The Remaining: Trust: A Novella

by D. J. Molles

  He wanted to share that information with Lucas and Tyler. But here were muddy waters. They could be knee-deep and easily navigated. Or they could be a layer of silt hovering on the surface of an abyss. There really was no way to tell.

  Keep it to yourself.

  Abe swallowed it down. Ugly bits and all.

  With a look of distaste, he shook his head. “I have no fucking idea. All I can tell you is that this shit cannot get out. I want you both to understand that. No one talks about this back inside the Green Zone.” Abe drew himself up a bit. “I’ll pass the debrief along to the others. Bandits attacked Fargo Group. QRF responded and helped neutralize the threat. And that’s as far as the story goes.”

  Tyler rubbed his face. “Holy fuck, man…”

  Lucas’s eyes narrowed a bit. “Why are we doing this?”

  Abe glared at him. “Lucas…”

  “Why can’t we just tell the truth here? They attacked us. It doesn’t get much clearer than that. There’s no way anything we did here can be construed as anything but them ambushing us.” Lucas shrugged and lifted his eyebrows. “That’s not our fucking problem.”

  Abe leaned toward his friend, heat coming in his words now but his volume still low. “It is our fucking problem, Lucas!” He stabbed the air with an index finger as he said it. “And it’s a big one. It’s got a dozen dead bodies behind it, and a dozen starving families behind that.”

  “Starving families?”

  Abe gritted his teeth. Closed his eyes. He just kept thinking about what the man had said. How convinced he’d been that Abe was a part of it. That all of these soldiers were a part of it. Some military conspiracy against the civilians. How many people shared that view? And if they heard even a rumor about this, could they be convinced that it wasn’t just a massacre?

  Abe took a deep breath to cool himself off a bit. Lack of sleep. Lack of eating. Stress. His fuse was short, but that wasn’t an excuse. He didn’t need to bark orders right now. He spoke much calmer. “Lucas. Tyler. I need you both to trust me on this one. I wouldn’t tell you this if I didn’t think it was necessary. Please. At least until I have some things sorted out. Just keep it bottled up.”

  Lucas seemed miffed that Abe was holding something back. “Abe…it’s us.”

  Abe just shook his head. “Trust me, guys. Let me handle this one.”

  * * *

  They rode back with the convoy.

  Abe took the shotgun seat in Tyler’s Humvee. Lucas sat in the back right. They flew down deserted streets and dusty lengths of highway, heading south with the wintering sun glaring at them, reducing everything to browns and tans. Like the world was bleaching and weathering before their eyes.

  They rode in silence.

  The gates were opened for them by men they didn’t recognize, who wore Greeley Green Zone identification but were not uniformed soldiers. Instead they wore black tops and green pants and their tactical vests bore the patch of a red logo that Abe had trouble making out.

  The convoy rode quickly through American streets that had once been alive with the calm coolness of a Midwestern town, but now they teemed with refugees. Camps took up entire shopping malls and continued to sprout up like some strange and aggressive plant among the short, squat buildings. The roofs of them were uniform in height and gave the appearance of large, flat leaves covering the earth. They were made of metal and wood and tarp. Some of them were tents and others were shanties. Campers. Anything that could be turned into a place to sleep.

  People mulled around. Washed clothes in giant troughs of sudsy brown water. Built fires in trashcans. Ripped apart old buildings to find supplies for themselves. Things to burn to keep them warm. Things they could use to build other things they thought might make their lives easier. They worked on cars to help them scavenge outside of the Green Zone. Dirt bikes were popular tools for that, though they obviously couldn’t carry much. Whatever vehicle you chose, it had to be a gasoline engine. All diesel fuel was appropriated by the military. Your ration card could be revoked for a period of two weeks if you were found hiding diesel fuel. But not much in the military ran on regular gasoline, so if you could find it and reinvigorate it, then you could use it.

  As the convoy rolled through the streets, some of the people stood and watched them.

