by M. D. Massey
His muscles tensed and he shot awake.
“Shh,” I murmured. “It’s just a bad dream.” I pressed him back down and placed a gentle kiss on his forehead.
He looked up at me. In the moonlight, his gaze moved to my lips.
I ran a hand over his short hair and gave him a soft smile.
He cupped my neck and pulled me to where his lips met mine. It was just a brush, but then I deepened it, pressing my lips against his. For a long second, he didn’t move. Then he grabbed me and rolled, pinning me beneath him. He took over. He came crashing down to me, kissing me hard and deep, with take-no-prisoners intensity, and a moan escaped from my lips and into his mouth.
My thighs spread to cradle him, and he shifted, lodging him tight against me. I’d been careful never to cross the line into intimacy, but now that we had, I’d rather give up breathing than his kiss. After seconds—or minutes—of kissing me senseless, he pulled back, leaving me gasping for air.
He, too, was breathing heavily. His calloused hand brushed against me, and I shuddered in pleasure as he tugged off my underwear and shoved out of his boxer briefs. He cupped my ass and pulled me tight against him. I could feel his cock, hot and throbbing, press against my core.
“Clutch,” I begged and grabbed his head, pulling him into a brutal, raw kiss.
He replied with a growl. He slid his arms under my back, grabbed my shoulders, and plunged into me. I cried out as my body was forced to accept the sudden intrusion.
I raked at him, widening my thighs, pulling him to me with all my strength, but his weight held me in place. He clamped onto my hips to pull me even closer. He thrust hard and deep. Exactly what I wanted—what I needed.
He pounded into me over and over until I could do nothing but hold on. His low growls combined with my shameless cries. The next instant I cried out, freefalling into a climax. Clutch’s back arched and he bellowed as he pulled out, shooting a burst of seed onto the blanket.
I lay there, boneless, while he rolled onto his side, panting and sweaty. He lowered his head to the mattress next to mine, and pulled me tight against him.
Time was lost while I floated, the mattress unfeeling below me.
“I killed her.”
The words were soft, barely audible. “What?” I asked, confused.
“At the Dogs’ camp…” Clutch rolled onto his back. “Doyle left me in the silo, with one guard outside. Only it wasn’t a Dog. It was a woman.”
I pulled myself up onto my elbows and watched Clutch.
“He’d threatened to go after you and Jase if I tried to escape. He assumed I wouldn’t try it. He was wrong. He posted her outside my door. She had no training, no experience.”
I laid a hand on his heart. His muscles tensed.
“I killed her. Broke her neck so I could get out. I had to make sure you were safe.”
He jerked away, got up, and stood in front of the window.
I came to my feet. “It’s not your fault. Doyle forced your hand.”
“He didn’t force me to kill her.”
I walked over to him and watched him stare out over the dark valley below. “He did, in a way. He forced your hand. You did what you had to do. If you didn’t, you wouldn’t be alive today. I wouldn’t be alive today.”
He turned, looked into my eyes for a moment, then pulled away and grabbed his clothes and a bottle of whiskey. He paused at the top step. “She was Doyle’s wife.”
20
Three days later
“There’s one coming up your six,” Clutch called out before diving behind a pew to reload. I twisted around and blasted buckshot into the head of an exceptionally overweight zed, pumped my shotgun, and then took out the aggressive one reaching for Clutch.
I continued shooting, taking out their legs if I couldn’t get a good headshot. Clutch rejoined, and the church was like a Tarantino film, full of gunfire and gore. I used up my last two shells on a priest wearing a collar stained with dried blood.
“Reloading!” I yelled out and scrambled back several steps. I rushed to slide the shells into the shotgun while a zed in the form of a decrepit old woman stumbled toward me, its head askew with a broken neck. I’d only gotten five shells loaded when it closed in. I swung the gun up and shot it in the chest. The force sent it flying back, and my second shot was a direct hit to its face.
I looked around for what to shoot next but saw no zeds still standing. I frowned. “We’re clear already?”
“All clear,” Clutch said as he pulled out a knife.
