The Remaining: Fractured by D.J. Molles Read Free Book Online

enough, and had been left unlocked.
    Nearly fifteen minutes had passed by the time Jim rolled open one of the bay doors, cranking the chain while LaRouche stepped out into the dull light of the shrouded sun and waved their small convoy inside. The vehicles rolled into the warehouse—Wilson’s Humvee, then the LMTV, the HEMTT tanker, and finally the second Humvee to bring up the rear. They cut a wide circle around the evenly-spaced support beams and positioned themselves in order, oriented towards the door. So they could escape quickly.
    LaRouche gave one last look around the exterior of the warehouse property, seeing nothing but a few piles of trash and some overgrown shrubs that threatened to consume the fence. He backed into the shadows, then turned and nodded to Jim, who let the chain slide noisily out of his hands and the rolling bay door rattled back down into its place.
    As the echo of the rolling door bounced around the man-made cave of a building, the rumble of the four trucks rolled into a high idle and then died, one by one. Hydraulics hissed and engine components ticked, and then the space became clamorous with the noise of opening doors and the babble of conversation as LaRouche’s team climbed out of their vehicles and began pulling their packs and gear down.
    LaRouche’s eyes glided over them for a moment as the smell of diesel fumes rolled into him, hot and pungent. To anyone of his people he would seem to be focused in that moment, but in fact his mind jumped from topic to topic, asking questions but not staying long enough to receive an answer. First he thought of the Red Man in his cargo pocket and how long could he make it last, and then he thought about food and water and how long he could make that last, and finally he thought of bodies lashed to telephone poles, crucified and gutted where they hung…
    “What’s that look for?” Jim asked from beside him.
    LaRouche snapped his head right, found the ex-priest regarding him with the half-curiosity of someone who already has a good idea of the answer to their question. LaRouche realized that he was baring his teeth, just slightly—his bottom lip quirked down to expose a row of teeth that were gradually yellowing with tobacco stains and lack of brushing.
    He let the expression slide off of his face and pulled the sling of his M4 from around his shoulders, then touched the raw spot where the nylon had managed to get through his layers of clothing and rub at the bottom of his neck. He leaned the rifle against the wall, then dove into his cargo pocket and retrieved the chaw.
    “They’re out there,” LaRouche said quietly as he worked.
    Jim planted his hands in the pockets of his parka. “Yeah.”
    LaRouche rolled the wad of tobacco into his cheek, brushed a few stray pieces of tobacco off on his pants, and then replaced the pouch. “Just hope they stay the fuck out of our way.”
    Jim only nodded.
    Wilson joined them, looking between the two older men with a taut expression.
    LaRouche knew what it meant. “No luck, huh?”
    “No.” Wilson crossed his arms. “I tried four times while you guys were clearing the building. Still getting nothing.”
    “Alright,” LaRouche said. “Until we know what’s going on, I think we should do all inter-squad communication on a subchannel, and stop attempting to make contact. We will keep one of the Humvees monitoring the main channel, in case Camp Ryder attempts to contact us.”
    Wilson looked at the other two men, and they stared at the floor in front of them.
    “It’s been two days,” Jim said, speaking carefully. “I think we’re at a point now where we need to decide what we’re going to do.”
    LaRouche cocked his head to the side. “What do you mean?”
    Jim took off his tortoiseshell glasses and inspected the lenses. “I know this isn’t going to be the popular opinion with you guys, but I think we need to consider going back.”
    LaRouche waited for a moment. “Okay.” He opened his