Surrounded by the height of hundred-year-old oak trees, a group of women gathered by the creek, chatting quietly, cautiously beyond prying eyes. Some words could not be shared—these thoughts were better told through subtle gestures—a code only they knew. Too often, guards stood closely by. The women couldn’t afford to step out of line.

They drowned blankets and clothing—a white foam cleansing blood and unsavory stains. Flat stones covered in soaked fabric. A large woman with a paddle pressed the water from the balled up material. The others hung the damp cloth along a clothesline.

“I’m going for it. I’m done,” she said, her nervous eyes darting between the row of sheets—just a harmless peek toward the top of the ridge. Four guards posted atop its edge, pacing amongst the trees, mostly watching over the women. Only occasionally did their faces turn.

“They’ll kill you,” another woman reminded her.

“What’s the difference?” She looked her companion straight in the eyes. “If I make it out, good, if not, at least it’s over.”

“But your sister?”

“The Butcher cares for her. She won’t leave.”

“But what if he takes your escape out on her?”

“He won’t. Just give her my chits. Maybe she’ll save enough to buy her freedom.”

“I just—” Quickly, the other woman draped a dingy, white sheet to dry, blocking the approaching guard’s view from her as she nodded a hush down the line—each woman relayed to the next.

“What are we talking about here?” He moved his eyes from woman to woman, from top to bottom, moistening his lips while admiring their state of nudity. “Your twos mouths are moving quite a bit. Care to share?”

“No sir,” they said in unison. Their eyes dropped in unison. Trained. Submissive.

He reached out and cupped her breast.

She turned her head away from him. “Nothing important.”

“You mean, nothing important, sir.”

“Yes, sir.” She gulped. “It was nothing important, sir.”

“Then shu—”

“Bill! Get up here! Quit messing with the women!”

“Alright, John! Just trying to have some fun!”

The guard scoffed, took another look at the women, winked, and then turned from them. He crossed the shallow creek and climbed the steep embankment, joining his squad. Their attention was drawn toward the service road that wound its way through the valley between the ridges.

“This is my chance. When you see my sister, tell her I’m sorry.”

She casually walked behind the clotheslines, hidden, gradually making it to the end. One last look—a bob of her head and she bolted, scrambling up the hill opposite the guards. The other women continued working, muttering prayers to themselves that their friend would make it.

“Hey!” John pointed to the frantic woman. “The Butcher’s gonna have our asses if we don’t get her.”

Bill raised his rifle, but it was swatted away.

John pulled at Bill’s arm, and the two raced away. “Marcus, stay with them!”

“On it!”

The woman crested the top and continued her race through the trees. “Don’t look back. Don’t look back.” Her pale body slipped in and out of view between the trees and brush.

“I don’t see her,” Bill said, panting as they scoured the woods.

“It’s been too long. They’re gonna know.” John raised his pistol in the air and fired off several rounds. “I’ll wait here. Get them women back to the tents. Make it believable. No one gets away.”

“Mr. Tom?” A young boy’s voice. Thomas could feel a tugging at his arm, but not hard enough to bring him from his dream. “You got to wake up.”

Thomas stepped through the outer door of the school and onto the landing at the top of the stairs. He shared the flat with another man who hadn’t seemed to notice Thomas’s presence—the two of them simply sharing the overhang in silence, waiting for the rain to pass. The man tucked himself into a corner with only his back exposed. It wasn’t until the wind died down and the man spun back toward him that Thomas realized he was preoccupied with a cigarette.

He eyed Thomas guardedly as if he had only appeared to pluck this treasure from between his lips. It was only a nub, perhaps only enough for a quick drag. In years past, it wouldn’t have been worth the trouble. But man, I could really use one of those right now. The man shielded the cigarette again, trying like hell to get the flame of his lighter to hold steady. He muttered to himself, cursing and begging it to work. Only after the end lit red and the man dropped his hands to tuck the lighter into his pocket did Thomas notice it was another lieutenant. He’d already had enough with lieutenants this morning.

The flat began to stink of cigarettes, renewing his once dormant craving for nicotine. I’ve got to get away from him before I lose my mind any more than I already have. He descended the stairs, unfazed by the storm that had faded to a light drizzle—his thoughts muting the environment around him.

He despised these days—unable to tend to Joseph like he wanted. And although over time, it seemed Joseph grew accustomed to these spontaneous calls to duty, it didn’t suppress Thomas’s guilt. No matter how much Joseph smiled through these absences, it never became any easier for Thomas. He could only hope at some point it would stop. But could it? Maybe he had journeyed too far down this path and there was no longer a chance of ever circling back.

Thomas knew by becoming a Soldier there would be interruptions—at times extending beyond a normal shift, perhaps into days. That would be hard enough on Joseph. But if the unthinkable occurred and Thomas failed his trial, then his relationship with the boy would immediately be severed. The only way to guarantee any sense of normalcy was to forge ahead. Not that failure presented itself as an option before, but now Thomas would feel the added pressure in his gut until this mission ended. Now, he could only think of Joseph—only his fate mattered at the end of this trial.

While looking to his left, Thomas spotted a small group of disgruntled Guards eyeing him from under a canopy at the supply depot. They greeted him with a middle finger and stepped off—a few of them exchanged fist bumps and laughed. All Thomas could do was smile and shake his head. I have bigger issues to deal with than you dumbasses. Keep being miserable. Just days ago we were working together, but now because I get this opportunity… Whatever.

Thomas made his way under the canopy that had been vacated by his so-called friends and set his rucksack to the ground. The meager tapping of raindrops against the canvas overhead prompted the disbursement officers to return to their duties amongst the piles of brick, stone, and scrap metal. Some hustled wheelbarrows about, stacking supplies while others strolled through with clipboards, jotting down inventory—all of it stacked here, lined neatly in rows within this makeshift quarry.

“Hey Chuck!” He grabbed the attention of one of the men parking a cart against the wall of the school.

“Damn, that was a quick storm.” The gruff supply officer set his clipboard down on the table and threw a hand through his wet hair, his blue coveralls splotched with rain. “Brutal as all hell, then it was just gone” he said after pulling a towel from a box underneath the table. “What brings ya down to the yard today, bud?”

“Not a whole lot”—Thomas nudged the rucksack with his foot—“just dropping off the gravel from my pack. How’ve you been?”

“Not bad, damn back’s actin’ up again, but that’s nothin’ new.” He straightened his posture while toweling off, groaning with displeasure as he did so—a chorus of light crackling ran down his spine. He allowed his back to resume its natural slump, and he continued, “They upgrade you to priority status yet?” He took the clipboard from the table and tapped his pencil against it, preparing to take a supply request.

“You mean job classification one? No, I’m not too worried about that. How often do I come down here asking for anything?”

“Hell, you should come down here more often, give an old man some company.” He set the clipboard down again. “You know I’m living alone now, right?”

You never let me forget. One of the reasons I don’t come down here too often. “So I’ve heard…” Several times. Thomas straightened his face up with a polite smile after realizing his response had come with an inkling of annoyance. Damn, Chuck. You need to fix things with your wife. You have to be the only husband in the world whose wife left him after the world fell apart. I like you, man, but I can’t sit here all day and chat. Go apologize and get your damn wife back!

“You wanna come over and play some checkers with me after my shift?”

“Believe me, I’d love to, but I’m not going to be around to do that tonight.” Thomas feigned disappointment. “It may have to—”

“So that’s what those Guards had been talking about. I only caught bits and pieces of it. I guess I didn’t realize they were talking about you. Makes sense then that they gave ya the finger.” His shoulders bounced with a chuckle. “Thought maybe they were just joshin’ ya, but I guess not.” He wiped the debris from his palms, threw the towel back in the box, and put his hand out to shake with Thomas’s. “Congratulations by the way, but I’m not thinkin’ that you’ll hear it from them.”

“I have bigger things to worry about.”

“Hell yeah you do! Get out there and complete that damn mission. Make us proud. That’s what! So…” He leaned in toward Thomas and whispered, “What is it you guys got goin’ on anyways?” Thomas cringed at the smell of old meat that accompanied his words.

“You know I can’t say.” His tone remained flat, and this time, Thomas wasn’t going to fix how it might have come off.

“I know. Worth a shot though, right?” He laughed again at his own comment. “I’ll keep trying with you. Something will give.”

“This should be about fifty pounds or so.” Thomas lifted his ruck and set it down on the table, trying his best to steer the conversation back to business.

“Lemme see.” Chuck opened it and looked the contents over. “Alright, second pile there by the basketball hoop.”

Thomas carried the bag over to the pile, Chuck failing to give him any personal space as they walked.

“When you think you’ll head out?” Chuck asked. “Today?”

Thomas shrugged.

“You can at least tell me that, right?”

“I think they’d prefer I didn’t.”

“Man, they keep it tight, don’t they?”

Thomas ignored him, choosing instead to pour out his rucksack and let the clacking of stones attempt to drown out the incessant questioning, but it didn’t work.

“You think you’ll be done doing the guard tower thing after this?” Chuck pointed toward a single Guard standing in a post.

It better be… Thomas stared out to the post he was assigned to yesterday—another day of inaction while observing from atop the highways and viaducts that wrapped themselves around L.P.H. Fortress. Every shift seemed to be a waste. Only occasionally did a scavenger venture into the rail yard adjacent the town and pilfer goods from the boxcars. Thomas had never been the one to challenge them. Never lucky enough for the opportunity. On his shifts, it was always observe and report.

“That one of your buddies up there?”

“Probably, I’m not really sure—” I don’t have time for this… Thomas took a few seconds then pasted an inquisitive look on his face and turned to Chuck. “I heard some guys talking earlier… It made me realize you never explained how you became part of the supply crew.”

Chuck’s face instantly soured, his brows narrowing, his eyes zeroing in on Thomas. Thomas had hit the nerve, knowing the exact topic to ensure the conversation ended.

“I’m pretty sure I did, and…” He looked over his shoulder to make certain no one eavesdropped. His voice became tense. “And if I haven’t, I’m sure you’ve heard it from someone else.” He took his pencil and jotted some notes onto his clipboard. “I got work to do. I can’t be standing around talkin’ to everybody. Just… Have a great day.”

Thomas flicked the remaining stones from the bottom of the rucksack and closed it. He looked over as Chuck moved from pile to pile, his pencil scratching away at the paper. Sorry, Chuck. I just… I have stuff to do. In a few days you’ll forget I even brought it up. Thomas slung the weightless bag over his shoulders and moved down the sidewalk toward his apartment building.

He took a step down into the street and tapped on the wall of an outhouse constructed directly overtop a storm drain along the curb. Three wooden walls and a hemmed curtain pulled across the front. A box to sit down if need be. “Occupado!” a woman shouted from inside.

“Sorry.” Thomas seated himself upon the concrete ledge of a nearby stoop, watching along the sidewalk where orphan girls swept debris and busily plucked weeds from between the cracks. Their Second Alliance Mothers watched closely over them, ensuring they did their work and remained respectful to passersby. Precocious conversations shared between their little voices made Thomas stop minding his own business, curious to what else they might say.

A girl with blonde hair and a dusting of freckles on her cheekbones curtsied to show her respect to Thomas. “Is there anything you need, sir?” Her eyes were lowered as she spoke.

“I’m fine, thank you. You and your friends keep it up. The street looks great because of your hard work.”

The child grinned. “Thank you, sir.”

One of the Second Alliance Mothers broke from her conversation and stood at the top of her stoop—a switch in hand. The girl must have noticed. Quickly, she curtsied again and returned to her task. Her face turned slightly away from her overseer, trying to avoid confrontation. Trained. Submissive. She knelt and began pulling at the weeds.

Thomas averted his eyes to just beyond his apartment building at the dead end of Storrs St., a portion of the city’s wall remained charred—a constant reminder of the last attack. There’s no telling how much worse it would’ve been had the S.A. not come to help. Next to the site of the explosion and subsequent fire, a cross was stuck in between the metal bars of a first floor window. Empty liquor bottles perched upon the window sill—a few scattered on the ground just below it, sitting alongside stuffed animals, soggy and filth-covered. A traditional Lower Price Hill memorial for the loss of life—their only one in the past year.

On that occasion, someone had gotten the best of them, but it remained unknown who. And since then? No attacks, not since the agreement with the Second Alliance. After that, defending L.P.H. Fortress had become easy. Watch towers along the highway overpasses and viaduct gave them clear views of any approaching threats. Metal walls capped each street, climbing the bricks one by one of along each corner building. Maneuverable barricades that could be carried where needed. Fortified windows facing the border streets. Untouchable now.

The clink of the outhouse’s curtain and a man finally exited. Thomas took a deep breath before entering. He placed his hand against the wall and relieved himself into the opening. His fingertips filled a few of the 9mm holes in the plywood from failed attempts at death. The corresponding holes on the opposite side allowed beams of sunlight into this dark box. He continued holding his breath. Even though last night’s storm and the sudden burst of rain this morning made the stench of urine and feces more bearable, Thomas still waited until he exited to brave another mouthful of air.

Down the street, he pulled open the metal gate to the breezeway of his eight-unit building. A harsh crash of metal on metal announced his arrival as he allowed the spring-loaded door to swing back into place. He took the few steps to the entrance and into the narrow common hallway. He had three flights of stairs to climb before reaching his apartment. (All Guards were on the top floors of their buildings—necessary access for a trained rifleman on the roof.)

I wonder how Joseph did. He knocked on apartment #2 and waited. “I’m coming. I’m coming.” The voice creaked like worn hinges, barely audible. He heard some shuffling about from behind the door—a faux wreath of flowers hung on its nail. A peephole too high for its occupant to use.

“No rush, Kate. It’s only me.”

He knew it would take her a moment. She was the oldest of the residents, maybe a few years over 70—still going strong, just a little slower these days.

“What do you want? I said I’m coming!”

The ping of metal against wood rang from inside.

“I said to take your time.” He tried to project his voice. “There’s no rush, Kate.”

She cracked the door open slightly—only the tip of her nose and a few stray hairs on her chin showed themselves. Thomas peered into the gap of the door. She pulled it all the way once she saw his face. “What a pleasant surprise.” Her glasses rose slightly with her smile, and she drew a wisp of gray hair behind one ear.

“You doing alright?”

“Just finishing a small snack and enjoying my morning off.”

“I didn’t know it was your morning off, or I wouldn’t have sent Jos—”

“Stop it, you.” She swatted his hand. “You act like I don’t care for the boy. Get in here. Come on.” She moved from the doorway and let Thomas enter the apartment—each one like the others, only furniture offered distinction.

Two windows in the living room cast light upon the couch and a couple of club chairs—a small coffee table in the middle. Remnants of peeled wallpaper stuck to the walls. The dining area filled by an oversized table. Random knickknacks along the shelves. All the usual appliances were removed from the kitchen, which had been completely gutted, simplified by a bus pan and a shelf with a few plates, glasses, and eating utensils arranged upon it. The hallway leading to the bedrooms had a floral bed sheet hanging from the ceiling. A candle was lit, which spread the smell of cinnamon throughout the apartment.

“I don’t see how you keep this so clean.” He spotted an empty plate on the dining room table, took it, and placed it in the bus pan before she noticed anything was out of place. “Remind me to take the pan down for you before I leave.”

“Oh, you’re such a sweet boy. You don’t have to try and make me smile.” She had already started to blush. “You know I do what I can. Have a seat.” She cleared a knitted blanket from her couch, and Thomas took its place. Kate draped it across her lap as she joined him.

“I really like what you did here.” It seemed she busied herself by constantly rearranging what little she had. “Is this new?” Thomas picked up a bowl filled with plastic fruit from the coffee table. His stomach grumbled at the thought of it being real, knowing he would probably never have a real banana again for the rest of his life. What I wouldn’t do for some fresh fruit. Just another something taken for granted like so many others that were now gone.

“Some nice scavenger boy saw it and thought I’d like it.” She took the bowl from him, not by force, but with some authority, and examined it for a second before placing it back on the table. “I don’t want it broken.”

Thomas laughed. “What’d you think I was going to do with it?”

“I saw how you were looking at it.”

“Whatever you say, Kate,” he said through broken laughter. “I’m glad you have people looking out for you like that. You deserve nice things.”

“That’s ridiculous, Thomas. I don’t deserve any more than anyone else.”

“If you say so… How was Joseph this morning?”

“Well…” She looked to the ceiling and took a deep breath. “The boy has his difficulties, but the Lord gives me strength to handle it.”

“That bad?”

“I just can’t move like I used to. He can be a handful you know, but I’m never given more than I can deal with. I hope you know that goes for you too, Thomas. I know you feel overwhelmed at times, but the Lord never gives more than a person can handle. You ever consider those things? You survived for a reason—to take care of that boy… And to spend some time with this old lady.” She touched Thomas lightly on the chest as she rocked backwards with a steady chuckle.

“You’re in rare form today.” He stood from the couch and made his way to a shelf laden with small collectibles. He kept his hands behind his back, realizing that Kate had also gotten up from her seat. “I’m not touching them.”

“I know.”

But the words didn’t convince Thomas, he turned back toward her, sensing that she was becoming nervous about her trinkets. “Do you have any plans tonight?”

“Gonna clean up a bit then I’m heading down to the play. You and Joseph thinking of joining me?”

Thomas sighed. “I won’t be able to. I’m sorry.”

“You made it the last few times with us. I guess I can’t be too mad that you don’t want to be my chaperone tonight.”

“You know that’s not it. I just… I’m sorry to ask again, but—if you don’t mind, can you keep Joseph for the night?”

“That won’t be a problem.”

A sense of relief came over Thomas. It was either Kate or a Second Alliance Mother, and the Mothers weren’t known for their patience.

“May I ask why?”

Thomas couldn’t help but smile.

“What is it?”

“I finally got picked for my Soldier trial.”

“That’s so great!” She took his hands into her own and pulled him toward her—her frail body eclipsed by his. “I am so proud of you.”

“Thank you. I owe a lot of it to you.”

She looked up at him, her eyebrows scrunching from thought. Her hands released his and pulled back to her hips, resting there. “I’d like to think we’re partners in this whole thing. It goes both ways. You help me a lot too”

“I know. I just want you to realize I appreciate you watching him so much.”

“Well, don’t worry about it, Thomas. I’m not keeping track of who’s done what for who. I’m not like that and you know it.”

“I do.”

“Now, is there anything I need to know this time?”

“I guess just do what you normally do with him. He should be done from the fields around 16:00.”

“I hate that military time stuff.”

“It’s four o—”

“I know what it is!” She snapped. “I’ve been doing this for awhile now.”

“I wasn’t trying to say anything.” She’s definitely getting worse. I’d better change the subject. “The two of you could go to dinner and the play tonight.”

“That sounds wonderful.” Kate smiled. “I can definitely do that.”

“I might not get the chance to say good-bye to him. I was told to wait in the apartment until it’s time to go. He’s starting to get used to me heading out like this, but I never really know how he’ll take it.”

“I know.” She patted him on the back. “I know.”

“I hate always springing this on you at the last minute.”

“It’s fine. He’s gonna fit right into my plans.”

“You’re the best.” He gave her a careful hug. “Let me grab that bus pan before I leave. Can you think of anything else you need before I head out? Want me to get you some soup when the cart comes around?”

“Nope. I’ll leave my door open, so I catch the boy before he heads up.”

“Thanks again, Kate.”

“Just get back to us in one piece.”

“You know I will.”

Thomas scooped the bus pan and carried it up the stairs to his apartment. Upon entering, he set Kate’s bin in the kitchen with his own and started packing his gear. He had most of what he needed already prepped for occasions like this—pistol, knives, ammunition, binoculars, some food, change of civilian clothes—even though it was possible to scrounge together some things in a pinch while outside the walls. The last thing he grabbed was a small bag of hygiene items from the bathroom. He methodically checked the condition of each item before arranging them neatly in his rucksack. Once satisfied, he set it by the door, his rifle leaning against it. Thomas threw together an overnight bag for Joseph and added it to the pile.

There were still over two hours until noon. Hurry up and wait. I can’t seem to get away from it. He sank into the thick cushions of a recliner that he commandeered from a vacant apartment in the neighborhood. His eyes met with the ceiling. The light fixture hadn’t been used in years, reduced to decoration. He ran his hands over his hair, short and blonde, but getting longer than he liked. Military standards were nearly impossible to maintain.

He pulled a worn deck of cards from an end table’s drawer and began shuffling. He laid the cards out for Solitaire and began to work at it. From this pile to that one. Aces to kings. Black to red to black. Too much Solitaire lately. I need a girlfriend. Hanging out with Kate just isn’t getting it done.

Every nearby crash of metal on metal piqued his attention. Was this it? Then moments would pass and nothing. For nearly half an hour this cycle ran. Tired of the game, he stacked the cards and packed them up. Where the hell is this guy? He sighed. Screw it! I’m going to lay down for a couple hours. Never know if I’m going to be able to sleep tonight.

He pushed open the door to his bedroom and stripped down to his undergarments. Sounds of laughter pulled him toward the window overlooking the street below. The group of orphan girls from earlier had been allowed a break—snacking, playing in between bites. Good to see these kids having fun. Not having parents. I can’t even imagine being that young without parents. It makes sense that this place is home to the orphans. All these kids are the future. In order to keep them safe, it makes sense to have all the troops here training. The whole town works to inspire these kids to be good citizens to the S.A.—little patriots. He backed away from the window and crawled into bed. Just a little more sleep.

A knock on the door. He hurried over to answer, bringing the door inward.

“You’re the scout that’s assigned to me?”

“Don’t look too happy to see me.” James pushed past Thomas, let his rucksack and rifle drop to the floor, and plonked down in the recliner. He smacked the button that released the leg rest and leaned back. “You keep this warm for me?”

Thomas glared at him while James slipped his Army Zippo from a cargo pocket and flicked it on. “You got any extra fluid?” James asked.

“No such thing as extra.” Not a thing has changed. “You should probably get out of my chair.”

“That’s how it’s gonna be?” The chair snapped back into place as James popped off the seat and onto his boots. “You still got your unit lighter?”

“Yeah.” Thomas flashed his to James. “You gonna ask for that too?”

“Damn, Tommy. Still mad, huh?”

Thomas ignored the question, choosing instead to move forward with the conversation. “Where you been?”

“Scouting missions. Working out of downtown, mostly.”

“I meant this morning. Why weren’t you at the briefing?”

“Yeah, well…” James looked to the floor and took a long breath. “The thing about that is… They already told me I was on this mission, so”—he shrugged—“I slept in a bit.” James grinned then spit in his hand, pushing it through his shaggy, brown hair to keep it from his forehead.

That damn grin… He’s always smiling. They probably did let him skip the briefing, but who the hell knows? He’s always stretching the truth or completely ignoring it. Never can tell…

“From what I heard, you chose to do the same.” His grin stretched further. “Nobody’s thrilled you got this… except me of course.”

Thomas let this slight roll off his back as James took to flipping through a coloring book that Joseph kept on a small table.

“A regular Picasso here, huh?”

“You about finished?” Thomas’ face was beginning to feel hot, frustration building inside him.

“What do you mean?” One eyebrow curled, then both eyes went wide—James’s attempt to look innocent. “You want me to put it down?”

“Not the damn coloring book. I’m talking about you, man.”

James set it down and backed away from the table, his hands up in a sarcastic surrender.

“You going to be able to focus on getting this done?” Thomas asked. “Or is it more of the same from you?”

“You’re coming at me harsh right off the rip. Come on, Tommy.” James looked to him for sympathy, but it wasn’t there.

Thomas stared back, clenching his jaw, which seemed to have the effect of pumping more blood into his cheeks.

“I was only kidding with you, bud.” James tried his best to take the tension from their exchange of words. “This thing’s for my promotion. Of course I’m focused. That intelligence position is huge for me.”

“You think I should just trust you on that?” Thomas couldn’t keep his eyes from tracking James through the apartment to ensure nothing found its way into his pockets. “This is my Soldier trial—”

“So we’re in the same boat.” James spun back toward Thomas. “See, we both have skin in the game. I got your back, and you got mine.”

Even though you’re a pain in the ass, I’ll at least give you that. You’ve always had my back, but still… “When I saw you walk in the door, I hoped you’d changed a bit, but in just those few seconds…” He wetted his lips. How do I say this? “You’re like the only damn person in the world the apocalypse didn’t straighten up even a slight bit.”

James’s head flung back in a fit of laughter, but once he composed himself, the words that followed were serious. “Don’t forget what I did for you.”

He tried his best to beat back Thomas’s glare with his own but only managed to look foolish. If he were to take a few steps forward, his head would be just under Thomas’s chin. There would be no intimidating Thomas, not by James.

“All’s I’m saying,” James continued, “is you need to try and remember who saved who. When the shit hit the fan, who got you out of there?”

Thomas shook his head then spoke slowly for effect. “I appreciate what you did for me, I get it, but our arrangement is much different than it used to be. Unfortunately for you, rank doesn’t carry over to the Second Alliance from the Army.”

James scowled. Thomas’s words had clearly stung him.

“I’ll never forget Syria,” Thomas said. “Maybe that’s why you feel… whatever the hell this is, maybe that you think I owe you. I don’t know what the hell it is that goes through your head sometimes. What you did was disgusting. I don’t care why you did it. We got out of there, but…” Thomas wiped across his mouth. “I don’t care that we had a falling out just as long as you remember that what I say goes this time around. If you don’t remember anything else, remember that.”

James turned his back to him and began skimming through a magazine. Thomas was certain he hadn’t seen the cover—a Time magazine criticizing the Syrian War and the U.S.’s response. It wasn’t exactly his taste. Thomas took this opportunity to double check Joseph’s overnight bag, occasionally checking on James. He finally tossed the magazine onto the kitchen counter and looked back to Thomas. “We’re a team. Just like old times, right?”

Thomas barely brought his attention from the Joseph’s bag.

“I’m only messing with you.” James tried to save face. “I figured coming in like that would get a rise out of you.”

Thomas knew this move, had seen it before, another last-ditch effort to save face. “You’re not pulling that crap with me. I’m not some gullible moron you can pull this over on. Listen! We’re doing our jobs and that’s it. I don’t care about anything else.”

“I said we’re good, man. Damn!” James smacked him on the shoulder. “Lighten up! Live a little.”

“We’ll see.” Thomas grabbed his gear from the floor and reached for the doorknob. “You ready then?”

