Broken Lives: A Tale of Survival in a Powerless World (Broken Lines Book 4) (15 page)

***

When the hour was up the recruiters gathered their two best marksmen. It was an inside range, with targets set at different intervals. The first was close, only five yards out, but the farthest was thirty yards, used for rifle practice.

It was decided that everyone would be using the same rifle for consistency. Thompson went to set the targets down the field but stopped, turning back to Cain.

“Maybe we should start at the five-yard mark? That way your recruits have an easier time,” Thompson said.

“The ten-yard mark will be fine, but I brought my own targets,” Cain said.

Cain disappeared into one of the rooms. When he came back he was pulling the arm of a young woman. She was blindfolded and had a gag in her mouth. Cain stood her in front of the ten-yard target and whispered in her ear.

“Stay still.”

He gave her a kiss on the cheek and she shuddered as he removed the blindfold and pulled the wad of cloth out of her mouth.

“What are you doing?” Griffin asked.

“Winning a bet.”

Cain brushed Griffin off and picked up the rifle.

“First person to shoot wins,” Cain said.

The only sound that was heard was the gasp from the woman. She was shaking. Tears were running down her face. She struggled for breath when she spoke, choking on her own spit.

“P-please, d-don’t do th-this,” she said.

“This is insane,” Thompson said.

Thompson moved toward the girl and Cain aimed the barrel of the rifle at him. Thompson froze.

“Out in the field we won’t be shooting thin sheets of paper with rings around them. We’ll be shooting people like her. People who oppose us and what we’re trying to build. Or did you forget that on your trip, Thompson?” Cain asked.

Cain pressed the rifle’s barrel into Thompson’s chest.

“This isn’t a rebuilding effort we’re putting together. We’re still tearing down the old country to make way for a new one. Where the weak-willed and weak-minded, people like that,” Cain said, pointing at the girl, “are no longer part of the problem.”

The recruits started to speak out all at once.

“I didn’t sign up for this.”

“This is crazy.”

“You can’t be serious?”

Cain fired a round into the ceiling, silencing everyone. He motioned to Beth, who came over and grabbed the rifle from him.

Beth aimed the rifle at the girl, who was screaming hysterically now. She kept backing up, pressing into the stand behind her, trying to dissipate through the wood and metal.

“Fire,” Cain said.

Beth squeezed the trigger. The bullet flew through the woman’s head and she hit the floor. The only sound after that was the bullet casing rolling on the concrete.

Beth handed the rifle back to Cain and rejoined the other recruits. Cain kept the rifle in his hands and walked over to Thompson.

“I win.”

Dr. Wyatt’s palms were sweaty. It didn’t matter how many times he wiped them on his pants, they just wouldn’t dry. He’d been sitting in the interrogation room waiting, and dreading, for Ben to bring Mike through the door.

When the door finally opened and Ben escorted Mike in, Dr. Wyatt’s insides twisted all at once.

“I’m not speaking with him,” Mike said.

“You can do whatever you want, but you’re in this room for the next twenty minutes,” Ben said.

The chains around Mike’s ankles rattled against the floor when he walked.

“You don’t need to keep those on him,” Dr. Wyatt said.

“Yes, you do,” Mike replied.

“I’ll be watching on the other side, so I don’t want anyone trying anything stupid,” Ben said.

The door clicked shut after Ben left. Dr. Wyatt had rehearsed this moment in his head a million times. Each time he’d run through it there would be a different ending, but the moment he opened his mouth he couldn’t find the words he practiced.

“What are you doing here?” Mike asked.

“I’ve been trying to find you,” Dr. Wyatt said.

“You shouldn’t be here.”

“This isn’t your fault.”

“Enough of it is.”

Sweat was collecting under Wyatt’s arms. He undid the button on his collar, feeling the steam escape out of his shirt.

“You’re punishing yourself for something you had nothing to do with,” Dr. Wyatt said.

“But we both know why I’m here.”

“Mike…”

“You broke your promise, Doctor, so now I’m breaking mine,” Mike said.

Dr. Wyatt said nothing. He simply rose from his seat, shaking slightly as he walked past Mike and out the door.

Once he made it out of the interrogation room he ran for the bathroom. He shoved the stall door open and made it to the toilet just as the vomit sprayed from his mouth.

One arm shook, resting on the toilet seat while he collapsed to the cold tile. He grabbed a piece of toilet paper and wiped his mouth.

***

Ben escorted Mike back to his cell. It took him twice as long to go anywhere because of the chains. All he could do was shuffle down the halls, and each time he moved his feet the steel would cut deeper into his skin.

“Want to explain what all that was about?” Ben asked.

Mike didn’t answer. They made it to his cell and Ben dropped him off, undoing his shackles. The steel door clanked shut. There was a small opening in the middle of the door for meals to slide in and out. Ben opened it, so Mike could hear him speak.

“Let me help you,” Ben said.

Mike sat down on the edge of the cot, rubbing his hands and wrists. He kept his head down, looking at his feet.

“Make sure I don’t see him again,” Mike said.

The moment Ben slid the food hatch closed Mike’s hands started to shake. The pain stopped coming and going weeks ago. They just hurt all of the time now.

He just wanted it to be over. He’d tried before, but he couldn’t stop the will to live. He needed someone else to do it for him. That’s what he wanted to find here. That’s why he turned himself in.

He stroked his beard slowly. It was thick, and matted. He ran his shaking fingers through the tangled knots. He lay down on the cot, resting his head on the flat pillow. The springs of the bed squeaked as he shifted trying to find a comfortable spot.

