by D. J. Molles
The man looked at the key in his fingers. “Oh. Yeah. Sure.”
The man with the key bent down at the lock and undid the chain. It clanked noisily across the metal as he pulled it away and yanked at the two doors. Lee raised his rifle fractionally, half expecting to see Tomlin crouching in the shadows with a piece of rebar clutched in his hand, or some other such weapon of opportunity. He pictured this in his mind, because it was exactly what he would do if their situations were reversed. He would hide with something sharp, or something heavy, and he would snag the first idiot to walk into that box and he would either open him up or bash in his skull. Then he would grab that man’s weapon and take out whoever else was standing around before heading for the nearest exit.
Yes, that’s what I would do, Lee thought. But I would not have stood in the middle of the road waiting to hitch a ride. Clearly, we are not thinking on the same page here.
The doors opened wide, and it took a moment for Lee’s eyes to adjust fully to the dark interior of the shipping container, but he was able to immediately see the form of someone lying on the ground, he could see the pale palms of their hands still secured behind their back, and the slumped, almost fetal position in which they lay.
At the sound of the doors opening, the figure stirred, craning his neck up and around. He was lying on his side, with his back to the entrance, probably in the very same position they’d thrown him in the container. He’d managed to pull the shemagh-turned-blindfold off his eyes and it sat limply on the ground next to his head.
Tomlin craned his neck far enough that he was able to see Lee approaching out of the corner of his eye. As Lee stooped to place his lantern on the ground and turn it on, the man’s face immediately went from hesitant curiosity to anger.
“What the fuck is this shit, Lee?” He twisted wildly until he was in a sitting position, partially facing Lee where he stood, just a few feet away. “Are you fucking off the reservation, man? I told you I’m here to help you and you throw me in this fucking shithole with two random guys?” Tomlin’s eyes flashed. “If you had any idea why I was here, you wouldn’t be draggin’ ass comin’ to talk with me.”
While Tomlin spoke, Lee circled around him slightly and visually inspected the bindings to make sure they were still secure. He didn’t want to step too close to Tomlin until he had a few questions answered. He waited until it seemed that Tomlin had said his fill, and then he looked him in the eyes.
“What are you doing here?”
“Close the door and we can talk.”
“Brian, answer the question.”
Tomlin’s eyes jerked to the two men standing at the door. His jaw stuck out defiantly, but when he looked towards them, his eyebrows twitched upwards, almost imperceptibly, but Lee knew the look. It was a look of concern. Whatever he had to say, he really didn’t want those two to hear him.
When he spoke, his voice was very quiet so that Lee had to lean forward to hear. His eyes remained fixed on the guards as he whispered: “Please. Please just close the door and tell them to go away.” His eyes turned to Lee and they seemed earnest. “Give me five minutes, Lee. Five minutes and you can do what you want with me.”
Lee searched the man’s eyes. He knew his face well, knew his facial expressions. It was strange to look at a face that he knew so well in his memory, and try to see if it was the person that he knew, as though what he saw before him now was only Brian Tomlin’s body, and some sinister force was controlling it. The face was so familiar to him, it almost broke him down to see it like this.
He knew this face in so many different ways, as he knew all of the coordinators like family. He knew this face when it was gaunt and tired after sixty days of Ranger school. He knew it covered in face paint and lit by night vision, and he knew it when it was heavy with a twelve pack of beer and lit by the glow of the football game on TV.
He knew the man sitting before him.
He knew him like a brother.
But as Harper would surely agree, even brothers betray each other sometimes.
Nevertheless, Lee found himself standing up, and turned his head partially, his eyes still locked on Tomlin while he spoke to the two men outside the shipping container. “Close the doors, please. You guys are relieved. Go get some chow.”
A brief pause.
“Uh…okay. Thank you.”
