Days Since...: Thomas: Day 758

Chapter Nine

Thomas sat on a wooden bench within the stand of trees surrounding the camp. He kept his head down, watching his half of the chits rattle about in his hand as he shook them. That soft clanging noise couldn’t distract him from the sound of the rope creaking from several yards away—the man’s feet twisting from south to west to north and back. Most had already forgotten about the hanging. The horde gradually dispersed, and those who were a bit more cautious had left camp altogether. It was only the body and Thomas that remained on that side of the gazebo.

In the moment Thomas acted against the fleeing stranger, he never could have imagined they would have killed him so quickly or at all. There wasn’t a trial, not even an informal statement of facts. There was no one to speak for the man, to tell what little there may have been to say about his life. No one cared to hear it. His sentence had been decided the second that woman pointed her finger at him. Idiot! Why the hell’d he think he could hit her and get away with it?

He kept his head down, maintaining the pretense of mourning, knowing damn well he didn’t feel it in the slightest. It was from here he could observe the camp without interruption while James milled around the common area, discreetly brushing against people as he checked for weapons. Only occasionally did James actually stop and speak with anyone. They could never be sure that the scar was universal. It was possible that others could be present working in a covert capacity for the Butcher.

As James continued among the deviants, Thomas riffled through his bag, grabbed the book he saved, and cracked it open. The page didn’t matter. It was the letters he needed. He ran his fingertips across them, appearing to read, but in reality, he was preparing for the assault. Two guards in the front outpost. He creased the first two g’s with his fingernail, leaving a slight indentation across them. The guard by the stream. He did the same to the next ‘g’. Two women and the three kids. Two w’s and three k’s. He kept tally of weapons—crossing r’s for rifles, p’s for pistols, and s’s for shotguns. With anything noteworthy, he continued his count through the page in this same manner.

Finally, a capitalized ‘b’—he looked toward the gazebo where the Butcher had retired for the time being. From how the hill broke, he could just make out a single guard posted at the Butcher’s door. There were several others surrounding the gazebo like dogs in a junkyard. The cook stood at the head of a line that wrapped the hill away from Thomas.

He closed his eyes and sighed while rubbing his hand across his brow. The women are property. Bill’s words reverberated in his head. Without question, they believed this—apparent in how they guarded them, corralled them into controllable positions. Even the common area where the women appeared able to walk freely remained under lock and key. With a guard posted at each cardinal direction, how much freedom could they have? One could observe it in the women’s eyes that stood amongst the crowd as the guards ensured they acted appropriately for the task at hand.

One woman, naked like the others, walked briskly from the Butcher’s quarters—her eyes lowered as she circumvented the crowd. It wasn’t until she found herself outside an unoccupied tent that her demeanor changed, winking and pawing at several men that walked by, but there were no takers. Eventually, she gave up and found herself mingling within the throng of men gathered in the middle—the group of strangers smoking cigarettes and nursing warm beers, speaking loudly to one another. One sweet cigarette… just a taste. Wonder how many chits those go for?

An uneasy smile spread across the woman’s face as she tucked herself into the muscly chest of a man that barely paid her any attention. Did James check that guy? It struck Thomas oddly that she would seek solace in the arms of a stranger. There didn’t seem to be any chits to earn from this man. He remained indifferent to the woman as the others chatting around him poked and prodded her casually, grabbing upon her flesh. Even those simply walking past took a piece for themselves. I may need to add him to my count.

Thomas brought his attention back to his book when he realized the scraping across the ‘B’ had worn a hole in the page. His mind had wandered too far into the crowd. He did his best to keep track of the women, counting the travelers would do no use—they would all be gone come dusk. With his tally complete, he tucked the book away. Page 101. He repeated the page number a few more times in his head as he stood from the bench.

The group of guards unwinding near the gazebo had taken notice of Thomas’s fake grieving—a couple of them mocked him with fake sobs, another gesticulated as if he were being hanged. They erupted into laughter, patting one another on the back in crude celebration.

“You guys alright?” Thomas asked.

“You’re the one cryin’ like a bitch.” A guard slipped from his seat atop the banister of the gazebo and tossed an empty beer bottle into the grass. “Why you cryin’ over this dude? You’re the one that fuckin’ slammed him.”

“I didn’t know you guys operated like this.”

“What’d you expect?”

