100 Days in Deadland (Deadland Saga, #1)(45)

Clutch’s lips thinned and he nodded before moving through the room and into the hallway. He took the stairs with silent steps, and I had to concentrate to be as quiet. Upstairs, there were no signs of struggle, though there were clear signs that someone had been in a hurry to pack. Drawers were pulled open, clothes draped the bed.

But no dark stains or bodies.

I checked under the bed while Clutch checked the closet. We repeated the process with the next three rooms. “Clear,” I said, though fear nagged at me. Where had she gone? Had she managed to flee the house before she turned?

We headed back down the stairs and finished off the rest of the ground floor. When we came to the last closed door, I groaned when I saw the blood on the handle. “It had to be the basement, didn’t it.”

I reached over and pulled out the flashlight from Clutch’s belt, and clicked it on. He motioned three-two-one before opening the door. Pitch black and vile stench greeted us. Beneath the smell of decay that haunted the entire house, the basement also smelled of wet earth and mildew.

With no windows to let in light, I realized that this must be a cellar like the one at Clutch’s house. I shone the light down the stairs to reveal dried blood stains on the steps but no movement. I glanced at Clutch. With a shrug, he called out, “Any zed-f*cks down there?”

Something clanked, and then something grunted. The sounds of moaning, shuffling, and banging continued.

“Come out, come out, wherever you are,” I sang, shining the light across the floor to draw it out. There’d been plenty of blood, and I suspected this was where Tom’s wife escaped after being attacked. Dark water covered at least a third of the floor, and I realized that without power, sump pumps could no longer do their jobs.

At the edge of the water, the light fell on a horribly damaged carcass of something small that had tufts of yellow fur still attached. I cringed. “Ah, geez. She ate the cat.”

A shape fell forward, and I jumped.

“And there’s the missus,” Clutch said drily.

Mrs. Pierson must’ve been brutally attacked by the man she’d trusted most in the world. Bites spanned the zed’s neck, hands, and arms. Scratches covered its face, but I suspected those were from the cat fighting for its life. The zed stumbled forward, reaching for the light with each step. Clutch pulled out his Glock but didn’t fire.

The zed kicked the first stair step. Bumped into it again. The third time, it fell forward.

“How about that,” I said. “They can’t climb stairs.”

As it dragged itself up, it started the process over again.

“But they never get tired,” Clutch replied. “I bet if it kept at it long enough, it’d get lucky and fall up the stairs.” He fired the gun, and the zed fell backward, its hand making a small splash in the standing water.

“Let’s make this quick,” he muttered, taking the first step.

I kept the light in front of us, moving it to scan the sides. It was an unsettling feeling, entering the literal bowels of the house, not knowing what else could be down here. At the foot of the stairs, Clutch motioned for the flashlight. He took it and shone it across the basement. I held the machete in front of me.

Fortunately, the basement was wide open, with no doors or rooms, let alone shelves or boxes. In fact, the only things down there were two corpses, one zed and one tabby housecat. “There’s nothing down here. Maybe they’ve always had flooding issues with it,” I said, thinking aloud.

“Good,” he muttered. “Let’s get out of here.”

He wasted no time hustling back up the stairs.

“Don’t like dark basements?” I asked when he shut the basement door behind us.

“Not one bit.”

I chortled.

“What?”

“I never would’ve guessed you to be afraid of anything.”

After a moment, he shrugged. “I’m only human.”

The thought of Clutch getting hurt—or worse—quickly sobered me. “Yeah. Guess so.”

With the house clear, we moved quickly through to inventory food and supplies to load later. The Piersons weren’t very good planners. They had little to offer, so we went ahead and loaded everything we found into one suitcase. I was about to open the refrigerator when Clutch pressed his hand over mine. “Before you do that, I’d hold my breath if I were you.”

I bit my lip. “Oh. Good call.”

Clutch stepped back as I sucked in a breath and opened the refrigerator. And I was glad I did. Milk, leftovers, and raw meat filled the shelves. I moved quickly, grabbing only the items I was hoping to find. Aluminum cans.

I pulled out the twelve-pack of light beer and the four cans of soda and slammed the door shut. I lifted the beer and smiled. I made the mistake of inhaling to brag about my find, and gagged from the lingering stench from the refrigerator.

Clutch smirked and opened the door to the garage.

I pushed past him and sucked in fresh air. He came out behind me and dropped the suitcase into the back of the truck. He pulled out an old wire carrier he’d found somewhere along the way. “Let’s wrap this up.”

I put the twelve-pack and soda in the back and followed. We’d only burned a half hour clearing the house, leaving us plenty of time for the only other building on the farm. It looked like an old hog house that had been converted to store machinery. A large caged-in chicken area had been built onto the side with a door leading into the old shed. The door was closed, likely blown shut in the storms. Four chickens and one rooster pecked at the grass. Their feathers were matted, and they were scrawny. They had to be near starving, with nothing to eat but what they could find in the twenty-by-twenty area of grass fenced in for their home.