Deadland's Harvest (Deadland Saga, #2)(42)

I sucker punched him in the arm. “Funny, ha ha.”

“Seriously, though,” he said. “No one’s perfect. We all make mistakes, and as long as you can walk away from them, it’ll work out in time. Look, even your cut on your face is healing.”

I lifted my hand to touch my stitches, but then dropped it. “Come on. Let’s clean out our new home.”





ENVY


The Second Deadly Sin





Chapter XIII


The following morning



“Amen.” Griz said after a lovely hooah-style prayer for Nate. Tyler and Griz rolled Nate’s body off the edge of the deck, and he splashed into the river below. After him, we tossed over every member of the crew and the zed girl. Luckily, we hadn’t come across any others during our search last night.

We still had no power. The towboat’s fuel tanks were empty, and Wes couldn’t get the engines started last night with only the five gallons he’d brought with him on the pontoon. Without heat, last night had been cold. The smell of death had managed to leak into the second level captain’s quarters—in some part due to our clothes—so we’d left the door open to air out the room. The sweet, sickly stench had a way of seeping into everything and becoming a permanent part of a place. Zed stench didn’t exactly smell like potpourri. In a way, it was like smoke. Once it got into a person’s clothes, the smell lingered and nothing short of a heavy head-to-toe scrubbing could get rid of it. Our best defense for this night was the minty medicated ointment to help clear the lungs. We put a dollop of the stuff under each of our noses and took turns sleeping and standing watch.

Earlier, Tack and Griz had fastened a ladder onto the side of the boat to make it easier getting to and from the dock Tyler and the guys were building. Jase had lost at rock-paper-scissors, and he had to scrub away the old blood and bits of brain on the bridge floor. Thankfully, it wasn’t carpeted, but it still stunk something awful.

I turned and went back to the pile of supplies we’d been carrying up one load at a time. While the ladder made climbing much easier, it was still a tiresome, slow progress carrying one load at a time up the side of the Aurora. Wes was busy building a pulley system so we could pull up larger loads, but there were some things that couldn’t wait for Wes to finish.

I rummaged through the pile and found the cardboard box I was looking for. I untied the rope around it and pulled out two brand new cans of disinfectant. There was a gold star on each can that read, Kills 99.9% of germs, and I chuckled. If only killing zeds was that easy.

I headed to the bridge, took a deep breath, and entered. I didn’t leave until I’d emptied half a can. In the galley, I finished the can. In the crew quarters, where there were fewer windows, I used an entire can. The other rooms would have to wait. With all the windows and doors propped wide open, I hoped for a good breeze today to freshen up the towboat. I was hoping we’d be able to sleep in the crew quarters tonight where we’d have real beds and it’d be warmer. Somehow, I suspected the crew quarters would take a couple more days to air out.

“All done in there?” Tyler asked as I stepped onto the deck, savoring the fresh air. He was wiping his sweaty brow. Tack and Griz were each drinking water.

“For now,” I said.

“Good. Everyone, check your gear.”

I headed for my weapons, and Jase took the empty Lysol cans from me.

He lobbed them over the water with an impressive throw.

“You’ve got a quarterback’s arm,” Griz said, walking over.

“Nah,” Jase said. “I could never throw long straight.”

“All right. Quit playing around and grab your gear,” Tyler announced. “We have Camp Fox arriving tomorrow and barges to prep, so let’s get to it,” Tyler said.



*



One day later



Jase and I stood on the wood deck of the Aurora, watching the convoy approach down the highway from the west. We had hung the U.S. flag from the bridge, and it waved proudly in the fall breeze. The flag was our all-clear sign to the convoy. If the flag had been upside down or missing, our mission had failed and the Aurora wasn’t safe. I could only imagine how nervous everyone in the convoy must’ve felt until they saw the flag.

I looked through the scope of my rifle. I counted fourteen vehicles in all. With the exception of a sports car for our scout vehicle, the other vehicles were all heavy duty: HEMTTs, Humvees, SUVs, trucks—one stacked with crates full of chickens—and a large semi pulling a trailer full of cattle, hogs, and goats. That the vehicles looked unscathed, coupled with the fact that they were slightly ahead of schedule, meant their journey was—hopefully—casualty-free. I continued to watch the vehicles, searching for signs of damage or injuries to their occupants.

Clutch sat in the passenger seat of the first Humvee. He was wearing sunglasses, and his arm rested on the doorframe, his window open. I slung my rifle onto my shoulder and gave Jase a wide grin. “Everything looks good. I see Clutch in front.”

He returned my smile and let out a deep breath. “Good. I was hoping we hadn’t stirred up any herds on our way over. I’ll go tell the others.” He jogged to the galley and toward the engine room where Wes and two of Sorenson’s people were finishing repairs. The Lady Amore had stopped by yesterday, and Sorenson had left three of his people, including his daughter, to help us get up and running. Their help and expertise were invaluable. His daughter, Nikki, had been born with sea legs, and she had a salty demeanor that came from spending most of her life on the river. She had been the one to get the engines running. Over the last twenty-four hours, we’d completed far more than we could’ve done with everyone from Camp Fox combined.