by M. D. Massey
We sat in silence for a moment, before he nodded. “Move everything from the back of the truck to the office and sort it. I grabbed whatever shit I could, but there’s got to be a lot more to grab at the surplus warehouse out of town.”
“You bet,” I answered, popping to my feet.
He nodded, rubbed his stubble, and then stood and moved slowly and stiffly up the stairs. He paused. “Be careful out there, Cash. Zeds will start drifting through these parts in bigger numbers soon. I saw three on this road yesterday.”
“I’ll keep on the look-out.”
Ten minutes later, I had rubber gloves on and checked out the SUV, while keeping a constant watch for zeds. Fortunately, the vehicle had leather seats, making it easier to clean. Jase had put Betsy on the passenger floor mat, so I threw it out. After scrubbing down everything with bleach and disinfectant, I grabbed a wheelbarrow and went to the backyard to where I’d killed the zed last night.
With most of his head gone, it was impossible to tell its age, but by the filthy coveralls and flannel shirt, I’d guessed it had been a nearby farmer. Spring winds buffeted me today, but at least the zed was downwind so I didn’t have to smell its rankness. After dumping the body into the fire pit and tossing the rubber gloves on top, I poured some gasoline over the corpse and felt pride when I tossed the lit match. I hadn’t freaked out. I’d protected the house. For the first time since this cluster fuck started, I felt like I had a shot at surviving in this new world.
I ran a hand through my short hair. Already I was glad I’d cut it, for more reasons than to eliminate the risk of zeds grabbing at it. The winds would’ve turned it into a snarled mess by now, and I no longer had to deal with the hassle of hair in my eyes.
After the fire charred the zed, I cleaned out the SUV, dumping everything into the mudroom. From there, I headed to the truck. When Clutch said he’d loaded up everything he could, he wasn’t exaggerating. Both the bed and backseat were piled full of tan, green, and black gear.
It bothered me that he had put himself in danger. He had gone on a looting run, with no lookout, no backup, because he couldn’t count on me. Never again.
On my tenth or so trip, Jase joined me. He was still wearing the long johns and T-shirt from last night. He was moving slowly, looking around like a lost lamb. He’d pulled out a pair of jeans and a T-shirt from a bag I’d carried in from his SUV.
“Hold up,” I called out and closed the distance and handed him the armful of duffels and other things. “Take this to the office. It’s past the kitchen and to your right. Then, once you change into your clothes, help me unload the rest of the truck.”
“My shoes—”
“Are now melted rubber,” I said. “Go through the gear in the office. There might be some boots to fit you. Otherwise, we’ll grab shoes from your house.”
At the mention of his house, his face fell. Jase was quite a bit taller than me, but in his face, he was still a boy, a boy who’d seen far too much. I hadn’t really thought about how bad he’d had it since yesterday. I grabbed the armful back from him and set it on top of a box. “Let me see your wrists.”
He held them out. There were some faint pink lines, but it was obvious he hadn’t struggled.
“I’m sorry about having to do that. You know that, right?”
He nodded. “Yeah, I know.”
“Did you have breakfast yet?”
He shrugged.
I cocked my head. “What did you have?”
He jutted out his chin. “I had some chips.”
I rolled my eyes. “C’mon. I’ll make you something. You’re going to need your energy. I plan to keep you busy.”
He muttered something but obeyed. I washed up and cooked up the rest of the eggs and toast. It was already ten in the morning. I figured it would get him through until lunch at least. “Clutch was out all night and is sleeping in, so keep it down. Once you change clothes, you can help me finish unloading.”
He slid the eggs between the slices of toast and squeezed the sandwich together. “Sure thing, Cash.”
I ruffled his hair, and he wrinkled his nose.
I smiled. “I think we’ll get along all right.”
Several dozen trips later, Jase and I had filled the small space of the office with surplus gear and had sorted out the groceries, toilet paper, and other odds and ends from the SUV.
