Rachel Aukes: Deadland's Harvest

Deadland’s Harvest

By

Rachel Aukes

Part 2 of the Deadland Saga

The seven deadly sins, with a shambling twist

The Deadland Saga

100 Days in Deadland

Deadland’s Harvest

Deadland Rising (coming late 2014)

Table of Contents

PURGATORY (Ch. 1-9)

PRIDE (Ch. 10-12)

ENVY (Ch. 13-14)

WRATH (Ch. 15-16)

SLOTH (Ch. 17-18)

GREED (Ch. 19-21)

GLUTTONY (Ch. 22-24)

LUST (Ch. 25-27)

NEW EDEN (Ch. 28-33)

Author’s Note

About the Author

Acknowledgements

For myparents.

Thank you for letting me read all the comic books I wanted.

PURGATORY

Chapter I

“Cash!”

I tried to open my eyes, but they were glued shut. I opened my mouth to respond, but my tongue was too parched and swollen. I couldn’t even move through the shivers that racked my dew-drenched body.

“Cash! Damn it, where are you, girl? Cash!”

I willed strength into my arms to push myself up, but could barely lift my head.

I wanted to tell whoever was calling to me to be quiet, that the herd had disappeared only a few hours earlier. Instead, I could barely force out a rough, garbled syllable. “ Here .” Trying to speak choked my sandpaper throat. Blood trickled from my cracked lips.

“Cash!”

The voice was closer and louder now, echoed by other voices, each one calling my name. I pried my eyes open, but the world remained a cloudy blur.

“Up here,” I called out louder this time, though the words still came out as only a coarse whisper.

With the last of my strength, I rolled over the backpack that had been propping me up on the angled roof, and let myself roll down. As I picked up speed, I clawed at the shingles to slow my descent, but it did nothing but scrape the skin from my fingers. I fell off the edge and plummeted to the ground ten feet below. Agony shot through my abused body, and I collapsed, my head hitting the ground with a thud.

A pleasant numbness followed, and crystalline stars glittered through my vision. They were the first things in over a day that I could see sharply. As the stars faded, I could make out a man-like shape moving toward me.

A gunshot fired, and the shape collapsed. The acrid stench of plague and rot hit me.

Zed.

Another shape approached, and I tried to kick away, but my limbs weighed a ton, my movements sluggish. Arms wrapped around me, holding me in a relentless grip. I whimpered as I waited for dull, broken teeth to shred my skin.

“Cash, I’ve got you. You’re safe now.”

Once the words sunk in, the tension in my muscles gave way, and I inhaled the fresh soapy smell of a man who’d recently bathed. Through my blurry vision, I could barely make out the blond clean-shaven soldier in full gear. “Tyler?”

“Yes, it’s me. I’ve got you. Everything’s going to be okay.”

I felt myself lifted off the ground and I held onto his shirt. My leg that had a gunshot through it throbbed with each sway of Captain Tyler Masden’s steps, but I welcomed the pain. It meant I was alive.

They found me!

It was hard to think, with black clouds drowning my happy thoughts as quickly as they came. I was jostled around and found myself laying on a cold hard surface. The rumble of a big engine starting reverberated through my body. My consciousness ebbed against the soothing engine vibration, but I didn’t mind. I was safe now.

“Holy shit, she’s alive.” I heard Griz’s familiar deep voice off to my left, sounding a million miles away.

“Here,” Tyler said, lifting my head. “Drink this.”

Something pressed against my lips. Cool liquid poured into my mouth and streamed over my tongue. I tried to gulp the water, but it burned, and I choked. I coughed out nearly everything I had drunk. When Tyler held the bottle to my mouth again, he only allowed a trickle of water to pass through. I took a tiny sip. Then another.

“You’ve been up on that roof for two days?” Tyler asked while I forced down the water my cramping stomach threatened to heave.

I tried to nod, but that sent more water dribbling down my chin and neck.

Tyler pulled the bottle away. “Whoa. That’s enough for now. You have to take it slow, or else you’ll get sick.”

“More,” I said, reaching for the water again.

Someone touched my calf, and I hissed. Pain from the gunshot wound burned up my leg, causing me to wince. Blackness tunneled my vision.

A whistle. “That’s a nasty infection. You’re damn lucky we found you when we did.”

“Hurts,” I muttered. I didn’t feel lucky. I felt like hell.

“Everything’s going to be okay,” Tyler said, rubbing my shoulder. “You’re safe now.”

“ We’re safe. Doyle’s dead,” I said, finally able to get out more than one word just as I felt my body fade into a colorless place between day and night.

“I know. You did well,” Tyler said. “We drove through the area yesterday, but the place was still crawling with zeds.” A pause. “Damn. I’d just about given up on you, but Clutch was convinced you were still alive.”

My jumbled mind tried to process words that made no sense. Clutch couldn’t have said those words. It was impossible. That Clutch could’ve spoken anything was impossible. A vision of when I’d last seen Clutch cut through the clouds in my head. “But Clutch…”

Tyler gripped my shoulder. “Clutch is alive. And he’s pissed—we’re all pissed—you went after the militia on your own.”

* * *

Thankfully, the next few weeks went by in a blur. When I remembered the flight over Doyle’s camp and my attack on his Dogs—the militia—the memories were so fresh that they seemed like yesterday. I could still smell the smoke from the grenade blast, and I could still hear the never-ending moans of the zeds surrounding me as I waited on the roof. Had I waited up there to die? To be saved? Hell, to be honest, it was a bit of both.

Fortunately, I didn’t have to dwell on such things for long. After three days of being confined to bed and on IVs, Doc had cleared me to return to my cabin. It took me another ten days before I’d been able to walk without using crutches, but that didn’t stop me from signing up for any tasks to keep busy.

Doc had said I’d gotten lucky that the bullet from the Dog’s rifle had been a through-and-through and that it hadn’t hit an artery or bone. I was even luckier that the bullet hadn’t been dipped in infected blood as the Dogs had become notorious for doing.

Several times a day, I’d rub my leg to remind myself that it hadn’t all been a just a bad dream. By some miracle, I’d gone into the pit of hell and came out alive.

Clutch hadn’t been so lucky. It had taken another two and a half weeks before Doc had cleared him to leave the infirmary. With the injuries he’d sustained during the Camp Fox attack, he had a long battle ahead of him. No one said anything when Clutch went through painkillers and booze a bit too quickly. He was angry most of the time and a muted version of himself the rest of the time. His injuries had pulled him into a dark place that I hadn’t yet been able to reach. But he was alive. That was what mattered most to me.

While we recuperated and worked on physical therapy, Fox scouts cleared out Doyle’s basement that I’d discovered after killing him. The large underground space chock full of military surplus, weapons, ammo, and food was exactly what Camp Fox’s morale needed. With those supplies and the militia no longer a threat, people finally felt like they had a shot at getting through the winter.