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

Violence (Chapter 17)

VIOLENCE: The Seventh Circle of Hell

Chapter XVII

“Why the hell didn’t you lock the door?” Clutch demanded in a gruff whisper, the moonlight casting him in an imposing silhouette.

“Clutch?” I asked, pointing the Beretta at him.

“Lower the gun, Cash. I’m coming down,” he replied before closing—and locking—the door above him.

A lantern in Clutch’s hand suddenly cast a gentle glow in the small space.

“I forgot the door locked,” I said in a daze as I watched him climb down the ladder. Sweat glistened off his shaved head. Then I dropped the pistol and jumped him from behind. “You’re alive!”

He was hot and sweaty and I didn’t care. He turned around and pulled me into a full embrace.

“How?” I asked, holding on tight.

He rubbed my shoulder. “Doyle sent out most of his Dogs that first night. He left me in the silo with only one guard.” He paused. “I got out. That’s all that matters.”

I pulled back to look at him. Emotion laced his words. “Let me guess. You pissed off Doyle in the process.”

“Yeah.” He ran a hand over his now-shaved head and grimaced, like he didn’t enjoy the feel. “Were you here when they…”

“No,” I replied quickly. “I got here after.”

“Good.” He paused. “Jase?”

“He’s at Camp Fox. He’s safe.”

Clutch sighed, and then looked around. “We can’t stay here. Dogs will be sniffing around my farm until I’m caught or dead. There were two waiting outside tonight.”

Probably the same two that I’d seen. “I’m glad you’re here,” I said softly. I felt safe with Clutch in this bunker, but I’d already realized it could all too easily become our tomb. Only one way in or out. Only one air vent that could be too easily blocked from the outside.

He slid to the floor. “The captain let you go?” he asked gruffly.

“Yeah.”

“Good. I couldn’t tell if he was playing to get you away from Doyle or if he was actually thinking of arresting you.”

“He let me go,” I said instead, sitting back down. Clutch didn’t need to be burdened with the details. Not with his home lying in ruins above our heads. I wrinkled my nose. “You smell.”

He grunted, resting his head against the wall. “Thirty-six hours in the woods will do that.”

I grabbed a bottle of water and tapped it on his arm. “Here.”

He took the bottle, and then grabbed my wrist. “What’s this?”

I tugged back my injured hand. “Just a cut I picked up yesterday.”

“Why weren’t you wearing your gloves?” He narrowed his eyes and frowned. “Whose clothes are those?”

I shrugged.

“Hell.” His jaw clenched. “Masden didn’t let you go, did he?”

“He let me go,” I replied. “I just had to find my own way back home.”

Clutch pounded the floor. “Sonofabitch. When I find him, I’m going—”

“You’re going to do nothing,” I interrupted. “We’ve got enough shit to deal with right now than take on Camp Fox, don’t you think?”