she interrupted. “If you’re going to blame yourself, you won’t think as clearly. We’re not in the S.T.A.R.S. anymore, and you’re not anyone’s captain. It’s not your fault.”
Claire had walked over to join them, her gray gaze curious and searching in spite of the worry that still pinched her delicate features. “You think this is your fault? It’s not. I don’t think that.”
David threw up his hands. “My God, alright! It’s not my fault, and we can all spend some time analyzing what I’m accountable for if and when we get out of this; for now, though, can we please concentrate on what’s in front of us?”
Both young women nodded, and while he was glad to have stopped the therapy session before it got started, he realized that he didn’t know what the next thing was—what tasks to give them beyond what they’d already done, how they were going to resolve their crisis, what to say or how to say it. It was a dreadful moment; he was used to having something to fight against, something to react to or shoot at or plan for, but their situation seemed to be static, unchanging. There wasn’t a clear path for them to follow, and that was even worse than the guilt he felt about his lack of foresight.
And just at that moment, he heard the distant buzz of an approaching helicopter, the faraway thrum that could be nothing else—and although it was a solution of sorts, it was the worst one possible.
Nothing for cover except this compound, and we’ll never make it back to the van, we’ve got two, three minutes —
“We have to get out of here,” David said, already running through the things they would have to do if they were to stand a chance, even as they were all running for the door.
* * *
The workers were cake. There had been a few tense moments rousing them from their dark cots in the dark dorm rooms, but it had gone off without incident. John had still been somewhat wary of a few of them when he’d first herded them into the cafeteria, where Leon was watching the card-players—in particular, two fairly big men who looked like they might have machismo disorders and a thin, twitchy guy with deepset eyes who couldn’t seem to stop licking his lips. It was like a compulsive thing; every few seconds, his tongue would dart out, flick between his lips and then disappear for another few seconds. Creepy.
There’d been no trouble, though. Fourteen men and no one willing to play hero after John had presented them with a little logic. He’d kept it short and simple: we’re here to find something, we’re not planning to hurt anyone, we just want you to stay out of the way while we get out of here. Don’t be stupid and you won’t get shot. Either the logic or the M-16 had been enough to convince them that it would be best not to argue.
John stood by the door back into the big hall, watching the unhappy-looking group seated in the middle of the large room around a long table. A few looked pissed, a few looked scared, most just looked tired. Nobody spoke, which was fine by John; he didn’t want to have to worry about anyone trying to work up a rebellion.
In spite of his reasonable certainty that all was cool, he was glad to hear the light tap on the door. Leon had been gone maybe five minutes, but it seemed like a lot longer. He walked in holding a length of chain and a couple of wire coat hangers.
“Any trouble?” Leon asked quietly, and John shook his head, keeping his attention on the silent group.
“Been nice and quiet,” he said. “Where’d you find the chain?”
“Toolbox, in one of the rooms.”
John nodded, then raised his voice, keeping it calm. “Alright, folks, we’re about to take our leave. We thank you for your patience…”
Leon nudged him. “Ask if Reston’s here,” he whispered.
John sighed. “You think if he is, he’s gonna tell us?”
The younger man shrugged. “Worth a shot, isn’t it?”
Stranger things have happened…
John cleared his throat and
Claire had walked over to join them, her gray gaze curious and searching in spite of the worry that still pinched her delicate features. “You think this is your fault? It’s not. I don’t think that.”
David threw up his hands. “My God, alright! It’s not my fault, and we can all spend some time analyzing what I’m accountable for if and when we get out of this; for now, though, can we please concentrate on what’s in front of us?”
Both young women nodded, and while he was glad to have stopped the therapy session before it got started, he realized that he didn’t know what the next thing was—what tasks to give them beyond what they’d already done, how they were going to resolve their crisis, what to say or how to say it. It was a dreadful moment; he was used to having something to fight against, something to react to or shoot at or plan for, but their situation seemed to be static, unchanging. There wasn’t a clear path for them to follow, and that was even worse than the guilt he felt about his lack of foresight.
And just at that moment, he heard the distant buzz of an approaching helicopter, the faraway thrum that could be nothing else—and although it was a solution of sorts, it was the worst one possible.
Nothing for cover except this compound, and we’ll never make it back to the van, we’ve got two, three minutes —
“We have to get out of here,” David said, already running through the things they would have to do if they were to stand a chance, even as they were all running for the door.
* * *
The workers were cake. There had been a few tense moments rousing them from their dark cots in the dark dorm rooms, but it had gone off without incident. John had still been somewhat wary of a few of them when he’d first herded them into the cafeteria, where Leon was watching the card-players—in particular, two fairly big men who looked like they might have machismo disorders and a thin, twitchy guy with deepset eyes who couldn’t seem to stop licking his lips. It was like a compulsive thing; every few seconds, his tongue would dart out, flick between his lips and then disappear for another few seconds. Creepy.
There’d been no trouble, though. Fourteen men and no one willing to play hero after John had presented them with a little logic. He’d kept it short and simple: we’re here to find something, we’re not planning to hurt anyone, we just want you to stay out of the way while we get out of here. Don’t be stupid and you won’t get shot. Either the logic or the M-16 had been enough to convince them that it would be best not to argue.
John stood by the door back into the big hall, watching the unhappy-looking group seated in the middle of the large room around a long table. A few looked pissed, a few looked scared, most just looked tired. Nobody spoke, which was fine by John; he didn’t want to have to worry about anyone trying to work up a rebellion.
In spite of his reasonable certainty that all was cool, he was glad to hear the light tap on the door. Leon had been gone maybe five minutes, but it seemed like a lot longer. He walked in holding a length of chain and a couple of wire coat hangers.
“Any trouble?” Leon asked quietly, and John shook his head, keeping his attention on the silent group.
“Been nice and quiet,” he said. “Where’d you find the chain?”
“Toolbox, in one of the rooms.”
John nodded, then raised his voice, keeping it calm. “Alright, folks, we’re about to take our leave. We thank you for your patience…”
Leon nudged him. “Ask if Reston’s here,” he whispered.
John sighed. “You think if he is, he’s gonna tell us?”
The younger man shrugged. “Worth a shot, isn’t it?”
Stranger things have happened…
John cleared his throat and
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