100 Days in Deadland (Deadland Saga, #1)(9)

Any confidence I’d built bled away under his scrutiny.

“Stay here,” he ordered. He didn’t wait for an answer before disappearing inside, leaving me to wait. The peaceful chirping of crickets was the only sound besides the ringing in my ears, and I realized that the same isolation I feared about this place was the key quality that made it all the safer. The farm was in the middle of nowhere, far from any city. The yard was big enough to see zeds coming from the woods on any side, and the trees concealed us from the roads.

Clutch returned with an armful of rags, some rubber gloves, a garbage bag, and a couple spray bottles. “There better not be a spot left in the cab when I check it out.”

I nodded dutifully, taking the supplies.

“There’s a light in the cab. Just be sure to turn it off when you’re finished. I want to keep everything fully charged in this cluster f*ck.”

“Light off when I’m done,” I replied with a robot-like tone.

He grunted before turning back into the house.

With a sigh, I headed back to the truck and started scrubbing away every last drop and bit of Alan.

****

Four hours later, I peeled off the yellow gloves covered in brown goo and chemicals. With a sigh, I dropped them into the garbage bag and tied it shut. Even with the industrial-strength stain remover, Alan’s blood had been a bitch to scrub away, and I wouldn’t know if I got everything until daylight. I’d been desperately motivated to do a good job. I only hoped it was good enough that Clutch wouldn’t make me leave before the National Guard got the whole zed thing under control and I could return home.

I sprayed every surface in the cab with one more round of disinfectant before turning off the light and stepping outside and groaned. I was flat-out exhausted. My arms were numb. My lower back hurt. My thigh muscles ached. Every inch of my body throbbed.

Despite the stench, I’d kept the truck doors closed while I cleaned in case any zeds showed up. After taking several deep breaths of fresh night air, I sprayed my grimy body with disinfectant, knowing it probably didn’t do any good, but figured it also couldn’t hurt.

The half-moon was fully overhead now, sharing just enough of its light for me to hurry to the house without tripping over anything. I was half surprised to find the porch door unlocked. Looking down at my Doc Martens, I suspected the black leather was as grimy as I felt. But, there was no way in hell I could scrub them until tomorrow when—hopefully—I could feel my fingertips again. Stepping inside, I took off my boots and left them on the unlit porch.

A savory, meaty smell wafted forth, and my stomach growled. It was late, and I’d lost whatever had been left of my lunch after Alan died. I hustled forward, only to be blocked at the mudroom by a towering Clutch. He was wearing different clothes, and his hair was still wet. Gray peppered his stubble. Lines marked skin that had seen a lot of the outdoors.

He was handsome in a hard way. Maybe it was his eyes. There was an intensity in his gaze. Even without his tattoos, he would’ve had an aura of power.

Or, maybe it was because he had a pistol leveled on me.

My eyes widened as I met his gaze.

He grimaced. “Relax. If I was going to kill you, I would’ve done it outside where you wouldn’t make a mess.”

I chortled. Like that made me feel any better.

It was then I noticed that he was also holding a rag and a small bottle of gun oil. “You were cleaning your gun.”

He looked me up and down before narrowing his eyes. “Take off your clothes.”

I pulled together the collar of my utterly destroyed shirt. “What?”

“I don’t mean it that way. Jesus.” He ran the back of his hand over his face. He laid his weapon on the washer, reached behind him, and pulled out a garbage bag. “You’re covered in zed sludge, and I don’t know how contagious that shit is. Everything’s got to go. I’ll burn it tomorrow.”

He held open the garbage bag. I shot him a hard glare while I unbuttoned what was left of my shirt.

He sighed. “Don’t worry. I won’t look. You’re not my type, anyway. Too scrawny.”

“Scrawny?” I asked but received no response.

Clutch kept his word, looking over my head while I stripped out of my disgusting clothes. I stopped at my bra and underwear. “Nothing soaked through.”

He glanced down and grimaced, like he wasn’t enjoying himself. I scowled. I wasn’t that hard on the eyes, and I was petite, most certainly not scrawny.

“Turn around,” he ordered. “I have to check.”


I gingerly spun and felt his eyes on my back. I shivered, more self-conscious than I’d ever been in my life. If I’d known how this day was going to turn out, I wouldn’t have worn a thong. Then again, I would’ve done many things differently.

“I think they’re savable,” Clutch drawled out in a rough voice. “Throw both in the wash when you’re done with your shower.”

Turning back to face him, I covered my chest as best I could with my arms, though thankfully Clutch was busy looking anywhere but at me.

“The shower’s upstairs. Second door on your left. I set out something you can wear for tonight. Dinner will be ready by the time you’re done.”

“Got it,” I said and hustled past him.

“Oh, and Cash…”