Days Since...: Thomas: Day 758 (Almawt Virus Series Book 1)

by Robert Wilson

  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...” James shook him. “Wake up. Someone's here.”

  “What?” Thomas pushed his hand away. “Get off me.”

  James shushed him, then whispered, “Someone’s in the library.”

  “What?” Thomas’s frustration rose, clearly disoriented, unable to process what was really happening.

  James spoke slower, firm, but low. “There is somebody in the library with us. I don’t know who it is, but they might be here to kill us.”

  The words finally sank in, and Thomas snapped to, but a feeling of dread passed through his body. Shit! His instincts took over. He rolled from under the table, withdrew his pistol from its holster, and took a position of concealment next to James. “How many did you see?”

  “Don't know. I heard some glass break and a few books fall out there, but haven't heard anything else.” James took hold of Thomas’s arm and helped to orient him within the room. “There’s a light.”

  Thomas could see it in between the bookcases toward the front of
the library. A dim light, probably a lantern, swung as it floated down the aisles like an apparition. Slowly. Calm. Unfortunately, it provided very little information other than that someone was there. The shadow was ambiguous as to who held it—the projection against the wall cast the person as a giant.

  “I would think it’s only one, right?” Thomas leaned in toward James, leaving the words only to his ears. “What do you think?”

  “That's all I've seen. No other shadows. What do we do?”

  “We’ll take him. If it’s one of the Butcher’s men, the Intel will be worth it.”

  “If it’s not one his?”

  “We’ll figure it out—can’t let this opportunity slip away. Stay close. No lights from us.” Thomas moved toward the door to the stacks and could feel James at his six. “We'll use his light against him. That guy can't point it, so we should be able to sneak up on him, but remember“—Thomas swallowed—“unless we have to, don’t use your gun. We don’t want to alert the camp.”

  James tapped him on the shoulder, acknowledging his statement and letting him know he was ready. Thomas unlocked the door and slowly pulled it inward. He stood and moved into a corner to their left. From there, he could see the lantern shining periodically between the spaces in the shelving as it moved. Thud! Another book fell. This guy's not being too careful. No idea we’re here. Thomas closed his eyes and tried to recreate the layout of the library in his mind. Of course it had been years since he was last here, but the state of the office left little doubt that the main portion of the library sat unaltered.

  He moved through it in his head. Round tables and single work stations in the middle. Most of the bookshelves run parallel to the wall… maybe four deep? Where he is runs the opposite way. “This way.” He tugged James toward the outside wall, leading them down that last row of bookshelves.

  They monitored the lantern as it continued its way along the front wall opposite the office they had exited. Thomas could feel James’s hand at his back as they moved—Thomas forward, James watching behind—both of their pistols drawn.

  The two moved through the darkness as one, working as this single entity ready to neutralize an intruder. Along the perimeter, they proceeded with light, quick steps. Closer and closer to the lantern they came. They crouched down at the cap to the aisle, ready to turn the corner and engage the man with the light. Just a quick glance—Damn!—Thomas stumbled back into James.

  The lantern sat unattended. In his haste, Thomas failed to realize the light stopped moving. He grabbed James and forced him to look then bolted round the next bookcase. Doing their best to keep from the light, they took to the opposite side of the stacks, taking a defensive posture as they assessed the situation.

  “What do we do now?” James forced a whisper.

  Thomas responded by pulling James with him toward the back of the library. If only they could get back to the office and regroup—disengage from this mistake, make a plan then follow through. Even if it meant retreating back up through the hatch, it wasn't worth getting ambushed in the dark. They had lost the advantage. It was time to acknowledge that and respond.

  They retreated with tails tucked between their legs, breaking as quickly as possible toward the office—in need of a lock to help secure their position. Another thud, followed by a low muttering. Maybe they hadn't been found out. No matter, they still pushed their way quietly into the office and locked the door.

  “What the— what the hell happened?”

  Thomas took his time responding. The adrenaline had gotten the better of him, and his voice might carry further than he intended. “Just a—Just a second.” He rested his hand on James’s back.

  Another thud from the other room.

  “This guy doesn’t know what— the hell’s going on.” James’s breathing labored through his quiet words. “We’ll need— We need to go and get him.” He began to rise from his crouched position.

  “Just wait a—”

  An eruption of broken glass interrupted him. A wooden chair bounced against the conference table, crashed to the floor, and came to rest among the shards. Without hesitating, Thomas grabbed the legs of the wooden chair and flung it back into the library to distract their assailant as he drew his pistol to retaliate. His flashlight followed the muzzle as he scanned the stacks, but there was no one—nothing. What the hell?

