by Patten, Sean
I looked around at our private accommodations, wondering if we were doing something wrong by hogging all this space for ourselves.
Just here for as long as it takes to find Steve, I thought. Then they can have it right back.
“It’s gonna get worse, too,” I said. “The more word spreads that Esperanza’s one of the only holdouts of something that at least resembles the government, the more people are going to come here. And when this place hits the limit of how many people they can handle—and they will soon, if they haven’t already—it’s going to be a nightmare.”
“Then we need to find Steve before that happens,” Kelly said. “And each day counts—the more people that arrive, the harder it’ll be to track one down.”
Another good point.
“Then I need to get to it,” I said. “No time to waste.”
I finished the last bit of my food and washed it down with my coffee. The two of us got up and I quickly change into my new clothes—same olive shirt, but with a pair of black running pants to Kelly’s dark red. Not the most stylish clothes, but they sure beat the sweat-soaked get-up I’d had on before. And the fresh socks made me feel like a new man.
“So,” she said. “We check in at the processing tent and they tell us where to go?”
“That’s the plan,” I said. “And I’m thinking that the sooner we get there, the better.”
She nodded, and together we stepped up to the tent flap, Kelly giving me one last look that…I don’t know, maybe suggested she wasn’t as unaware of what had happened last night as I’d imagined.
Then we stepped outside. And I wasn’t ready for what I’d see.
Chapter 5
The camp was packed, the rows between tents littered with sleeping bodies, all dirty and worn and haggard to the last. Garbage was everywhere, wrappers from the ration kits floating around like translucent tumbleweeds. And the smell—it was intolerable. Sweat and fear and desperation all blended into one fragrant cocktail that made me want to run back to the tent and air-seal the thing. Every now and then a moan or a cry or some other sound of a person in pain rose up.
“Holy shit,” I said, taking it all in.
“Told you it was bad,” Kelly said.
“Let’s not stick around.”
I patted the medal in my pocket, making sure it was still there. The tent was ours, but it was ours in name only, and I had a good feeling that now we were out of there some desperate refugee family might try to claim it as their own.
And what would I do if that happened? Sure, the soldiers might come to bat for me once I’d showed them the lanyard dangling around my neck. But there was an equally good a chance that they’d be too busy to settle some petty issue like me and Kelly having nowhere to sleep. I zipped up the tent tight, knowing that was my only form of security.
“Listen,” I said to Kelly as we made our way through the row between the tents. “Any day here is one day too many. Might seem tempting to relax, but…”
“I get it,” she said. “Feels like this place is a riot in the making.”
A clear head as always—one of the things I’d always appreciated about her.
We eventually reached the end of the tent area, making our way to the processing station where Sergeant Riley had told us to go for our assignments. There was already a swarm of people there, the soldiers doing their best to organize them into neat lines.
“All right!” shouted one of them. “Everybody listen up! You’re organized by the color on your lanyard. Purple is for unskilled labor—you go here. Red is for skilled physical labor—you go here. And white is for skilled non-physical labor—you’re here.”
With each category he pointed to a different line. My glance shot down to Kelly’s lanyard and I spotted a small white sticker on the corner of the piece of paper inside. My own had a red one.
“Shit,” I breathed. “We’re getting split up.”
“It’ll be fine,” she said. “We’ll just meet back at the tent when we’re done, right?”
“Tent or the camp sign,” I said, my gut tensing at the idea of being separated from Kelly. “I’ll see you soon.”
She nodded and smiled one last time before the two of us went into our separate lines and slowly inched towards the processing station.
As I drew closer I saw that the soldiers up front were asking for papers, then assigning the refugees to various groups who then split off and disappeared into the rest of the camp. It was the strange blend of order and chaos that I’d come to expect from our first day at Esperanza.
Kelly’s line was a little speedier than mine, and soon she was up front and assigned. She gave me one last look over her shoulder before she was with her group and then gone.
I hated seeing her go. Every time she left my sight I couldn’t help but wonder if that time would be the last that I’d see her. But there wasn’t anything to be done.
A couple minutes later and I was up.
“Papers,” growled the soldier, a squat, balding man who looked to be in his mid-forties.
I handed them over and he looked over the already crinkled leaf with narrowed eyes. I was more than a little curious what he had in mind for me. Surely there had to be some still-functioning machinery that needed a tune-up. Really, I was a little excited to be able to be some use, to be able to use what I knew.
“Infirmary duty,” he said, handed the paper back.
“Like, medicine?” I asked, confused. “I don’t know anything about that.”
He shook his head, clearly not in the mood to deal with any questions. “Not treating, building. You’re going to be with group Delta Ajax to help put up the new infirmary.”
Before I had a chance to ask any more questions, he pointed a stubby finger in the direction of the group.
“Get over there and you’ll be given more information. Next!”
And that was that. I folded up the paper and slipped it into the pocket of my pants then headed off toward the group of refugees, all dressed in the same “uniform” as me. As I approached, a youngish soldier—another sergeant—with a thin face and watery blue eyes greeted me with a sharp nod.