“You in that big of a hurry?” He started shuffling the pieces of a chess board that sat on the kitchen counter. He fixated on the white knight, picking it up and staring at it in an odd manner, almost longingly. “I saw you talking with the rat man. He offer you any of his special meat? Chuck’s chuck?” James started laughing.

Thomas waited for the laughter to fade then tried once again to get him out the door, but James started in again. “Still surprises the shit out of me they didn’t banish his ass for serving rat meat. I mean… I guess it makes sense for easy meat, but shit man… rats.” He started toward his equipment. “What a nut,” James mumbled, as he brought his rucksack onto his shoulders and slung his rifle across his chest. “I know you’re in a big type of rush, but I gotta grab a soup from the cart.”

“I’m good with that.”

Thomas confirmed that he hadn’t secured the deadbolt, and the two of them started down the stairs. Kate’s door sat open, and Thomas set Joseph’s overnight bag just inside. She was busy sorting through some photographs at her coffee table. He gave her a quick nod and a wave. “If I forgot anything, the door’s unlocked upstairs. Thanks again.”

“I hear ya.” She scooted them on with a few flicks of her wrist. “Be safe you two.”

The gate to the breezeway crashed again as they made their way back onto the street. “I don’t see how you do it, man,” James said. “I don’t understand why you don’t give him up. Let one of the Mothers take him in. Make it easier on yourself.”

“I made a promise.”

“They aren’t around to know any better. What’s he—”

“Don’t even start on that. Your spoiled ass has been with the S.A. since it started. You don’t know what it’s like to take care of someone besides yourself. You know how many times I had to stuff him in a closet to handle some shit, then come back, just praying that he’d still be there? You know how terrifying that is? To have someone like the Butcher get a hold of Joseph?”

James stood in silence.

“I joined the S.A. for a better life,” Thomas continued, “not just for me, but him too. If something happens to me, then and only then, will one of the Mothers take him.”

“I’m just saying…”

“That’s not how I operate. I keep my promises. Let it go. It doesn’t affect you, so don’t worry about it.”

“It affects you.”

“Just get the damn soup.”

“You’ve been through here, right?” James asked, pointing toward the last entry gate into the Queensgate Yard.

“Barely and it’s been awhile.”

“Then you won’t mind me leading.” He broke past Thomas almost as quickly as he had said it.

Thomas gazed through the fence before stepping through—briefly ingesting what this truly meant—his transition from merely observing from afar, eyeing the worn paths where gravel had been scattered, to his own journey, his boots adding to the wear of the rail yard, stomping over the crabgrass and purslane that flourished through the cracks in the exposed earth, his boots navigating through the rows of abandoned trains that bore the scrawling of colored mischief and dead trademarks. This was indeed the tipping point. This day.

“Hustle up!”

He caught up to James, and the two of them traveled as closely as possible to the boxcars, trying to remain hidden from those that may wish them harm, but as far as Thomas could tell, they would be surrounded by nothing but picked-over rail cars and a few service buildings.

“We’ll stay like this on up to Camp Washington and then cut up to the school on Probasco St.”

“It’s going to be hard to keep an eye on things from down here.”

“There won’t be anyone for us to see down here. Hell, you know that—you watch this yard more than anyone I know.” James continued to amuse himself with another snide comment at Thomas’s expense.

Thomas swore he could see James’s smile stretching round toward the back of his head as he walked. There wasn’t a point in trying to confront him again. All he could do was roll his eyes. He had already said his piece, and this would probably be the last time he’d have to work with him. There’s no changing him. Be the bigger man. Be the one who bridges the gap. I hate to say it, but I need him on this. Just let him lead through here and use his knowledge to make sure we get promoted.

James seemed unconcerned with the idea of any threat as he pushed on with a confident swagger. His rifle hung from his shoulder, swinging as he walked—not a care in the world. He’s too damn cocky. While James continued on, paying no attention to the crunching sound of their boots against the small stones which made covert movement impossible, Thomas took nothing for granted. He carried his rifle at a low ready with the index finger riding alongside the frame. It was only occasionally, and by Thomas’s request, that they stopped to see if anyone’s carelessness would ring out, checking for those distant indicators of ill intention.

“How many missions are you up to now?” Thomas curious to what point James would feel so comfortable outside the walls.

“Enough. I really can’t remember—too many to keep count.”

“I figured you would’ve gone for Soldier rather than the analyst side of things.”

James turned around and looked up at Thomas, exaggerating the bend to his neck. “Not being a big—” He caught himself, perhaps reevaluating the need for this partnership. “Well, let me put it this way. I wasn’t exactly designed for it.”

“Yeah, well… being this big isn’t always a good thing.” Thomas bent an eyebrow. “I was just curious. You always seemed to like action more than the prep work.”

James ignored him, choosing instead to run his hand along the sides of boxcars that became more and more like ones previous—a chain of increasing blandness. Even the graffiti became unnoticed. The experience of the yard was much different on the ground than observing it from within one of the guard towers. Stuck between the trains, unable to see the solution to this maze from above, they maintained the route they chose in the beginning.

“If I could’ve been a Soldier, I would have,” James spoke barely above a whisper. “I like being an intelligence scout. I get that I’ll never get the respect of a Guard or Soldier, or even a Sentry for real… You know it’s bullshit though.” His voice rose. “These Sentries barely even escape the wire—at least I’m out in the field.”

“Honestly, you’re probably better trained than a lot of the guys in the Soldier Program. The purpose is intimidation…” James’s next few steps seemed to lack the eagerness of before. “I’m not trying to say—”

“No, I get it. I’m not worried…” He began to mutter something more to himself, but Thomas couldn’t make it out.

“You alright?”

“Of course, I am. I’m the best damn scout we have.”

Thomas couldn’t help but think James’s statement reeked of self-assurance.

“I don’t need some stupid Soldier patch to let people know what I can do,” James continued. “Syria was hell, and that’s all anyone needs to know.” He tilted his rifle and inched the charging handle back to make certain a round sat in the chamber before letting it go. “If you made it out of there, you’re a man, no question.”

Thomas nodded in complete agreement, but realized James couldn’t have seen the gesture and spoke, “Yeah…”

“To hell with Syria.” The volume of James’s voice shot up again. “They’re the whole reason—”

“Keep it down a little.”

“Yeah, my bad”—James faced Thomas—“you know they’re the ones behind this whole mess. Nutjobs, experimenting with bio-warfare.”

Thomas scoffed. “What we were exposed to wasn’t the experiment. We heard of them gassing and killing their own people for years. Even before we went to war, they did this crap. Hell, it could’ve been years of testing before they perfected it. No one knows how long those people in Syria had been experiencing some form of Almawt before we showed up, and by then, I’d say they pretty well nailed it down. The whole damn world was brought to its knees.”

“The whole world?” James’s brow narrowed. “You don’t know that.”

“You don’t think the Chinese would’ve taken us over by now if it was just us? There’s no way it wasn’t the whole world. You saw how it cuts through the population—hell, everyone has. Only difference is that we saw firsthand what it did to people before it really spread.”

“You think they knew how bad it would be?”

“Hell yes! They sucked us in with a war they knew they couldn’t win, but knew they’d get the last laugh when we brought that filth back home.” Thomas shook his head. “It had to have been designed for this. Maybe they have… or had a cure. Who knows? Shit, I guess it doesn’t matter now.”

James stared silently at Thomas as he spoke.

“God blessed me and you for whatever reason and here we stand, but…” The corners of Thomas’ mouth dropped. “Everyone lost someone.”

“Yeah…” James’s face drained itself of emotion—resigned.

It’s my fault dad got sick so soon. No one thought in a million years we caught it and carried it over. I never felt sick. No one knew. Stop, damn it! It’s not your fault… Everyone caught it—carries it now.

But that whole time in the hospital with dad… he felt so guilty. What a waste of our final weeks. It was always the same damn conversation. I don’t give a shit that I had to join up! It wasn’t your fault! We couldn’t have done anything different. I wouldn’t have done anything different.

“Hey!” James waved his hand in front of Thomas’ eyes, bringing him back to the rail yard. “We gotta keep moving.”

Half an hour flew by essentially unnoticed. James hadn’t even tried to speak, giving the impression he had slipped into quiet reflection. Perhaps the first time Thomas could remember him taking in a serious topic and digesting it appropriately. Thomas knew his thoughts. No soldier who survived was truly unique. The horrors of the war and its aftermath are what flooded his mind. The friends who were lost, maimed—the marriages that unraveled from the extended hardships—the children who could no longer be tucked in by their parents—then Almawt and the loss of everyone you loved.

“Hold up a second.” An uneasiness caused Thomas to grab hold of James’s ruck. “I don’t like this.”

“What?”

Thomas pointed to the horizon—the Western Hills viaduct rose sixty feet above the yard. The half wall of concrete that spanned the bridge provided ample cover for any lone wolf and a sniper rifle. A perfect hideout to take advantage of the two venturing below. There’s too much to keep track of here, and James doesn’t seem to give a shit. He’s either still thinking about the war or just thinks he invincible out here. Either way, I’m not buying it. “Give me a minute to take a look before we keep going.”

“Whatever you say, man, but you’re wasting time.”

Thomas rounded the corner of an abandoned passenger train and grasped one of the rungs that crawled up its back. It held firmly despite the rust consuming the metal where the paint had flaked long ago. He took his hand a few rungs higher and began to climb. As he made it toward the top, he pulled his binoculars from the pouch on his ruck and popped his head above the roof of the coach.

The yard appeared deserted, nothing worth noting within his normal sight. He pressed the binoculars to his eyes and glassed along the viaduct and the hills that surrounded them. Thickets of trees crept up the hillsides from the western side of the rail yard. Several pitched roofs and apartment buildings peeked through the canopy. There would always be more hiding spots than time to discover them all. Maybe James is right. While Thomas was paranoid, examining every inch of the world around them, James leaned against the train taking every breath as if he would never run out.

“You seeing anything up there?”

“Nothing.”

“Didn’t think so. You keep worrying about every what-if there is, you’re going to go crazy.”

“Still, I don’t like walking blindly. Let’s stay up top if you’re so convinced there’s no one out here.”

“If you say so.” James hesitated before climbing up the rungs.

Thomas figured from this vantage point, they’d be able to identify and react more appropriately to threats. Others engaging them in the yard seemed the more logical risk now—someone keeping constant watch over the rail yard seemed farfetched. Honestly, who has time to sit there and watch this place all day? Thomas’s shoulder slumped. Me apparently… but how many groups are organized like us. I’m doing a job when I’m in the guard post.

They moved across the tops of the train—their steps surprisingly quiet as long as they minded their footing. The steel they walked upon was silent. It was only as they hopped from one to the other that a thud would be driven down into the chamber of each car, but that never carried far enough to matter.

“What’s that?” James threw his fist into the air, signaling a full stop. The two of them dropped into prone, shooting positions facing opposite ways. “What is that?”

“I don’t hear anything.” Thomas held his breath while concentrating on finding what had captured James’s attention. There it is. He couldn’t pinpoint the position, but a low, moaning sob—faint and impossible to gauge its distance—carried through the wind.

“You don’t hear that crying?” James asked.

“Yeah, but I can’t tell where it’s coming from.” Thomas listened intently. A woman sobbing could be heard—her cries broken up by sharp gasps for air, but still no telling from where it came. “Someone’s definitely out here,” Thomas said while scanning the area over the sights of his rifle. “Anything on your side?”

“Nope”

“Let’s get down.”

Thomas maintained watch over the yard as James slid down from the top. Thomas pulled the rifle’s strap over his head and joined him on the ground. Strange. The sound of sobbing disappeared. “I’m heading to the other side.” He raised his boot up and over the coupling between the cars, his pant leg momentarily catching on a pin. Damn! He stumbled forward but caught himself before falling.

“You alright?”

“Cover me for a sec.” Thomas untied the laces to his boot and fixed the blousing of his pant leg, pulling, stretching the fabric and stuffing it into the mouth of the boot. “Go ahead and stay on that side just in case, but don’t move beyond the next car until we’re both there.”

“Sounds good, man.” James gave him a thumbs up and transitioned to his pistol. “Ready?”

Thomas brought his rifle to his shoulder, snapping it into place—muzzle leveled and straight ahead. Good to go. Scanned to his right—nothing—he continued to the next car, listening in between each step. He could hear James moving forward, the small stones skittering across the tops of the others as he walked. Thomas peered between the next gap—James’s pistol first, then his head peeked around the corner. They both confirmed each other’s presence and set out again—coach by coach.

The knot of train cars began to unravel itself, leaving large breaks in the maze similar to a meadow in an expanse of crowded forest. Now I’m hearing music! A sharp, tinkly sound played. The notes cascaded in broken sequence from what sounded like an old music box. He swung between the next pair of boxcars, his back against the smooth steel, waiting for James to join him.

“You hear that music?” James whispered as he shifted into the gap. He looked to Thomas while keeping his pistol pointed toward the ground. “Any ideas?”

“No idea where it’s coming from.” Again, Thomas scanned the yard. No signs beyond what little they could hear. “Get on this side. We’ll stick together and start clearing these cars.”

James stepped over the coupling and the two set out—Thomas at point and James as cover. They kept their steps upon the railway ties, secretly searching though this game of hot and cold. His ears remained open so that they might lead him closer as the music grew stronger. “There!”

A boxcar by itself, red with vented sides. The flickering of yellows and orange from a fire barely visible from the space beneath the boxcar signaled to Thomas—a slight trail of smoke which dissipated to nothing as it hit the wide open air. Got her now! The two of them retreated behind the caboose of an adjacent train where they remained out of view from their target.

“The red one.” Thomas thumbed over his right shoulder.

“I see it,” James said, his eyes beginning to climb with the faint trickle of smoke. “How many you thinking?”

“Sounds like a woman, but I can’t imagine more than one or two. Any more than that and they’d be louder than this.” Thomas glanced over his shoulder. “It has a door on this side, maybe one on the other, not sure, but we should move into positions on both sides.”

James confirmed with a simple dip of his chin.

Now he’s in the zone. “I’ll take position on top of this one here. You work your way around and climb on one of those over there.”

Another dip of James’s chin.

“When I’m ready I’ll give you a signal. Fist up means hold. Waving my hand forward means it’s time. If there’s a door on your side give me a thumbs up.”

James doubled back and left Thomas’s sight as he disappeared around a rail car forty yards behind him. Thomas bent down and scooped a handful of rocks into his cargo pocket. We’ll see how they respond to these once he gets over there. He climbed onto the train and low crawled into position behind the cupola of the caboose, bracing the rifle along the top for support. He eyed the scope while adjusting the distance. The fire still gave their target’s position away.

Thomas watched James slither his way along the scattered trains—in and out of view. James occasionally searched for Thomas when he could. I got you covered. Keep going. Thomas’s attention floated between the target and watching James. He kept him in the corner of his eye as the thoughts of what they were about to do expanded.

Friend or enemy? God, I hope this is simple. I don’t want to deal with some woman and her kid. Someone just trying to make it in the world. Give us something simple. Maniac with a gun. Make your intentions known. Let us react, and we’ll end it and move on.

James slunk in behind the control box of a chemical tanker on the other side of the red boxcar. His angle seemed perfect as he held his pistol steadily toward the target. With his left hand, James raised a thumb into the air. Door on his side, and he’s ready to go. Thomas took another cautious look across the yard to ensure another situation hadn’t crept up on them. Still—only the wind moved through the valley.

Thomas waved his hand forward and observed James prop both elbows across the control box. Why the hell isn’t he using his rifle? Damn it! Whatever… He scraped some rocks from his pocket, rose quickly, and tossed them, striking the red boxcar—several clinks as the rocks pittered against its side. A sporadic series of thumps within the freight car then silence. Yep, at least someone is in there.

He looked to James, his eyes still fixed on the opposite side’s door. Nothing from him yet. How long do we wait before going in? James turned his head to Thomas as if he had heard him. Damn it! Thomas breathed in deeply and wiped a nervous sweat from his brow. They’re being careful. James continued to stare at him. Thomas raised his fist in the air, telling him to hold, but James shook his head. Just a bit longer. Give it time. James crawled out from his position and advanced on the red boxcar.

What the hell, man? Come on! Thomas’s inclination led him to stand from behind the cupola. “Shit, he’ll need cover,” he muttered to himself, as he threw himself back down again. He watched as best he could as James moved closer with his pistol pointed toward the boxcar.

“Come out of there slowly,” James shouted. “No one needs to get hurt. There are too many of us out here to fight. Just crack open the door and slide your weapons underneath it.” Thomas could only see James’s head from this angle. “You don’t want us to force our way in. That way won’t go well for anyone. Just come on out of there.”

“I can’t,” a woman called out to James. “It’s locked from the outside.”

Thomas saw what she meant. The door on his side was padlocked closed, and he could only assume the other side was too. Ugh! I can’t see you, James. He edged his body around to the other side of the caboose’s top, trying to get a better angle, but it was no better than before.

“Where’s the key, lady!” James shouted.

Thomas could hear him pounding on the outside of the train car as he said it.

“Where’s the key!” The patience in James’ voice was dissipating. Still pounding—the hollow clunking of metal echoed across the yard.

He’s being reckless. What the hell’s he thinking?

“I don’t have the key,” the woman shouted, crying out to James. “If I did, I’d give it to you, no questions asked, believe me. I need help. Find the damn thing!”

“What do you mean find it? Where the hell is it?”

“I think he keeps it on the track behind you.”

“That doesn’t tell me much.” James dashed back toward the chemical tanker but stopped midway. “Hold on… Why didn’t you call out for help when you heard the rocks?”

“She thought it might be me toying with her,” a man’s voice boomed. “Don’t even think about moving!”

From behind the cupola, Thomas remained calm, trying to match the voice to a figure, but couldn’t. They had lost the advantage, and it was unknown who had taken it. James stood rooted in the ground, and even from this distance, Thomas noticed the horrified look on his face and could only imagine what was coursing through his veins or down his leg in this moment.

As time passed and the stranger remained silent, Thomas’s body eventually gave into a nervous sweat. He wiped his brow with his sleeve. Buckle down, damn it. He tried to remain focused, ignoring the woman’s screams, just waiting for the man to show himself, to speak, to do anything as Thomas continued to analyze the situation in front of him. It was as if this man was a spirit or simply a voice.

James let his rifle hang and raised his hands, one of them still clutching his pistol. “What do you want?”

“Drop your weapons and your rucksack.”

Thomas could see James hesitate. Just do it man! You know I’m here. Several tense seconds passed with James’s hands suspended above his head.

“Do it!” Any patience the man’s voice once held was gone. James must have sensed it, because he gave in, sliding his ruck and rifle off his shoulders and allowing them to land roughly beside him.

“And the pistol!”

James looked up at the gun in his hand, rotating his wrist, eyeing both sides of his Smith and Wesson. That’s it! Keep buying time. I’ll find this guy. James let his firearm loose, and it dangled from his finger, caught within the trigger guard.

“Don’t start thinking funny. All the way! Drop it to the ground!”

James let it go.

“No one needs to get hurt here,” the man continued. “This woman’s coming with me. That’s all I want.”

“Who is she?”

“Doesn’t matter to you.”

“Help me, please God, help me! He’s crazy!”

“Shut up!”

Crack! A shot was fired, but James had already bolted, moving frantically across the loose stones as more shots went off. Crack! Crack! Crack! His body leaned and twisted as he drew a crooked line to cover between a set of boxcars. The woman’s screams elevated. Crack! Crack! The ground continued to spit rocks as the man missed his target.

Thomas’s eyes moved methodically through the panic, trained, persistent to the task. Crack! Too much cover. Too many trains. The tree line. The watchtower. Again, Crack! “There’s that mother…” Thomas muttered while he set his cheek against the butt of his rifle and locked the muzzle onto the threat. A shadowy figure perched inside an old brick watchtower—a white T-shirt framed by a slender body that was only visible between a few slats of pine that encircled the landing.

Thomas focused, narrowing his aim through the scope. Crack! Another shot at James. Stay down, damn it! He drew in a breath then exhaled. With his lungs empty, he squeezed the trigger and sent a round exploding through one of the pine boards. The man fell onto his side. Never seen. Never heard. Thomas drew back the bolt handle, expelling the spent round, and then slammed it forward. He regained his sight picture and kept the rifle trained on the limp body. “James! You hit?”

“Hell no!”

The lady’s screaming didn’t let up—it had only gotten worse. The mixture of sobbing and shrieks became punctuated with fists against the steel walls. “What happened! What happened!”

James appeared out in the open again, snatched his pistol from the ground then ran for the makeshift prison.

“James! Stop!” Thomas called. James’s feet slid across the scattered gravel. “Focus on the guy. Come on, move! I got you covered. If I see him move, I put another one in him, but I need you to confirm he’s dead.”

“Is he dead!” The woman cried. “Oh, God!”

Her pleas captured James in a trance—he seemed torn on what to do, standing there with a blank expression.

“James!” Thomas stared at him, annoyed with the hesitation. “Ignore her, damn it! The guy. Now!”

“On it!” The disobedience and uncertainty from James ended as he turned from the boxcar. Clearly, he had realized his mistake and accepted his new role. His steps became quick and direct. Finally, nothing else seemed to be on his mind as he rushed to check on the downed man.

It was difficult to make out the body—Thomas’s view limited by distance, concealment, and shadows. The man’s once white T-shirt was now dark with blood. It dripped from between the boards, staining the dirt and powdery stones beneath him. Thomas swallowed hard. He didn’t want to admit he really couldn’t see the body very well. It was more a general idea of how it fell. He was certain that any movement would be noticed, and he could send another round across the yard to quell it. His biggest concern was that the volley of shots would gain the attention of others—people not involved in this skirmish.

James wound his way up the stairs—his torso moving like a turret, rotating the pistol which led him toward the wooden deck where the body lay. Once he hit the landing, the muzzle remained in the lead, but his walk seemed casual, travelling dangerously close to careless. Lessons don’t last long with him.

James traipsed around to the front side of the deck and stopped even with the fractured pine slat that felt the initial force of Thomas’s shot. James took an awkward step across what Thomas could only assume was the body and squatted down. Glimpses of James’s head appeared and disappeared as he shifted about.

“Is he dead or what?” Thomas called over to him.

“Oh, yeah. He’s gone for sure.” The dead man’s head filled the gap in the broken slats as James leaned him against the railing.

“What are you doing?”

James’s face popped over the top board. “I’m checking him for anything useful.” His tone made the answer seem so obvious.

“We don’t have time for that now. Just throw him over. We still have to deal with the lady.”

James did as he was told—the head, shoulders, and arms were first, then the torso, and finally the legs spilled over the edge, allowing the body to plummet three stories to the ground below. A dull, murderous thud caused Thomas to cringe. “That’ll teach him!” James seemed to cheer as he spiraled his way back down the stairs, smiling the entire way. “No one messes with the S.A.!”

“What’s wrong with you?” Thomas withdrew from behind the cupola. “Have some damn dignity!”

“What?” James threw his hands up in protest. “He asked for this.”

“Whatever. Just…” The idea of others infiltrating their operation changed his mind from arguing with James. He took his binoculars across the yard once more. All appeared as before, but as they found out earlier, that didn’t count for much. He didn’t have a choice but to be satisfied for now. “I got you covered. Find out how to get that lady out of there.”

James begged the woman to stop crying and to focus, but her weeping had taken her past the point of control. He tried the door, but it was no use. He came to the side closest to Thomas and tried yanking the padlock from that one too. It wouldn’t budge. “Where’s the key, lady? Come on!”

“He keeps— He keeps it on him. It’s…” Her voice trailed off, once again succumbing to her bawling.

James didn’t wait for her to compose herself. He took off, running to the body and rolled it over. He plopped one knee onto the ground and began patting down the cargo pants. His hands invaded the dead man’s pockets—only air from each. “Come on lady, where is it?” James spoke forcefully.

“A necklace. It’s on his necklace,” she shouted.

This is taking too damn long. Thomas stood and slung his rifle back onto his shoulder, but from the corner of his eye, several shadows slipped between a group of boxcars in the distance. “James, find cover!”

He hid back behind the cupola and steadied his rifle across it. Adrenaline surged through his body. All he could imagine was that the rest of the dead man’s party had caught up with them—drawn to them by the gunfire. But how many?

He tried to calm his breaths, his rifle rose and fell with each one. Damn it, focus! “You see anything?”

No response from James. It was strangely silent. Even the woman had found a way to smother her cries.

A minute passed and nothing. Crawling back from cover, Thomas retreated, sliding down the backside of the caboose and onto its platform. The butt of his rifle knocked out the small window above the door handle. He reached inside, twisted the lock, and entered.

Halfway through the cab, he crawled into the lower portion of a set of bunk beds, his eyes barely cleared the lower portion of a side window as he tried to assess the situation. He took a deep breath, calming himself, trying to refocus. Gonna need a clear shot. He punched the muzzle through a window then slunk down into the bare mattress for a moment. A few breaths—the smell of spoiled food and unwashed clothing taken in.

He popped the barrel of his rifle even with the broken window and toward where he suspected the threat would be advancing, but the open area between the trains remained clear. Still no sign of James. Where is he? With his eyes floating overtop the rifle’s sights, glancing from left to right, he caught glimpse of another figure rushing across the yard. Is that a…? “Oak!” He shouted, as if he had hoped to freeze the figure in time.

“Hickory!” The correct response to his challenge word.

Cautiously, he looked on as three men in Second Alliance Guard uniforms appeared, two from between some rail cars and another just opposite them.

A great sense of relief swept over Thomas. They had been fortunate. The fact James hadn’t been gunned down was a huge stroke of luck, and the negligence he exhibited to his own well-being would have to be addressed at a later time. But for now, they would focus on the woman and appreciate the reinforcements.

“False alarm, James!” Thomas shouted upon exiting the caboose. James shuffled out from where he was set up, and the five men exchanged handshakes in the open yard.

“Damn, Eric. Almost gave me a heart attack,” Thomas said.

“I could say—“

“What the hell are you guys doing out here?” James said it without hesitation. His tone was uncalled for, embarrassing. “They should’ve told us a crew was coming through here.”

Same team. “Relax, man.”

“It’s not a big deal.” Eric winked at Thomas. “We were escorting a group of scavengers back and had to reroute through here. What’d you guys get into, Ricard?”

“Nothing major,” James once again spoke out of turn. “A little fire fight. Took some guy down. About to—”

“Get me outta here!” The woman started in again—the small talk probably signaled to her that it was safe to be known. She pounded on the walls of the train, trying like hell not to be ignored.