Some punishment, I guess, but not killing the guy. You guys probably beat on these girls harder than he ever could have. Thomas chose to keep his comments to himself. Instead, he grabbed his bag and moved toward the body.

Two more of the Butcher’s men leapt from their perch, coming to the side of the man that started the altercation. “Whatchu plannin’ to do?” One of the men patted the side of a burly AK-47.

Thomas stopped dead in his tracks and put his hands up. “I don’t want any trouble.” He was unarmed and clearly outgunned. Even if he had his normal complement of firearms, he would’ve been at a disadvantage. He gritted his teeth, knowing there was no use in pushing the issue. No matter how badly he knew it was the right thing to do, he had to let it go.

“Man, sit yo’ ass down.” The rest of his cohorts laughed uncontrollably. “Go on!” He shooed Thomas with both hands, trying his best to embarrass him.

All Thomas could do was turn away. He knew starting something he possessed no chance of winning served without purpose. Hoping that if he left without pushing the matter further, he could simply integrate himself into the crowd and vanish from their radar.

“That’s what I thought.” The men roared with laughter once again and traipsed back toward the gazebo. They clanged together a few bottles of beer and resumed their conversation.

That guy’s trouble. Thomas glanced back over his shoulder once or twice to ensure they no longer posed a threat—only the man with the AK maintained his watch over Thomas while he threaded his way into the crowd. If he didn’t have that damn AK… Wonder how many more of those they got. Definitely a good thing we came in here—good to know they’ll have some serious fire power when we hit it.

He found James in a familiar position, a curl of people wrapped around him, taking to his wild stories. A couple of women entangled themselves in the arms of two of the men listening—faking their enjoyment. It was only because they had to that they acted this way. Their entire performance given for the worst audience of all.

“Find anything you like yet?” A stranger’s voice shot up as the woman that hung on him plunged her hand down the front of his pants. “Feisty! Just like I like it.” He slapped the woman on the ass, and she shrieked.

“I’m seeing plenty.” James played along, his eyes giving the woman an alluring once over.

“He ain’t got no way to pay for all this,” a brunette woman said. She winked at James, took her hand from the man’s pants, and plopped her backside into James. She leaned forward and gyrated herself further and further back, almost knocking him to the ground.

Thomas caught the grin on James’s face—his eyes fixated on her waistline—the woman seemingly with no intention of letting up. When James finally broke his gaze, Thomas was able to gain his attention and signaled for him to come over. James nodded.

“Who wants to earn some chits?” James took them out and began counting them in his hand.

The woman shot up and spun around. “Oh, please. What do you like?”

“Either of us will do, or both of us if you’d like it that way,” the other woman chimed in, ensuring she wouldn’t be forgotten when the chits exchanged hands.

“Meh, you two aren’t my type.” James chortled. “I’ll find one that better suits my needs.” He turned from them and made his way toward Thomas.

“I can do whatever you want!” the brunette called to him. “Both of us can!”

“What’s up, man?” James asked.

“The big guy in the middle—you check him?” Thomas rubbed along his mouth and chin, keeping his voice discreet. “The one with the girl hiding in his chest.”

James turned to see who he meant. “Well…” James seemed uncomfortable. “The thing about that guy. I—“

Thomas gave him a stiff look.

“He doesn’t look the type. There’s no scar, man.”

“Wasn’t sure if there could be an exception,” Thomas offered.

“No one’s treated him any different than anyone else. Maybe he’s the strong, sensitive type—maybe he’s paying her to cuddle with him.” He shrugged. “I don’t know.”

“I’m not buying it. Did you check him or not?”

“I got close enough not to be killed. He ain’t one of them. I’m positive. Just another guy, trying to get whatever it is he needs from this place.”

“How certain are you?” Thomas pressed him.

“Bullets will still go through him if he’s here after sundown. It’s not the end of the world if we miss one from the count.” He scanned the crowd. “My biggest concern is that AK. You see that?”

“Couldn’t miss it. It looks like he can handle it too.”

James nodded.

“Doesn’t seem like they’re formally trained,” Thomas said, “but they may be able to handle themselves. In the meantime, keep doing what you’re doing. Don’t do anything that might draw attention to yourself.”

“Alright.”

Thomas walked along the curb, hunks of mud scraped from the bottoms of boots hung from them like a well-used welcome mat. This crowd is definitely larger than yesterday. I bet this place just grows as more people catch wind of it. Where the hell are these people coming from? His thoughts continued to drift. A few women may have said something as he passed by the rustling tents—past the quiet banter and sensual moans that came from inside.

