100-Days-in-Deadland(67)

He turned and disappeared inside, and I stared at Clutch, frozen.

Because we both knew that zeds didn’t cry.





Chapter X


Clutch stepped through the doorway. “What the f*ck is going on inside that silo?”

“It’s our smokehouse,” Doyle replied calmly.

“Not that one,” Tyler said. “I heard it, too. It sounded like a person in the middle silo.”

Doyle lifted his hands. “It’s not what you think, gentlemen. Any survivor who wants to join the militia must go through survival training. I need to know that every man on my team will obey me, no matter what the order. No man becomes a minuteman until every man on my team knows he can count on him with his life. What’s going on within that silo is nothing more than a hazing ritual every man undergoes when he’s ready to take on the title of ‘minuteman’.”

“Then show us,” Clutch demanded.

Doyle smiled smugly. “I’d be happy to, but first, let’s eat. I’m starving.”

No one moved.

“You have my word,” Doyle added. “Now, come and have a seat. I’ve asked for some leftovers to be brought in for us.” Doyle motioned us to a table. The room, with one large bay window, offered a generous view of much of the camp. In the corner sat a large wood desk covered in stacks of papers and books.

We moved cautiously inside.

Doyle laughed silently, as though he found something funny. “You know, Clutch, most folks wouldn’t have the balls to rob me like you did.”

“I figured your store was fair game,” Clutch replied. “How was I to know you survived the outbreak?”

Doyle held up a hand. “Fair enough. But you killed five of my men. You’re lucky I didn’t repay kind with kind.”

“Seven. The two men you sent today are dead,” Tyler said, and Doyle’s face tightened. Tyler continued. “While their deaths are tragic, I’m not arresting anyone. Attacking civilians stops now, Doyle. If anything like this happens again, I’m putting you in the brig and having your militia reassigned to Camp Fox.”

Doyle’s lips tightened. “Most of my men are simple farmers. The stress of the outbreak may have proved too much for some to handle. But I don’t have anyone with military training here to help. If Clutch joined my team, I could ensure there’d be no more…misunderstandings.”

Clutch and Tyler chortled in stereo. I frowned. Where the hell had Doyle gotten the idea that Clutch would join the Dogs? Hell, he’d been attacking us for the past week, and now he thought Clutch would sign up with a smile. He should hate Clutch for killing his men. It was almost as if he’d wanted Clutch to come to him all along. But why?

“You don’t have the authority,” Tyler said. “This man is Army and has been reactivated. He goes to Camp Fox under Lendt’s command.”

I could feel the tension roiling off Clutch, yet he sat there, saying nothing.

“Bah!” Doyle waved a hand through the air. “It’d be a waste for Clutch to join Fox, and he doesn’t want to, anyway.”

Tyler narrowed his eyes. “How would you know?”

Doyle blew him off. “Besides, the National Guard has never been anything but wet nurses. The militia is the people’s real protector. I’ve seen the future, and it ain’t pretty. The only way to protect people is to be hard. That Clutch took out two of my men today proves it all the more. Clutch would be a good fit here.”

“Excuse me? You don’t have the authority.” Tyler came to his feet, and the two soldiers with him stepped closer.

Doyle ignored him. “Really, Clutch, tell me. Do you think you can hold down your farm against the zeds that will be pouring out from every major city with only a kid and a wetback?”

My jaw dropped, and I stood. “Wetback?”

Clutch grabbed my arm, whether to protect me or keep me from going for Doyle’s throat, I didn’t know. He glared. “Watch it, Doyle.”

I put a hand on my hip. “My mother was Puerto Rican, and my dad was Irish. I was born here, just like my parents, and my parents’ parents before them. That makes me as American as anyone in this room, so f*ck off.”

Doyle smirked. “No wonder you’re keeping this one for yourself. She’s feisty. She’d make good bait.”

I went to raise my rifle, but Clutch latched onto my forearm. I tried to rein back my temper, failing miserably.