  A few excitable children waved. Yelled for the candies from MREs. They’d learned quickly about some soldiers’ superstition on eating Charms candies out of an MRE, and they knew that it was the most likely treat to be thrown out.

  “Mr. Army Man!” they yelled. “Got any Charms? You guys got Charms?”

  “They’re bad luck! Throw them out!”

  Someone in the truck behind Abe threw one, pegged a kid in the forehead with it. Abe wasn’t sure whether the aim was deliberate or not, but the kids didn’t seem to care. They hooted and hollered and mobbed the kid with the candy, all trying to get a piece.

  Abe disliked how much all of it reminded him of the Middle East.

  His eyes stayed on the adults now, slightly narrowed, his jaw clenched. In his seat, behind his door, he had gone “southpaw” on his rifle so he could more easily bring it up through his open window. He watched their hands for weapons. Made eye contact with a few of them. And he wasn’t quite sure what he was seeing.

  The Greeley Green Zone had seemed hopeful to him at first.

  He could ride through the streets and see the positive sides of it. The people getting back to basics. Using their ingenuity. Being resourceful. Working on the same team as the military to try to rebuild what they had lost.

  Whether or not it actually was, or was only perceived that way, it all seemed different now. Darker. Oppressive. The people seemed resentful. In their eyes he saw the thoughts of insurgents, waiting for Abe’s Humvee to wander into the blast radius of a cleverly disguised IED, sitting under a heap of trash on the side of the road.

  One big boom, and then ball bearings through your brainpan.

  Abe saw stacks of concertina wire and knew they had reached The Strip.

  The gate to The Strip was guarded, but only one of the men guarding it was a soldier. He wore ACUs and he stood back, a rifle slung on his back. He seemed to be in a supervisory role. The other two guards were the men in black and green with the red logo patch on their vests. They approached Abe’s Humvee, one on each side.

  “Who the fuck are these guys?” Tyler griped.

  Abe waited for them to draw close enough that he could read the patch. Then he answered, a mix of disdain and disappointment in his voice. “Fucking Cornerstone.”

  “Cornerstone?” Lucas spoke up from the backseat. “Like the military contracting company?”

  “Yeah.” Abe nodded, pulling out his Greely Green Zone ID.

  The two men reached the driver’s and passenger’s side windows.

  “ID, please,” the man in front of Abe said.

  Abe handed it over, eyeing the man in front of him. “That was pretty fucking fast. They were just talking this morning about using you guys.”

  The man looked at Abe’s ID, then handed it back with a shrug and a raised eyebrow. “They’ve been talking about it for weeks, actually. You guys are good. Have a nice day.”

  Abe pulled his ID from the man’s fingers, a little sharper than was necessary. He wasn’t known to pull rank on people, but he resented this newcomer ignoring any pretense of military formality. No “sir” or “major.” Just “you guys.”

  “Yeah,” Abe said under his breath, feeling a brick forming in his gut. “You, too.”

  The gates were rolled back and the convoy proceeded through.

  They passed empty parking lots where soldiers were dousing heaps of trash in diesel fuel and tossing road flares into them. Trash collection and general public sanitation were basically still nonexistent in the Greeley Green Zone. Another one of the “top priorities,” depending on who you asked. Right along with water treatment plants, power grids, oil pipelines, and everything else that people missed.

 
They reached the warehouses, and here again were the men in black and green, with only a few soldiers in ACUs standing around to watch them. Abe wondered how long it would be before the soldiers were not needed anymore and the men from Cornerstone were in complete control of everything.

  Control, Abe thought. It all comes down to control.

  He who has the gold makes the rules.

  Except for nowadays, it’s food. Food and medicine.

  Tyler pointed the Humvee toward one of the warehouses, and the Cornerstone men opened a large rolling door for them. Abe stared at them. Reading the writing on the wall. Seeing the signs as clear as day.

  “Let me out here,” he said.

  Tyler stopped the Humvee.

  Abe opened his door, glaring baldly at the mercenaries.

  “You okay, boss?” Lucas asked.