“Delta Ajax?” he said.
“Yeah,” I said. “Something about infirmary duty.”
“Great. I’m Sergeant Willis.” He turned to the group and gave a quick count. “Okay,” he said. “We’re full up. Move out!”
The group, clearly too worn out and unfamiliar with military discipline to do much of anything but shamble around in the vague direction they were instructed, gathered around the sergeant and together we headed off west.
I took the walk as an opportunity to get as much info as I could.
“Hey,” I said, approaching the sergeant.
He gave a grunt of acknowledgement, his eyes fixed ahead.
“You got any news from the outside?” I asked.
Willis took in a slow breath through his nose, his gaze unmoving. “Priority is getting Esperanza in order,” he said. “We took on another twenty thousand refugees over the night, and until we’ve got infrastructure in place for all of them I couldn’t give two shits about what’s going on out there.”
I got the feeling that was the best answer I was going to get. And I wasn’t surprised to hear the number of refugees—the place looked bursting with people. I shuddered at the thought of what was going to go down when Esperanza inevitably reached its limit.
Here and now, I told myself. Get through the workday, and then find Steve. Those are your two jobs. Don’t make a third one out of getting worried.
“Name’s Justin, by the way,” I said, trying to get out of my head.
Another grunt from Willis. Not the friendliest guy, but I couldn’t say I blamed him—the amount of stress the soldiers were under had to be insane, and plenty of them looked to be fresh out of boot camp. They were going to be pushed to breaking point over the next few days and weeks, if they hadn’t reached it already.
It wasn’t long before we reached the work site. It was a large
clearing that had been flattened out. Neat piles of steel tubes were here and there among other supplies, and a few dozen refugees and soldiers were already at work. As far as I could tell, there weren’t any pieces of mechanical equipment that looked like they could use my specific skill set.
“All right, Delta Ajax!” called out Willis. “We’ve got a hell of a lot of hurt and sick people here, and we don’t have a minute to spare. Finish getting the foundation in place, and then we’re starting on the frame. Water’s here if you need it. Let’s move!”
The group slowly broke apart, finding places at the site where other soldiers put them to work on whatever specifics tasks needed doing.
“Hey,” I said to Willis, catching up to him. “Not sure if anyone told you, but I’m a mechanical engineer.”
He looked at me like I’d just told him I had a killer baseball card collection that I wanted him to check out.
“I already told you what we need,” he said.
“I know,” I said. “But I’m just letting you know that if you need any more specific work done, I’m happy to help.”
He gave me a skeptical expression. “What, you too good to dig a ditch or something?”
“No,” I said. “Not that at all. It’s just—”
“Listen, bud,” he said, putting major emphasis on the “bud,” as if letting me know without a doubt that he was military and I wasn’t. “You’re not a soldier, but if you’re gonna be here at Esperanza you’re gonna follow orders like one. So get over to the site and do as you’re told. Got it?”
I was frustrated that he seemed to be taking my effort to help as some kind of attempt to get out of work. But not wanting to dig myself into a deeper hole, I went off.
After helping myself to a little water, I found a group of soldiers at work and asked what needed to be done. Sure enough, they found work for me right away. And it was grueling, to say the least.
Together with a small team of soldiers and other refugees, we worked to finish digging the grounds for the infirmary before starting on putting the frame into place. The steel pipes were heavy as hell, and between the effort needed to lift them and the sun blasting down from overhead, I ended up putting in one of the hardest workdays of my life.
And when Willis gave the call for lunch break, it felt like a kick to the gut to realize that it was only halfway over.
“Break time, boys!” he shouted. “Get in line, grab some grub, and get back to it!”
No rest for the weary, as they say. Me and the soldier at the other end of the pipe shared the same relieved expression before setting the thing down and headed over to the line. Despite knowing I needed the energy, food didn’t even sound good. All I wanted was to finish the day and hope that I had enough energy to start that night’s search for Steve.
We shuffled down the line, the awnings over the small kitchen providing some much-needed shade.
I was about halfway to the front when something cut through the low chatter of the line.
“Fuck!” called out a voice. “We got a leak!”
Everyone in line turned in the direction of the voice, and realized right away what was the source of the outburst. One of the pipes that brought water into the kitchen had broken, the ground beneath it rapidly turning dark with spraying water.
“Shit!” hissed Willis as he stepped away from the chow line. “Someone get on this, now!”
No one moved, and I quickly gathered that among the workers there, not one of them had the skills to fix the pipe.
None of them except for me.
So much for taking a break.
I stepped out of the line and rushed over towards the leaking pipe, very conscious of how much precious potable water was spraying out into the ground with each passing second.
“Turn off the main valve, now!” I yelled, my eyes on the leak. “And someone bring me a tool kit!”
Seconds later the water was off, stopping the flow. Then seconds after that, the heavy clang of a tool kit being dropped down next to me sounded out.
