100 Days in Deadland

by Rachel Aukes

  “I’m getting sick of Doyle’s Dogs throwing zeds at us,” he muttered as he wiped his blade on the grass.

  For the past three days, a garbage truck had driven down this road and dumped hungry zeds over the gate. On the first day, they dropped one. The next day it was two. Today, they were up to three. Tomorrow, it’d be four.

  Eventually, it’d be a truckload.

  They were toying with us, plain and simple. With every assault, they were saying, surrender or we’ll kill you.

  “C’mon. They’re giving us practice,” I said, tugging a dead zed to the ditch. “What else is there to do on a Friday night besides killing zeds?”

  Jase paused while dragging another zed and cocked his head. “Is it Friday?”

  I shrugged. “No idea. Doesn’t matter, I guess. We should be heading in for the night.”

  “Yeah. The fabulous dinner I made is getting cold,” he said with a sly grin.

  I looked down the road where the green garbage truck disappeared in the distance. After today’s dump, the truck sported several new bullet holes, courtesy of Clutch, who was just coming down from his sniper’s nest in the tree. But the bullet holes weren’t enough. We needed to disable that damn truck. And soon.

  Clutch checked his Blaser. “I should’ve taken care of those Dogs back at the greenhouse. Then they wouldn’t have known about this place.”

  I didn’t need to voice my agreement. Clutch was right. If we’d killed Sean and his buddies—without getting ourselves killed in the process—we could go about our business and no one would be the wiser. For the past few days, Clutch had been beating himself up about letting Sean get away and outing our location.

  But it wasn’t his fault any more than it was mine. They’d caught us off guard and now we were dealing with the repercussions.

  We headed back to the Jeep. It had taken the guys two full days, but they had the Dogs’ Rubicon running again. Jase had even added his own brand of style by painting “Zom-B-Gone” across the back.

  The Jeep could get through anything the truck could, but it was smaller and faster to get in and out of, unlike the efficient Prius, which the guys bitched about every time they climbed in. And so the Jeep had joined Jase’s motorcycle as a scouting vehicle around the farm.

  Jase claimed driving rights and I snagged the passenger seat, leaving Clutch to hop in the back. When Jase gunned the engine, I grabbed onto the windshield. “Do you even have a driver’s license?”

  “Of course,” Jase replied indignantly, and then shrugged. “Well, basically. I’ve got a school permit. But I’ve been driving tractors for most my life.”

  I would’ve snapped back a witty remark, but my stomach growled. “What’s for dinner tonight, Jase? I hope it’s take-out from Pizza Hut. I could really go for a Cheese Lover’s with extra cheese.”

  “I’d take Red Lobster,” Clutch added. “All-you-can-eat shrimp.”

  “It’s better,” Jase said. “Tonight you get my specialty: Spam and rice.”

  I let out a dramatic sigh with a hand fluttering to my chest. “My favorite.”

  “Stop the Jeep,” Clutch ordered, and Jase slammed the brakes.

  “What’s up?” I asked.

  Clutch held up a finger. “Sh.”

  I heard it then. The hearty growl of a big engine heading down the road.

  “Son of a bitch,” I muttered. “They’re coming back already?”

  “Sounds different.” Clutch said. “Get back to the gate, but be careful. Don’t get made into a target.”

  “Did I mention that I’m getting sick of this shit?” Jase muttered as he whipped the Jeep around.

  I picked my M24 off the floor and checked the cartridge. Jase parked at our usual spot just before the last curve in the lane leading to the gate, and Clutch took off running for his sniper’s nest. Now that we were out of sight, I hopped out and flattened against a large tree, Jase took a tree on the opposite side of the lane.

  A deep-throated engine purred nearby, and I poked my head around the tree to see a desert-tan Humvee parked at the gate. A single soldier climbed out of the passenger side. Another soldier stood behind a .30 cal mounted on the vehicle, leaving who knew how many more men with rifles hidden inside.

  The soldier standing outside the Humvee held his rifle in the air before putting it back on the seat and then closing the door. He said something to the gunner, who took a step back from the .30 cal.

