Deadland Rising (Deadland Saga) (S)
Deadland Rising
The search for hope in a shambling world
Rachel Aukes
The Deadland Saga
Contents
UNCERTAINTY
(Ch. I - V)
AMBITION
(Ch. VI - VII)
TEMPTATION
(Ch. VIII - IX)
PRUDENCE
(Ch. X - XIII)
FORTITUDE
(Ch. XIV – XVII)
JUSTICE
(Ch. XVIII - XX)
TEMPERANCE
(Ch. XXI)
HOPE
(Ch. XXII - XXVI)
COURAGE
(Ch. XXVII - XXIX)
For Lori, Glenda, and Eric.
UNCERTAINTY
Chapter I
The fresh blanket of snow created a pleasant illusion. With Des Moines covered in silent white, I could almost imagine that concealed underneath the disguise was not the charred, desolate remains of a city littered with hundreds of thousands of corpses.
Another round of shivers racked my body. I hugged myself to fight off the morning chill and slid off the hood of the Humvee. Pants, boots, a long-sleeve T-shirt, and a mid-weight jacket weren’t nearly enough to ward off the looming Midwest winter. The cold wasn’t the only reason why I was shivering, though. I shivered because I felt utterly empty and afraid.
We had nothing. No food, no supplies, and less than a day’s worth of gas left.
A lot had changed in two days. I think we were all numb, still operating on autopilot. Ten of us were all that remained of Camp Fox. To call our ragtag group “survivors” was being generous.
Clutch leaned next to me against the Humvee. He watched me with those warm brown eyes. They were often his only betrayal of emotion. He tried so hard to remain stoic, always in control, but his eyes belied his hard-fought façade. He was exhausted…and worried. “How are you holding up, Cash?”
I forced a smile. “Hanging in there. You?”
He rubbed his neck. “Hanging in there.” He handed me a bag of homemade granola he’d found while searching vehicles after the bandit attack alongside the Mississippi River.
As I chewed on a handful of crunchy seeds, nuts, and oats, I stared at the large store on the other side of the interstate in the far distance. Sitting on the outskirts of the city, the building had somehow survived the bombing of Des Moines. After the outbreak, the military had tried to stop the spread by bombing all large cities, but their attempts were too late to do much good. I pointed to the store. “That’s a Bass Pro Shop. It could be worth checking out. If it hasn’t been looted already, it would have winter coats.”
Clutch let out a long, quiet whistle. “Awfully risky. I’d prefer not to get any closer to Des Moines than we are now.”
“That’s the same reason why most looters would have avoided it, too,” I replied. “It’s worth the risk. Now that most of the zeds have migrated south for the winter, this could be our best chance before these places turn into a free-for-all.”
He pushed off the vehicle, opened the driver’s side door, and pulled out a pair of binoculars. He scrutinized the area for long minutes before handing the binoculars to me. “It looks in good shape. There’s going to be zeds still locked inside.”
I adjusted the binoculars to see through the store’s shattered windows but could make out nothing in the interior darkness. “We won’t know until we check it out.”
“Farmhouses would be safer.”
“And looted already.” I lowered the binoculars. “I don’t want to go into a place that big and that close to the city, but we’re going to freeze out here otherwise.”
After a pause, he sighed. “I sure would like to get my hands on some decent fishing gear.”
I chewed on my lip. “What do you say? It could be like Christmas for all of us. Just a couple months early.”
Slowly, his lips curled upward. “Christmas, eh? Jase has been talking about wanting a new backpack. We still need to figure out a plan,” he said.
“Plan for what?” Jase chimed in as he walked toward us, hefting a black garbage bag filled with river water ready to be filtered and boiled.
“We’re going to check out that Bass Pro Shop over there.” I pointed.
He cocked his head in that direction. “Cool. Count me in. After breakfast, though. I’m starving.”
“You’re always starving,” Clutch retorted.
The insatiable teenager shrugged and headed straight for our small campfire, where Vicki was busy making some kind of wild herbal tea to go with a bucketful of walnuts and two small trout Frost had caught.
As we all gathered around the fire, Clutch and I shared our ideas regarding the store. While no one was excited about entering a sporting goods store so soon after the run-in with the bandits in a store far too similar to this one, everyone agreed that we would freeze to death without warmer clothes.
If only we had food and supplies, I would’ve preferred to skip the store and head straight for Fox National Park. Several of us knew the area blindfolded. Alas, we had neither food nor supplies, and there was snow on the ground. Overnight, we had changed from the survivors handing out the food to begging for food.
Marco, the only person in our group not from Camp Fox, was the only man left alive of a squad sent to search for survivors. Marco’s home base was New Eden, a large sanctuary in Nebraska. He’d said New Eden had enough supplies to feed hundreds well into next year. Even better, the town had been built around a missile silo. They’d survived the herds by going underground, and could do it again. Marco was anxious to get back to New Eden, and his hope was contagious. The decision had been unanimous.
We’d accompany Marco to New Eden.
Little Benji finished breakfast first to hustle back to playing fetch with Diesel, a massive Great Dane that stood taller than the boy and would protect his short master with his life. Benji had Down syndrome, yet he’d managed to survive the outbreak on his own and ride a bicycle for miles through a zed-infested landscape to search for his grandfather.
