Deadland's Harves(95)

As people settled in new clothes and sleeping bags, Tyler tried to reach Griz and Jase on the handheld, but the signal was weak in the building. He decided it wasn’t worth the risk of going outside after dark, and set up his sleeping pad and bag next to the wall.

“Do you want Clutch and me to go check on them?” I asked hopefully. The idea of being safe and comfortable while Jase and Griz was who-knew-where and caught up in who-knew-what seemed like a betrayal, and the guilt was eating at me.

Tyler didn’t look up. “No. Get some rest.”

“They might be looking for us.”

“We need to keep everyone as centrally located as possible. I can’t risk sending out scouts at night. I’ll try to reach them again in the morning.”

I never moved and watched him for a moment. He had his hands in his pocket and he seemed to be staring off into nowhere, though his jaw was clenched tight. “You want to talk about it?”

“No.”

I stood there for another long moment and finally sighed. “Okay. Sleep tight.”

I started to walk away, but then Tyler said something I couldn’t hear.

“What’s that?” I asked.

He nearly collapsed as he sat down. He rubbed his temples before looking up. “I screwed up.”

I frowned and took a seat next to him. I placed a hand on his shoulder. “How so?”

“The fire.” He leaned back against the wall. “It’s my fault.”

Confused, I cocked my head. “How is it your fault? The plan was solid. No one knew the bridge wouldn’t hold.”

“I ordered the mission. It’s my fault.”

Clutch, who’d just walked up, handed Tyler and me each a plastic bottle with a price tag still on it. “Water,” he said. “It may still have a bit of charcoal taste, but it’s okay to drink.”

“Thanks,” I said and waited for Tyler to continue. When he didn’t, I did. “Someone had to take charge on the Aurora or else we would’ve kept debating until it was too late. You may have ordered the mission, but I volunteered for it. If you’re looking for blame, it falls on every single person in this room. We’re all in this together. Wins, losses, they belong to all of us.”

Tyler’s lips pursed and he looked off to the side.

“You know something?” Clutch asked after taking a drink from his own bottle. “If you didn’t feel the weight of making tough decisions, then I couldn’t ever respect you. I’ve got to admit, I didn’t like you at first. I wanted to kick your ass, to tell the truth, but you earned my respect. You’re the right leader for Camp Fox. You’re not afraid to lead but you’ve also held onto your compassion. That’s rare nowadays. You’re exactly what we need.”

Tyler’s brow rose and the tension seemed to bleed from his features. “You mean that?”

Clutch held up a hand. “Jesus. Don’t expect a hug or anything.”

Tyler chuckled, and it was the first time I’d seen his smile for some time. “You two had better get some rest. Who knows how long a trip we’ve got ahead of us.”

Reluctantly, I set up a sleeping bag next to Clutch, and we waited for Jase and Griz to show up. Vicki warmed up the camping area by lighting fires in small charcoal grills.

Near dawn, shouting snapped me awake. Blinding light from flashlights shone on us from every direction, and I shaded my eyes, searching to make out the source. Shots were fired, echoed by cries and more shouting.

“Faces down! Don’t move! If you move, we will shoot you!”

Before Clutch and I made startled, terrified eye contact, I saw one of our assailants dressed in full camo hunting gear.

Bandits.





Chapter XXIX


“Jesus. Except for their vehicles, these guys don’t have shit,” one of the bandits said to the man in charge while we all knelt on the freezing ground outside the store. Well, we all knelt except for the two Fox guards who had been on duty when the bandits arrived. No one had seen them since, and I suspected we would never see them again.

One of the bandits had moved the Humvee that blocked the entrance and was now rummaging through all of our vehicles. “Where’s your food?”

“We don’t have any,” someone said.

Every single one of the bandits had a mean look, like they were all pissed off at the world and thought they deserved special treatment now. The leader, missing three fingers on his left hand, had the cruelest look of all. One of his men had called him Hodge, and we all avoided meeting his gaze. He had a mean look, like he’d been this way even before the outbreak. His eyes—cunning like a fox—seemed devoid of any emotion as he looked over the Camp Fox survivors like we were nothing more than cattle.