The doors swung closed. The flimsy glow of twilight went out completely, and everything in the shipping container that existed beyond the five foot bubble created by the lantern seemed to disappear, as though Lee and Tomlin had suddenly been launched into deep space and were floating there in an abyss of dark matter.
Lee backed up a single step. Now the light was evenly between the two of them. Lee shifted slightly so that he was not pointing his weapon at Tomlin, but the threat was very clear. “You have five minutes, Brian. Please tell me what the hell is going on.”
Tomlin’s eyes closed, and Lee could see them twitching back and forth underneath the lids as he gathered his thoughts. He took a deep breath, his eyes still shut. “The long and short of it is that your life is in danger.”
Lee almost laughed. “Really?”
Tomlin’s eyes snapped open. “I’m fucking serious, Lee!”
What trace of black humor Lee had taken from that statement suddenly disappeared like a match puffing out in the wind. It struck him that Tomlin’s concern was not only for the secrecy of what he was about to reveal, but he appeared to be genuinely concerned for Lee.
“I know you already know about the other two guys,” Tomlin said. “They weren’t hardcore killers or anything, but they were no slouches either, so count yourself lucky they didn’t get you. Both designated marksman out of the 82. But they aren’t the only ones out for you.”
Lee stared, felt something stir in the pit of his stomach.
Tomlin took his silence as an invitation to continue. “There’s someone else, at least one other. And I think they’re on the inside, Lee. I don’t know whether they’re close, or just close enough to feed intelligence, but that’s how those two boys knew where to set up and wait for you.”
“You saying I have a mole?” Lee’s nose wrinkled a bit, like he’d smelled something foul.
“Mole. Informant. Spy. Whatever you want to call it, Lee. Why do you think they knew that you were heading to Sanford that day? How do you think they knew where and when to set up to catch you before you got to your bunker? Because someone was feeding them intel from the inside.”
Lee canted his head. “Interesting. The way I saw it, whoever was controlling this little operation to kill me had to have knowledge of where my bunker was, not just when I planned to go there. And that’s information that only I have. But maybe another coordinator would know.”
Tomlin smiled savagely. “Like me, right?”
“Yes. Like you.”
“Fuck you, Lee.” He lurched up onto his knees. “You and I both know that’s not true!”
Lee had to suddenly restrain an urge for violence. “Yeah, well, apparently I’m kinda out of the loop these days. So why don’t you tell me what the fucking truth is?”
“You are out of the loop!” Tomlin nearly yelled it. “That’s where all this shit started from!”
Lee held up a hand, his lips curling in a snarl. “Before I listen to anymore of your bullshit, just answer one question for me. Did you come here to kill me?”
That one froze him.
Tomlin lowered his chin slightly, then sank back onto his heels.
A moment stretched by, and Lee arched his eyebrows, looking for an answer.
“Yes.” Tomlin shook his head. “That was the original plan.”
Lee crossed quickly, knocking over the lamp and causing the light to slant up at them and cast their faces in strange shadows. He grabbed Tomlin by the collar. “The original plan was to work together! The original plan was to save what we could and reestablish some sort of government! Why aren’t we sticking to that plan, Brian? What happened to that plan?”
“Things change,” Tomlin said bitterly.
Lee shoved him to the ground and shook his head in disgust. “I’m done.”
Tomlin squirmed into his side. “Lee! Wait! You have to let me finish!”
But Lee had already turned his back on him. He pushed open the two doors and stepped out into the gravel lot of Camp Ryder. He turned back around, one hand on each of the double doors, his face just a shadow in the darkness. “I don’t have to let you do shit, Brian. I’ll deal with you later.”
Lee slammed the doors on Tomlin’s protests, but not before he could hear the other captain screaming at him, not in anger, but in what appeared to be a sincere warning: “Watch your back, Lee! Watch your back!”
CHAPTER 25: …AND NEW ENEMIES
It felt like tunnel vision, walking through Camp Ryder, the closed and locked shipping container behind him. The only thing visible was what lay directly ahead of him. Each question was a dropping anvil, smashing into that ice-cold, frozen surface over his mind and causing hair-line cracks, weaknesses to be exploited when he least expected it, fissures to make him lose control.
