Deadland's Harves(65)

In a sudden rush, he wrapped the chain around his neck and sprinted forward.

I lunged to stop him, but wasn’t fast enough. When the chain was pulled tight, Sorenson was yanked back, and he collapsed onto the floor.

“Captain! No!” His men each moved to kneel by him. One pulled the chain from around Sorenson’s neck while the other watched as the man on the floor convulsed. I took a single step closer but didn’t get within reaching distance of the prisoners. Sorenson’s eyes were wide as he fought for breath that wouldn’t come. His body shuddered on the floor. After a minute or two, his body became still and his hands fell.

“Is he—?” I asked, afraid to voice the word aloud.

“He’s dead,” one of his men said without looking up.

“His windpipe was crushed,” Clutch said quietly at my side. “There was nothing anyone could do.”

I stared at the now-slack chain and then at Jase and Clutch. By their wide eyes, they were as shocked as I was. I swallowed. “Shit.”

We were going to have a war on our hands.



*



“Cash? You around here somewhere?” Clutch’s voice cut through the fog.

“Over here,” I answered.

“Where’s here?”

“At the stern,” I said.

I could hear footsteps, then a dark shape morphed into Clutch. He took a seat on the deck and set his weapon down next to him. He’d swapped his wheelchair and crutches for a cane yesterday. The swelling on his spine had finally subsided enough that he had decent control over his legs again. He couldn’t jog, but at least he could put one foot in front of another. I’d been terrified that he’d never reach this point, which would’ve killed his spirit.

“There’s not much I can do in this fog,” I said. “I can’t see five feet in front of me. I feel like I’m just sitting on my ass instead of being on duty.”

“At least if we can’t see them, then the zeds can’t see us. Besides, we can hear better than they can.” He handed me a thermos.

“Thanks.” I took a sip of the steaming tea and burned my tongue. I winced and screwed the cap back on.

Since Clutch had dropped off his wheelchair with Doc, his mood had improved a hundred-fold. While I still believed he suffered from depression—and he clearly suffered from PTSD—it was nice to see him not staring off blankly into the unknown quite as often.

“This fog could save us,” he said. “The zeds may move on since they can’t see us.”

Until the zeds left, there wasn’t much we could do besides quietly get the Aurora back into shape. It was too foggy to go ashore or even down the river on any scouting runs. We’d used up a ton of fuel putting out fires and making repairs. The herds would be passing through any day now, so we couldn’t go in search of any livestock. Thank God we still had the grain, though the lack of complete protein this winter would be hard.

“Hopefully we don’t have to worry about the Lady Amore any time soon,” I said. Immediately after Sorenson’s death, Tyler had organized a truce with Sorenson’s men. He’d offered them full pardons in exchange for no more attacks. He’d even offered another chance at the trade agreement, which they’d quickly accepted. However, many of us weren’t nearly as confident as Tyler was that they wouldn’t seek revenge or try to steal from us again. The riverboat had left minutes after we’d returned Sorenson’s body back along with his two men, and the boat hadn’t returned.

“I still think we should’ve gone in and hit them hard. They know they’re outgunned and they wouldn’t try something stupid again,” Clutch said. “It all depends on Sorenson’s replacement. They could be smart and know the value of working together, or they could be idiots. We’ll have to stay on our toes until we know. It’s too bad Sorenson killed himself. He was easy to figure out. He was a straight shooter, except that he let his heart get in the way. Whoever replaces him could be more of a challenge.”

I nodded and then smiled. “At least we have his speedboat now. I’m looking forward to going for a ride.” Tyler had given Sorenson’s men one of our deck boats in a “trade” for their speedboat. He wasn’t about to let them leave with our .30 cal again.

A light breeze blew through, and I shivered. My clothes were damp from the fog and offered little warmth. I held the thermos against me. “I need to start wearing a jacket.”