“What the—” One of the other Guards seemed startled by the commotion.

“That’s what kicked this whole thing off.” Thomas dragged a hand down the side of his face, knowing, dreading the fact that she still needed to be dealt with. “Dead guy”—he pointed in the direction of the body, although it couldn’t be seen—“has her locked up in there for— who knows why.”

“You going to need any help with her?” Eric asked.

“We’re going to pop it open, so if you have the time to set up a quick perimeter while we deal with her, it wouldn’t hurt. Just have to find the key, right James?”

“Yeah, we got it.” He gave everyone a half-hearted salute and made his way back over to the body.

“And when she gets out?”

“Shit.” Thomas huffed. “Don’t really know. Just seemed like the right thing to do. I guess we’ll let her gather what little she might have and direct her to L.P.H. Fortress. If she goes, good, if not… I don’t know. That’ll be on her.”

“Well, go ahead and get her out of there. She can come with us if she wants.” Eric directed his crew to their positions. “We got you covered,” he said, as he peeled off in the opposite direction of his men to complete the perimeter.

Thomas made his way to the other side of the red boxcar where James already had his hands inside the deceased man’s shirt. James turned to Thomas as he approached, revealing the dog tag chain within his hand, pulling it taut from around the neck. He appeared unforgiving, his grasp continuing to tug, ensuring that each steel ball dimpled the skin before it eventually gave in and snapped loose. “Here,” James said, tossing the chain over to him. Thomas swiped it from the air, confirmed a key was attached, and scurried over to the boxcar.

“Step back.”

“Did you get it?” she asked.

“Step back!” Thomas raised his voice. “I’m not going to say it again!” He could hear her feet sliding to the other side—the bottoms of her shoes shifting tiny grains of sand or dirt across the metal floor. She stopped. He could make out very little while peering through the vented side of the car. “Alright, lay on your stomach.” He noticed James now to his right—he had picked up his rifle and had it pointed toward the rail car. The woman dropped to her knees and lay forward. “Don’t move.” Thomas worked the lock with the key, and it fell to the ground. The heavy metal door was pulled to the side, and there she was. Her dirty, blonde hair—tangled, unkempt—appearing as if she had been pulled from a grave. Only that and her outstretched hands could be seen.

James moved his rifle more deliberately to her. “Slowly work your way back onto your knees, but keep your hands visible—out front the whole time.”

She did as she was told, her body shaking as she slowly pushed up from the ground. Her knees remained planted to the floor. “Don’t— Please don’t hurt me.”

James laughed lightly, turning toward Thomas with an impish grin. “Who the hell does she think we are?”

“Shut it, James!” Thomas snapped. “Miss, we’re here to help,” he softened his tone, “but being careful about it.”

Her shoulders dropped with relief, her body seemingly accepting his words as the absolute truth. She got up from her knees and began to approach them.

“I didn’t tell you to stand.” Thomas shouldered his rifle. “Get back on your knees!”

The outburst jarred the woman. Her eyes overflowed with tears, leaving trails within the dirt upon her cheeks. She retreated, throwing her hands out in front of her to shield any aggression. “I’m sorry— sorry. Please don’t hurt me.” She stumbled—her foot tangled in piled clothing before she fell backwards, slamming onto her ass.

“Hands!” Thomas screamed.

She struggled to free them. Reluctant. Her hips shifted. A black handgun. Crack! Crack! Thomas raised the rifle and responded with a quick shot to the woman’s chest. His rifle expelled the brass as he worked the action then slammed another round into the chamber.

Thomas turned toward where James had been, but he was now sprawled across the ground several feet back. His initial thought was to go for him, to see if he was alive, but the woman’s hand was trembling, lifting the pistol forward to finish the job. Another press of his trigger and the woman’s head jolted, never to be recognized again.

Thomas visually cleared the boxcar then rushed to James. His body lay still—his head bent awkwardly within the gravel. The eyes. Closed. The pulse. Thomas only felt his own. The pounding of footsteps startled him. “Where’s he shot?” one of the Guards asked.

“I don’t know.” Thomas managed to get the words out before he was pushed aside. “Are you a medic?” The man nodded while he tended to him, placing his hands against James’s chest. Come on, man. Where are you shot?

The medic worked over James’s bunched up clothing—covered in dust, hiding his injury. He balled his fist and rubbed along the sternum with the ridge of his knuckles to wake James from his bit of unconsciousness. “You hit or did you fall?”

James’s eyes began to flutter. His hand swatted the medic away, and then he grunted—the pain present in the stress of his response. He began to raise his back from the ground, but the medic laid his hand against his chest to keep him down. James gave in. “It burns,” he said, motioning toward his shoulder. His sleeve was straightened out, and a noticeable amount of the fabric by his shoulder was frayed—a bright red barely visible in the rut of the cloth. James hissed from the pain.

“You’re fine, man, just hang in there,” Thomas urged while hovering over the process. The medic maneuvered his fingers through the tear and ripped the sleeve away from the wound. A grazing.

“This is nothing.” The medic pressed lightly around the wound, causing James to wince. “It’s not even bleeding.” He took a small bottle of moonshine and gauze from his side bag and doused the wound with the alcohol.

“Damn!” James sucked air between his clenched teeth and turned away from the discomfort. “That shit stings.”

“You’ll just need to keep this thing clean.” He dabbed at the wound with a cloth. “Almost done.” He reached inside his bag again, removed a bandage, and placed it over James’s wound. “It’ll probably be sore— maybe. You’re lucky that’s all you got.”

James shook his head. “What the hell just happened? Trying to help her and she flips out like that. That lady lost her damn mind.” He attempted to gather his feet below him.

The medic kept him in place. “You need to take a second and relax.”

James exhaled, drawing it out to make his point, closing his eyes in protest, but ultimately agreeing. “Okay.” He pulled his knees in toward his body then lay back into the gravel, letting out another sigh. “Make sure that bitch is dead.”

Thomas and Eric approached the red boxcar. The pool of blood spread far beyond the corpse—her blonde hair matted with blood and wrapped violently around her face. How long had he been keeping her in here?

It didn’t appear to be too long. A nest of clothing in the corner. Two cinder blocks lined up as chairs— a wooden music box at the foot of another. An undercooked squirrel on a plate. Thomas leapt inside the boxcar. “Let’s take a look.”

“I’ll check her,” Eric said, as he followed.

Thomas rummaged through their belongings, and Eric moved over to the body, rolling her over. Her face…

“In here! In here! In here!”

“Hot damn! Where the hell’d they come from?”

“Just get in one of these apartments.”

“This one! James! Here!”

“We lucked out. Should take them awhile to find us.”

“Quiet… Something’s bleeding.”

“What?”

“Look. Blood here and some over there. Heads down this way.”

“Stay close!”

“Not a lot is it?”

“Tommy!”

“What?” … “It’s okay, sweetie.”

“It’s Almawt! Don’t you dare touch her!”

“We don’t know that.”

“She’s coughing up blood. Of course it’s Almawt.”

“James! She’s just a little girl. She’s not gonna make it here. She can’t…”

“They’re here damn it! She’s not gonna make it.”

“Then we got to get her out of here.”

“She’s not coming with us.”

“I’m not leaving her!”

“Listen! They aren’t gonna knock on that door and ask us to come out—they’re gonna take it down! We don’t have time to debate this. We have to go!”

“Come here… please, come here.”

“We don’t have time for this shit! We’ll never get outta here.”

“Then hold them off. I’m not leaving her, damn it. Please… Just come here, we’ll get you out. I want to take you someplace safe.”

“She doesn’t understand you.”

“Please come here!”

“Tommy! We gotta go, man. None of these people are going to make it. It’s us or them!”

“We can’t just leave a kid! They don’t deserve this.”

“It’s not our place to save these people anymore. We have to save ourselves. Hell, their own government abandoned them—did this to them. It’s over! It’s fucking over for them, not us!”

“That doesn’t mean we have to do the same. We’re better than this!”

“Put her down!”

“She’s coming with us.”

“Damn it, Tommy! You’re gonna get us killed.”

“Shut it! You’re the one that got us separated. Don’t blame me for this!”

“Shit! Alright, back hallway! Let’s go! Hurry!”

“Hold here like this sweetie… Lock your hands around my neck like this. There we go.”

“Now or never, Tommy!”

“Alright.”

“Through here! This one!”

Bang! Bang! Boom!

“Shit! They’re coming in!”

Crack! Crack!

“Get the fuck down!”

“Behind you!”

Crack! Crack! Crack!

Crack!

“In here!”

“Back window!”

Crash!

“Cover me! Through here, sweetie. Careful!”

Crack!

“Got ‘em!”

“Call it in! Damn it!”

“Radio’s fucking gone, man.”

Crack! Crack!

Crack! Crack! Crack!

“Tommy, drop her, damn it! Leave her!”

Crack! Crack! Crack!

“No! Move! Move! Go! Come on!”

“Hey Thomas, take a look at this.” Eric tossed a thin gold necklace with a locket to his feet. It stopped just beyond reach. “Ricard!”

“Huh…? Yeah. What?”

“You alright?”

“Yeah, I’m good.”

“Take a look at that.” Eric pointed to the coiled necklace.

Thomas bent down, pinched it from the floor, and opened the oval piece. Two photos—one with the two dead souls in full embrace in their younger days—the next, a family photo. It was a sham. He was just trying to protect his wife. Why do people still insist on going it alone? We have everything to offer. He rolled the edge of the locket between his thumb and forefinger.

“What do you think?” Eric asked.

“It’s definitely them, but they look like a couple of accountants in these pictures. Crazy how things change once you’re exposed to this kind of lawlessness. They probably never held a gun before two years ago.”

“I was an accountant before all this.” Eric snatched the necklace from Thomas’s grasp, stuffed it in his pocket, and turned abruptly away from him.

“Really?” Thomas asked.

Eric looked over his shoulder, smiling. “No.”

Thomas shook his head, trying hard not to laugh.

“We need to wrap up here and move on.” He eyed one of his men and spoke up. “Hey! Head over to our group, let them know we’re good, and have a couple of those scavengers respond over here and sort through this mess.”

“Try and find James here another shirt to wear before they start picking through everything,” the medic added his concern.

Thomas began sorting through the nest of clothing in the corner. This is actually decent. He set the shirt off to the side for James. He held a few other pieces in front of him, but cast the rest aside. “This stuff is junk. I’ll leave your guys to it. Maybe they’ll see value in it that I don’t.” Thomas sprung from the boxcar and pitched the shirt over to James as he passed him. I’m just going to take another look at this guy.

The man’s body still lay motionless below the watchtower from which he was thrown. Thomas went to ensure nothing was left with the man’s body—after all, he wouldn’t need it. “Where’s his firearm?”

“I got it. You want it?”

“No, let Eric’s crew take it.” Thomas started to pick through the pockets. Nothing still. What a waste… Thomas scratched the back of his head. This is getting out of hand. James just isn’t getting it. If he wants to get himself killed that’s one thing, but— Shit, he’s not going to lose this for me and Joseph. Once we’re away from Eric’s crew, I have to straighten him out. This makes too many close calls already. This is ridiculous. Can’t follow simple instructions. Almost got killed. Twice! Thomas looked over to James while he stood there chatting with the medic. He was smiling. Nothing seemed to take with him. He just doesn’t seem to give a shit.

There was nothing else on the body. Any other valuables would be in the boxcar or socked away somewhere these two dead souls would never be able to share. “You about ready, James?”

“So… We’re letting them take everything from here?” He seemed annoyed by the idea, glaring at Thomas as he approached.

“Taking this stuff is not our mission. We need to focus on our job and let them do theirs. They’re completely capable of handling this from here.” Thomas bumped fists with Eric. “I’ll leave you to it.”

“…but I don’t get why. It’s like you’re running on borrowed time, man,” Thomas said while peering back occasionally. Each time James’s head sank lower and lower into his chest. He was falling behind—the two of them trudging up the steep incline of Probasco St. “If I can’t trust you to listen or to have some damn patience when it’s needed, I don’t know how the hell we do this.” The thought of leaving him behind kept playing in his head. This idea seemed like the right thing to do. He couldn’t allow James to prevent him from his own goals, even though the two were supposed to be striving for the same thing. “I’m not trying to lecture you man, but damn… What the hell else can I say? You’re too damn impulsive.”

James muttered a response that sounded more like the growling of a hungry dog.

“I don’t get you,” Thomas said. “You’ve always kind of been a free-spirit or whatever, but now your carelessness is getting you hurt. Worse than that, I can’t have you do something stupid again and get someone killed. I think you’re involvement in this is over—”

“Look! So yeah, maybe I was trying to do too much, but…” James trailed off.

“No. Come on. Give me that classic James excuse.”

James sighed. “Maybe I haven’t changed, but neither have you. Still the same Thomas, afraid to make decisions. So yeah, sometimes I make ’em for you. Is that what you want to hear? Sorry. Sorry I saved your life.”

“Don’t have to worry about that anymore. We’re even now after your fuckup in the train yard. Now, I don’t owe you shit—certainly not this mission. If this is so important to you, then suck it up. Act like it!”

They walked in silence through a few more intersections before James switched gears. “My bad, man. I do need this promotion… just like you.”

Thomas could hear James’s rucksack shifting along his back as he picked up his pace, bringing himself shoulder to shoulder with Thomas.

“I’m on board.”

“What the hell does that mean?” Thomas didn’t even bother to look over to him.

“It means we’re a team,” James said.

Thomas broke his stride, stopping to glare at him. “You better promise me more than that.”

“Alright…” James looked him in the eye. He deflated right there as he stood, letting out a long breath of air. “I’ll follow your lead from here on out.”

“We’ll see.” Thomas stepped off again. “If things don’t change, tomorrow you’ll be sitting on the sidelines of this operation.”

All James could manage was to keep his head down and his mouth shut.

Finally.

They crested the hill—an echo of laughter alerted them to the presence of others. Thomas drew his pistol and broke for a row of hedges on the cool side of a large church that overlooked the corner. James, in his newfound obedience, hustled over and crouched down beside him.

Thomas took out his binoculars, holding his pistol between his legs as he knelt, and took a cursory scan of what might be awaiting them. A man pulled a child’s wagon down the street as he chatted loudly with another, both of them seemingly unaware of the fact they were being watched. What the hell? How can these people act out in the open like this? They’re probably not a threat. “When they get out of view we’ll head across the street to that building there.”

“We could set up on the roof and get some good Intel on the park,” James offered.

Thomas nodded, his mind drawn to discovering what had grabbed the two men’s attention as they were now turned, watching another man run toward them—the newcomer yelling, “Hey! Wait up, fellas!” The three of them came together, and a conversation picked up, but what was being said stayed beyond earshot.

It didn’t take long before they began showing off what little they had. A few trades of mostly books and a few cans of food took place between the men. There appeared to be a brief disagreement that dissolved quickly—one of them revealed a pistol hidden within his waistband. That display put an end to the festivities, but no violence erupted, not even a raised voice. What the…?

The man with the gun watched the others intently until they disappeared around the corner. He removed the pistol from under his shirt, took a furtive look around, and ditched it inside a bush. From there, he cut up some stairs that bent their way around the courtyard of the college and toward Burnet Woods.

His actions were those of a guilty man trying to cover up a crime that, from what Thomas saw, never occurred. Places like these were assumed to be a free-for-all, especially this far from Second Alliance occupied territory. Not that it would’ve been right, but that man could have taken all the stuff from their wagon. Perhaps some presence prohibited that sort of action? Is this some kind of neutral zone? Who could enforce something like that? The Butcher?

Thomas and James waited a good ten minutes to ensure the area was clear, then made their move across the street. Before following the man’s path up the stairs, James shook through the bush, eventually finding what he sought and tucked it away into his rucksack. “Why would he ditch it you think?”

“Probably not allowed to have it wherever he’s going,” Thomas said from half-way up the flight of stairs. “Right now we need to figure out how we get on this roof.” They crept up the remaining steps and found themselves overlooking the courtyard at the rear of the college.

“Didn’t you go here?” James asked.

“Yep, for three years I smoked back here in this courtyard. They wouldn’t give us an ash can back here, so we used to just flick them up on the roof over there.” He pointed to where the roofline dropped down. “The maintenance guys would get blamed for it though, because they’d be the ones up there actually smoking all the time.”

“How’d they get up there?”

“There’s a hatch, but it’s nothing that’s going to help us from down here.”

Thomas could tell James was thinking, working to redeem himself with a plan to get up on that roof. His eyes surveyed the roofline, his eyebrows knitted with thought. “There’s where we go up.” James smiled. “It’ll take a little bit of doing, but…” He padded through the overgrown grass, bedding down trails from the sidewalk to the building as he paced.

Great lengths of ivy scaled the retaining wall and had made the transition to the gray stucco that covered most of the college. James pulled a few vines from the wall and cast them into the planter beds ten feet below. It was here, where the retaining wall met the building, that the roofline dropped low enough they’d be able to grab hold and pull themselves up.

“This’ll work.” James removed his equipment, took a deep breath and squatted down, settling his back against the brick wall. “Come on. Let’s get you up there.”

“Seriously? What about the shoulder?” Thomas eyed him.

“It’s good.” James interlocked his fingers and nodded to Thomas. “Seriously, now or never, man.”

“Hold on a sec.” Thomas set his rifle against the building then slipped the ruck from his shoulders. He took pause. “Get a little closer.”

James edged his foot closer to the drop-off. “That’s as much as I’m going to get.”

Thomas placed his hands against the building to steady himself and set his foot within James’s cradled hands. “You sure you got this, man?” He applied some pressure from his enormous boot.

James nodded.

“Here we go.”

Thomas let the full weight of his body into James’s hands. There was an immediate grunt, but he held strong—Thomas doing everything he could to grab hold of the roof’s edge, to help alleviate this burden from James. “Only a little more.” He could feel James’s strength wavering as he worked to straighten his legs—Thomas’s foot swayed. A few more grunts of agony slipped out.

“Almost!” James’s back and legs were almost completely straight.

Thomas could feel the concrete, finally curling his fingers around the ledge. “Got it! Just a bit more.”

“Jesus, man!” A deep breath and James gave him one last exhausted push. “You’re heavy as shit.”

Thomas finally brought his leg over the top and planted his feet firmly on the roof. He looked down over the edge to his partner—James leaned against the wall, hunched over, his palms cupping his knees as he worked to catch his breath.

“Pass the rifles up.” Thomas motioned with his hand.

James raised a finger. “One second,” he puffed while untwisting the bandage wrapping his wounded shoulder. “See, it’s all good.”

Thomas took a breath for himself. “Just let me know when you’re ready. Rifles and packs, then you.”

James chuckled while he shook his head. “You never stop, huh?”

“Can’t afford to waste any more time.” Thomas took a few steps in, gazing out across the tops of the trees beyond the far end of the roof. “So close now, we got to get this done.”

“Here we go.”

Thomas peered back over the edge to James.

“I’m gonna toss these up,” James said while swinging the rifles toward the roof, anticipating the okay.

“Just hand them up.” Thomas lay on his stomach and inched himself over the edge. He tucked his knees into the ledge. The concrete dug into his hip bones as most his torso hung suspended from the top. “Okay, I’m good,” he said, as his hand reached as far as he could manage.

“Here.” James lifted each rifle.

“Rucksacks?”

They too were passed up.

“You’re next.” Thomas took a large breath in, exhaled, and then clapped his hands together. “Shoulder okay?”

“No doubt.” James took several steps back from the building and bounced on the balls of his feet a few times. He bent down, peeling a long, single blade of grass from the trail. Smiling, he dropped it—not a flutter, it just fell. “Good. No wind.”

“Yeah, cause that’s the difference.” Thomas moved just slightly further over the edge with both hands waiting for James to make his move. “Ready?” Thomas clapped his hands together again.

“Yep.” One last bounce and James rushed toward the wall, leapt for Thomas’s hands, scraping the ivy from the building with his boots. Their hands clasped. The two strained—Thomas inched back from the ledge as he pulled James with him. James’s feet continued chopping at the wall. “Come on!” Bit by bit, they grunted through the stress until both of them finally lay in the gravel. “Hell yeah, man.”

Thomas shifted to one knee and grabbed his gear. “Stay low. We’ll move between those A/C units.

James nodded, picked up his rifle and pack then followed Thomas toward the north side of the building. They quietly made their way across the roof, picking spots in between the rocks where the lining was exposed. They settled into position—James watching the rear while Thomas glassed over the southern portion of the densely wooded park.

A small barricade stretched across the service road that led into the park. Two guards, both armed with rifles, held post there. One stayed partially hidden between the wood and flimsy metal. The other patrolled the space in front of the barricade between the sidewalks.

As Thomas took the binoculars along the road, he spotted a rover dressed casually—jeans and a t-shirt—holding his own rifle while he marched along his route. Thomas tapped James on the shoulder and whispered, “Three. All armed with long guns. None of them appear scoped.” He scratched the details in his notepad as he said it. “We should be okay up here.”

“Is it the Butcher’s men?” James scooted toward Thomas and took his own binoculars across the park.

“It’s got to be, right? Who else would be out there?” Thomas continued to eye them, focusing more often on the rover—noting that his patrol ended toward the intersection with the boulevard that separated the woods from the campus. He stood for a moment in the shade of several trees, watching over his surroundings before bending down to tie his shoelaces.

“That’s definitely his people.”

“Positive?”

“Just look. All of them have that scar he puts on them— you know…” James rolled his hand as if to bring Thomas up to speed. “The Butcher. He marks his people across the cheek.” James ran his finger from the corner of his mouth back toward the ear.

“I just thought it was a stupid nickname or maybe his job before Almawt.”

“Nope… Same scar—mouth to ear… Always mouth to ear.”

“Damn,” Thomas said under his breath. He just stared at the Butcher’s men. The rover stood from tying his shoelaces and turned back toward the woods. Why the hell would someone let that happen? You’d have to be desperate to let someone do that to you. Brainwashed… Thomas looked on as the armed stranger disappeared into the park.

James leaned back against an A/C unit, removed a thick, white portion of a deer’s antler from his rucksack and began carving—he started to hum a tune that Thomas couldn’t quite place in his head. “What is that?” Thomas nudged him. “I know I know it.”

“You’ll figure it out.” James looked up for only a moment to give Thomas a teasing grin, then resumed.

He isn’t going to change. It’s probably wrong for me to expect that already…

“We sleeping up here tonight?” James asked.

“No.” Thomas pointed. “That’s the hatch that goes straight down into the maintenance room connected to the library offices. That’ll suffice for the—” Thomas jerked his binoculars to the right. James perked up, setting the antler to the ground.

A lone traveler approached the park on a bicycle that whined with each revolution of its wheels. The small trailer attached to the back teetered from loose books that shifted about as the man squeaked his way from the parking garage adjacent to the college.

This is what they had waited for—someone to interact with the camp—someone to give them an idea of how they ran shop. Thomas was certain the men from earlier had made their way into the camp, but they didn’t observe the process.

“What’s tha—“

“Shush.”

The man approached—the guards patted him down—he was allowed to enter. Not a lot to that, huh?

A few hours passed. James had prepared food from some cans (which consisted of opening them and putting a fork in each.) He set two aside for Thomas, but the spectacle of arrival after arrival had kept him away from his meal. The scattered caravan of strangers didn’t stop. After a slow start, now, they were in business, managing to spot them from all over—men, different in appearance, but similar in this strange, menacing eagerness by which they came.

Each traveler arrived as peasants with a tribute for a king or simply payment. It didn’t matter. They came and left—most of them with much less than when they arrived—only one case broke the pattern. A woman, tethered, she trudged alongside a man and child. After an hour or so, only the man and child left, pulling a bounty of food and ammunition in a cart they hadn’t arrived with.

The occasional shadow of clouds that cooled them throughout the day became lost in the slow descent into night. It seemed to signal the end of the Butcher’s operations for the evening. A parade of men filed out of the park, many of them Thomas couldn’t recall seeing. He set his binoculars and notepad down. The watch was over. In the early evening light, he was unable to make out the details needed to justify this any longer.

He took the cans James had prepared and began to eat.

“What’s the plan?” James asked.

“We have to hit them at night.” Thomas took a bite and chewed as he reflected on their next move. We really need more time to properly scout these guys. I’m going to have to get in there and get some better details. I can’t think of any other way to do it. “There’s just too much foot traffic during the day. We don’t need extra enemies. Even if they don’t want to fight, these people will be in the way.”

“What’s the count?”

“Of civilians or guards?”

“Civilians.”

“Sixteen men that I saw come and go, but maybe twenty more just now that I had no idea were in there. Tomorrow after the meet up I’m going in.”

“By yourself?” James’s eyebrows knitted with disbelief.

“We aren’t going to learn enough from the outside. The bulk of their forces have to be on the inside if that many people are coming and going. That’s where all their valuables are—everything they want to protect. We could sit out here for weeks, and we aren’t going to know anything.”

“I’m going with you,” James insisted. “If things go bad, you aren’t going to want to be by yourself, especially with the one guard patting everyone down.” James locked eyes with Thomas. “You’ll never get a weapon in there.”

He’s right, but… Am I going to be able to trust him? Thomas couldn’t risk going it alone among these fanatics—these people willing to disfigure themselves for some unknown purpose. He could possibly meet the same fate or worse if he were found out. He drew in a hard breath, looking straight at James. Damn it, I don’t have a choice.

“I…” James threw his hands up and shook his head. “I get it, man, but I’m owning it. I’m not gonna do anything stupid. You have to give me a chance to prove it.”

Thomas lifted his eyes toward the fading sky, unable to immediately agree to this. Not knowing how sincere this plea was is what turned his stomach. He knew he might not have a choice but to give into James—their trials ultimately tied together. I was told I’m in charge… But even then…  I can’t to do that to him even though I probably should. I’ll let him stew a bit. See how that sits with him. See how he reacts to that. Then… Then I’ll make the choice.

“I know.” A lump cleared James’s throat. “I got you, man.” James nodded swiftly. “I know I messed up before, but like I said, I’m following your lead now. I need this too.”

“Let me sleep on it.”

The two men gathered their belongings and scurried toward the hatch. Their bodies hunched over as they moved, doing their best to remain undetected. James took hold of the hatch’s wheel and began to turn. A clunking noise prevented it from moving beyond a quarter turn. Thomas took hold, but it gave no more than James’s attempt. He took his rifle and lodged it in between the spokes of the wheel and cranked. The wheel started to give—the metal squealing for him to stop. A sharp crack. The momentum took Thomas forward and on top of the hatch as it finally gave. Several bangs followed as whatever had held the wheel in place fell to the ground.

