“Try and relax, Dad.”
“Yeah… Sorry. I feel like I’m going mad in here.”
“Let’s talk about something else then.”
“Okay… You still at school? How’s that going?”
“Good. Only another two years to go.”
“You know I’m proud of you.”
“Dad—“
“No, hear me out, Tommy. I know when you went to Syria I wasn’t that—I wasn’t that supportive. I’m sorry about that. I didn’t want you to have to go and do that. I was hoping your mother and I would be able to figure something out for you.”
“I know. It’s fine.”
“If there could have been another way—“
“Dad. Stop. I’m fine.”
“I know you are.”
“Can we talk about something positive?”
“What about James? What’s he up to?”
“We don’t talk anymore… I thought I told you that.”
“Yeah, maybe you did. What about school? How’s that?”
“Dad…”
“What?”
“The kid’s name is David,” the interrogator said, his foot tapping against Thomas’s ankle.
Thomas jerked his leg in response, and his head shot off the table. “Huh?” He swallowed then smacked his lips in an attempt to freshen his mouth.
“The kid’s name is David,” Blaine repeated. “He seems highly intelligent, wild, but could prove effective with appropriate conditioning.” He took the book from in front of Thomas and casually flipped through the pages as he sat on the edge of the table. “You don’t strike me as a reader.”
“Yeah…” Thomas rubbed his eyes and straightened himself up in the chair. His hand slid across the stubble of a day-old beard. “Why’s that?”
“Something about you Soldier types. Maybe you’re the anomaly.” Blaine pitched the book back onto the table—the loud smack clearing the remaining fog from Thomas’s mind. “This kid… You said he attacked you? Correct?” He took the glasses from his face and wiped them with a handkerchief.
“Looks like he got at you too,” Thomas said smugly, noticing a gash on the side of Blaine’s nose and a mark on his cheek.
Almost immediately, Blaine shoved the glasses back onto the bridge of his nose. “I made the mistake of trying to make him more comfortable. He’s surprisingly agile.”
Thomas let a short burst of laughter slip.
“He thinks very highly of himself—”
So you two have something in common?
“—Reiterated the idea that he spared the two of you.”
Thomas smirked. Let us live, huh? “I’d think he’d have to be pretty cocky to come after me and James like that, but who knows? He wasn’t conscious too long after we met, so I didn’t get to ask him. He tell you that?”
“He mentioned there may have been a few holes in his memory.” Blaine smiled, nodding slightly at Thomas as he continued. “He spoke of many things—admitted to being here for the Butcher and coming to the library specifically for books to exchange. Spoke openly on it…” He paused. “Perhaps too graphic at some points.”
“What’s the plan with him?”
“I’m uncertain that we’ll be able to convince him of our work, but it would definitely be worth the attempt. The boy has a brightness to him…” Blaine rested his hands on the tabletop across from Thomas. “I’m not sure how to explain it. He has value to him, but it’s currently misplaced. He holds loyalty to some other faction, but won’t tell us where.”
“Did you torture him?” Thomas eyed Blaine’s injuries once more.
“I’m going to hold off on that. I don’t want to shut him down. If I can convince him cleanly to reconsider his allegiances, we will get the truth. Torture can be tricky as you know—sometimes you get the truth, sometimes it’s what they think you want to hear.”
“So what do we do with him?”
“Me and one of the Soldiers will continue to monitor them.”
“Him and the girl?”
“Yes. First, we need you to complete your scouting endeavor.” He motioned for Thomas to follow him as he stepped off toward the office. “When we confirm the information offered by the woman, we can consider that her first step toward assimilation. The kid…” Blaine slowed his steps as he worked through his thoughts. “We’ll initiate conditioning once we get him back. I hope he’ll break down, eventually. Most do, especially when they see how far along we are—when they see how much easier life can be.”
“Is that it then?” Thomas opened the door to the office for Blaine. “Just waiting on me and James?”
“It needs to be sooner than later. We’ll need time to prepare with what additional Intelligence you’re able to collect from the camp, and depending on that, we need to aim for hitting them tonight. Not that they’re showing signs of leaving, but things might begin to unravel the longer he is in the area.”
Thomas called for James, expecting him to emerge from the back of the office. A moment passed and he was greeted with a loud bang against one of the tables behind him. “We’ll pick the best from these to make sure we don’t have any problems getting in,” James said.
“You got that then?” Thomas asked
James nodded as he sorted through the books.
Thomas turned to Blaine. “You have anything more to tell us before we head out?”
“Don’t blow it.”
Chapter Eight
Only six lanes of boulevard separated the two of them from the Butcher’s checkpoint into Burnet Woods. They had wrapped back around the parking garage and presented themselves into the open from a two-lane street that bisected the university’s grounds. Out of habit, Thomas looked both ways before squeezing between a couple of parked cars—both with at least one flat tire and clear indications they had been ransacked long ago. Thomas adjusted the straps of a book bag he found within the library’s office. It was now filled with a bounty of books, and James carried the same—each of them nervous and eager to present their tribute and be granted access into the camp.
There were only three men in front of them as they approached from the sidewalk. It appeared as though they had been waiting a while—their faces stamped with impatient frowns as they stood in line. The arrival of Thomas and James interrupted their complaining for only a moment. All of their eyes met for a quick assessment of each other. The three strangers must have been satisfied with the newcomers’ demeanor as their conversation fired up again, and although none of the strangers made any attempt to include them, Thomas ensured he kept track of their words and took notice of what they had.
One of the men brought with him a small pallet of canned foods within a wagon and another had two packs of bottled water at his own feet. The last of the three didn’t appear to have anything and remained the least talkative. Most of his answers came in one-word varieties. The others spoke. He listened, then agreed. It seemed as though they could have said anything, and he would have played along, affirming whatever nonsense the other two came up with. He must have something valuable. He’s too quiet. Thomas steadied his eyes upon the man, scanning his figure, looking for any bulges that might indicate a firearm. The aloof stranger raised a few hairs on Thomas’s neck.