Days Since...: Thomas: Day 758

Chapter Three

A knock on the door. He hurried over to answer, bringing the door inward.

“You’re the scout that’s assigned to me?”

“Don’t look too happy to see me.” James pushed past Thomas, let his rucksack and rifle drop to the floor, and plonked down in the recliner. He smacked the button that released the leg rest and leaned back. “You keep this warm for me?”

Thomas glared at him while James slipped his Army Zippo from a cargo pocket and flicked it on. “You got any extra fluid?” James asked.

“No such thing as extra.” Not a thing has changed. “You should probably get out of my chair.”

“That’s how it’s gonna be?” The chair snapped back into place as James popped off the seat and onto his boots. “You still got your unit lighter?”

“Yeah.” Thomas flashed his to James. “You gonna ask for that too?”

“Damn, Tommy. Still mad, huh?”

Thomas ignored the question, choosing instead to move forward with the conversation. “Where you been?”

“Scouting missions. Working out of downtown, mostly.”

“I meant this morning. Why weren’t you at the briefing?”

“Yeah, well…” James looked to the floor and took a long breath. “The thing about that is… They already told me I was on this mission, so”—he shrugged—“I slept in a bit.” James grinned then spit in his hand, pushing it through his shaggy, brown hair to keep it from his forehead.

That damn grin… He’s always smiling. They probably did let him skip the briefing, but who the hell knows? He’s always stretching the truth or completely ignoring it. Never can tell…

“From what I heard, you chose to do the same.” His grin stretched further. “Nobody’s thrilled you got this… except me of course.”

Thomas let this slight roll off his back as James took to flipping through a coloring book that Joseph kept on a small table.

“A regular Picasso here, huh?”

“You about finished?” Thomas’ face was beginning to feel hot, frustration building inside him.

“What do you mean?” One eyebrow curled, then both eyes went wide—James’s attempt to look innocent. “You want me to put it down?”

“Not the damn coloring book. I’m talking about you, man.”

James set it down and backed away from the table, his hands up in a sarcastic surrender.

“You going to be able to focus on getting this done?” Thomas asked. “Or is it more of the same from you?”

“You’re coming at me harsh right off the rip. Come on, Tommy.” James looked to him for sympathy, but it wasn’t there.

Thomas stared back, clenching his jaw, which seemed to have the effect of pumping more blood into his cheeks.

“I was only kidding with you, bud.” James tried his best to take the tension from their exchange of words. “This thing’s for my promotion. Of course I’m focused. That intelligence position is huge for me.”

“You think I should just trust you on that?” Thomas couldn’t keep his eyes from tracking James through the apartment to ensure nothing found its way into his pockets. “This is my Soldier trial—”

“So we’re in the same boat.” James spun back toward Thomas. “See, we both have skin in the game. I got your back, and you got mine.”

Even though you’re a pain in the ass, I’ll at least give you that. You’ve always had my back, but still… “When I saw you walk in the door, I hoped you’d changed a bit, but in just those few seconds…” He wetted his lips. How do I say this? “You’re like the only damn person in the world the apocalypse didn’t straighten up even a slight bit.”

James’s head flung back in a fit of laughter, but once he composed himself, the words that followed were serious. “Don’t forget what I did for you.”

He tried his best to beat back Thomas’s glare with his own but only managed to look foolish. If he were to take a few steps forward, his head would be just under Thomas’s chin. There would be no intimidating Thomas, not by James.

“All’s I’m saying,” James continued, “is you need to try and remember who saved who. When the shit hit the fan, who got you out of there?”

Thomas shook his head then spoke slowly for effect. “I appreciate what you did for me, I get it, but our arrangement is much different than it used to be. Unfortunately for you, rank doesn’t carry over to the Second Alliance from the Army.”

James scowled. Thomas’s words had clearly stung him.

