100 Days in Deadland (Deadland Saga, #1)(82)

But I did notice the onslaught of headlights in the distance, and they were coming right at us.





Chapter XXIII


Clutch sped dangerously fast without headlights. I had no idea how he managed to keep the Humvee on the road. He pressed two fingers against his headset. “We have one man down.”

A pause.

“Affirm. Bravo team is still a go. Repeat, Bravo is still a go.”

A pause.

“Wilco. Bravo, over and out.” Clutch grimaced and turned on the headlights.

My eyes widened. “What are you doing?”

Clutch clenched his jaw. “Alpha is rendezvousing with the tankers to provide firepower support to the Camp. We’re to lead as many Dogs as we can away from the convoy.”

I swallowed, found it hard to breathe, and immediately started reloading my rifle.

He glanced at me and then took a quick look in back where Tack was busy tending to Southpaw. “How’s he doing?”

Tack didn’t answer.

“Tack, report.”

The soldier looked up slowly. “It was clean, through and through, no organs hit. But…I think he’s gone.”

Clutch hit the wheel. “Fuck!”

“I don’t get it,” Tack added on though in a daze. “It wasn’t that bad of hit. He should be conscious and talking to us right now.”

I looked around and noticed lights—a lot of them—closing in. “Do you know this area?” I asked.

“Not good enough.” Clutch cranked a hard left, sending me against the door, and he barreled down the on-ramp and onto the interstate. “Let’s hope for no roadblocks.”

Something chinked the metal, sounding like a rock chip, except we were on pavement.

“Tack, take the .30,” Clutch ordered. “Cash, feed him ammo.”

I started crawling into the back.

“Fuck!” Tack yelled and jumped back.

“What’s wrong?” I asked.

“It’s Southpaw. He’s turning!”

“How’s that possible?” I fumbled with my rifle.

Southpaw plowed into the much smaller Tack, but I was close enough I barely had to aim. I fired an ear-ringing shot, and Southpaw collapsed on top of Tack.

Tack sat up and shoved off his comrade.

I kept my rifle leveled. “Are you bit?”

He kicked away Southpaw’s body. “No.”

“What the hell was that?” Clutch asked.

“No idea,” I said, making my way to Tack. We hadn’t been close to any of the zeds in the area. So how in the world had Southpaw gotten infected? More pings against the metal reminded me that I didn’t have the luxury to think right now.

Tack fired rounds at the headlights behind us. The first vehicle swerved but then straightened out, but at least we now had more space between us and them. Another pair of lights came up alongside the first, and flashes of gunfire from both trucks winked back at us.

“Can’t you go faster?” I yelled toward Clutch.

“Humvee,” he replied as if that explained everything.

I fed more ammo to Tack.

Clutch jerked the Humvee onto an exit ramp, knocking me across the floor and onto Southpaw’s body. As I pulled myself back up, I saw the sign that read Fox Hills 3 miles, and by the look on Tack’s face, he’d seen it, too, though he went back to firing.

“You’re taking us to Chow Town?” I asked.

“We can’t outrun the Dogs, and they’d be crazy to follow us into town.”

We’d be crazy to go into town, I wanted to say. Instead, I warned, “It’s almost dawn.”

Clutch kept on driving. “I plan on only making a quick drive-through.”

As Clutch suspected, the Dogs backed off when we passed the sign that read Welcome to Fox Hills, Midwest’s hidden gem, pop. 5,613. Clutch drove the Humvee off the shoulder and through the ditch, around the blocked road, and into the Wal-Mart’s parking lot. Already, at least a dozen dark shadows lumbered toward us.

The truck behind us stopped but kept its machine gun leveled at us. The other trucks peeled out and headed in different directions. “Fuck!” Clutch stepped on the gas. “The shits are trying to block us in town.”

Clutch turned left on the first street, running over a zed wearing a gaudy shirt, its sequins glittering in our headlights. “Come on, come on, come on,” he muttered as he sped faster and faster.

When we reached the next road leading out of town, on the other side of the roadblock was one of the Dogs’ trucks. They fired off several shots, and Clutch slammed on the brakes. He made a U-turn and headed for the next street. The gunfire had drawn zeds out from the darkness. Clutch dodged some and hit more on his way to one of the few roads leading out of town. Chow Town wasn’t a large town. With a river running along two sides and all bridges blocked or destroyed during the outbreak, there weren’t many roads leading out of town.

Clutch slowed, and I saw the Dogs on the other side of the roadblock.

The wheel creaked under Clutch’s grip. “Shit.”

“If we can’t get out of town, we need to find a place to lie low until the Dogs clear out,” I said, fear tightening my muscles as I remembered how well that worked the last time I was here. I looked from Tack to Clutch. “Any ideas?”