100 Days in Deadland Read Online Free PDF Page B

him, and pulled out a garbage bag. “You’re covered in zed sludge, and I don’t know how contagious that shit is. Everything’s got to go. I’ll burn it tomorrow.”
    He held open the garbage bag. I shot him a hard glare while I unbuttoned what was left of my shirt.
    He sighed. “Don’t worry. I won’t look. You’re not my type, anyway. Too scrawny.”
    “Scrawny?” I asked but received no response.
    Clutch kept his word, looking over my head while I stripped out of my disgusting clothes. I stopped at my bra and underwear. “Nothing soaked through.”
    He glanced down and grimaced, like he wasn’t enjoying himself. I scowled. I wasn’t that hard on the eyes, and I was petite, most certainly not scrawny.
    “Turn around,” he ordered. “I have to check.”
    I gingerly spun and felt his eyes on my back. I shivered, more self-conscious than I’d ever been in my life. If I’d known how this day was going to turn out, I wouldn’t have worn a thong. Then again, I would’ve done many things differently.
    “I think they’re savable,” Clutch drawled out in a rough voice. “Throw both in the wash when you’re done with your shower.”
    Turning back to face him, I covered my chest as best I could with my arms, though thankfully Clutch was busy looking anywhere but at me.
    “The shower’s upstairs. Second door on your left. I set out something you can wear for tonight. Dinner will be ready by the time you’re done.”
    “Got it,” I said and hustled past him.
    “Oh, and Cash…”
    I paused.
    “Be sure to scrub good and hard,” he called out behind me. “You’ve got bits of your boyfriend’s brain in your hair.”
    Bile rose in my throat, and I bolted up the stairs, taking them two at a time. Once in the bathroom, I took deep breaths, refusing to look in the mirror. When I had control of myself again, I pulled off my remaining clothes in a rush, cranked on the shower, and hopped in before it was warm.
    The cold water that ran down the drain was brown at first, with little flecks of things I didn’t want to think about. I set the water as hot as I could stand, grabbed the washcloth, and started scrubbing. Clutch clearly wasn’t married, because the shower/tub combo only had a bar of soap and a bottle of generic shampoo.
    I washed my hair three times before I felt relatively confident that it was clean. And, I scrubbed at my skin until it was red, standing under the spray until it was lukewarm.
    Stepping out, I grabbed the towel left out on top of a thin stack of clothes, and dried myself off. I caught my breath when I looked into the mirror. Dark circles underlined my bloodshot eyes. Fresh bruises marred my chest courtesy of Melanie. I looked like shit, plain and simple.
    Picking up the clothes he’d left, I found a pair of white long john bottoms and a gray T-shirt with ARMY across the front. Both were huge on me. The shirt nearly went to my knees, and the bottoms slid down every time I moved. Sifting through the well-stocked medicine cabinet, I found a couple large safety pins and tightened the long johns around my waist.
    I couldn’t find a brush, so it took ten painful minutes to finger-comb through my snarled, unconditioned mess. Finally, my strands began to resemble hair again, with its bold red streaks interlaced with the black. Reaching for the dental floss, I pulled out a long strand and used it to tie my hair back before it snarled all over again.
    Glancing down at the discarded pile of underwear, I grimaced. I really didn’t want to touch anything that I’d worn today. I probably should’ve tossed it, but I went ahead and wrapped the towel around the tiny pile of undergarments and carried everything down to the washer in the mudroom.
    I walked past the kitchen on my way to the mudroom, and saw Clutch pulling plates from a cabinet. His back was to me, though I had no doubt he knew I was there. His back was broad, like he worked out every day. He was well over twice my size. Part of me