“I’ll never forget Syria,” Thomas said. “Maybe that’s why you feel… whatever the hell this is, maybe that you think I owe you. I don’t know what the hell it is that goes through your head sometimes. What you did was disgusting. I don’t care why you did it. We got out of there, but…” Thomas wiped across his mouth. “I don’t care that we had a falling out just as long as you remember that what I say goes this time around. If you don’t remember anything else, remember that.”

James turned his back to him and began skimming through a magazine. Thomas was certain he hadn’t seen the cover—a Time magazine criticizing the Syrian War and the U.S.’s response. It wasn’t exactly his taste. Thomas took this opportunity to double check Joseph’s overnight bag, occasionally checking on James. He finally tossed the magazine onto the kitchen counter and looked back to Thomas. “We’re a team. Just like old times, right?”

Thomas barely brought his attention from the Joseph’s bag.

“I’m only messing with you.” James tried to save face. “I figured coming in like that would get a rise out of you.”

Thomas knew this move, had seen it before, another last-ditch effort to save face. “You’re not pulling that crap with me. I’m not some gullible moron you can pull this over on. Listen! We’re doing our jobs and that’s it. I don’t care about anything else.”

“I said we’re good, man. Damn!” James smacked him on the shoulder. “Lighten up! Live a little.”

“We’ll see.” Thomas grabbed his gear from the floor and reached for the doorknob. “You ready then?”

“You in that big of a hurry?” He started shuffling the pieces of a chess board that sat on the kitchen counter. He fixated on the white knight, picking it up and staring at it in an odd manner, almost longingly. “I saw you talking with the rat man. He offer you any of his special meat? Chuck’s chuck?” James started laughing.

Thomas waited for the laughter to fade then tried once again to get him out the door, but James started in again. “Still surprises the shit out of me they didn’t banish his ass for serving rat meat. I mean… I guess it makes sense for easy meat, but shit man… rats.” He started toward his equipment. “What a nut,” James mumbled, as he brought his rucksack onto his shoulders and slung his rifle across his chest. “I know you’re in a big type of rush, but I gotta grab a soup from the cart.”

“I’m good with that.”

Thomas confirmed that he hadn’t secured the deadbolt, and the two of them started down the stairs. Kate’s door sat open, and Thomas set Joseph’s overnight bag just inside. She was busy sorting through some photographs at her coffee table. He gave her a quick nod and a wave. “If I forgot anything, the door’s unlocked upstairs. Thanks again.”

“I hear ya.” She scooted them on with a few flicks of her wrist. “Be safe you two.”

The gate to the breezeway crashed again as they made their way back onto the street. “I don’t see how you do it, man,” James said. “I don’t understand why you don’t give him up. Let one of the Mothers take him in. Make it easier on yourself.”

“I made a promise.”

“They aren’t around to know any better. What’s he—”

“Don’t even start on that. Your spoiled ass has been with the S.A. since it started. You don’t know what it’s like to take care of someone besides yourself. You know how many times I had to stuff him in a closet to handle some shit, then come back, just praying that he’d still be there? You know how terrifying that is? To have someone like the Butcher get a hold of Joseph?”

James stood in silence.

“I joined the S.A. for a better life,” Thomas continued, “not just for me, but him too. If something happens to me, then and only then, will one of the Mothers take him.”

“I’m just saying…”

“That’s not how I operate. I keep my promises. Let it go. It doesn’t affect you, so don’t worry about it.”

“It affects you.”

“Just get the damn soup.”

“You’ve been through here, right?” James asked, pointing toward the last entry gate into the Queensgate Yard.

“Barely and it’s been awhile.”

“Then you won’t mind me leading.” He broke past Thomas almost as quickly as he had said it.

Thomas gazed through the fence before stepping through—briefly ingesting what this truly meant—his transition from merely observing from afar, eyeing the worn paths where gravel had been scattered, to his own journey, his boots adding to the wear of the rail yard, stomping over the crabgrass and purslane that flourished through the cracks in the exposed earth, his boots navigating through the rows of abandoned trains that bore the scrawling of colored mischief and dead trademarks. This was indeed the tipping point. This day.

