The Last Good Man

Some Words Are Like Bullets

Twenty minutes later, True walks with Alex to the car. Neither speaks. He carries her pack and her duffel. She carries her weapons, stowed in cases. The parking lot is dark, the dull amber lights from the single-story terminal building insufficient to chase back the shadows. Past the parking lot, the black expanse of an empty field stands as a buffer between them and the bright headlights of a busy highway.

Out of habit, True scans the parking lot, on guard against anything that feels out of place. Alex makes his own survey. He’s been out of the army twenty-five years, but situational awareness is a survival skill for paramedics as well as for soldiers.

The night is calm, peaceful. There’s just a susurration of wind, and the traffic’s muted growl.

Alex pops the trunk and drops her pack inside. She offloads her guns.

“Did you fire them?” he asks.

“A few rounds from the KO to discourage the bad guys while Jameson hit ’em with a flash-bang. Blackbird—the AI flying our Kobrin—did most of the shooting. Knocked out their automated defenses.”

He grunts and closes the trunk. Then he follows her to the passenger door and, moving in practiced ritual, he opens it for her, shutting it after she slides in. Though she does not live a traditional life, old courtesies live on between them, reassuring gestures that ease their sometimes-stormy relationship.

True is all too aware of heavy weather incoming. They both know it. Back inside, the reception is still going on, but it took just a look from Alex and a word not even spoken aloud—Ready?—to forge an agreement to leave early.

That was right after Lincoln spoke to the gathering. He congratulated the QRF and read aloud a note of gratitude from Fatima’s parents. He also warned everyone to be on their guard in the wake of the mission: “The guiding sentiment behind Requisite Operations is ‘right action.’ The work we do is honorable and within the bounds of the law. Even so, our existence is controversial. It brings out the crazies and the paranoid. That’s why I prefer we operate under the radar when we can. Minimizing publicity lets us protect the privacy of our clients while enhancing our own safety. Public attention is a dangerous thing—and unfortunately, we’re going to get a lot of it going forward.”

True braced herself, afraid Lincoln would make an announcement about Shaw Walker—but that wasn’t what he had in mind. His stern gaze picked out Miles among the listening crowd. “We made the mistake of rescuing a journalist.”

This won a burst of laughter, and Rohan calling out, “Ah, he’s just a Ranger gone wrong.”

Lincoln acknowledged this with the ghost of a smile. “A press release has already gone out. There’s no reason to say more, so if you receive a request for an interview, ignore it. And all of you, families included, be aware of your surroundings, exercise caution wherever you are, keep your fairy godmothers on duty at all times, and let me know if you even suspect trouble.

“And before I let you return to the buffet, one last bit of bad news. All QRF personnel will report to the office at 0800 for debriefing and interviews with federal officials.” A groan ran through the gathering but Lincoln ignored it, pointing into the crowd. “That includes you, Khalid. Welcome to the Requisite Operations family.”

True understands that being part of the Requisite Operations family is no easy task. She glances at Alex as they drive away from the airfield. His gaze is fixed on the strip of road that lies ahead. He’s not ready to talk yet. True is content to wait him out, knowing it won’t be long—and she’s right.

He waits until they’re on the highway, locked in the flow of evening traffic, before he says, “You need to let it go, True. Even if Shaw Walker really is out there playing mercenary badass, he’s got nothing for you. Nothing he can tell you about Diego will make it hurt less.”

“You’ve got it wrong,” she tells him. “I’m not looking for comfort.”

A soft, cynical hiss. “Yeah, I know. I just wish you were.” He stares ahead at red taillights. “You know and I know… we can’t ever escape it. What happened to him… it’s got a gravity of its own. Like a black hole in our lives that we’ll always be circling around.”

It’s a metaphor she hasn’t heard before and she’s startled at how well it resonates. “I never thought about it that way,” she says. “But you’re right. That’s exactly how it feels.”

“Don’t let it pull you in,” he warns.

She scowls at the implied assumption that she is fragile, vulnerable, prone to emotional decisions. “Look, I don’t know what you think I’m going to do—”

He cuts her off. “You’ve already told me what you’re going to do! You’re planning to hunt down Shaw Walker. And I’m telling you, no. Don’t do it.” She doesn’t interrupt; she lets him finish. But she’s bristling, like she does every time she feels the leash tighten.

He says, “I remember Shaw. He was an arrogant son of a bitch who took things personally, even when it should have been just another part of the job—and he wasn’t above revenge.”

Her response is low and heated. “You think you know something about him, Alex? I didn’t think you knew Shaw all that well.”

They’ve reached their intersection. A turn lane takes them to the rural road leading to their home. A low, crowded forest looms on both sides of the road, mostly spindly maples, leaves half-gone this late in the season, with more falling, tumbling through the headlight beams.

Alex says, “Diego never talked to you about his first deployment with Rogue Lightning.”

Some words are like bullets. True’s heart lurches. She hears the low pounding of her pulse even over the road noise—and she doesn’t know why. “Rogue Lightning missions were all classified,” she says quietly, allowing no hint of distress into her voice. “He wasn’t supposed to talk about it.”

Alex pushes the accelerator, driving swiftly but carefully. They’ve lived here four years now, the longest they’ve lived anywhere in their long marriage. Time enough for him to memorize every curve, but he remains alert, eyeing each approaching car as a potential enemy. He’s seen too many accidents to take the skills of other drivers for granted.

“He wasn’t supposed to talk about it,” Alex agrees. “But after he got back, he came to me. Said he needed to talk. Made me swear never to tell you. He didn’t want you to think less of him.”

Her pulse drums harder as fear overtakes her. Fear for Diego.

“Oh God,” she whispers, staring ahead into the night. Never mind that her son is far beyond all risk and all pain.

Memories roll in, all out of place for this conversation. She was deployed for so much of his childhood. His grandmother, Alex’s mom, lived with them then, helping to raise him. A good kid. Smart and strong and generous, a team player. Endowed with joy…

But he came home from his first deployment with Rogue Lightning a different man. A more reserved man, quiet and cautious. No one returns from combat unchanged. Knowing that, she said nothing, but she wept secretly, mourning the child he’d been, even as she took pride in the man he became. And she reminded herself of one of Lincoln’s favorite adages: Someone’s got to do the dirty work. Better that a good man take on the task than a sadistic monster.

Alex senses her distress. He gives her time, driving half a mile before he speaks again. “I’ve kept that oath for eight years and I would have kept it to the grave, but I know you. You get an idea in your head that something needs to be done, and you can’t let it go.”

Maybe it’s his criticism or maybe it’s the way he has of drawing things out, but her temper triggers. “God damn it! If you’ve got something to say, say it.”

He steps hard on the brake. “Deer,” he announces. “On the right.”

She looks up to see a dim shape stepping out from the shadow of the trees. Long spindly legs with too many joints, a lithe, segmented body in a matte-brown camouflage coloration, and a telescoping neck that retracts as she watches, drawing the head, with its stereoscopic eyes, downward until it fits in a niche at the front of the chest.

Alex is right that its shape suggests a deer, but it’s much smaller, no more than two feet high. It reverses direction, stepping swiftly backward, locomotion so unnatural the hair on the back of her neck stands on end. “Stop the car,” she says as it disappears into the dense shadows between the trees.

“Not a deer,” Alex growls, steering onto the road’s unpaved shoulder. “A mech. And not one of ours.”