Days Since...: Thomas: Day 758

Chapter Ten

The plan was set, rehearsed, and nearing perfection as the fall of darkness banished any natural light from within the library. Several hours had passed as Thomas and the others on his team maneuvered colored pushpins and paperclips across the map of Burnet Woods. Balled up paper represented the tents—pieces of a broken ruler into barricades.

Nothing was held back. Thomas encouraged participation, and any concern or what-if scenario was addressed. He noticed their eyes tracing the projected movements, following along as he touched on the finer details in one last go-round.

“Again, from this position here”—Thomas amassed the majority of the pushpins into positions encircling the gazebo—“we end it. This is it. We hit them hard, and we hit them fast.”

No reply—each face illuminated by the soft glow of the candlelight was frozen deep in thought. Everyone remained focused on the importance of eliminating another evil from the region. Everyone in the room knew the stakes. With humanity’s fragile society constantly on the verge of further collapse, the potential these women held was wasted. Not enough people existed in the world for this to continue.

“Are there any questions?” Thomas asked, as he scanned the room, looking to each man that stood around the map—not the slightest hint of uncertainty upon the Soldiers’ faces.

Blaine broke their silence. “I’m confident we’ve produced the best plan possible for this encounter. We’ve acquired as much intelligence as we can at this point and can’t run the risk of him slipping away again. Tonight’s the night, gentlemen.” A round of nods circled the table. “All watches are synced, correct?”

Thomas tilted his wrist. “Should be 21:35 and 10… 11… 12,” he said. “Bravo, Charlie, Delta teams?”

“21:35 and 15… 16… 17,” the team leaders confirmed.

“Synced to perfection. Excellent.” Blaine gave Thomas a stiff pat on the back. “They’re all yours. Get everyone back safely.” He clasped Thomas’s elbow as the two shook hands. “22:30, right? I’ll be listening.”

“What about the woman and kid?” Thomas asked in a hushed tone for only Blaine to hear.

“We got it. You need not worry about me and my obligations.” Blaine raised his eyebrows and smirked while looking down at his watch. “You have your own operation to handle now.”

“I just don’t want anything to go wrong.”

“The kid’s handcuffed and masked, and the woman is still resting. It’s not your concern, and so there aren’t any misunderstandings, nothing I do will ever be the cause for anything to go wrong.”

Thomas waited for Blaine to crack—Come on—but his expression was steadfast, serious in what he had presented as fact. “I trust you.” It was all Thomas could muster together as an appropriate response.

“It’s your trial.” Blaine opened the door to leave, but before allowing it to shut, he spoke again. “It’s all on you.”

Thomas crossed his arms and took a deep breath. The room looked back with a dead, awkward silence, all eyes on him as he stood there thinking to himself, replaying it once more. He’s right. This is on me.

He looked to the map—its features seemed to rise from the paper the longer he stared. He ran the back of his hand down the side of his face. This is my chance for a better life. For Joseph. For Kate. For all these women. He slid the pieces back into their starting locations, glancing over at each individual they represented. They dipped their chins in return. We can’t fail.

A hand gripped his shoulder. “Ready?” James asked.

Thomas gave him an emphatic nod. “It’s time. Everyone… get your gear.”

He looked on as each Soldier in the room worked over their equipment. One last check and then another for good measure. Each and every one of them methodical in their preparation—loading ammunition, adjusting their gear—anything that could go wrong would not today. No room for failure. It simply wasn’t an option.

Thomas took his rifle from where it leaned against the wall and worked the action. “Hey, man,” one of the Soldiers interrupted him, “unless you’re absolutely partial to yours, I’m pretty sure you’d be better off with this.” He passed a Colt AR-15 to Thomas. “I’m not trying to tell you what to do, but with you on the ground, this’ll make more sense.”

Thomas brought the rifle into his shoulder. “Name’s Cooper, right?” The Soldier nodded as Thomas took a peak through the mounted scope while keeping it pointed toward the ground. This will be more appropriate than my bolt-action. “Does this do night vision?”

“Auto-shut off if you get hit with something too bright, or if you need to”—Cooper pointed out the switch on the scope—“you can manually drop it here.”

