Deadland's Harvest (Deadland Saga, #2)(51)

“I looked around the room. Where is it?”

“It’s got to be in here somewhere. It should have a gas marking or warning on it.”

I propped Clutch against an engine while I retrieved his crutches. Then I began my search. With only a flashlight, it was a tedious search. I tripped a couple times over the cables Wes has strewn across the floors.

“I see it,” Clutch said.

I hurried over.

Clutch pointed. “It’s too tight with my crutches.”

I looked down the narrow walkway between two engines and saw a triangular “Warning: Extremely Flammable” sticker. “I’ll get it.” I had to walk sideways. It must’ve been a tight fit for Wes, but it was pretty easy for me. I knelt at the sticker. Below it was a round metal crank that looked like it rotated rather than a switch that flipped on and off. I tried to twist it counterclockwise, but it didn’t budge. “Jesus, Wes,” I muttered, and put all my strength into it.

Slowly, the crank moved an inch before it picked up speed and twisted a full rotation. I leaned back. “Try it now.”

I heard an engine start up. “We’re good!” Clutch yelled out.

Clutch had the engines running by the time I reached him, and had moved to a box of switches that Wes had built to run all the generators. While each of the generators had its own gas tank, Wes has talked about how he had everything set up to run directly off the towboat’s gas tank to save someone having to constantly refill the generators.

As the generators started, the noise in the metal room became deafening, and I winced. Clutch rewet his scarf. He held the bottle to me, and I took a long drink before soaking my thin bandana.

“Ready?” He yelled. “We have to close the bay doors now!”

I could barely hear him but nodded. “Okay!”

He grabbed my hand and put it on his belt. “Don’t let go!”


After taking a couple deep breaths, he opened the door, and we headed back into the smoky mechanical bowels of the towboat.

The smoke had faded some—probably due to my propping the door open rather than any fires being put out—making the return trip not quite as terrifying as our first time through. My throat was raw, worse than any sore throat I’d ever had before. The smoke was acid to my already stinging eyes. I closed them and held onto Clutch’s belt loops as he clumsily took the steps as quickly as he could.

I had to steady him several times when he lost his footing or didn’t get the crutches leveled right on a step. I grabbed my bag, and we burst through the crew quarters and shower room. Finally, when we climbed the stairs and reached the last door, Clutch threw it open, and we tumbled inside the galley. I kicked the door shut, and we both lay there, gasping slightly better air. Who knew how badly the boat or its barges had already burned. Worse, who knew how many zeds the smoke would draw to our location.

“Are you okay?”

I looked up to see Benji standing over us, Frost’s Great Dane at his side. Diesel was as tall as the short boy and just as lovable.

“Benji.” I propped myself up on an elbow. “What are you doing here? You should be in the barge.” The words came out rough, like I was a lifelong smoker.

“Grampa told me to stay in here. He heard the engines start and said he was going to close the big doors.” He pointed up, referring to the bridge.

“Good,” Clutch said and then coughed.

Outside I could hear shouting. I rubbed my eyes with my bandana and climbed to my feet. Through the windows I could see people running across the deck. Several were pulling a large water hose. “I guess I’d better get out there and help.”

As I kneeled to help Clutch, the door leading to the deck opened. Three men entered, with their pistols raised. In the middle stood Sorenson.

I froze. Neither Clutch nor I could draw our weapon in time, and with Benji and Diesel in the way, I’d never get a clean shot, anyway. Benji didn’t move. Instead, he just stood there between us and them. He was likely frozen with fear, but it didn’t matter. He was going to get himself killed.

I reached out to pull the boy behind me.

“Don’t move,” Sorenson ordered. “And get down on the floor now.”

I stopped mid-reach. I could hear Clutch’s breaths next to me but was afraid to make eye contact with him. Don’t be a hero, I mentally said to Clutch. I sat back on my heels, waiting for, hell, I had no idea what I was waiting for.

Benji cocked his head. “Are you here to help us?”

Sorenson frowned while he scrutinized Benji. He waved with his pistol. “Move to the side, kid. We need to get upstairs.”

Benji didn’t move. Diesel’s shoulders bunched aggressively and his hackles rose as he stood next to his small master. A deep growl came from his throat and his teeth were bared.

Sorenson was trying to get upstairs? Why? To get to the bullhorn? To open the bay doors again? I glanced at Clutch, but he had on his poker face. I stayed silent, not willing to take the risk of pissing off Sorenson even more.

Benji patted the dog before looking up at Sorenson. “Are you going to use that gun? Because I don’t like guns. They’re loud. My mom shot a gun by my ear once. It hurt for a long time.”

“Only if I have to, kid,” Sorenson replied. “Now, get out of my way. I’m in a bit of a hurry and don’t want to hurt you. I need to unhook those barges from this boat.”