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

Malice (Chapter 25)

MALICE: The Eighth Circle of Hell

Chapter XXV

“Shit!” I flattened myself against the wall, and Clutch and Tack did the same. “Think they saw us?” I asked.

“Maybe. Maybe not. But they had to hear Tack’s shots,” Clutch replied. “They’re probably stationed there to hold us back until the herd gets here. They’ve got front row seats for watching us get shredded.”

“There’s no way we can cross that bridge without getting gunned down,” Tack said.

“And there’s bound to be zeds in the river,” I added.

A zed came around the far corner of the building. It moaned and kept walking toward us, followed by at a least a hundred more, and more kept showing up. My heart lurched. “Looks like the party is about to start.”

“Time’s up,” Clutch said. “We have to take our chances at the bridge.”

“Wait,” I said, and I examined the iron bridge. “What if we go under the bridge?”

Both men looked at me.

“The undersides of some of these bridges are just big I-beams. We might be able to shimmy across.”

Clutch’s brow furrowed. “It could work. If we stay low and behind the roadblock, the Dogs might not be able to hit us.”

Moans and shuffling steps grew closer. The herd was halfway down the building now.

“Give it a shot?” Tack asked.

“Why not.” Clutch took off in a hunched-over run.

I followed and Tack hung back to cover our flank. It was hard to run bent over, weighted down by what remained of my gear and exhausted from nearly four hours of running through half the alleys and backstreets of Chow Town. I stumbled and Tack helped me back to my feet. My legs were jelly, but from somewhere deep inside, fresh adrenaline numbed my body and senses, and I kept moving behind Clutch toward the bridge.

Two zeds emerged from the bridge and came at us, but they were easy enough to maneuver around. I dove to the edge of the embankment. Clutch already had a leg over the embankment. He held out a hand. “Grab on to me,” he ordered. I reached out, and he snatched me against him and took a step down the embankment. He lost his footing and slid onto his back, pulling me against his chest. We slid several feet down before Clutch found traction again.

One of the zeds rolled past us and into the river below. The second followed a second later, grabbing Clutch’s arm on its way down. We were dragged several feet before I was able to kick it loose, and it tumbled away.

Clutch held me tight. I lay against him, panting. I looked down, and swallowed. If we’d slid another fifteen feet, we would’ve landed right on top of a couple dozen hungry zeds hungrily trapped at the edge of the river. They couldn’t climb the steep incline, and they couldn’t enter the river without being swept away (which I suspected was what had happened to quite a few zeds already).

“Don’t do that again,” I muttered against Clutch’s chest.

“Yeah,” he replied breathlessly. Then he pressed a couple fingers to his headset. “Bravo needs pickup now. We’ve got half of Chow Town waiting for us on one side of the bridge, and Dogs set up to chase us down on the other.”

Silence except for the growing hum of moans and shuffling feet.

Clutch scowled. “Copy that. Three hours. Over and out.”