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

“No big deal. I got you.”

“He gets nothing. Remember when he attacked us? Remember when he tried to kill me?”

“You’re the boss.” James put his hands out to try and settle Thomas down. “I’m not trying to start shit with you, man. I just want to get this show back on the road.” James averted his eyes from Thomas, changing focus to the prisoner—the black hood slumped into the nook of his shoulder. Strong breaths puffed the hood in and out. “I don’t even know if this guy’s awake. I was just talking shit, seriously.”

Thomas couldn’t help but feel that he had finally broken James’s spirit. He folded easily now, unwilling to argue or fight back. “Just…” Thomas took a softer tone. “Don’t start getting cozy with him.”

“I’m not. I don’t give two shits about this guy.” James applied his boot to the inside of the prisoner’s knee. “Wake up!”

A muffled grunt and the prisoner thrashed about, kicking at James’s boot with his free leg. James removed his foot and backed away.

“He can die for all I care.”

“We’ll see what the higher-ups want to do with him,” Thomas said, “but for now he stays here. It’ll be too risky to move him.”

James dropped his shoulders and closed his eyes.

“You already know what I’m going to say?”

“I’ll sit here with him. That’s fine.” James cleared his throat. “I got no problem with that… You give any thought to me going on the camp thing?”

“Yeah, I thought it over.”

“And?”

“Even though, you’ve been pissing me off—”

“I’m on my best, man. You know I—”

“Even though, you’ve been pissing me off…” Thomas waited to see if James would cut him off again before continuing. “I can’t do it alone, so you’re in, but you listen to me.”

“Sounds good. You won’t regret it.” James put his fist out, and Thomas gave him an unenthusiastic tap with his own.

“I’m going to get the rest of the crew and bring them here for the briefing. Obviously, finding this guy was unexpected, so we have to adjust our plans.”

James nodded.

“No surprises for when I get back. That goes for you too.” Thomas tapped the prisoner’s shin with his boot. “Roll over!” But he refused to budge. Thomas took him by the shirt and jerked him onto his stomach. He checked the restraint—arms tied—it appeared he had made no effort to remove it. He could feel the cloth gag underneath the hood. “Good. We going to have any more trouble out of you?”

Muffled laughter. He wriggled himself back to his seated position against the wall.

“I swear to God, James. You don’t need to talk, touch—nothing with this guy.” Thomas said. He took a small revolver and a discrete holster from his bag, checked the gun’s cylinder to ensure it was loaded, and shoved the holster into his waistband. “Just make sure he‘s here in one piece when I get back. They’re going to want to talk with him. Hell, we might need to go at him before we head into camp too. The kid probably knows something useful.”

Thomas popped the hatch. A gust of wind passed over him, pushing down into the maintenance room. He exhaled the remainder of the stale air from inside his lungs and stole a deep breath of fresh air from the morning. Very few rays of sunshine bent their way through the dull overcast and onto his face. He stepped out onto the roof and scampered off behind the air conditioning units. He looked out across the park as he did the day previous, reassessing the situation, ensuring that nothing substantial had changed.

Two guards were at the post, both of them spooning something into their mouths from a can, ignoring the line of a few desperate men standing just off the service road. As the last spoonful was finished and the can landed in the grass off to the side, one of the guards shouted, “Alright!” and slapped his hands across his thighs. His partner removed himself from behind the fortification and onto the sidewalk.

One by one the line of travelers lurched forward. Each man had their turn. Their tributes inspected—their bodies patted down—any weapons they had were taken from them and pitched into a pile on a cart behind the barricade. This group presented nothing more than a trail of desperate men willing to give up whatever imperative goods they had for a few minutes of pleasure—a fool’s march for primal desires—the reason for their wicked pilgrimage.

Through his observations of the park, it seemed most of the travelers were barely armed—a few pistols and one shotgun were confiscated by the guard. He felt comfortable with what he saw. The Butcher’s men were doing a thorough job of clearing them of their weapons. It would only make the scouting operation inside the camp safer. The likelihood of something getting out of control and deteriorating into gunplay would be significantly reduced. If the Butcher was a shrewd enough businessman, he’d recognize the need to keep his own men under control. Not that Thomas would underestimate the risk, but this venture may not be as parlous as first imagined.

Time still remained before the morning rendezvous. He squared his back against the large A/C unit and stared out away from the madness behind him—taking in this portion of the world that appeared unchanged. Peaceful. A perfect view of the world he knew before. Some of his best years were spent here. Mournful thoughts entered his mind, upset that he had never really taken the time to appreciate how good he had it. How many things were taken for granted and never truly enjoyed and respected? I have to stop doing this. There’s no changing any of it. It’s all a waste of time. Focus… Get this damn mission finished.

He eased himself from the roof and into the courtyard before letting his mind wandered too far off into hypotheticals. He rounded the corner, choosing the stairs along the south end of the building where his movements would be shielded from the camp. His hand slid the banister as he descended into the lowest level of the parking garage adjacent to the college.

What cars remained within the structure were beat up, windows busted, their contents spilled. Things deemed useless lay across the concrete—book bags, clothing, a few empty cans of beer and a baseball cap—a trail of items dropped in thieves’ haste led toward the stairwell. His feet moved adeptly through this minefield of trash, then quietly up a few flights until he reached the ground level exit.

The doorway led to an outdoor corridor. One lined with trees and mulch beds—the fresh smell of manure long since gone. He pressed his back against the wall, taking his time, confirming as best he could that he was alone before exiting the garage. Nothing alerted Thomas. He could hear the wind ripping through the narrow passageway—a can clanking along the pavement—a sharp call from a bird chirping and the rustling of trees being shoved around.

One quick glance and he began to take the corner, but the smacking of bare feet against pavement stopped him. A gasp of air—the huffing of a person running out of steam. It passed then carried off toward the far end.

Who in the hell? Thomas poked his head into the corridor, his eye catching a glimpse of what appeared to be a small child—a girl, short and petite, with a ponytail of brown hair. The way she came appeared free from any threat. No one’s chasing her? What the hell’s a child doing out here. The wind began to push at his back, encouraging him to go, to give chase as she rounded the corner. A child left alone out here. What if it was Joseph and no one went for him? Someone has to be looking for this little girl.

But the mission… It would be best to stay hidden—to move slowly enough that he could guarantee himself safe passage to the EPA building—to ensure the mission against the Butcher was completed. Obviously torn, he had to make a choice. The girl had already made hers. She was getting as far as she could from whatever it was that haunted her.