We spent the next two hours quietly sorting all the gear into piles. Clothing by size, bags by type, cots, and everything else in piles of similar items. I even made a pile of my own stuff. Cargo pants with large pockets, button-down camo shirts made of not-so-soft hearty canvas, black sports bras, olive drab tank tops, a heavy-duty rain jacket, a thick winter coat, a tactical belt, and two pair of boots. My old Doc Martens had held up great so far, but the abuse was already starting to show.
I changed in the mudroom. It felt good to wear something in my size. The knife and gun sat more comfortably against my waist on the smaller belt. For the first time in a long time, I felt a genuine smile.
I went back to find Jase, and he started chuckling. “You look like G. I. Jane.”
“Looks who’s talking. You look pretty badass yourself. OD looks good on you.” He’d already changed out of his clothes and into fatigues, changing his look from high schooler to soldier in the blink of an eye. He still had a youthful face, but the clothes infused him with confidence that I hadn’t seen this morning.
“Dad always thought I’d join the ROTC,” he said, and the smile dropped from his face. His next words were barely a whisper. “I-I don’t think I can go back there.”
I sobered. “Clutch and I will take care of it. Let me know anything else you want from your house, and I’ll see that we pick it up.”
After a stalled silence, he mumbled, “Thanks.”
I motioned him up. “Let’s grab some fresh air.”
Jase followed me outside. It wasn’t yet time for lunch, so we walked the perimeter, checking Clutch’s simple yet effective early-warning systems.
“You’re lucky you found Clutch,” Jase said as we walked.
“It wasn’t just luck,” I replied.
“What do you mean?”
I kneeled, checking a tripwire. When I stood, I faced Jase. “My mom always hated that I didn’t go to church.” I smiled, remembering how she scolded me. Then I sobered. “I was never what you call a true believer so once I moved into my own place, I quit going through the motions. I don’t know why I’m still here when so many good people aren’t, but I think there had to be something more at play than just luck when Clutch pulled up and took me in when I needed help the most.”
“You’re saying it’s a miracle or destiny or something like that why Clutch saved you?”
“Is that any different than luck?” I scanned the yard one more time and then headed over to my tree.
I pulled out my blade and began practicing. Jase sat off to the side, watching me but more often watching the mound of dirt a couple trees down. There was nothing I could say. He needed time, and I hoped that with time, he’d heal.
“Can I get weapons, too?” he asked while I stabbed.
“Ask Clutch,” I replied. I’d give him weapons if I could, but it wasn’t my place. Every weapon here belonged to Clutch, except for the two he’d given me. If and how he distributed his weapons was up to him. “Now, keep an eye out for zeds.”
The rhythm came easier today, like my body remembered the motions from last night. Muscles in my biceps and thighs reminded me that I needed to get in better shape. And I worked at doing exactly that.
After about an hour into my workout, I had to tape up the sandbag because it’d been thoroughly shredded. With the bag wrapped in silver, I went back at it.
“Put your left leg forward a bit more. You’ll be less likely to be knocked off balance.”
I jumped to find Clutch behind me. He’d shaved and had changed clothes, though he wore as many guns and knives as usual.
I turned back to the tree and spread out my feet. Aft
er a few awkward stabs, the wider stance put more strength into each thrust.
Jase clapped. “Looking good, Cash.”
“Now come at me,” Clutch said.
My eyes widened, and I held up the tanto. “With a knife?”
He chuckled. “I’ve been watching you. I’m not worried.”
My attack was hesitant, and he scowled. “Damn it, Cash. You can do better than that.”
My next attack wasn’t much better, but as I got more and more aggressive, Clutch had to work at avoiding me.
“Better,” he said. “But you need to remember that evasion should always be your first choice. If you’re forced into an attack, defensive maneuvers are more important than taking the offensive. Zeds will come at you with their teeth and hands. Looters and common criminals will be worse because they can think and use weapons.”
The next time I attacked, Clutch swung out, and I barely jumped out of the way in time. I was thrown off balance, and he knocked me down with a kick from behind.
“You’re relying too much on your weapon. Put it away, and focus on your body. You need to be able to protect yourself using just your hands and whatever is readily available.”
