100 Days in Deadland (Deadland Saga, #1)(50)

Clutch swung first. He took the zed’s head clean off. My swing went wide and landed in the shoulder of the second. I stepped back and swung again, this time my machete lodged into the skull. I kicked up, planting my boot against its chest, and yanked the blade free. I pulled my weapon up just as the third zed reached for me, but Clutch decapitated it, just like he’d done the first, before slamming his machete through both heads on the ground.

The fourth zed looked up and snarled, its mouth covered in fresh blood. Bites and scratches covered its face, chest, and arms, enough that would have caused serious injuries in a human. It went after Clutch, and I stepped around it and took off half its head from behind. It fell, dropping the carcass it’d been feeding on.

I edged closer to the hollow tree trunk and got down on my knees. I rested my weapon against the trunk, and Clutch stood guard.

I leaned down to find the source of the whimpering inside.

Pups.

They were much smaller than the animal the zeds had been feeding on. She’d likely been their mother and had sacrificed herself defending her den. Two pups were already dead, one struggled to breathe. Without obvious injuries, I suspected they’d been crushed when the zeds dug at them in a frenzy. The fourth pup in the far back corner continued to whimper. I reached in. It cried louder and nipped at my gloved fingers.

I gently blanketed the pup with my hand. It was cornered and began to wiggle fervently. Wrapping my fingers around it, I picked it up as gently as possible and pulled it free. She screeched in my hand as I examined her, and then I pulled her against my chest. “Shh. It’s going to be okay, sweetie,” I murmured.

She couldn’t have weighed more than a couple pounds. After a moment, the pup’s shrieks turned into whimpers before it finally quieted but continued to shake.

Clutch came up behind me.

“There’s another one in there, but he’s hurt pretty bad,” I said, while stroking the pup’s fur with my thumb.

He took a deep breath, bent down, and reached in with both his hands. When he stood, his hands were empty. “It’s taken care of.”

I gave him a tight smile and held up the pup. “She’s definitely a mutt, but she’s cute in a mutty sort of way.”

He chuckled. “It’s not a mutt. It’s a mangy coyote.”

A coyote? “Oh. Well, it’s a she.”

He shook his head. “Coyote are wild. They’re not domesticated like dogs.”

“But she’ll die if we leave her behind.”

“That’s nature, Cash.”

“There’s been enough death already,” I said quietly.

After a moment, he scowled. “Let me see it.”

I reluctantly held her out.

He picked her up by the scruff of her neck, looked her over, and then handed her back. “It doesn’t look injured or sick. But it’s young, not even weaned yet. It’ll probably die, no matter what we do. I don’t know much about coyotes except that they’re a nuisance.”

The pup snuggled into my arm and I scratched her oversized ears. “I’ll take care of her.”

“I can’t believe you’re bringing a coyote home,” Clutch said.

I shot him a smile. “We’re all leftovers in this world. She’s no different.” I carried her in one hand, grabbed my machete in my other hand, and started heading back into the woods. “I think she’ll fit in nicely.”

Clutch caught up and we walked in silence through the woods. Once we reached the yard, I lifted the pup. “What should we call her?”

“Ugly.”

“Har, har.” I smiled. “Jase is going to love her.”

By the time we crossed the yard and reached the house, the pup had nearly chewed a hole through my glove. Jase rode up on his bike and pointed, his head cocked. “What kind of dog is that?”

“Coyote,” Clutch replied.

Jase raised a brow. “A coyote? For real?”

“She’s yours if you want her,” I offered.

His eyes widened. “Really?”

“Yeah, really.”

He held out his hands, and I handed the pup over. “Hey, little Mutt,” he murmured, scratching her back.

I smiled. As soon as I held the pup, I’d hoped she could help fill the void for Jase. “Hopefully, she’ll take to the powdered milk,” I said. “And you’ll need to make up a little bed or kennel for her.”

“Yeah, yeah,” he said and headed off into the house.

“Make sure it doesn’t have fleas before you bring it inside,” Clutch called out, but Jase was already gone.

Clutch tried to give me one of his hard looks but failed. When his lips curled upward, I knew he’d also seen the light in Jase’s eyes.

There were too few moments like that to brush them off.

“Let’s check the gate,” he growled. “The kid’s going to be worthless the rest of the day.”

I tried not to grin as I jumped in the Jeep, and Clutch shrugged off the backpack of extra gear he always carried now and drove us down the lane. About midway there, we heard the now-familiar sound of the garbage truck.

“Those sonsabitches just won’t quit,” he muttered before gunning the engine. “Get ready.”

I lifted my rifle.