Роберт Уилсон - Days Since... - Thomas - Day 758

“Where’s the key, lady!” James shouted.

Thomas could hear him pounding on the outside of the train car as he said it.

“Where’s the key!” The patience in James’ voice was dissipating. Still pounding—the hollow clunking of metal echoed across the yard.

He’s being reckless. What the hell’s he thinking?

“I don’t have the key,” the woman shouted, crying out to James. “If I did, I’d give it to you, no questions asked, believe me. I need help. Find the damn thing!”

“What do you mean find it? Where the hell is it?”

“I think he keeps it on the track behind you.”

“That doesn’t tell me much.” James dashed back toward the chemical tanker but stopped midway. “Hold on… Why didn’t you call out for help when you heard the rocks?”

“She thought it might be me toying with her,” a man’s voice boomed. “Don’t even think about moving!”

From behind the cupola, Thomas remained calm, trying to match the voice to a figure, but couldn’t. They had lost the advantage, and it was unknown who had taken it. James stood rooted in the ground, and even from this distance, Thomas noticed the horrified look on his face and could only imagine what was coursing through his veins or down his leg in this moment.

As time passed and the stranger remained silent, Thomas’s body eventually gave into a nervous sweat. He wiped his brow with his sleeve. Buckle down, damn it. He tried to remain focused, ignoring the woman’s screams, just waiting for the man to show himself, to speak, to do anything as Thomas continued to analyze the situation in front of him. It was as if this man was a spirit or simply a voice.

James let his rifle hang and raised his hands, one of them still clutching his pistol. “What do you want?”

“Drop your weapons and your rucksack.”

Thomas could see James hesitate. Just do it man! You know I’m here. Several tense seconds passed with James’s hands suspended above his head.

“Do it!” Any patience the man’s voice once held was gone. James must have sensed it, because he gave in, sliding his ruck and rifle off his shoulders and allowing them to land roughly beside him.

“And the pistol!”

James looked up at the gun in his hand, rotating his wrist, eyeing both sides of his Smith and Wesson. That’s it! Keep buying time. I’ll find this guy. James let his firearm loose, and it dangled from his finger, caught within the trigger guard.

“Don’t start thinking funny. All the way! Drop it to the ground!”

James let it go.

“No one needs to get hurt here,” the man continued. “This woman’s coming with me. That’s all I want.”

“Who is she?”

“Doesn’t matter to you.”

“Help me, please God, help me! He’s crazy!”

“Shut up!”

Crack!A shot was fired, but James had already bolted, moving frantically across the loose stones as more shots went off. Crack! Crack! Crack!His body leaned and twisted as he drew a crooked line to cover between a set of boxcars. The woman’s screams elevated. Crack! Crack!The ground continued to spit rocks as the man missed his target.

Thomas’s eyes moved methodically through the panic, trained, persistent to the task. Crack!Too much cover. Too many trains. The tree line. The watchtower. Again, Crack!“There’s that mother…” Thomas muttered while he set his cheek against the butt of his rifle and locked the muzzle onto the threat. A shadowy figure perched inside an old brick watchtower—a white T-shirt framed by a slender body that was only visible between a few slats of pine that encircled the landing.

Thomas focused, narrowing his aim through the scope. Crack!Another shot at James. Stay down, damn it! He drew in a breath then exhaled. With his lungs empty, he squeezed the trigger and sent a round exploding through one of the pine boards. The man fell onto his side. Never seen. Never heard. Thomas drew back the bolt handle, expelling the spent round, and then slammed it forward. He regained his sight picture and kept the rifle trained on the limp body. “James! You hit?”

“Hell no!”

The lady’s screaming didn’t let up—it had only gotten worse. The mixture of sobbing and shrieks became punctuated with fists against the steel walls. “What happened! What happened!”

James appeared out in the open again, snatched his pistol from the ground then ran for the makeshift prison.

“James! Stop!” Thomas called. James’s feet slid across the scattered gravel. “Focus on the guy. Come on, move! I got you covered. If I see him move, I put another one in him, but I need you to confirm he’s dead.”

“Is he dead!” The woman cried. “Oh, God!”

Her pleas captured James in a trance—he seemed torn on what to do, standing there with a blank expression.

“James!” Thomas stared at him, annoyed with the hesitation. “Ignore her, damn it! The guy. Now!”

“On it!” The disobedience and uncertainty from James ended as he turned from the boxcar. Clearly, he had realized his mistake and accepted his new role. His steps became quick and direct. Finally, nothing else seemed to be on his mind as he rushed to check on the downed man.

It was difficult to make out the body—Thomas’s view limited by distance, concealment, and shadows. The man’s once white T-shirt was now dark with blood. It dripped from between the boards, staining the dirt and powdery stones beneath him. Thomas swallowed hard. He didn’t want to admit he really couldn’t see the body very well. It was more a general idea of how it fell. He was certain that any movement would be noticed, and he could send another round across the yard to quell it. His biggest concern was that the volley of shots would gain the attention of others—people not involved in this skirmish.

James wound his way up the stairs—his torso moving like a turret, rotating the pistol which led him toward the wooden deck where the body lay. Once he hit the landing, the muzzle remained in the lead, but his walk seemed casual, travelling dangerously close to careless. Lessons don’t last long with him.

James traipsed around to the front side of the deck and stopped even with the fractured pine slat that felt the initial force of Thomas’s shot. James took an awkward step across what Thomas could only assume was the body and squatted down. Glimpses of James’s head appeared and disappeared as he shifted about.

“Is he dead or what?” Thomas called over to him.

“Oh, yeah. He’s gone for sure.” The dead man’s head filled the gap in the broken slats as James leaned him against the railing.

“What are you doing?”

James’s face popped over the top board. “I’m checking him for anything useful.” His tone made the answer seem so obvious.

“We don’t have time for that now. Just throw him over. We still have to deal with the lady.”

James did as he was told—the head, shoulders, and arms were first, then the torso, and finally the legs spilled over the edge, allowing the body to plummet three stories to the ground below. A dull, murderous thud caused Thomas to cringe. “That’ll teach him!” James seemed to cheer as he spiraled his way back down the stairs, smiling the entire way. “No one messes with the S.A.!”

“What’s wrong with you?” Thomas withdrew from behind the cupola. “Have some damn dignity!”

“What?” James threw his hands up in protest. “He asked for this.”

“Whatever. Just…” The idea of others infiltrating their operation changed his mind from arguing with James. He took his binoculars across the yard once more. All appeared as before, but as they found out earlier, that didn’t count for much. He didn’t have a choice but to be satisfied for now. “I got you covered. Find out how to get that lady out of there.”