100-Days-in-Deadland(65)

I watched Tyler tense as he seethed with anger. “Lendt’s given you leniency, true, and I trust his judgment. But he also trusts my judgment. And after the stories I’ve been hearing from several survivors—including the ones with me today—I’m not convinced your militia should remain separate from Camp Fox, let alone continue to receive supplies.”

Doyle narrowed his eyes at Tyler but said nothing before moving around Tyler to lean on Clutch’s door.

Clutch was clearly tense but he pulled his rifle back inside the window and rested it on his lap. I readjusted mine so that I could take out Doyle in a split second if I had to.

The older man looked me over. His gaze narrowed and his lips turned downward. When Tyler slammed the front door shut, Doyle returned his focus to Clutch. I knew he’d already made his mind up about me: he didn’t like me, plain and simple.

My lip curled in return. Feeling’s mutual, bud.

“We need to talk,” Clutch stated.

“We’ll talk,” Doyle said, giving Clutch a wide smile. “But first, let’s get you folks inside where it’s safe. Damn zeds are starting to come out of the woodwork.” He swaggered back through the now-open gate.

An ominous feeling grew heavy in my gut as our Humvee passed through the high gate and several Dogs closed in around us. “Well, we’re in,” I said, my voice barely a whisper. “And I’m ready to leave.”

Clutch watched me for a moment and then gave a nearly imperceptible nod.

I cradled my rifle as I kept an eye on the Dogs. The man Clutch had shot held his injured hand to his chest as he disappeared inside the first building. Except for one, the remaining men warily watched Clutch like he’d do the same to them. The only guard who didn’t seem concerned was the one too busy leering at me.

I’d seen him once before, when he’d called dibs on me at the greenhouse. I had wanted to shoot him then, too.

When we made eye contact, the weasel wagged his tongue and blew me a kiss. I would’ve flipped him the bird if I wasn’t holding my rifle so tightly. Instead, I turned away to find Clutch watching me, his jaw tight. “Don’t leave my side,” he said gruffly.

I swallowed a nervous chuckle. Like I’d even want to. “I just want to get back to the farm as fast as possible.”

Tyler turned in his seat. “No matter what happens, there’s not to be one more shot fired here, understood? This situation is a tinderbox that’s been getting hotter for some time.”

“Unless we’re forced to protect ourselves, you mean,” I corrected. “Where’d Doyle get these guys? Prison?”

Tyler’s lips pursed. “Stick with me, and everything will be okay. Doyle knows better than to f*ck with Camp Fox. Still, I’m surprised none of them got trigger-happy when Clutch shot one of their friends. We’re damned lucky to be alive,” Tyler replied.

“That shit-for-brains was less than a second away from opening fire on us,” Clutch grated out.

“How do you know that for sure, Sarge?” Tyler asked.

Clutch inhaled and then narrowed his gaze on Tyler. “I’ve seen that look before, plenty of times. I know.”

Clutch’s words evidently sunk in because Tyler seemed to accept them and turned away.

Inside the fence wasn’t any more pleasant than outside. I counted twenty armed men in the camp. No telling how many more were either hidden behind doors or out looting the countryside. I looked at Tyler. “How many Dogs did you say there were?”

“Eighteen,” he replied quietly.

Which would’ve made sixteen after their latest garbage drop-off today. “Looks like Doyle’s been adding to his ranks.”

“Yeah,” Tyler replied, sounding none too pleased.

Doyle stepped in front of the Humvee, and Nick brought us to a stop. The gate behind us closed with a loud clank, locking us inside the camp, which appropriately, felt like a prison.

“They’ve got quite the setup here,” I noted, and Clutch nodded, not looking any happier than I felt.

Second-guessing Clutch’s idea to gain intel on the militia, I stole a glance at him when he reached for the door. He had on his “hard” look, making it impossible to see any emotion except badassness. “Stay with me,” he repeated his words from earlier as he opened the door, grabbed his pack, and climbed out.

Rather than opening the door next to me—and closest to the leering Weasel—I slid across the seat and followed Clutch.