“What’s your story?” A woman, raven-haired with rugged beauty, reached out, pulling Thomas’s hand into her own. She began stroking his palm with her fingertip. “Care to share?”

“Not really.” He could see how some men got carried away with this. She was pretty and had that effect of a woman. Her soft voice could make a man feel important and needed for something much more primal than their usual responsibilities.

Thomas knew she didn’t care what his story was—that she would forget anything he told her the second he left. He needed to pull his hand free—Mission first—but the slide of her fingertip along the ridges of his hands prevented it. It felt good to be wanted, desired, even if he knew deep down that it was all a farce. He felt himself falling into this trap. Play along. Maybe she’ll prove useful in other ways.

“How much?” Thomas wasn’t sure that it was an act at this point, his lower half beginning to get the better of him. He bit his lip, but quickly released it.

“How much you got?” She leaned back, causing him to snap hold of her to prevent her from falling. “Those strong hands could hold a lot of chits—a lot of quality time.”

“You like to play games, huh?” Thomas bent an awkward smile to her. “I’m not falling for that. What’s your time worth?”

“I can’t tell you what my time’s worth if I don’t know what you’re wanting to do.”

“Let’s start with talking.”

“Then let’s start with a chit.” She smiled.

Thomas hesitated. He took his hand from hers, slipped it into his pocket, and shuffled the chits between his fingers. “Will this do?” A chit rested in his palm.

“You’re focusing on the wrong things right now.” She pulled her elbows in toward each other, pushing her breasts up and in. Thomas couldn’t help himself but look. “There we go,” she said, as the chit slid from his hand.

“This one yours?” He pointed to the red and gray tent behind them.

Retaking his hand, she pulled him toward it. “It’s yours now.”

She unzipped the door and pulled it to the side, wafting an overwhelming plume of floral perfume from inside—an obvious attempt to mask the underlying foulness. The stench straightened Thomas up before he poked his head into the slumping tent. Cautious—his feet mindful of the filth wrapped in a heap of blankets and pillows. Plastic shells of water bottles littered the back. A few crusted bowls. He sighed. A creeping sense of indecency rose from the nylon floor of the tent and along his spine as he finally placed both feet inside. The woman followed. She let the door drop back into place, and the rolling sound of the zipper sealed them inside.

Thomas kicked the blankets to the side, and with a loath descent onto the floor, he perpetuated the ruse. Any desire he had felt toward this woman and her coerced need to please him quickly evaporated, dissolving within the burst of perfume the woman just released from a tiny, heart-shaped bottle. She smiled, put the bottle down, and took some lotion from a plastic stand. She worked some of it into her hands. “How does this do you?” Her hands inches from Thomas’s face as she lay down beside him, both of them on their sides.

He inhaled, and not surprisingly, it smelled of lavender. “Fine.” Thomas forced a smile as she put the bottle back.

“Just fine?” She placed her hands upon his chest and ran them down his front, stopping at Thomas’s belt, using it to pull them together, her chest now heaving into his own. “Is this fine?”

A thin line of sunlight squeezed its way through a partially uncovered window. It fell across her face, highlighting her scar. His nerves began to get the best of him. This isn’t for you. She began to undo his belt, but his hands grasped the buckle. She released him, her eyebrows knitting as she did so.

“I told you I just wanted to talk.” He fed the belt back through its buckle. “I wasn’t lying.”

She shook her head with a confused look, dejected, but he sensed some relief in her eyes. “I’ve heard that before, but never… I’ve never had anyone actually stick to it.”

“It’s just been awhile for me.” She smiled from the explanation. And while that was the truth, it was far more complicated—Thomas couldn’t bring himself to subjecting these women into this form of slavery any further. Play the game. “I can’t jump into something like this without… I don’t know.”

“No, it’s okay.” She retrieved his hand once again, holding it within both of hers. “Believe me, it’s okay. I’m here to do what you want. If that’s all you want, then I’m good with it.”

Thomas exhaled. “Good.”

“Let’s just talk then. I’m Cindy.” Her finger traced the veins on the top of his hand as she brought it into her chest. She then kissed it lightly, leaving a smudge of pink lipstick. “And you are?”

“Can’t you stop for one second with this crap?” He jerked his hand away. “This isn’t you!”