“Damn.” Thomas gave a half-hearted laugh. “I guess we’re good to go.”

Thomas lifted the door. Inside was black. Absolute. The sun was past the point of helping—only an hour or so until it gave way to the moon. He took his flashlight and pistol and cleared what he could see, working his angle around the different sides of the opening. Nothing, only more unknown.

“Down the rabbit hole?” James joked.

Thomas found the first rung of the ladder, then one after the other, he continued his descent—his eyes caught between what waited below and James peering over the edge. He found the bottom and quickly cleared the maintenance room, a large supply closet, and the library office of any threats. “It’s clear!”

The office was orderly—everything in its place as if tomorrow someone would hit the light switch, plop down with a coffee, and begin doing whatever it was they did for a living. A collection of candles burying a computer desk caught his eye. He clicked his flashlight off, retrieved his Zippo, and lit a few of them. He cleared some papers and coffee mugs from a ledge and spaced the candles evenly across it.

“Setting the mood, huh?”

Thomas didn’t respond—his attention now completely affixed to what lay beyond the three large windows that separated the office and the library’s stacks. He moved past a couple of computer desks and a large conference table to get a better look. James followed. The two of them stood only inches away from the glass—just staring. James’s flashlight barely penetrated the glass as it reflected most of it back upon them.

“Cut your light, man,” Thomas said.

James slowly turned his head toward him and spoke, “Doesn’t this seem odd?”

“Come on, man.” Thomas took the flashlight from James’s hand and switched it off—James clearly lost between thought and reality.

“You’d think someone would have grabbed all this up. I mean… Why haven’t we?”

Thomas thought the same thing upon seeing the collection of books. It had become common practice to hoard them—every book had a use, even if for some it was simply burning. But with the good ones, the information was priceless. The Second Alliance had gone through great lengths to secure more and more literature throughout the region. This would be huge. This find alone might secure their promotions.

“How many of these libraries do you think still sit stacked like this?” Thomas could feel the smile stretching across his face, his imagination lumping all the pages together. He was on the verge of salivating. “Seriously, every one of the colleges on campus has its own library, and the university itself has one huge one. We’ll have to let them know about this tomorrow at the rendezvous.”

“We could use this for the Butcher’s tribute, right?”

“Probably, but I’m not looking right now. I need some damn sleep, man. I’m beat.” Thomas started pulling the seats out from the conference table. “What do you think?”

“You sleeping under there?”

“Yep.” Thomas crawled underneath the table and lay on his back. “Make sure to blow out the candles.”

James faced two chairs together, adjusting the distance for his impromptu bed. “This’ll work for me.” He went to blow out the candles, and the office fell back into darkness.

“Tommy, slow down, bud. You’re losing it.”

“I’m—I’m fine.”

“The hell if you are. Sit down. Take a drink.”

“Nothing left. I—I gave the last bit to her.”

“What! You gave her all your water?”

“Had to.”

“Look at her! She’s already fucking dead, man! Look at her!”

“No—No she’s not. She’ll make it.”

“The hell if she will. If we don’t make it, she don’t make it. Tommy, we gotta leave her, man.”

“I got her.”

“Leave her.”

“I have her, damn it!”

“Sit down! You’re a damn mess.”

“Okay, let’s figure this out. Which way do we go? James… I don’t recognize this.”

“What do you mean, ‘you don’t recognize shit’? It’s the damn desert.”

“How long do you think we’ve been walking?”

“Long enough. Focus, Tommy. We leave her here or we die.”

“I won’t leave her!”

“Give her here, Ricard!”

“No! Get the fuck off her!”

“Get over here! Now! Get over here!”

“Give her back!”

“Look that way, girl. That’s right.”

“James, no!”

“Just walk that way. Go!”

“Don’t shoot her! Run!”

“Run, little girl! Run! Run!

“No! We can still save her.”

“Shut up, Tommy! I’m getting us the fuck out of here.”

“No, please come back! Quit pointing it at her!”

“Stay here. Take my water. I’m finding us what we need to get out of here.”

“Fuck you. Now, she’s definitely dead. You can’t take that back. What the hell’s wrong with you?”

“Someday you’ll appreciate this when we’re back home. Away from Almawt. Away from all this war.

Thomas appreciated James’s setup and had picked two chairs of his own. Leaning back with both hands cradling his head, unable to sleep, he stared toward where the ceiling must have been. The sense of security that let him sleep so soundly the first portion of the night had been compromised. The reason lay just around the corner, locked in a small closet.

Only Thomas appeared to hold this apprehension that prevented sleep. A deep ache in his mind—an inability to keep both eyes hidden from the world—lying there plagued with phantom sensations that crept across his neck and chest—a lingering effect of the ambush that he couldn’t shake. Any time he found himself dozing, almost as a defense mechanism, his body jerked, trying to expel this feeling of hands wrapping his throat. It was a close call, much closer than any he had experienced.

James, on the other hand, didn’t stir, nor did the stranger. How the hell are they sleeping? He continued to collect thoughts from the darkness around him, reflecting on the day and the lives he had stolen.

He pictured their faces—that couple in the train yard was simply trying to survive, likely scared because of what may have happened in the past, completely unaware that there were people in the world who wanted to improve it, not solely to take advantage of it. If given the chance to explain, to speak with them and lay out the possibilities of a better life, maybe then they could have been saved.

But of course it didn’t appear that way to them. Thomas and James were well armed, unlike others they may have encountered before. The deceased husband was simply trying to protect his wife, thinking of her first and the horrors that James may have wished to inflict upon her. In his mind, it must have been better to take a shot than to wait and see the intentions of this stranger. Was it a last ditch effort or a false sense of confidence in their abilities? Either way it was an underestimation of their adversaries that left them both dead in the yard—two lives lost that didn’t have to be.

The two of them weighed no more heavily on his mind than James’s actions, perhaps even less so, at least they were dead and would no longer contribute to his stress. It was James, this child in a man’s body—selfish and inconsiderate—that would continue on with him. As if there weren’t already enough pressures in Thomas’s own trial, but now to babysit James, to hold his hand through his process.

From the start, Thomas knew that James would be trouble. How he traipsed into the room, tossing his shit about and crashing into his favorite chair. How he walked around the apartment as if he owned the place. No respect for anything, and then to step way past the line and suggest that he give up Joseph. “Asshole,” he muttered under his breath. His only cares in the world seemed to be for himself. Of course, contradicting that was his lack of regard for his own life. His stupidity in the yard, not listening to Thomas to wait it out, deciding he knew best, that rushing in was the answer. James knew better—patience had worked well in numerous instances for them in Syria.

Then it hit him. Maybe James was part of this. Maybe attaching him to this mission itself may have been another test involved in the trial. It wasn’t a complete secret that Thomas held disdain for James and his antics. Some of those in the Second Alliance had also served with them in Syria. If Thomas could prove that James could be kept in line, effective and loyal to what needed to be done, then—

His thoughts were interrupted as James’s foot slipped from one of the chairs where he slept. Thomas flashed him with his light. James grumbled something before propping his leg back on the chair and dozing off again. He’s still asleep, lucky bastard. Thomas tiptoed around James and cracked the door to the supply closet. Thomas flashed the prisoner with the light. The mask puffed in and out from the angle of his nose. Of course, this guy’s sleeping like a baby too. Better than him trying something else… I wonder what his story is. This reckless… teenager?

Thomas couldn’t pinpoint the age, and to be honest, it didn’t truly matter. Age was mostly trivial. It was experience, courage, and survival instinct that mattered. It was the actions of an individual that made them a man. And the actions of this infiltrator showed every indication of one—clever in his decision to lure them in with the lantern, but a novice in his execution of the opportunity he had made for himself. Although he was not of any significant size, had he prepared his ambush rather than acting brazenly, he may have gotten the better of the two. The fact that he didn’t have a gun was astonishing. Luck.

Thomas sighed, his interest in this personal inquisition began to wane. He secured the door to the supply closet and crept back past James. He leaned back in his chair and flicked his flashlight on and off as he had been most the night. James’s face was still free from expression, eyes closed, enjoying the rest that Thomas deserved. I’m driving myself crazy with this shit. He marched out into the library to grab a book.

He hadn’t noticed that night was now morning. The windows were beginning to allow a trickle of sunlight into the library, but it wouldn’t be enough for reading. He decided on the sure thing and went to grab the lantern. He took it and meandered through the stacks, his fingers walking across the tops of the books. Occasionally, he would pull one slightly from the shelf, glance over the cover then nudge it back into its place.

Eventually, Thomas recognized a book his father used to share with him when he was younger. He held it within his grip while a sense of childhood nostalgia swept over him. Aesop’s Fables. Dad, you always liked to crack this open when I did something stupid. He sat at one of the round tables in the middle of the room. The wooden chair let out a deep groan and crackled a bit more as he scooted himself in. He laid the thick book in front of him and parted the pages. How appropriate. A picture of a hare and tortoise racing—he couldn’t help but think of James. He dimmed the lantern to a comfortable glow and began reading softly to himself.

It was a quick read, and once finished, he gazed across the room to James—to the hare. He was the hare—cocky and unable to see that his confidence would be his undoing. Nothing was a given. The rules were simple. All they had to do was cross the finish line. It didn’t matter how they did it. What mattered was that it was completed. Slow and steady, methodical, and that would get them there. It didn’t have to be at a break-neck pace—a pace that would eventually get one of their own killed. Thomas hoped that James was finally seeing that.

He started the next story, but his eyes were finally becoming heavy enough for sleep. Reading typically had this effect on him. Should’ve done this earlier, damn it. He could already tell it was going to be a long day, periodically checking the minute hand’s crawl toward 10:00 between long blinks and paragraphs.

His head snapped back from a quick doze—the sound of James’s boots crunching the bits of glass broke the silence.

“Must have been nice,” Thomas said.

“Huh?” James groaned as he stretched, taking a look around the office, trying to locate Thomas. “What do—” He peered under the conference table. “Where the hell are you?” He finally located him through the broken window in front of him. “What’d you say?”

“Must’ve been nice sleeping all night.”

“What do you mean?”

“Couldn’t sleep.” Thomas closed his book. “Too much on my mind after that dipshit decided to come at us.”

James gave a light chuckle. “Who? Your boy in there?” He thumbed over his shoulder to the supply closet. “That guy’s nothing.”

Thomas carried the lantern into the office then shut it off before setting it on the table. “I’ll go ahead and get him out of there.”

“Need some help or do you have it?” Without an answer, James took to rooting through his rucksack as Thomas rounded the corner.

“Get off me!” Thomas dragged the prisoner from the supply closet. “Just stay here and shut it!” He propped him against the wall, taking a quick check over the man’s bindings to ensure nothing had changed from last night. “Make sure he doesn’t do— James!”

He looked up from his rucksack.

“Make sure he doesn’t do anything stupid.”

“Got ya.”

Thomas began sorting through his own belongings in between glances toward James and the prisoner. James pulled the remaining moonshine the medic had given him from his bag. He stripped the old bandage off, sucked in air at the sting of the alcohol, and then covered the wound with the cleanest piece of t-shirt he could manage.

James’s lips began to move.

“If you’re talking to me, I can’t hear you.” Thomas spoke up.

“No…” James stood quickly, the makeshift bandage hanging freely, his face registered guilty. “I was only talking shit to the guy.”

“Is he you’re buddy now?” He glared at James. “He doesn’t get shit from us, not even conversation.”

“No big deal. I got you.”

“He gets nothing. Remember when he attacked us? Remember when he tried to kill me?”

“You’re the boss.” James put his hands out to try and settle Thomas down. “I’m not trying to start shit with you, man. I just want to get this show back on the road.” James averted his eyes from Thomas, changing focus to the prisoner—the black hood slumped into the nook of his shoulder. Strong breaths puffed the hood in and out. “I don’t even know if this guy’s awake. I was just talking shit, seriously.”

Thomas couldn’t help but feel that he had finally broken James’s spirit. He folded easily now, unwilling to argue or fight back. “Just…” Thomas took a softer tone. “Don’t start getting cozy with him.”

“I’m not. I don’t give two shits about this guy.” James applied his boot to the inside of the prisoner’s knee. “Wake up!”

A muffled grunt and the prisoner thrashed about, kicking at James’s boot with his free leg. James removed his foot and backed away.

“He can die for all I care.”

“We’ll see what the higher-ups want to do with him,” Thomas said, “but for now he stays here. It’ll be too risky to move him.”

James dropped his shoulders and closed his eyes.

“You already know what I’m going to say?”

“I’ll sit here with him. That’s fine.” James cleared his throat. “I got no problem with that… You give any thought to me going on the camp thing?”

“Yeah, I thought it over.”

“And?”

“Even though, you’ve been pissing me off—”

“I’m on my best, man. You know I—”

“Even though, you’ve been pissing me off…” Thomas waited to see if James would cut him off again before continuing. “I can’t do it alone, so you’re in, but you listen to me.”

“Sounds good. You won’t regret it.” James put his fist out, and Thomas gave him an unenthusiastic tap with his own.

“I’m going to get the rest of the crew and bring them here for the briefing. Obviously, finding this guy was unexpected, so we have to adjust our plans.”

James nodded.

“No surprises for when I get back. That goes for you too.” Thomas tapped the prisoner’s shin with his boot. “Roll over!” But he refused to budge. Thomas took him by the shirt and jerked him onto his stomach. He checked the restraint—arms tied—it appeared he had made no effort to remove it. He could feel the cloth gag underneath the hood. “Good. We going to have any more trouble out of you?”

Muffled laughter. He wriggled himself back to his seated position against the wall.

“I swear to God, James. You don’t need to talk, touch—nothing with this guy.” Thomas said. He took a small revolver and a discrete holster from his bag, checked the gun’s cylinder to ensure it was loaded, and shoved the holster into his waistband. “Just make sure he‘s here in one piece when I get back. They’re going to want to talk with him. Hell, we might need to go at him before we head into camp too. The kid probably knows something useful.”

Thomas popped the hatch. A gust of wind passed over him, pushing down into the maintenance room. He exhaled the remainder of the stale air from inside his lungs and stole a deep breath of fresh air from the morning. Very few rays of sunshine bent their way through the dull overcast and onto his face. He stepped out onto the roof and scampered off behind the air conditioning units. He looked out across the park as he did the day previous, reassessing the situation, ensuring that nothing substantial had changed.

Two guards were at the post, both of them spooning something into their mouths from a can, ignoring the line of a few desperate men standing just off the service road. As the last spoonful was finished and the can landed in the grass off to the side, one of the guards shouted, “Alright!” and slapped his hands across his thighs. His partner removed himself from behind the fortification and onto the sidewalk.

One by one the line of travelers lurched forward. Each man had their turn. Their tributes inspected—their bodies patted down—any weapons they had were taken from them and pitched into a pile on a cart behind the barricade. This group presented nothing more than a trail of desperate men willing to give up whatever imperative goods they had for a few minutes of pleasure—a fool’s march for primal desires—the reason for their wicked pilgrimage.

Through his observations of the park, it seemed most of the travelers were barely armed—a few pistols and one shotgun were confiscated by the guard. He felt comfortable with what he saw. The Butcher’s men were doing a thorough job of clearing them of their weapons. It would only make the scouting operation inside the camp safer. The likelihood of something getting out of control and deteriorating into gunplay would be significantly reduced. If the Butcher was a shrewd enough businessman, he’d recognize the need to keep his own men under control. Not that Thomas would underestimate the risk, but this venture may not be as parlous as first imagined.

Time still remained before the morning rendezvous. He squared his back against the large A/C unit and stared out away from the madness behind him—taking in this portion of the world that appeared unchanged. Peaceful. A perfect view of the world he knew before. Some of his best years were spent here. Mournful thoughts entered his mind, upset that he had never really taken the time to appreciate how good he had it. How many things were taken for granted and never truly enjoyed and respected? I have to stop doing this. There’s no changing any of it. It’s all a waste of time. Focus… Get this damn mission finished.

He eased himself from the roof and into the courtyard before letting his mind wandered too far off into hypotheticals. He rounded the corner, choosing the stairs along the south end of the building where his movements would be shielded from the camp. His hand slid the banister as he descended into the lowest level of the parking garage adjacent to the college.

What cars remained within the structure were beat up, windows busted, their contents spilled. Things deemed useless lay across the concrete—book bags, clothing, a few empty cans of beer and a baseball cap—a trail of items dropped in thieves’ haste led toward the stairwell. His feet moved adeptly through this minefield of trash, then quietly up a few flights until he reached the ground level exit.

The doorway led to an outdoor corridor. One lined with trees and mulch beds—the fresh smell of manure long since gone. He pressed his back against the wall, taking his time, confirming as best he could that he was alone before exiting the garage. Nothing alerted Thomas. He could hear the wind ripping through the narrow passageway—a can clanking along the pavement—a sharp call from a bird chirping and the rustling of trees being shoved around.

One quick glance and he began to take the corner, but the smacking of bare feet against pavement stopped him. A gasp of air—the huffing of a person running out of steam. It passed then carried off toward the far end.

Who in the hell? Thomas poked his head into the corridor, his eye catching a glimpse of what appeared to be a small child—a girl, short and petite, with a ponytail of brown hair. The way she came appeared free from any threat. No one’s chasing her? What the hell’s a child doing out here. The wind began to push at his back, encouraging him to go, to give chase as she rounded the corner. A child left alone out here. What if it was Joseph and no one went for him? Someone has to be looking for this little girl.

But the mission… It would be best to stay hidden—to move slowly enough that he could guarantee himself safe passage to the EPA building—to ensure the mission against the Butcher was completed. Obviously torn, he had to make a choice. The girl had already made hers. She was getting as far as she could from whatever it was that haunted her.

Here we go! He broke into a sprint, boots pounding away, his hand grazed the pistol as he ran, taking in this subtle reminder that it was there if he needed it. This whole thing being a trap was buried somewhere in the back of his mind, but he couldn’t help himself. There wasn’t a choice. At the end of the corridor, he took the same hard right, bounding up several sets of stairs toward the child. The flash of a brown shirt and blue jeans cut sharply out of view behind a row of rusting bikes and bushes.

The urge to shout for her to stop rose within Thomas—to tell her it was okay—but James’s taunting popped into his head. Run! Little girl, run! Run! He needed to catch her, but any elevated words could attract others. Could bring her initial pursuer right here.

Even without all the usual equipment weighing him down, Thomas was having a difficult time. No matter what, it seemed that he would never catch her. Around the next corner, he saw her, doubled over in the midst of a coughing fit. Her face turned toward Thomas, and she started again, this time up the slope of a hill toward the main plaza.

Thomas crashed through deep hedges, angling across the hill, trying anything to nab the child as her feet slipped in the wet grass. Now I got you! But his boots were unable to find the traction that he hoped for. He fell further behind—her tiny frame pulling further away.

He came into the plaza—the wastebaskets recently toppled, rain-soaked leaves pasted to the marble, plastic candy wrappers swirling across the girl’s feet as she stood on the far side just within his view. She stared at him like a deer in an open meadow. When he moved, she responded, taking matched steps. She attempted to take this time to rest, and Thomas was no different as he followed her lead. As long as she was right there, he felt he might be able to protect her. Then she might realize that he was one of the good guys.

Thomas threw his head back, looking to the sky, his chest heaving, hoping that finally she would give in. He took several breaths and attempted to compose himself. “Would you just stop!” The words were forced, loud and quick between his breathing, echoing against the surrounding building—his voice rising from the shadows—from the nooks and crannies of this dense mass of buildings. He had not meant for his words to be so obtrusive. He tried a less offensive tone. “I’m serious. I don’t want to hurt you.”

She waved to him. Finally! The standoff was over. “I want to take you someplace safe.” He inched toward her, but that very beginning of a step was met with several of hers. She flashed a look of horror and took off again. Thomas checked behind him, but there was no one. What the hell?

He shook his head, looking to the ground in frustration. A trail of blood, but hardly noticeable—a trickle, if that. The little droplets led back from where they came and then forward toward the child. Damn it, she’s hurt. He let out a groan. Irritated, he worked his pace back into a jog as he followed the trail.

His eyes bounced along concrete and brick, following the red trail. Occasionally, he lost it, grass was difficult at this pace, but it always showed itself eventually upon the hardscapes. This way maybe he could just track her, wait until she’s out of steam and figure it out.

His pace slowed as the droplets became more prevalent, larger and less spread out. She’s slowing. The track of droplets turned the corner onto a narrow passage—one lane lined with sidewalks—a skywalk connecting the two offices that straddled this alley.

The line of spatter cut down from the sidewalk, crossed the street, and skirted a corner that led into a covered entrance to the offices. If she made it into that building, I’m screwed. He stayed on the sidewalk opposite the entrance, taking a cautious approach. No reason to rush it now. Gradually, piece by piece, he took the angle. And there she was, curled and crying in the corner, blood soiling the ground.

“It’s okay. Come here… Please, just stop. I want to take you someplace safe.” Soft footsteps toward the girl, his hand palm down as he approached with a gentle touch. “Are you hurt?” There was only more crying in response, not necessarily directed at Thomas, but a simple, low sobbing. “Please let me help. That’s all I want is to make sure you’re okay.”

Her face emerged from behind her elbow—a pair of unsure eyes, wet and blinking, innocent and searching for a shred of truth in Thomas’s pleas. Her lips quivered and she shook as if she were freezing. “Don’t!” She managed to say it with some force. Thomas paused mid-step, reconsidered closing the gap, and placed his foot back where it had been lifted.

“I swear I don’t want to hurt you. Sweetie, please let me help you. Are you hurt? I need to know, so I can help you. I can’t help you if I don’t know what’s wrong.”

“Don’t! Are you—” Her voice fluttered. “Are you here for the Butcher?”

“No. I’m here for you.”

“He sent you, along with the others!” She screamed and uncurled herself from the corner, scooting back against the wall, but there was nowhere to go. “Fuck you, I’m not going back there.” She gathered her feet below her and stood. “I’m not!”

“No, no, no. I’m not taking you. I didn’t mean like that.” Thomas started again toward her.

She bladed her stance in response.

“I don’t want anything from you,” he said. “I just want to help.”

“Go away!”

“Ricard!” The voice came from down the alley. “Step back from that woman!”

Thomas diverted his attention from the child. There were several men in Second Alliance black uniforms. “This kid needs my help.”

“What the hell are you talking about?” A man that Thomas had never met, accompanied by three others, started down the alley toward him. “She’s one of them.”

Thomas didn’t understand. Their comments made little sense. He thought of scooping the child from the alcove. What the hell could they want with this kid?

Thomas turned back to the girl, but she wasn’t there. A woman stood in her place. Blood down her arms that created the trail that led him there. He shook his head. “What did you do with her?”

The woman swallowed hard. “I don’t know what you mean.”

“Where’s the little girl?” Thomas begged, snatching hold of her.

She screamed.

“Leave her alone.” The man grabbed Thomas by the arm. His tugging was more of an urge as he was unable to shake Thomas from the woman. “Let’s go, Ricard. Damn it, you need a break.”

“What the hell is going on?” Thomas asked.

“Don’t concern yourself with her at the moment. We have someone to tend to her injuries.”

“But…”

“Let it go.”

Thomas followed his lead, walking from the alcove that held the woman. Two of the Soldiers stepped forward and ensured the woman would comply with their wishes. Thomas looked back to her, hoping to see the child’s face, but all he could make out was a long scar from the corner of the woman’s mouth to her ear.

“The name’s Blaine,” the interrogator said, his hand stretched out across the table. Thomas broke his attention from the book he started earlier that morning and extended his own hand to greet the man. “I don’t believe we’ve officially met.”

“No, I don’t think so.” Thomas gave an insincere smile, not trusting this… Blaine, completely. This man that would surely be analyzing every word that Thomas gave to him. A man that would be unable to help himself. It was his job, who he was now, nobody was much more than their duties within the Second Alliance. Thomas knew that a man in his position never exclusively worked their magic on adversaries—they assessed everyone, especially potential candidates in the Soldier Program.

Thomas noticed Blaine seemed intent on speaking at length. “I’m just trying to get my mind right before we head into their camp.” He tried returning to his book.

“I’m not trying to be rude here, but”—Blaine placed his fingertips on the table, propping his hand up like a tent—“we are going to talk.” He tapped his fingers a few times against the wooden top, insisting Thomas rejoin the conversation.

“That’s fine.” Thomas folded the cover, making the block of pages whole again. “I thought you were here to talk to prisoners.”

Blaine nodded. “Oh, I will, but I don’t go into these delicate proceedings blindly.” He pulled the seat opposite Thomas from the table and sat. He cracked his knuckles individually from pinky to thumb then removed a notepad and pen from his shirt pocket. He placed them very precisely on the table, setting the pad to his right, parallel to the table with the pen sitting along a line that ran horizontal across the cover.

“And the lady?” Thomas asked.

“I already spoke briefly with the woman. She gave a great bit of information that I feel you’ll find of use.” He tapped the notepad, which caused the pen to move slightly from its calculated position. Quickly, he fixed it. “It’s fairly obvious what her circumstances are. Speaking with her wasn’t the problem, it was getting her to calm down. But what I wish to focus on now is gathering the facts before I go at the kid.” Blaine eyed Thomas, expecting a response from him, but Thomas hadn’t heard a question. “And… that’s where I require your assistance.”

“I see.” Thomas slid the book to the side, straightened himself in the chair then placed his palms flat against the table. “What would you like to know?” He smiled.

Blaine cupped his hands and squeezed them together as he looked down into his lap. Thomas could see an unpleasant smile take shape—clearly displeased with this sarcastic response. But once Blaine took his eyes from his lap and faced Thomas again, his smile had changed to something more agreeable. “This isn’t a formal discussion.” He tried to soften the mood by waving his hand as if he were swatting a pesky fly from the air. “Seriously, relax. I feel you’ve misinterpreted my intentions.”

“I’m here to assist you with whatever you need,” Thomas jested as he folded his hands on the table and leaned forward a bit. “Whatever it is you need to ask me.”

A lump cleared Blaine’s throat, and he picked at one corner of his mouth with his thumb. He blinked hard then pressed his balled fists together in what had to be one last attempt to get every pop out of his knuckles that he could. “Why is it you’re here?”

“You know why—”

“You said,” Blaine interrupted him, but managed to remain cordial,” that you would answer my questions, correct? Keep in mind that any lies you offer, if proven, could disqualify you from the Soldier Program.”

