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

Here we go! He broke into a sprint, boots pounding away, his hand grazed the pistol as he ran, taking in this subtle reminder that it was there if he needed it. This whole thing being a trap was buried somewhere in the back of his mind, but he couldn’t help himself. There wasn’t a choice. At the end of the corridor, he took the same hard right, bounding up several sets of stairs toward the child. The flash of a brown shirt and blue jeans cut sharply out of view behind a row of rusting bikes and bushes.

The urge to shout for her to stop rose within Thomas—to tell her it was okay—but James’s taunting popped into his head. Run! Little girl, run! Run! He needed to catch her, but any elevated words could attract others. Could bring her initial pursuer right here.

Even without all the usual equipment weighing him down, Thomas was having a difficult time. No matter what, it seemed that he would never catch her. Around the next corner, he saw her, doubled over in the midst of a coughing fit. Her face turned toward Thomas, and she started again, this time up the slope of a hill toward the main plaza.

Thomas crashed through deep hedges, angling across the hill, trying anything to nab the child as her feet slipped in the wet grass. Now I got you! But his boots were unable to find the traction that he hoped for. He fell further behind—her tiny frame pulling further away.

He came into the plaza—the wastebaskets recently toppled, rain-soaked leaves pasted to the marble, plastic candy wrappers swirling across the girl’s feet as she stood on the far side just within his view. She stared at him like a deer in an open meadow. When he moved, she responded, taking matched steps. She attempted to take this time to rest, and Thomas was no different as he followed her lead. As long as she was right there, he felt he might be able to protect her. Then she might realize that he was one of the good guys.

Thomas threw his head back, looking to the sky, his chest heaving, hoping that finally she would give in. He took several breaths and attempted to compose himself. “Would you just stop!” The words were forced, loud and quick between his breathing, echoing against the surrounding building—his voice rising from the shadows—from the nooks and crannies of this dense mass of buildings. He had not meant for his words to be so obtrusive. He tried a less offensive tone. “I’m serious. I don’t want to hurt you.”

She waved to him. Finally! The standoff was over. “I want to take you someplace safe.” He inched toward her, but that very beginning of a step was met with several of hers. She flashed a look of horror and took off again. Thomas checked behind him, but there was no one. What the hell?

He shook his head, looking to the ground in frustration. A trail of blood, but hardly noticeable—a trickle, if that. The little droplets led back from where they came and then forward toward the child. Damn it, she’s hurt . He let out a groan. Irritated, he worked his pace back into a jog as he followed the trail.

His eyes bounced along concrete and brick, following the red trail. Occasionally, he lost it, grass was difficult at this pace, but it always showed itself eventually upon the hardscapes. This way maybe he could just track her, wait until she’s out of steam and figure it out.

His pace slowed as the droplets became more prevalent, larger and less spread out. She’s slowing. The track of droplets turned the corner onto a narrow passage—one lane lined with sidewalks—a skywalk connecting the two offices that straddled this alley.

The line of spatter cut down from the sidewalk, crossed the street, and skirted a corner that led into a covered entrance to the offices. If she made it into that building, I’m screwed. He stayed on the sidewalk opposite the entrance, taking a cautious approach. No reason to rush it now. Gradually, piece by piece, he took the angle. And there she was, curled and crying in the corner, blood soiling the ground.

“It’s okay. Come here… Please, just stop. I want to take you someplace safe.” Soft footsteps toward the girl, his hand palm down as he approached with a gentle touch. “Are you hurt?” There was only more crying in response, not necessarily directed at Thomas, but a simple, low sobbing. “Please let me help. That’s all I want is to make sure you’re okay.”

Her face emerged from behind her elbow—a pair of unsure eyes, wet and blinking, innocent and searching for a shred of truth in Thomas’s pleas. Her lips quivered and she shook as if she were freezing. “Don’t!” She managed to say it with some force. Thomas paused mid-step, reconsidered closing the gap, and placed his foot back where it had been lifted.

“I swear I don’t want to hurt you. Sweetie, please let me help you. Are you hurt? I need to know, so I can help you. I can’t help you if I don’t know what’s wrong.”

“Don’t! Are you—” Her voice fluttered. “Are you here for the Butcher?”

“No. I’m here for you.”

“He sent you, along with the others!” She screamed and uncurled herself from the corner, scooting back against the wall, but there was nowhere to go. “Fuck you, I’m not going back there.” She gathered her feet below her and stood. “I’m not!”

“No, no, no. I’m not taking you. I didn’t mean like that.” Thomas started again toward her.

She bladed her stance in response.

“I don’t want anything from you,” he said. “I just want to help.”

“Go away!”

“Ricard!” The voice came from down the alley. “Step back from that woman!”

Thomas diverted his attention from the child. There were several men in Second Alliance black uniforms. “This kid needs my help.”

“What the hell are you talking about?” A man that Thomas had never met, accompanied by three others, started down the alley toward him. “She’s one of them.”

Thomas didn’t understand. Their comments made little sense. He thought of scooping the child from the alcove. What the hell could they want with this kid?

Thomas turned back to the girl, but she wasn’t there. A woman stood in her place. Blood down her arms that created the trail that led him there. He shook his head. “What did you do with her?”

The woman swallowed hard. “I don’t know what you mean.”

“Where’s the little girl?” Thomas begged, snatching hold of her.

She screamed.

“Leave her alone.” The man grabbed Thomas by the arm. His tugging was more of an urge as he was unable to shake Thomas from the woman. “Let’s go, Ricard. Damn it, you need a break.”

“What the hell is going on?” Thomas asked.

“Don’t concern yourself with her at the moment. We have someone to tend to her injuries.”

“But…”

“Let it go.”

Thomas followed his lead, walking from the alcove that held the woman. Two of the Soldiers stepped forward and ensured the woman would comply with their wishes. Thomas looked back to her, hoping to see the child’s face, but all he could make out was a long scar from the corner of the woman’s mouth to her ear.

“The name’s Blaine,” the interrogator said, his hand stretched out across the table. Thomas broke his attention from the book he started earlier that morning and extended his own hand to greet the man. “I don’t believe we’ve officially met.”

“No, I don’t think so.” Thomas gave an insincere smile, not trusting this… Blaine, completely. This man that would surely be analyzing every word that Thomas gave to him. A man that would be unable to help himself. It was his job, who he was now, nobody was much more than their duties within the Second Alliance. Thomas knew that a man in his position never exclusively worked their magic on adversaries—they assessed everyone, especially potential candidates in the Soldier Program.