I tried not to grin as I jumped in the Jeep, and Clutch shrugged off the backpack of extra gear he always carried now and drove us down the lane. About midway there, we heard the now-familiar sound of the garbage truck.
“Those sonsabitches just won’t quit,” he muttered before gunning the engine. “Get ready.”
I lifted my rifle.
He stopped at the bend in the lane, and we got out and took cover behind the trees.
The garbage truck had stopped and was in progress of backing up. Either someone different was driving today or Sean was drunk off his ass, because the truck nearly backed straight into the ditch.
It would’ve been a lot easier for us if it had. But the driver overcorrected at the last moment and nearly went into the ditch on the other side. The back of the truck smashed into the gate, and the dump box opened. The box needed a couple more feet of space behind the truck to rotate. Terrible metal-on-metal screeching sounds ensued as the box tangled in the gate, lifting it, until something broke, and both the box and gate slammed to the ground, taking several feet of the barbed wire fence with it.
One zed caught between the box and gate was cut in half. The remaining five zeds began to crawl over it and onto the ground.
“You got to be fucking kidding me,” Clutch cursed. “You got the zeds?”
My first shot went through a zed’s eye. “Yeah,” I said.
“Good.” Clutch walked straight toward the truck that was now trying to pull away, but it was locked onto the gate. It wasn’t an ordinary garbage truck. They’d welded metal over the wheels so we couldn’t shoot the tires. Same with the windshield and windows. With the exception of a few peepholes, everything had been covered by sheets of metal. Otherwise we would’ve shot them the first time they’d invaded our territory.
Its tires spun, trying to break free, and the collapsed gate protested.
I took down the next four zeds with easy back-to-back shots as they tried to drag themselves to their feet. One final shot took down the half of zed still caught between the gate and truck.
Clutch came to a stop less than a dozen feet from the truck. Its engine and wheels suddenly calmed. A barrel poked through the slot in the driver’s side window, but Clutch fired first. His shot was close enough to hit or scare the driver because the barrel disappeared back inside the cab, and the truck engine roared. The gate moved several feet with the truck.
Clutch jogged up to the window, stuck the barrel of his rifle through and started firing.
I sprinted toward Clutch, holding my rifle ready. He quit firing by the time I reached the truck. Everything had stilled, with only the sound of the truck’s engine going.
I reached for the door handle and looked up to Clutch. He took a step back, aimed, then nodded. I flung the door open and jumped back, pulling up my rifle. But the two men inside didn’t move. Blood had splattered the interior. The driver was slumped over the wheel, and the passenger was lying back, sprawled across the vinyl seat. Neither was Sean.
Clutch took a step closer and fired two shots, one into each man.
A couple months ago, I would’ve found that action heartless. Now, I would’ve done it myself if he hadn’t shot first. These Dogs had attacked my home and the only people left in the world that I cared about. There wasn’t much I wouldn’t do. The only thing that scared me was how quickly and easily I’d slid into a ruthless way of thinking.
Jase came tearing down the lane on his bike. He jumped off and jogged toward us, holding his rifle. “What the heck happened here?”
“We won this round,” I said since Clutch was busy examining the mangled gate.
The pouch attached to Jase’s belt wiggled and whimpered. I cocked my head. A furry head with big ears poked out and looked around before disappearing back inside the pouch.
“It’s okay, Mutt,” Jase said, patting the pouch. “Just taking care of bad guys.”
“The gate’s fucked,” Clutch said, walking up to us. He sighed and then kicked the gravel. “Godammit. I’ve had enough of this shit.”