“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.”
Chapter Ten
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 s
outhern 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!”
Days Since...: Thomas: Day 758 (Almawt Virus Series Book 1) Page 14