Joseph… Thomas started to bounce his knee underneath the table, but restrained it by driving his heel into the floor. “Yeah.” Be careful. Play nice. Thomas wetted his lips and started, “The group that came before us missed the Butcher. I’m here to make sure that doesn’t happen again.”

“Good. And how long have you been with the Second Alliance?”

“I’m not sure the exact date, but definitely over a year.”

The questions continued as he sat there—basic questions used to gauge his response—to set the bar for truthfulness. There wasn’t much thought required for each inquiry the interrogator posed. Thomas couldn’t help his mind from wandering as the answers slid easily from his memory.

Thomas wasn’t ignorant to what Blaine worked to establish. What he had trouble understanding was how this man with rounded spectacles held such a position within the Second Alliance. This thin, uninspiring man appeared so out of place next to his Soldier escorts—out of place in general. A man, by Thomas’s estimation, that should not have survived the end of the world. But despite this opinion, the man was clearly important to someone based on the amount of firepower he required and perhaps that was how he had survived.

“How did you come upon the young man you took into custody?”

“Camping here in the library last night when James woke me up. He told me he heard glass break and saw a light move across the bookcases.” Thomas pointed toward the lantern in an effort to validate his explanation.

“Okay.”

“The kid started pulling books from the shelf and just dropped them on the floor. Didn’t seem concerned at all. It was like he had been here before.”

“And?” Blaine seemed bored with the specific details, although it was clear he listened to them intently.

“At the time, we weren’t exactly sure what we had, but figured it would be best to make a move rather than wait and see.” I have to own this. Thomas cleared his throat. “It was me that made the decision to go and take control of the situation.”

“Control, huh?” Blaine pointed over his shoulder. “And what happened to the window there? The kid doesn’t appear to be cut.”

“Well…” Thomas calculated his response as quickly as he could. “I overestimated our advantage and missed what he had done with the lantern.” Nervously, he massaged his palm with the thumb of his opposite hand. “The kid almost got the best of us, but I manage— we took care of the situation.”

“You know that I’ll be speaking with the prisoner once I’m finished here, correct?”

Thomas paused. Through the lenses of Blaine’s glasses he saw an unimpressed gaze, but upon their surface, Thomas could see himself in the reflection—his own face showed worry. Blaine had caught the deceit in Thomas’s answer.

“These questions are simply for fact gathering.” Blaine expelled his breath. “This is nothing more than that. Do not turn this into something larger than what’s transpiring here.”

“I understand.” You’ve done nothing wrong to act this way. Yes, it’s embarrassing, but shit, man… Get it together before he really thinks you’re trying to hide something. Thomas diverted his attention from Blaine to the office. “It…” he tried to explain, but the laughter from inside the office was distracting—James with the others, currently the center of attention, chatting and laughing boisterously with the Soldier reinforcements from the Capital. A half circle wrapped around him while he acted out what appeared to be some sort of fight scene. No telling if it was a recent run-in or something from his past.

“It wasn’t what we were expecting.” Thomas said, finally able to gather his thoughts. “When we realized that he wasn’t there—that it was just the light—we retreated to the office. The kid threw a chair through it and came after us. The fight didn’t last long—”

“I would hope not,” Blaine retorted.

Thomas furrowed his brow, caught off guard by the remark. It was how he said it, as if to say “You’re a Second Alliance Guard. He’s a boy. It should never have been a fight.” He wasn’t completely wrong. But, for this man—this small and delicate person—to make a comment like that, to insult Thomas, when very clearly Blaine would’ve been completely overwhelmed and bested. Thomas and James had thwarted the attacker when the advantage he held was substantial. Blaine, on the hand, would be sprawled out across the floor on the other side of that broken window, his last breath taken several hours ago.

Despite Thomas showing disdain for Blaine’s comment, the interrogator continued unfazed, “Restrain yourself from sharing that you and James had issues with the kid. Lying is in poor taste, but being bested by a child is worse. Keep it close to the vest.” Blaine paused for a moment, finally realizing the death stare that Thomas had focused on him. “In addition to any interrogations required during this endeavor, I’ve also been instructed to mitigate any perceived weaknesses of yours—”

What the hell?

“—so, believe it or not, your well-being is part of my orders. Someone out there thinks very highly of you and has made it a point to ensure that this trial comes to a favorable conclusion. A conclusion that…” He looked to the ceiling while in thought. “Holds you in the most positive light.”

“And who’s that?” Thomas replied, doubting the notion.

“William Haverty. I’m sure you know him or at least of him. Currently, he’s been assigned to the transition of River’s Edge Academy. He speaks well of you for whatever reason,” Blaine said coldly with a hint of jealousy. “You’ll be presented with his terms should you not fail this trial.”

“I see.” No arguing with that.

“For now, I need you to focus on the trial and instill in James the importance of keeping with the narrative on what occurred…” Blaine ensured Thomas paid attention before continuing. “There was no struggle. You simply captured him.”

Thomas nodded. It wouldn’t be a problem. He knew James would more than likely do this on his own, his pride being a strong motivator, a close second to the promise of the analyst position. James would never admit that they had any trouble with the kid. Honestly, he could tell the truth and say he never struggled with the guy—that only Thomas’s life slipped toward death.

But if asked, James knew better than to try and play games. He wouldn’t have a choice otherwise, he too needed this promotion, and Thomas had the ultimate say in whether or not James would accompany him. A simple lie would be his stepping stone—a way to move from his unappreciated position and into one of increased responsibility and respect.

At this very moment, as James spoke with the others, he was probably telling the lie, affirming the struggle hadn’t occurred—that all was right with the world—that an intruder came and was taken—that Thomas and James, two invincible warriors, killed two crazed maniacs in the train yard—that the two of them were unstoppable, infallible, and nothing could stand in their way.

Thomas watched James, knowing of course that none of it was true. But, it didn’t matter as long as the lie was believable.

In his periphery, Thomas could see Blaine inching forward in his seat. He whispered, maybe out of habit or for effect as there was no one around, but his voice came out softly. “Do you trust him?”

“Completely,” Thomas lied, his eyes likely showing the truth. He could feel it swelling inside, bubbling toward the surface.

“And why’s that?” Blaine waited for an explanation as Thomas searched himself for an answer.

“He’s been doing a good job. We had our run in with the prisoner, and”—This is going to make us sound like idiots—“we were ambushed in the rail yard too. Ended up—”

“Again?” Blaine nearly choked on the word trying to get it out so swiftly.

“Sounds worse than it was. We’ve had our run-ins but we’ve always come out on top. We ended up killing a man and his wife.” He caught himself. “But they attacked us. Got the jump on James, but he reacted appropriately, and he made it out fine.” He glanced over through the window again—James still going at it, his lying seemed to come so easily to him. “It’s not going to be a problem.” Thomas faced Blaine once again. “He’ll be on board with whatever I tell him.”

“Just make certain of it,” Blaine ordered. “And the boy? Is there anything additional I should be made aware of?”

“There’s nothing more to say, neither of us talked to the guy. I watched him all night, and then James watched over him when I left for the meet up.”

Blaine nodded. “If that’s all…” He placed his notepad into his pocket, slid the chair from the table, and turned to leave, finishing his statement from over his shoulder. “…I guess I’ll get started. I’ll let you know if there’s anything relevant for you before you depart. Keep reading or whatever it is you wish.”

“But what about that girl?” The question stopped Blaine a few steps into his exit. “What information did she give you about the camp?”

“I wasn’t ready to delve into that.”

“I’d like to know now, so I can get a jump on my planning.”

“If you insist.” Visibly annoyed, he crept back into the chair. “Since we are changing gears, I feel it best I start it off with my own inquiry.” He attempted to crack his knuckles again in preparation for another round, but they were spent. “What do you know about her?”

“I don’t know anything about her. Just saw her running past me, but I didn’t see anyone chasing her. I figured somebody was by how she was moving, but I couldn’t tell.”

“What if it had been the Butcher’s men chasing her? Moving in to try and reclaim her?”

“The idea of it being a trap crossed my mind, but…” Do I tell him? Thomas worked his eyes through the room, yawned, obviously buying time, but at the moment he didn’t care. He couldn’t appear crazy or worse, weak. He very clearly saw a little girl, not a woman, not in the slightest. Then… it wasn’t her. Does that make me crazy? “When she passed me I thought I saw the scar.” The lie came out like expelled food that had held his breaths hostage. “She ran past so quick… I just didn’t get a good look, but figured if she was one of the Butcher’s women, I could get some good Intel.”

“You saw the scar?” The question soaked in skepticism. “Even though she ran past ‘so quick’ as you put it?”

“Yeah.” Thomas coughed. Is that a tell? A sweat began to build up in his hands—a nervousness inside him elevated his heart beat. “I’m pretty sure I saw it as she ran past. You know what I mean. It happened quickly, but I definitely saw it.”

Thomas couldn’t prevent himself from stumbling through his answers. But after a short while, Blaine revealed that they had eyes on Thomas the entire time. He already knew the lengths Thomas had gone through to find the woman. His tone was much more relaxed now, and Thomas welcomed it. He’s not trying to trap you.

Blaine continued speaking the details, pointing out a few concerns, but overall nothing to give any indication he didn’t believe Thomas’s account.

Thomas took a slow, deep breath, trying to settle the rise of his chest. Calm down! You’ve done well. This Soldier spot is yours. The nervousness subsided. “I had to take the chance. Like I said, I saw the scar and knew the Intel would be worth the shot.”

Just as Thomas had finished his statement, one of the Soldiers brought the woman from a backroom and into the office. The blood. He craned his neck to check on her.

The Soldier sat her down at one of the computer desks in the corner, and a medic began to look her over. He pitched some bandages that were striped red, cleaned the wounds, and began wrapping both her arms with fresh gauze. They allowed her to sip on some water and take a few bites of what had to have been the stalest crackers left in the world. “Did you guys hurt her?” Thomas’s eyes shot back to Blaine. “A blood trail led me to her.”

“You should know better than that.” Blaine hung his head with disappointment. “Why are you here?”

A pause. Thomas wasn’t budging—he wanted the answer to his question.

“Our purpose is to save them,” Blaine said. “You know damn well we’d never hurt her.”

Thomas considered it to be the truth, but something existed in the woman’s eyes that made Thomas second guess Blaine’s solemn words. Maybe it was the blood or the speed by which she moved. The hurried feet. All he ever saw were the bottoms of them as she ran with her flowing hair pulled back by the fear that propelled her. Surely, she ran from someone. At the moment, it appeared to be them. They were the only ones found to be chasing her. Had something gone awry?

“How did it happen?”

“We located her near a tree on campus. She was sobbing as she cut herself. We attempted to stop her, but she ran. She kept muttering to herself, but she may have been delusional. There’s no telling how long she’s been alone or whether she suffers from some sort of mental illness. She’s lucky we intervened as she might very well have succeeded in killing herself.”

“What did she say during the interview?”

“She spoke briefly of abandoning her sister,” Blaine replied. “I didn’t require her to elaborate. There wasn’t a need. She’s been through enough. It was important to let her know she has a way out. She provided adequate Intel, but wants our protection. Before we commit to finding her a job and a place within our world, we need to confirm that she truly wants a new life.”

“So what should I expect?”

Blaine took his notepad again and flipped through a few pages. “She said there are eleven women, a few kids, the Butcher, and about fifteen armed guards.”

That’s fewer than what originally thought.

“They’ve enlisted a few individuals we would consider civilians—a cook, a nurse-type, and a mechanic. The Butcher’s set up below the gazebo as initial reports indicated, and the sleeping tents radiate outward from there.” Blaine set the notepad in front of Thomas. “She drew a crude map of the area.” He traced the diagram with his finger as he spoke. “The tents where the women conduct their business are on the northwestern side of the gazebo. All of their valuables are stored within a U-haul parked near the playground south of the center. We’ve provided a map of the area. I’ll lay them out and ensure this information is available for the evening’s briefing.”

“Any details on weapons?”

“She lacked specifics but said there are ‘long ones’ and pistols. It sounds like most patrol with one of each.” Blaine withdrew the notepad from Thomas. “She stated the women have an agreement to surrender if attacked. The men expect them to fight alongside them, but they’ll refuse. You shouldn’t have to concern yourselves with them being a threat once the assault begins.”

“Any word on how the system works there? What do I need to say or do?”

Blaine peeled back another page of his notepad. “They’ll accept anything and everything. Mostly, they desire ammunition, guns, gasoline, water and food. She’s seen them take books and clothing but they don’t equate in value.”

“Books will have to do. We’re not going to arm them. We’re also not looking to engage with the women. We just need a way in.”

“Let me interview the kid, and I’ll attempt to speak with her again once she’s had time to rest.”

“I’ll be right here.”

Thomas looked on as Blaine entered the office and motioned for one of the Soldiers to escort the kid from the library to someplace more appropriate for a “conversation.” As Blaine led the other two from the office, Thomas decided to part the pages to his book once again. Shortly after, he found himself slipping toward sleep—the words fading in and out with each indentation that pushed the story forward.

His focus faded—the lack of sleep tightening its grip on his consciousness, pulling him closer toward rest. Thomas gave in. There was no use in denying the sleep any longer, not even the laughter from the office could keep him in this world.

Only six lanes of boulevard separated the two of them from the Butcher’s checkpoint into Burnet Woods. They had wrapped back around the parking garage and presented themselves into the open from a two-lane street that bisected the university’s grounds. Out of habit, Thomas looked both ways before squeezing between a couple of parked cars—both with at least one flat tire and clear indications they had been ransacked long ago. Thomas adjusted the straps of a book bag he found within the library’s office. It was now filled with a bounty of books, and James carried the same—each of them nervous and eager to present their tribute and be granted access into the camp.

There were only three men in front of them as they approached from the sidewalk. It appeared as though they had been waiting a while—their faces stamped with impatient frowns as they stood in line. The arrival of Thomas and James interrupted their complaining for only a moment. All of their eyes met for a quick assessment of each other. The three strangers must have been satisfied with the newcomers’ demeanor as their conversation fired up again, and although none of the strangers made any attempt to include them, Thomas ensured he kept track of their words and took notice of what they had.

One of the men brought with him a small pallet of canned foods within a wagon and another had two packs of bottled water at his own feet. The last of the three didn’t appear to have anything and remained the least talkative. Most of his answers came in one-word varieties. The others spoke. He listened, then agreed. It seemed as though they could have said anything, and he would have played along, affirming whatever nonsense the other two came up with. He must have something valuable. He’s too quiet. Thomas steadied his eyes upon the man, scanning his figure, looking for any bulges that might indicate a firearm. The aloof stranger raised a few hairs on Thomas’s neck.

“First time?” James broke into the stream of conversation, trying to engage the man—to see what he was about.

“Sure is!” One of the other stranger’s spoke up, misinterpreting the intention of James’s words. He smiled as he said it though, his teeth showing through a graying beard. “They call me Martin, and this here’s my son, Mitch.” The two of them offered their hands, and James took their palms into his own. “Wanted to come by here last time, but wasn’t able. Would’ve taken too long from where I was at the time. I’m getting too old for any long treks across this town.” He stood while steadying himself by the handle of the wagon—a sharp bend to his back. “This’ll be my last ride before I go.” He held up a clasped hand. “Got my magic bean, and these women should knock the last couple things off my bucket list.”

“You have a bucket list?” James seemed completely enthralled with the idea.

“Not so much worried about living anymore. This whole virus thing made living mostly unenjoyable, but made it easier to do some of the things I’ve wanted to do but never could.” The hairs of his beard parted again around a wide grin. Thomas swore he could see a twinkle in the old man’s eye. “Some things my wife wouldn’t do, some things the law wouldn’t let me do. Neither of those around, so I says to myself… It’s time to just have fun before the cancer tears me apart completely.”

His son, looking on just over his shoulder, shook his head. “Dad, come on.” He tugged at the old pervert’s shoulder. “You still got your pill?”

“My last huzzah!” Martin presented a small blue pill to the sky between his thumb and forefinger. He took it down and bobbled it within his palm. “This baby’s gonna bring me lot’s to remember when I’m in the ground”

“Quit talking like that,” his son pleaded with him, “and quit rolling that damn thing around like that. You’re going to drop—”

But it was too late. The pill slipped from his hand and found its way into a patch of decaying matter pressed against the curb. As the two men fumbled for Martin’s dying wish, the quiet stranger dove in to assist.

“Lemme help you guys out here,” he said while scavenging through the mess. “Is that it there?” He pointed down toward a clump of leaves by the old man’s foot, diverting their attention from where Thomas caught glimpse of the pill, but as he went to retrieve it, the quiet stranger plucked it from the pile and into his pocket. “Any luck?” The stranger continued feigning assistance. “I thought I just saw it.”

“It’s got to be here, damn it.” The son desperately scraping everything away. He practically ripped his father’s foot from the gutter as he worked to get it from the spot he wished to search.

“Be careful with this old man.” Martin slowly bent down to sit on the curb.

“Damn it, dad!” He was tossing the excess junk out behind him and into the street. “Anyone seen it?”

Thomas glared at the stranger, contemplating whether or not to inject the truth into this charade as they picked through the mess, sifting the loose filth through their parted fingers. Of course, there was nothing to find. Not a sliver of blue within that disgusting slew of brown and black.

The son turned to the stranger, scowling at him, most likely thinking what Thomas already knew to be the truth. “Give it here.” A slow and deliberate statement. “Now!”

“Don’t have it.” The man stepped back.

“Empty out your pockets.”

“Who the hell do you think you are? I don’t answer to you, and besides”—he patted along the outside of his pants pockets—“I ain’t got your shit, man. I don’t need no stinkin’ pill to get it up.”

“It’s worth a ton, and you know it. It didn’t just disappear! I know you have the damn thing, just give it up!” The son took very little time encroaching into the quiet stranger’s space. Thomas and James simply stood there, watching the event unravel in front of them. Although they could have easily intervened, retrieved the pill, and given it back, the role for which they came was not that. They stayed mum.

“Help me out here, you two,” the son begged. “This guy can’t steal from us. It’s my dad’s final wish. We can’t let him get away with this.”

Thomas felt no sympathy for the man whining about the theft of a small pill. A small pill that would allow his old man to defile the life of a woman—to take from her—steal a small piece of her soul each time.

As the man continued to beg, a rage built inside Thomas, his ears turning red. It was the audacity of this hypocrite, this whiner, this individual unable to see his own horribleness. He was only focused on a minor theft, but acted as an enabler for the rape of another, possibly several others. A complicit rapist, but a crusader against petty theft? The man’s moral compass proved laughable.

Thomas shifted his weight toward the men, but felt an arm across his chest. It was James, taking on the unfamiliar role of peacemaker, casting aside his natural inclination toward instigator. “Let it go,” he whispered while pointing to the Butcher’s guard approaching from the post.

“Hey! Everyone! Shut the fuck up!” The guard set his hand upon the pistol against his hip.

“But he—” the son started.

“I don’t give two shits about any ‘but he.’ You idiots won’t be allowed in here if you don’t end this now. This is a no bullshit zone.” The guard stared pointedly down the line at each of their faces. “Anyone have a problem with that?”

James spoke up, stepping slowly away from their bickering while grabbing hold of Thomas’s arm. “We have nothing to do with them, not going to have them ruin this opportunity for us.”

Thomas took the cue. “Check us over and what we brought. Let these idiots decide what’s more important to them by themselves. We’re going in.”

They walked up the service road toward the barricade.

“You’re here with me,” the guard said, stopping James in the middle of the street. “Only one at a time, fellas.” Thomas slowed his steps. “Bill! Look alive!”

“I hear ya!” Bill stepped out from behind the barricade and brushed something from his pants. Thomas took a quick glance back at James, who had already taken it upon himself to strike up a conversation with the guard. The apprehension Thomas held going into this faded.

James seemed born for this situation. A natural liar—he seemed to have the ability to move from one character to the next, feeding into whatever line the next person they encountered needed to hear. They were just two guys looking for a good time—nothing more, nothing less.

“Quit your staring,” the guard said, pausing from his conversation with James. “Get your ass on up there.”

“Let’s go! We ain’t got all day here.” Bill pointed to Thomas. “Step this way and spread ’em.”

Thomas did what he was told—a slight hesitation to his movement. A little nervous touch to his “character” in this mission would carry well. Even the old pervert in all his excitement seemed to hold a little uncertainty in his words. No one seemed completely comfortable here.

“You don’t have anything on you that’s gonna hurt me, right?” Bill asked.

“Nope.” Thomas slid the book bag from his shoulder and let it drop to the ground.

“What’s in there?” Bill nudged the bag with his foot. “Feels heavy.”

“Just a bag of books,” he said, making a point not to reveal the source.

As Bill moved into position behind him, Thomas spread his legs even with his shoulders and raised his hands above his head. “You think those books will get us what we need?”

“Depends on what you’re looking to do.”

That comment made Thomas shudder. Of course he missed the touch, the softness of a woman, but these circumstances made his skin crawl.

Get into the role. “As far as I can get?” Thomas realized it came out as a question. Real smooth, damn it! “I’m just looking for some quick action, man.”

The words pained him to say it. He couldn’t remember if his eyes closed while the words crept from his lips. Either way, the guard hadn’t heard or noticed, he was too focused on exposing any contraband.

He knelt by Thomas’s legs, his hands sliding along, grasping for anything that might be hidden. Thomas looked down upon the guard—the man that had sold a portion of his soul, bore the scar of a mad man, devoted his life to enslaving others. “What won’t these women do?” He tried again to get a reaction out of the man.

Bill’s laugh said it all. The filth attached to each pronounced “Ha!” left little doubt that these women had no choice—no say in how their bodies were used.

Thomas’s faith in humanity beyond the Second Alliance continued to plummet. It had only been two years, but for some people it hadn’t come soon enough. The decline only worked to reaffirm his desire to carry out the mission—to strengthen their influence over the region.

“What are we laughing about? It’s gotta be good if he’s in on it.” James winked to Thomas as he broke into the conversation, moving into the position where Thomas had just been cleared. “So… do we just give the women the books or how’s that work?”

“You’ll have to go to the money booth. Just take the crap over that you want to sell, and they’ll figure out what it’s worth.” Bill began searching James. “Once you get your chits, then you’ll have a better idea of what you can get. There’s food and stuff too, but most people come for the women.” He motioned for Thomas to come closer and lowered his voice for both him and James. “Use them like you want to. Depends on the one you get, but if you seek out the right ones there ain’t nothin’ they won’t let you do. Nobody’ll judge you neither. Costs a bit more, but where the hell else you gonna get this done for yourself.” Bill chuckled in his throat. “Hit ‘em, Choke ‘em. Whatever. Doesn’t matter—they’re owned property.” He patted James on the back and began with their bags.

Thomas’s heart dropped. He just stared blankly, frozen within this surreal moment. His hands pulsed, desiring to shred this man to pieces as he continued to speak. Thomas’s hearing diminished into a persistent tone that blocked the rest of what poured from Bill’s mouth. A large portion of Thomas was relieved that he couldn’t make out what was being said. These poor women.

He could feel a great pleasure rising within his body as the thought of capturing, maiming, and killing the Butcher began to overwhelm him. To butcher the Butcher was all he could imagine.

Thomas waited patiently, letting his senses normalize as Bill finished searching through their bags. “Last thing—take these.” Bill pinned two badges onto their shirts. “Let’s us know who’s been through a checkpoint. Don’t lose these. If we find someone without it, then they’re gone, no questions asked. Any blowback and we’ll just kill ’em.” Thomas looked to James. “Not to end on a sour note, so… Make sure you get your fill.”

Thomas smiled at the man. There’s a special place in hell for you.

“Sounds like we’ll get our fill on whatever we need,” James said. “Let’s roll, Tommy. We got a nice vacation ahead of us.”

“Just follow the sidewalk in,”—Bill snaked his hand toward the woods—“and it’ll curve around through a little dip with a stream rolling by. Once you start up the hill, you might have a quarter mile or so. Your first stop should be to get some chits, so you don’t have to lug those books around.”

Thomas and James stuffed the books back into their bags before stepping off. “We need to burn this place to the ground,” Thomas muttered.

All James could manage was a nod.

Thomas counted the joints in the sidewalk as he walked—anything to try and keep his mind clear. If he allowed the weight of these circumstances to crush him, he knew he might not be able to effectively complete this mission. A personal rage would not be a successful plan. It may push him through pain, but acting on raw emotion would not suffice. The knowledge of the impending freedom of those captive within the camp would have to suppress this hatred—this desire to free them immediately. They’ll have their turn. There’s not a chance in hell they escape what they’ve been doing to these girls. Just give it time.

“This place… I don’t know, man.” James said, now that they were well outside of earshot of the Butcher’s guard. “I had no idea this place was like this. I may joke around a bunch and whatever, but this is insane, right?”

“Keep the act up.” Thomas looked back toward the barricade. The old pervert and his son prepared for admission into the camp. The quiet stranger left, but others had replaced him. Even from here, Thomas could see their smiles—all lined up, bearing sickening anticipation. “Tonight, they’ll pay.”

The path cut its way between two ridges then met with the stream that Bill spoke of. The stream and path came within feet of one another, paralleling each other until finally parting ways as the walk bent to the northwest up a hill, and the stream stumbled down a few terraces. The water cascaded through, breaking on stones and sticks, bending around the ankles of two women standing just off the bank. Their backs bent—their busy hands cleaning a pile of laundry.

Thomas and James smiled as they stole the women’s attention. He couldn’t deny he enjoyed their state of nudity, but it wasn’t the point of the smile—it was knowing that soon they would have a choice—a real purpose in life.

James raised a hand to acknowledge them, and the taller of the two waved him toward her, but once he took that first step, she quickly interrupted him. “Stop! Not you, sir.” Her true intent approached from behind them.

Three children, two girls and a boy, wheeled a cart filled with laundry down toward the stream. A few pieces of clothing slipped to the ground as the cart rocked back and forth. The girl in back picked them from the street, her arms struggling to carry it all. Thomas went to help. “Stop!” The woman shook her head. “Don’t help.”

Are they always like this? Thomas eyed the ridgeline. It seemed strange they were unattended—alone out here. He expected that a guard or caretaker of some sort would be present. “Do you women do laundry for everyone?” Thomas asked. “You don’t have to be afraid of us.”

The statement seemed to startle the women as they shielded the children and backed away from the wads of clothing resting on the stones.