The leak wasn’t anything too severe—just a blown gasket. A quick bit of work with a C-clamp—along with some improvised parts from bits and pieces of gear laying around the site—and I managed to get it sealed. I gave the call to turn the valve back on at half-pressure, and a smattering of applause broke out when we all saw that the situation had been taken care of.
“Fuck,” I muttered once it was over and I realized that I’d pushed myself further than my body needed to be pushed that moment.
But it was done. I looked up and down the pipe and realized that it connected one of the tanks near the lake to one of the biggest tent encampments. If that leak had gotten any worse, it would’ve meant a lot of thirsty—or worse—people.
Willis stepped in front of me, his boots covered in dust.
“Nice work,” he said.
He extended his hand and I took it, the young soldier pulling me to me feet. The second I was on my feet, I felt the meaty clap of another hand, this one on my shoulder.
I turned around and found myself face-to-face with another soldier. But this one wasn’t young and inexperienced-looking like the rest. He was middle-aged, with close-cropped auburn hair, a face of sharp features and dark eyes. He was tall and wide-shouldered, like a soldier who’d always been fit and had never lost his step. He wore desert fatigues and a pair of stars on each shoulder let me know his rank. But I didn’t even need to see the stars—just standing in front of him like that was enough to let me know that he was very high up in the brass. It was command and leadership that you could feel in your bones.
“What’s your name?” he asked.
“Justin Powell, sir.”
He looked me up and down, as if trying to see right into me with just a single hard glance. Out of the corner of my eyes I could see each soldier nearby stiffen up and stare straight ahead, instinctively standing at attention.
It was then that I got it. This wasn’t just one of the men in charge. This was the man in charge.
“Name’s General Lambert,” he said, his voice rich and deep. “Come with me. I want to talk to you.”
Chapter 6
General Lambert didn’t wait around for me. After telling me that he wanted to talk he was off, and I looked to Willis for assurance that I could walk away from my assigned unit.
“You heard the general,” said Willis. “Don’t keep him waiting.”
He didn’t need to tell me twice. Not only was I curious as to what he wanted with me, General Lambert was the exact man I needed to talk to. If anyone there would be able to let me know what had happened to Steve, it’d be him.
After taking a quick drink of water I started off, one of the soldiers pointing me in the direction of the general’s office. The office was a smallish tent, dark green, with two soldiers posted in front, both of them staring straight ahead. As I approached their eyes locked onto me.
“Uh, hey,” I said. “Name’s Justin. General Lambert said he wanted to speak to me.”
“Raise your arms,” the one on the left commanded.
I knew the military well enough to get that there wasn’t any sense in arguing with SOP. I did as the soldier asked, the man giving me a quick pat-down.
Apparently satisfied, he nodded to the soldier on my right. The guy ducked into the tent, emerging moments later.
“Go on in,” he said.
I did, stepping through the tent flap and entering.
The place was…kind of mess, actually, covered in maps and documents and various bits of equipment, along with plenty of guns and ammo. Not at all what I’d expect from a general in charge of such an operation. Made me wonder if the man was disorganized, or if there was a method to the madness.
The general himself was there, his neat, well-put-together appearance a contrast to the rest of the office. He sat straight in his high-backed chair, watching me careful eyes. I didn’t get the impression he distrusted me, more that he was just trying to get a sense of me.
&nb
sp; “Justin,” he said, getting up from his desk and coming over to greet me. “Welcome.”
He stuck out his hand and I glanced down at it for a brief moment before taking it. Lambert shook it as firmly as I would’ve guessed.
“Thanks,” I said, taking another quick look around.
“Excuse the mess,” he said, letting go of my hand and glancing around. “Controlled chaos is how we do things here at Esperanza.”
“I’m seeing that,” I said. “Lots of chaos, lots of control.”
He turned his eyes back to me.
“It all happened so fast,” he said. “We’re damn lucky we’ve been able to get the camp up and running to this point, really.”
His candor was more than I’d expected. I considered that maybe he’d been around his fellow troops for long enough getting the camp set up that he didn’t mind letting it hang out, just a little, with a civilian.
“So, Justin,” he said. “I’m sure you’re wondering why I asked you to come.”
“I am,” I said.
“And we’ll get to that,” he said. “But first, I’d like to know a little about you.”
He stepped over to a bookshelf packed with black plastic spines, most of them appearing to be intel folders and booklets. He took one of the few books there, the spine reading “The Plague” by Albert Camus, and slipped it off the shelf. Behind it was a small bottle of whiskey, along with a pair of shot glasses.
My eyebrows rose just slightly as he took one shot glass and filled it full, pouring the other about a third of the way up. Then he brought them over to me and handed me the full one.
“Would love to join you for a normal one,” he said. “But…” He gestured to the walls of the tent, and went on. “Maybe someday I’ll get some time to sit and enjoy a drink without worrying about the world coming to an end, but until then.”
He raised his glass and I did the same. We tapped the rims and both took our sips. I didn’t catch the brand, but the whiskey was damn good. Burned just right and felt like heaven in my belly. Probably not the best idea considering the circumstances, but at moment it was all the relief I needed.
