“I have bigger things to worry about.”
“Hell yeah you do! Get out there and complete that damn mission. Make us proud. That’s what! So…” He leaned in toward Thomas and whispered, “What is it you guys got goin’ on anyways?” Thomas cringed at the smell of old meat that accompanied his words.
“You know I can’t say.” His tone remained flat, and this time, Thomas wasn’t going to fix how it might have come off.
“I know. Worth a shot though, right?” He laughed again at his own comment. “I’ll keep trying with you. Something will give.”
“This should be about fifty pounds or so.” Thomas lifted his ruck and set it down on the table, trying his best to steer the conversation back to business.
“Lemme see.” Chuck opened it and looked the contents over. “Alright, second pile there by the basketball hoop.”
Thomas carried the bag over to the pile, Chuck failing to give him any personal space as they walked.
“When you think you’ll head out?” Chuck asked. “Today?”
Thomas shrugged.
“You can at least tell me that, right?”
“I think they’d prefer I didn’t.”
“Man, they keep it tight, don’t they?”
Thomas ignored him, choosing instead to pour out his rucksack and let the clacking of stones attempt to drown out the incessant questioning, but it didn’t work.
“You think you’ll be done doing the guard tower thing after this?” Chuck pointed toward a single Guard standing in a post.
It better be… Thomas stared out to the post he was assigned to yesterday—another day of inaction while observing from atop the highways and viaducts that wrapped themselves around L.P.H. Fortress. Every shift seemed to be a waste. Only occasionally did a scavenger venture into the rail yard adjacent the town and pilfer goods from the boxcars. Thomas had never been the one to challenge them. Never lucky enough for the opportunity. On his shifts, it was always observe and report.
“That one of your buddies up there?”
“Probably, I’m not really sure—” I don’t have time for this… Thomas took a few seconds then pasted an inquisitive look on his face and turned to Chuck. “I heard some guys talking earlier… It made me realize you never explained how you became part of the supply crew.”
Chuck’s face instantly soured, his brows narrowing, his eyes zeroing in on Thomas. Thomas had hit the nerve, knowing the exact topic to ensure the conversation ended.
“I’m pretty sure I did, and…” He looked over his shoulder to make certain no one eavesdropped. His voice became tense. “And if I haven’t, I’m sure you’ve heard it from someone else.” He took his pencil and jotted some notes onto his clipboard. “I got work to do. I can’t be standing around talkin’ to everybody. Just… Have a great day.”
Thomas flicked the remaining stones from the bottom of the rucksack and closed it. He looked over as Chuck moved from pile to pile, his pencil scratching away at the paper. Sorry, Chuck. I just… I have stuff to do. In a few days you’ll forget I even brought it up. Thomas slung the weightless bag over his shoulders and moved down the sidewalk toward his apartment building.
He took a step down into the street and tapped on the wall of an outhouse constructed directly overtop a storm drain along the curb. Three wooden walls and a hemmed curtain pulled across the front. A box to sit down if need be. “Occupado!” a woman shouted from inside.
“Sorry.” Thomas seated himself upon the concrete ledge of a nearby stoop, watching along the sidewalk where orphan girls swept debris and busily plucked weeds from between the cracks. Their Second Alliance Mothers watched closely over them, ensuring they did their work and remained respectful to passersby. Precocious conversations shared between their little voices made Thomas stop minding his own business, curious to what else they might say.
A girl with blonde hair and a dusting of freckles on her cheekbones curtsied to show her respect to Thomas. “Is there anything you need, sir?” Her eyes were lowered as she spoke.
“I’m fine, thank you. You and your friends keep it up. The street looks great because of your hard work.”
The child grinned. “Thank you, sir.”
One of the Second Alliance Mothers broke from her conversation and stood at the top of her stoop—a switch in hand. The girl must have noticed. Quickly, she curtsied again and returned to her task. Her face turned slightly away from her overseer, trying to avoid confrontation. Trained. Submissive. She knelt and began pulling at the weeds.
Thomas averted his eyes to just beyond his apartment building at the dead end of Storrs St., a portion of the city’s wall remained charred—a constant reminder of the last attack. There’s no telling how much worse it would’ve been had the S.A. not come to help. Next to the site of the explosion and subsequent fire, a cross was stuck in between the metal bars of a first floor window. Empty liquor bottles perched upon the window sill—a few scattered on the ground just below it, sitting alongside stuffed animals, soggy and filth-covered. A traditional Lower Price Hill memorial for the loss of life—their only one in the past year.
On that occasion, someone had gotten the best of them, but it remained unknown who. And since then? No attacks, not since the agreement with the Second Alliance. After that, defending L.P.H. Fortress had become easy. Watch towers along the highway overpasses and viaduct gave them clear views of any approaching threats. Metal walls capped each street, climbing the bricks one by one of along each corner building. Maneuverable barricades that could be carried where needed. Fortified windows facing the border streets. Untouchable now.
The clink of the outhouse’s curtain and a man finally exited. Thomas took a deep breath before entering. He placed his hand against the wall and relieved himself into the opening. His fingertips filled a few of the 9mm holes in the plywood from failed attempts at death. The corresponding holes on the opposite side allowed beams of sunlight into this dark box. He continued holding his breath. Even though last night’s storm and the sudden burst of rain this morning made the stench of urine and feces more bearable, Thomas still waited until he exited to brave another mouthful of air.
Down the street, he pulled open the metal gate to the breezeway of his eight-unit building. A harsh crash of metal on metal announced his arrival as he allowed the spring-loaded door to swing back into place. He took the few steps to the entrance and into the narrow common hallway. He had three flights of stairs to climb before reaching his apartment. (All Guards were on the top floors of their buildings—necessary access for a trained rifleman on the roof.)
I wonder how Joseph did. He knocked on apartment #2 and waited. “I’m coming. I’m coming.” The voice creaked like worn hinges, barely audible. He heard some shuffling about from behind the door—a faux wreath of flowers hung on its nail. A peephole too high for its occupant to use.
“No rush, Kate. It’s only me.”
He knew it would take her a moment. She was the oldest of the residents, maybe a few years over 70—still going strong, just a little slower these days.
“What do you want? I said I’m coming!”
The ping of metal against wood rang from inside.
“I said to take your time.” He tried to project his voice. “There’s no rush, Kate.”