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

Malice (Chapter 30)

MALICE: The Eighth Circle of Hell

Chapter XXX



Clutch and I looked at each other.

We left the stinking corpses and took off running back to the truck.

A blast detonated in the distance, and smoke rose from the direction of HQ.

My heart pounded. "No!"

We raced back to find soot-covered people pouring out of the building. Many were injured and wet with blood. Clutch slammed on the brakes just as Griz and several troops ran toward the building. I jumped out and yanked Griz back. "Anyone who got hit with shrapnel is infected!"

Griz's brows furrowed in confusion. "What are you talking about?"

I pointed at the building. "They used zed-soaked grenades!"

His eyes widened. "Are you sure? You've got to be sure about this."

Clutch came up. "Yeah, Griz. They're using dirty bombs."

The soldier muttered out a string of curses before raising his handheld radio. "This is Griz. Anyone injured by the grenade blast is infected. You are ordered to eliminate anyone injured. Repeat. Kill anyone injured. Over."

Chatter erupted on the radio.

Repeat last.

Say again.

You're joking, right?

Griz sighed. "You heard me right! I'm not messing with you! The Dogs used dirty bombs, goddammit. Kill the injured!"

"God help us all," Griz said and opened fire on survivors.

Screams erupted. People went berserk, running wildly away from us, seeking shelter.

I raised my rifle. My hands shook. My aim needed to be right. I took a deep breath and sought out the most injured. They would turn first.

I fired.

A woman holding her bloody stomach fell. From my side, Clutch fired into the crowd. The sounds of more gunfire from both sides filled the air.

I took down a man with a head wound. Then a kid getting trampled in the chaos that had overtaken the Camp.

As if spooked by something, people switched directions and starting running toward us.

A zed with a massive chest wound sunk its teeth into the neck of a screaming man. I fired off two shots back to back, taking both down.

Clutch grabbed me. "Run!"

We sprinted toward the truck. The stampede was nearly upon us. Clutch grabbed my waist and threw me onto the bed. I grabbed his shirt to pull him up, but he was yanked from my grasp.

"Clutch!" I screamed, but I couldn't find him anywhere in the mass of running people.

People reached for me but were smashed against the truck by the sheer force of numbers. The four-by-four wobbled from side to side. A woman shrieked like a yippy dog as she was squeezed between the truck and people until she drowned under the stampede.

"Godammit! Clutch!"

In a panic, I continued firing as I crept to the edge, searching for him on the ground. A familiar man shoved a kid down on his way past.

"Sean," I growled out. He looked up right when I shot him. Weasel was only a few feet behind Sean, and I killed him with my last round.

The truck was rocking so much that I dropped the clip while reloading.

The stampede thinned out as the people spread out. Bringing up the rear were mostly zeds. When they first turned, zeds were nearly as fast as humans, and they were taking down people left and right, like they were at a wine tasting party.

I went through three more clips before I pulled out the machete. I jumped off the back of the truck and stumbled over bodies on the ground. I hacked at zeds and slashed anyone still living who bore shrapnel wounds. I shoved bodies aside.

"Clutch!" I screamed until my voice gave out. I kept going, pushing over bodies, searching, until my gaze fell on camo fatigues.

I dropped to my knees and pulled the lifeless man onto my lap and started sobbing.

I'd found Clutch.