“You sure you’re good with it?”

“I wouldn’t have offered. Mission comes first. Always.” Cooper took several loaded magazines from his pack and laid them on a computer desk next to Thomas. “Try not to use it all, but it’s there if you need it.”

“Thanks.”

“I remember my trial. Take a breath. We have your back, Ricard.”

These are my men now. He paced the office as the Soldiers continued to sort through their equipment. I have to get these guys home safe. They’re trained and ready for this, but it all falls back on me. Sound judgment will get me through this. Stop the threat. Rescue the victims. In that order. Don’t get wrapped up in saving them right off the bat. If you don’t take down the Butcher, then he’ll just start over.

He noticed they were looking to him again. “Fall in!” They lined up, shoulder to shoulder with their backs against the wall. Thomas moved down the line, taking an additional onceover of their rigs. “Bravo team. Cooper and Snape.”

“Ready!” The two men spoke simultaneously.

“Head up to the roof. Just keep watch over that southern edge. Once it hits 22:30, go ahead and pop the two guards there, and then maintain that edge. Don’t let anyone get away.” Thomas rapped each one of their shoulders with his fist. They broke from formation and disappeared into the back portion of the office to gain access to the rooftop.

“Charlie team. Mitchell, Davis, Thompson.”

“We got this!” Davis blurted out. “When the snipers hit the guards on the southern side we move in on that back edge.”

“Be patient out there,” Thomas reminded them. “Don’t rush to get on the inside.” He made his way to the very end of the formation, turning toward the last team and the medics. “Delta team. Krenshaw, Martin, Greene.”

“Ready!”

“Make sure you get into position on that western side. Same thing as the snipers,” Thomas reiterated. “Once the time hits, you’ll make your move. Now, medics Davidson and Smith.” He stood in front of the two men. “Stick with your assignments. Davidson you’re with Charlie. Smith you’re with Delta. We are all relying on you if anything happens.” They signaled with a quick nod. “Nothing else to hold you up, so head on out.”

As Charlie and Delta teams shuffled out of the room, Thomas looked to James and their other team member, Riley. “We’ll be jumping this whole thing off,” Thomas said. “The good thing about them being in the park is they’ll never be able to handle all that real estate.” He worked his hands over his gear once more as he spoke. “We’re heading right for the heart. You got the cocktails, right?”

Riley raised a few large, amber-colored bottles stuffed with rags—his face eager and malicious in the flickering light of the candles. “Soon,” he said.

Thomas smiled, knowing full well the opportunity awaited them. He took the bottles and placed them carefully within his ruck then lifted it onto his shoulders.

“We ready?” James asked.

“Your shoulder still feeling okay?”

“Cleaned it up as soon as we got back from the camp.” He poked it a few times. “No complaints here.”

“I figured as much.” Thomas looked over his companions one last time. He eyed Riley’s Soldier patch, envious, his own black uniform held a vacancy where his patch would be. That sun and moon split by the sword. Everything’s riding on this.

A nervousness began to rise within him. Not now, damn it. Thomas inhaled deeply and let out a slow, steady breath. He held his physical state together. He could show no weakness, but inside his stomach churned, and his limbs felt hollow. So much riding on this. Joseph, this is for you, buddy. I’m coming home tomorrow. It’ll be a new day for us. “Let’s go!”

Only a few minutes later they crossed the boulevard, making sure their movements stayed clear from the view of the Butcher’s guards on the southern post. Thomas hesitated as they moved through the unmown field. A nagging uncertainty kept him from taking those initial steps into the wood line. He looked back in an effort to verify the snipers’ presence on the roof—half the moon and a sky full of stars lit up the area surprisingly well, but it wasn’t enough to squash his concerns. He groaned.

“What?” Riley asked.

Thomas ignored him, not wanting to utter his doubt and seem ungrateful for their support. Deep down he knew they were there, but the weight of the mission continued to bear down on him. He had to be sure. He hit the quick-release on the scope and scanned the horizon, taking in what could be seen of the southern service road and over to the rooftop and across it. Two green figures leaned against the air conditioning units atop the college. He snapped the scope back onto the rail.

