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

by Robert Wilson

  “You saw the scar?” The question soaked in skepticism. “Even though she ran past ‘so quick’ as you put it?”

  “Yeah.” Thomas coughed. Is that a tell? A sweat began to build up in his hands—a nervousness inside him elevated his heart beat. “I'm pretty sure I saw it as she ran past. You know what I mean. It happened quickly, but I definitely saw it.”

  Thomas couldn't prevent himself from stumbling through his answers. But after a short while, Blaine revealed that they had eyes on Thomas the entire time. He already knew the lengths Thomas had gone through to find the woman. His tone was much more relaxed now, and Thomas welcomed it. He's not trying to trap you.

  Blaine continued speaking the details, pointing out a few concerns, but overall nothing to give any indication he didn't believe Thomas’s account.

  Thomas took a slow, deep breath, trying to settle the rise of his chest. Calm down! You've done well. This Soldier spot is yours. The nervousness subsided. “I had to take the chance. Like I said, I saw the scar and knew the Intel would be worth the shot.”

  Just as Thomas had finished his statement, one of the Soldiers brought the woman from a backroom and into the office. The blood. He craned his neck to check on her.

  The Soldier sat her down at one of the computer desks in the corner, and a medic began to look her over. He pitched some bandages that were striped red, cleaned the wounds, and began wrapping both her arms with fresh gauze. They allowed her to sip on some water and take a few bites of what had to have been the stalest crackers left in the world. “Did you guys hurt her?” Thomas’s eyes shot back to Blaine. “A blood trail led me to her.”

  “You should know better than that.” Blaine hung his head with disappointment. “Why are you here?”

  A pause. Thomas wasn't budging—he wanted the answer to his question.

  “Our purpose is to save them,” Blaine said. “You know damn well we’d never hurt her.”

  Thomas considered it to be the truth, but something existed in the woman's eyes that made Thomas second guess Blaine's solemn words. Maybe it was the blood or the speed by which she moved. The hurried feet. All he ever saw were the bottoms of them as she ran with her flowing hair pulled back by the fear that propelled her. Surely, she ran from someone. At the moment, it appeared to be them. They were the only ones found to be chasing her. Had something gone awry?

  “How did it happen?”

  “We located her near a tree on campus. She was sobbing as she cut herself. We attempted to stop her, but she ran. She kept muttering to herself, but she may have been delusional. There's no telling how long she’s been alone or whether she suffers from some sort of mental illness. She's lucky we intervened as she might very well have succeeded in killing herself.”

  “What did she say during the interview?”

  “She spoke briefly of abandoning her sister,” Blaine replied. “I didn't require her to elaborate. There wasn’t a need. She's been through enough. It was important to let her know she has a way out. She provided adequate Intel, but wants our protection. Before we commit to finding her a job and a place within our world, we need to confirm that she truly wants a new life.”

  “So what should I expect?”

  Blaine took his notepad again and flipped through a few pages. “She said there are eleven women, a few kids, the Butcher, and about fifteen armed guards.”

  That's fewer than what originally thought.

  “They’ve enlisted a few individuals we would consider civilians—a cook, a nurse-type, and a mechanic. The Butcher’s set up below the gazebo as initial reports indicated, and the sleeping tents radiate outward from there.” Blaine set the notepad in front of Thomas. “She drew a crude map of the area.” He traced the diagram with his finger as he spoke. “The tents where the women conduct their business are on the northwestern side of the gazebo. All of their valuables are stored within a U-haul parked near the playground south of the center. We’ve provided a map of the area. I’ll lay them out and ensure this information is available for the evening’s briefing.”

  “Any details on weapons?”

  “She lacked specifics but said there are ‘long ones’ and pistols. It sounds like most patrol with one of each.” Blaine withdrew the notepad from Thomas. “She stated the women have an agreement to surrender if attacked. The men expect them to fight alongside them, but they'll refuse. You shouldn't have to concern yourselves with them being a threat once the assault begins.”