I finished reloading my shotgun before slinging it over my shoulder and pulling out my knife. We went around to each zed, making sure it wouldn’t come back. Shotguns packed a punch, but they didn’t always get the job done.
Afterward, we stood at the baptismal fountain, washing up under the watchful gray gaze of a statue of the Virgin Mary. “Jesus,” I said, and then glanced at the crucifix hanging at the front of the church. “Sorry,” I mumbled. “Did everyone in a ten-mile radius come to church when the outbreak hit?”
“Plenty of folks get religious when things turn to shit.”
My eyes fell on the priest. “Guess the priest would’ve had his hands full giving last rites.”
“Too bad the dead didn’t actually stay dead.”
I dried my hands on my jeans and scanned the corpses and toppled pews. “We used up a lot of ammo.”
“It’ll all be worth it if this place hasn’t been looted yet.”
I grinned and clapped. “Let’s check it out.”
What we discovered quickly proved Clutch right. We’d struck gold at the Catholic church in the town nearest to the park, if you could call six houses and a church with an attached reception hall a town. According to the banner hanging outside, they’d been collecting donations for a local food pantry to help the needy at Easter.
And we definitely qualified as needy.
“See if you can’t find a P-38,” Clutch said as he rifled through cupboards in the kitchen.
“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” I called out in reply, stacking another box of canned food near the front door with the dozen other boxes. “You know, for a small town, these guys were really generous.”
I headed back to the kitchen. “Everything’s boxed up and ready to go.”
“Aha, a P-38.” Clutch held up a small metal can opener not much bigger than a razor blade. He pocketed it.
My brow furrowed. “It’s a can opener?”
“It’s a P-38.”
With a sigh, I rolled my eyes. “Ready?”
“Ready.”
We headed to the stack of boxes. “You carry, I watch,” I said.
Clutch lifted two boxes and grunted. “Did you have to pack them so full?”
I patted his shoulder. “Just doing my part to help you stay in shape.” With the shotgun in one hand, I propped open the door with a brick. After a quick sweep of the area between us and the truck, I motioned Clutch forward. “Clear.”
He carried the boxes outside, and I stayed close, constantly scanning a full three-sixty around us. Afternoon shadows of tall trees danced like taunting spirits across the tombstones in the quaint cemetery on the other side of the church.
I opened the back of the truck, Clutch slid the boxes onto the bed, and we headed back for more boxes. We were getting efficient at looting, but we both knew that there’d be nothing left to loot in another year. We’d deal with that problem a year from now.
On the third load, I came to a hard stop.
“Aw, hell.” In one smooth move, Clutch set down the boxes and swung his shotgun around.
Parked next to our truck was a Humvee.
Don’t let it be Dogs. Don’t let it be Dogs. I treaded cautiously toward it, careful to keep the truck between us and them.
As I neared the vehicle, I let out a breath as Griz stepped out from the driver’s seat and waved while still speaking into the handheld radio. Tack emerged from the other side of the Humvee. He casually gri
pped a rifle, looking none too bothered that we had two shotguns aimed at them.
When Griz put down the radio, I lowered my weapon. “What brings you boys all the way out here?”
“Standard recon,” Griz replied. “Damn, I never expected to run across the pair of you. That teaches me for betting against Tack.”
I lifted a brow.
Griz busted out a wide grin. “The odds were twenty to one that you two were zeds. Tack was the only one to bet on both of you.”
Tack gave a nod.
“Thanks.” I lifted a brow. “I think.”
“So everyone thinks we’re dead?” Clutch asked by my side.
“Everyone at Fox, anyway,” Griz replied. “With the exception of Tack, me, and now Captain Masden.”
Ah, so that was whom he’d been talking to on the radio.
Griz, joined by Tack, headed our way. Griz whistled at the church. “Gutsy move to clear out a church. We’ve learned to keep our distance from churches. They’re right up there with grocery stores and police stations as being zed hubs.”
“Beggars can’t be choosy,” I said.
Griz nodded to the boxes. “Here, we can help.”