“Hustle up!”

He caught up to James, and the two of them traveled as closely as possible to the boxcars, trying to remain hidden from those that may wish them harm, but as far as Thomas could tell, they would be surrounded by nothing but picked-over rail cars and a few service buildings.

“We’ll stay like this on up to Camp Washington and then cut up to the school on Probasco St.”

“It’s going to be hard to keep an eye on things from down here.”

“There won’t be anyone for us to see down here. Hell, you know that—you watch this yard more than anyone I know.” James continued to amuse himself with another snide comment at Thomas’s expense.

Thomas swore he could see James’s smile stretching round toward the back of his head as he walked. There wasn’t a point in trying to confront him again. All he could do was roll his eyes. He had already said his piece, and this would probably be the last time he’d have to work with him. There’s no changing him. Be the bigger man. Be the one who bridges the gap. I hate to say it, but I need him on this. Just let him lead through here and use his knowledge to make sure we get promoted.

James seemed unconcerned with the idea of any threat as he pushed on with a confident swagger. His rifle hung from his shoulder, swinging as he walked—not a care in the world. He’s too damn cocky. While James continued on, paying no attention to the crunching sound of their boots against the small stones which made covert movement impossible, Thomas took nothing for granted. He carried his rifle at a low ready with the index finger riding alongside the frame. It was only occasionally, and by Thomas’s request, that they stopped to see if anyone’s carelessness would ring out, checking for those distant indicators of ill intention.

“How many missions are you up to now?” Thomas curious to what point James would feel so comfortable outside the walls.

“Enough. I really can’t remember—too many to keep count.”

“I figured you would’ve gone for Soldier rather than the analyst side of things.”

James turned around and looked up at Thomas, exaggerating the bend to his neck. “Not being a big—” He caught himself, perhaps reevaluating the need for this partnership. “Well, let me put it this way. I wasn’t exactly designed for it.”

“Yeah, well… being this big isn’t always a good thing.” Thomas bent an eyebrow. “I was just curious. You always seemed to like action more than the prep work.”

James ignored him, choosing instead to run his hand along the sides of boxcars that became more and more like ones previous—a chain of increasing blandness. Even the graffiti became unnoticed. The experience of the yard was much different on the ground than observing it from within one of the guard towers. Stuck between the trains, unable to see the solution to this maze from above, they maintained the route they chose in the beginning.

“If I could’ve been a Soldier, I would have,” James spoke barely above a whisper. “I like being an intelligence scout. I get that I’ll never get the respect of a Guard or Soldier, or even a Sentry for real… You know it’s bullshit though.” His voice rose. “These Sentries barely even escape the wire—at least I’m out in the field.”

“Honestly, you’re probably better trained than a lot of the guys in the Soldier Program. The purpose is intimidation…” James’s next few steps seemed to lack the eagerness of before. “I’m not trying to say—”

“No, I get it. I’m not worried…” He began to mutter something more to himself, but Thomas couldn’t make it out.

“You alright?”

“Of course, I am. I’m the best damn scout we have.”

Thomas couldn’t help but think James’s statement reeked of self-assurance.

“I don’t need some stupid Soldier patch to let people know what I can do,” James continued. “Syria was hell, and that’s all anyone needs to know.” He tilted his rifle and inched the charging handle back to make certain a round sat in the chamber before letting it go. “If you made it out of there, you’re a man, no question.”

Thomas nodded in complete agreement, but realized James couldn’t have seen the gesture and spoke, “Yeah…”

“To hell with Syria.” The volume of James’s voice shot up again. “They’re the whole reason—”

“Keep it down a little.”

“Yeah, my bad”—James faced Thomas—“you know they’re the ones behind this whole mess. Nutjobs, experimenting with bio-warfare.”

