Deadland's Harves(44)

Still, it pissed me off, but I was done grumbling about it because it did no good. They saw Jase as a kid—I was glad they saw it, too—and they saw me as a woman. Since men outnumbered women over four to one at the park, every woman was treated like delicate china. I was lucky that I had both Clutch and Jase on my side, or else I would’ve been relegated to only fly scouting runs a long time ago.

“Well, Sorenson seemed to think the barges should be clear since there was no reason for anyone to be on those. We should only have to clear out the towboat. We’ve got Camp Fox counting on us,” Tyler said, then shrugged. “I don’t see an option. We go in.”

I squinted at the boat a couple thousand meters away. “Sorensen seemed to think there wouldn’t be much of a crew on that small of boat. It should be an easy in-and-out.”

“Except it’s going to be dark in just a couple hours,” Jase said.

“We’ll park over there. On the slope under the bridge on the east bank looks like a good spot,” Tyler said, pointing to an outcropping not far from the pontoon.

“That’s got to be a thirty-degree incline,” I said.

Griz chuckled. “It won’t be a problem. Humvees can handle over forty degrees.”

“Let’s get them down there,” Tyler said. “Time’s a wasting.”

The guys spent the next half hour hiding the Humvees and loading all the ammo, food and tools they could onto the pontoon. It sat low in the water, and there was still more in the Humvees. While they all worked as quickly as they could, I stood behind the .30 cal and scanned for danger, even though the area was rural and no zeds showed up. The only benefit of having less upper body strength was that I always got the easier job of keeping them covered while they hauled supplies. They could carry more and faster than I could.

Tyler wiped his hands on his cargos. “That’s all that we can get on this trip.” He waved to me, and I jumped down and met up with the men by the pontoon.

“I’ll get the ropes,” Jase said as he started to untie the yellow ropes that held the boat to the ramp.

Tyler looked back at the motor and climbed into the captain’s seat. “It’s been awhile since I’ve driven one of these things.”

Having no experience with boats, I grabbed a seat across from Wes and near Griz, who held his rifle ready at the helm. Tack did the same at the back of the boat.

Tyler started the engine and looked up. “Okay, Jase.”

Jase loosened the first rope and then the second. He jumped on board and climbed on top a crate full of tools.

Tyler revved the engine, and the pontoon slowly pulled away from the ramp. The boat swayed in the rough water. As we moved into deeper water, waves lapped at the sides, and I was forced to hold on so I wouldn’t get knocked around.

“It’s bumpy out here today,” Wes said, stating the obvious.

I sat there and focused on the distance closing between us and the white towboat with Aurora II painted on the side. I wondered how many zeds were in the river, either buried in the murky bottom or floating just under the surface.

“Does anyone see a good place to tie up?” Tyler asked as he brought the boat around the backside of the Aurora so that no one could see our pontoon from the bridge, making us safer from bandits.

Jase stood on the crate, which was an impressive feat in the rough water. He pointed to the hull. “I might be able to get a hold right up here.”

“It won’t take long to get a basic dock built,” Wes said. He’d been a handyman before the outbreak, so Tyler had considered him critical to have on this mission. The rest of us were Wes’s manual labor. At least the guys were. My job was to squeeze into small spaces, to do tasks like looking for broken cables, if needed. I didn’t enjoy my job, but someone had to do it, and I was the smallest of all the scouts.

Tyler throttled all the way back just before we bumped up alongside the hull of the Aurora. The deck of the towboat was nearly ten feet high in the water. Sorenson was right. As long as we were careful, it’d be a good place to hide during the zed migration.

We were all pitched forward as the front of the pontoon slid up against the sand. I looked over the side and saw something bloated with scraps of clothes floating just below the surface. “Possible eater here,” I said. I poked at it with my machete. A chewed up hand rose to the surface, but the zed’s most dangerous feature—its mouth—remained underwater. I swapped my machete for my knife and slammed the blade through the zed’s skull. I rinsed the blade in the water and reclaimed my seat. “Nothing to worry about.”