100 Days in Deadland (part 1 of the Deadland Saga)

Malice (Chapter 23)

MALICE: The Eighth Circle of Hell

Chapter XXIII

Clutch sped dangerously fast without headlights. I had no idea how he managed to keep the Humvee on the road. He pressed two fingers against his headset. “We have one man down.”

A pause.

“Affirm. Bravo team is still a go. Repeat, Bravo is still a go.”

A pause.

“Wilco. Bravo, over and out.” Clutch grimaced and turned on the headlights.

My eyes widened. “What are you doing?”

Clutch clenched his jaw. “Alpha is rendezvousing with the tankers to provide firepower support to the Camp. We’re to lead as many Dogs as we can away from the convoy.”

I swallowed, found it hard to breathe, and immediately started reloading my rifle.

He glanced at me and then took a quick look in back where Tack was busy tending to Southpaw. “How’s he doing?”

Tack didn’t answer.

“Tack, report.”

The soldier looked up slowly. “It was clean, through and through, no organs hit. But…I think he’s gone.”

Clutch hit the wheel. “Shit!”

“I don’t get it,” Tack added on though in a daze. “It wasn’t that bad of hit. He should be conscious and talking to us right now.”

I looked around and noticed lights—a lot of them—closing in. “Do you know this area?” I asked.

“Not good enough.” Clutch cranked a hard left, sending me against the door, and he barreled down the on-ramp and onto the interstate. “Let’s hope for no roadblocks.”

Something chinked the metal, sounding like a rock chip, except we were on pavement.

“Tack, take the .30,” Clutch ordered. “Cash, feed him ammo.”

I started crawling into the back.

“Gah!” Tack yelled and jumped back.

“What’s wrong?” I asked.

“It’s Southpaw. He’s turning!”

“How’s that possible?” I fumbled with my rifle.

Southpaw plowed into the much smaller Tack, but I was close enough I barely had to aim. I fired an ear-ringing shot, and Southpaw collapsed on top of Tack.

Tack sat up and shoved off his comrade.

I kept my rifle leveled. “Are you bit?”

He kicked away Southpaw’s body. “No.”

“What the hell was that?” Clutch asked.

“No idea,” I said, making my way to Tack. We hadn’t been close to any of the zeds in the area. So how in the world had Southpaw gotten infected? More pings against the metal reminded me that I didn’t have the luxury to think right now.

Tack fired rounds at the headlights behind us. The first vehicle swerved but then straightened out, but at least we now had more space between us and them. Another pair of lights came up alongside the first, and flashes of gunfire from both trucks winked back at us.

“Can’t you go faster?” I yelled toward Clutch.

“Humvee,” he replied as if that explained everything.