“They’ll do whatever you want.” A guard appeared from atop the ridge, adjusting himself then zipping up his pants. “I’d recommend something more exciting, but if you want to waste your chits on laundry, then you do what makes you happy.” He grabbed a rifle from the foot of a tree and slid carefully down the face of the ridge. “These women don’t care if you smell or not. Right, ladies?”

The women hung their heads and said nothing.

“Right, ladies?” The guard swatted one of the women on the ass with the butt of his rifle, knocking her onto her hands and knees in the shallow creek bed.

“Yes, sir.” The women responded together. Two of the children rushed to aid the one that had been struck, but she brushed them back and stood.

Thomas suppressed his sense of duty and simply nodded to the guard. It would be better to merely pass through, make very little contact with others. In this way, Thomas and James would affect less, be able to observe the natural happenings of the camp.

As the two rounded their way up through the bend in the road, a low hum of voices grew to a steady roar within the air. The dense wooded area opened up, leaving the trees to wrap the perimeter of the Butcher’s camp. A throng of people gathered outside the restroom entrances carved into the hillside just below the white gazebo—dueling steps climbed the grassy hillside toward the top. One man stood outside the bathroom stirring a large pot—a weak fire below it—cooking what smelled like stew.

They pressed their way through the crowd, walking the street that circled back on itself, taking in what they could, observing everything it had to offer. An older man parted the crowd carefully with his shopping cart, ensuring that his goods were visible and doing his best to avoid people’s feet. “Get your rubbers!” the man shouted, as he accepted chits into a bucket and filled their empty hands with condoms.

Thomas took to the outside of the crowd and walked past the clusters of multi-colored tents that rippled occasionally from the wind. The gusts carried the foul stench of unwashed bodies throughout the camp. Women and men came and went with the sound of zippers. Muddy footprints painted a collage throughout the street. It was overwhelming, and being a natural introvert, Thomas found himself observing from where they first entered.

“This place is nuts, man,” James said. Two naked women ran past, and he couldn’t keep his eyes from them. “I’ve never…” A few others walked the other way, men’s arms slung over their shoulders. “I’ve never seen anything like this.”

“There’s too much going on here. I don’t know how we’re going to get accurate numbers. How the hell can we?”

“Shit, man. I don’t know.”

“Just stay cl—”

A scream—a woman staggering, clutching the side of her face as she made her way toward the gazebo from a collapsing tent. Blood ran down her arm. She sobbed while shouting, “Get him! Get him!” Her finger dripped with blood, pointing, sentencing the man running from the tent. Her knees hit the pavement, another woman bent down to receive her, wrapping her in a blanket to conceal her naked body.

“One hundred chits to whoever grabs that coward!” An unknown voice rang out.

With a single shoe and nothing else, the man stole for the walkway, his gait teetering with every step as most of the crowd turned to give chase. Thomas looked on as the man made for his escape, running straight toward him.

The plan of keeping to themselves had just been decided not but fifteen or twenty minutes ago. This event would make him the sore thumb, but even worse, an early enemy if he let the man escape. It left him with little choice as he grabbed hold of the man, jerking him by the arm and swinging him violently to the ground. The man’s face erupted with a crunch as it hit the pavement. Thomas stood there, unmoved, stoic while looking down at a still body once again.

“One hundred chits to that man and his crony.” The unknown voice confirmed. Thomas scanned the crowd, but it seemed that anyone could have said it. The entire horde of people became engrossed with what occurred. A staggered line of people stood opposite them, staring from across the empty pavement. “Step forward, proud victors!”

A man stepped forward from the others—tall and slender. He glided toward them. His demeanor, his own sense of worth placed him above everyone else. It was surprising he had not been noticed sooner. While everyone else was dressed in mostly blue jeans, t-shirts, or jackets, he sported a suit, vest and all—a business man.

As he approached, it appeared that he had a facial disfigurement but not as pronounced as the others—a slightly raised discoloration on his left cheek. “To whom do I owe the pleasure?”

“Thomas.”

The man presented his large mitt to him. “Folks call me the Butcher, horrible name I know, but one that is quite fitting.”

Thomas accepted the handshake—although he hated to—although deep down he was murdering him through a sequence of vignettes that grew darker with each revolution. This man would not live to see tomorrow. There wasn’t a chance, and Thomas knew this, giving him a harsh squeeze as the Butcher went to remove his hand. All the Butcher could do was hide his pain behind a distorted grin. He could show no weakness in front of his brood.

The Butcher turned from Thomas briefly and signaled to a couple of his guards with a snap of his fingers. Rushing to his side, the two men seemed eager, almost pleasured by the opportunity to serve. “It’s nice to have obedience within the ranks,” the Butcher said while turning back toward Thomas. “You want to help these two string this example up by his neck?”

Thomas shook his head. “I’d rather not. I’m not here to make friends or enemies. I’m here to get what I want and leave.”

“I can respect that.”

The Butcher’s guards lifted the unconscious man from the street, one held him by the arms and the other by the legs. The man’s head began to sway as he worked to come back to this world. He groaned, and his eyes began to flutter as he was carried off. Thomas looked on, not necessarily feeling sorry for what occurred. The man had certainly asked for trouble.

“Where can we pick up those chits you were talking about?” James spoke up. “We got these books here too.”

The Butcher gestured over his shoulder. “Head over that way to the U-Haul up the hill.” He took out a notebook, scribbled quickly, and ripped the page from the binding. “Take this and get your chits. Enjoy yourselves.” He gave an awkward wink as he handed it over. Thomas took it and glanced over the note. “Thanks again for grabbing this fool.”

“Don’t worry about it,” James said.

The Butcher removed himself from their presence and pressed onward up the hill, following behind the doomed man that swayed within his subordinates’ grips.

“I didn’t attack her!” he yelled, clearly aware of what was happening now that he had come to. “She tried to rob me in my sleep.” The group of onlookers parted themselves from the intended path of the Butcher’s men as he continued pleading his case. “I didn’t mean to. I was asleep and—” He groaned from a few cheap shots taken by members in the crowd. “I felt someone dig— her digging through my stuff, damn it! I thought I was being robbed. It was an honest mistake!”

Thomas could hear some of the men laughing, others grumbling amongst themselves. A mixture of thoughts tangled up with what to do with the man.

“Had I known it was her I would have just reported her!” he cried.

More and more people emerged from their tents and the immediate tree line—everyone seeking out the cause of the commotion. The whispers continued—some eventually grew to shouts. A few wore blank stares as the story spread. The attention had been drawn from Thomas and James and toward the gazebo.

They used this opportunity to circumvent the crowd, slogging through the damp grass and mud behind the tents and up a steep hill toward the U-Haul and pickup trucks. Thomas caught James’s eyes bouncing from person to person within the crowd.

“They’re crazed,” James said.

“Just keep your head down and move.”

From the corner of his eye, Thomas could see them preparing the man, could hear his screams from across the park. The Butcher stood to speak and the crowd quieted.

“Keep him awake for the whole thing!” the Butcher shouted.

The man pleaded for mercy, but it fell upon deaf ears.

“Gag him and I don’t care how much he struggles, do not knock him out!” The Butcher continued with his orders, but they gradually faded as Thomas and James made their way up the hill.

“One hundred chits my good man,” James said while smiling, even though it was Thomas that slid the note over to the guard. He lifted the paper from the tabletop and read. James stood there with his arms crossed while nodding.

“And what’s in those bags there?”

They plopped their book bags onto the table and began stacking book after book in front of the man. He glanced at each one, taking a few and setting them to the side. With the others, he abruptly began to shove them back inside the bags.

“You only want those three?” James pointed to the ones the guard set aside then started to take the others from the bag, looking at their covers. “You didn’t even really touch these here.”

“The ones I took are the ones we want.” He refused the books that James had attempted to force back upon him. “Take it or leave it.”

“How much?” James sounded disappointed.

We aren’t here to actually… Thomas stopped his judgment of James, remembering that they needed to stay in character. James is slick. “Yeah, what can we get for those?”

“Five chits would be fair. That and the other hundred should get each of you a round or two with one of the average girls, or should at least.”

“That’s it?” James asked.

He grabbed ten chits from a bag, then five from a large, plastic bucket. “You’ll have to negotiate with them. I can’t guarantee the price.” He slammed the chits on the tabletop. “Enjoy!”

James snatched the flat, gold-colored chits from the table. “This will do,” he grumbled under his breath while doling out half of them to Thomas. “We aren’t lugging this crap around. Just keep them.”

“I want this one.” Thomas took the Aesop’s Fables and stuffed it back into his bag.

A collection of cheers broke through the camp as they hiked back down the hill. Thomas turned, seeing the body drop—a lawn chair tumbling off from underneath his feet. The taut rope vibrated as it snapped into place. It quivered while the man struggled, causing his body to sway violently. The knot groaned and shifted around the thick branch of the old elm tree.

One of the guard’s took to pushing the body, and the man tried to fight back. The guard played his sick game—an unnecessary display of power—to toy with a man as he took in his last moments of this world. His jaw worked to curse the guard, but nothing could escape. The path from brain to lungs was cut off, and all the man could do was gasp. All he could do was spin in place.

Thomas sat on a wooden bench within the stand of trees surrounding the camp. He kept his head down, watching his half of the chits rattle about in his hand as he shook them. That soft clanging noise couldn’t distract him from the sound of the rope creaking from several yards away—the man’s feet twisting from south to west to north and back. Most had already forgotten about the hanging. The horde gradually dispersed, and those who were a bit more cautious had left camp altogether. It was only the body and Thomas that remained on that side of the gazebo.

In the moment Thomas acted against the fleeing stranger, he never could have imagined they would have killed him so quickly or at all. There wasn’t a trial, not even an informal statement of facts. There was no one to speak for the man, to tell what little there may have been to say about his life. No one cared to hear it. His sentence had been decided the second that woman pointed her finger at him. Idiot! Why the hell’d he think he could hit her and get away with it?

He kept his head down, maintaining the pretense of mourning, knowing damn well he didn’t feel it in the slightest. It was from here he could observe the camp without interruption while James milled around the common area, discreetly brushing against people as he checked for weapons. Only occasionally did James actually stop and speak with anyone. They could never be sure that the scar was universal. It was possible that others could be present working in a covert capacity for the Butcher.

As James continued among the deviants, Thomas riffled through his bag, grabbed the book he saved, and cracked it open. The page didn’t matter. It was the letters he needed. He ran his fingertips across them, appearing to read, but in reality, he was preparing for the assault. Two guards in the front outpost. He creased the first two g’s with his fingernail, leaving a slight indentation across them. The guard by the stream. He did the same to the next ‘g’. Two women and the three kids. Two w’s and three k’s. He kept tally of weapons—crossing r’s for rifles, p’s for pistols, and s’s for shotguns. With anything noteworthy, he continued his count through the page in this same manner.

Finally, a capitalized ‘b’—he looked toward the gazebo where the Butcher had retired for the time being. From how the hill broke, he could just make out a single guard posted at the Butcher’s door. There were several others surrounding the gazebo like dogs in a junkyard. The cook stood at the head of a line that wrapped the hill away from Thomas.

He closed his eyes and sighed while rubbing his hand across his brow. The women are property. Bill’s words reverberated in his head. Without question, they believed this—apparent in how they guarded them, corralled them into controllable positions. Even the common area where the women appeared able to walk freely remained under lock and key. With a guard posted at each cardinal direction, how much freedom could they have? One could observe it in the women’s eyes that stood amongst the crowd as the guards ensured they acted appropriately for the task at hand.

One woman, naked like the others, walked briskly from the Butcher’s quarters—her eyes lowered as she circumvented the crowd. It wasn’t until she found herself outside an unoccupied tent that her demeanor changed, winking and pawing at several men that walked by, but there were no takers. Eventually, she gave up and found herself mingling within the throng of men gathered in the middle—the group of strangers smoking cigarettes and nursing warm beers, speaking loudly to one another. One sweet cigarette… just a taste. Wonder how many chits those go for?

An uneasy smile spread across the woman’s face as she tucked herself into the muscly chest of a man that barely paid her any attention. Did James check that guy? It struck Thomas oddly that she would seek solace in the arms of a stranger. There didn’t seem to be any chits to earn from this man. He remained indifferent to the woman as the others chatting around him poked and prodded her casually, grabbing upon her flesh. Even those simply walking past took a piece for themselves. I may need to add him to my count.

Thomas brought his attention back to his book when he realized the scraping across the ‘B’ had worn a hole in the page. His mind had wandered too far into the crowd. He did his best to keep track of the women, counting the travelers would do no use—they would all be gone come dusk. With his tally complete, he tucked the book away. Page 101. He repeated the page number a few more times in his head as he stood from the bench.

The group of guards unwinding near the gazebo had taken notice of Thomas’s fake grieving—a couple of them mocked him with fake sobs, another gesticulated as if he were being hanged. They erupted into laughter, patting one another on the back in crude celebration.

“You guys alright?” Thomas asked.

“You’re the one cryin’ like a bitch.” A guard slipped from his seat atop the banister of the gazebo and tossed an empty beer bottle into the grass. “Why you cryin’ over this dude? You’re the one that fuckin’ slammed him.”

“I didn’t know you guys operated like this.”

“What’d you expect?”

Some punishment, I guess, but not killing the guy. You guys probably beat on these girls harder than he ever could have. Thomas chose to keep his comments to himself. Instead, he grabbed his bag and moved toward the body.

Two more of the Butcher’s men leapt from their perch, coming to the side of the man that started the altercation. “Whatchu plannin’ to do?” One of the men patted the side of a burly AK-47.

Thomas stopped dead in his tracks and put his hands up. “I don’t want any trouble.” He was unarmed and clearly outgunned. Even if he had his normal complement of firearms, he would’ve been at a disadvantage. He gritted his teeth, knowing there was no use in pushing the issue. No matter how badly he knew it was the right thing to do, he had to let it go.

“Man, sit yo’ ass down.” The rest of his cohorts laughed uncontrollably. “Go on!” He shooed Thomas with both hands, trying his best to embarrass him.

All Thomas could do was turn away. He knew starting something he possessed no chance of winning served without purpose. Hoping that if he left without pushing the matter further, he could simply integrate himself into the crowd and vanish from their radar.

“That’s what I thought.” The men roared with laughter once again and traipsed back toward the gazebo. They clanged together a few bottles of beer and resumed their conversation.

That guy’s trouble. Thomas glanced back over his shoulder once or twice to ensure they no longer posed a threat—only the man with the AK maintained his watch over Thomas while he threaded his way into the crowd. If he didn’t have that damn AK… Wonder how many more of those they got. Definitely a good thing we came in here—good to know they’ll have some serious fire power when we hit it.

He found James in a familiar position, a curl of people wrapped around him, taking to his wild stories. A couple of women entangled themselves in the arms of two of the men listening—faking their enjoyment. It was only because they had to that they acted this way. Their entire performance given for the worst audience of all.

“Find anything you like yet?” A stranger’s voice shot up as the woman that hung on him plunged her hand down the front of his pants. “Feisty! Just like I like it.” He slapped the woman on the ass, and she shrieked.

“I’m seeing plenty.” James played along, his eyes giving the woman an alluring once over.

“He ain’t got no way to pay for all this,” a brunette woman said. She winked at James, took her hand from the man’s pants, and plopped her backside into James. She leaned forward and gyrated herself further and further back, almost knocking him to the ground.

Thomas caught the grin on James’s face—his eyes fixated on her waistline—the woman seemingly with no intention of letting up. When James finally broke his gaze, Thomas was able to gain his attention and signaled for him to come over. James nodded.

“Who wants to earn some chits?” James took them out and began counting them in his hand.

The woman shot up and spun around. “Oh, please. What do you like?”

“Either of us will do, or both of us if you’d like it that way,” the other woman chimed in, ensuring she wouldn’t be forgotten when the chits exchanged hands.

“Meh, you two aren’t my type.” James chortled. “I’ll find one that better suits my needs.” He turned from them and made his way toward Thomas.

“I can do whatever you want!” the brunette called to him. “Both of us can!”

“What’s up, man?” James asked.

“The big guy in the middle—you check him?” Thomas rubbed along his mouth and chin, keeping his voice discreet. “The one with the girl hiding in his chest.”

James turned to see who he meant. “Well…” James seemed uncomfortable. “The thing about that guy. I—“

Thomas gave him a stiff look.

“He doesn’t look the type. There’s no scar, man.”

“Wasn’t sure if there could be an exception,” Thomas offered.

“No one’s treated him any different than anyone else. Maybe he’s the strong, sensitive type—maybe he’s paying her to cuddle with him.” He shrugged. “I don’t know.”

“I’m not buying it. Did you check him or not?”

“I got close enough not to be killed. He ain’t one of them. I’m positive. Just another guy, trying to get whatever it is he needs from this place.”

“How certain are you?” Thomas pressed him.

“Bullets will still go through him if he’s here after sundown. It’s not the end of the world if we miss one from the count.” He scanned the crowd. “My biggest concern is that AK. You see that?”

“Couldn’t miss it. It looks like he can handle it too.”

James nodded.

“Doesn’t seem like they’re formally trained,” Thomas said, “but they may be able to handle themselves. In the meantime, keep doing what you’re doing. Don’t do anything that might draw attention to yourself.”

“Alright.”

Thomas walked along the curb, hunks of mud scraped from the bottoms of boots hung from them like a well-used welcome mat. This crowd is definitely larger than yesterday. I bet this place just grows as more people catch wind of it. Where the hell are these people coming from? His thoughts continued to drift. A few women may have said something as he passed by the rustling tents—past the quiet banter and sensual moans that came from inside.

“What’s your story?” A woman, raven-haired with rugged beauty, reached out, pulling Thomas’s hand into her own. She began stroking his palm with her fingertip. “Care to share?”

“Not really.” He could see how some men got carried away with this. She was pretty and had that effect of a woman. Her soft voice could make a man feel important and needed for something much more primal than their usual responsibilities.

Thomas knew she didn’t care what his story was—that she would forget anything he told her the second he left. He needed to pull his hand free—Mission first—but the slide of her fingertip along the ridges of his hands prevented it. It felt good to be wanted, desired, even if he knew deep down that it was all a farce. He felt himself falling into this trap. Play along. Maybe she’ll prove useful in other ways.

“How much?” Thomas wasn’t sure that it was an act at this point, his lower half beginning to get the better of him. He bit his lip, but quickly released it.

“How much you got?” She leaned back, causing him to snap hold of her to prevent her from falling. “Those strong hands could hold a lot of chits—a lot of quality time.”

“You like to play games, huh?” Thomas bent an awkward smile to her. “I’m not falling for that. What’s your time worth?”

“I can’t tell you what my time’s worth if I don’t know what you’re wanting to do.”

“Let’s start with talking.”

“Then let’s start with a chit.” She smiled.

Thomas hesitated. He took his hand from hers, slipped it into his pocket, and shuffled the chits between his fingers. “Will this do?” A chit rested in his palm.

“You’re focusing on the wrong things right now.” She pulled her elbows in toward each other, pushing her breasts up and in. Thomas couldn’t help himself but look. “There we go,” she said, as the chit slid from his hand.

“This one yours?” He pointed to the red and gray tent behind them.

Retaking his hand, she pulled him toward it. “It’s yours now.”

She unzipped the door and pulled it to the side, wafting an overwhelming plume of floral perfume from inside—an obvious attempt to mask the underlying foulness. The stench straightened Thomas up before he poked his head into the slumping tent. Cautious—his feet mindful of the filth wrapped in a heap of blankets and pillows. Plastic shells of water bottles littered the back. A few crusted bowls. He sighed. A creeping sense of indecency rose from the nylon floor of the tent and along his spine as he finally placed both feet inside. The woman followed. She let the door drop back into place, and the rolling sound of the zipper sealed them inside.

Thomas kicked the blankets to the side, and with a loath descent onto the floor, he perpetuated the ruse. Any desire he had felt toward this woman and her coerced need to please him quickly evaporated, dissolving within the burst of perfume the woman just released from a tiny, heart-shaped bottle. She smiled, put the bottle down, and took some lotion from a plastic stand. She worked some of it into her hands. “How does this do you?” Her hands inches from Thomas’s face as she lay down beside him, both of them on their sides.

He inhaled, and not surprisingly, it smelled of lavender. “Fine.” Thomas forced a smile as she put the bottle back.

“Just fine?” She placed her hands upon his chest and ran them down his front, stopping at Thomas’s belt, using it to pull them together, her chest now heaving into his own. “Is this fine?”

A thin line of sunlight squeezed its way through a partially uncovered window. It fell across her face, highlighting her scar. His nerves began to get the best of him. This isn’t for you. She began to undo his belt, but his hands grasped the buckle. She released him, her eyebrows knitting as she did so.

“I told you I just wanted to talk.” He fed the belt back through its buckle. “I wasn’t lying.”

She shook her head with a confused look, dejected, but he sensed some relief in her eyes. “I’ve heard that before, but never… I’ve never had anyone actually stick to it.”

“It’s just been awhile for me.” She smiled from the explanation. And while that was the truth, it was far more complicated—Thomas couldn’t bring himself to subjecting these women into this form of slavery any further. Play the game. “I can’t jump into something like this without… I don’t know.”

“No, it’s okay.” She retrieved his hand once again, holding it within both of hers. “Believe me, it’s okay. I’m here to do what you want. If that’s all you want, then I’m good with it.”

Thomas exhaled. “Good.”

“Let’s just talk then. I’m Cindy.” Her finger traced the veins on the top of his hand as she brought it into her chest. She then kissed it lightly, leaving a smudge of pink lipstick. “And you are?”

“Can’t you stop for one second with this crap?” He jerked his hand away. “This isn’t you!”

The woman’s eyes went wide—her body wriggled away from him as swiftly as she could. Thomas raised his hand to reassure her, but she covered her face in defense. “Please!”

“I’m not going to hit you.”

A period of silence. She gradually removed her hands to see Thomas’s concerned face.

“I…” He stared at her. “This was a waste of time, I’m sorry.”

She rolled onto her back and followed him with her eyes as he moved toward the door. He took the rest of his chits and threw them across the tent. “This isn’t my thing.” He hated leaving her there, knowing within the remaining daylight another man would be here with no other purpose than to defile her. “It won’t always be like this. I promise. You’re worth more than these stupid pieces of metal.”

The woman said nothing, her fingers worked obsessively to scrape the coins from the floor. As Thomas had guessed, it seemed nothing he said matter. She got what she wanted. These women are lost.

Thomas curled back around the tent as he exited, his feet trudging through mud and toward a dense area of trees. The thick growth overhead exposed the ground to very little direct sunlight. Only a few scraggly weeds and the occasional run of ivy broke up the endless swaths of drying mud. Exposed roots seemed to grab at his boots as he continued, his head on a swivel. There has to be some other guards out here.

He did his best to appear lost in case someone stumbled across him. Still have my stupid badge. Good! He backtracked every so often. Occasional pauses—scratching the back of his head. Finally, he came upon a ridge. The western service road below him. A gradual drop beyond that which led to a gulley flowing underneath a small bridge.

Crouching down, partly hidden behind a tree while untying then retying his laces, he observed the service road for a moment. Both ends of the road were clear. He heard nothing—not even a bird calling. Down the face of the ridge, he took choppy steps, skiing slightly, creating slip marks on the steep hill. His boots were now heavy with mud stuck within their treads. He scraped them across the asphalt while crossing.

He rounded a bend and from a distance, he found himself observing two more guards posted at the western entrance into the park. It was the same basic setup as the other. A fortification—pallets that were covered with some metal sheets and appeared to be assembled for quick deployment. Some weapons that had been checked in by visitors leaned against the wall or were spread out across a table. That’s quite an arsenal by itself. By the looks of it this was not the main point of entry.

Even with these two guards, it seemed there were still a couple missing from the count the woman had given Blaine. Thomas would have to assume they were patrolling the woods or were in the crowd earlier, and he had missed them somehow.

There was no reason not to trust the woman. The camp was set up exactly as she said. The count on the guards was mostly right. The firepower was right. She had no reason to lie. This place was hell… her hell. If she was going to have a better life, this was the chance. No one else was coming.

A scrape across the pavement.

“Han— Hands!” The shaky command came from behind him.

Thomas smirked. There we go. Calmly, he put his hands out to his sides and steadily placed them on top of his head before turning to see who had found him. His eyes didn’t make it past the AK pointed directly at his chest. Shit! A guard stood twenty yards away. The sight of another high-powered rifle bent Thomas’s nerves. The barrel’s opening grew to the size of a train tunnel. “I have my pass. I just had to piss.”

“Not all the way out here you don’t.” The guard tried to hold together a stiff glare, but Thomas knew better than to fall for this wavering façade. He looked like a teenage boy—definitely wasn’t built for this type of work. Lanky and frail. Wide-eyed. The kid’s scar appeared fresh compared to many of the others Thomas had seen.

His finger was dangerously close to the trigger as the rifle jiggled within his grip. “Come on now!”—He jerked his rifle, ordering Thomas to the middle of the street—“This ain’t part of the attraction. Back to camp with you! Let’s go!”

Thomas followed the kid’s weak instructions and made it over to where he apparently needed to be. “That’s it!” The kid circled around him while maintaining his distance. The rifle remained at Thomas’s back, and although it never physically touched him, he knew it was there.

“I don’t have a weapon.” Thomas kept his voice calm and soft as he walked. Startling the kid was the last thing he wanted.

While the two of them marched down the white dashed line, Thomas gradually slowed his pace—the kid seemingly oblivious that his reactionary gap was dwindling. “You don’t have to point that at me, buddy.”

“I ain’t your buddy.” The sound of the kid’s sneakers scraping against the pavement continued toward Thomas.

He couldn’t help but feel that he should take the boy, strip him of his weapon, hustle off with him into the woods, so the Second Alliance could give him a life with some purpose. Children didn’t stand a chance on their own in this world. The kid was brainwashed and completely out of his comfort zone. Trained to do something he couldn’t possibly understand. Brought into the game at what point? Had he been here since the beginning? Joined up with family? Stolen, perhaps?

“You’re the boss,” Thomas said.

“You ain’t movin’ fast enough.” The kid jabbed Thomas in the back with the muzzle—a quick sharp pain. Thomas winced, but tucked the pain away. “Git! Come on!” The kid’s voice rose with confidence as Thomas seemed unwilling to challenge him. Again, he jabbed him, and Thomas spun on the boy.

“Don’t do that again!”

The kid’s feet scrambled away from Thomas, but the rifle remained level with his gut.

