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. An
d 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 d
o 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.
Days Since...: Thomas: Day 758 (Almawt Virus Series Book 1) Page 3
