100 Days in Deadland (Deadland Saga, #1)(16)

“They’re neighbors,” Clutch said before rolling down the window. “Good people. They live a few miles west of me.”

The man leaned against his steering wheel as he rolled down his window.

“Frank,” Clutch said with a slight tilt of his head.

“Clutch,” the man replied, and I cocked my head. Everyone called him Clutch?

Clutch nodded toward the Wal-Mart. “How’s the pickings?”

“I bet there’s plenty in there,” Frank said. “But we just grabbed what we could off the back of a truck behind the building. There are zeds everywhere. Even in the unloading area.”

Clutch nodded. “You bit?”


The other man grimaced, and then looked at his wife and son. “Afraid so. We both are. We needed food and underestimated the bastards. They just never stop.”

My jaw tightened. Clutch and I were about to do the same thing, maybe even to the same store, and I wondered how many zeds were where we were headed.

“Sorry to hear that,” Clutch said before nodding toward the backseat. “And your boy?”

“Jasen’s too fast,” the man replied with a proud smile in his son’s direction. “The zeds can’t get close to him.”

I looked from the teenager to his parents and back again. Wet streaks lined his cheeks, and his eyes were red. Oh, the poor kid knew exactly what was in store for his parents.

“He’s not safe with you, you know,” Clutch said in a low voice.

Frank lowered his head. “I know.” He gave a long look at his wife. “We’re just going to get these supplies home for Jasen before…”

Silence filled the air.

Frank’s wife leaned forward. “Please, Clutch,” she said, sobbing and oblivious to her injury. “Please look after our son. He’s just a boy.”

“I’m not a boy, Mom,” the teenager replied. “I can take care of myself. I’ll be all right.”

Clutch didn’t speak for the longest time. When he did, his words sounded like they were weighted down. “Jase, how about you come on over and climb in my truck.”

Jase’s mother gasped. “Oh, thank you! Jasen’s a good boy. He’s strong and smart and you won’t be sorry. God bless you, Clutch.”

Frank’s face instantly lifted. “You’re a good man. I wish I could—”

“Don’t worry about it,” Clutch interrupted.

“I’m not leaving you guys,” Jasen broke in from the backseat.

“Jasen,” his father said, sounding exhausted. “You’ve got to go.”

“Not until you get sick. The guy on the radio said that he heard that not everyone got sick,” he replied.

“That’s just a rumor, Jase,” his father said.

“Besides, Betsy’s still at home,” Jasen said. “I’m not leaving her locked in the house to starve to death.”

“Betsy?” I asked.

“The dog,” Frank replied with a sigh.

“Your parents are going to get sick, Jase,” Clutch replied. “Soon.”

“I know,” he replied, the words barely above a whisper. “I can’t abandon them now. They need me.”

“Go with Clutch, Jasen,” his mother pleaded to her son. “You’ll be safe.”

“I’m not leaving you like this, Mom.”

Clutch sighed. “We’re burning daylight. The offer stands, Jase. You know where I live. Come on by anytime. I’ll be home in a few hours. Just be careful to not attract any attention.”

Jasen nodded before sinking back into the shadowed seat.

“No, Jasen,” his mother said. “You go with Clutch.”

Clutch rolled up the window and pulled away, and we could hear Jasen’s mother piteous cries for us to stop.

“He’s going to die, staying with them like that,” I said.

“Probably,” Clutch replied. “But it’s his choice. If he left with us, that regret of abandoning his parents would fester and eat him up inside. If he makes it through the day, maybe we’ll see him again.”

“Maybe,” I mused, wondering what it would be like to have to take in a kid. Clutch already complained about the amount of food I ate. A teenage boy could easily eat twice my share. If Clutch suspected there wasn’t enough to go around, would someone have to leave? The thought sat like a rock in my stomach, because I suspected if Clutch had to choose, he’d choose the son of a friend over an unskilled girl he didn’t even know four days ago.

“So everyone calls you Clutch?” I asked, forcing myself to change the subject. “I thought that was just your CB handle.”

“It came from a tractor incident back in grade school,” he replied.

My brows rose. “What happened?”

“Don’t ask.”

I smacked the leather and smirked. “You’re killing me here.”

“Well,” he drawled out. “When I was just learning how to drive the tractor, I hit the gas instead of the brakes, and drove into my dad’s shed.”

I burst out laughing. “I bet your dad wasn’t happy.”

“No. No, he wasn’t.”

I caught a movement that had been nearly hidden by a minivan, and I sobered. “Look,” I said, pointing at the blonde woman coming around the minivan.