Deadland's Harvest (Deadland Saga, #2)(10)

Little Benji Hennessey held Styrofoam cups as his grandfather Robert, whom everyone called Frost, filled them with water. Frost’s huge Great Dane, Diesel, lay sprawled out at his side. After each cup was filled, Benji handed it to a newcomer. Tyler always called upon the Hennesseys whenever newcomers showed up. It was a smart tactic that worked every time. A kindly grandfather and a young kid with Down Syndrome tended to put folks at ease. Little did any newcomer know that Frost would kill—and had killed without hesitation—anyone who threatened his grandson. Even more impressive, Benji had ridden a bicycle—with training wheels no less—miles and miles through zed-infested country to reach his grandfather. He hadn’t killed a zed yet, but he was a survivor, through and through.

Wes pulled onto the shoulder to get around the vans. Clutch let out a pained groan when the Jeep’s tires went off the edge of the pavement. I placed a hand on his shoulder. “We need to get you to the cabin and on your back.”

“What I wouldn’t do to get a woman to say that to me,” Wes said.

I rolled my eyes.

That Clutch didn’t argue was proof of the pain he was in. I was sure the jarring ride in the Jeep hadn’t helped the swelling on his spine.

A small section of the gate opened, and we drove through, coming to a stop at Tyler’s vehicle. He stepped out of the Humvee, setting his rifle on the seat. After giving us a once-over, he frowned. “What took you guys so long? You usually beat us back by at least a couple hours.”

“Detour,” I said. “We really need to clear all the main roads in these towns.”

“I’ll add it to the list of infinity.”

He said it jokingly but it was true. Civilization had collapsed overnight, and it was going to take years to get it back, if it was even still possible.

“Any problems getting the survivors out of that house?” Clutch asked curtly.

“Nothing I couldn’t handle,” Tyler replied quickly, and then he whistled. “You look like shit, Sarge.”

Clutch flipped him the bird.

I rolled my eyes. “In case you guys hadn’t noticed, we’ve got nearly a dozen more mouths to feed standing at our gate.”

Tyler’s lips tightened before speaking again. “Doc’s nearly finished with checking them out. I’m not too worried about these folks. They seem harmless enough. To play it safe, I want every scout on watch once I let them into the park.”

“I’m no good to anyone right now,” Clutch said, the words sounding forced.

After a moment, Tyler gave a single nod. “Understood. Get yourself to bed.”


“I’ll take Clutch back to the cabin and get right back,” Wes said.

I squeezed Clutch’s shoulder just before I climbed out. “I’ll see you in a bit.”

He touched my hand briefly. The Jeep pulled away.

Tyler watched the Jeep disappear around a curve. “It’s too early. Clutch shouldn’t have been out there today.”

“Our detour today jarred him around too much,” I said. “He needs more time in bed, but you know him.”

He sighed. “Yeah, I do.”

Doc waved toward Tyler and then gave him a thumbs up. The newcomers had been cleared. I walked with Tyler toward the ragtag group of newcomers. When we reached the gate, a middle-aged man with white hair and a scruffy beard stepped forward.

Tyler said, “Thanks for your patience. I apologize for the delay. I know you’re tired and hungry, but we have protocols to follow.”

“I understand. You’ve treated us fair,” The man said and then held out a hand. “The name’s Manny.”

Tyler nodded rather than taking Manny’s hand. “I’m Captain Tyler Masden, and this is the current base of operations for Camp Fox.”

The man smiled. “Oh, I know who you are. We were on our way here to find you when the zeds found us.”

Tyler frowned. “You were coming here?”

“I heard Camp Fox was a safe place.”

“Word travels. We’re the largest camp in the area for a reason. But you nearly didn’t make it here. You’re damn lucky one of my men saw your sign,” Tyler continued. “We only scout Freeley once a month.”

Manny smiled. “Luck? No. I’d call it a goddamn miracle you found us. We’re mighty obliged you stopped to help. Most folks would have just kept on going. You saved our lives. To tell the truth, we were starting to lose hope.”

“We’re happy to be of service,” Tyler replied. “Nowadays, we have to look out for one another. After all, there aren’t enough of us left. So, where are you folks from?”

“Marshall,” Manny replied.

“Marshall, Minnesota? You mean the group holed up at SMSU?” Tyler asked. “What are you doing this far south?”

My brows furrowed. Marshall, with all its radio and telecom equipment, had been one of the first to develop an entire network of communities, with Camp Fox being one of its weekly contacts.

Manny cocked his head. “You haven’t heard? Marshall was overtaken. When the herds hit the university, we couldn’t get back to the student center where everyone else was. We were out on a supply run, and the herds cut us off. Anyone else who couldn’t get back to the student center scattered to the four winds. So we radioed the center and took off to scout somewhere safe from the zeds. We’ll go back to pick up everyone as soon as we find somewhere safe in case the zeds pass through again. Before we lost contact with them, they’d said several herds were still there. They don’t have much food in the student center, enough for a few weeks, maybe.”