100 Days in Deadland (Deadland Saga, #1)(52)

“That’s what you said last time,” Clutch said. “No. I’ll make sure they won’t bother us again.”

Tyler ran a hand through his hair. “Those two minutemen lying dead in that truck were sworn in. Attacking the militia is the same as attacking Camp Fox. Even though this was a clear case of self-defense, I can’t let you go after Doyle on your own. We have to go through the proper channels.”

My hands flung to my hips. “So the Dogs have get-out-of-jail cards to kill, steal, and rape?”

“I’m not saying that,” Tyler replied quickly. “You have to understand. It’s a tricky situation.”

Clutch paced, stopped, and paced some more. “If you want to help, take us to Doyle.”


“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” Tyler cautioned.

Clutch spun on his heel and pointed at Tyler. “I’m going to see Doyle with or without your help, Captain. You can either take me to him or stay out of my way. Doesn’t matter.”

Tyler frowned and stared at the truck for several agonizing moments. Finally, he spoke. “I was going to see Doyle today, anyway. You can ride along.” He held up a finger. “But I have to take the lead. Doyle can be a bit…difficult.”

“Difficult?” I asked. “You said he reported to this Lendt guy.”

“He does, but Lendt’s offered him some leniency as long as the militia delivers results,” Tyler said before motioning toward the Humvee. A soldier stepped out from the back, followed by a teenager in jeans and a T-shirt carrying a cardboard box.

“Eddy!” Jase called out, coming out from where he’d taken cover behind a shrub.

The new kid nearly dropped the box in his rush. Tyler grabbed the box, and Eddy hurdled a collapsed part of the fence. “Jase!”

While the two teenagers slapped each other’s shoulders and bantered, Tyler set the box on the gate. “MREs. Enough to feed six for one week.”

Clutch took the box, set it on the ground next to him, and rummaged through it. “How about ammo?”

Tyler shook his head. “I can’t authorize the transfer of ammo. Even if I could, Camp Fox is an armory, not a munitions site. We barely have enough for ourselves.”

Clutch’s lips tightened. He headed back to the Jeep and grabbed his backpack. “Let’s go meet Doyle.”

Tyler didn’t look pleased, but he motioned to the young, clean-cut man behind him, who walked up to us. “I’ll leave Corporal Smith behind to help bury the minutemen and guard the place.”

“How do I know I can trust your man?” Clutch countered.

I put a hand on Clutch’s forearm and looked at Tyler. “If he stays, he’s not allowed in the house, and he does what Jase says. Aside from the MREs, you haven’t exactly proven that we can trust Camp Fox.”

Clutch’s jaw was clenched, but he nodded. He turned to Jase. “You get all that?”

Jase looked up from where he and Eddy were playing with Mutt. “Yeah. Want me to start working on the gate?”

“No,” Clutch said. “That truck isn’t going anywhere. It’s a better barricade than the gate was right now. We’ll get it fixed tomorrow. Just keep an eye out.”

“Can I stay, Captain?” Eddy asked.

“Eddy and I were in the same class. We played football together,” Jase added, and then stuck out his chest. “Of course, I could outrun Eddy any day of the week.”

Eddy razzed Jase right back while Tyler smiled. “You both stay out of trouble. We’ll be back in a couple hours. Smitty has a radio, so have him call me if you need anything.” The corporal jumped the fence and Clutch gave him a once-over as he walked over to the two boys.

“Let my mom know I’m all right, okay, Captain?” Eddy asked.

Tyler gave him a thumbs up before turning back to us, and he looked at my M24. “You won’t need your rifles on this trip.”

I clutched it harder as I climbed over the gate. “I always need my rifle.”

He opened his mouth to speak but shut it. He waved at the Humvee. “Nick, Griz, Tack, you’re with me.”

Clutch hopped the fence, his Blaser in tow. He brushed past Tyler, and opened the back door of the Humvee. I climbed in, followed by Clutch who sidled next to me.

Tyler took the front passenger seat, and I noticed another soldier behind the steering wheel. In the rear of the vehicle, I found two more soldiers: a black man at the .30 cal and a younger, lanky white man who, after seeing us, closed his eyes and leaned his back against the side. Even though neither looked aggressive, I was glad Clutch had sat next to me.

“Meet some of my team,” Tyler motioned to the other men. “Tack and Griz are handling the .30, and Nick’s our fine driver. Guys, meet Cash and…” Tyler turned in his seat to face Clutch. “I didn’t get your name and rank.”

“Seibert, Joseph. Sergeant First Class,” Clutch replied.

“With what unit, Sarge?” Tyler countered quickly.

“75th Ranger Regiment.”

“Hoorah,” the soldier manning the .30 cal called out.

Tyler nodded to the man who spoke. “Griz back there is a Ranger, too.”

“Hoorah,” Clutch replied, lifting a fist in the air.

“Being with the Rangers, I’m guessing you saw some action, then,” Tyler said.