Deadland's Harvest (Deadland Saga, #2)(59)

“Save your prayers, lady. God didn’t send us,” Clutch said with a grumble. “It was just luck we happened to be passing through.”

She chuckled. “Well, you can call it what you like. It’s all the same. You’re here now. I can’t tell you how relieved we are to see you. I’m Margaret Fielding, but you can call me Maggie.”

Clutch nodded at her group. “Nice to meet you, Maggie. I’m Sergeant Seibert from Camp Fox. Where are you from and where are you headed?”

“Well, you get straight to business, don’t you, young man? I can understand, with all those infected folks out there. We were staying at the Wisconsin Dells, but things went downhill. We were planning to keep driving until we found another group of God-fearing folks like yourselves. In fact, you’re the first people we’ve seen since we’ve left. I must admit, when our van broke down, my faith was tested. But as soon as I saw your truck, I knew everything would turn out fine.”

Clutch didn’t speak for a long moment while he scowled at Maggie while she continued chattering away. When he finally spoke, he pointed to the pale woman sitting against the van, and interrupted. “What’s wrong with her? Is she bit?”

Maggie turned. “Thank goodness, no. When we ran, Brenda cut herself on some old tin, and I’m afraid it’s become infected and she’s caught herself a bit of a fever. We’ve cleaned it as much as we could, but we don’t have any bandages or medicine. I don’t suppose you happen to have anything that can help her?”

After a moment, he took in a deep breath and grabbed our first aid kit. “I’ll take a look.”

“Oh, thank you,” Maggie said, clasping her hands together.

I narrowed my eyes suspiciously at him, but he didn’t make eye contact. He propped his rifle on his seat, unsnapped his holster, swung open the door, and stepped out with his cane in one hand and the kit in the other.

I put the Humvee in Park, grabbed my rifle and stepped out. I only took a few steps and propped my rifle on the hood so that I could get behind the wheel quickly while also keeping a clear view of Clutch and the refugees. I threw a quick glance at Jase to see he had the .30 cal leveled on the refugees.

As Maggie hobbled next to Clutch, she commented, “You don’t get around much better than I do.”

I smirked when Clutch grunted in response. He didn’t like his faults being pointed out. I could only imagine how much it annoyed him to be compared to a little old lady.

As Clutch approached the injured woman on the ground, he nodded toward the man near her who had the young girl pressed tight against his leg. “I need you to take a step back.”

The man didn’t move. “She’s my wife.”

“It’s all right, Don,” Maggie said. “He’s here to help Brenda. Let him help.”

Keeping a watchful eye on Clutch, Don took a tentative step back, holding who I assumed to be his daughter against him. Clutch went down on his knees before the woman. “I need to take a look. I’m going to have to lift your shirt.”


The woman—Brenda—was pale and sweaty. She was clearly in pain, every movement stiff. With a small nod, she let her hand fall to the side, giving Clutch access. Her husband stood tensely to the side, his eyes darting from Clutch to Maggie and back to Clutch.

Clutch gingerly lifted her stained shirt and then quickly dropped it, covering his nose. He winced at me before turning back to the woman.

He pulled out a small syringe from the first aid kit. “This will help with the pain,” he said just before injecting it into her thigh. After a moment, her features relaxed and she lay there limply. She looked almost peaceful.

He closed up the kit and pushed himself to his feet, using his cane for support, and faced Don. “I gave her some morphine for the pain.”

“Thank you,” Don replied.

As Clutch stepped away from the woman, Don’s eyes widened. He shoved his girl behind him and he grabbed Clutch’s arm. “What are you doing? You have to help her! She needs antibiotics!”

Clutch looked down at the hand on his arm and then pulled away. “There’s nothing I can do for your wife. And back the f*ck off.”

The man glared for a moment before lowering his head. “But Brenda…she needs help.”

“I can’t help her,” Clutch said more softly this time. “It’s too late. She has gangrene, and it’s too far advanced for anything to help. The morphine will ease her pain for a bit, but there’s nothing else I can do. Any supplies we use would be wasted.”

“Wha-what?” Don asked, seemingly unable to process Clutch’s words.

Clutch said it more bluntly than I would’ve, but he’d never been one for beating around the bush. He gave me a hooded, tight look as he set the first aid kit back in the Humvee.

The man’s bottom lip quivered. The girl hugging him looked up and whimpered. “What’s he saying, Daddy?”

“There must be something that you can do,” Maggie said, wringing her hands. “It was only a cut.”

“Wait!” The man called out. “Maggie’s right. There’s got to be something you can do. You can’t leave her like this!”

His daughter started to cry. Big tears rolled down her cheeks as she clung to his leg.

Clutch grabbed his rifle and shook his head. “There isn’t.” He turned away. “I’m sorry.”