MALICE: The Eighth Circle of Hell
Chapter XX
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 gripped 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.”