“Everyone in place?”

“Yeah, we’re good.”

They penetrated the woods in a triangle formation—Thomas and Riley at the two front posts, James at rear guard. Each one minded their path—each rifle alert and ready as they weaved through the trees in front of them. The effect of night fell harder upon them as the canopy grew denser with each footstep toward the camp. Thomas kept them on target, peering through the scope, making certain their direction was true and remained safe. It wasn’t long before a few dancing fires in the distance uncovered the Butcher’s campsite.

“Time check,” James whispered.

“22:13. We’re getting close.” A rustle of leaves. “Shhh.” A few noisy footsteps came toward them. Shit. They stopped then broke formation—each of them peeled off to a position of concealment. Thomas caught first glimpse of a guard traipsing toward them, his flashlight swinging casually with his stride, ignorant to any concept of light discipline, unaware of the threat that loomed just ahead.

“Here, come here,” Thomas whispered into the night as he retreated into a more favorable position. The three men hunkered down together, observing as the flashlight finally came to a pause. “It looks like just the one ahead of us.”

“Move on him?” James asked.

“I’ll handle it,” Riley said.

“Wait.” Thomas placed a hand on each of their backs. “Until he shows his intention—”

“But we don’t have all night.”

James is right, but it’s possible he’s out here on patrol. “Just hold tight for now.”

The flashlight held steady for what seemed to be an eternity. What the hell’s this guy doing? A trickling sound of liquid spattering against the ground and a low whistling of “Dixie” gave Thomas his answer.

James sighed a breath of relief. “Alright. Let’s g—”

“I’m heading out,” Riley interrupted him. “It’ll be better if I go at it alone—less likely to grab hold of each other during the scuffle.”

“That’s bullshit. I’m going with you,” James hissed back.

“No, me and you hold here.” Thomas could feel James glaring at him. He knew how badly James felt the need to prove himself. Thomas squeezed the shoulder—just a slight reminder of him being shot earlier. “I need you to follow the plan.”

“Yeah…” James shifted from him. “I got ya.”

“Get back here once it’s done, Riley. We can’t afford to get separated before this thing gets kicked off.”

“Got it.”

Riley stood, and gradually his large silhouette faded into the darkness surrounding them. The Soldier moved adeptly, proficient in his approach of murderous intent. The Butcher has no idea what’s coming. Payback for all this bullshit. Overcome with an unfamiliar warmth of revenge, Thomas focused on the light, waiting for the last breath to escape this man. Silence. Stillness. Waiting for the flashlight to hit the ground. Only a matter of time. This mother—

“He’s got to be close,” James said. “Right? I mean that dude’s not even paying attention to shit.”

“We’re holding here unless something happ—”

A muffled groan, the light fell to the ground, and a few thumps followed. James shuffled forward, trying to push past Thomas’s hand pressed firmly against his chest, but couldn’t. “Hold, damn it. He’s got this.”

“What if he’s in trouble?”

A crack of skull on wood, and a body dropped to the dirt.

“He’s not.”

Immediately, the light was scooped from the ground and abruptly shut off. The two of them remained kneeling side by side in anticipation of Riley’s return. Good. No trouble and barely any noise. “Shouldn’t be long, and we’ll be back on our way.”

“Do we know it’s him?”

Thomas lifted his rifle to view him through the scope, but there was no such luck—the tree guarded the man from this angle. “I can’t tell. Just give it a second.”

A little over a minute passed and there was no indication, whether good or bad, of what occurred. No shots, he reminded himself as he let the rifle go from his shoulder, dropping its weight against the sling while he simultaneously unsheathed his knife. “I’ll go check it out.” Thomas ignored the frustrated puff of air that James expelled, and he crept forward, holding the knife in a reverse grip in front of him.

He rounded a few trees, discovering that every angle available to him proved poorer than the last. It would take a more direct approach, positioning him much closer than he would have cared to be. His steps lightened, the weight kept on the balls of his feet as he pushed forward, finally sidling up to the scene, crouching behind the base of an elm tree maybe ten yards away.