  “Any word on how the system works there? What do I need to say or do?”

  Blaine peeled back another page of his notepad. “They’ll accept anything and everything. Mostly, they desire ammunition, guns, gasoline, water and food. She’s seen them take books and clothing but they don’t equate in value.”

  “Books will have to do. We're not going to arm them. We're also not looking to engage with the women. We just need a way in.”

  “Let me interview the kid, and I'll attempt to speak with her again once she's had time to rest.”

  “I'll be right here.”

  Thomas looked on as Blaine entered the office and motioned for one of the Soldiers to escort the kid from the library to someplace more appropriate for a “conversation.” As Blaine led the other two from the office, Thomas decided to part the pages to his book once again. Shortly after, he found himself slipping toward sleep—the words fading in and out with each indentation that pushed the story forward.

  His focus faded—the lack of sleep tightening its grip on his consciousness, pulling him closer toward rest. Thomas gave in. There was no use in denying the sleep any longer, not even the laughter from the office could keep him in this world.

  “Dad… Dad… How you feeling today?”

  “Hey, Tommy boy.”

  “You feeling better?”

  “Better… maybe… If I could just get a decent meal, I could get my strength back. The food here’s disgusting.”

  “What do you expect?”

  “For how much this is going to cost in medical bills? Something better than this slop.”

  “Alright, Dad. I didn’t mean to get you all fired up. Did Mom come by today?”

  “She left maybe an hour ago.”

  “The doctors—did they tell you guys anything yet?”

  “No. If they know anything, they aren’t sharing much. All they keep saying is that it’s some sort of flu. Doesn’t seem like they know what they’re doing—keep saying they’ve never seen it before—keep running tests on me. I feel like a damn lab rat in here. Look at how many tubes they have running into me.”

  “Try and relax, Dad.”

  “Yeah… Sorry. I feel like I’m going mad in here.”

  “Let’s talk about something else then.”

  “Okay… You still at school? How’s that going?”

  “Good. Only another two years to go.”

  “You know I’m proud of you.”

  “Dad—“

  “No, hear me out, Tommy. I know when you went to Syria I wasn’t that—I wasn’t that supportive. I’m sorry about that. I didn’t want you to have to go and do that. I was hoping your mother and I would be able to figure something out for you.”

  “I know. It’s fine.”

  “If there could have been another way—“

  “Dad. Stop. I’m fine.”

  “I know you are.”

  “Can we talk about something positive?”

  “What about James? What’s he up to?”

  “We don’t talk anymore… I thought I told you that.”

  “Yeah, maybe you did. What about school? How’s that?”

  “Dad…”

  “What?”

  “The kid's name is David,” the interrogator said, his foot tapping against Thomas’s ankle.

  Thomas jerked his leg in response, and his head shot off the table. “Huh?” He swallowed then smacked his lips in an attempt to freshen his mouth.

  “The kid's name is David,” Blaine repeated. “He seems highly intell
igent, wild, but could prove effective with appropriate conditioning.” He took the book from in front of Thomas and casually flipped through the pages as he sat on the edge of the table. “You don't strike me as a reader.”

  “Yeah...” Thomas rubbed his eyes and straightened himself up in the chair. His hand slid across the stubble of a day-old beard. “Why's that?”

  “Something about you Soldier types. Maybe you’re the anomaly.” Blaine pitched the book back onto the table—the loud smack clearing the remaining fog from Thomas’s mind. “This kid... You said he attacked you? Correct?” He took the glasses from his face and wiped them with a handkerchief.

  “Looks like he got at you too,” Thomas said smugly, noticing a gash on the side of Blaine’s nose and a mark on his cheek.

  Almost immediately, Blaine shoved the glasses back onto the bridge of his nose. “I made the mistake of trying to make him more comfortable. He’s surprisingly agile.”