“We’re good,” Clutch said, grabbing the boxes.
Griz held out his hands. “We’re not trying to take what you’ve rightfully stolen.”
“Recon, you say? You guys still out looking for survivors?” I asked.
“Some, but our focus has shifted more to tracking down Doyle. His guys are still a pain in the ass.”
My muscles tightened as I watched Clutch for any sign of emotion. I knew he’d never forgive himself for killing that woman. Not that Doyle would be any less forgiving if he found out Clutch was still alive.
“Lendt hasn’t taken care of him yet?” Clutch asked.
Griz frowned and shook his head. “We busted into Doyle’s camp and caught several of his men and freed some of his ‘indentured servants’.”
I cocked my head. “Indentured servants?”
“That’s what Doyle told them,” Griz said. “Doyle convinced them that Camp Fox wasn’t safe. So, for food and shelter, they had to sign contracts to service the militia for seven years. Lendt figured his attack on Camp Fox was as much to convince people that with him was the only safe place.”
My jaw dropped. “Holy. Shit.”
“But he’s surprisingly wily for his age,” Griz added. “His guys have gone guerrilla on our patrols, but there have been no more attacks on the Camp, so we know we’ve got him on the run.”
“I wouldn’t be foolish enough to count on that assumption,” Clutch said, pushing the box onto the truck bed and heading back for more.
“We’re not,” Griz said, keeping up. “But we’ll get him one of these days. You can bet on it.”
“It doesn’t sound like you’ve made the smartest bets yet,” I said with a smirk before stepping back to the reception hall. Tack and Griz followed.
Tack picked up a box, and Griz lifted the top. “Who would’ve guessed that cheap toilet paper would become a luxury item?”
“How’s Camp Fox holding up? The civilians are all safe?” I asked, thinking of one in particular.
Griz sighed. “We’re getting by, but Doyle’s attack put a hurt on our supplies. Before long, we’ll be out doing what you’re doing.”
Tack dropped the box into the back of the truck and faced me. “That friend of yours, Jasen Flannigan, he’s all right. Fitting right in at the Camp.”
I closed my eyes and breathed deeply. When I reopened my eyes, I smiled. “Thank you.”
Griz and Clutch set down the last of the boxes.
“We’d better head back,” Clutch said.
I checked the sun sitting just above the roof of a two-story house across the street. Zeds tended to disappear at night, especially on cloudy nights. I suspected it was some sort of instinctual need for self-preservation. They couldn’t see any better than us, so they could walk right into a river or off a ledge in the dark. Not that they were bright enough to avoid doing that in the daylight.
Except last night was a full moon. Tonight wouldn’t be much better, without a cloud in the sky. It would be a good night to be back at the park and locked in before the sun set.
“I saw what they did to your farm. That’s a damn shame,” Griz said. “Where you staying now?”
Clutch narrowed his eyes. “Why do you want to know?”
“I’m guessing it’s out this way,” Griz said, looking around. “We’re tight on resources, but whenever we have a squad out this way, I can have them stop by to check in to see how things are going.”
“Things are going fine,” Clutch retorted.
“I read you loud and clear. But, the attack really cut into our numbers and decimated our ammo supply. We’ve started training civilians, but we could use all the help we can get.”
“Help?” I asked with a hand on my hip. “Tell me something, do they still have the prison cell waiting for me?”
Griz’s lips thinned and shook his head. “Lendt’s wiped the slate clear on anyone charged with assaulting the militia. After the stunt Doyle pulled, Lendt realized that he had to revisit his approach to military law. Hell, you just might get a medal now.”
I didn’t share his confidence. “Clutch is right. We need to get going.”
“Hold up.” Griz jogged back to the Humvee and pulled out something. “This radio pack is fully charged, and it’s got an adapter for a cig lighter. I already dialed in our frequency. Call if you need anything. Leave it on so we can reach you. If we see any herds or any of Doyle’s guys sniffing around this area, we’ll let you know.”
Clutch nodded and took it.
“Thanks, Griz,” I said and followed Clutch to the truck.