In the darkness, he could barely make out the body lying face down in the dirt or the dark figure kneeling next to him. It was the sound of frantic hands rummaging through pockets that pulled the complete picture together for him. Still can’t tell who. Thomas scrabbled at the ground, picked the first hard object he found, and tossed it in the man’s general direction. The shadow took pause from his search, giving it a second or two to see if the noise had been deliberate. He must have decided it had been, because he rose from his position and whispered, “Hawk.”

“Dove,” Thomas responded. He let out a calming breath and joined him once he knew the coast was clear. “No trouble I see.”

“Not at all.”

“Roll him over, and let’s see which asshole this is.” Thomas took hold of the arm and began to pull at it.

“Hey!” A stern voice called out from the woods. Thomas and Riley snapped their rifles level and spun toward the camp, backing steadily toward cover.

“Where’s he?” Riley whispered—their shoulders touched as they peered out from either side of a large tree.

The night vision placed the man near the tents on the north side of the camp. “A good ways out. He’s got his rifle hanging from the sling.”

“What are you doing? Crappin’?” The guard raised his voice. “Turn your damned flashlight on, so we’s can see ya out there, or I’m comin’ to check on ya.”

Riley dove toward the body, and Thomas followed—the two of them scrambled for the light. “Where the hell is it?” Riley muttered, clearly struggling to find it among the twigs and debris of the forest floor.

“It’s got to—”

“Here.” Riley switched it on and waved the flashlight’s beam toward the guard as if his arm had turned to rubber.

“Alright! Alright! Just hurry it up already.” The guard seemed satisfied enough, and Thomas watched him stagger off into a nearby tent.

“We have about ten minutes,” Thomas said. “Bring that light over here just a bit. Let’s check this guy out real fast, but be careful not to shine us.” Thomas took hold of the shoulder and rolled the body toward him. The light cast a slight glimmer upon the face, revealing what immediately made his heart sink. A lump swelled within his throat. Scotty… Lost within the vacant stare of his eyes, the scar across his cheek, he tried to clear the obstruction but couldn’t. He never stood a chance with this crew.

Around Scotty’s neck, dirt caked the blood leaking from a well-placed laceration—the throat sliced from ear to ear. Riley took to the young man’s pockets again, completely unfazed by any of this. An iron man. A man without emotion. I don’t want to be like that. Thomas grabbed hold of Riley’s wrists. “Shut off the damn light.”

“What?” Riley asked. “Cause he’s a kid?”

“No, it’s just—” The night hid Thomas’s true feelings as he took his hand across Scotty’s eyes. This poor kid. I can’t… Thomas stopped himself. These weren’t the thoughts of a Soldier. Death would become part of his everyday life. Hell, it already had. Get over it! This isn’t you anymore. You can’t care for everything and everyone. He let one last silent breath escape from his lips. Never again will you feel like this. Moral killing is your duty now. “Don’t worry about it,” he snapped. “You find anything on him?”

“Just the flashlight.”

“Sure he didn’t have a weapon?” Thomas stood from Scotty’s side and swept his foot over the immediate area. “He had an AK earlier.”

“He didn’t have one, not even a pistol on him.” Riley patted along his body once more just to be sure. “Yep, nothing.”

“James… James…” Thomas hissed into the woods behind them. “James… get up here.”

“Yeah,” he whispered back, unexpectedly standing with them. “We ready?”

“Give it a second.” Thomas eyed the camp. Only occasionally did any sign of life emerge, a shadow here and there, passing before the flames in the distance. A still silence—the moans and laughter that floated through the camp earlier in the day were gone. Everyone, either asleep or occupied with tending to their post, left the site in peace for the moment. “Alright.”

The three formed up like they had before and beelined toward the middle of the camp. It took shape as they drew near. The lines of tents. The gazebo. The trucks. Fortunately, from this distance, the camp produced no additional concerns. It was still as it appeared from a distance—a few unattended campfires.

