Days Since...: Thomas: Day 758 (Almawt Virus Series Book 1)

by Robert Wilson

  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.

  Chapter Seven

  “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.

  Thomas noticed Blaine seemed intent on speaking at length. “I'm just trying to get my mind right before we head into their camp.” He tried returning to his book.

  “I'm not trying to be rude here, but”—Blaine placed his fingertips on the table, propping his hand up like a tent—”we are going to talk.” He tapped his fingers a few times against the wooden top, insisting Thomas rejoin the conversation.

  “That's fine.” Thomas folded the cover, making the block of pages whole again. “I thought you were here to talk to prisoners.”

  Blaine nodded. “Oh, I will, but I don't go into these delicate proceedings blindly.” He pulled the seat opposite Thomas from the table and sat. He cracked his knuckles individually from pinky to thumb then removed a notepad and pen from his shirt pocket. He placed them very precisely on the table, setting the pad to his right, parallel to the table with the pen sitting along a line that ran horizontal across the cover.

  “And the lady?” Thomas asked.

  “I already spoke briefly with the woman. She gave a great bit of information that I feel you’ll find of use.” He tapped the notepad, which caused the pen to move slightly from its calculated position. Quickly, he fixed it. “It's fairly obvious what her circumstances are. Speaking with her wasn't the problem, it was getting her to calm down. But what I wish to focus on now is gathering the facts before I go at the kid.” Blaine eyed Thomas, expecting a response from him, but Thomas hadn’t heard a question. “And… that’s where I require your assistance.”

  “I see.” Thomas slid the book to the side, straightened himself in the chair then placed his palms flat against the table. “What would you like to know?” He smiled.

  Blaine cupped his hands and squeezed them together as he looked down into his lap. Thomas could see an unpleasant smile take shape—clearly displeased with this sarcastic response. But once Blaine took his eyes from his lap and faced Thomas again, his smile had changed to something more agreeable. “This isn't a formal discussion.” He tried to soften the mood by waving his hand as if he were swatting a pesky fly from the air. “Seriously, relax. I feel you’ve misinterpreted my intentions.”

  “I’m here to assist you with whatever you need,” Thomas jested as he folded his hands on the table and leaned forward a bit. “Whatever it is you need to ask me.”

  A lump cleared Blaine's throat, and he picked at one corner of his mouth with his thumb. He blinked hard then pressed his balled fists together in what had to be one last attempt to get every pop out of his knuckles that he could. “Why is it you’re here?”

  “You know why—”

  “You said,” Blaine interrupted him, but managed to remain cordial,” that you would an
swer my questions, correct? Keep in mind that any lies you offer, if proven, could disqualify you from the Soldier Program.”

  Joseph… Thomas started to bounce his knee underneath the table, but restrained it by driving his heel into the floor. “Yeah.” Be careful. Play nice. Thomas wetted his lips and started, “The group that came before us missed the Butcher. I'm here to make sure that doesn't happen again.”

  “Good. And how long have you been with the Second Alliance?”

  “I’m not sure the exact date, but definitely over a year.”

  The questions continued as he sat there—basic questions used to gauge his response—to set the bar for truthfulness. There wasn't much thought required for each inquiry the interrogator posed. Thomas couldn't help his mind from wandering as the answers slid easily from his memory.

  Thomas wasn’t ignorant to what Blaine worked to establish. What he had trouble understanding was how this man with rounded spectacles held such a position within the Second Alliance. This thin, uninspiring man appeared so out of place next to his Soldier escorts—out of place in general. A man, by Thomas’s estimation, that should not have survived the end of the world. But despite this opinion, the man was clearly important to someone based on the amount of firepower he required and perhaps that was how he had survived.

  “How did you come upon the young man you took into custody?”

  “Camping here in the library last night when James woke me up. He told me he heard glass break and saw a light move across the bookcases.” Thomas pointed toward the lantern in an effort to validate his explanation.

  “Okay.”

  “The kid started pulling books from the shelf and just dropped them on the floor. Didn’t seem concerned at all. It was like he had been here before.”

  “And?” Blaine seemed bored with the specific details, although it was clear he listened to them intently.

  “At the time, we weren’t exactly sure what we had, but figured it would be best to make a move rather than wait and see.” I have to own this. Thomas cleared his throat. “It was me that made the decision to go and take control of the situation.”

  “Control, huh?” Blaine pointed over his shoulder. “And what happened to the window there? The kid doesn't appear to be cut.”

  “Well...” Thomas calculated his response as quickly as he could. “I overestimated our advantage and missed what he had done with the lantern.” Nervously, he massaged his palm with the thumb of his opposite hand. “The kid almost got the best of us, but I manage— we took care of the situation.”

  “You know that I’ll be speaking with the prisoner once I’m finished here, correct?”

  Thomas paused. Through the lenses of Blaine’s glasses he saw an unimpressed gaze, but upon their surface, Thomas could see himself in the reflection—his own face showed worry. Blaine had caught the deceit in Thomas’s answer.

  “These questions are simply for fact gathering.” Blaine expelled his breath. “This is nothing more than that. Do not turn this into something larger than what’s transpiring here.”

  “I understand.” You’ve done nothing wrong to act this way. Yes, it’s embarrassing, but shit, man… Get it together before he really thinks you’re trying to hide something. Thomas diverted his attention from Blaine to the office. “It...” he tried to explain, but the laughter from inside the office was distracting—James with the others, currently the center of attention, chatting and laughing boisterously with the Soldier reinforcements from the Capital. A half circle wrapped around him while he acted out what appeared to be some sort of fight scene. No telling if it was a recent run-in or something from his past.