I sheathed the blade and spent the next hour alternating between getting my ass handed to me and watching Jase get his ass handed to him by a seasoned military vet. I was on the ground more than I was on my feet. Clutch was relentless. Once, I nearly got the upper hand with a self-defense kick to his knee, but he jumped back before my foot connected. In return, I got a well-placed hit to my solar plexus.
I collapsed to the ground next to Jase and sucked in air.
Clutch took a seat on the grass next to us and rubbed his shoulder. “Tomorrow we’ll head a few miles out and practice shooting.”
“I can shoot,” Jase quickly offered up.
“What’s your weapon?” Clutch countered.
“I’m a decent shot with a rifle. I’ve hunted both deer and ducks before.”
“Well then, we’ll see what you can do,” Clutch said.
I laid back on the soft grass, staring up at the clouds. Lying there, I realized that even though Clutch was no longer on active duty, he’d never really left the military. He was a Ranger—he had to be one of the best in my mind—and I think that was how he defined himself. Though I suspected his nightmares came from the tours he’d served. Driving the truck, farming, those were just jobs. Clutch was a soldier. He worked out every day as though he were still in the military. And now he expected the same from Jase and me.
Every part of me felt bruised, while Clutch wasn’t even breathing heavily, though I knew his joints ached at the end of each long day. Cracking my neck, I glanced at Clutch who was cleaning his nails with his knife. I noticed his nose had a bump from where it had been broken.
Under his gruff exterior, I could tell he was fiercely protective of me and now Jase. Clutch would’ve made a great father, that was, if he could’ve tamed his militant ways. Then I realized, for all I knew, he was a father. “You have any kids? A wife? Girlfriend, maybe?”
The knife paused, and he looked at me. “Why?”
I shrugged. “Just curious.”
“Clutch had a hottie around for a while,” Jase chimed in. “I saw you two in town a few times. She was blonde, curvy, and…” he whistled.
After a minute, Clutch sighed. “I never found someone I wanted to settle down with.”
A wide grin spread over my face. “See? Sharing isn’t so hard now, is it?”
He smirked before looking up to the sky. “Looks like a storm will be rolling in later.” He pulled himself up, held out a hand, and helped me to my feet. “Not too many folks know about the warehouse for Doyle’s military surplus store, but someone will come across it soon enough. It’s too close to Camp Fox for it to be missed. I want to get a truckload or two while we still can.” He glanced at Jase and me for a moment. “I could use a lookout.”
My brows rose with hope. “I’m in.”
He turned to Jase. “Think you can hold down the fort?”
Jase jumped to his feet. “You can count on me, sir.”
“I’d better show you what to do in case anyone or thing shows up.” They started to head off, and Clutch paused, turning to me. “Meet at the truck in fifteen.”
“Wilco,” I replied with a grin and a salute. Knowing this was my second chance, I took off at a jog to get ready.
Fifteen minutes later, I leaned against Clutch’s truck, holding on to a two-foot-long bolt cutter. When Clutch appeared with weapons and the backpack he always carried, I nodded toward the house. “Do you think he’ll be okay?”
“Kids are resilient. Give it time. He’ll get there.”
We climbed in and headed down a different gravel road than we’d driven down the day before. Fields of black, waiting to be planted, went on for miles and miles.
“Where’s this surplus warehouse?”
“It’s southeast of town. At an old farmers’ co-op,” he replied.
We drove along for a while, past several farmhouses. I saw only one zed wandering in the fields, but I think I saw another one standing at the window inside one of the houses we passed.
The winds had started to pick up, almost whistling through the truck. Then I saw something. “Wait,” I said.
Clutch slowed. “What is it?”
I pointed to the big galvanized corn bins. “I thought I saw someone.”
“Zed?”
I shook my head. “A woman, I think. She was running too fast, but she must be running from something.”
Neither of us missed the two men sprinting toward the bins next, also far too fast to be lumbering zeds.
Clutch’s jaw clenched. “Sonofabitch.”
