100 Days in Deadland (Deadland Saga, #1)(54)
“And it looks like the deal has already been sweetened,” Clutch muttered, nodding toward the two armored vehicles sitting at the gate. “How many M1117’s did you guys hand over to Doyle?”
“They needed lead-in trucks for survivor runs,” Tyler replied quietly.
“Christ, Captain,” Clutch said. “You’re handing Doyle everything he needs to take over the Camp.”
“Watch your tone, sergeant. The militia has been instrumental in clearing zeds from the area and locating survivors. Doyle may have one hell of a temper and a superiority complex, but he’s turned farmers and kids into a militia that gets results.”
The Humvee slowed to a stop at the gate.
Guard towers stood behind the fence, one on each side of the gate. A man in each tower had his rifle aimed at us. Two more men—one of them Sean—with automatic rifles stepped through a small door next to the gate.
Sean saw Clutch and visibly tensed. After a moment’s hesitation, he warily walked up to Tyler’s window, while the other man stood back several feet with his rifle leveled on the Humvee.
Sean nodded toward us in the backseat. “What are they doing here, Captain?”
Tyler rested his arm on his door. “Open the gate, Sean. I’m here to see Doyle.”
Sean pursed his lips, clutching an AR-15 that matched the rifles Tyler’s team carried. “I’m afraid I can’t, sir.” He nodded in Clutch’s direction. “I can’t let in any unauthorized people. Not until I clear it with Doyle.”
“It’s not the reserve militia’s place to turn back any citizen,” Tyler gritted out.
“Doyle’s orders,” Sean replied.
“I have the authority here, Private,” Tyler snapped. “Open the damn gate!”
The man behind Sean lifted his rifle. “You *s from Camp Fox don’t tell us what to do. That bastard killed our friends!” His wild-eyes homed in on Clutch at the same time he aimed his rifle.
I sucked in a breath. Pulled up my rifle. Clutch was in the way. I couldn’t get a clear shot.
“Fuck this,” Clutch muttered as he lifted his rifle and pulled the trigger.
ARROGANCE
The Sixth Circle of Hell
Chapter IX
The Dog yelped, dropped his rifle, and cradled his hand to his chest.
“Cease fire! Cease fire!” Tyler yelled, jumping out from the front seat.
I waited for the Dogs to gun us down, but they never did. Clutch sat, unmoving, next to me, with his Blaser leveled on the whimpering Dog.
"Beware the man with only one gun, because he knows how to use it. Ain’t that right, Clutch,” an older man with a voice that sounded like he’d smoked a pack a day for forty years straight said as he emerged from the door at the gate.
“Doyle,” Clutch muttered under his breath.
I frowned. This was Doyle?
This man could have been anyone’s grandfather. He was tall and slim, with a casual swagger in his step. His cap and sunglasses hid many features, though weathered skin and tufts of white hair curling out from his cap hinted at an advanced age.
Nevertheless, I held my breath as he picked the rifle off the ground and handed it back to the whimpering man who now sported a bullet hole through his hand. Tyler stood between the Humvee and Doyle, as though protecting us.
“At ease, men,” Doyle said. “We don’t turn folks away. Especially one of our own.”
“But, Doyle,” Sean said with a frown, not lowering his rifle from Clutch and me. “You said—”
“But, nuthin’,” Doyle interrupted. He motioned to one of the guard boxes above the fence. “Open up.”
Metal clanged and two Dogs pushed open the creaky gate.
Wary, I kept an eye on Doyle as he stopped in front of Tyler. The older man looked harmless enough, though I knew to trust my gut. And my gut was screaming at me to shoot him already, grab Clutch, and get the hell out of there.
I’d seen enough. We needed to get as far from these guys as we could and fast.
“Sorry about the confusion, Captain,” Doyle said. “My boys simply tend to get a bit energetic in protecting their families.”
“Bullshit, Sergeant Doyle,” Tyler snapped. “You need to get your minutemen in line.”
Doyle smirked, and then shrugged. “Guess you’re just going to have to eat that bullshit, Masden. I report to Lendt, not you. You can’t touch me, not as long as my little militia is handling your zed problem. You know it, and I know it.”
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.