Thomas scoffed. “What we were exposed to wasn’t the experiment. We heard of them gassing and killing their own people for years. Even before we went to war, they did this crap. Hell, it could’ve been years of testing before they perfected it. No one knows how long those people in Syria had been experiencing some form of Almawt before we showed up, and by then, I’d say they pretty well nailed it down. The whole damn world was brought to its knees.”

“The whole world?” James’s brow narrowed. “You don’t know that.”

“You don’t think the Chinese would’ve taken us over by now if it was just us? There’s no way it wasn’t the whole world. You saw how it cuts through the population—hell, everyone has. Only difference is that we saw firsthand what it did to people before it really spread.”

“You think they knew how bad it would be?”

“Hell yes! They sucked us in with a war they knew they couldn’t win, but knew they’d get the last laugh when we brought that filth back home.” Thomas shook his head. “It had to have been designed for this. Maybe they have… or had a cure. Who knows? Shit, I guess it doesn’t matter now.”

James stared silently at Thomas as he spoke.

“God blessed me and you for whatever reason and here we stand, but…” The corners of Thomas’ mouth dropped. “Everyone lost someone.”

“Yeah…” James’s face drained itself of emotion—resigned.

It’s my fault dad got sick so soon. No one thought in a million years we caught it and carried it over. I never felt sick. No one knew. Stop, damn it! It’s not your fault… Everyone caught it—carries it now.

But that whole time in the hospital with dad… he felt so guilty. What a waste of our final weeks. It was always the same damn conversation. I don’t give a shit that I had to join up! It wasn’t your fault! We couldn’t have done anything different. I wouldn’t have done anything different.

“Hey!” James waved his hand in front of Thomas’ eyes, bringing him back to the rail yard. “We gotta keep moving.”

Half an hour flew by essentially unnoticed. James hadn’t even tried to speak, giving the impression he had slipped into quiet reflection. Perhaps the first time Thomas could remember him taking in a serious topic and digesting it appropriately. Thomas knew his thoughts. No soldier who survived was truly unique. The horrors of the war and its aftermath are what flooded his mind. The friends who were lost, maimed—the marriages that unraveled from the extended hardships—the children who could no longer be tucked in by their parents—then Almawt and the loss of everyone you loved.

“Hold up a second.” An uneasiness caused Thomas to grab hold of James’s ruck. “I don’t like this.”

“What?”

Thomas pointed to the horizon—the Western Hills viaduct rose sixty feet above the yard. The half wall of concrete that spanned the bridge provided ample cover for any lone wolf and a sniper rifle. A perfect hideout to take advantage of the two venturing below. There’s too much to keep track of here, and James doesn’t seem to give a shit. He’s either still thinking about the war or just thinks he invincible out here. Either way, I’m not buying it. “Give me a minute to take a look before we keep going.”

“Whatever you say, man, but you’re wasting time.”

Thomas rounded the corner of an abandoned passenger train and grasped one of the rungs that crawled up its back. It held firmly despite the rust consuming the metal where the paint had flaked long ago. He took his hand a few rungs higher and began to climb. As he made it toward the top, he pulled his binoculars from the pouch on his ruck and popped his head above the roof of the coach.

The yard appeared deserted, nothing worth noting within his normal sight. He pressed the binoculars to his eyes and glassed along the viaduct and the hills that surrounded them. Thickets of trees crept up the hillsides from the western side of the rail yard. Several pitched roofs and apartment buildings peeked through the canopy. There would always be more hiding spots than time to discover them all. Maybe James is right. While Thomas was paranoid, examining every inch of the world around them, James leaned against the train taking every breath as if he would never run out.

“You seeing anything up there?”

“Nothing.”

“Didn’t think so. You keep worrying about every what-if there is, you’re going to go crazy.”

“Still, I don’t like walking blindly. Let’s stay up top if you’re so convinced there’s no one out here.”

“If you say so.” James hesitated before climbing up the rungs.

