100 Days in Deadland (Deadland Saga, #1)(61)
I chortled. “We’ll never make it if we don’t take the law into our own hands.” It was futile trying to convince Tyler that the world was no longer wrapped with a comforting blanket of rules and traditions. We could no longer afford the luxury of hiding accountability beneath layers of red tape. Doyle wouldn’t follow the rules. Neither could we. In a matter of days, we’d toppled from thinking we were wolves to realizing that we were only rabbits.
I broke eye contact to look out the window. We were approaching tall chain-link fences, topped with razor wire, surrounding what looked to be at least ten acres of a National Guard base.
Camp Fox.
Too wide open for a solid defense. Too many areas for zeds to break through.
A white wind turbine rotated smoothly, towering above the base. My jaw dropped. “You have power?”
Tyler nodded. “Camp Fox has had its own wind energy for over five years now.”
“Showers?”
His lips curved. “Yes, we even have hot water.” I rested my head on the seat and fantasized about standing under a steamy shower as we approached the gate. Unfortunately, I couldn’t allow myself the luxury of fantasies. Not with Clutch’s—and my—current situation.
Several Humvees and armored vehicles rested on the other side of the tall fence. Camp Fox certainly wasn’t lacking firepower, though Clutch and I had watched on television while cities like D.C. and L.A. fell, despite having massive military power on their streets.
Two soldiers stood while a third stepped inside a guard’s box and opened the gate. They saluted Tyler as we passed through the gate, and he saluted in return. It was then I realized that I might never see the farm again.
“Will Smitty stay with Jase and Eddy tonight?” I asked, knowing that Jase had to be getting worried before long.
“I’m having the boys brought here tonight,” Tyler replied. “I’ll see that you connect with Jase tomorrow morning. I thought it would be safer than leaving him at the farm.”
“I suppose so,” I murmured, though I wasn’t exactly confident in Camp Fox’s strength, not after seeing the way Doyle had scoffed at Tyler.
Beyond the gate stood several small pens holding livestock. A lone bull with wide horns stood in a closed-off area across the road. No doubt this setup was to protect the animals from zeds, but to me, it was like setting out bait. Once zeds depleted the local population, they’d come in hordes to Camp Fox in search for food.
A single zed was easy to kill. They were dumb, slow things. Easy to outthink and outmaneuver. But a herd never tired. Tall fences and bullets couldn’t protect these people. They were rounded up for an all-you-can-eat smorgasbord. I felt a hundred times safer at the farm, where we were ready to bug out at the first sign of herds.
As the Humvee curved around the Camp’s winding roads, people milled around, some worked the gardens while others carried loads. Two young children played with a ball. Several looked up as we passed. Many smiled and waved as though these men were their saviors, which I supposed was true.
Seeing so many people in one place, I couldn’t help but feel a pang of hope. Maybe Jase would be safer here than alone at the farm, for at least now. Maybe Tyler was right. Maybe Camp Fox could recreate civilization. Maybe, just maybe, they could withstand zeds.
We continued past several barracks, all of which had people in regular clothes walking nearby. After another few blocks, Nick pulled to a stop outside a square brick building with a sign that read Camp Fox HQ outside.
Griz and Tack climbed out back before Tyler opened his door. Each man grabbed my arms and pulled me across the seat. With my wrists tied, I nearly stumbled climbing down from the Humvee.
As soon as Tack shut the door, the Humvee drove off, leaving the four of us standing alone in the small parking lot. The sun had already begun to set, casting a warm orange glow onto the red bricks. Clutch was in the direction of the falling sun. What would he be doing now? Would he be tied up like I was, or was he playing along with Doyle?
Tyler tugged me along and I had to hurry to keep up with his longer strides. Griz and Tack followed us up the steps and through the double doors.
Inside, the building seemed innocuous. With the exception of military insignias, the main area could’ve passed for any town hall. Tyler stopped us at the front desk, where a man and woman sat. He was in uniform, while she wore jeans. “Is the Colonel available?” Tyler asked.
The woman spoke first. “He is. Shall I let him know you’re coming?”
“Yes, thank you,” Tyler nodded and then turned to me. A pained look flashed across his face before he turned to the two soldiers with us. “Escort the prisoner to interrogation room one.” He gave me a final, almost-pained glance before turning on his heel and hurrying down a hallway.
Tension grew in my muscles.
“This way, sugar,” Griz said.
With one man on either side, they walked me down a hallway, stopping when we came to an opened door.
Tack flipped a switch, and light flooded the room. The room sat empty except for a table and two chairs.
Griz nudged me inside, and I winced at the sudden brightness. With his rifle, he motioned to a chair. “Take a seat.”
I swallowed and obeyed and was somewhat surprised that they didn’t restrain me to the chair, not that I was an expert on interrogations. The sum of my experience came from what I’d seen on TV. They left me alone, closing the door behind them. I suspected at least one of them remained just outside the door, but I could neither see nor hear them.