100 Days in Deadland (Deadland Saga, #1)(29)

One of the wood covers had snapped off a ground-floor window—a quick repair. The only real damage was to the roof of the house. When we checked out the roof the next morning, all Clutch said was, “I’ve been meaning to get that roof redone one of these years.”

“And the surplus,” I added. If Clutch thought there was some badass stuff tucked away in the warehouse, it was going to be Christmas for us. I was keeping my fingers crossed for a Jeep.

“It’s going to be a busy day,” Clutch said.

“I’ll stay back and guard the house,” Jase offered.

“Negative. You’re both coming. Home Depot is big. If I knew where I could get shingles anywhere else, I would, believe me. I need extra eyes and ears there.”

“But who’s going to protect the farm when we’re gone?” he asked.

“We’ll lock the gate up good and tight before we go. That should cover us for a few hours,” Clutch replied. “And you can carry in today’s water before you gear up.”

Jase slumped.

I gave him a reassuring pat. With the power out, we had to get our water from the manual pump outside.

A thump against the outside wall sent us all to our feet. “I’ll check it out from the living room,” I whispered, pulling out my pistol. Clutch had upgraded my .22 to a Glock 9mm after the run-in with the rapists, and the weight felt good in my grip.

“I’ll take upstairs,” Jase whispered before taking the stairs three steps at a time.

Clutch nodded and reached for his rifle.

I headed toward the source of the sound and paused, waiting for the next thump. When it came, I took the window on my left and slid open the peephole. The yard looked clear under the overcast sky, though with the peephole, I couldn’t see anything against the walls.

I turned to Clutch who was now behind me and shrugged. When I turned around to look outside again, I found a jaundiced face staring back at me. I jumped. “Shit!”

“Ahhnn.” The zed pounded on the wood and began to chant the meaningless sound over and over as though it was saying, “Let me in.” The window frame vibrated under the pressure.

“Cash?” Clutch asked.

I lifted my pistol, held it just inside the sniper hole, and fired. The pounding stopped and daylight shone through the hole once again.

Jase came running down the stairs a moment later. “The yard’s clear. That was the only one I could see.”

“It never should’ve gotten this close to the house. We need to take shorter breaks with the three of us together,” Clutch said. “No more than fifteen minutes without anyone on guard every three hours.”

“That gives us less time to plan and report status,” I said.

“We should use treadmills,” Jase said.

“What?” Clutch and I asked at the same time.

Jase gave us a wide grin. “Treadmills. We should surround the house with them. Any zed who comes up to the house will step onto a treadmill and will just keep walking and walking. Then we don’t have to stand guard at all.”

“Exactly how are you going to power a hundred treadmills?” Clutch asked.

Jase shrugged. “Solar power, maybe.”

“Oh, solar power. Of course. I’ll pick some up on my next grocery trip,” I said drily.

Jase flipped me the bird. “Jeez, can’t you guys take a joke?”

I smiled, though Jase had a point. It was too hard to find humor in a world that had given up.

Clutch sighed. “C’mon. Let’s hit the road.”

Jase’s smile dropped. “I’ll grab my stuff.”

As we headed out to repair the gate, the weather reflected Jase’s mood. The sun refused to shine, giving reign to a gray mist instead. I felt sorry for the kid. Going into Fox Hills would bring back a lifetime of memories for him. Where he went to school, where his mom picked up groceries—everything we’d drive by would be a stark reminder of what he’d lost.

With the gate back in place and operational, Jase sulked in the backseat while Clutch drove down the gravel road. Jase feigned nonchalance, but in the side mirror I noticed that he stiffened as we drove by the empty ranch house he grew up in. It looked deceptively welcoming, the scene of death hidden within its red brick walls. My overactive imagination feared that Jase’s parents somehow had come back again and dug out of their graves. Fortunately, the house disappeared behind us with no sign of zeds, those related to Jase or otherwise.

Another mile down the road, Jase and I got out to move a small tree that had fallen across the gravel. Broken branches littered the gravel, and one low part over a culvert showed signs that the road had been underwater a few hours earlier.

A bloated zed lay floundering under the shallow rapids of a rushing creek beyond the culvert. Trapped under a log, its arms flapped clumsily at the water.

“I don’t get it,” Jase said from the backseat. “That thing’s probably been underwater all night. How can it still be alive?”

“They’re not alive, they’re just…echoes of life,” I answered honestly. It’s what I told myself every day so that I no longer thought of them as people. When the time came to kill—not in self-defense like when Melanie had attacked me—if I believed that they still felt or thought, I wasn’t quite sure I could go through with it.