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

Malice (Chapter 28)

MALICE: The Eighth Circle of Hell

Chapter XXVIII

Three days later          

My aim was off. The machete slit the zed’s windpipe wide open instead of cleaving its skull. The near-severed head swayed, and my next swing scalped it, sending half of its brain and what had been long blonde hair to the ground.

Clutch had brought Jase and me back out to the apple orchard to win back the apple tree and for some much-needed close-up fighting. I didn’t realize how badly I’d needed the exercise. I had become so dependent on my rifle that I’d let myself get rusty in hand-to-hand combat.

I swung the machete I’d grabbed from Jase’s stash and took off the arm of the zed reaching for me. It hissed and reached out with the other. I swung again. This time, the machete snagged on bone and didn’t go all the way through. I kicked the zed back and yanked my weapon free. When it came at me again, I quit playing with it and finished it with a slanted blow down its face. Half of its head and face slid off, and I looked to see how many zeds remained.

Five.

Clutch demolished one.

Four.

I went for the ugliest zed next. Its nose had rotted off and only one ear remained. I made my way around it, careful to keep plenty of space around me. It had been one of Clutch’s first rules he’d taught me: never back yourself into a corner.

The zed followed my movements.

I let it come to me. Get ’em where I want ’em.

I raised the machete and brought it down in a straight line and shredded the zed from its chin down to its privates. “Oh, God.” I stepped back, trying not to breathe, but the stench caused bile to rise in my throat.

The zed’s organs tumbled out, jiggling with each step it took toward me. Clutch finished it off since I was too busy puking.

“Let’s not do that again,” Clutch advised, holding his arm over his nose.

“Yeah,” I said, now dealing with the foul aftertaste in my mouth.

“Hey, guys. Check this one out,” Jase said from behind us.

I wiped my mouth and turned to find Jase grinning. In front of him was the last standing zed missing its hands and the lower part of its jaw.

“Finish it,” Clutch said. “This isn’t a game.”

Jase shot an adolescent glare before taking his axe and bringing it down on the zed’s skull. We double checked every zed before I grabbed an apple off the tree and took a bite.

Jase turned to the shed. “C’mon, Mutt. It’s all clear.”

Mutt peeked from the shadows, and then trotted over to brush against her master. He handed her an apple.

“She’s quite the fighter,” I said.

Jase shrugged. “She’s more of a lover than a fighter.”

The coyote preferred to keep her distance from zeds. I remembered that feeling. While I still hated zeds, I no longer froze in terror when I saw one. Maybe I was numb to the violence, but I could kill without feeling a single pang of guilt. Sometimes, when I spent too much time thinking, I wondered if we hadn’t reached the end of the world but that we’d reached the end of humanity.

Something hit my head, and I jerked around to find Jase pulling back to throw another apple at me.

“Nice. Real nice,” I muttered and picked up the apple and stepped out of the way as Clutch backed the truck up to the tree. I hopped onto the bed and started plucking ripe apples from the tree.