  “Yeah.” Abe stepped out, slammed the door behind him. “I’ve got some shit to take care of.”

  * * *

  He entered the command center, helmet in hand, sweat-covered, smelling of dust and the musty smell of gun smoke when it permeates your clothing and sits on your skin. Corporal Nunez was still in the command center, and he half stood up, looking a little surprised to see the major.

  Abe glanced around, saw they were alone. “Corporal, I need you to do me a favor.”

  Nunez followed Abe’s cautious glance. He seemed to understand instantly what the look meant, and that what he was about to be asked would be…sensitive. “Yes, sir,” he said with a note of hesitation. “What do you need?”

  Abe went to Nunez’s desk, set his helmet down, and then began fishing in his pockets. “You have access to the Green Zone census lists up here, right?”

  Nunez’s index finger tapped nervously at the side of his keyboard. “Uh…yes.”

  “Can you plug in a ration card number and tell me what shows up?”

  “Yes.”

  Abe waited.

  Nunez stared.

  “Okay.” Abe pointed at the computer. “Do it.”

  “Yes sir.” Nunez spun in his chair and hunched over his computer. Cursors flew and the keyboard was rattled on and windows popped up on the screen and gave way to other windows. Abe watched but didn’t really follow. He’d never really mucked around with the census lists, which were strictly civilian. Come to think of it, he didn’t even really know how many people were in the Greeley Green Zone.

  Imagine that, he told himself. A Coordinator who doesn’t know how many people he’s taking care of.

  Because he wasn’t taking care of them anymore.

  He wasn’t in control.

  That had been taken from him. It had been whittled away in subtle chips and scrapes by something called Good Intentions. And Complacency. He’d been complacent. He’d allowed it all to happen because it was easier. It was easier to just give in to full bird colonels and acting presidents. But what the fuck was he supposed to do about it now?

  “Okay,” Nunez said. “What’s the number?”

  Abe brought the ration card out of his pocket. He read the number, deliberately refusing to look at the designations under it. The man’s wife and children. Who would be alone. Who would wonder tonight, and the next night, and the night after that, what had happened to their husband and father.

  He brought it on himself, Abe tried to tell himself.

  But he failed to convince himself.

  “Alright.” Nunez leaned forward, squinting at the screen. “Number comes back to Donahue, Blake. Family of four. Wife and two kids, it looks like.” Nunez shrugged. “But the number got terminated two weeks ago. It’s not even good anymore.”

  Abe sucked on his teeth. Looked on with a stony expression. “Could they have been suspended for something? Hoarding diesel fuel or ration fraud?”

  Nunez shrugged. “All this shit’s typed in by hand, so somebody could have made a mistake, but usually if that’s the case, it will show ‘suspended’ instead of ‘terminated,’ and it will have some comments in it. Such as the reason for the suspension and the time period until it’s reinstated.” Nunez looked up at the major. “I’ve only ever seen it say ‘terminated’ when the family is dead or if they decided to move out of the Green Zone for whatever reason.” He sniffed. “Chasing relatives in California or whatever.”

  Abe stood, still and silent as a monolith. He stared at the screen but didn’t really see it. His arms had crossed over his chest as the corporal had given his explanation, and his right hand clutched his bearded chin tightly. Brow furrowed.

  Nunez grew uncomfortable. “You mind if I ask where you found that card, sir?”

  Abe’s eyes gained focus again. He directed them at Nunez. “I mind.” He put the ration card back into his pocket. “Don’t talk about this. With anyone. Don’t even bring it up with me again. Understood?”

  Nunez nodded and went back to his computer screen. “Understood, sir.”

  Abe turned away from the corporal, but not before noting the address on the screen. The address where the Donahues were supposed to live, according to the most recent census record. Then he grabbed his helmet and headed for the door.

  A ringing telephone stopped him.

  He stood there, facing the doors to the command center and gritting his teeth. Already knowing what the ringing phone was for. Who it was from. What it was about. You didn’t mess with a system like the Green Zone census and not get noticed. Computers were such treacherous things.

