“Noted, but we expect your cooperation either way,” the colonel said, a stern warning look forming on his face.
One of the colonel’s men entered and handed him a thick folder. The colonel smiled.
“Thank you, Ramirez.”
Ramirez grunted and returned to his post near the door, gun at the ready.
The colonel flipped open the file folder, and George saw a picture of himself and his wife and kids.
“George Henson, age 56, retired U.S. Army Corps of Engineers.”
There was a pause, and George popped the tab on his Coke and took a long pull. The carbonation burned his throat, a feeling he enjoyed immensely. It made him think of summer camping trips with his kids for some strange reason.
“That’s me,” he said.
“Excellent. We’re here to help you with anything you need to keep this facility safely shut down. For the time being, we’re going to need all hands on deck.”
“We need a drastic morale boost, Colonel. The food will definitely help, but these men need time off. When will we get to see our families?”
The colonel smiled. “We’ll work on setting something up. In the mean time, tell me what we need to do to keep the reactor sufficiently cooled down.”
The two men talked for quite some time, until a knock on the door interrupted them.
“Colonel, you’re needed.”
The Colonel smiled once more around the chewed-up end of his cigarillo.
“If you’ll excuse me, Mr. Henson, I need to take this. I’ll be back shortly, and we can finish up our planning. Until then, please don’t leave the premises. My men are on high alert trying to keep this place safe, and I wouldn’t want any accidents to happen. Does that sound fair?”
George nodded. “That’d be great.”
The colonel rose and headed out into the hall, where a satellite phone awaited him.
“Yes? Of course. We have their cooperation for now. A man named George Henson. No, he didn’t ask many questions, I think the workers were just happy to have food and fuel. The questions will come soon enough. We’ll handle them. I don’t think that particular insurance policy is necessary. Of course. If you insist. We’ll pay their families a visit. I’ll have men on the way shortly.”
The colonel hung up the phone and wondered what exactly he’d gotten himself into.
“Ramirez, radio Parks. Tell him to send a couple of trucks over to the Henson place. Be friendly and play nice, but be ready to change that if need be. Do you understand?”
Ramirez nodded and left to make the call.
The colonel lit up another cigarillo. He knew he probably shouldn’t smoke in here, but it helped calm his nerves.
Deep inside, a small part of him felt guilty for his role in all of this, but he was a soldier, and it was his job to follow orders. That’s all this is, he thought. I’m just following orders.
For the first time in his long career, that thought didn’t do much to console him.
Back in the break room, George Henson sat deep in thought. The colonel and his men didn’t wear standard issue uniforms. They didn’t wear insignia to identify rank or branch, and when asked who he was with, he’d only said, “We’re with the government.”
George had a lot of questions that he hadn’t remembered to ask. Somehow the colonel had guided the conversation, dominating it to the point where George couldn’t do much more than answer the questions the man had asked.
He would make a point to ask more questions tomorrow, when he was fresh. A good night’s sleep and a solid meal would help keep his mind sharp. If the colonel avoided answering directly, he’d need to do some investigating, and he suspected the answers, some of them at least, were in the manila folder the colonel kept referring to during their talk.
For now, though, it was time to rest. He’d earned it.
Conclusion
All right. So you’re finished with “Episode 6” and wondering, “What next?” Why don’t you take a look at the other setting I write for, Running on Empty?
The first stand-alone short story can be found here: http://www.amazon.com/dp/B00Y5O69ZM
Running on Empty: Preacher and Ghost – Tape #1
It’s been 80 years since a meteor strike plunged the world into darkness. Preacher and Ghost, two post-apocalyptic couriers that eek out a meager existence hauling packages from citadel to citadel, have found themselves a bit down on their luck.
With only a quarter tank of gas and a few shotgun shells between them and a life of indentured servitude at the light-farms, they resort to doing something they swore they’d never do; taking a job from a stranger.
What? You’ve already read that one?
Why not head over to my blog at www.thequattlebaum.com and register for updates? I’d love to keep you entertained with more stories soon!
Thanks again,
- Jordon
Breakdown: Episode 6 Page 5