Time still remained before the morning rendezvous. He squared his back against the large A/C unit and stared out away from the madness behind him—taking in this portion of the world that appeared unchanged. Peaceful. A perfect view of the world he knew before. Some of his best years were spent here. Mournful thoughts entered his mind, upset that he had never really taken the time to appreciate how good he had it. How many things were taken for granted and never truly enjoyed and respected? I have to stop doing this. There’s no changing any of it. It’s all a waste of time. Focus… Get this damn mission finished.
He eased himself from the roof and into the courtyard before letting his mind wandered too far off into hypotheticals. He rounded the corner, choosing the stairs along the south end of the building where his movements would be shielded from the camp. His hand slid the banister as he descended into the lowest level of the parking garage adjacent to the college.
What cars remained within the structure were beat up, windows busted, their contents spilled. Things deemed useless lay across the concrete—book bags, clothing, a few empty cans of beer and a baseball cap—a trail of items dropped in thieves’ haste led toward the stairwell. His feet moved adeptly through this minefield of trash, then quietly up a few flights until he reached the ground level exit.
The doorway led to an outdoor corridor. One lined with trees and mulch beds—the fresh smell of manure long since gone. He pressed his back against the wall, taking his time, confirming as best he could that he was alone before exiting the garage. Nothing alerted Thomas. He could hear the wind ripping through the narrow passageway—a can clanking along the pavement—a sharp call from a bird chirping and the rustling of trees being shoved around.
One quick glance and he began to take the corner, but the smacking of bare feet against pavement stopped him. A gasp of air—the huffing of a person running out of steam. It passed then carried off toward the far end.
Who in the hell? Thomas poked his head into the corridor, his eye catching a glimpse of what appeared to be a small child—a girl, short and petite, with a ponytail of brown hair. The way she came appeared free from any threat. No one’s chasing her? What the hell’s a child doing out here. The wind began to push at his back, encouraging him to go, to give chase as she rounded the corner. A child left alone out here. What if it was Joseph and no one went for him? Someone has to be looking for this little girl.
But the mission… It would be best to stay hidden—to move slowly enough that he could guarantee himself safe passage to the EPA building—to ensure the mission against the Butcher was completed. Obviously torn, he had to make a choice. The girl had already made hers. She was getting as far as she could from whatever it was that haunted her.
Here we go! He broke into a sprint, boots pounding away, his hand grazed the pistol as he ran, taking in this subtle reminder that it was there if he needed it. This whole thing being a trap was buried somewhere in the back of his mind, but he couldn’t help himself. There wasn’t a choice. At the end of the corridor, he took the same hard right, bounding up several sets of stairs toward the child. The flash of a brown shirt and blue jeans cut sharply out of view behind a row of rusting bikes and bushes.
The urge to shout for her to stop rose within Thomas—to tell her it was okay—but James’s taunting popped into his head. Run! Little girl, run! Run! He needed to catch her, but any elevated words could attract others. Could bring her initial pursuer right here.
Even without all the usual equipment weighing him down, Thomas was having a difficult time. No matter what, it seemed that he would never catch her. Around the next corner, he saw her, doubled over in the midst of a coughing fit. Her face turned toward Thomas, and she started again, this time up the slope of a hill toward the main plaza.
Thomas crashed through deep hedges, angling across the hill, trying anything to nab the child as her feet slipped in the wet grass. Now I got you! But his boots were unable to find the traction that he hoped for. He fell further behind—her tiny frame pulling further away.
He came into the plaza—the wastebaskets recently toppled, rain-soaked leaves pasted to the marble, plastic candy wrappers swirling across the girl’s feet as she stood on the far side just within his view. She stared at him like a deer in an open meadow. When he moved, she responded, taking matched steps. She attempted to take this time to rest, and Thomas was no different as he followed her lead. As long as she was right there, he felt he might be able to protect her. Then she might realize that he was one of the good guys.
Thomas threw his head back, looking to the sky, his chest heaving, hoping that finally she would give in. He took several breaths and attempted to compose himself. “Would you just stop!” The words were forced, loud and quick between his breathing, echoing against the surrounding building—his voice rising from the shadows—from the nooks and crannies of this dense mass of buildings. He had not meant for his words to be so obtrusive. He tried a less offensive tone. “I’m serious. I don’t want to hurt you.”
She waved to him. Finally! The standoff was over. “I want to take you someplace safe.” He inched toward her, but that very beginning of a step was met with several of hers. She flashed a look of horror and took off again. Thomas checked behind him, but there was no one. What the hell?
He shook his head, looking to the ground in frustration. A trail of blood, but hardly noticeable—a trickle, if that. The little droplets led back from where they came and then forward toward the child. Damn it, she’s hurt. He let out a groan. Irritated, he worked his pace back into a jog as he followed the trail.
His eyes bounced along concrete and brick, following the red trail. Occasionally, he lost it, grass was difficult at this pace, but it always showed itself eventually upon the hardscapes. This way maybe he could just track her, wait until she’s out of steam and figure it out.
His pace slowed as the droplets became more prevalent, larger and less spread out. She’s slowing. The track of droplets turned the corner onto a narrow passage—one lane lined with sidewalks—a skywalk connecting the two offices that straddled this alley.
The line of spatter cut down from the sidewalk, crossed the street, and skirted a corner that led into a covered entrance to the offices. If she made it into that building, I’m screwed. He stayed on the sidewalk opposite the entrance, taking a cautious approach. No reason to rush it now. Gradually, piece by piece, he took the angle. And there she was, curled and crying in the corner, blood soiling the ground.
“It’s okay. Come here… Please, just stop. I want to take you someplace safe.” Soft footsteps toward the girl, his hand palm down as he approached with a gentle touch. “Are you hurt?” There was only more crying in response, not necessarily directed at Thomas, but a simple, low sobbing. “Please let me help. That’s all I want is to make sure you’re okay.”
Her face emerged from behind her elbow—a pair of unsure eyes, wet and blinking, innocent and searching for a shred of truth in Thomas’s pleas. Her lips quivered and she shook as if she were freezing. “Don’t!” She managed to say it with some force. Thomas paused mid-step, reconsidered closing the gap, and placed his foot back where it had been lifted.