Thomas raised his fist, halting the advance. He carefully slid the ruck from his shoulders and onto the ground. James and Riley knelt down with him as he pulled the Molotov’s from inside. A deep breath. He handed two of the bottles to James. “Those there,” Thomas whispered while he pointed to a cluster of tents just outside the treeline. “I got these here.” He swallowed. “And nothing anywhere near the women’s tents to the left of that blue one there. Riley, you’re with me. We have three minutes. This is it. James, keep your eyes on me. I’ll flick my lighter on as the signal. Respond with the same, then we light and throw.”

“On it.”

James slid off to the right, and Thomas and Riley moved straight ahead. Behind that little raised area will be perfect.

Once their position was secured, they waited for what Thomas believed to be a sufficient amount of time for James to get to his. Here we go. His thumb popped the lid to the Zippo, producing that self-gratifying clink, and he struck the wheel. His flame held reliably, but there was nothing from his counterpart. What the hell? Maybe I don’t have the angle. Thomas took measured steps toward where James should have been. Finally, another flicker in the distance. Here we go!

Like clockwork, they lit the rags, and the bottles soared end over end into the sky one after the other. The spiraling flames were hypnotic, up and then down, down against the earth. A rush of flame as the bottles burst—a blue pursuit of heat across the ground as the fluid spewed forth, saturating the tents and surrounding grass and brush with fire. Two distinct gunshots rang out south of them and several more from the west. The camp had been ripped from its slumber.

Holy Shit! Thomas held for a moment, watching the devastation of the Molotov’s engulf their intended targets. The tents deflated, melting and trapping some of the guards within them while others rose from this hell as tormented bodies wrapped in flames. “Hold this line!” Thomas shouted, his voice challenged by the panicked cries tearing through the night. Smoke lifting from the curling grass and nylon tents provided a foul-smelling screen of concealment for James and Riley as they went straight to work. Their rifles sounded, and the muzzle flashes danced through the tree line as they broke up their shot pattern. They got this. On to phase two.

Thomas took his ruck, swung it wildly onto his back, and raced to connect with Delta team as the sound of gunfire followed him deeper into the woods. Know that you’re not alone out here. Sign. Hawk. Countersign. Dove. He repeated it with every step until it became his cadence along that overgrown trail he took earlier in the day. Flashes of familiarity guided him over a few fallen trees—ducking between twigs and brush as best he could in the dark. As he neared the ridge that overlooked the western service road, he stopped and took a deep breath in an attempt to collect himself. Getting close. A few more shots ahead of him, measured in their spacing, precision shots, but not effective enough to prevent the barrage that countered. Delta team hasn’t pushed through yet.

Another volley. A bullet buzzed past, and Thomas slammed his body against the nearest tree. Two more shots toward him. He took his rifle into a crook where the branch met with the trunk to return fire, but there was nothing. Crack! The bark ripped from the tree just overhead. Thomas’s face met with the dirt. Delta’s shots are coming from downhill! He hugged his rifle and rolled headlong down the face of the ridge as more shots peppered his last position. He high crawled, taking the soggy ditch that paralleled the road over a slight hill that descended toward the rear of the guard post. Crack! Crack! The muzzle fire gave away Delta team’s position, but the Butcher’s men were overwhelmed and in no position to view it.

Thomas watched them through his scope, zeroing in on the guards as they panicked, unsettled. One of the men tilted on his knee, his other leg extended, quite possibly hit from an initial shot. Despite that, both of them managed to prop their rifles over the barricade, pulling their triggers with no eyes to observe where the bullets struck. The crude tactic seemed to be working as Delta team thus far had been unable to meet their objective.

Without regard for concealment or cover to their six, Thomas held the advantage. One simple press of the trigger, and the uninjured guard crumpled to the pavement. The shot, through and through, caused the man to writhe upon the ground holding his chest. His partner limped over to him, slid the shirt from his back, and struggled to keep the blood from spilling forth.

Thomas took aim—Too late—and ended this act of bravery, striking the man in the shoulder. With a primal urge for self-preservation, the guard hobbled away from cover, breaking toward a clearing where the hill fell toward the bourn. Another shot, coming opposite of Thomas, threw the man into a slide and tumble—his rifle spun off into the grass. Once the man’s momentum ceased, Thomas gathered his sight picture again and sent another round downrange. Goodbye!