His breathing came in rhythm with his rapid stride. He wasn’t quite sure where he was going. Simply escaping that shipping container, escaping whatever else Tomlin had up his sleeve, whatever other lies he had to spew out of his mouth. He rounded the corner of the Camp Ryder building—it was as good a destination as any.
But as he came around to the front of the building he could hear the voices filtering out, cheerful in each other’s company.
He did not want to be with these people.
He did not want to put on a face for them, to make them believe everything was okay.
He did not want to endure their concern for him if that face faltered.
He wanted to be left alone.
Standing there at the front of the building, still swimming silently in the shadows, he stared at the entrance to the Camp Ryder building, and the banner that was hung there three months ago by Harper. A symbol of what had been, and what could be again. Weather had turned the midnight blue to gray twilight, the red had become blanched, and the white was dingy at the tattered edges where hundreds of hands reached up to touch it every day, to honor it in their own way, to try to remember what the fight was all about.
The flag stirred only slightly in the breeze.
Where is the line between determination and stupidity?
He slumped against the cold concrete wall, felt it leach the warmth from him, pulling it through the fibers of his parka. Every bit of him felt heavy like cast iron, his feet like they were encased in concrete. His rifle dangled loosely from his hands, an anchor weighing him down and he got the very real sensation that, like any heavy, immobile object, if he were to stand there long enough, he would sink into the ground and the earth would swallow him up.
Still staring at the flag, he thought, I’ve given you everything. When is it going to be enough? When have I given enough that I can just be left the fuck alone?
He’d fought the fight. He’d run the race.
But the enemies never stopped coming, and the race had no finish line.
He’d spent much of his adult life considering himself a sheepdog of sorts; a creature that lived to confront the wolf, that protected the sheep because doing so was instinctive for him. But maybe he wasn’t a sheepdog anymore. Maybe that was a younger man’s game.
Perhaps now he was just a tired mutt with a scarred muzzle and a limp in his leg that had battled his fair share of beasts and rescued as many sheep as he could manage. Perhaps he didn’t fight nowadays for the same reasons he did a decade ago. Maybe now he only hobbled out to confront that threat because it was the only way he could buy himself some peace and quiet. Maybe all he wanted was a place in the sun to lie down and rest, and to be left alone, like any old dog that wishes to while away his days, lying on the front porch with his eyes half-lidded in the sunlight.
He closed his eyes and imagined himself at peace.
And he thought, Maybe that’s worth one more fight.
He opened his eyes again and there in the forefront of his vision was the flag. He tried to dig deep and feel that pride that he had once felt, and perhaps it was there, buried beneath the exhaustion and the resignation.
The only easy day was yesterday, he thought. Because yesterday, at least I knew whose side I was on.
***
Devon returned from Smithfield in Harper’s pickup truck, bearing Jake’s body. He rode by himself and no one asked him why he had made the drive alone, and he did not offer an explanation. They carried Jake’s and Zack’s bodies to a corner of the compound where crudely made crosses marked the graves of fourteen others, and the two men were interred by firelight. When they were finished, no words were spoken, because all the words of loss and death had already been said, and to say them now only smarted like a reopened wound.
A somber procession made their way into the Camp Ryder building, and upstairs to gather in the office and discuss the coming days. Nearly thirty of them crammed into the tight space—standing room only. The desk and the chairs had been pushed back against the walls and the door to the office remained open because one or two people stood in the frame of it, peering in over the heads of the others. Their attention was focused on Lee, Harper, and Bus, who stood with their backs to the map of North Carolina and faced the crowded room of volunteers.