The woman’s eyes went wide—her body wriggled away from him as swiftly as she could. Thomas raised his hand to reassure her, but she covered her face in defense. “Please!”

“I’m not going to hit you.”

A period of silence. She gradually removed her hands to see Thomas’s concerned face.

“I…” He stared at her. “This was a waste of time, I’m sorry.”

She rolled onto her back and followed him with her eyes as he moved toward the door. He took the rest of his chits and threw them across the tent. “This isn’t my thing.” He hated leaving her there, knowing within the remaining daylight another man would be here with no other purpose than to defile her. “It won’t always be like this. I promise. You’re worth more than these stupid pieces of metal.”

The woman said nothing, her fingers worked obsessively to scrape the coins from the floor. As Thomas had guessed, it seemed nothing he said matter. She got what she wanted. These women are lost.

Thomas curled back around the tent as he exited, his feet trudging through mud and toward a dense area of trees. The thick growth overhead exposed the ground to very little direct sunlight. Only a few scraggly weeds and the occasional run of ivy broke up the endless swaths of drying mud. Exposed roots seemed to grab at his boots as he continued, his head on a swivel. There has to be some other guards out here.

He did his best to appear lost in case someone stumbled across him. Still have my stupid badge. Good! He backtracked every so often. Occasional pauses—scratching the back of his head. Finally, he came upon a ridge. The western service road below him. A gradual drop beyond that which led to a gulley flowing underneath a small bridge.

Crouching down, partly hidden behind a tree while untying then retying his laces, he observed the service road for a moment. Both ends of the road were clear. He heard nothing—not even a bird calling. Down the face of the ridge, he took choppy steps, skiing slightly, creating slip marks on the steep hill. His boots were now heavy with mud stuck within their treads. He scraped them across the asphalt while crossing.

He rounded a bend and from a distance, he found himself observing two more guards posted at the western entrance into the park. It was the same basic setup as the other. A fortification—pallets that were covered with some metal sheets and appeared to be assembled for quick deployment. Some weapons that had been checked in by visitors leaned against the wall or were spread out across a table. That’s quite an arsenal by itself. By the looks of it this was not the main point of entry.

Even with these two guards, it seemed there were still a couple missing from the count the woman had given Blaine. Thomas would have to assume they were patrolling the woods or were in the crowd earlier, and he had missed them somehow.

There was no reason not to trust the woman. The camp was set up exactly as she said. The count on the guards was mostly right. The firepower was right. She had no reason to lie. This place was hell… her hell. If she was going to have a better life, this was the chance. No one else was coming.

A scrape across the pavement.

“Han— Hands!” The shaky command came from behind him.

Thomas smirked. There we go. Calmly, he put his hands out to his sides and steadily placed them on top of his head before turning to see who had found him. His eyes didn’t make it past the AK pointed directly at his chest. Shit! A guard stood twenty yards away. The sight of another high-powered rifle bent Thomas’s nerves. The barrel’s opening grew to the size of a train tunnel. “I have my pass. I just had to piss.”

“Not all the way out here you don’t.” The guard tried to hold together a stiff glare, but Thomas knew better than to fall for this wavering façade. He looked like a teenage boy—definitely wasn’t built for this type of work. Lanky and frail. Wide-eyed. The kid’s scar appeared fresh compared to many of the others Thomas had seen.

His finger was dangerously close to the trigger as the rifle jiggled within his grip. “Come on now!”—He jerked his rifle, ordering Thomas to the middle of the street—“This ain’t part of the attraction. Back to camp with you! Let’s go!”

Thomas followed the kid’s weak instructions and made it over to where he apparently needed to be. “That’s it!” The kid circled around him while maintaining his distance. The rifle remained at Thomas’s back, and although it never physically touched him, he knew it was there.

“I don’t have a weapon.” Thomas kept his voice calm and soft as he walked. Startling the kid was the last thing he wanted.

While the two of them marched down the white dashed line, Thomas gradually slowed his pace—the kid seemingly oblivious that his reactionary gap was dwindling. “You don’t have to point that at me, buddy.”

“I ain’t your buddy.” The sound of the kid’s sneakers scraping against the pavement continued toward Thomas.

He couldn’t help but feel that he should take the boy, strip him of his weapon, hustle off with him into the woods, so the Second Alliance could give him a life with some purpose. Children didn’t stand a chance on their own in this world. The kid was brainwashed and completely out of his comfort zone. Trained to do something he couldn’t possibly understand. Brought into the game at what point? Had he been here since the beginning? Joined up with family? Stolen, perhaps?