He didn’t try closing his eyes. It wouldn’t have made a difference if he did. He couldn’t fall asleep anymore, and the rare moments when exhaustion finally caught up with him he didn’t stay asleep long. There were always bloody faces to wake him up in the night.

Mike hadn’t been able to leave the hospital for almost twenty-four hours. The straps around his feet and hands were driving him mad. His visit from Wyatt didn’t provide him any answers, but then again he wasn’t able to stay awake for very long to speak to him.

Now that Mike was awake, he couldn’t sit still. The nurses came and checked on him periodically. The faint, random screams of other patients echoing through the halls outside his door were starting to get to him.

Finally, later in the evening, a pair of soldiers came and escorted him out of the hospital. They returned the clothes he was wearing when he was captured, but not his weapon.

The majority of this part of the city was wrecked. Buildings were crumbled; trash and smoldering fires occupied the streets. It wasn’t a city in the United States he was looking at—it was something he would see on CNN from a third-world country. Whatever beating Bram and his soldiers gave them, it seemed to be effective.

Mike was brought to a small building farther south of the river, which he got a good look at from one of the streets that led to the bridge, or at least where the bridge used to be. There was a humming coming from behind the building. It sounded familiar, but Mike couldn’t put his finger on it.

“What is that?” Mike asked. “That noise?”

“Generator.”

“You have power running here?”

“Move.”

They waited outside the door of an office. Mike could hear some mumbling on the other side and when he was let in there was a group of three men. Two were dressed in military uniforms, and the other was Dr. Wyatt, who was also the only one that smiled.

“Gentlemen, this is the soldier we captured from across the river,” Wyatt said.

One of the men leaned into Wyatt’s ear, and Wyatt waved him off.

“We’ll let you two get to it then,” the man said.

The two men exited leaving Wyatt and Mike alone. There was a single table in the room, and on top of it was a massive map covered in small figures.

“I hope you’re feeling better?” Wyatt asked.

“Head still hurts.”

“Mine too.”

Mike kept glancing down at the map, and around the room. The whole place was run-down. The one lamp they had in the room was flickering, struggling to perform its simple task of lighting the space.

“It doesn’t look like much, but we make do,” Dr. Wyatt said. “Have you had an opportunity to eat?”

“No.”

“Here, we still have some sandwiches from lunch.”

Dr. Wyatt pulled a tray off a chair in the corner and extended it to Mike. He took one hesitantly.

“I guess the easiest way to start this is asking how much you know about us?” Dr. Wyatt asked.

“Besides learning your entire military strategy?” Mike asked, looking at the map.

“Yes, besides that.”

“Why did you bring me here?”

“Because you’re the first soldier that we’ve been able to capture since all of this started.”

“I’m the first?”

“Yes, all of the others killed themselves, but not you, which makes me think that you actually value your life. And someone that values their life tends to value the lives of others.”

“In my experience it’s usually the opposite.”

“Sadly, these days you’re probably right.”

Dr. Wyatt picked up a few of the pieces on the map then set them back down. From the position of the figures on the table it looked like Dr. Wyatt and his side were on their heels.

Mike took a bite of the sandwich. By the taste of it they were scraping the bottom of their food rations.

“Have you spoken to Bram?” Dr. Wyatt asked.

“I have.”

“Then I need you to tell me everything he’s doing. How many men he has, when he’s planning on his next attack.”

“And just why should I trust you?”

“Because you’re still alive.”

“And I suppose I have you to thank for that?”

“No, not me. Every man and woman on this side of the river.”

Mike swallowed the last piece of bread.

“Let’s take a walk,” Wyatt said.

Dr. Wyatt led Mike through streets and buildings of what was left of their side of the city. The farther away from the river they walked, the less damage there was. The ordnance that hit the city was powerful, but had a limited range.

The power from the other side of the river didn’t seem to be trickling over. A few places had generators, but most buildings were still dark.

The only vehicles that were working were those that had some sort of military application.

“Bram’s powerful, and he knows it. And his reach is far because he feeds on the ambition of other people,” Dr. Wyatt said.

“Sounds like a politician.”

“Yes, in a matter of speaking he is,” Dr. Wyatt said, his face turning a little more grave. “And he’s a very good one.”

They walked for another hour, talking about what each of them did before the blackout. They spoke of family, friends. Mike never opened up to people outside of his family, but he found himself unable to keep his mouth shut.

Dr. Wyatt stopped in front of a small building. It hadn’t been touched by the bombings, but was old, and derelict. Mike watched him stand there in silence, examining what was left of the ancient structure.

“Four walls and a roof,” Dr. Wyatt said. “But it doesn’t have its beating heart.”

“The building is only as good as the men that occupy it,” Mike said.

“When the power shut off I’d never seen people in such a state. I watched humans devolve right in front of my eyes.”

Mike thought back to Jung and the blind will of survival that made him forsake everything he believed in.

“Men who don’t have a value in their own lives, can’t see the value in others,” Mike said.

Dr. Wyatt smiled.

“That man you were fighting for, he’s not who you think he is,” Dr. Wyatt said.

“I wasn’t fighting for him,” Mike answered.

“I wouldn’t ask anything of you that I wouldn’t do myself.”

“What do you need, Quinn?”

“I’m going to give you something. I give it to every man I’ve spoken with since the blackout. After you read it, I’ll know which side you’re on.”

Dr. Wyatt pulled a small journal out of his pocket and handed it to Mike.

“Come find me when you’re done,” Dr. Wyatt said.