Lee waited until the murmur of conversation lulled. His eyes scanned the faces before him as he spoke. “I wanted to take a moment to thank all of you. You knew what I was asking of you, you knew the risks that were involved, and you volunteered anyway. There is nothing in this world that has any meaning or value without people such as yourself that are willing to put themselves in harm’s way to try to ensure that other people have a future. Without that future, without that probability of survival, everything loses its meaning.”
He cleared his throat softly. “People lose hope when that happens. They lose their sense of purpose. But people like you are the reason that the rest of them can plan for tomorrow. You’re the reason they can hope.” He paused, then nodded, as though he felt he had communicated what he’d wanted to say.
Then he quickly held up a piece of paper and focused on it. “First group, I’m going to call your names. If I call your name, please step to this side of the room.” Lee motioned to the left of the doorway. Then he began to call the names.
He called out twelve in all. Among them were Julia, Nate Malone, Mike and Torri Reagan, and Devon Mills. As he called their names, they began to filter to the left side of the room.
When everyone was situated, Lee went on. “You folks that I just called out will be with Harper. Your group will be going north. I’ll talk more about it in a minute.” He looked to the others that had naturally drifted to the opposite side of the room. “I’m going to call the rest of you, and you will make sure you’re on the right side of the room, if you aren’t already.”
Among the next thirteen names that he called were Jim, LaRouche, and Wilson. When he was done calling the names, he asked for LaRouche to step forward. The sergeant looked around hesitantly, but stepped to Lee’s side.
Lee gestured to everyone on the right. “If I just called your name and you are standing to the right, you will be under the control of LaRouche. And you’ll be heading east.”
There was a stir in the room.
Lee had expected it.
He knew the question before it was asked, but it was LaRouche who voiced it. “Uh, Cap…shouldn’t it be you?”
Lee drew a lengthy breath, still staring at the sheet in front of him. “I won’t be leaving with you.”
The noise was one of confusion. Heads were turning back and forth, questioning each other, wondering if they heard right.
Lee raised his hand. “Quiet please.” He waited two breaths until he could speak without yelling. “I know the rumor mill works fast around here, but for those of you who haven’t heard, or who have heard
an incorrect version, I will explain to you the reality of the situation.” He folded the paper crisply. “The individual that we captured and brought in earlier today is Captain Brian Tomlin. He is a coordinator for Project Hometown, just like myself. His assigned area was South Carolina. Without getting into too many details, I will tell you that he has brought some issues to light that require my attention right now. I don’t know how long it will take to get to the bottom of it, but as soon as I figure it out, I’ll be heading out to join the rest of you in the east.”
“How do you know he’s telling the truth?” Nate Malone stepped forward.
“I don’t. That’s why I need to get to the bottom of it.”
Lee could tell that the others had many questions about this odd decision, but none of them voiced their concerns, so Lee moved the briefing on. “Harper’s group. You’ll be given one of the HEMTT tankers, the wrecker, two of the LMTVs, and one of the Humvees. Your primary objective will be to establish a defensive stronghold in Eden, North Carolina. Your secondary objective will be to use the wrecker while you are working your way north, to clear a supply and escape route from Eden to Camp Ryder. Your tertiary objective will be to assist any refugees that are fleeing south.” He nodded to Harper. “You’re my right hand man. I trust you to get it done.”
Lee turned to the right. “LaRouche’s group. You have one objective and one objective only: limit the amount of infected crossing the Roanoke River. You’ll be given the other tanker, the rest of the Humvees, and the last LMTV, which we are going to load with over 2,000 pounds of ordnance, ammunition and rifles.” He looked at them very pointedly. “That payload is our life, guys. You’re going to use it to buy cooperation where you can, blow up the bridges that can’t be defended, and mine the shit out of the ones we can’t blow. We’re on a time-crunch, and you guys are my hammer—I need you to hit hard and fast.” He put his hand on LaRouche’s shoulder. “Sergeant LaRouche has extensive experience with demolitions, so you’ll all be in good hands. Just do what he tells you and you’ll come back with all of your limbs.”