100-Days-in-Deadland(92)

I continued shooting, taking out their legs if I couldn’t get a good headshot. Clutch rejoined, and the church was like a Tarantino film, full of gunfire and gore. I used up my last two shells on a priest wearing a collar stained with dried blood.

“Reloading!” I yelled out and scrambled back several steps. I rushed to slide the shells into the shotgun while a zed in the form of a decrepit old woman stumbled toward me, its head askew with a broken neck. I’d only gotten five shells loaded when it closed in. I swung the gun up and shot it in the chest. The force sent it flying back, and my second shot was a direct hit to its face.

I looked around for what to shoot next but saw no zeds still standing. I frowned. “We’re clear already?”

“All clear,” Clutch said as he pulled out a knife.

I finished reloading my shotgun before slinging it over my shoulder and pulling out my knife. We went around to each zed, making sure it wouldn’t come back. Shotguns packed a punch, but they didn’t always get the job done.

Afterward, we stood at the baptismal fountain, washing up under the watchful gray gaze of a statue of the Virgin Mary. “Jesus,” I said, and then glanced at the crucifix hanging at the front of the church. “Sorry,” I mumbled. “Did everyone in a ten-mile radius come to church when the outbreak hit?”

“Plenty of folks get religious when things turn to shit.”

My eyes fell on the priest. “Guess the priest would’ve had his hands full giving last rites.”

“Too bad the dead didn’t actually stay dead.”

I dried my hands on my jeans and scanned the corpses and toppled pews. “We used up a lot of ammo.”

“It’ll all be worth it if this place hasn’t been looted yet.”

I grinned and clapped. “Let’s check it out.”

****

What we discovered quickly proved Clutch right. We’d struck gold at the Catholic church in the town nearest to the park, if you could call six houses and a church with an attached reception hall a town. According to the banner hanging outside, they’d been collecting donations for a local food pantry to help the needy at Easter.

And we definitely qualified as needy.

“See if you can’t find a P-38,” Clutch said as he rifled through cupboards in the kitchen.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” I called out in reply, stacking another box of canned food near the front door with the dozen other boxes. “You know, for a small town, these guys were really generous.”

I headed back to the kitchen. “Everything’s boxed up and ready to go.”

“Aha, a P-38.” Clutch held up a small metal can opener not much bigger than a razor blade. He pocketed it.

My brow furrowed. “It’s a can opener?”

“It’s a P-38.”

With a sigh, I rolled my eyes. “Ready?”

“Ready.”

We headed to the stack of boxes. “You carry, I watch,” I said.

Clutch lifted two boxes and grunted. “Did you have to pack them so full?”

I patted his shoulder. “Just doing my part to help you stay in shape.” With the shotgun in one hand, I propped open the door with a brick. After a quick sweep of the area between us and the truck, I motioned Clutch forward. “Clear.”

He carried the boxes outside, and I stayed close, constantly scanning a full three-sixty around us. Afternoon shadows of tall trees danced like taunting spirits across the tombstones in the quaint cemetery on the other side of the church.

I opened the back of the truck, Clutch slid the boxes onto the bed, and we headed back for more boxes. We were getting efficient at looting, but we both knew that there’d be nothing left to loot in another year. We’d deal with that problem a year from now.

On the third load, I came to a hard stop.

“Aw, hell.” In one smooth move, Clutch set down the boxes and swung his shotgun around.

Parked next to our truck was a Humvee.

Don’t let it be Dogs. Don’t let it be Dogs. I treaded cautiously toward it, careful to keep the truck between us and them.

As I neared the vehicle, I let out a breath as Griz stepped out from the driver’s seat and waved while still speaking into the handheld radio. Tack emerged from the other side of the Humvee. He casually gripped a rifle, looking none too bothered that we had two shotguns aimed at them.

When Griz put down the radio, I lowered my weapon. “What brings you boys all the way out here?”