  Thomas let a short burst of laughter slip.

  “He thinks very highly of himself—”

  So you two have something in common?

  “—Reiterated the idea that he spared the two of you.”

  Thomas smirked. Let us live, huh? “I'd think he'd have to be pretty cocky to come after me and James like that, but who knows? He wasn't conscious too long after we met, so I didn't get to ask him. He tell you that?”

  “He mentioned there may have been a few holes in his memory.” Blaine smiled, nodding slightly at Thomas as he continued. “He spoke of many things—admitted to being here for the Butcher and coming to the library specifically for books to exchange. Spoke openly on it…” He paused. “Perhaps too graphic at some points.”

  “What's the plan with him?”

  “I'm uncertain that we’ll be able to convince him of our work, but it would definitely be worth the attempt. The boy has a brightness to him...” Blaine rested his hands on the tabletop across from Thomas. “I'm not sure how to explain it. He has value to him, but it's currently misplaced. He holds loyalty to some other faction, but won't tell us where.”

  “Did you torture him?” Thomas eyed Blaine's injuries once more.

  “I'm going to hold off on that. I don't want to shut him down. If I can convince him cleanly to reconsider his allegiances, we will get the truth. Torture can be tricky as you know—sometimes you get the truth, sometimes it's what they think you want to hear.”

  “So what do we do with him?”

  “Me and one of the Soldiers will continue to monitor them.”

  “Him and the girl?”

  “Yes. First, we need you to complete your scouting endeavor.” He motioned for Thomas to follow him as he stepped off toward the office. “When we confirm the information offered by the woman, we can consider that her first step toward assimilation. The kid...” Blaine slowed his steps as he worked through his thoughts. “We'll initiate conditioning once we get him back. I hope he'll break down, eventually. Most do, especially when they see how far along we are—when they see how much easier life can be.”

  “Is that it then?” Thomas opened the door to the office for Blaine. “Just waiting on me and James?”

  “It needs to be sooner than later. We'll need time to prepare with what additional Intelligence you’re able to collect from the camp, and depending on that, we need to aim for hitting them tonight. Not that they’re showing signs of leaving, but things might begin to unravel the longer he is in the area.”

  Thomas called for James, expecting him to emerge from the back of the office. A moment passed and he was greeted with a loud bang against one of the tables behind him. “We'll pick the best from these to make sure we don’t have any problems getting in,” James said.

  “You got that then?” Thomas asked

  James nodded as he sorted through the books.

  Thomas turned to Blaine. “You have anything more to tell us before we head out?”

  “Don’t blow it.”

  Chapter Eight

  Only six lanes of boulevard separated the two of them from the Butcher's checkpoint into Burnet Woods. They had wrapped back around the parking garage and presented themselves into the open from a two-lane street that bisected the university's grounds. Out of habit, Thomas looked both ways before squeezing between a couple of parked cars—both with at least one flat tire and clear indications they had been ransacked long ago. Thomas adjusted the straps of a book bag he found within the library's office. It was now filled with a bounty of books, and James carried the same—each of them nervous and eager to present their tribute and be granted access into the camp.

  There were only three men in front of them as they approached from the sidewalk. It appeared as though they had been waiting a while—their faces stamped with impatient frowns as they stood in line. The arrival of Thomas and James interrupted their complaining for only a moment. All of their eyes met for a quick assessment of each other. The three strangers must have been satisfied with the newcomers' demeanor as their conversation fired up again, and although none of the strangers made any attempt to include them, Thomas ensured he kept track of their words and took notice of what they had.

  One of the men brought with him a small pallet of canned foods within a wagon and another had two packs of bottled water at his own feet. The last of the three didn't appear to have anything and remained the least talkative. Most of his answers came in one-word varieties. The others spoke. He listened, then agreed. It seemed as though they could have said anything, and he would have played along, affirming whatever nonsense the other two came up with. He must have something valuable. He’s too quiet. Thomas steadied his eyes upon the man, scanning his figure, looking for any bulges that might indicate a firearm. The aloof stranger raised a few hairs on Thomas’s neck.