“You’re the boss,” Thomas said.

“You ain’t movin’ fast enough.” The kid jabbed Thomas in the back with the muzzle—a quick sharp pain. Thomas winced, but tucked the pain away. “Git! Come on!” The kid’s voice rose with confidence as Thomas seemed unwilling to challenge him. Again, he jabbed him, and Thomas spun on the boy.

“Don’t do that again!”

The kid’s feet scrambled away from Thomas, but the rifle remained level with his gut.

“I’m listening to you,” Thomas said, “but don’t push your luck with me. Under any other circumstances, I’d be carrying your little ass around on the end of that rifle.”

The boy seemed unsure of the threat, his eyes and lips narrowing, his feet planted firmly on the concrete. Although nervous, he acted as if he had heard something very similar to that before. “Let’s go!” He tried to firm his voice up with some authority. “I’m not kiddin’ around!”

“That man givin’ you trouble there, Scotty?” Thomas looked to his left—another guard, another rifle. He appeared from behind a fallen tree, moss-covered with chunks of decaying bark below it. The man’s foot struck the ground, pelting Thomas in the face with debris. “You better listen to him, boy.”

These mother… Thomas wiped the sludge from his face. “I hear you.” Only a matter of time now. Thomas stared down the path. It doglegged to the right and disappeared.

“You sure you can handle this one?”

Scotty nodded. “It’s nothin’ at all.”

“Just make sure he gets his stuff and leaves. I’m headin’ back to my post. Next time, if you don’t need help, don’t start yellin’ like you’re dyin’.”

“Gotcha,” Scotty answered. “Either you or your partner need me to take your spot?”

“Naw, we’re good, I ain’t been there but a couple hours. I’ll let you know when you can come and wipe my ass, kid.” The guard barked out a harsh laugh, plunging his lungs into a deep cough as he walked off. “Now get that piece of shit outta here!”

“Yeah, okay…” Scotty’s voice trailed off. “Let’s go, man,” he spoke to Thomas, his spirit broken.

Thomas eyed his escort from over his shoulder. The embarrassment had hit the kid hard. His shoulders slumped—the rifle drooped, but still remained pointed at Thomas. Poor kid. The boy must have been thinking the same thing. His steps were lazy. There had to be something that kept him here. Something beneficial to him. “Why do you put up with that?”

“You don’t need to talk anymore.” His voice cracked when he said it. “You’re leavin’!”

I need to get him out of here. This isn’t for him. Thomas picked up the pace as the two wound their way along the road and back into the heart of the camp. I know I would have noticed this kid walking around with an AK. This other guy could’ve been from the post down the hill, or… I don’t know, somewhere else.

They overtook the last hill—the view of the gazebo and stragglers reappeared. The kid seemed winded from the hike. He was choking down air by the time they reached the first row of tents. “Hey John!” He gasped, waving the guard with the AK-47 over from the gazebo.

John seemed way too eager to speak with Thomas again. As he strutted over to them, he patted the side of his rifle. “What’s up, Scotty?”

“Caught him creepin’ ’round the woods.” His tone was firm again. The walk had given him the chance to harden his demeanor. “Says he was peein’ out there.”

“That so?” John looked Thomas up and down then scoffed. “You’re startin’ to be quite the problem.”

More than you know.

“If I had my way, you’d already be dead—snoopin’ around and shit.”

“You got me all wro—”

“Let’s see what the boss wants.” The guard backtracked toward the gazebo. “Hey, boss! Gotta a troublemaker here.”

The crowd became silent—all of their faces turned toward the outburst. Any women that were mingling within the center of camp retreated to their tents. James appeared in the front row and took a couple steps forward, separating himself from the others.

The Butcher popped his head from his quarters but disappeared for several minutes before reemerging, straightening his tie, adjusting his sleeves as if he were attending a business meeting. As the two men came together, John leaned into the Butcher’s ear, pointing toward Thomas while he spoke. The Butcher began shaking his head and placed his hand on John’s shoulder—he mouthed the word “no,” and John returned to Thomas, disappointed.

“The boss said you and your friend need to leave. You’ve worn out your welcome, so better not come back, or you’ll end up hangin’ from a tree next to your friend.” He snatched the badge from Thomas’s shirt. “Grab any shit you’ve got and go.”