100 Days in Deadland (Deadland Saga, #1)(75)

Clutch chuckled while he pulled out a five-gallon red gas can from the back of the truck. “That’s why I didn’t want to do it.”

I flipped him the bird before spitting again. At least I couldn’t smell the sewage anymore. “Next time, you siphon,” I muttered when I could speak again.

After we finished fueling and resealed the underground tank, Clutch backed the truck up to the building. When he jumped out, he looked at me. “Ready to do this?”

I blew out a lungful of air. “Yup.”

It was times like these when I especially missed the farm. We’d had enough weapons and ammunition to start a small war, over six months’ supply of food stockpiled, and had it secure as any place could be without being a high-security prison. We’d reached the point where we didn’t have to go into high-risk places like these to survive. I sighed. We had no choice now.

We either adapted or we’d die.

I held the baseball bat tight in my grip as Clutch rapped on the broken glass, sending several shards crashing onto the concrete. Every sound was razor blade to my nerves.

A distant thump greeted us. There was definitely something waiting inside. Clutch gave me one more look before stepping through the door. I quickly followed and pulled back the bat to swing, but no zeds attacked. Instead, a stack of pastel Easter bunnies smiled at us in front of long aisles shrouded in shadows.

The place gave me the creeps.

Whoever had come here before us couldn’t have left with much. All of the shelves looked fully stocked. When I noticed the cash register open and a near-empty shelf of Marlboros, I rolled my eyes. Money and cigarettes. Whoever had that kind of shit for brains was likely shuffling around the countryside now.

Then again, their idiocy was a good sign. It meant more goodies for us.

“I look out, you fill?”

I turned to see that Clutch had grabbed all the plastic bags off the counter. I swiped a small item from a shelf behind the counter, pocketed it, gripped the bat, and did a three-sixty to scan for zeds. Hearing no signs of any predators—other than the constant thumping coming from the back of the store, I grabbed the bags.

“Let’s do this.”

With tension prickling my nerves, I started in the grocery aisle, filling up five bags with soup, canned meat, saltines, and anything else with a decent shelf life. The bags were flimsy and couldn’t hold much weight, and I slid each bag onto my arm to start another. I skipped most of the candy bars, instead going for nuts and fruit chews. Then, out to the truck to drop off full bags and back inside for more.

While grabbing batteries, something thumped on the bathroom door behind us, startling me. Memories from a different bathroom on the day of the outbreak doused me with ice, and I dropped a bag.

“Don’t worry. It can’t get out,” Clutch said, picking up the bag.

“I know.” I hastily grabbed a few bottles of water, more for the reusable bottles than for the water and made another drop of supplies into the back of the truck.

After two more trips, one to the automotive aisle and one for soap and cleaning supplies, I leaned against the truck. “What else?”

“The best part.” He headed left, and I followed him into the liquor section. Most of the top shelves were empty, and several bottles were broken on the floor. Clutch slid the bat under an arm and grabbed a couple bottles of whiskey and I pointed at the Everclear. He dumped the bottles into bags, and I grunted at the weight.

I glanced out the front window to find the parking lot still wide open. “Still looking good. Knock on wood.”

Clutch shot me a glare. “Cash, don’t jinx us,” he warned.

I shook my head. For being a badass, he sure was superstitious. Smirking, I followed him back through the gas station and toward the front door. Before stepping through, I had a feeling of being watched and I paused. I looked to my left toward the café.

“Clutch,” I whispered, and he stepped back in.

“What is it?”

I glanced at him before looking again.

A glass door separated it from the rest of the station. When we’d first entered, it was empty. Now, on the other side, two jaundiced pairs of eyes stared at us. Two zeds—one who’d been a boy no more than twelve and one who’d been a slightly younger girl—stood. They were likely siblings, with the same hair color and similar features, but it was always hard to tell after bodies started to decompose.

Neither moved nor pounded on the glass. They simply watched. That was eerie enough. But what spooked me more was that they were holding hands.

Clutch tugged me outside. “Let’s get out of here.”





Chapter XIX


It had been a surprisingly low-key day. Zeds were blissfully few and far between, and we’d yet to see a Dog.

After the gas station, we hit two farms. The first was a quaint white house with an old couple inside who’d taken fate into their own hands by blowing out their brains. They were ripe, had likely killed themselves not long after the outbreak. Annoying flies buzzed around my head while I said a silent prayer for them.

“…Amen.” I tugged the shotgun from the old man’s stiff grip and went about my looting.

We’d gained some spices, home-canned foods, and much-needed canning supplies (even though neither Clutch nor I had any idea how to can), taking a load off our biggest stressor of not having any way to store food for the winter. The old couple had also been avid gardeners, but all the sprouts in the garage had long since wilted from lack of water. I’d found a few packets of squash and several gardening tools. It was a start.