  The soldier walked up to the gate. “This is Captain Masden with the United States National Guard,” he called out. “I’m unarmed and have come here to talk.”

  This was one of those times I wished we had ear pieces so I could check in with Clutch. I wanted to ask him what to do, but I couldn’t risk him leaving his spot in the tree. He was our best and last defense.

  Masden checked out the pile of zeds in the ditch before looking up and scanning the tree line. “I know you’re out there. I give you my word that my men will not fire unless you shoot first.”

  I glanced over at Jase and held up my hand. Stay put. He didn’t look happy, but he readjusted his rifle to get a better view of the gate.

  I propped my matching M24 against the tree so I could get to it easily in case things went to hell. “Don’t cross the gate. I’m coming out.” I waited a second before taking that first step around the tree. Knowing Clutch had me covered gave me the confidence I needed to walk up to the gate and into the view of the soldiers, even though I had no doubt each and every one of them had me in their sights.

  Masden was attractive and well built, with tan skin and blond hair. Fatigues fit him nicely. The last time I’d seen him, it had been in Fox Hills, and he’d been behind the Humvee’s .30 cal.

  When he saw me, his eyes widened slightly in surprise.

  I walked warily up to the gate and stopped just on the other side from the soldier.

  He held out his hand. “I’m Captain Tyler Masden. But you can call me Tyler.”

  I shook his hand. “I’m Cash.”

  His lips twitched. “Cash?”

  I took a breath. “What brings you here, Tyler?”

  He smiled. His grin was warm, inviting, and hinted at a flirtatious personality. “I represent Camp Fox. We try to locate all survivors, and either bring them to the Camp for safety or see how we can help. Someone mentioned that there was a small camp of survivors out here.” His smile fell. “It’s also my responsibility to make sure some level of law is still obeyed.”

  I narrowed my eyes. “Meaning?”

  He sighed. “I received a report of insurgents in this vicinity. My source said there were folks stealing from other survivors.”

  “You’re looking in the wrong place for thieves,” I said. “We’ve had supplies stolen from us, but we’ve never taken anything from a survivor.”

  His brows lifted. “Did you see who did it?”

  “Of course,” I said. “They held us at gunpoint. It was Doyle’s Dogs. The so-called militia. And they’ve hit us more than once.”

  Tyler shook his head. “We send them out with supplies to help survivors, not to steal from them.”

  I cocked my head. “And you believe that?”

  He lowered his head and rubbed his temples. “Honestly, I don’t know what to believe anymore when it comes to the militia.”

  I felt sorry for him. His intentions seemed genuine, but we still had a problem to deal with. “If the Dogs are working with you, then you clearly have a communication problem or you’re lying to me.”

  He sighed. His eyes narrowed and he smiled. “I’ve seen you before.”

  “In Chow Town,” I said. “It looked like you were picking up survivors.”

  “Chow Town.” He gave a tight chuckle. “That’s a good name for it. Yeah, I’ve been through there quite a few times.” Then he slowly shook his head. “Dang, I wish you would’ve stopped.”

  “I’d had a long day,” I said.

  “Too bad. I wanted to meet you. And, I could’ve offered you Camp Fox’s h
ospitality.”

  My breath hardened. “The Dogs wanted to lock me up with the other women for my own ‘safety’,” I said with air quotes. “If you’re offering the same kind of hospitality as the militia, I’m not interested.”

  Tyler’s jaw tightened. “The reserve militia was formed to kill zeds and rescue survivors. They have clear orders to send over any survivors to Camp Fox. They don’t have the authority to house any survivors except for the minutemen and their families.”

  Even Tyler didn’t sound like he believed his own words.

  When I didn’t speak, he continued. “Listen, I know they may be a bit unorthodox, but they’re keeping the zeds clear of the Camp. And they’ve brought in eighty-seven survivors already. Maybe you misunderstood them.”

  “Maybe not,” I said.

  He glanced at the pile of zeds in the ditch, and then took a step closer and leaned on the gate. “It looks like you’re having your own share of problems with zeds. If you’re not ready to relocate to the Camp, I could have Doyle send over a squad every day or so to help clear the area.”