  James scurried toward the door and pressed himself against the jamb, using it and the heavy door as cover for what might be waiting. Thomas’s eyes met with James who began nodding to him. The look told him he was about to open that door—that he was ready to move.

  Thomas affirmed with a quick nod. It was ten paces to the ladder and the same to that locked door. The choice had been made. There would be no rush to the ladder. No escape through the hatch. They had been found. It was time to take control of the situation.

  James switched the door’s lock while Thomas stared obsessively at him, waiting like a caged animal. He rushed the door as James pulled it, but was knocked off his intended path. His pistol clattered to the floor, and the flashlight tumbled, whipping light across the walls until coming to a rest toward the center of the room.

  A set of hands slid past Thomas’s head, wrapping his neck into the crook of an elbow. He tried to drop his chin to prevent the rear choke, but it was too late. James rushed to help, but Thomas spun away, collapsing onto the floor, knocking a sharp gasp from his attacker as the full weight of Thomas’s frame crushed him.

  James drew his pistol.

  “Have to shoot him to get me!” the attacker cackled from the floor, hiding behind Thomas while he gripped his neck tighter and tighter from behind.

  James tried for a clear shot only a moment longer before holstering his pistol and working to free Thomas from the chokehold. The man wasn’t letting go, and James’s attempts to pull the grip apart proved insufficient. Thomas wanted to tell James to just shoot him, but the words couldn’t pass his throat. Thomas began to feel light-headed—his consciousness slipping.

  In a last ditch attempt, Thomas threw his elbow several times into the man’s ribs, finally breaking the hold. The blood rushed back into his head. A flurry of strikes against his back had little effect other than to annoy Thomas as he rolled over to face his adversary.

  Thomas straddled him, took hold of his shirt, and slammed his head against the floor several times. The man’s eyes began to flutter and roll back into his head. “Are you fucking done!?” Thomas yelled.

  “Yes, damn it,” the man cried out. “Get off!” Thomas hurried to get back to his feet, but the man was able to connect with several strikes to the inside of his knee, causing Thomas to buckle. Relentless little fuck! The attacker attempted to pass under Thomas, trying to improve his position, but it was no use. Thomas heard a loud crack as his fist connected with what he believed was a nose. A bestial howl of pain. “Stop! Stop! Stop!” the man begged.

  “Roll him over!” James called out.

  Thomas backed off the man, taking control of his shoulder, and pressing his face into the carpet. They worked to get his arms behind him. Thomas held them in place, and soon James secured a line of parachute cord around his wrists.

  “Got him?” Thomas asked.

  James slapped Thomas across the back. “Hell yeah, man.”

  Thomas’s head snapped back toward James, his chest heaving. “Really, man?” He exhaled. “Just— make sure he’s the only one in here. I got this one.”

  James gave him a look.

  “Go, damn it!”

  James slid through the entrance to the stacks once again.

  A large lump squeezed through Thomas’s throat as he swallowed hard. “Damn!” His neck felt tight. “Little bastard.” Thomas crouched down behind a desk with his pistol drawn, bouncing his attention between the prisoner and James’s search of the stacks—it wasn’t long before he returned.

  “All clear.”

  James shifted their prisoner into a seated position and dragged him back against the wall. The
flashlight caught a portion of the man's face, his nose crooked and flowing red. James grabbed some tissue from a nearby desk, rolled it, and stuffed a piece in each nostril.

  “Damn,” the man puffed, “ya didn't have to do all that.” The man nuzzled his face against his shoulder, streaking blood across his face and clothing. “I was giving up, honest as ever.” The man's eyes lacked any sign of sincerity. There was an eerie smile resting behind his fake words. Thomas had seen this before—a man surrendering while in the back of his mind planning how he would end you.

  “Who are you?” James demanded.

  “David. Nice to meet you.”

  “You little shit.” James slapped him across the face. “Damn it!” He wiped blood across the front of his pants. “You’re one of the Butcher’s men aren’t you?”

  “Hell if I am.” His answer was quick. “I just use the services when they're in town.”

  James took his flashlight more deliberately across the man’s face. There wasn't a scar, not even an attempt at giving him one.

  Thomas rocked forward in the chair. “What the hell are you doing in here?”

  “Finding books to get some time with the girls.”

  “James, mask him, and we'll lock him in the supply closet until tomorrow.”

  Chapter Six

  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.