Days Since...: Thomas: Day 758

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Across the street, a trash-ridden alley with prying eyes. A man carrying a thin, high-powered rifle across his back, had made the journey paralleling the parade of victors back home. His low mutterings, obsessive and dangerous, kept him going despite his lack of sleep. The horrors of the night before drove his desire. His people slaughtered and now the enemy’s home was here, right there in front of him to serve his anger.

The last straggler passed the threshold into the town, and the gate closed. He stole for the fire escape. Fistfuls of raw, cold iron grasped within his palms as he ascended—a pair of binoculars swinging from his neck. The perfect perch. Unseen and unheard, he would have the advantage. He glassed over the fortress, zooming in on collars, seeking the highest rank.

He might not have too long. One key figure and it would be a success. This wouldn’t be a sustained effort—one and done. A message sent with one round downrange. One for his people. One bit of exacted revenge. Content with his own death if need be.

Along the street, just beyond the city’s wall, but well within a rifle’s range, stood a man with a single gold bar on each lapel. He smoked a cigarette and casually spoke to people as they walked past. Only a few stopped for more than a couple words. This man would be the one to make it all better.

The rifle wavered with his frantic breathing, his wild eyes too troubled to focus. He wiped his brow and took several deep breaths to calm himself. One more quick survey of the crowd to ensure he had the one he wanted. When convinced he would find no better, he pictured the bodies, the fire, listened to the screams that would haunt him the rest of his life. He pressed the butt of the rifle further into his shoulder. It would waver no longer.

A shot rang out, echoing against the overpasses, pounding against the confined neighborhood. Screams of panic followed, the crowd fractured, their feet scrambling for cover. Guards and Sentries took to their posts. The surrounding rooflines were clear, not a threat in sight. The man that sat within the crosshairs flicked his cigarette to the ground before ducking into a breezeway.

Three quick whistle blows indicated the shot had been made by one of their own. Observant eyes along the top of the overpass—the highest point surrounding the fortress—had seen the attempt. A trained marksman had ended the threat, and now, the rifle teetered on the edge of the roof as its owner lay on his side, the scar forcing an unintentional smile.

“You excited to finally be here, Tommy? Or is this strange for ya?”

“It’s fine, Mr. Haverty.”

“River’s Edge look different since before?”

“Yes, sir. Quite a bit.”

“Call me Bill. The two of us are goin’ to be good pals here.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Cut the sir crap, alright? I get I’m in charge, but you’re my partner now. Gotta a lot of work to do ‘round here, ‘n’ I’m guessin’ you’re up for it.”

“Of course.”

“Good, Good, Good. Glad to hear it. I know it’s been a week or so since that whole Butcher thing, but you’ll get settled in ‘round here just fine.”

“I’ll certainly try.”

“Not try. You will. There ain’t no try anymore. Not as a Soldier.”

“I understand.”

“A lot of good comes from being a Soldier. Lot less movin’ around. Lot less stupid bullshit. You’ll get your share of more important things—more share of the spoils too.

“I appreciate that.”

“And while I have ya here, I need ya to take care of a few things for me.”

“Yes, sir.”

“I knew I liked you for a reason. Two things to start with, then there’ll be more. First, we gotta take a team ‘n’ nab up all their guns. We’ll be sendin’ ’em back to the capital or L.P.H. Fortress. Second, I’m needin’ ya to keep an eye on a few folks.”

“Who?”

“Some that’ve been heard sayin’ some things.”

“Who?”

“You’re fixin’ to find out.”