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

He rounded a bend and from a distance, he found himself observing two more guards posted at the western entrance into the park. It was the same basic setup as the other. A fortification—pallets that were covered with some metal sheets and appeared to be assembled for quick deployment. Some weapons that had been checked in by visitors leaned against the wall or were spread out across a table. That’s quite an arsenal by itself. By the looks of it this was not the main point of entry.

Even with these two guards, it seemed there were still a couple missing from the count the woman had given Blaine. Thomas would have to assume they were patrolling the woods or were in the crowd earlier, and he had missed them somehow.

There was no reason not to trust the woman. The camp was set up exactly as she said. The count on the guards was mostly right. The firepower was right. She had no reason to lie. This place was hell… her hell. If she was going to have a better life, this was the chance. No one else was coming.

A scrape across the pavement.

“Han— Hands!” The shaky command came from behind him.

Thomas smirked. There we go. Calmly, he put his hands out to his sides and steadily placed them on top of his head before turning to see who had found him. His eyes didn’t make it past the AK pointed directly at his chest. Shit! A guard stood twenty yards away. The sight of another high-powered rifle bent Thomas’s nerves. The barrel’s opening grew to the size of a train tunnel. “I have my pass. I just had to piss.”

“Not all the way out here you don’t.” The guard tried to hold together a stiff glare, but Thomas knew better than to fall for this wavering façade. He looked like a teenage boy—definitely wasn’t built for this type of work. Lanky and frail. Wide-eyed. The kid’s scar appeared fresh compared to many of the others Thomas had seen.

His finger was dangerously close to the trigger as the rifle jiggled within his grip. “Come on now!”—He jerked his rifle, ordering Thomas to the middle of the street—“This ain’t part of the attraction. Back to camp with you! Let’s go!”

Thomas followed the kid’s weak instructions and made it over to where he apparently needed to be. “That’s it!” The kid circled around him while maintaining his distance. The rifle remained at Thomas’s back, and although it never physically touched him, he knew it was there.

“I don’t have a weapon.” Thomas kept his voice calm and soft as he walked. Startling the kid was the last thing he wanted.

While the two of them marched down the white dashed line, Thomas gradually slowed his pace—the kid seemingly oblivious that his reactionary gap was dwindling. “You don’t have to point that at me, buddy.”

“I ain’t your buddy.” The sound of the kid’s sneakers scraping against the pavement continued toward Thomas.

He couldn’t help but feel that he should take the boy, strip him of his weapon, hustle off with him into the woods, so the Second Alliance could give him a life with some purpose. Children didn’t stand a chance on their own in this world. The kid was brainwashed and completely out of his comfort zone. Trained to do something he couldn’t possibly understand. Brought into the game at what point? Had he been here since the beginning? Joined up with family? Stolen, perhaps?

“You’re the boss,” Thomas said.

“You ain’t movin’ fast enough.” The kid jabbed Thomas in the back with the muzzle—a quick sharp pain. Thomas winced, but tucked the pain away. “Git! Come on!” The kid’s voice rose with confidence as Thomas seemed unwilling to challenge him. Again, he jabbed him, and Thomas spun on the boy.

“Don’t do that again!”

The kid’s feet scrambled away from Thomas, but the rifle remained level with his gut.

“I’m listening to you,” Thomas said, “but don’t push your luck with me. Under any other circumstances, I’d be carrying your little ass around on the end of that rifle.”

The boy seemed unsure of the threat, his eyes and lips narrowing, his feet planted firmly on the concrete. Although nervous, he acted as if he had heard something very similar to that before. “Let’s go!” He tried to firm his voice up with some authority. “I’m not kiddin’ around!”

“That man givin’ you trouble there, Scotty?” Thomas looked to his left—another guard, another rifle. He appeared from behind a fallen tree, moss-covered with chunks of decaying bark below it. The man’s foot struck the ground, pelting Thomas in the face with debris. “You better listen to him, boy.”

These mother… Thomas wiped the sludge from his face. “I hear you.” Only a matter of time now. Thomas stared down the path. It doglegged to the right and disappeared.

“You sure you can handle this one?”

Scotty nodded. “It’s nothin’ at all.”

“Just make sure he gets his stuff and leaves. I’m headin’ back to my post. Next time, if you don’t need help, don’t start yellin’ like you’re dyin’.”

“Gotcha,” Scotty answered. “Either you or your partner need me to take your spot?”

“Naw, we’re good, I ain’t been there but a couple hours. I’ll let you know when you can come and wipe my ass, kid.” The guard barked out a harsh laugh, plunging his lungs into a deep cough as he walked off. “Now get that piece of shit outta here!”

“Yeah, okay…” Scotty’s voice trailed off. “Let’s go, man,” he spoke to Thomas, his spirit broken.

Thomas eyed his escort from over his shoulder. The embarrassment had hit the kid hard. His shoulders slumped—the rifle drooped, but still remained pointed at Thomas. Poor kid. The boy must have been thinking the same thing. His steps were lazy. There had to be something that kept him here. Something beneficial to him. “Why do you put up with that?”

“You don’t need to talk anymore.” His voice cracked when he said it. “You’re leavin’!”

I need to get him out of here. This isn’t for him. Thomas picked up the pace as the two wound their way along the road and back into the heart of the camp. I know I would have noticed this kid walking around with an AK. This other guy could’ve been from the post down the hill, or… I don’t know, somewhere else.

They overtook the last hill—the view of the gazebo and stragglers reappeared. The kid seemed winded from the hike. He was choking down air by the time they reached the first row of tents. “Hey John!” He gasped, waving the guard with the AK-47 over from the gazebo.

John seemed way too eager to speak with Thomas again. As he strutted over to them, he patted the side of his rifle. “What’s up, Scotty?”

“Caught him creepin’ ’round the woods.” His tone was firm again. The walk had given him the chance to harden his demeanor. “Says he was peein’ out there.”

“That so?” John looked Thomas up and down then scoffed. “You’re startin’ to be quite the problem.”

More than you know.

“If I had my way, you’d already be dead—snoopin’ around and shit.”

“You got me all wro—”

“Let’s see what the boss wants.” The guard backtracked toward the gazebo. “Hey, boss! Gotta a troublemaker here.”

The crowd became silent—all of their faces turned toward the outburst. Any women that were mingling within the center of camp retreated to their tents. James appeared in the front row and took a couple steps forward, separating himself from the others.

The Butcher popped his head from his quarters but disappeared for several minutes before reemerging, straightening his tie, adjusting his sleeves as if he were attending a business meeting. As the two men came together, John leaned into the Butcher’s ear, pointing toward Thomas while he spoke. The Butcher began shaking his head and placed his hand on John’s shoulder—he mouthed the word “no,” and John returned to Thomas, disappointed.