Joshua (Book 1)

by John S. Wilson

  Inside there were two large bottles of water, two MRE meals, several paper napkins, a small package of anti-bacterial hand wipes and finally an old Omaha phone book dated 1999. The book was worn and ragged and appeared that many of its pages had been torn from it. The man picked up the battered old book and then looked back to where the bucket had been and noticed another item he missed. Standing in the corner against the wall was a toilet lid that fit onto the bucket. The man had to laugh.

  He then picked up one of the meals and started to open it. Looking at the boy he asked, “Do you think you could eat something?” The boy nodded in the affirmative and the man thought that a good sign. He wasn’t speaking but at least he was hungry.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  The man continued his pacing. He tried to stop several times but at last admitted there was no stopping. He was nervous, and yes, scared, and this was his way of coping with the situation. Pacing up and down made him feel just a little bit better about their circumstances, like he could actually do something about them. Logically he knew it didn’t really help anything, he should be in bed resting, but it did make him feel just a bit better and at least that was something.

  Occasionally he also still found himself looking down to check a watch that continued not to be there. Old habits were hard to break.

  It had been over a day since he spoke with Thompson. That conversation had not gone well and he was not looking forward to the next. During their last talk there had been an eruption of gunfire and Thompson left in a hurry. Their discussion and the man’s fate had been left undecided.

  That happened on the second day after their arrival. They were brought to this place late in the day on Monday, March 5th; it was now, by the man’s estimation, sometime early in the morning on Wednesday the seventh. He couldn’t say positively, there were no windows in the room and without telling sunlight he could only guess to the day and time. But his guess felt right to him, he was sure about the date. They had been there roughly a day and a half and it had been nearly twenty-four hours since he and Thompson talked. Thompson had still not returned.

  Now the man was sure Thompson and the others were not thieves or bandits, or part of any gang, but most likely some type of militia or survivor group. But he still had no idea what they might want from him and the boy and why they were being held captive.

  He did not like the idea that his fate was being left up to strangers and both their lives were being scrutinized, debated and ultimately decided by people that didn’t know him or had ever even met him. He was disturbed that what happened to them next might rest on the decisions of men like Michael Thompson.

  The man looked down at the boy; he was quiet, but it was a good kind of quiet.

  Joshua lay on the bed much like the man had done the day before. He looked deep in thought as he studied the ceiling, his arms carefully folded behind his head. His clothes were too large for him and it made the child look even younger than he was. The man wondered if Joshua was thinking the same thoughts he had the previous day.

  The boy was nearly back to his old self; he was talking once more and despite their circumstances seemed a normal little boy again.

  Looking at the boy brought back the memories of what happened to them when they were captured. He thought of this innocent child and the psychological torture he had endured and the man seethed. He thought how the both of them had been treated when they first arrived, not too unlike livestock. The man was getting angrier every second he stood there brooding about it and then suddenly he remembered something that made him feel ashamed. It’s all my fault.

  He didn’t want to think about it. He avoided thinking about it since they got here but now could avoid it no further, the silence of their cell offering the man no relief from his own thoughts. As much as he would like to blame others, he was solely to blame for the situation they now found themselves in. He had pushed himself and the boy too far. He had taken chances with their lives he couldn’t justify and now it was the boy who was going to suffer. There were reasons of course; he was sick, he was tired, he was hungry, but they were only excuses to lessen the guilt he felt over what happened to them. Strangers were now, maybe at this very second, deciding his and the boy’s fate and it was he that delivered them into their hands.

  I’m not a hero. No, he wasn’t a hero, he was a man, a man with weakness and doubt. He made mistakes and was sometimes wrong, and this time he had been very wrong. He pushed everything too far and now it was the boy who would pay. He didn’t mind paying for the mistakes he made but the boy shouldn’t have to, but he would. No matter how long he lived he would never forgive himself if anything were to happen to that boy. Deep down inside the man knew it would be impossible to go on living if something did happen to him.

  Another guard appeared at the door. By this time they were all looking the same, same uniform, same mask, same rubber gloves, same holstered pistol. This one was here to bring their breakfast. A routine had been established and was strictly adhered to. Early in the morning a guard would bring another white bucket with their morning rations. The man knew this guard was running right on time, as usual. Every day the guard would bring a new bucket with the rations and pick up the empty along with their trash they were told to leave at the door. They were also told to never go beyond the door or else. The “or else” was always implied except for the one time the man forgot and stuck his head out in the hallway, then he found out what “or else” was, a bullet in his brain. They were also told to stay on the other side of the room during these times and to keep a minimum of six feet between themselves and the guards “for your and the guard’s safety.”

  Every day it was the same, morning and late afternoon, two large bottles of water and two MRE meals. The meals were out of date and no doubt why two prisoners were afforded what would normally be a very valuable commodity in these trouble times. Even though they had expired the meals still seemed edible and through many countless hungry nights the man had long learned to never turn down any good food. “Good” being absolutely anything they could eat without making them ill.

