrowed. He stepped back and snapped his head in the direction of the farm. “That was an explosion.”

Shock blasted through me.

“The gate,” he said before taking off at a run toward the truck. I walked as quickly as I could, without risking injuring the caged fowl. He had the engine going by the time I set the carrier in the back. I hopped in the front, and he tore out the driveway and sped out of the driveway and onto the road. I grabbed my rifle and Clutch pulled out his Blaser—a heavy, impressive rifle with an even more impressive scope.

I opened my window and leveled my rifle on the frame as he slowed. As we approached the farm, we found the gate collapsed and a Jeep on the other side with a blown axle. The bloodied driver slumped over the steering wheel must’ve taken shrapnel. Two other men with shaved heads were outside the Jeep, walking down the lane toward the house. One was clutching his bloody arm. The other held his rifle in front of him. He must’ve heard our approach, because he snapped around. His eyes widened, and he nudged the guy next to him and aimed his rifle at the truck.

“Follow my lead,” Clutch said. He drove over the fallen gate and pulled off to the right of the lane where no booby traps had been set and stopped. “This is private property!” he yelled out. “Stop where you are and lower your weapons, or you will be shot.”

They didn’t lower their weapons. “This area is in the jurisdiction of the Fox Hills militia!” the injured man yelled back. “You have to pay tribute to stay on these lands.”

Clutch fired, and I startled. The injured man fell to the ground and didn’t move.

The other raider’s eyes widened. “You killed him, you f*cking bastard!”

“This is your one and only chance,” Clutch said. “Drop your weapon. Leave in the next ten seconds and live. If you or any of your buddies comes near my place again, you will be shot on sight.”

“But you can’t. I’m with the militia!” He glanced from his dead buddy and back to Clutch.

“Seven,” Clutch said.

“But, but my Jeep is busted!” He pointed to the sky. “It’s going to be dark soon. There’s zeds out there.”