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.
“Not too much longer.”
“You really believe that, James?”
“Our orders end in twenty-two days and a wake up. I’m fuckin’ sick and tired of riding around in a convoy every day doing route clearance. I could give a shit about this desert, Tommy. Let these people hit the damn bombs along this highway. I'm going home before the month’s over. I don’t care if I have to walk.”
“You’re crazy—“
“Quiet down, you two!”
“Yes, sir!”
“Everyone paying attention now? Good! Per the usual, keep your head on a swivel. We’ve been lucky so far, but this is still a war, so don’t get complacent with our string of fortune. We have about fifteen minutes until we roll out.”
“Hey, Sergeant Gates!”
“Yes, Private Mack.”
“ We gotta know. We keep hearing all this mess about Almawt. Any truth to that?”
“Rumors and more rumors. Folklore if you want to call it that. We haven't had any confirmed cases among soldiers. It seems without direct exposure to the actual release of the agent it has no effect. So, as we continue through, and we continue to see these people suffering, know that we're fine. Keep doing what you're doing and get the mission done.”
“Yes, sir!”
“Pass me my bag, Tommy.”
“You know I hate when you call me that.”
“Alright, Tommy.”
“Get your own damn bag then.”
“You want me breathing in that nasty crap—dying?”
“You heard Sarge, we’re fine.”
“If you say so…”
Thomas rolled over.
“We’re about halfway out now, Tommy. Another half and then the full ride back.”
“I’m surprised you were able to put that together.”
“Shut up… What you got there? Nudie mag?”
“A book. Why do you care?”
“It got any sex in it?”
“Haven’t gotten to any.”
“You find some you let me know, alright?”
“Whatever you say.”
“What’re you going to do when you get home?”
“That bored, huh?”
“Seriously, what you gonna do when we get home?”
“Finish up school and hope we never come back to this place.”
“Yeah…”
“You?”
BOOM!
“Holy Shit!”
“What the…”
“Ambush!”
Crack! Crack! Crack! Crack!
“Get the fuck down!”
Crack! Crack! Crack! Boom!
“Where!”
“Get me some cover!”
Crack! Crack!
Crack! Crack! Crack! Crack!
“How many?”
“Three—no, four!”
Crack! Crack!
“Michelle!”
“She’s gone.”
Crack! Crack!
“We’re being overrun!”
Crack! Crack! Crack!
“Tommy, get to the town! We gotta hide! Now! Let’s go!”
Chapter Three
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 betwe
en 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.”
Days Since...: Thomas: Day 758 (Almawt Virus Series Book 1) Page 4
