100 Days in Deadland (Deadland Saga, #1)(24)

“Dad always thought I’d join the ROTC,” he said, and the smile dropped from his face. His next words were barely a whisper. “I-I don’t think I can go back there.”

I sobered. “Clutch and I will take care of it. Let me know anything else you want from your house, and I’ll see that we pick it up.”

After a stalled silence, he mumbled, “Thanks.”

I motioned him up. “Let’s grab some fresh air.”

Jase followed me outside. It wasn’t yet time for lunch, so we walked the perimeter, checking Clutch’s simple yet effective early-warning systems.

“You’re lucky you found Clutch,” Jase said as we walked.

“It wasn’t just luck,” I replied.

“What do you mean?”

I kneeled, checking a tripwire. When I stood, I faced Jase. “My mom always hated that I didn’t go to church.” I smiled, remembering how she scolded me. Then I sobered. “I was never what you call a true believer so once I moved into my own place, I quit going through the motions. I don’t know why I’m still here when so many good people aren’t, but I think there had to be something more at play than just luck when Clutch pulled up and took me in when I needed help the most.”

“You’re saying it’s a miracle or destiny or something like that why Clutch saved you?”


“Is that any different than luck?” I scanned the yard one more time and then headed over to my tree.

I pulled out my blade and began practicing. Jase sat off to the side, watching me but more often watching the mound of dirt a couple trees down. There was nothing I could say. He needed time, and I hoped that with time, he’d heal.

“Can I get weapons, too?” he asked while I stabbed.

“Ask Clutch,” I replied. I’d give him weapons if I could, but it wasn’t my place. Every weapon here belonged to Clutch, except for the two he’d given me. If and how he distributed his weapons was up to him. “Now, keep an eye out for zeds.”

The rhythm came easier today, like my body remembered the motions from last night. Muscles in my biceps and thighs reminded me that I needed to get in better shape. And I worked at doing exactly that.

After about an hour into my workout, I had to tape up the sandbag because it’d been thoroughly shredded. With the bag wrapped in silver, I went back at it.

“Put your left leg forward a bit more. You’ll be less likely to be knocked off balance.”

I jumped to find Clutch behind me. He’d shaved and had changed clothes, though he wore as many guns and knives as usual.

I turned back to the tree and spread out my feet. After a few awkward stabs, the wider stance put more strength into each thrust.

Jase clapped. “Looking good, Cash.”

“Now come at me,” Clutch said.

My eyes widened, and I held up the tanto. “With a knife?”

He chuckled. “I’ve been watching you. I’m not worried.”

My attack was hesitant, and he scowled. “Damn it, Cash. You can do better than that.”

My next attack wasn’t much better, but as I got more and more aggressive, Clutch had to work at avoiding me.

“Better,” he said. “But you need to remember that evasion should always be your first choice. If you’re forced into an attack, defensive maneuvers are more important than taking the offensive. Zeds will come at you with their teeth and hands. Looters and common criminals will be worse because they can think and use weapons.”

The next time I attacked, Clutch swung out, and I barely jumped out of the way in time. I was thrown off balance, and he knocked me down with a kick from behind.

“You’re relying too much on your weapon. Put it away, and focus on your body. You need to be able to protect yourself using just your hands and whatever is readily available.”

I sheathed the blade and spent the next hour alternating between getting my ass handed to me and watching Jase get his ass handed to him by a seasoned military vet. I was on the ground more than I was on my feet. Clutch was relentless. Once, I nearly got the upper hand with a self-defense kick to his knee, but he jumped back before my foot connected. In return, I got a well-placed hit to my solar plexus.

I collapsed to the ground next to Jase and sucked in air.

Clutch took a seat on the grass next to us and rubbed his shoulder. “Tomorrow we’ll head a few miles out and practice shooting.”

“I can shoot,” Jase quickly offered up.

“What’s your weapon?” Clutch countered.

“I’m a decent shot with a rifle. I’ve hunted both deer and ducks before.”

“Well then, we’ll see what you can do,” Clutch said.

I laid back on the soft grass, staring up at the clouds. Lying there, I realized that even though Clutch was no longer on active duty, he’d never really left the military. He was a Ranger—he had to be one of the best in my mind—and I think that was how he defined himself. Though I suspected his nightmares came from the tours he’d served. Driving the truck, farming, those were just jobs. Clutch was a soldier. He worked out every day as though he were still in the military. And now he expected the same from Jase and me.

Every part of me felt bruised, while Clutch wasn’t even breathing heavily, though I knew his joints ached at the end of each long day. Cracking my neck, I glanced at Clutch who was cleaning his nails with his knife. I noticed his nose had a bump from where it had been broken.