A woman’s scream pierced the air, and I gasped, cranking my neck to try to see anything.
“Fuck.” He yanked the truck into the driveway, throwing me against the door. He reached for the shotgun. “Stay here and stay low. Whatever you hear, do not let yourself be seen.”
“Okay,” I said, frowning.
“Is the safety off the .22?”
I pulled out the pistol and checked. “Yes.” I also unsnapped my knife’s sheath.
“Stay out of sight.” He gave me one last look and then jumped out of the truck and flattened against the side of the bin.
I moved the seat back as far as it could go and crouched on the floor, holding the gun in one hand, and the bolt cutter in the other. The driver’s window faced the bin, but from my low vantage point, all I could see was metal and sky.
Shouts and gunfire erupted, and I tried to make myself invisible. Then…silence.
A minute later, Clutch opened the door and I jumped up. “What happened?”
“I took down both tangos, and I’m going to check out the other buildings in case they weren’t alone. Stay put.”
“And the woman?”
He grimaced, and then slammed the door.
I retook my position on the floor and waited. Was she dead? Whatever it was couldn’t have been good because Clutch had looked enraged. I wanted to go check on the woman, to see if I could help, but I didn’t want to break my word to Clutch even more.
After three minutes ticked by, my muscles began to cramp. The door snapped open behind me, and before I could turn, an arm wrapped around my neck and yanked me from the truck. I tried to yell out but couldn’t breathe. I struggled but was only pulled harder against my assailant.
“Well, well, well. What do we have here,” an unfamiliar male voice whispered in my ear. His breath reeked of booze and his body stank of sweat.
I swung the bolt cutter behind me, and he cursed. His grip relaxed enough so I could suck in air. I twisted around and swung again. But, this time he was ready. He caught the bolt cutter and wrenched it from my hand. I went to punch him, but he grabbed my wrist and jerked me tight against him as though we were slow dancing. He chuckled. Shivers covered my skin. The winds howled around us.
I looked up into the face of a
man with a half-grown beard and greasy hair. He pulled me even tighter against him while he licked my cheek, and I winced. “Oh, we’re going to have fun, you and me.”
He threw me to the ground and fell on top of me. My face was shoved into the dirt. Panic blurred my vision. He was too busy grabbing at my pants to notice that I still had the pistol. I couldn’t get onto my back, but when he yanked on my cargos, I was able to aim it under my armpit. I fired, and he cursed, jumping back. “Wha?!”
I spun onto my back and fired three more shots. The first shot had only startled him. My next three hit him solidly in the chest and stomach. It was different than in the movies. There was no blood spray, only three red dots growing on his shirt. He looked down and frowned as though he hadn’t felt any pain.
He looked up and his face turned red. “Fucking bitch!” he yelled, spittle flying from his mouth. He tackled me, punching me in the face, and—blinded by white and black stars—I pummeled his head with the gun handle. I kept pounding his temple until he fell lax. With a grunt, I kicked him off me.
I pulled myself up into a sitting position, gasping and spitting blood, unable to see through the stars. Every inch of my face hurt. He’d very nearly knocked me out. As my tunnel vision slowly widened, I could see Clutch running toward me. When he got close, he looked at me and then at the guy who was already starting to come back to consciousness. I struggled to aim my gun, but Clutch was in the way. He kicked the man in the gut and then fired two shots at my attacker’s head.
Clutch knelt by me. “You okay?”
I came to my knees, spit out some more blood, and ran my tongue over the nasty cut on my lip. “I need a bigger gun.”
He belted out a single laugh, helped me to my feet, and held me up until the wooziness passed.
I rubbed my cheek. “Damn, that guy hit like a sledgehammer.”
“He’s had plenty of practice.”
I looked up at him, but he was scanning the area.
“The woman…” I said.
“They hurt her. Bad.”
Shivers crawled over my skin. There were too many victims of the zeds already. Adding more unnecessary victims poured acid onto my emotions. I looked over at the guy Clutch had put down. “I’m glad you killed him.”