“I’m listening to you,” Thomas said, “but don’t push your luck with me. Under any other circumstances, I’d be carrying your little ass around on the end of that rifle.”

The boy seemed unsure of the threat, his eyes and lips narrowing, his feet planted firmly on the concrete. Although nervous, he acted as if he had heard something very similar to that before. “Let’s go!” He tried to firm his voice up with some authority. “I’m not kiddin’ around!”

“That man givin’ you trouble there, Scotty?” Thomas looked to his left—another guard, another rifle. He appeared from behind a fallen tree, moss-covered with chunks of decaying bark below it. The man’s foot struck the ground, pelting Thomas in the face with debris. “You better listen to him, boy.”

These mother… Thomas wiped the sludge from his face. “I hear you.” Only a matter of time now. Thomas stared down the path. It doglegged to the right and disappeared.

“You sure you can handle this one?”

Scotty nodded. “It’s nothin’ at all.”

“Just make sure he gets his stuff and leaves. I’m headin’ back to my post. Next time, if you don’t need help, don’t start yellin’ like you’re dyin’.”

“Gotcha,” Scotty answered. “Either you or your partner need me to take your spot?”

“Naw, we’re good, I ain’t been there but a couple hours. I’ll let you know when you can come and wipe my ass, kid.” The guard barked out a harsh laugh, plunging his lungs into a deep cough as he walked off. “Now get that piece of shit outta here!”

“Yeah, okay…” Scotty’s voice trailed off. “Let’s go, man,” he spoke to Thomas, his spirit broken.

Thomas eyed his escort from over his shoulder. The embarrassment had hit the kid hard. His shoulders slumped—the rifle drooped, but still remained pointed at Thomas. Poor kid. The boy must have been thinking the same thing. His steps were lazy. There had to be something that kept him here. Something beneficial to him. “Why do you put up with that?”

“You don’t need to talk anymore.” His voice cracked when he said it. “You’re leavin’!”

I need to get him out of here. This isn’t for him. Thomas picked up the pace as the two wound their way along the road and back into the heart of the camp. I know I would have noticed this kid walking around with an AK. This other guy could’ve been from the post down the hill, or… I don’t know, somewhere else.

They overtook the last hill—the view of the gazebo and stragglers reappeared. The kid seemed winded from the hike. He was choking down air by the time they reached the first row of tents. “Hey John!” He gasped, waving the guard with the AK-47 over from the gazebo.

John seemed way too eager to speak with Thomas again. As he strutted over to them, he patted the side of his rifle. “What’s up, Scotty?”

“Caught him creepin’ ’round the woods.” His tone was firm again. The walk had given him the chance to harden his demeanor. “Says he was peein’ out there.”

“That so?” John looked Thomas up and down then scoffed. “You’re startin’ to be quite the problem.”

More than you know.

“If I had my way, you’d already be dead—snoopin’ around and shit.”

“You got me all wro—”

“Let’s see what the boss wants.” The guard backtracked toward the gazebo. “Hey, boss! Gotta a troublemaker here.”

The crowd became silent—all of their faces turned toward the outburst. Any women that were mingling within the center of camp retreated to their tents. James appeared in the front row and took a couple steps forward, separating himself from the others.

The Butcher popped his head from his quarters but disappeared for several minutes before reemerging, straightening his tie, adjusting his sleeves as if he were attending a business meeting. As the two men came together, John leaned into the Butcher’s ear, pointing toward Thomas while he spoke. The Butcher began shaking his head and placed his hand on John’s shoulder—he mouthed the word “no,” and John returned to Thomas, disappointed.

“The boss said you and your friend need to leave. You’ve worn out your welcome, so better not come back, or you’ll end up hangin’ from a tree next to your friend.” He snatched the badge from Thomas’s shirt. “Grab any shit you’ve got and go.”

The plan was set, rehearsed, and nearing perfection as the fall of darkness banished any natural light from within the library. Several hours had passed as Thomas and the others on his team maneuvered colored pushpins and paperclips across the map of Burnet Woods. Balled up paper represented the tents—pieces of a broken ruler into barricades.

Nothing was held back. Thomas encouraged participation, and any concern or what-if scenario was addressed. He noticed their eyes tracing the projected movements, following along as he touched on the finer details in one last go-round.

“Again, from this position here”—Thomas amassed the majority of the pushpins into positions encircling the gazebo—“we end it. This is it. We hit them hard, and we hit them fast.”

No reply—each face illuminated by the soft glow of the candlelight was frozen deep in thought. Everyone remained focused on the importance of eliminating another evil from the region. Everyone in the room knew the stakes. With humanity’s fragile society constantly on the verge of further collapse, the potential these women held was wasted. Not enough people existed in the world for this to continue.

“Are there any questions?” Thomas asked, as he scanned the room, looking to each man that stood around the map—not the slightest hint of uncertainty upon the Soldiers’ faces.

Blaine broke their silence. “I’m confident we’ve produced the best plan possible for this encounter. We’ve acquired as much intelligence as we can at this point and can’t run the risk of him slipping away again. Tonight’s the night, gentlemen.” A round of nods circled the table. “All watches are synced, correct?”

Thomas tilted his wrist. “Should be 21:35 and 10… 11… 12,” he said. “Bravo, Charlie, Delta teams?”

“21:35 and 15… 16… 17,” the team leaders confirmed.

“Synced to perfection. Excellent.” Blaine gave Thomas a stiff pat on the back. “They’re all yours. Get everyone back safely.” He clasped Thomas’s elbow as the two shook hands. “22:30, right? I’ll be listening.”

“What about the woman and kid?” Thomas asked in a hushed tone for only Blaine to hear.

“We got it. You need not worry about me and my obligations.” Blaine raised his eyebrows and smirked while looking down at his watch. “You have your own operation to handle now.”

“I just don’t want anything to go wrong.”

“The kid’s handcuffed and masked, and the woman is still resting. It’s not your concern, and so there aren’t any misunderstandings, nothing I do will ever be the cause for anything to go wrong.”

Thomas waited for Blaine to crack—Come on—but his expression was steadfast, serious in what he had presented as fact. “I trust you.” It was all Thomas could muster together as an appropriate response.

“It’s your trial.” Blaine opened the door to leave, but before allowing it to shut, he spoke again. “It’s all on you.”

Thomas crossed his arms and took a deep breath. The room looked back with a dead, awkward silence, all eyes on him as he stood there thinking to himself, replaying it once more. He’s right. This is on me.

He looked to the map—its features seemed to rise from the paper the longer he stared. He ran the back of his hand down the side of his face. This is my chance for a better life. For Joseph. For Kate. For all these women. He slid the pieces back into their starting locations, glancing over at each individual they represented. They dipped their chins in return. We can’t fail.

A hand gripped his shoulder. “Ready?” James asked.

Thomas gave him an emphatic nod. “It’s time. Everyone… get your gear.”

He looked on as each Soldier in the room worked over their equipment. One last check and then another for good measure. Each and every one of them methodical in their preparation—loading ammunition, adjusting their gear—anything that could go wrong would not today. No room for failure. It simply wasn’t an option.

Thomas took his rifle from where it leaned against the wall and worked the action. “Hey, man,” one of the Soldiers interrupted him, “unless you’re absolutely partial to yours, I’m pretty sure you’d be better off with this.” He passed a Colt AR-15 to Thomas. “I’m not trying to tell you what to do, but with you on the ground, this’ll make more sense.”

Thomas brought the rifle into his shoulder. “Name’s Cooper, right?” The Soldier nodded as Thomas took a peak through the mounted scope while keeping it pointed toward the ground. This will be more appropriate than my bolt-action. “Does this do night vision?”

“Auto-shut off if you get hit with something too bright, or if you need to”—Cooper pointed out the switch on the scope—“you can manually drop it here.”

“You sure you’re good with it?”

“I wouldn’t have offered. Mission comes first. Always.” Cooper took several loaded magazines from his pack and laid them on a computer desk next to Thomas. “Try not to use it all, but it’s there if you need it.”

“Thanks.”

“I remember my trial. Take a breath. We have your back, Ricard.”

These are my men now. He paced the office as the Soldiers continued to sort through their equipment. I have to get these guys home safe. They’re trained and ready for this, but it all falls back on me. Sound judgment will get me through this. Stop the threat. Rescue the victims. In that order. Don’t get wrapped up in saving them right off the bat. If you don’t take down the Butcher, then he’ll just start over.

He noticed they were looking to him again. “Fall in!” They lined up, shoulder to shoulder with their backs against the wall. Thomas moved down the line, taking an additional onceover of their rigs. “Bravo team. Cooper and Snape.”

“Ready!” The two men spoke simultaneously.

“Head up to the roof. Just keep watch over that southern edge. Once it hits 22:30, go ahead and pop the two guards there, and then maintain that edge. Don’t let anyone get away.” Thomas rapped each one of their shoulders with his fist. They broke from formation and disappeared into the back portion of the office to gain access to the rooftop.

“Charlie team. Mitchell, Davis, Thompson.”

“We got this!” Davis blurted out. “When the snipers hit the guards on the southern side we move in on that back edge.”

“Be patient out there,” Thomas reminded them. “Don’t rush to get on the inside.” He made his way to the very end of the formation, turning toward the last team and the medics. “Delta team. Krenshaw, Martin, Greene.”

“Ready!”

“Make sure you get into position on that western side. Same thing as the snipers,” Thomas reiterated. “Once the time hits, you’ll make your move. Now, medics Davidson and Smith.” He stood in front of the two men. “Stick with your assignments. Davidson you’re with Charlie. Smith you’re with Delta. We are all relying on you if anything happens.” They signaled with a quick nod. “Nothing else to hold you up, so head on out.”

As Charlie and Delta teams shuffled out of the room, Thomas looked to James and their other team member, Riley. “We’ll be jumping this whole thing off,” Thomas said. “The good thing about them being in the park is they’ll never be able to handle all that real estate.” He worked his hands over his gear once more as he spoke. “We’re heading right for the heart. You got the cocktails, right?”

Riley raised a few large, amber-colored bottles stuffed with rags—his face eager and malicious in the flickering light of the candles. “Soon,” he said.

Thomas smiled, knowing full well the opportunity awaited them. He took the bottles and placed them carefully within his ruck then lifted it onto his shoulders.

“We ready?” James asked.

“Your shoulder still feeling okay?”

“Cleaned it up as soon as we got back from the camp.” He poked it a few times. “No complaints here.”

“I figured as much.” Thomas looked over his companions one last time. He eyed Riley’s Soldier patch, envious, his own black uniform held a vacancy where his patch would be. That sun and moon split by the sword. Everything’s riding on this.

A nervousness began to rise within him. Not now, damn it. Thomas inhaled deeply and let out a slow, steady breath. He held his physical state together. He could show no weakness, but inside his stomach churned, and his limbs felt hollow. So much riding on this. Joseph, this is for you, buddy. I’m coming home tomorrow. It’ll be a new day for us. “Let’s go!”

Only a few minutes later they crossed the boulevard, making sure their movements stayed clear from the view of the Butcher’s guards on the southern post. Thomas hesitated as they moved through the unmown field. A nagging uncertainty kept him from taking those initial steps into the wood line. He looked back in an effort to verify the snipers’ presence on the roof—half the moon and a sky full of stars lit up the area surprisingly well, but it wasn’t enough to squash his concerns. He groaned.

“What?” Riley asked.

Thomas ignored him, not wanting to utter his doubt and seem ungrateful for their support. Deep down he knew they were there, but the weight of the mission continued to bear down on him. He had to be sure. He hit the quick-release on the scope and scanned the horizon, taking in what could be seen of the southern service road and over to the rooftop and across it. Two green figures leaned against the air conditioning units atop the college. He snapped the scope back onto the rail.

“Everyone in place?”

“Yeah, we’re good.”

They penetrated the woods in a triangle formation—Thomas and Riley at the two front posts, James at rear guard. Each one minded their path—each rifle alert and ready as they weaved through the trees in front of them. The effect of night fell harder upon them as the canopy grew denser with each footstep toward the camp. Thomas kept them on target, peering through the scope, making certain their direction was true and remained safe. It wasn’t long before a few dancing fires in the distance uncovered the Butcher’s campsite.

“Time check,” James whispered.

“22:13. We’re getting close.” A rustle of leaves. “Shhh.” A few noisy footsteps came toward them. Shit. They stopped then broke formation—each of them peeled off to a position of concealment. Thomas caught first glimpse of a guard traipsing toward them, his flashlight swinging casually with his stride, ignorant to any concept of light discipline, unaware of the threat that loomed just ahead.

“Here, come here,” Thomas whispered into the night as he retreated into a more favorable position. The three men hunkered down together, observing as the flashlight finally came to a pause. “It looks like just the one ahead of us.”

“Move on him?” James asked.

“I’ll handle it,” Riley said.

“Wait.” Thomas placed a hand on each of their backs. “Until he shows his intention—”

“But we don’t have all night.”

James is right, but it’s possible he’s out here on patrol. “Just hold tight for now.”

The flashlight held steady for what seemed to be an eternity. What the hell’s this guy doing? A trickling sound of liquid spattering against the ground and a low whistling of “Dixie” gave Thomas his answer.

James sighed a breath of relief. “Alright. Let’s g—”

“I’m heading out,” Riley interrupted him. “It’ll be better if I go at it alone—less likely to grab hold of each other during the scuffle.”

“That’s bullshit. I’m going with you,” James hissed back.

“No, me and you hold here.” Thomas could feel James glaring at him. He knew how badly James felt the need to prove himself. Thomas squeezed the shoulder—just a slight reminder of him being shot earlier. “I need you to follow the plan.”

“Yeah…” James shifted from him. “I got ya.”

“Get back here once it’s done, Riley. We can’t afford to get separated before this thing gets kicked off.”

“Got it.”

Riley stood, and gradually his large silhouette faded into the darkness surrounding them. The Soldier moved adeptly, proficient in his approach of murderous intent. The Butcher has no idea what’s coming. Payback for all this bullshit. Overcome with an unfamiliar warmth of revenge, Thomas focused on the light, waiting for the last breath to escape this man. Silence. Stillness. Waiting for the flashlight to hit the ground. Only a matter of time. This mother—

“He’s got to be close,” James said. “Right? I mean that dude’s not even paying attention to shit.”

“We’re holding here unless something happ—”

A muffled groan, the light fell to the ground, and a few thumps followed. James shuffled forward, trying to push past Thomas’s hand pressed firmly against his chest, but couldn’t. “Hold, damn it. He’s got this.”

“What if he’s in trouble?”

A crack of skull on wood, and a body dropped to the dirt.

“He’s not.”

Immediately, the light was scooped from the ground and abruptly shut off. The two of them remained kneeling side by side in anticipation of Riley’s return. Good. No trouble and barely any noise. “Shouldn’t be long, and we’ll be back on our way.”

“Do we know it’s him?”

Thomas lifted his rifle to view him through the scope, but there was no such luck—the tree guarded the man from this angle. “I can’t tell. Just give it a second.”

A little over a minute passed and there was no indication, whether good or bad, of what occurred. No shots, he reminded himself as he let the rifle go from his shoulder, dropping its weight against the sling while he simultaneously unsheathed his knife. “I’ll go check it out.” Thomas ignored the frustrated puff of air that James expelled, and he crept forward, holding the knife in a reverse grip in front of him.

He rounded a few trees, discovering that every angle available to him proved poorer than the last. It would take a more direct approach, positioning him much closer than he would have cared to be. His steps lightened, the weight kept on the balls of his feet as he pushed forward, finally sidling up to the scene, crouching behind the base of an elm tree maybe ten yards away.

In the darkness, he could barely make out the body lying face down in the dirt or the dark figure kneeling next to him. It was the sound of frantic hands rummaging through pockets that pulled the complete picture together for him. Still can’t tell who. Thomas scrabbled at the ground, picked the first hard object he found, and tossed it in the man’s general direction. The shadow took pause from his search, giving it a second or two to see if the noise had been deliberate. He must have decided it had been, because he rose from his position and whispered, “Hawk.”

“Dove,” Thomas responded. He let out a calming breath and joined him once he knew the coast was clear. “No trouble I see.”

“Not at all.”

“Roll him over, and let’s see which asshole this is.” Thomas took hold of the arm and began to pull at it.

“Hey!” A stern voice called out from the woods. Thomas and Riley snapped their rifles level and spun toward the camp, backing steadily toward cover.

“Where’s he?” Riley whispered—their shoulders touched as they peered out from either side of a large tree.

The night vision placed the man near the tents on the north side of the camp. “A good ways out. He’s got his rifle hanging from the sling.”

“What are you doing? Crappin’?” The guard raised his voice. “Turn your damned flashlight on, so we’s can see ya out there, or I’m comin’ to check on ya.”

Riley dove toward the body, and Thomas followed—the two of them scrambled for the light. “Where the hell is it?” Riley muttered, clearly struggling to find it among the twigs and debris of the forest floor.

“It’s got to—”

“Here.” Riley switched it on and waved the flashlight’s beam toward the guard as if his arm had turned to rubber.

“Alright! Alright! Just hurry it up already.” The guard seemed satisfied enough, and Thomas watched him stagger off into a nearby tent.

“We have about ten minutes,” Thomas said. “Bring that light over here just a bit. Let’s check this guy out real fast, but be careful not to shine us.” Thomas took hold of the shoulder and rolled the body toward him. The light cast a slight glimmer upon the face, revealing what immediately made his heart sink. A lump swelled within his throat. Scotty… Lost within the vacant stare of his eyes, the scar across his cheek, he tried to clear the obstruction but couldn’t. He never stood a chance with this crew.

Around Scotty’s neck, dirt caked the blood leaking from a well-placed laceration—the throat sliced from ear to ear. Riley took to the young man’s pockets again, completely unfazed by any of this. An iron man. A man without emotion. I don’t want to be like that. Thomas grabbed hold of Riley’s wrists. “Shut off the damn light.”

“What?” Riley asked. “Cause he’s a kid?”

“No, it’s just—” The night hid Thomas’s true feelings as he took his hand across Scotty’s eyes. This poor kid. I can’t… Thomas stopped himself. These weren’t the thoughts of a Soldier. Death would become part of his everyday life. Hell, it already had. Get over it! This isn’t you anymore. You can’t care for everything and everyone. He let one last silent breath escape from his lips. Never again will you feel like this. Moral killing is your duty now. “Don’t worry about it,” he snapped. “You find anything on him?”

“Just the flashlight.”

“Sure he didn’t have a weapon?” Thomas stood from Scotty’s side and swept his foot over the immediate area. “He had an AK earlier.”

“He didn’t have one, not even a pistol on him.” Riley patted along his body once more just to be sure. “Yep, nothing.”

“James… James…” Thomas hissed into the woods behind them. “James… get up here.”

“Yeah,” he whispered back, unexpectedly standing with them. “We ready?”

“Give it a second.” Thomas eyed the camp. Only occasionally did any sign of life emerge, a shadow here and there, passing before the flames in the distance. A still silence—the moans and laughter that floated through the camp earlier in the day were gone. Everyone, either asleep or occupied with tending to their post, left the site in peace for the moment. “Alright.”

The three formed up like they had before and beelined toward the middle of the camp. It took shape as they drew near. The lines of tents. The gazebo. The trucks. Fortunately, from this distance, the camp produced no additional concerns. It was still as it appeared from a distance—a few unattended campfires.

Thomas raised his fist, halting the advance. He carefully slid the ruck from his shoulders and onto the ground. James and Riley knelt down with him as he pulled the Molotov’s from inside. A deep breath. He handed two of the bottles to James. “Those there,” Thomas whispered while he pointed to a cluster of tents just outside the treeline. “I got these here.” He swallowed. “And nothing anywhere near the women’s tents to the left of that blue one there. Riley, you’re with me. We have three minutes. This is it. James, keep your eyes on me. I’ll flick my lighter on as the signal. Respond with the same, then we light and throw.”

“On it.”

James slid off to the right, and Thomas and Riley moved straight ahead. Behind that little raised area will be perfect.

Once their position was secured, they waited for what Thomas believed to be a sufficient amount of time for James to get to his. Here we go. His thumb popped the lid to the Zippo, producing that self-gratifying clink, and he struck the wheel. His flame held reliably, but there was nothing from his counterpart. What the hell? Maybe I don’t have the angle. Thomas took measured steps toward where James should have been. Finally, another flicker in the distance. Here we go!

Like clockwork, they lit the rags, and the bottles soared end over end into the sky one after the other. The spiraling flames were hypnotic, up and then down, down against the earth. A rush of flame as the bottles burst—a blue pursuit of heat across the ground as the fluid spewed forth, saturating the tents and surrounding grass and brush with fire. Two distinct gunshots rang out south of them and several more from the west. The camp had been ripped from its slumber.

Holy Shit! Thomas held for a moment, watching the devastation of the Molotov’s engulf their intended targets. The tents deflated, melting and trapping some of the guards within them while others rose from this hell as tormented bodies wrapped in flames. “Hold this line!” Thomas shouted, his voice challenged by the panicked cries tearing through the night. Smoke lifting from the curling grass and nylon tents provided a foul-smelling screen of concealment for James and Riley as they went straight to work. Their rifles sounded, and the muzzle flashes danced through the tree line as they broke up their shot pattern. They got this. On to phase two.

Thomas took his ruck, swung it wildly onto his back, and raced to connect with Delta team as the sound of gunfire followed him deeper into the woods. Know that you’re not alone out here. Sign. Hawk. Countersign. Dove. He repeated it with every step until it became his cadence along that overgrown trail he took earlier in the day. Flashes of familiarity guided him over a few fallen trees—ducking between twigs and brush as best he could in the dark. As he neared the ridge that overlooked the western service road, he stopped and took a deep breath in an attempt to collect himself. Getting close. A few more shots ahead of him, measured in their spacing, precision shots, but not effective enough to prevent the barrage that countered. Delta team hasn’t pushed through yet.

Another volley. A bullet buzzed past, and Thomas slammed his body against the nearest tree. Two more shots toward him. He took his rifle into a crook where the branch met with the trunk to return fire, but there was nothing. Crack! The bark ripped from the tree just overhead. Thomas’s face met with the dirt. Delta’s shots are coming from downhill! He hugged his rifle and rolled headlong down the face of the ridge as more shots peppered his last position. He high crawled, taking the soggy ditch that paralleled the road over a slight hill that descended toward the rear of the guard post. Crack! Crack! The muzzle fire gave away Delta team’s position, but the Butcher’s men were overwhelmed and in no position to view it.

Thomas watched them through his scope, zeroing in on the guards as they panicked, unsettled. One of the men tilted on his knee, his other leg extended, quite possibly hit from an initial shot. Despite that, both of them managed to prop their rifles over the barricade, pulling their triggers with no eyes to observe where the bullets struck. The crude tactic seemed to be working as Delta team thus far had been unable to meet their objective.

Without regard for concealment or cover to their six, Thomas held the advantage. One simple press of the trigger, and the uninjured guard crumpled to the pavement. The shot, through and through, caused the man to writhe upon the ground holding his chest. His partner limped over to him, slid the shirt from his back, and struggled to keep the blood from spilling forth.

Thomas took aim—Too late—and ended this act of bravery, striking the man in the shoulder. With a primal urge for self-preservation, the guard hobbled away from cover, breaking toward a clearing where the hill fell toward the bourn. Another shot, coming opposite of Thomas, threw the man into a slide and tumble—his rifle spun off into the grass. Once the man’s momentum ceased, Thomas gathered his sight picture again and sent another round downrange. Goodbye!

He lifted himself from the ditch and angled toward the guard he just downed. The last thing they needed was him slipping into the night only to come back to haunt them later. He neared, and the man didn’t stir. “Hey, shit bird,” he whispered, giving him a tap with the toe of his boot. “Get up.” Thomas pressed his heel onto the guard’s hand and removed the weight from his other leg. Dead. Good. All’s quiet now.

The thought gave Thomas pause. The cracks of gunfire from the camp had thinned out. The initial burst of chaos was over, and it seemed that both sides had entrenched themselves into a stalemate. That, or something had gone horribly wrong, and they had already lost. But, how? I have to get back. He turned, taking back to the hill with haste.

A tramping sound of boots caught his attention, and he saw Delta team double timing it atop the ridge. He emerged from the brush, trying to meet with them before they trailed off without him. He cleared the street, and not wanting to remain completely exposed, he pressed forward within that shallow ditch that rested between the street and ridge—each step slogging in and out of the filth he had recently crawled through.

Delta team advanced aggressively, more so than Thomas had anticipated, there was no choice but to call out, “Hawk.” The word left his mouth, low yet forceful, but not nearly enough to reach them. He spoke louder and finally the call sign caught up to them. Two hushed “Doves” were given in response, and Delta team held for Thomas to join them.

“You guys alright?” Thomas asked, craning his neck to speak with the men above him on the ridge.

“Yeah,” one of the Soldiers spoke. “We had a good jump on them, but they got loose with their firepower. Knew you were coming, so we figured we’d keep them distracted for ya.”

Thomas pitched his rifle to one of the men and grabbed hold of a few roots to assist in his climb up the face of the embankment. Once he reached the top, the team huddled around him as he spoke, “Remember we’re here to save the women. No mercy for the Butcher or his men.” A few shots echoed outward from the camp. Someone’s still shooting. That’s a good sign. “This is it. The final push.”

“Then, let’s go!”

As they approached from the north, moving into a portion of the brush that had not been taken by flame, Thomas gagged—the indescribable smell of cooked flesh overwhelmed him. Holy… Some bodies remained intact, sprawled out across the pavement, but most had not been so lucky. The initial spray of the Molotov’s reduced them to nothing more than burnt heaps. A call for help—the only word discernible above the scant gunfire and shouting, but there was no telling from where it came. The camp lay in ruin.

The area west of the gazebo was well lit—the flames expanding into the forest—anything within its indiscriminate reach became fuel. From Riley’s post there were still muzzle flashes. South of those came a few more. Charlie team made it. Another shot—each flash thus far came from positions assigned during the briefing. They must have someone holed up. Unable to visibly place their target, Thomas sent two Soldiers and the medic off toward James’s location, leaving him and Krenshaw to hold their own. Crack! Crack! Near misses shaved a tree of its bark. The three departing members of Delta team dove to the ground and took to crawling. “Get them some breathing room!” Thomas yelled.