He lifted himself from the ditch and angled toward the guard he just downed. The last thing they needed was him slipping into the night only to come back to haunt them later. He neared, and the man didn’t stir. “Hey, shit bird,” he whispered, giving him a tap with the toe of his boot. “Get up.” Thomas pressed his heel onto the guard’s hand and removed the weight from his other leg. Dead. Good. All’s quiet now.

The thought gave Thomas pause. The cracks of gunfire from the camp had thinned out. The initial burst of chaos was over, and it seemed that both sides had entrenched themselves into a stalemate. That, or something had gone horribly wrong, and they had already lost. But, how? I have to get back. He turned, taking back to the hill with haste.

A tramping sound of boots caught his attention, and he saw Delta team double timing it atop the ridge. He emerged from the brush, trying to meet with them before they trailed off without him. He cleared the street, and not wanting to remain completely exposed, he pressed forward within that shallow ditch that rested between the street and ridge—each step slogging in and out of the filth he had recently crawled through.

Delta team advanced aggressively, more so than Thomas had anticipated, there was no choice but to call out, “Hawk.” The word left his mouth, low yet forceful, but not nearly enough to reach them. He spoke louder and finally the call sign caught up to them. Two hushed “Doves” were given in response, and Delta team held for Thomas to join them.

“You guys alright?” Thomas asked, craning his neck to speak with the men above him on the ridge.

“Yeah,” one of the Soldiers spoke. “We had a good jump on them, but they got loose with their firepower. Knew you were coming, so we figured we’d keep them distracted for ya.”

Thomas pitched his rifle to one of the men and grabbed hold of a few roots to assist in his climb up the face of the embankment. Once he reached the top, the team huddled around him as he spoke, “Remember we’re here to save the women. No mercy for the Butcher or his men.” A few shots echoed outward from the camp. Someone’s still shooting. That’s a good sign. “This is it. The final push.”

“Then, let’s go!”

As they approached from the north, moving into a portion of the brush that had not been taken by flame, Thomas gagged—the indescribable smell of cooked flesh overwhelmed him. Holy… Some bodies remained intact, sprawled out across the pavement, but most had not been so lucky. The initial spray of the Molotov’s reduced them to nothing more than burnt heaps. A call for help—the only word discernible above the scant gunfire and shouting, but there was no telling from where it came. The camp lay in ruin.

The area west of the gazebo was well lit—the flames expanding into the forest—anything within its indiscriminate reach became fuel. From Riley’s post there were still muzzle flashes. South of those came a few more. Charlie team made it. Another shot—each flash thus far came from positions assigned during the briefing. They must have someone holed up. Unable to visibly place their target, Thomas sent two Soldiers and the medic off toward James’s location, leaving him and Krenshaw to hold their own. Crack! Crack! Near misses shaved a tree of its bark. The three departing members of Delta team dove to the ground and took to crawling. “Get them some breathing room!” Thomas yelled.

“Retaining wall! Far side of the gazebo!” Krenshaw swung his rifle wide and Thomas’s followed. The two returned fire, fracturing bits of concrete into the air as they missed. The guard bolted around the side. Alright, There’s at least two more of his men out there. “I thought they would have given up by now.”

“Can’t expect that from wild dogs!” Krenshaw shouted.

“Over there!”

The guard’s retreat must have pushed the women from hiding, bunching them together like sheep on the hillside. They screamed, still in an absolute panic, ducking and hiding, trying their best to avoid the conflict. Thomas was sure they wanted to run off, but could only imagine the questions running through their heads. Where will we go? How will we survive? Can we survive? The Butcher had corrupted their sense of value, leaving them broken and completely reliant on their handlers.

“Krenshaw! We have to get those women out of here.”

They pushed back from their position, leveled their rifles, then broke toward the gazebo’s hillside. Crack! The guard emerged from the nearside of the gazebo, sending a round buzzing past Thomas’s side. Crack! Another barely missed. Without breaking stride, Thomas spun his rifle toward the man. Crack! Crack! Crack! The stranger’s body twisted awkwardly, and he fell onto his side but quickly tried to gather his feet underneath him. It was no use as Krenshaw incapacitated him with a well-placed shot to the stomach. Someone else is going to have to handle him if he gets up. We have to get the women on their way before they get hurt.