  Corporal Nunez answered the phone.

  A brief pause.

  “Yes, sir. Of course, sir.”

  Abe closed his eyes, still not looking behind him. What did he feel in that moment? He wasn’t so sure. Anger. Betrayal. The sense of being used. Being lied to. Having one pulled over on him. But those were low-burning embers, buried under a thick crust of complacency. Of being tired. Of just wanting all of this to end. And those feelings…those were the ones that rooted his feet to the floor, that slouched his shoulders and sank his guts.

  The creak of an office chair.

  “Major,” Nunez called. “The president would like to see you.”

  SIX

  Abe found Briggs much in the same way he’d seen him when he’d left earlier that morning, in a rush to save Tyler and Fargo Group. In a rush to run headlong into problems that were not of his creation but that he was expected to deal with anyway.

  President Briggs stood at the head of the table this time, rather than sat. He was alone. Some papers were spread out on the table, and it seemed to Abe that the table had become his preferred workspace. When Abe came through the door, he was still dirty, still stinking like smoke and exhaust, hair still matted from his helmet, face still locked—unyielding even to his own emotions. The face of a man deliberately “switching it off.”

  President Briggs did not smile or greet Abe in his usual cordial manner. There was a tension in the air of the room that was immediately apparent to Abe. The president leaned on the table with one hand, the other planted firmly on his hip, and he looked up at Abe from underneath his brow. His usual stately expression was slightly pinched. His forthright eyes appeared now to be veiled and suspicious.

  Abe stood still, just a single pace off of the doorstep.

  The gap between the two men seemed ridiculously long.

  What do you say? What do you say to fill all that empty space when you both know, but neither of you want to put it out there? To make it real by speaking it into the void. Words are such pesky things. How they can lift you up and crush you down and make grand ideas seem very small indeed. Why speak them when they can so easily be left unsaid?

  Abe cleared his throat. “You called for me, sir?”

  His helmet began to feel heavy in his hands. The sling of his rifle felt like it was digging into his skin. He was hungry, though he knew his appetite would be gone by the time he reached food. He could just feel the acid scraping at the bottom of his throat.

  Briggs stood up from hunching over the table. Up to his full height, stretching back
ward a little bit, and then he regarded Abe with a frank look. “Major, I wanted to talk to you privately, because I’m having some concerns that we’re not on the same page anymore.”

  “Not on the same page?”

  “Do you trust me?” Briggs asked point-blank.

  Abe didn’t immediately answer.

  Briggs shook his head, just slightly. “Losing your trust was not my intention, Abe. You’re an integral part of everything we’re trying to do here, and if things were done without your knowledge, it was not because of any particular desire to hide them from you. Or Colonel Lineberger.”

  Abe shifted slightly. “Colonel Lineberger doesn’t know?”

  “No, of course not.” Briggs half smiled, but it was with a note of sadness. “I wouldn’t tell him something and not tell you. But sometimes…” He seemed to grow exasperated. “Sometimes there are things I do not want the military to be a part of. Because you soldiers are everything these people have. They don’t have homes or belongings or stock portfolios anymore. They have a military. They have fighting men and women such as yourself who are keeping them alive. That’s the only thing they can be proud of anymore. And if I were to make a decision that put that pride in jeopardy…well, that would be a terrible mistake.”

  Abe’s thoughts were muddled.

  There was logic to what the president was saying, but it seemed a pretty veneer on what was essentially manipulation. There was the sense that Abe’s ego was being subtly stroked. Abe had learned long ago that if someone was stroking your ego, chances were they were lying to your face or trying to get something out of you.

  Briggs stared at his table. “Sometimes there are problems that I simply have to handle on my own, Abe. I firmly believe, with every fiber of my being, that I was meant to do the job that I am doing. I believe in the choices I am making. I believe that they are the right ones. That even though they are sometimes ugly, I am doing what needs to be done in order to rebuild this country—and not only rebuild it, but make it better than it was.”