Thomas figured from this vantage point, they’d be able to identify and react more appropriately to threats. Others engaging them in the yard seemed the more logical risk now—someone keeping constant watch over the rail yard seemed farfetched. Honestly, who has time to sit there and watch this place all day? Thomas’s shoulder slumped. Me apparently… but how many groups are organized like us. I’m doing a job when I’m in the guard post.

They moved across the tops of the train—their steps surprisingly quiet as long as they minded their footing. The steel they walked upon was silent. It was only as they hopped from one to the other that a thud would be driven down into the chamber of each car, but that never carried far enough to matter.

“What’s that?” James threw his fist into the air, signaling a full stop. The two of them dropped into prone, shooting positions facing opposite ways. “What is that?”

“I don’t hear anything.” Thomas held his breath while concentrating on finding what had captured James’s attention. There it is. He couldn’t pinpoint the position, but a low, moaning sob—faint and impossible to gauge its distance—carried through the wind.

“You don’t hear that crying?” James asked.

“Yeah, but I can’t tell where it’s coming from.” Thomas listened intently. A woman sobbing could be heard—her cries broken up by sharp gasps for air, but still no telling from where it came. “Someone’s definitely out here,” Thomas said while scanning the area over the sights of his rifle. “Anything on your side?”

“Nope”

“Let’s get down.”

Thomas maintained watch over the yard as James slid down from the top. Thomas pulled the rifle’s strap over his head and joined him on the ground. Strange. The sound of sobbing disappeared. “I’m heading to the other side.” He raised his boot up and over the coupling between the cars, his pant leg momentarily catching on a pin. Damn! He stumbled forward but caught himself before falling.

“You alright?”

“Cover me for a sec.” Thomas untied the laces to his boot and fixed the blousing of his pant leg, pulling, stretching the fabric and stuffing it into the mouth of the boot. “Go ahead and stay on that side just in case, but don’t move beyond the next car until we’re both there.”

“Sounds good, man.” James gave him a thumbs up and transitioned to his pistol. “Ready?”

Thomas brought his rifle to his shoulder, snapping it into place—muzzle leveled and straight ahead. Good to go. Scanned to his right—nothing—he continued to the next car, listening in between each step. He could hear James moving forward, the small stones skittering across the tops of the others as he walked. Thomas peered between the next gap—James’s pistol first, then his head peeked around the corner. They both confirmed each other’s presence and set out again—coach by coach.

The knot of train cars began to unravel itself, leaving large breaks in the maze similar to a meadow in an expanse of crowded forest. Now I’m hearing music! A sharp, tinkly sound played. The notes cascaded in broken sequence from what sounded like an old music box. He swung between the next pair of boxcars, his back against the smooth steel, waiting for James to join him.

“You hear that music?” James whispered as he shifted into the gap. He looked to Thomas while keeping his pistol pointed toward the ground. “Any ideas?”

“No idea where it’s coming from.” Again, Thomas scanned the yard. No signs beyond what little they could hear. “Get on this side. We’ll stick together and start clearing these cars.”

James stepped over the coupling and the two set out—Thomas at point and James as cover. They kept their steps upon the railway ties, secretly searching though this game of hot and cold. His ears remained open so that they might lead him closer as the music grew stronger. “There!”

A boxcar by itself, red with vented sides. The flickering of yellows and orange from a fire barely visible from the space beneath the boxcar signaled to Thomas—a slight trail of smoke which dissipated to nothing as it hit the wide open air. Got her now! The two of them retreated behind the caboose of an adjacent train where they remained out of view from their target.

“The red one.” Thomas thumbed over his right shoulder.

“I see it,” James said, his eyes beginning to climb with the faint trickle of smoke. “How many you thinking?”

“Sounds like a woman, but I can’t imagine more than one or two. Any more than that and they’d be louder than this.” Thomas glanced over his shoulder. “It has a door on this side, maybe one on the other, not sure, but we should move into positions on both sides.”

