100 Days in Deadland (Deadland Saga, #1)(58)

I waited impatiently for Doyle to eat first. Could I trust the man enough to not poison us?

Hell, no.

“You need to start rationing better,” Tyler said. “Camp Fox doesn’t have enough supplies to keep this up. Our munitions are already under forty percent. With how many more zeds are projected to show up over the next few months, you need to conserve.”

Doyle handed a final plate to Clutch before taking one for himself. “Without supplies, we can’t clear out Fox Hills and make it habitable again.”

Tyler didn’t look happy. “I have three times as many men as you, yet you’re going through more supplies. You’re forcing my hand. I’m going to talk with Lendt about cutting your rations.”

Doyle gritted his teeth. “You don’t have the authority, Masden. Lendt runs the show, not you. And with Clutch joining up, we’re going to need more supplies so we can hit the zeds even harder.”

Clutch pounded a fist on the table “Godammit, Doyle. Get it through that thick skull of yours. I’m never hooking up with you and your crew of lowlifes.”

“I bet with the right persuasion, you would,” Doyle replied quietly.

Clutch looked at me. “Let’s go.” He came to his feet, grabbed his rifle, and headed straight for the door.

The scrape of silverware on plates turned to silence.

Still chewing, I jumped up, grabbed my rifle, and followed Clutch.

“Hold up.” Doyle shoved to his feet.

Clutch paused, his hand on the handle.

Doyle approached, his two Dogs alongside him. “Let me show you something.”

Tyler stood, throwing a worrisome glance in my direction. Griz and Tack didn’t look any happier.

Clutch stepped to the side, and Doyle walked outside, and we all followed him toward the northern edge of the camp. I kept eying Clutch, and I suspected that he knew, as I did, that Doyle’s attempt at pretenses had just vanished.

As we walked, the sickly sour reek of decay became more and more prevalent.

Clutch was scowling. “What is this about, Doyle?”

“Patience. You’ll see soon enough.”

A Dog wearing a surgical mask stood at a chain-link door built into the plywood-covered fence. Doyle wrapped a bandana around his face and motioned to the guard, who hastily unbolted the lock and held the door open. He tilted his head as his leader walked through.

Cautiously, I followed Clutch through the door, with Tyler, Griz, Tack, and Doyle’s two guards at my back.

I nearly threw up the food I’d just eaten. The stench was horrific. No wonder they’d had so many fires burning within the fences. They weren’t for preparing food and water. They were to cover the stench of death.

With my hand covering my nose and mouth, I edged toward the rim of the deep pit piled high with bodies. Hundreds of zeds were piled onto one another. None moved. All showed severe head trauma. Many had been burned, but the bodies on top were fresh, not yet burned. Half-rotted corpses sprawled upon one another, as though they’d been dumped there, dozens or more at a time.

The zeds on top looked like they’d been killed within the last couple days. What had been an older woman in a floral apron lay contorted, with one leg bent behind its back, staring lifelessly at me through gray glassy eyes.

Not far from her lay a toddler with a Tonka truck in a death-grip to its chest. She’d been young when she died, smaller than the ones I’d seen at the school.

The school.

I swayed, and Clutch leaned closer, his solid mass grounding me.

“Zeds rely on their sense of smell more. The stink seems to serve as a natural deterrent,” Doyle said. “And it helps mask the scents that humans live within the fence.”

I shook my head, unconvinced. The risk of disease seemed too high to have this much death near the camp.

“Why are you showing us this?” Clutch asked from my side.

“Zeds are an inconvenient bunch.” Doyle said. “My men have taken out nearly five hundred deadheads since the outbreak. But we’re seeing zeds passing through in greater numbers every week. My militia is the only thing standing between genocide and survival.”

“Your militia?” Tyler asked. “Careful, Doyle. You’re toeing the line.”

Doyle brushed him off with a wave of his hand.

Tyler frowned. “I’ve given you leeway since your men have been doing a good job at taking down zeds. But that doesn’t mean you’re not replaceable.”

Doyle’s face reddened. “You have no concept of the type of leadership that’s needed in times like these.”

Tyler took a step closer. “I have a better idea than you think.”

Clutch chortled. “I’m done with this bullshit. I’m taking Cash and we’re heading back to my farm.” He pointed at Doyle. “And from this moment on, your Dogs will leave us alone and stick with their job of killing zeds. Any act of aggression toward my people will result in more of your men being killed. Got it? I’m not f*cking around, Doyle.”

Doyle stiffened. “You need to remember one thing: You don’t want to be my enemy.”





Chapter XI


“Are you threatening me?” Clutch demanded, stepping between Doyle and me.

“If I was threatening you,” Doyle said. “I’d have said how easy it would be to have you all shot and thrown into the pit to rot with these corpses and no one would be the wiser. I’m simply saying I’m someone you’d much rather have as a friend than as an enemy.”