“Without their truck and two men down, it should take them some time to regroup,” I said.
“Doesn’t matter,” Clutch said. “The game’s changed. This is the second time I’ve killed Doyle’s men. He’ll up the ante next. I need to see what we’re up against.”
My brows furrowed. “What do you mean?”
“I mean,” he turned to me, “that I need to see what kind of numbers and firepower Doyle’s got at his disposal.”
My jaw dropped. “Going to see Doyle is suicide.”
Of all the shitty timing, the Humvee pulled up outside the gate. When Tyler stepped out, I kept an eye on Clutch to make sure he wasn’t going to gun down the newcomers. He didn’t shoot. Instead, he stomped forward to meet Tyler at the gate. I followed, not trusting the situation.
“What happened here?” Tyler asked as we approached.
While I knew Clutch had been in the military, it surprised me when he saluted Tyler.
Tyler’s brows lifted, and he saluted back.
“Captain,” Clutch said. “You can’t control your own goddamn militia.”
“They attacked again?”
“Every fucking day.” Clutch pointed at the truck. “Take a look. It’s pretty clear who the aggressor was here. We’re being forced to defend our home against the militia.”
Tyler walked alongside the truck, pausing at the open cab and again at the zeds, before returning to the gate by us. He leaned toward me. “Are you okay?”
I nodded. “No thanks to the Dogs.”
Tyler looked at Clutch. “You have my word. I’ll do my best so that this won’t happen again.”
“That’s what you said last time,” Clutch said. “No. I’ll make sure they won’t bother us again.”
Tyler ran a hand through his hair. “Those two minutemen lying dead in that truck were sworn in. Attacking the militia is the same as attacking Camp Fox. Even though this was a clear case of self-defense, I can’t let you go after Doyle on your own. We have to go through the proper channels.”
My hands flung to my hips. “So the Dogs have get-out-of-jail cards to kill, steal, and rape?”
“I’m not saying that,” Tyler replied quickly. “You have to understand. It’s a tricky situation.”
Clutch paced, stopped, and paced some more. “If you want to help, take us to Doyle.”
“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” Tyler cautioned.
Clutch spun on his heel and pointed at Tyler. “I’m going to see Doyle with or without your help, Captain. You can either take me to him or stay out of my way. Doesn’t matter.”
Tyler frowned and stared at the truck for several agonizing moments. Finally, he spoke. “I was going to see Doyle today, anyway. You can ride along.” He held up a finger. “But I have to take the lead. Doyle can be a bit…difficult.”
“Difficult?” I asked. “You said he reported to this Lendt guy.”
“He does, but Lendt’s offered him some leniency as long as the militia delivers results,” Tyler said before motioning toward the Humvee. A soldier stepped out from the back, followed by a teenager in jeans and a T-shirt carrying a cardboard box.
“Eddy!” Jase called out, coming out from where he’d taken cover behind a shrub.
The new kid nearly dropped the box in his rush. Tyler grabbed the box, and Eddy hurdled a collapsed part of the fence. “Jase!”
While the two teenagers slapped each other’s shoulders and bantered, Tyler set the box on the gate. “MREs. Enough to feed six for one week.”
Clutch took the box, set it on the ground next to him, and rummaged through it. “How about ammo?”
Tyler shook his head. “I can’t authorize the transfer of ammo. Even if I could, Camp Fox is an armory, not a munitions site. We barely have enough for ourselves.”
Clutch’s lips tightened. He headed back to the Jeep and grabbed his backpack. “Let’s go meet Doyle.”
Tyler didn’t look pleased, but he motioned to the young, clean-cut man behind him, who walked up to us. “I’ll leave Corporal Smith behind to help bury the minutemen and guard the place.”