James confirmed with a simple dip of his chin.

Now he’s in the zone. “I’ll take position on top of this one here. You work your way around and climb on one of those over there.”

Another dip of James’s chin.

“When I’m ready I’ll give you a signal. Fist up means hold. Waving my hand forward means it’s time. If there’s a door on your side give me a thumbs up.”

James doubled back and left Thomas’s sight as he disappeared around a rail car forty yards behind him. Thomas bent down and scooped a handful of rocks into his cargo pocket. We’ll see how they respond to these once he gets over there. He climbed onto the train and low crawled into position behind the cupola of the caboose, bracing the rifle along the top for support. He eyed the scope while adjusting the distance. The fire still gave their target’s position away.

Thomas watched James slither his way along the scattered trains—in and out of view. James occasionally searched for Thomas when he could. I got you covered. Keep going. Thomas’s attention floated between the target and watching James. He kept him in the corner of his eye as the thoughts of what they were about to do expanded.

Friend or enemy? God, I hope this is simple. I don’t want to deal with some woman and her kid. Someone just trying to make it in the world. Give us something simple. Maniac with a gun. Make your intentions known. Let us react, and we’ll end it and move on.

James slunk in behind the control box of a chemical tanker on the other side of the red boxcar. His angle seemed perfect as he held his pistol steadily toward the target. With his left hand, James raised a thumb into the air. Door on his side, and he’s ready to go. Thomas took another cautious look across the yard to ensure another situation hadn’t crept up on them. Still—only the wind moved through the valley.

Thomas waved his hand forward and observed James prop both elbows across the control box. Why the hell isn’t he using his rifle? Damn it! Whatever… He scraped some rocks from his pocket, rose quickly, and tossed them, striking the red boxcar—several clinks as the rocks pittered against its side. A sporadic series of thumps within the freight car then silence. Yep, at least someone is in there.

He looked to James, his eyes still fixed on the opposite side’s door. Nothing from him yet. How long do we wait before going in? James turned his head to Thomas as if he had heard him. Damn it! Thomas breathed in deeply and wiped a nervous sweat from his brow. They’re being careful. James continued to stare at him. Thomas raised his fist in the air, telling him to hold, but James shook his head. Just a bit longer. Give it time. James crawled out from his position and advanced on the red boxcar.

What the hell, man? Come on! Thomas’s inclination led him to stand from behind the cupola. “Shit, he’ll need cover,” he muttered to himself, as he threw himself back down again. He watched as best he could as James moved closer with his pistol pointed toward the boxcar.

“Come out of there slowly,” James shouted. “No one needs to get hurt. There are too many of us out here to fight. Just crack open the door and slide your weapons underneath it.” Thomas could only see James’s head from this angle. “You don’t want us to force our way in. That way won’t go well for anyone. Just come on out of there.”

“I can’t,” a woman called out to James. “It’s locked from the outside.”

Thomas saw what she meant. The door on his side was padlocked closed, and he could only assume the other side was too. Ugh! I can’t see you, James. He edged his body around to the other side of the caboose’s top, trying to get a better angle, but it was no better than before.

“Where’s the key, lady!” James shouted.

Thomas could hear him pounding on the outside of the train car as he said it.

“Where’s the key!” The patience in James’ voice was dissipating. Still pounding—the hollow clunking of metal echoed across the yard.

He’s being reckless. What the hell’s he thinking?

“I don’t have the key,” the woman shouted, crying out to James. “If I did, I’d give it to you, no questions asked, believe me. I need help. Find the damn thing!”

“What do you mean find it? Where the hell is it?”

“I think he keeps it on the track behind you.”

“That doesn’t tell me much.” James dashed back toward the chemical tanker but stopped midway. “Hold on… Why didn’t you call out for help when you heard the rocks?”

“She thought it might be me toying with her,” a man’s voice boomed. “Don’t even think about moving!”