100 Days in Deadland (Deadland Saga, #1)(15)

“That’s because mine’s a Glock and yours is a .22. Yours is a great starter pistol because it doesn’t have much recoil. Show me you can use it well, and I’ll let you try my 9mm.”

Dropping the extra ammo into a cargo pocket, I repeated everything he’d shown me to make sure I understood.

“We can’t afford to attract attention, so only go for your pistol as a last resort. And whatever you do, don’t fire unless your target is less than eight feet away. Save your bullets. The .22 is a baby and will just piss them off from any distance greater than that.”

“Thanks.” I holstered the gun.

“Be careful. If you’re bit, you’ll turn. There are no second chances out there. Got it?”

“Yes.”

“Good. Let’s go.”

He locked up, grabbed a small backpack of extra gear, and we headed to the shed where his black 4x4 super cab pickup truck waited. He topped off the gas tank at one of two large cylindrical fuel tanks set up behind the shed. We were strapped in and heading down the lane in no time.

Clutch drove slowly down the gravel road, turning left, then left again. He continued until he’d made a full square loop around the house. The next time, he went one road farther out, and repeated the process. He slowed down near each of the three farmhouses we passed but never stopped. I saw no signs of zeds, but I also saw no people. Cattle still grazed in the fields. Everything looked deceptively normal, completely different than how busy Des Moines had been a few days earlier.

“We’ll check each one out later,” he said, moving on. We continued the scouting mission, me watching for zeds and Clutch watching for I-don’t-know-what until we pulled onto a paved road, and he came to stop.

“What if there are people still living there?” I asked.

“Then we leave them be. I’m not taking in any more strays.”

I had thought about that, too. And, though I knew it was selfish, I didn’t want to have another mouth to feed. We had a good thing going, and another person would only throw a wrench into that dynamic. I also felt guilty thinking that way, knowing we were equipped to help others. “At least we’ll know who’s in the area. We only clear out the places that have been abandoned. Mark the others as off-limits.” I thought for a moment. “What now?”

He turned right. “Let’s check out town.”

I swallowed. It had been over three days, but it felt like an hour ago now that we were back on the road. “Are you sure it’s not too dangerous?”

“We have to know what we’re dealing with. Today will be a quick recon. Just to the edge of town. I need to hit two stores before they’re looted…if we’re not too late already.”

We drove for several miles without seeing a single car or zed. Only one house, with its windows boarded, showed signs of survivors. As Clutch didn’t know them, he quickly laid down the law that we’d avoid that particular farm for now.

My anxiety climbed when we passed a sign that read: Fox Hills, 3 miles.

I focused on breathing normally while scanning for zeds.

He stopped the truck at a roadblock. Cars and debris were piled across the road.

“Who do you think did that?” I asked.

“National Guard,” he replied. “I heard it on the CB during the outbreak. When they saw that zeds prefer to stick to flat surfaces, they blocked all the roads to contain the spread as much as they could.”

Clutch pulled the truck into the steep ditch, and I held on, waiting for the truck to tip over. It sure felt close, but once past the roadblock, he climbed back onto the road, nearly getting stuck in the mud at the bottom.

Just on the other side of the roadblock was a sign indicating that we’d just entered Fox Hills’ city limits. It wasn’t a huge town. According to the sign, 5,613 souls lived here. But the idea of 5,613 zeds lumbering around was downright petrifying.

We came to the Wal-Mart first, a new monolith standing alone on the outskirts of town. A couple dozen cars sat in the parking lot like the store was still open, and I wondered where the drivers to those cars were. “I need some things if we’re stopping.”

His brows furrowed. “What do you need?”

“Some clothes that fit would be good. A sports bra.” The lacey bra I’d been wearing was pretty but worthless for the work I’d been doing the last few days. “And…” I bit my lip. “I’m going to need some, uh, feminine products within a couple weeks.”

“I’ll see what we can find,” he said, wrinkling his nose. “You definitely need gear. My clothes are too loose on you. Too easy for a zed to grab. Same with your hair.”

“My hair?” I twirled a handful of the long, silky strands.

“A zed could grab it and pull you down.”

“Oh,” I said quietly, and disappointment flared. “I suppose I could cut it.”

I heard another engine and jerked my head to find the source. A red SUV came tearing around the corner of the Wal-Mart, and one of the cardboard boxes stacked on top tumbled off. As it approached and slowed, I gripped the arm rest. Inside, I could see three occupants. A male driver, a woman in the passenger seat, and a teenage boy leaning forward between the two front seats. Clutch stopped, and they pulled up alongside. The man was favoring his bloody arm, while the woman, who I assumed to be his wife, cried in the seat next to him. She was pale and bleeding profusely from her cheek and neck. Bitten.