  I belted out a laugh, and Tyler frowned. “What’s so funny?”

  I pointed to the pile. “Those zeds are courtesy of Doyle.”

  He stepped back. “What are you talking about?”

  I leaned on the gate. “Dogs come by in a garbage truck every day and dump zeds over our gate because we refused to pay tribute to the militia. We had no problem keeping zeds out of this area until the Dogs started importing them.”

  Tyler cursed. Then he reached up and his thumb brushed against my cheek, startling me. “Come to the Camp. Doyle has no authority there. You’ll be safe from him and the militia.” He motioned toward the tree line. “All of your friends here can come, too. Out here, alone, it’s too dangerous. I’ve heard about entire herds of zeds moving through Missouri right now. At the Camp we’re rebuilding the way things used to be.”

  I stood and watched him for a moment. “How long do you think Camp Fox is safe from Doyle?”

  “Doyle reports into Lieutenant Colonel Lendt, and we’ve treated the militia fairly. I might not agree with Doyle’s methods, let alone like the guy, but he’s been effective in eliminating zeds. Even if he did try something incredibly stupid,” he replied. “He has only eighteen men, most of them farmers or desk jockeys. We have over fifty trained troops holding down a base with a fortified perimeter. No one would be dumb enough to go up against Camp Fox.”

  From what I’d seen of the Dogs so far, I figured they’d be exactly that kind of dumb once they got enough numbers. The Camp would be Eden for the militia.

  “Well,” Tyler drawled. “I’m going to have a talk with Doyle. I’ll make sure these attacks stop. Still, I’m glad I found out about your camp.”

  I cocked my head.

  He grinned. “Because I got to meet you.”

  I couldn’t help but smile in return.

  He leaned on the fence, closer to me. “How about I come back in three days, just to check in?”

  “Yeah,” I said. “Sure.”

  “How many of you are here?”

  I narrowed my eyes and tensed. “Why does that matter?”

  He held up his hands. “Relax. I’m not scoping out the place. I’m only asking so that I can bring back some MREs when I return. That’s all.”

  “There are several of us here,” I replied simply. “Any food would be appreciated, and we could really use some 9mm rounds if you’ve got extra.”

  “I’ll see what I can scrounge up.” He paused and glanced back at the Humvee before looking back to me. “The offer stands. If you or anyone here wants to relocate to the Camp, you just let me know. You’d like it there.”

  I nodded. “Thanks. I’ll mention it to the others.” I didn’t mention that the others had been listening the entire time.

  He reached into his pocket, smiled, and handed me a candy bar. “See you three days from now.”

  ****

  Three days later

  Clutch was crankier than usual while we scouted the woods. “I don’t trust them to not take control of us or our resources.”

  “I don’t either,” I said. “But Tyler offered to bring us supplies.”

  “Feels like bribery.” He shook his head. “We can’t count on them for help. We take care of ourselves.”

  “But we can’t turn down any food or supplies,” I said.

  “He’s working with the Dogs.”

  “But he doesn’t trust them.” I shrugged. “Not completely, anyway.”

  “He was flirting with you.”

  I stopped and looked at Clutch. After a moment, I put a hand dramatically over my heart. “My, oh my. Is big bad Clutch jealous?”

  He scowled.

  I laughed. “Tyler’s too pretty and not nearly grumpy enough to hold my attention.”

  Clutch narrowed his eyes. “What—”

  A pained howl sounded beyond the trees, yanking our attention back to the woods.

  “That sounds close,” I said.

  Clutch took the lead and jogged us through the trees, keeping our weapons ready for any zeds that could be skulking around.

  More cries followed, and we closed in on the pitiful sounds.

  At the edge of the woods, three zeds tore at a fallen tree trunk. A fourth zed, several feet away, chewed on something with golden fur.

  A tiny shriek shot out from inside the log, and I gave Clutch a quick glance. He gave a nod, and we moved in. One of the zeds saw us right away. It came to its feet with a moan, bringing the attention of the other two at the log.

