100-Days-in-Deadland(78)

I reloaded the Beretta as I walked toward the woman. Tears blurred my aim, but I was close enough it wouldn’t matter. I fired twice at point blank.

Her suffering was over.

A hand touched my shoulder, and I snapped around to see Tyler.

He grabbed my free hand. “Come with me.”

He led me down the block. He only let go to shoot a stray zed.

At the end of the block, he commandeered a Jeep. He drove in silence, taking me through the winding roads. As we approached the open square, I stared at the silhouette of the lone gallows under the moonlight.

“You were going to hang me?” I asked. “Is that part of your so-called justice system?”

“It wasn’t for you,” Tyler said quickly. “It was for a convict who killed one civilian and injured another when they caught him stealing food.”

I rode numbly as Tyler drove us to an area of the camp where several large garages stood. In the fence was a gate that had been blasted open.

Tyler parked and looked me over. “Lendt’s a stickler for rules, so even though you helped tonight, he’ll still have you stand trial. I agree with him that you should stand trial, but the game’s changed. But, I also think that, sometimes, the rules need to be broken. With all the chaos, it would’ve been easy for you to escape.”

I cocked my head at Tyler’s words.

“Though I wish it wasn’t the case, we have to part ways. At least until I can get the charges against you reduced,” Tyler said.

Before getting out, I paused. “Take care of Jase. He’s a good kid.”

Without waiting for a response, I jumped out and set a brisk pace into the darkness.

“Hold up,” Tyler said, catching up.

I swallowed, then turned. He handed me another clip and then placed his hand behind my neck and kissed my forehead. “Be careful out there.”

I gave a small smile and started walking again.

“Watch your six,” Tyler called out behind me.

I paused for a moment, and then took off at a full run through the gate and into the night.

****

The east horizon was growing lighter than the west, meaning that dawn wasn’t far behind. I jogged down the road to cover as much distance as possible before the sun would betray me to any Dogs and zeds in the area. I ran around a few zed stragglers on the roads, but didn’t stop to kill them, instead, moving as quickly as I could before more showed.

My lungs burned. My body was drenched with sweat, and I’d run less than five miles because I could just make out the outline of Doyle’s camp in my path.

I wanted to burst into the camp and save Clutch. Except stupid heroics would only get us both killed. Clutch had always told me to never go on an offensive without being prepared. He’d told me often, “Whatever you didn’t plan for, that’s what’s going to happen.” Worse, after the Camp attack (What the f*ck was Doyle thinking, to go after Camp Fox like that?), the Dogs would be on high alert, waiting for repercussions, and ready to gun me down the moment I stepped near their camp.

“I’m coming back for you,” I promised Clutch and kept jogging.

As the first rays of sunlight ebbed over the horizon, I detoured through a field that had been freshly plowed in the spring but already showed signs of being retaken by prairie grasses. The ground was rough, and I slowed to a walk to not twist an ankle. Within minutes, I entered the woods that lined the field, where the trees could hide me from both zeds and Dogs.

But trees could hide zeds just as well.

When the sun lit up the world, I moved slowly but steadily toward the farm. I figured I had around thirty miles to go, which would take me a full day at the rate I was moving.

Spending a night in the woods with zeds wasn’t my idea of fun, but any nearby houses could have Dogs. So I kept moving through the woods like a predator but feeling more like prey.

When I came to a road, I didn’t cross. Still too close to Doyle’s camp. I walked alongside the highway, weaving through trees until I came to small creek running under the road through a round culvert. Keeping my larger knife firmly in my grip, I crept closer, stepping into the water. Cold water climbed up my legs and trickled down into my boots, and I grimaced. Soggy feet would be hell in a few hours.

I moved slowly to prevent splashing water. Finally, I reached the metal culvert, and thankfully it was empty except for a few inches of water rippling through it.

My throat was parched. I wanted to drink from the stream so badly, but between farm runoff and the potential for zeds or dead bodies to be lying in it upstream, there was too great a risk of dysentery.