Deadland's Harves(6)

When I saw the intensity in Clutch’s eyes, I said, “It’s fine.” I came up and grabbed the wheelchair, folded it, and set it in the back before climbing in next to it.

“Uh, okay. You guys need to stop for any gear before we head out?” Wes asked as he sat down and pulled the Jeep back around.

“We’re good,” I said, knowing that Clutch never left the cabin without being fully prepared for anything, a trait I’d quickly picked up after a run-in at an elementary school.

I checked my rifle. Loaded and ready. I just hoped I wouldn’t have to use it.





Chapter II


“How many zeds are we talking about?” I asked, my question muffled from trying to talk while chewing on the granola bar Jase had given me.

“A big herd,” Wes replied as we drove through the opened front gate, which the two scouts on duty closed as soon as we went through. “Tack’s report was twenty, maybe even thirty. Always hard to count when they look the same and keep shuffling around each other. Tack said that the zeds have surrounded a house full of survivors, somewhere in the middle of town.”

“Shouldn’t be hard to find, not with a town the size of Freeley,” I thought aloud.

“These better not be bandits we’re risking our lives for,” Clutch said as he held onto the Jeep’s windshield. “Or else they’re going to quickly learn that they’d prefer the zeds’ company to ours.”

“Amen,” I added.

Most survivors had already joined with settlements like Camp Fox. Since the outbreak, civilization had been regrouping, finding strength in numbers against the relentless zeds that kept spreading out from the cities. Camp Fox had become a new home for survivors in central Iowa. Even larger, more powerful city-states were being formed across the country.

Bandits were a different story, and they were becoming more common to see than survivors. While everyone looted empty houses and stores, bandits were greedy outlaws, taking anything they wanted from other survivors and leaving bodies and scarred victims in their wake. I hated bandits more than I hated zeds.

Zeds couldn’t control their evil. Bandits could.

We drove past the gas station Clutch and I had cleared out before Camp Fox relocated to the park. We had avoided the station ever since, leaving it to other scouts to loot. No one else had come across the two zed kids that we’d seen there. They’d simply disappeared, even though all the doors to the restaurant were still closed. The pair we’d seen had watched us while holding hands, and it had freaked both of us out.

We’d run across a few non-violent zeds before, but what had really unnerved us was the intelligence in those kids’ eyes. Zeds weren’t supposed to have any kind of brainpower. If they did have the ability to think, we wouldn’t stand a chance. We’d told others about what we’d seen, but no one believed us. Well, no one wanted to believe us.

They had racked it up as just seeing a bit too far into something, which was common. After all, when a zed could be hiding around every corner, survival required a bit of paranoia. But, if some zeds could think, it would tip the odds even more against us. Not to mention, I couldn’t imagine the horror of zeds knowing who they were and the cannibals they’d become. I prayed those kids’ intelligence was just a figment of our imagination.

Wes slowed down once we passed the sign that read Freeley, pop. 498. The sun had just crested, sending a warm glow over the trees. Clutch was right—the leaves were showing hints of changing color. Fall had always been my favorite season. But now, rather than enjoying fall, I dreaded the season that would come next. Even with the gold mine we’d found at Doyle’s militia camp, we were nowhere near ready in terms of security and supplies. Plus, taking in more survivors meant that we’d have to pull together even more supplies and food before winter hit.

Wes drove the Jeep into the church parking lot near the edge of town. Aside from some corpses, I didn’t see any of the zeds Wes was talking about. We pulled up next to the Humvee where two of Tyler’s most trusted men stood on the hood. Tack was looking through binoculars while Griz kept watch.

Tack had joined the National Guard a few months before the outbreak. He’d finished basic training, but still looked like he belonged in high school. He was as scrawny as ever, but no one messed with him. He was too damn likable.

Griz, on the other hand, had over a year under his belt in the Army before the outbreak. He had plenty of muscle, and was a Golden Gloves boxing champ. A trader had dared to mess with him once. No one ever messed with Griz again.