They rounded the nearside of the gazebo and were immediately greeted by screams.

“Don’t kill us!”

“Please don’t!”

A distant gunshot. More screams and several women took off running.

“Wait!” Cindy called to the others. “I know him!” She turned to Thomas, tears and dirt covered her face.

He barely recognized her from before—this woman he had spent only a brief moment with inside that unsavory tent. But it proved long enough to build trust between them. He was probably the only man who ever lay next to her since the world ended that didn’t try to take advantage of her situation.

“Save us! Please, oh God,” Cindy sobbed. “Get us the fuck out of here!”

“You’re wrong!” another woman shrieked, tugging at Cindy, begging her to run, but she wouldn’t. “They’re here to kill us!”

“No. They’re not.” Cindy’s voice was calm.

Thomas reached his hand out and Cindy took it. Her soft hand trembled in his, creating stillness to the world while the rest of the camp continued to fall apart. There was something about her, although in this moment Thomas couldn’t tell what.

“I…” Thomas started, but the hysterical woman’s incessant begging took him from the moment.

She tugged once more at Cindy, bringing her away from Thomas, but instead of fleeing, Cindy spun around and slapped the woman across the face. “Shut up! He’s here to help us, damn it!”

Thomas’s mouth dropped. Maybe she didn’t feel what I did.

The woman held her cheek. Both she and Thomas stood there stunned, shaken with this unexpected outburst. Cindy began apologizing, but Thomas interrupted her, “We’re here to save you, point blank, nothing more.”

More women came forward.

“Take your group and head down there.” Thomas pointed to the road that eventually curled around to the south. “All the way around. Wait there and we’ll get you somewhere safe.”

They smiled—no one appeared to second guess Thomas’s order as they fled.

A final volley of gunfire hit the camp. Thomas and Krenshaw threw themselves to the ground, taking cover behind the concrete retaining wall. A ping of metal. The sharp crack of concrete followed by a distinct cry from a short distance away. Then nothing. An impossible silence seemed to hit the camp in that instant. The adrenaline pushed at Thomas to do something, but he denied the suggestion, patience being a virtue at the moment. Hidden behind the wall at the foot of the hill, he waited, hoping for some indication that it was over. Mere silence could never be trusted.

“Come out, Butcher! Your men are dead!” Thomas heard the voice announce from behind him. “We’ll take you alive, if you’d like. Or dead.”

Who the hell? Thomas’s eyes went wide, irate with whoever would take command, take what was his to determine. He turned to Krenshaw. “Get around to the front, now!” They both lifted their backs from the wall—Krenshaw peeled off to his left, but Thomas bolted for the stairs.

With each drop of his boot, his anger grew. Thomas had seen the Butcher’s temperament, he didn’t feel that alive should be an option. In the little time he had spent in the camp, nothing existed that could build a case for redemption. The Butcher could not be rehabilitated. There were no men to rehabilitate here. Only the women and children could be saved. If they could be saved. Maybe they too were beyond help, but that determination would not be made today, not with a bullet like it would be with the men. The women would take time.

The moment the top step felt the crunch of his boot, his vision was pinpoint—the edges of the world a fading black. He brushed past a slumped body bent over a rail—only a foot caught between the balusters prevented it from flipping. He hardly acknowledged its existence as he approached the railing overlooking the carnage. Ten of his men, five rifles toward the bathrooms, the remainder guarded the rear, hitting the wood line with their rail-mounted lights. None of the dead among them mattered. The Butcher was cornered. Nowhere to go.

“He dies!” Thomas shouted, leaning forward between the columns of the gazebo. “There is no other way. Captain Able assigned me to this trial, so it’s my decision.”

James moved toward him, separating himself from the others, taking the stairs to the top of the hill. “This joker doesn’t deserve our mercy,” he said. “Look at this man here.” He threw his rifle’s light across the body still hanging from the tree. “There was no trial for him. There wasn’t anything. He just strung hi—”

James’s body jerked as if stung from behind. Although the gunshot had to have come first, Thomas hadn’t heard it. It was only the violent jolt that caught his attention. James collapsed. To his knees first, then further down with one palm in the mulch as his other hand grasped for his chest. The rifle lay beside him, illuminating James’s face—it read of pain and knowing death.