  “First time?” James broke into the stream of conversation, trying to engage the man—to see what he was about.

  “Sure is!” One of the other stranger's spoke up, misinterpreting the intention of James’s words. He smiled as he said it though, his teeth showing through a graying beard. “They call me Martin, and this here's my son, Mitch.” The two of them offered their hands, and James took their palms into his own. “Wanted to come by here last time, but wasn't able. Would've taken too long from where I was at the time. I'm getting too old for any long treks across this town.” He stood while steadying himself by the handle of the wagon—a sharp bend to his back. “This'll be my last ride before I go.” He held up a clasped hand. “Got my magic bean, and these women should knock the last couple things off my bucket list.”

  “You have a bucket list?” James seemed completely enthralled with the idea.

  “Not so much worried about living anymore. This whole virus thing made living mostly unenjoyable, but made it easier to do some of the things I've wanted to do but never could.” The hairs of his beard parted again around a wide grin. Thomas swore he could see a twinkle in the old man's eye. “Some things my wife wouldn't do, some things the law wouldn't let me do. Neither of those around, so I says to myself… It's time to just have fun before the cancer tears me apart completely.”

  His son, looking on just over his shoulder, shook his head. “Dad, come on.” He tugged at the old pervert's shoulder. “You still got your pill?”

  “My last huzzah!” Martin presented a small blue pill to the sky between his thumb and forefinger. He took it down and bobbled it within his palm. “This baby's gonna bring me lot's to remember when I'm in the ground”

  “Quit talking like that,” his son pleaded with him, “and quit rolling that damn thing around like that. You're going to drop—”

  But it was too late. The pill slipped from his hand and found its way into a patch of decaying matter pressed against the curb. As the two men fumbled for Martin’s dying wish, the quiet stranger dove in to assist.

  “Lemme help you guys out here,” he said while scavenging through the mess. “Is that it there?” He pointed down toward a clump of leaves by the old man's foot, diverting their
attention from where Thomas caught glimpse of the pill, but as he went to retrieve it, the quiet stranger plucked it from the pile and into his pocket. “Any luck?” The stranger continued feigning assistance. “I thought I just saw it.”

  “It's got to be here, damn it.” The son desperately scraping everything away. He practically ripped his father's foot from the gutter as he worked to get it from the spot he wished to search.

  “Be careful with this old man.” Martin slowly bent down to sit on the curb.

  “Damn it, dad!” He was tossing the excess junk out behind him and into the street. “Anyone seen it?”

  Thomas glared at the stranger, contemplating whether or not to inject the truth into this charade as they picked through the mess, sifting the loose filth through their parted fingers. Of course, there was nothing to find. Not a sliver of blue within that disgusting slew of brown and black.

  The son turned to the stranger, scowling at him, most likely thinking what Thomas already knew to be the truth. “Give it here.” A slow and deliberate statement. “Now!”

  “Don't have it.” The man stepped back.

  “Empty out your pockets.”

  “Who the hell do you think you are? I don't answer to you, and besides”—he patted along the outside of his pants pockets—”I ain't got your shit, man. I don't need no stinkin' pill to get it up.”

  “It's worth a ton, and you know it. It didn't just disappear! I know you have the damn thing, just give it up!” The son took very little time encroaching into the quiet stranger's space. Thomas and James simply stood there, watching the event unravel in front of them. Although they could have easily intervened, retrieved the pill, and given it back, the role for which they came was not that. They stayed mum.

  “Help me out here, you two,” the son begged. “This guy can't steal from us. It's my dad's final wish. We can't let him get away with this.”

  Thomas felt no sympathy for the man whining about the theft of a small pill. A small pill that would allow his old man to defile the life of a woman—to take from her—steal a small piece of her soul each time.