  Clutch swung first. He took the zed’s head clean off. My swing went wide and landed in the shoulder of the second. I stepped back and swung again, this time my machete lodged into the skull. I kicked up, planting my boot against its chest, and yanked the blade free. I pulled my weapon up just as the third zed reached for me, but Clutch decapitated it, just like he’d done the first, before slamming his machete through both heads on the ground.

  The fourth zed looked up and snarled, its mouth covered in fresh blood. Bites and scratches covered its face, chest, and arms, enough that would have caused serious injuries in a human. It went after Clutch, and I stepped around it and took off half its head from behind. It fell, dropping the carcass it’d been feeding on.

  I edged closer to the hollow tree trunk and got down on my knees. I rested my weapon against the trunk, and Clutch stood guard.

  I leaned down to find the source of the whimpering inside.

  Pups.

  They were much smaller than the animal the zeds had been feeding on. She’d likely been their mother and had sacrificed herself defending her den. Two pups were already dead, one struggled to breathe. Without obvious injuries, I suspected they’d been crushed when the zeds dug at them in a frenzy. The fourth pup in the far back corner continued to whimper. I reached in. It cried louder and nipped at my gloved fingers.

  I gently blanketed the pup with my hand. It was cornered and began to wiggle fervently. Wrapping my fingers around it, I picked it up as gently as possible and pulled it free. She screeched in my hand as I examined her, and then I pulled her against my chest. “Shh. It’s going to be okay, sweetie,” I murmured.

  She couldn’t have weighed more than a couple pounds. After a moment, the pup’s shrieks turned into whimpers before it finally quieted but continued to shake.

  Clutch came up behind me.

  “There’s another one in there, but he’s hurt pretty bad,” I said, while stroking the pup’s fur with my thumb

  He took a deep breath, bent down, and reached in with both his hands. When he stood, his hands were empty. “It’s taken care of.”

  I gave him a tight smile and held up the pup. “She’s definitely a mutt, but she’s cute in a mutty sort of way.”

  He chuckled. “It’s not a mutt. It’s a mangy coyote.”

  A coyote? “Oh. Well, it’s a she.”

  He shook his head. “Coyote are wild. They’re not domesticate
d like dogs.”

  “But she’ll die if we leave her behind.”

  “That’s nature, Cash.”

  “There’s been enough death already,” I said quietly.

  After a moment, he scowled. “Let me see it.”

  I reluctantly held her out.

  He picked her up by the scruff of her neck, looked her over, and then handed her back. “It doesn’t look injured or sick. But it’s young, not even weaned yet. It’ll probably die, no matter what we do. I don’t know much about coyotes except that they’re a nuisance.”

  The pup snuggled into my arm and I scratched her oversized ears. “I’ll take care of her.”

  “I can’t believe you’re bringing a coyote home,” Clutch said.

  I shot him a smile. “We’re all leftovers in this world. She’s no different.” I carried her in one hand, grabbed my machete in my other hand, and started heading back into the woods. “I think she’ll fit in nicely.”

  Clutch caught up and we walked in silence through the woods. Once we reached the yard, I lifted the pup. “What should we call her?”

  “Ugly.”

  “Har, har.” I smiled. “Jase is going to love her.”

  By the time we crossed the yard and reached the house, the pup had nearly chewed a hole through my glove. Jase rode up on his bike and pointed, his head cocked. “What kind of dog is that?”

  “Coyote,” Clutch replied.

  Jase raised a brow. “A coyote? For real?”

  “She’s yours if you want her,” I offered.

  His eyes widened. “Really?”

  “Yeah, really.”

  He held out his hands, and I handed the pup over. “Hey, little Mutt,” he murmured, scratching her back.

  I smiled. As soon as I held the pup, I’d hoped she could help fill the void for Jase. “Hopefully, she’ll take to the powdered milk,” I said. “And you’ll need to make up a little bed or kennel for her.”

  “Yeah, yeah,” he said and headed off into the house.

  “Make sure it doesn’t have fleas before you bring it inside,” Clutch called out, but Jase was already gone.