The men reacted swiftly, cutting their lights and taking cover within the trees.

“Find him!” Thomas shouted.

A team of four stole for the bathrooms, and Thomas went for James, but another shot ripped half of one of the columns from the gazebo and forced Thomas to the decking. Hang in there, damn it. This isn’t the end for you. He watched as James lay in the mulch, taking painful breaths from only yards away. Thomas tried to get to James, but with each careful lurch forward another shot would send him back to the floor. All he could do was listen as each breath became shorter than the last. It took everything within him not to run for James.

“Find where it’s coming from, damn it!”

“Bathrooms are clear!”

From up the drive, Thomas saw a light—not a beam from a flashlight or from fire that had spread, but slightly dull and fixed. He tried to discern exactly from what or where it came, but it shut off seconds later. What the hell was th— The trucks! Thomas came to a knee, then to his feet. There was no shot to curl him back onto the floor.

“He’s at the trucks!” Thomas shouted before sprinting to James, taking to his side, but he wasn’t there. He had already passed. His brown eyes lost within the stars above. “I’ll be back for you,” Thomas whispered. He spun for that light in the distance, clutching his rifle in a death grip.

At some point through the chaos, the Butcher had made his move. Thomas knew the man’s pride wouldn’t have allowed him to leave his goods—what he probably viewed as his right. The women were gone. He would have to have something in his hands when he returned home. But why now? Why not lay low? It made no sense, but of course pride made people do foolish things. To go down in a blaze of glory was what made some men heroes.

The U-Haul’s engine kicked on, and the rattle of gunfire responded. The truck barreled down the drive, accelerating while the engine groaned from the pedal being kicked through the floorboard. Flashes of gunfire from the wood line were met with a furious response from the cab of the truck—that booming, mechanical trill of an AK-47.

Thomas lined up with the last bend in the road. The windshield would be straight on, ensuring he would have a few shots at his target. With little time to think, he banged the rifle into the nook of his shoulder and laid himself directly in its path, the angle projecting a clear shot where the truck would be. The headlights! He snatched the night vision scope from the rail. It would have to be raw sight alignment. He began to take the slack out of the trigger as the truck approached. The sights aligned, front into rear. He exhaled, pushing everything he had from his lungs. Here it comes! Make it count. No more failures. Hold… Hold…

He could hear the cargo in the back of the truck banging as it negotiated the bend in the drive, turning straight toward Thomas as he lay in wait. Here it is! Clear shots and he took them. Quick presses, aggressive pulls of the trigger toward the back. Fragments of glass dissipated into the air as the windshield splintered in response to the rounds piercing it, penetrating the cab.

There was no more turning of the wheel—it held, barreling straight for Thomas—the operator now seemingly inanimate as the truck no longer responded to any change in direction of the street. Thomas rolled from his position and the truck stumbled, rocking with its weighted suspension over the unevenness of the ground. A loud bang followed by the snapping of a tree—its branches bracing for its anticipated fall to earth.

Thomas rose to his feet, the rifle guiding him to the vehicle. The truck smoked heavily from its front end. A loud buzzing noise. The impact jarred the electronics, leaving the lights on from inside the cab.

From the rear of the truck, through the side mirror he could see spatters of blood. The muzzle of the AK rested against the door frame, protruding from inside. Thomas approached, snatched the rifle and pulled hard, throwing it to the ground. A quick glance inside. The Butcher lay on the cushioned seat, his suit ravaged and bloody.

“The world has always had places like this—” the Butcher coughed. “Needs places like this. People need to act out their darkest secrets.”

“You’re sick!” Thomas popped the door open and jerked him from the vehicle. He fell limply against the dirt. The Butcher put his hands up to show he wasn’t armed. Thomas pulled his sidearm and aimed squarely at his face. No turning back! This is who you are now!

“Hold on! Just…” The Butcher ran one of his hands through his hair. “I’m ready for—”