100 Days in Deadland (part 1 of the Deadland Saga)

Arrogance (Chapter 9)

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.

My lip curled in return. Feeling's mutual, bud.

"We need to talk," Clutch stated.

"We'll talk," Doyle said, giving Clutch a wide smile. "But first, let's get you folks inside where it's safe. Damn zeds are starting to come out of the woodwork." He swaggered back through the now-open gate.