Deadland's Harvest (Deadland Saga, #2)(57)

I woke up early in the morning, quietly climbed out of my bunk, and crept past Clutch. He’d been able to move down to the crew quarters once he had no longer needed his wheelchair. Being careful not to wake him, I grabbed my boots, clothes, and gear and headed up to the deck. I stopped in the shower room to finish dressing. Since the catfish incident, I’d lost a few pounds and had to buckle my belt a full notch tighter. Not that I’d had any fat on me before, which meant my body had burned through muscle, and, Christ, I was feeling it.

That was just one of the little things that had changed after the outbreak: there simply weren’t overweight people anymore. Without proper food and medical care, things like food poisoning or dysentery were even more dangerous than ever. Everyone who’d gotten sick from the catfish had a gaunt look. At least everyone who’d survived. We’d lost four to bad catfish.

I took a seat on a bench and inhaled deeply the smell of fresh coffee as it finished brewing. Moments later, I poured myself a small cup and headed outside. I walked slowly so I wouldn’t slip on the deck still slick with frost. The coffee steamed, and my breath made small puffs in the morning air.

I slurped the coffee, holding the warm cup in both hands, and tried not to shiver. The warm sun was rising, and its light glistened on the wet deck. I headed to my usual spot that overlooked the open river. A light morning fog blanketed the water. An eagle soared above the tree line. It was beautiful, serene. And the best part? No zeds. They’d finally moved off while I’d been sick.

I really thought I wasn’t going to make it. I’d never felt so miserable in my life. Thankfully, I didn’t remember much of the past couple days. Only Clutch’s gentle touch and him never leaving my side.

I set down my coffee and started my yoga routine. Sometime during Downward Facing Dog, Clutch bent over and looked at me.

“Mornin’,” I said with a smile.

He stood back up. “I called your name three times.”

“You did? Oh. I guess I was in my zone.”

“It’s good to see you getting back into a routine,” he said.

As I changed position, I saw him looking out over the river.

“I feel fine, other than the fact that my body thinks it was in bed for a month instead of days. I can promise you that I’d rather starve than eat catfish ever again.”

“You had me worried there for a while,” Clutch said.

I stopped and turned to find him watching me with a strange intensity, his eyes full of emotion. Then he quickly turned away. Disappointment panged in my heart. “Well, moving around in the fresh air and stretching has helped as much as anything. It’s nice that the zeds left so I can do yoga outside rather than in the dark, stuffy boat.”

“We still have to be careful. Yesterday, Jase saw a couple small groups still in the area. There.” He pointed. “And there.”

I squinted and couldn’t find them, but my vision had never been as good as Jase’s. “As long as they’re not fixated on the Aurora, they shouldn’t draw any interest of the herds.” I stood up and grabbed my coffee.

He took in a deep breath. “Kurt returned from another Jet Ski trip to the north. He thinks the first herd will pass through this area by tomorrow. Tyler wants all boats and a couple Humvees out today to search the area for anything we can possibly grab before the herds arrive. Fuel, food, chickens, anything. We don’t know how long we’ll have to lay low once they arrive.”

I clapped my hands. “I’m ready.”

He smirked. “Feeling cooped up?”

“Feeling very cooped up.”

“Sounds like exactly how I felt being stuck in that wheelchair.”

“You were a bit grumpy,” I teased.

“Speaking of grumpy, how about you go wake up Jase so we can head out.”

I lowered my arms from my stretch. “Want to play rock-paper-scissors for the honor?” By honor, I meant who had to deal with getting a pillow—or worse—thrown at them by a teenager whose one last pleasure he’d held onto from pre-outbreak days was sleeping in late whenever he could. Today was supposed to be one of those days.

Clutch shook his head. “Hell, no. I had to wake him last time. It’s your turn.”

I scrunched my nose at him and then tossed him my empty cup. “Fine. Wish me luck.”

As I trudged toward to the galley, I could hear Clutch chuckling.

When I reached Jase’s bed, I grabbed the spear lying next to his cot and took a step back. With four feet of space between us, I gently poked at the pile of blankets with the flat end of the spear. A grumble emerged, and the blankets wiggled. “Go away.”

“Wakey, wakey, eggs and bakey,” I said softly in a singsong voice.

I grinned when he grumbled louder and rolled over, taking the blankets with him and leaving his back exposed. “Lemme sleep.”

Too easy, I thought to myself. I ran the dull wood bottom of the spear up his spine, and the insanely ticklish teenager jerked up.

He whipped around and went to throw his pillow but held onto it, which was a good thing. It wouldn’t have taken much to land me flat on my ass.

I laughed.

He scowled and hugged his pillow. “Not cool.”

I laughed. “Rise and shine. We’ve got a run this morning.”

I think he might have actually growled at me, but he did kick his blankets away and sat up. I handed him his spear and he plucked it back.