  The meals were real military issue and marked “US Government Property Commercial Resale is Unlawful” and were not the more common commercial type the man would often see for sale or trade. He had a good idea how this group got them, probably like so many others had at the end.

  When they got those first meals the night they arrived, the man tried to hide the matches he found inside. He hoped to possibly use them to create a diversion later on. But he was caught with them and after that the meals were opened before they received them, the matchbook, ration heater and toilet paper all being removed beforehand. They would leave in the eating utensils but the guard would specifically look for them every day when taking their trash.

  Also included with the afternoon ration would be a bag that contained sawdust, wood shavings and chips, obviously the leftovers of the new construction that surrounded them. Mixed in with the other items was a white powder the man thought to be lime. The contents of the bag were supposed to be sprinkled on top of the waste in the toilet. They were instructed to do this while the guard was present so he could make sure it had been done “for your health and safety.”

  The guard set the bucket down in the doorway and picked up the empty.

  The man spoke to the soldier but kept his distance as instructed. This time he didn’t even bother to ask about their circumstances. From previous attempts he already knew there was only one person who would answer his questions. “I need to talk to Thompson.”

  The sentry seemed entirely uninterested in what the man needed, “He’ll see you when he’s ready, not before. But I’ll let him know.” He tried to say something else but the soldier just turned and walked away, pretending he didn’t hear the man, although he quite obviously did.

  The man picked up the bucket and saw exactly what he expected to, and a little bit more. He removed the daily rations and below them were toys. Joshua’s toys! The man remembered
them and they all appeared to be there, although now they had picked up the faint smell of disinfectant. There was a camouflaged soldier with some type of ray gun that appeared to be a distant cousin to the men that held them. There was also some kind of one-eyed space monster holding another gun very similar to the tiny space soldier. The man thought perhaps they were together. Then there was a larger, scarier monster, the man remembered that this was the boy’s current favorite and to him it looked like a cross between a shark and a man, with the shark half on top. Then the man saw the dog.

  It was just a small toy dog with a body of soft cloth, big friendly eyes and black plastic nose. The man remembered it all too well. With the exception of the clothes on his back, it had been the only possession Joshua had when the man first met him. It was gray with a white belly and it was dirty and stained from a lifetime of being held and loved, Joshua’s lifetime. The little dog was tattered but still held together and the man remembered a time when the small boy would never let it go. For a long while the two were inseparable friends and the little dog comforted the child in many troubled times. On the side remained a faded and worn tag that left nothing else to explain, hand written in ink, it simply said, “To Joshua, Love Grandma.”

  The man felt silly becoming sentimental over a toy dog and took the bucket to Joshua who was still pondering the ceiling above. Even though the man was happy for the child, he tried not to show it, telling the boy in his best deadpan face and voice, “You have visitors.” He then placed the container down right in front of the now very curious boy. The boy peered down into the mystery and when his face looked back to the man’s it was beaming. He then scooped up his treasures and carefully laid them out in front of him on the bed, each thoroughly inspected and each passed for active duty. Within minutes there was a small-scale war on top of the bed with the space soldier, the one-eyed monster and the dog teaming up and doing their best to destroy the shark/man creature monster. The man couldn’t remember the last time he saw Joshua so happy just being a little boy.

  They woke up to a new day. The lights had been turned back on promptly at 7:00 a.m., or so he was told, as they had been every day since they arrived. It was an uneventful night and they slept well. The boy, as usual, took the side closest to the wall and furthest from the door, with the man as a barrier between him and any intruders. It was the only way the child could sleep. The boy’s arm hung limply over the man and when he pulled away to stand the small arm instinctively reached out to hold on for one second more. They were now starting their third full day of captivity.

  The man was hungry but knew breakfast wouldn’t come for an hour or so. If they were still traveling he would be making something right about now, if he had anything. Otherwise by this time in the morning he would have already been up and looking for food, maybe checking one of his traps or finding a good hunting spot under a tree, and waiting.

  But he wasn’t out in the world; he was locked inside this box.

  So the man sat there on the edge of the bed and waited. He didn’t even know what he was waiting for. They had been here roughly sixty hours and they still didn’t know what was happening to them or why they were being held. Sixty hours and he couldn’t really say anything with certainty except that if he tried to leave he would be killed.

  Would they really do it? The man sat there considering the question. Maybe it was a bluff; could they really murder a stranger that was unarmed and posed no threat? Could they kill him in cold blood? The man realized he was daydreaming again and couldn’t just walk out of here. He remembered the faces of those soldiers when he was first captured. He specifically remembered the face of the one that had held a gun to his head and knew without any doubt that yes, they would kill him if they had to.

  The boy got up and quickly slipped past the man on the bed. He then said with some urgency, “I have to go!” By now the man knew the ritual, so he lay back down and then rolled himself over to face the wall.