  “It wasn’t what we were expecting.” Thomas said, finally able to gather his thoughts. “When we realized that he wasn't there—that it was just the light—we retreated to the office. The kid threw a chair through it and came after us. The fight didn't last long—”

  “I would hope not,” Blaine retorted.

  Thomas furrowed his brow, caught off guard by the remark. It was how he said it, as if to say “You're a Second Alliance Guard. He's a boy. It should never have been a fight.” He wasn't completely wrong. But, for this man—this small and delicate person—to make a comment like that, to insult Thomas, when very clearly Blaine would've been completely overwhelmed and bested. Thomas and James had thwarted the attacker when the advantage he held was substantial. Blaine, on the hand, would be sprawled out across the floor on the other side of that broken window, his last breath taken several hours ago.

  Despite Thomas showing disdain for Blaine's comment, the interrogator continued unfazed, “Restrain yourself from sharing that you and James had issues with the kid. Lying is in poor taste, but being bested by a child is worse. Keep it close to the vest.” Blaine paused for a moment, finally realizing the death stare that Thomas had focused on him. “In addition to any interrogations required during this endeavor, I've also been instructed to mitigate any perceived weaknesses of yours—”

  What the hell?

  “—so, believe it or not, your well-being is part of my orders. Someone out there thinks very highly of you and has made it a point to ensure that this trial comes to a favorable conclusion. A conclusion that...” He looked to the ceiling while in thought. “Holds you in the most positive light.”

  “And who's that?” Thomas replied, doubting the notion.

  “William Haverty. I'm sure you know him or at least of him. Currently, he's been assigned to the transition of River's Edge Academy. He speaks well of you for whatever reason,” Blaine said coldly with a hint of jealousy. “You'll be presented with his terms should you not fail this trial.”

  “I see.” No arguing with that.

  “For now, I need you to focus on the trial and instill in James the importance of keeping with the narrative on what occurred...” Blaine ensured Thomas paid attention before continuing. “There was no struggle. You simply captured him.”

  Thomas nodded. It wouldn't be a problem. He knew James would more than likely do this on his own, his pride being a strong motivator, a close second to the promise of the analyst position. James would never admit that they had any trouble with the kid. Honestly, he could tell the truth and say he never struggled with the guy—that only Thomas’s life slipped toward death.

  But if asked, James knew better than to try and play games. He wouldn't have a choice otherwise, he too needed this promotion, and Thomas had the ultimate say in whether or not James would accompany him. A simple lie would be his stepping stone—a way to move from his unappreciated position and into one of increased responsibility and respect.

  At this very moment, as James spoke with the others, he was probably telling the lie, affirming the struggle hadn't occurred—that all was right with the world—that an intruder came and was taken—that Thomas and James, two invincible warriors, killed two crazed maniacs in the train yard—that the two of them were unstoppable, infallible, and nothing could stand in their way.

  Thomas watched James, knowing of course that none of it was true. But, it didn't matter as long as the lie was believable.

  In his periphery, Thomas could see Blaine inching forward in his seat. He whispered, maybe out of habit or for effect as there was no one around, but his voice came out softly. “Do you trust him?”

  “Completely,” Thomas lied, his eyes likely showing the truth. He could feel it swelling inside, bubbling toward the surface.

  “And why's that?” Blaine waited for an explanation as Thomas searched himself for an answer.

  “He's been doing a good job. We had our run in with the prisoner, and”—This is going to make us sound like idiots—”we were ambushed in the rail yard too. Ended up—”

  “Again?” Blaine nearly choked on the word trying to get it out so swiftly.

  “Sounds worse than it was. We've had our run-ins but we've always come out on top. We ended up killing a man and his wife.” He caught himself. “But they attacked us. Got the jump on James, but he reacted appropriate
ly, and he made it out fine.” He glanced over through the window again—James still going at it, his lying seemed to come so easily to him. “It's not going to be a problem.” Thomas faced Blaine once again. “He'll be on board with whatever I tell him.”

  “Just make certain of it,” Blaine ordered. “And the boy? Is there anything additional I should be made aware of?”

  “There's nothing more to say, neither of us talked to the guy. I watched him all night, and then James watched over him when I left for the meet up.”

  Blaine nodded. “If that's all...” He placed his notepad into his pocket, slid the chair from the table, and turned to leave, finishing his statement from over his shoulder. “...I guess I'll get started. I'll let you know if there's anything relevant for you before you depart. Keep reading or whatever it is you wish.”

  “But what about that girl?” The question stopped Blaine a few steps into his exit. “What information did she give you about the camp?”

  “I wasn't ready to delve into that.”

  “I'd like to know now, so I can get a jump on my planning.”

  “If you insist.” Visibly annoyed, he crept back into the chair. “Since we are changing gears, I feel it best I start it off with my own inquiry.” He attempted to crack his knuckles again in preparation for another round, but they were spent. “What do you know about her?”

  “I don't know anything about her. Just saw her running past me, but I didn't see anyone chasing her. I figured somebody was by how she was moving, but I couldn't tell.”

  “What if it had been the Butcher's men chasing her? Moving in to try and reclaim her?”

  “The idea of it being a trap crossed my mind, but...” Do I tell him? Thomas worked his eyes through the room, yawned, obviously buying time, but at the moment he didn't care. He couldn't appear crazy or worse, weak. He very clearly saw a little girl, not a woman, not in the slightest. Then... it wasn't her. Does that make me crazy? “When she passed me I thought I saw the scar.” The lie came out like expelled food that had held his breaths hostage. “She ran past so quick... I just didn't get a good look, but figured if she was one of the Butcher's women, I could get some good Intel.”