“Do you think they’ll try to reach us?” I asked, closing the door.
“Yeah.” Clutch paused. “The radio is Masden’s way of saying I’ve been called back to duty.”
21
“Why can’t anyone just leave us the fuck alone?” Clutch growled as we drove back to the church two days later.
I reached out and intertwined my fingers with his. “That’s because we’re irresistible.”
Neither of us laughed. I wasn’t any more comfortable with the idea of tying ourselves to Camp Fox than Clutch. When Tyler had called in on the radio this morning and said he needed to meet with us, a rock had formed in my stomach and had been expanding ever since.
As we rolled up to the church, we found two Humvees waiting for us.
When Clutch turned off the ignition, the back door on the first Humvee flung open, a nearly full-grown coyote jumped down and a teenager with a wide grin stepped out.
My eyes widened. “Jase!”
He waved wildly and met me midway with a bear hug. Clutch came up from behind me and patted him on the shoulder. “Damn, it’s good to see you, kid.”
Jase took a step back. “Man, when Griz told me you guys were okay…well, it’s just good to see you. Really, really good.”
The golden coyote sat behind Jase, and I grinned. “I see Mutt’s turned out all right.”
He bent down and picked up the furry canine, and she licked his cheek. “Yeah, she’s a regular zed hunter now. She comes with me scouting.”
Clutch frowned. “You go on scouting missions?”
“Yeah.” Jase nodded back at Tyler, Griz, and Tack, who were now walking our way. “They asked for folks to join up after the attack. Eddy and I are on Captain Masden’s squad.” He stepped to the side, making room for Tyler, while Griz and Tack stood back with their rifles ready, scanning the area.
Tyler smiled at me. “It’s good to see you again.” He held out his hand, and I shook it, having a hard time returning his smile.
Tyler didn’t even try to shake Clutch’s hand. Tyler never liked Clutch, and Clutch still held a grudge against Tyler for abandoning me in zed and Dog country. I wasn’t angry. Not anymore. Tyler had simply been trying to do the right thing in a world where all
the old rules had changed.
I still wanted to punch him.
“What do you want, Captain?” Clutch said.
Tyler gave a thin smile. “Always to the point, Sarge. I respect that. Griz said he filled you in on our current situation with Doyle and his minutemen.”
“He said you guys were at war,” Clutch said.
Tyler chortled. “It’s been more like a hunt than a war. Though, Jase might have found a game changer.”
“How’s that?” I asked.
“Your boy here came across one of Doyle’s outposts.”
“When are you going in?” Clutch asked.
“Tonight.”
Clutch narrowed his eyes. “But you’re not here for a briefing.”
“You’re right, Sarge. To be honest, we’re tight on resources. Before the outbreak, we didn’t have many troops with real field experience. And Doyle’s attack on the Camp put a hell of a hurtin’ on us. You’ve served two tours, Sarge. I need you out there with my men tonight. It’s not a request.”
I watched Clutch turn and pace the sidewalk. When he returned, he ran a hand through his short hair. “What’s the SITREP?”
“From what Jase and Southpaw reported, this isn’t Doyle’s primary camp, but we believe he’s running out of multiple small camps instead of one larger camp now. Nevertheless, the camp Jase and Southpaw found would be a critical hit from a payback perspective. The payload is three fuel tankers, which we believe constitute all of Doyle’s mobile fuel reserves. We could really use that fuel at Camp Fox, so we can’t go in with guns blazing and risk blowing the trucks sky-high.”
He motioned to Jase who handed Clutch his iPhone. After Clutch scrolled through the pictures, he handed the phone to me. Three fuel tankers sat side by side at a rest stop. Calling it an outpost was an exaggeration. There were no fences, hardly any people, and only the single building. If the trucks were lined up, I would’ve driven by without looking twice.
“As for tangos,” Tyler continued. “We’re looking at no more than five guys on duty at any time, but they’re likely patched into Doyle through handheld radios we provided the militia awhile back. I think Doyle figured this place is far enough north that we wouldn’t find it.”