We’d run across a few non-violent zeds before, but what had really unnerved us was the intelligence in those kids’ eyes. Zeds weren’t supposed to have any kind of brainpower. If they did have the ability to think, we wouldn’t stand a chance. We’d told others about what we’d seen, but no one believed us. Well, no one wanted to believe us.
They had racked it up as just seeing a bit too far into something, which was common. After all, when a zed could be hiding around every corner, survival required a bit of paranoia. But, if some zeds could think, it would tip the odds even more against us. Not to mention, I couldn’t imagine the horror of zeds knowing who they were and the cannibals they’d become. I prayed those kids’ intelligence was just a figment of our imagination.
Wes slowed down once we passed the sign that read Freeley, pop. 498. The sun had just crested, sending a warm glow over the trees. Clutch was right—the leaves were showing hints of changing color. Fall had always been my favorite season. But now, rather than enjoying fall, I dreaded the season that would come next. Even with the gold mine we’d found at Doyle’s militia camp, we were nowhere near ready in terms of security and supplies. Plus, taking in more survivors meant that we’d have to pull together even more supplies and food before winter hit.
Wes drove the Jeep into the church parking lot near the edge of town. Aside from some corpses, I didn’t see any of the zeds Wes was talking about. We pulled up next to the Humvee where two of Tyler’s most trusted men stood on the hood. Tack was looking through binoculars while Griz kept watch.
Tack had joined the National Guard a few months before the outbreak. He’d finished basic training, but still looked like he belonged in high school. He was as scrawny as ever, but no one messed with him. He was too damn likable.
Griz, on the other hand, had over a year under his belt in the Army before the outbreak. He had plenty of muscle, and was a Golden Gloves boxing champ. A trader had dared to mess with him once. No one ever messed with Griz again.
Griz eyed Clutch. “You sure you should be out here today?”
“Fuck off” was Clutch’s quick response.
Griz lifted his hands in surrender and smirked. “No harm, no foul, man.”
Tack lowered his binoculars to look Clutch over. “Good to have you back, man.”
I jumped out and walked over to stand at the front of the Humvee. Even from this distance several blocks away, it was easy to guess which house the survivors were in. Hanging from a second story window was a bed sheet with the word HELP written across it. And, it was the only house surrounded by zeds.
“Son of a bitch,” I said. “There must be forty zeds.” We couldn’t take that many without burning through precious ammunition. “You sure there are even survivors left inside?” I asked, selfishly hoping we didn’t have to go near a herd this size.
“I’m sure,” Tack replied, not looking very happy about the fact. “They hung that sign after they saw us. And they’ve been antsy ever since.”
The rumble of a big engine came up from behind. I turned to find Tyler and several more of Camp Fox’s scouts arrive in a Humvee. Tyler jumped out. Sometimes, I thought he seemed too young to be leading Camp Fox, but then I remembered we were the same age. After the outbreak hit, being nearly thirty wasn’t seen as young anymore. Especially since there was hardly anyone over the age of fifty remaining. Then again, there was hardly anyone of any age remaining anymore.
When Tyler saw Clutch, he raised a brow, clearly surprised. “Sarge.”
“Captain,” Clutch said as Tyler approached Tack and Griz’s Humvee.