100-Days-in-Deadland(85)

“When’s the next shift arrive?” Clutch asked, turning back to the Dog after watching me kill the zed.

“Eight o’clock,” he replied, his voice cracking.

When I approached the Dog from behind, Clutch nodded, and I disarmed him, startling him. The Dog was young, not much older than Jase, and obviously scared shitless.

“Cripes, kid,” Clutch said. “You’re too young to be caught up with the likes of Doyle.”

The Dog jutted out his chin. “Doyle saved my life. We’re going to make Fox Hills safe again.”

“Keep telling yourself that, kid,” Clutch said.

I lifted a two-way radio I’d found on the Dog’s belt.

Clutch narrowed his eyes. “How often do you report in?”

The Dog swallowed. “The bottom of every hour.”

Clutch glanced at his watch. “Looks like you got seven minutes. What’s the code for all-clear?”

He didn’t answer.

“The code for all-clear?” Clutch asked more firmly, lifting his shotgun.

“The eagle soars,” he replied quickly.

Clutch held out the two-way radio. “Report in. This time, with the right code for all-clear, and I’ll let your last fib pass.”

The Dog’s jaw dropped before he snapped it shut. He nodded tightly. He took the radio, took a deep breath, and clicked the side. “Hamster reporting in. Over.”

“Base. Report. Over.”

“The swallow has flown, repeat, the swallow has flown. Over.”

A slight pause.

“Affirmative. The swallow has flown. Over.”

The Dog handed the radio back to Clutch.

“You aren’t a bad kid. It’s too bad you got hooked up with Doyle.”

“I owe my life to Doyle,” he replied.

“And he’s made sure he gets exactly that from you,” Clutch said. “Dammit, kid. You shouldn’t have lied on the radio.”

“Wha—what?” The Dog’s wide eyes shot up. “No!” he cried out the instant before Clutch blew his brains out.

My mouth fell open.

Clutch slung his shotgun back over his shoulder. “The Dogs need to work on their codes. The Swallow Has Flown is an acronym for the Shit’s Hit the Fan. Code 101.” He kicked at the gravel. “Goddammit, kid, why’d you have to go and force my hand?”

“How much time do you think we have?” I asked, staring at the Dog’s body.

“If he was telling the truth that Lendt hit Doyle’s Camp, then it may take them awhile. Then again, they could have a unit close by already.”

“We better hurry, then.”

We ran back to the bunker. Clutch disappeared inside and came back seconds later with a stuffed backpack. He fastened the door closed and set a combination lock that I hadn’t noticed on top of the door before. We covered the door with tin and debris.

Clutch eyed his big rig, which looked like the Dogs had fun taking a bulldozer to it. “She was a good rig,” he growled.

“We’ll take the Dog’s truck,” I offered, not seeing Clutch’s pickup truck or Jeep anywhere. “I left a car at Jase’s house along with enough supplies to get us by for a few days.”

We sprinted back to the truck and tore down the lane. Clutch turned onto the gravel road, and fortunately, there was no dust in either direction indicating that Dogs were on their way. “We got lucky this morning,” Clutch said.

“I’ll take every bit of luck I can get,” I said.

Clutch nodded. “We can’t risk stopping and grabbing the car right now. We’ll come back for everything else in the bunker and the car after we’ve secured a new location.”

I leaned back, a weight on my chest. I’d already been thinking through how soon I had to transplant the seeds from the garden before it was too late. Not to mention having to start all over with looting runs. It was hard the first time, when we had so much to work with. Now? We were f*cked. I swallowed. “Any thoughts on where we can hide that’s safe from Dogs?”

Clutch shrugged. “They avoid Chow Town.”

“Oh, hell, no,” I said in a rush. When he eyed me suspiciously, I tacked on, “Trust me.”

“Any farm we move to won’t be any safer than mine was,” he said. “That leaves our only option to head out of the area. Or…wait a second.” He snapped his fingers. “I got it.”