100 Days in Deadland (Deadland Saga, #1)(22)

I don’t know if zeds retained some hint of humanity and they sought out houses or if it was a predatory instinct. Whatever it was had the zed heading straight toward the house as it sniffed at the air. I scanned the yard for more, but saw no others.

I glanced at the .22 in my hand. My heart hammered a warning: don’t go out there.

I headed into Clutch’s gun room and used only a flashlight to not screw with my night vision. I shone the light over the guns, settling on a cluster of hunting-style rifles and shotguns that looked less complicated than the black military-style rifles. I grabbed the rifle in the middle that looked the most straightforward but also big enough to get the job done.

Holding the flashlight in my mouth, I checked the weapon, burning precious time since I really had no idea what I was doing. Once I verified that its magazine was loaded, I turned off the light and headed back to the window.

Careful to be silent, I slid the barrel through the sniper hole and took aim. The zed was less than a hundred feet away and lumbering through an open area, spotlighted by the moon.

I pulled the trigger.

Nothing. Not even a click.

Mentally cursing, I pulled the rifle back and looked at it. Stupid safety. I slid the black switch and aimed again. My first shot clipped the zed’s neck and nearly knocked it down, but it kept coming. The recoil kicked my collarbone, sending white pain shooting through my shoulder. It took me a moment to fix my aim.

“Cash?” Jase called out from upstairs.

“Just a zed passing through,” I said. “Go back to sleep, Jase.”

I took a deep breath. The second shot took out the zed.

Silence filled the night.

My collarbone pulsed from the recoil.

I knelt against the window, watching, waiting for more zeds to show up at the sound of the shots.

After my knees hurt and my tired eyes could no longer focus, I closed the sniper hole, switched the safety back on, and collapsed on the sofa.

My grip on the rifle never relaxed as I faded off to sleep.

****

I awoke the next morning to find Clutch watching me. He was in his recliner, eating steak sandwiched between two biscuits. He was wearing the same clothes from yesterday, and he looked utterly exhausted.

“You cut your hair,” he said, rubbing his shoulder.

I sat up and ruffled my hair, and found that it was sticking up everywhere. After a couple attempts at trying to tamp it down, I gave up. “Your warning system works,” I said. “A zed snagged on it last night.”

Clutch nodded like he’d already seen the corpse. “You okay?”

“Yeah.” I reached for the rifle but realized it was gone. I glanced around, but it was nowhere in sight. I paused and remembered the most important thing. “Jase is staying with us now.”

“I know,” he replied with his mouth full. “I saw the SUV outside.”

I came to my feet. “I should go check on him.”

Clutch swallowed. “Already did. He’s not sick, so I cut him loose, and he’s out cold.”

I let out a deep breath and closed my eyes. “Thank God.”

“You did good.”

I swallowed and faced Clutch. “About yesterday, I’m sorry. I—”

“Do we have any eggs left?” he cut in, coming to his feet. He stretched his back, and his joints cracked and popped.

I frowned. “Yeah, I think so. Why?”

“I’m hungry. If you wouldn’t mind cooking up a couple for me, that’d be great.”

I thought about pressing Clutch to talk more, but then I simply replied with a “sure” and headed for the kitchen to fry up several of our last dozen eggs. I stood there, thinking about Clutch. He was the sort to shove things deep down. If he didn’t want to talk about something, it was impressive how quickly he could change the subject. I imagined he’d done that his whole life. I already knew about the bad dreams—I heard the muffled sounds and curses he let out in his sleep. Twice I’d stopped outside his closed bedroom door. Once I touched the handle. But I hadn’t entered. Not yet, anyway.

I slid eggs on each plate, and I paused by the mudroom. Inside the door was a pile of military and hunting gear. Lots of OD—olive drab—with tags still attached.

I headed back to the living room and handed a plate to Clutch. He glanced up with his bloodshot eyes.

“Where’d you find all the military stuff?” I asked, taking my seat.

“There’s a surplus store in town, and it hadn’t been hit yet.”

I raised a brow. “I figured that would be a hot place for looters.”

“Me, too. Surprisingly, it wasn’t even locked. Most of its gear was still there.”

“Any zeds?” I asked.

He shrugged. “Nothing I couldn’t handle.”

The room was quiet, except for the clanging of forks on plates.

“You were right yesterday,” I said quietly.

Clutch paused for a second before taking another bite.

“You’re right,” I said louder. “I’m not ready yet. But I will be. I swear it. The way I see it, there’s two types of people left in this world: survivors and victims. And I sure as hell plan on being a survivor. All I ask is that you give me a chance.”

He gave a hint of a smile, but the dark circles under his eyes overshadowed any other expression.