  They had been waiting for the morning meal and the man thought the guards were running late. Even without his watch his stomach was still running on time. From nowhere there was the sound of someone intentionally clearing their throat. The man turned to see Thompson standing in the doorway. He looked exactly the same as the last time they talked except he now wore gloves and a mask like all the others had been using. He came just into the room this time and behind him there was a woman. Behind them both were two sizeable guards waiting in the hall.

  The woman entered right behind Thompson and was closely watching the boy. Like everyone else, she wore the same fatigues, mask and gloves. She appeared to be slightly taller than average and her hair was a long dark brown, loosely pinned up in back. With the mask it was hard to tell but she seemed to be around the same age as the man, if not slightly younger. Her eyes were a piercing icy blue the man noticed even across the room.

  Thompson finally broke the uncomfortable silence, “We need to talk.” As he spoke the woman took one small cautious step towards the boy.

  “What is this?” The man was feeling uneasy, he didn’t know what was happening but was certain he was not going to like it, whatever it was.

  “We need to ask this boy some questions, alone,” Thompson bluntly explained to him.

  Without saying a word, the woman went around Thompson and quietly approached the boy. He had been lying on the mattress playing but was now sitting straight up on the bed. He looked scared and confused and sat there silently staring at the woman, and then back to the man again, like he expected that shortly one of them would do something. She knelt down in front of the bed looking right into the eyes of the young boy. Then she reached out her hand to him and said in a warm and comforting voice, “Would you like to come with me Joshua? We’re only going to talk awhile. It will be okay.”

  “Get away from him!” the man shouted, angrily he tried to put himself between the woman and the boy.

  Thompson immediately came between the enraged man and the startled woman, stopping him short of his goal. He hoped the man would use the rational portion of his mind and make this a lot easier on everyone but could plainly see he was being controlled by his emotions. Thompson’s only option now was to keep this situation from becoming even more emotional or confrontational. He had no desire in having this become violent. “You’re not going to stop this,” Thompson calmly informed him. “All you’ll manage to do is get yourself hurt and this little boy frightened.”

  “He’s already frightened!” the man retorted.

  “Then all you’re going to do is get yourself hurt and this boy more frightened. You’re not going to stop it.” Thompson continued trying to be the sane one.

  Although still clearly upset, the woman would not be kept from her purpose. She reached out and took the boy by his hand and quietly reassured him, “Come on, it will be okay.”

  The boy turned to the man, waiting for some answer, any indication of what he should do.

  The man looked down at the pistol on Thompson’s belt and at the guns of the soldiers in the hall. He knew Thompson was right and this was a fight he had no chance of winning.

  Finally Thompson could see the man was thinking rationally again and tried to set his mind at ease, “She’s going to take the boy for a talk while you and me talk here. You’ll see the boy again. You have my word on it.”

  Thompson might be a lot of things, but he’s not a liar. The man looked at the boy and told him, “It’s all right, you can go.” The woman helped Joshua out of bed and put her hands on his shoulders as she walked him out the door.

  The man looked around at his cell, even with Thompson and the guards only a few feet away he never felt so completely alone in all of his life.

  Once they had gone, Thompson candidly addressed the man. “I think we are going to be here awhile. Why don’t you sit down and I can get this mask off. Then we can both be more comfortable.”

  The man sat down on the bed with his back against the wall. Across the room, Thompson took a chair a gua
rd had brought and sat down just outside the doorway. He removed his mask.

  Thompson took a relieved breath, “That’s better! I hate those things, very uncomfortable.”

  The man had no concern for Thompson’s comfort and clearly told him with his indifferent stare.

  Thompson went on with a casual tone, “The lady’s name is Amy Helton, she’s …”

  “I don’t care what her name is!” the man angrily interrupted.

  Thompson tried to remain composed. “I was going to say that she is a very nice lady. She’s had a lot of experience working with small children and the boy is in good hands.”

  “Just as long as it’s not my hands … RIGHT?!” The man could feel himself getting flush and wasn’t sure if he could keep his temper under control much longer. He didn’t know what he was going to do or how Thompson might respond. At that particular moment he didn’t really care.

  Thompson could see the man was barely in control so he tried to defuse the conversation. “Look, I’ve been completely honest with you from the beginning. You can at least recognize that, can’t you? I told you before that I thought you were probably innocent but we need to know, not think.”

  The man erupted, “Why is this even your business?!”

  “Because you made it our business.” Thompson was doing everything possible to keep the conversation calm and rational.

  The man felt at any moment he might explode.

  Thompson promptly continued and he tried his best to sound sympathetic. “I know you’re angry and you have a right to be.”

  “Yeah, right …” the man answered through a bitter laugh.

  Thompson was trying to keep this conversation unemotional but the man wasn’t cooperating. “Listen, why don’t you look at this from our side for a second. Two dirty, possibly disease carrying refugees walk onto our property …”