I chuckled while I watched the two chase each other. Benji, oblivious to the ruined world around him, proved more resilient than the rest of us. He didn’t seem to carry the emotional or physical scars we’d collected since the outbreak. Sometimes, I wondered if we needed Benji more than he needed us. Frost smiled at me before turning back to watch his grandson play. The older man rubbed his knuckles, a sure sign his arthritis was acting up again.
A cold wind blew through. “
Brr
,” Hali said as she snuggled closer to Jase. The teenagers tried to look casual about their friendship, but everyone knew the pair carried a flame for each other. Even the apocalypse couldn’t stop young love.
“Here you go, dear. This will warm you up.” Deb poured steaming tea into Hali’s water bottle. Deb was moving slowly due to her daily bouts of morning sickness. She wasn’t showing yet, but Vicki had said the first few months of pregnancy were always the hardest. That Tack, Deb’s lover, had died only a couple weeks ago, didn’t help. The woman was struggling to hang on—physically and emotionally—and there wasn’t a goddamn thing any of us could do.
“I say we take a full day in the store, pull together what we can, and then spend the night inside,” Griz said before quickly adding, “Assuming it’s safe.”
“I was thinking the same thing,” Clutch said. “But, I don’t like how many assumptions we’re operating on right now.” Clutch and Griz could’ve been twins with how they thought alike, despite their different personalities. I suspected much of that came about because both men were Army Rangers and every day was another mission.
“Then we’d better get packed up and check out the place,” Jase said. “Maybe I’ll find a new backpack. Did I mention that I’d like a new backpack?”
“Every day,” Clutch groaned, giving Jase a small smile before his features tightened. “All right, everyone. We head out in fifteen. Cash, Jase, and Griz, you’re with me to recon the store.”
“Got it,” I said, echoed by affirmations from Jase and Griz.
Clutch continued. “Marco, you’ll lead the second Humvee with everyone else crammed in. I know it won’t be comfortable. You’ll park at the far edge of the parking lot to watch for zeds. At the first sign of trouble, you’ll radio us, and we’ll rendezvous back here. Otherwise, we’ll bring you inside once we have a defensible position for the night. Any questions?”
Griz spit out a piece of walnut shell. “Dibs on the candy aisle.”
“Each man for himself,” Jase said with a sly grin.
“Okay, the two words of the day are ‘quiet’ and ‘careful,’ everyone,” Clutch said as he climbed to his feet. “This place could be a goldmine, or we could be walking into a buffet line for zeds. Let’s pack up and roll out.”
“Or a trap set by bandits,” Vicki said bitterly.
I clenched my jaw. No one needed reminded. I jumped abruptly to my feet and focused on brushing walnut shells off my pants rather than on the truth in Vicki’s words.
Twelve minutes later, we were driving toward the store. Adrenaline made my knees knock. I rubbed my cold hands together. For the size of their engines, Humvees had shit for heaters, though I’d be rubbing my hands together even if it was the middle of summer.
We all had weapons. Clutch still had his Blaser rifle that he’d owned for far longer than he’d known me. I checked my pistol: a Glock on which I’d spent an hour cleaning off its previous owner’s blood. I holstered it and then checked both my knife and machete.
I hoped that none of us would have to waste what precious little ammunition we had left. I had to get up close and personal to use my machete, but I figured—hoped—that the cold temperature would have slowed down any remaining zeds.
Since the zed migration a couple weeks ago, I assumed that most of the zed population would’ve joined the herds as they headed south. With how few zeds we’d seen since the herds passed through, my theory seemed proven. Otherwise, going this near to a city was suicide. Of course, I also knew that if the zeds couldn’t have gotten out of the building to join the herds, they would still be inside, safe from the elements and starving for food.
At the edge of the parking lot stood a lone, charred zed. Snow dusted its head and shoulders. Its eyes, nose, and ears were all burnt or rotted off, which explained why it wouldn’t have known to follow the herds. It wore fatigues, and I wondered how it ended up here. We drove close enough to the frozen zed that I could read the bloodied and blackened badge it wore: Pvt Jonathan Hart.
What happened to you, Private Jonathan Hart?
As soon as the thought crossed my mind, I scowled and looked away. I’d never forget his name now. I hated humanizing zeds, even though they weren’t anywhere near human anymore. That much was clear. It was as though they’d transformed, or
transhumanized,
into something entirely different. Except, when they wore something that revealed the person they’d once been, it added one more vision to an already overflowing cornucopia of nightmares.
Fortunately for us, the only other zeds in the parking lot except for Private Jonathan Hart were collapsed lumps on the concrete. Even covered by snow, I knew those lumps belonged to someone’s family at one time. Hell, they could’ve been
my
family, who I’d abandoned in Des Moines when I’d selfishly fled the city during the outbreak.
I tried not to think about the greatest regret of my life, instead focusing on the massive store before us.
Be here, now,
I ordered myself.
Other than the completely demolished glass doors, likely from the bomb blast, the building from the front was in one piece and looked to be in pretty good shape. Unfortunately, through those shattered doors, I could see sunlight. A large section of the roof must’ve caved in, which meant the store wasn’t going to be winning any prizes for being structurally sound. Not only would we have to be careful to not set off any more seismic events within the store, we’d have to deal with concrete, roof, and rebar while searching for supplies. The bright side was any zeds that had been trapped inside
should’ve
been able to get out and leave with the herds.