“Retaining wall! Far side of the gazebo!” Krenshaw swung his rifle wide and Thomas’s followed. The two returned fire, fracturing bits of concrete into the air as they missed. The guard bolted around the side. Alright, There’s at least two more of his men out there. “I thought they would have given up by now.”

“Can’t expect that from wild dogs!” Krenshaw shouted.

“Over there!”

The guard’s retreat must have pushed the women from hiding, bunching them together like sheep on the hillside. They screamed, still in an absolute panic, ducking and hiding, trying their best to avoid the conflict. Thomas was sure they wanted to run off, but could only imagine the questions running through their heads. Where will we go? How will we survive? Can we survive? The Butcher had corrupted their sense of value, leaving them broken and completely reliant on their handlers.

“Krenshaw! We have to get those women out of here.”

They pushed back from their position, leveled their rifles, then broke toward the gazebo’s hillside. Crack! The guard emerged from the nearside of the gazebo, sending a round buzzing past Thomas’s side. Crack! Another barely missed. Without breaking stride, Thomas spun his rifle toward the man. Crack! Crack! Crack! The stranger’s body twisted awkwardly, and he fell onto his side but quickly tried to gather his feet underneath him. It was no use as Krenshaw incapacitated him with a well-placed shot to the stomach. Someone else is going to have to handle him if he gets up. We have to get the women on their way before they get hurt.

They rounded the nearside of the gazebo and were immediately greeted by screams.

“Don’t kill us!”

“Please don’t!”

A distant gunshot. More screams and several women took off running.

“Wait!” Cindy called to the others. “I know him!” She turned to Thomas, tears and dirt covered her face.

He barely recognized her from before—this woman he had spent only a brief moment with inside that unsavory tent. But it proved long enough to build trust between them. He was probably the only man who ever lay next to her since the world ended that didn’t try to take advantage of her situation.

“Save us! Please, oh God,” Cindy sobbed. “Get us the fuck out of here!”

“You’re wrong!” another woman shrieked, tugging at Cindy, begging her to run, but she wouldn’t. “They’re here to kill us!”

“No. They’re not.” Cindy’s voice was calm.

Thomas reached his hand out and Cindy took it. Her soft hand trembled in his, creating stillness to the world while the rest of the camp continued to fall apart. There was something about her, although in this moment Thomas couldn’t tell what.

“I…” Thomas started, but the hysterical woman’s incessant begging took him from the moment.

She tugged once more at Cindy, bringing her away from Thomas, but instead of fleeing, Cindy spun around and slapped the woman across the face. “Shut up! He’s here to help us, damn it!”

Thomas’s mouth dropped. Maybe she didn’t feel what I did.

The woman held her cheek. Both she and Thomas stood there stunned, shaken with this unexpected outburst. Cindy began apologizing, but Thomas interrupted her, “We’re here to save you, point blank, nothing more.”

More women came forward.

“Take your group and head down there.” Thomas pointed to the road that eventually curled around to the south. “All the way around. Wait there and we’ll get you somewhere safe.”

They smiled—no one appeared to second guess Thomas’s order as they fled.

A final volley of gunfire hit the camp. Thomas and Krenshaw threw themselves to the ground, taking cover behind the concrete retaining wall. A ping of metal. The sharp crack of concrete followed by a distinct cry from a short distance away. Then nothing. An impossible silence seemed to hit the camp in that instant. The adrenaline pushed at Thomas to do something, but he denied the suggestion, patience being a virtue at the moment. Hidden behind the wall at the foot of the hill, he waited, hoping for some indication that it was over. Mere silence could never be trusted.

“Come out, Butcher! Your men are dead!” Thomas heard the voice announce from behind him. “We’ll take you alive, if you’d like. Or dead.”

Who the hell? Thomas’s eyes went wide, irate with whoever would take command, take what was his to determine. He turned to Krenshaw. “Get around to the front, now!” They both lifted their backs from the wall—Krenshaw peeled off to his left, but Thomas bolted for the stairs.

With each drop of his boot, his anger grew. Thomas had seen the Butcher’s temperament, he didn’t feel that alive should be an option. In the little time he had spent in the camp, nothing existed that could build a case for redemption. The Butcher could not be rehabilitated. There were no men to rehabilitate here. Only the women and children could be saved. If they could be saved. Maybe they too were beyond help, but that determination would not be made today, not with a bullet like it would be with the men. The women would take time.

The moment the top step felt the crunch of his boot, his vision was pinpoint—the edges of the world a fading black. He brushed past a slumped body bent over a rail—only a foot caught between the balusters prevented it from flipping. He hardly acknowledged its existence as he approached the railing overlooking the carnage. Ten of his men, five rifles toward the bathrooms, the remainder guarded the rear, hitting the wood line with their rail-mounted lights. None of the dead among them mattered. The Butcher was cornered. Nowhere to go.

“He dies!” Thomas shouted, leaning forward between the columns of the gazebo. “There is no other way. Captain Able assigned me to this trial, so it’s my decision.”

James moved toward him, separating himself from the others, taking the stairs to the top of the hill. “This joker doesn’t deserve our mercy,” he said. “Look at this man here.” He threw his rifle’s light across the body still hanging from the tree. “There was no trial for him. There wasn’t anything. He just strung hi—”

James’s body jerked as if stung from behind. Although the gunshot had to have come first, Thomas hadn’t heard it. It was only the violent jolt that caught his attention. James collapsed. To his knees first, then further down with one palm in the mulch as his other hand grasped for his chest. The rifle lay beside him, illuminating James’s face—it read of pain and knowing death.

The men reacted swiftly, cutting their lights and taking cover within the trees.

“Find him!” Thomas shouted.

A team of four stole for the bathrooms, and Thomas went for James, but another shot ripped half of one of the columns from the gazebo and forced Thomas to the decking. Hang in there, damn it. This isn’t the end for you. He watched as James lay in the mulch, taking painful breaths from only yards away. Thomas tried to get to James, but with each careful lurch forward another shot would send him back to the floor. All he could do was listen as each breath became shorter than the last. It took everything within him not to run for James.

“Find where it’s coming from, damn it!”

“Bathrooms are clear!”

From up the drive, Thomas saw a light—not a beam from a flashlight or from fire that had spread, but slightly dull and fixed. He tried to discern exactly from what or where it came, but it shut off seconds later. What the hell was th— The trucks! Thomas came to a knee, then to his feet. There was no shot to curl him back onto the floor.

“He’s at the trucks!” Thomas shouted before sprinting to James, taking to his side, but he wasn’t there. He had already passed. His brown eyes lost within the stars above. “I’ll be back for you,” Thomas whispered. He spun for that light in the distance, clutching his rifle in a death grip.

At some point through the chaos, the Butcher had made his move. Thomas knew the man’s pride wouldn’t have allowed him to leave his goods—what he probably viewed as his right. The women were gone. He would have to have something in his hands when he returned home. But why now? Why not lay low? It made no sense, but of course pride made people do foolish things. To go down in a blaze of glory was what made some men heroes.

The U-Haul’s engine kicked on, and the rattle of gunfire responded. The truck barreled down the drive, accelerating while the engine groaned from the pedal being kicked through the floorboard. Flashes of gunfire from the wood line were met with a furious response from the cab of the truck—that booming, mechanical trill of an AK-47.

Thomas lined up with the last bend in the road. The windshield would be straight on, ensuring he would have a few shots at his target. With little time to think, he banged the rifle into the nook of his shoulder and laid himself directly in its path, the angle projecting a clear shot where the truck would be. The headlights! He snatched the night vision scope from the rail. It would have to be raw sight alignment. He began to take the slack out of the trigger as the truck approached. The sights aligned, front into rear. He exhaled, pushing everything he had from his lungs. Here it comes! Make it count. No more failures. Hold… Hold…

He could hear the cargo in the back of the truck banging as it negotiated the bend in the drive, turning straight toward Thomas as he lay in wait. Here it is! Clear shots and he took them. Quick presses, aggressive pulls of the trigger toward the back. Fragments of glass dissipated into the air as the windshield splintered in response to the rounds piercing it, penetrating the cab.

There was no more turning of the wheel—it held, barreling straight for Thomas—the operator now seemingly inanimate as the truck no longer responded to any change in direction of the street. Thomas rolled from his position and the truck stumbled, rocking with its weighted suspension over the unevenness of the ground. A loud bang followed by the snapping of a tree—its branches bracing for its anticipated fall to earth.

Thomas rose to his feet, the rifle guiding him to the vehicle. The truck smoked heavily from its front end. A loud buzzing noise. The impact jarred the electronics, leaving the lights on from inside the cab.

From the rear of the truck, through the side mirror he could see spatters of blood. The muzzle of the AK rested against the door frame, protruding from inside. Thomas approached, snatched the rifle and pulled hard, throwing it to the ground. A quick glance inside. The Butcher lay on the cushioned seat, his suit ravaged and bloody.

“The world has always had places like this—” the Butcher coughed. “Needs places like this. People need to act out their darkest secrets.”

“You’re sick!” Thomas popped the door open and jerked him from the vehicle. He fell limply against the dirt. The Butcher put his hands up to show he wasn’t armed. Thomas pulled his sidearm and aimed squarely at his face. No turning back! This is who you are now!

“Hold on! Just…” The Butcher ran one of his hands through his hair. “I’m ready for—”

A blanket of clouds had been pulled across the sky—the sun noticeably absent in the east. Colors that normally accompany the twilight hours gave up today, leaving only gray—a somber mix of two extremes. Black and White. New life and death. Celebration and mourning. Indeed gray as Thomas stood motionless in a fog of sleep depravity and quiet reflection. And as others took to warming themselves in the glow of a fire, he chose to stay with James.

Throughout the night, many of the Soldiers came and went from his side in between bouts of sleep and work. Every word of sympathy was met with silence, reducing these brief exchanges to consoling pats upon Thomas’s shoulder. The ones that chose to give him his space stood nearby, quiet, frowning with their heads drooped into their chests. Each man would deal with it in their own way.

There would be no rays of sunshine to thaw their hearts. In this chilled silence, Thomas gathered his thoughts, appreciating James for what he was and what he wasn’t. He couldn’t help but consider that it might be best to keep his heart frozen. It was the thawing out that hurt—that coming to terms with the loss. I should’ve never let him go through with this. His head wasn’t in it from the start. I knew this was a damned mistake.

An engine groaned, and one of the Butcher’s trucks crept into the center of camp—Riley and Krenshaw stepped out. They dropped the tailgate and slid two bodies onto the pavement. The two of them smiled while looking over the bodies strewn about. “Pretty sure that’s the lot of them,” Riley said while dusting his hands off.

“Just waiting on the women now.”

Thomas took his eyes back to James. Death should be easy by now, right? You’d think that, but I guess it depends on who deserves it. He looked to the dead lying about—brought here in haste and thrown down without care. They deserved it. More will deserve it. He wiped from the corners of his mouth then scratched his chin. It’ll get easier… He knelt down. “You shouldn’t have been here,” he spoke under his breath while crossing James’s arms over his chest. He did his best to hide the wound and blood absorbed into his clothing. James appeared at peace—his eyes closed, his body still.

“You doing okay?” Riley approached, dragging the full length of one of the surviving tents behind him.

“Yeah, definitely,” Thomas lied.

“I’ll take care of it.” Riley bedded down the nearby grass by spreading out the tent.

“Not by yourself.” Thomas grabbed the other end and evened it out. “You ready?”

“Are you?” Riley’s eyes showed concern, but Thomas ignored him.

Thomas grasped underneath James’s armpits, being mindful not to shake his arms from his chest. Riley took hold of the legs, and they moved him onto the flattened tent. They curled the edges, creating a handle similar to that of a stretcher and carried his body to the pickup truck.

“I’ll ride in here with him once we leave,” Thomas said. Riley nodded as they placed him onto the bed of the truck. Thomas clutched James’s hands and squeezed, his mind replaying the scene, the carelessness. How could I let this happen? Damn…

“Nothing we could have done would have changed this.”

Thomas smiled weakly.

“I mean it. There—” Riley turned around, noticing that Thomas’s attention went beyond him.

Blaine strolled toward the truck, grinning, chatting to a few of the Soldiers that were gathered by a campfire as he passed by them. He motioned for Riley to step away, wiping the grin from his face as they approached one another. “Allow me some time to speak with him,” Blaine spoke softly from a distance, but Thomas still heard. He sat down on the tailgate, working over his knuckles. A long, deliberate breath escaped him before he spoke. “Come and sit with me.”

“No thanks.”

“You did what you could,” Blaine offered

Thomas looked to the sky then banged his fist against the truck. “Damn it! This wasn’t supposed to happen.” He pressed the palms of his hands into his forehead and groaned. “I…” His chin dropped, and he rested his forehead against the wall of the truck’s bed. “After all the shit leading up to this, for him to go— for him to go like this. It’s crazy. I just…” An exasperated breath and he lifted his head. “I just can’t believe it.”

“It’s not yo—”

“Everything was perfect, you know?” Thomas interrupted him forcefully.

Blaine stood from the tailgate and walked over to the side of the truck opposite Thomas. “Everything on paper always is.”

Thomas disregarded this tactless remark, choosing instead to pull the tent further over James’s body—a last attempt at protecting him from the world. “You get wrapped up in these damn ideas.”

“What do you mean?” Blaine helped to cover James.

“I saved him two days ago?”

Blaine paused for a moment and looked to Thomas.

“He almost got us killed then. You should have seen him run.” A stifled chuckle and an uneasy smile faded from his face. “Only got a graze. He really was a…” His mind went adrift as he stared into the folds of the tent. He really was a good soldier despite himself.

Blaine stopped fidgeting with the tent and rested his hands along the bed of the truck. “I think…” Thomas snapped his head toward Blaine, glaring at him in anticipation of another insensitive remark. “I don’t—” He swallowed the lump that had lodged in his throat. “I don’t think it’s productive to assign blame. Certainly, not on yourself. Not in the slightest. That’s all I’m offering. It won’t do any good.”

“His death is on me no matter what you or anyone says. I let his carelessness— his lack of attention run too long. I should have reeled it in.” Thomas turned his back to Blaine. “He really was a good man. Even through all the bullshit…”

“It wasn’t your place to stop him.”

“It was though.” Thomas snapped back. “We served together in Syria. He was the same damn guy there too!” His voice rose to a shout, catching the attention of the Soldiers gathered around the fire. “I know his limits, and he got carried away. He’s so damn cocky all the time. I should have scaled him back. I owed him that.” Thomas’s voice broke slightly. He cleared his throat. “It was him that got me home from six thousand miles away. He had to make the hard choice then. It was my turn, and I…” Thomas rubbed across the coarse hairs on his chin. “I couldn’t even get him four miles.”

“Here they come,” One of the Soldiers shouted, pointing to the now, fully-clothed women and children cresting the last hill of the southern service road. Thomas shot his attention toward them. Their laughter and boisterous conversations carried—their smiles oblivious to the sacrifices made to secure their newly-found freedom.

Deep down Thomas understood their elation was appropriate. He wanted it that way—set out days ago to make it that way. But in this moment, their joy scraped at his bones. The life of a decent man had been lost, and they would never truly know the extent of it. The cause was always bigger than the individual in battle.

Thomas had seen it first-hand. He knew the men that were lost in Syria, he would never forget, but to most, the deceased were the mere brush strokes in a mural. It didn’t matter to them which of the good guys made it home, only that the good guys won.

“How much more needs to be done?” Thomas asked.

“Not much.” Blaine now stood next to Thomas. “We’ll cremate the deceased. The trucks are being loaded as we speak.”

“And the women?”

“Processing will begin once we arrive at L.P.H. Fortress. Initial interviews revealed that many of them have valuable skillsets. Thomas…” Blaine paused. “This really is a big win for us.”

“And what about the kid?”

“He’s still being held at the library, but we won’t be leaving him behind. We may get some use out of him yet. Bright kid, he just needs some… convincing.” Blaine rummaged through his jacket pocket and took two envelopes from it. “I have your assignment.” He studied the envelopes for a moment then handed one of them to Thomas.

“What about the other one?”

“Not your concern.”

Thomas looked over to James. “Can I have his? Just…”

“I can’t. Sorry. Take your time with yours. It should be enough news to process. You don’t need to know any more than that.”

Blaine left Thomas’s side, moving toward the center of camp. Thomas flipped the envelope over. My next assignment. He picked at the black wax that sealed its contents from tampering—from unprivileged eyes. Inside, a typed letter.

Thomas pored over the details again. This is it. Everything I’ve been working toward. I got it. But— James… He looked to Blaine just as he pitched the second envelope into the fire. It caught. A quick rise in the flame that took unknown words from the world. I couldn’t have done this without you, man.

“We need to stack these bodies up!” Blaine shouted. “Once we’re finished here, we can leave.”

The Soldiers left the warmth of their fire and began sorting through the remains. Wrists and ankles were held within their grips before being tossed on top of one another. Limp arms and legs intertwined in a heap. Faces peering through the tangle. Thomas found himself affixed to their eyes, counting the sets that stared back.

“Scotty…” he spoke under his breath. Stop caring, damn it. These people made their choice. They were too selfish or too blind to see what we offered them. Anyone steps out of line this will be their fate. I owe it to James to ensure we don’t lose another. Thomas gripped the tent once more, covering James with it while saying his last good-bye. I’m going to make sure they take care of you. A proper burial and everything.

Not wanting to leave James alone, Thomas waved Riley to the truck to maintain watch. He had one last thing on his mind.

Atop the short hill, the corpse remained hanging, eyes bulging, discolored from the pockets of blood that settled above the noose—the face unrecognizable. No one had bothered to relieve the tree of its burden.

It wasn’t as if the man truly deserved the consideration. It was simply that this entire travesty needed to be laid to rest—full closure for the Butcher’s camp—a way to ensure this mission could truly be completed.

He withdrew his knife and flipped the blade, but as he neared, he thought better of cutting him down. Never waste rope. Thomas turned back toward Blaine. The pile of bodies had nearly been stacked whole, and a few of the Soldiers stood without work, chatting with the newly-freed women. “I need someone up here!” Thomas shouted.

“I got ya!” Krenshaw waved the others off as he started toward him.

Thomas couldn’t help but wonder if this man or the woman had told the truth. Although the man’s intentions with the woman were troubling, could the mere accusation be considered absolute truth at face value? What if it truly was an honest reaction? Regardless, death under these circumstances was not proportionate to the crime. The world could only be restored with law and order but only if served appropriately.

Thomas took hold of the legs and lifted the body, relieving the tension on the rope. “What do you need me to do?” Krenshaw asked.

“I’ll hold him up. I just need you to loosen the rope, and we’ll carry him down to the pile.”

Krenshaw obliged, taking hold of the noose while feeding the slack through the knot. Thomas twisted the body, wresting the head from the noose, and with the help of his partner, they eased him to the ground. Each took an end and carried the man toward the pile, ultimately tossing him in with the others. The two of them gave each other an earnest nod.

“Now that has got to be the last one,” Riley said.

“Is it?” Thomas surveyed camp, looking for any known tasks that had not been completed. “Looks like it. Did they get the ones from the outposts too?”

“The last two bodies we dropped off.”

“Ready?” Blaine held a can of gasoline within his hand, his eyebrows perked. “You want the honors?” He offered it to Thomas.

“Leave them.”

Blaine’s head cocked sideways, his eyebrows scrunched up as he looked to Thomas for clarification.

“They don’t deserve anything close to humane. Let the birds pick them over. Leave it as a warning to the others. Anyone who comes in here once we leave will know that this shit isn’t acceptable. Make people know there are consequences for doing this. Let them spread that warning.”

Blaine thought for a moment, crossing his arms, looking to the pile. He sneered then turned back to Thomas. “It’s in poor taste.”

“That seems only suitable for what this place was.”

The Soldiers nodded.

Blaine eyed the camp. “Are those trucks loaded up?” he shouted toward the Soldiers unpacking the disabled U-Haul. A thumbs up from one of the men working along with two others. Blaine smiled. “You know what…?” His smile stretched a bit further. “A message would be well served in this circumstance. We’ll let them rot.”

The women were called down from the gazebo and shuffled into the back end of the crescent formation of Soldiers surrounding Blaine and Thomas. Blaine addressed everyone, laying out instructions and the expectations that went with them. Thomas caught very little of the spiel as his thoughts wandered through the excitement of his new assignment.

We made it Joseph. Kate. It’s only a matter of time before life gets better for us. Better quarters. Better food. It’s not going to be immediate, but once we get there, it’s going to be so much better. I can’t wait to see your faces.

Blaine finished his speech, and Thomas broke for the truck.

“Is that it?” Cindy came from behind him. “Nothing else? Just going to hop in the pickup and leave?”

“I—” Thomas thought for a moment. “What else is there?”

“You didn’t feel it?”

Thomas smiled.

“I knew you did.” She took his hand. “You knew all along that you were going to save us, didn’t you?”

“I hoped it would end up this way.”

She continued smiling through Thomas’s words.

”You know we didn’t come here to take you, right?” Thomas asked. “You’ll be free to do what you want. You don’t have to stay with us.”

“I want to stay with you.” She blushed. “You’re the first…”

Thomas perked his ears. “Yeah?”

“The first to treat me like a person since— all of it, you know… since I was taken.”

“Thomas! We gotta roll, man!”

“You aren’t walking?” she asked.

“I need to ride in back with him.”

“Oh…” She grimaced. “I understand.”

Thomas kicked his foot up and over the side and took his place next to James. “This isn’t good-bye.”

“I know.” She nodded and turned from him, falling into line with the other women waiting for the caravan to begin. Thomas watched her until she disappeared into the rows of women and Soldiers.

“We’ll be going real slow,” the driver said. “Leading everyone back—even those that are walking, so try and get some sleep back there.”

“It shouldn’t take me long.” Thomas yawned, slunk down in the bed of truck, and rested his head against his rucksack. “Take it easy if you can.”

“You got it.”

Across the street, a trash-ridden alley with prying eyes. A man carrying a thin, high-powered rifle across his back, had made the journey paralleling the parade of victors back home. His low mutterings, obsessive and dangerous, kept him going despite his lack of sleep. The horrors of the night before drove his desire. His people slaughtered and now the enemy’s home was here, right there in front of him to serve his anger.

The last straggler passed the threshold into the town, and the gate closed. He stole for the fire escape. Fistfuls of raw, cold iron grasped within his palms as he ascended—a pair of binoculars swinging from his neck. The perfect perch. Unseen and unheard, he would have the advantage. He glassed over the fortress, zooming in on collars, seeking the highest rank.

He might not have too long. One key figure and it would be a success. This wouldn’t be a sustained effort—one and done. A message sent with one round downrange. One for his people. One bit of exacted revenge. Content with his own death if need be.

Along the street, just beyond the city’s wall, but well within a rifle’s range, stood a man with a single gold bar on each lapel. He smoked a cigarette and casually spoke to people as they walked past. Only a few stopped for more than a couple words. This man would be the one to make it all better.

The rifle wavered with his frantic breathing, his wild eyes too troubled to focus. He wiped his brow and took several deep breaths to calm himself. One more quick survey of the crowd to ensure he had the one he wanted. When convinced he would find no better, he pictured the bodies, the fire, listened to the screams that would haunt him the rest of his life. He pressed the butt of the rifle further into his shoulder. It would waver no longer.

A shot rang out, echoing against the overpasses, pounding against the confined neighborhood. Screams of panic followed, the crowd fractured, their feet scrambling for cover. Guards and Sentries took to their posts. The surrounding rooflines were clear, not a threat in sight. The man that sat within the crosshairs flicked his cigarette to the ground before ducking into a breezeway.

Three quick whistle blows indicated the shot had been made by one of their own. Observant eyes along the top of the overpass—the highest point surrounding the fortress—had seen the attempt. A trained marksman had ended the threat, and now, the rifle teetered on the edge of the roof as its owner lay on his side, the scar forcing an unintentional smile.

“You excited to finally be here, Tommy? Or is this strange for ya?”

“It’s fine, Mr. Haverty.”

“River’s Edge look different since before?”

“Yes, sir. Quite a bit.”

“Call me Bill. The two of us are goin’ to be good pals here.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Cut the sir crap, alright? I get I’m in charge, but you’re my partner now. Gotta a lot of work to do ‘round here, ‘n’ I’m guessin’ you’re up for it.”

“Of course.”

“Good, Good, Good. Glad to hear it. I know it’s been a week or so since that whole Butcher thing, but you’ll get settled in ‘round here just fine.”

“I’ll certainly try.”

“Not try. You will. There ain’t no try anymore. Not as a Soldier.”

“I understand.”

“A lot of good comes from being a Soldier. Lot less movin’ around. Lot less stupid bullshit. You’ll get your share of more important things—more share of the spoils too.

“I appreciate that.”

“And while I have ya here, I need ya to take care of a few things for me.”

“Yes, sir.”

“I knew I liked you for a reason. Two things to start with, then there’ll be more. First, we gotta take a team ‘n’ nab up all their guns. We’ll be sendin’ ’em back to the capital or L.P.H. Fortress. Second, I’m needin’ ya to keep an eye on a few folks.”

“Who?”

“Some that’ve been heard sayin’ some things.”

“Who?”

“You’re fixin’ to find out.”

Thank you for reading Days Since… Thomas: Day 758. I sincerely hope that you enjoyed the story and will invest future time in the series. Please be sure to read Book Two: Days Since… Xavier: Day 853.

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I enjoy post-apocalyptic and dystopian books and have since I was probably 12 years old. My English teacher read us a story called “The Girl Who Owned a City” by OT Nelson. The idea of a virus wiping out all the adults, well everyone above the age of 13 (if I’m remembering correctly), was extremely intriguing. At the time, I was spending a good majority of my younger days exploring the woods that wound their way through my neighborhood. (I wouldn’t be surprised if some of my forts were still nailed up in a few trees somewhere back there.) Building something from nothing has always had a place in my heart, and I’ve always kind of found that tucked into most books in the post-apocalyptic genre. I love my country—the good and the bad. All things come with both sides. I served 14 years in the Air National Guard and deployed to Iraq in 2010. I work full-time as a police officer for the City of Cincinnati. I believe in service before self. I believe in helping those who don’t have the means to help themselves.

Copyright © 2019 by Power Shift Publishing, LLC.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means—except in the case of brief quotations embodied in articles or reviews—without written permission from the author.

The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental and not intended by the author.

I have used the city of Cincinnati as the location for this series. Please understand that this book is fiction and I have bent the settings of certain areas to fit in with what the story needs. The Cincinnati in this book is not completely accurate.

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