100 Days in Deadland (Deadland Saga, #1)(40)

“We should at least cut the fence,” I said. “Give the rest of the cattle a chance.”

He sighed before slowing to a stop. “We won’t be able to save all the livestock. The zeds will get to all of it eventually.”

“I know, but at least we can help these few.”

He jumped out and opened the back door and pulled out a bolt cutter. I got out and held my rifle at the ready. The fence was a simple barbed-wire, taking Clutch no more than four quick snips to open up a section for the cattle to escape should they find the gap. We were back on the road seconds later.

We saw a couple dozen more zeds, mostly alone or in pairs, walking aimlessly on roads and through fields. As we entered an older residential part of Fox Hills—what Jase named Chow Town after the Home Depot experience—the area was eerily quiet. With no people or cars, nothing moved except for the occasional zed.

“Where is everyone?” I asked softly.

Clutch didn’t reply, just kept on driving.

When he pulled in between two zeds meandering on the pavement and into the parking lot, I let out a sigh of relief. Mabel’s Garden Center was nothing near the size of Home Depot, meaning that there shouldn’t have been nearly as many people there when the outbreak hit.

Hopefully.

Still, my stomach was in knots.

I kept my fingers crossed that the remaining zeds in the area had already moved on to find food elsewhere. Clutch backed the truck up to the front doors, so we could load and then get away quickly. We moved silently from the truck, knowing that even though the area seemed relatively clear, zeds lurked everywhere.

He looked at me. “You can stay outside and stand guard if you want. I can cover the greenhouse.”

I pulled out the small axe and shook my head. “No. Let’s stick to the plan.”


We opened our doors at the same time. I scalped the first zed with a quick strike to its temple, and it fell lifelessly to the ground. I turned to see Clutch standing over a dead zed.

We walked up to the front glass doors and looked inside. A cashier still hovered at his cash register. With an axe in one hand and the machete in another, Clutch rapped on the glass, and the zed turned around. Its empty gaze leveled hungrily on us, and it stumbled forward. Another one emerged from an aisle. It had been an older woman, still wearing gardening gloves, and she’d been badly chewed upon. A third, another employee, headed toward the doors.

We waited until all three were at the doors, before counting down…three, two, one. I yanked the door open and jumped back. Clutch swung the axe and then swung the machete. One of the zeds refused to go down after a glancing blow, but my axe to its forehead finished the job.

We dragged the bodies out of our way, and scanned the rest of the place, finding only one more zed trapped under a collapsed shelf.

We wasted no time in grabbing all the heirloom seeds, fertilizer, and fencing we could find. If we could plant enough crops, we could get through the winter and have plenty of seeds for next year. We might even be able to take in another survivor or two, which we desperately needed. Defending an entire farm with only three people was exhausting work.

We were heading back to the front doors to close up the greenhouse when we saw them. All four men wore military fatigues—much like ours—and had automatic rifles slung over their shoulders. With shaved heads, the men looked all the same: white, dirty, and mean.

And they were currently in the back of Clutch’s truck, stealing our loot.

Clutch threw me a quick glance, then whispered, “Stay inside, and be ready to run in case this goes to shit.”

“Be careful.” I pulled the rifle off my shoulder and leaned against the door, aiming at the men busy moving things from our truck to theirs.

Clutch fired a shot into the air, and they froze like skittish deer, one of them dropping his stolen cargo. They scrambled to raise their rifles as Clutch took a couple steps forward, keeping his Glock leveled on them.

The cleanest looking of the men relaxed and grinned. “Clutch! It’s good to see a familiar face.”

Clutch narrowed his eyes. “What are you doing here, Sean?”

One of the other men stepped forward. “You’re taking things that don’t belong to you.”

“And it belongs to you?” Clutch countered. “I knew Mabel, and she’s lying dead inside.”

“It doesn’t matter, Clutch. It’s the rules,” Sean said. “All supplies must go through the Fox Hills militia for reallocation. We divvy them out to citizens based on need.”

Clutch chuckled, though there was no humor in the sound. “Based on whose need? Yours or theirs?”

“You’ll turn over the truck, the supplies, and that girl with you,” another man called out, pointing at me.

“Good luck with that,” Clutch said before turning back to Sean. “Where’s the government order establishing a militia?”

“There’s no government anymore,” Sean replied.

“Camp Fox has fallen?”

Sean stammered. “We—we’re working in collaboration with the National Guard. We’re helping them out.”

“And who’s in charge of this little militia?” Clutch asked.

“Doyle,” one of the men said. “And he’ll kick your ass for getting in our way.”

“Let me see the government order from Camp Fox instating Doyle as head of the militia,” Clutch said. “Until then, you’re all just bandits. And, I’ll shoot any man who tries to take anything of mine.”