Defying Terror

Chapter XLII

Capt. Brian W. Manchester, No. 002

26 August 2030

18:54 QCT

The weary skyline of Queen's City comes into view through the dense fog of the evening. Substantial amounts of raindrops splatter against the windshield, and the wipers only have the ability to work so fast. In August, the nights aren't supposed to revert to darkness so soon, but the torrential downpour is catalyzing that transition. Though the glass surrounds and protects us from the rainstorm, I can feel the strident gales against the vehicle as it travels on.

I should keep my vision set on the road ahead of me, but for a moment it strays to the boy in the passenger seat. Clusters of his hair are deviated all over the place, covering the sunken sockets of his eyes. He rests the side of his head against the car door; something I have come to recognize as an indication of exhaustion or stress. When I discover him like this, it's accompanied with silence, taking away the obligation for me to speak, especially in the state he is in as of now.

Slater hasn't spoken since we dispatched from my house and we're a mere five minutes from his mother. I don't have a clue how this visit is going to go. The last time I saw Joanne, she gave me one sentence before flinging the front door in my face. It was about her son.

I can't begin to fathom what that boy is sorting out right now. I have felt plenty of grief over loss before, but this is something else. The deaths I have dealt with have been in the moment, hours or days after the fact. I lost my own father as an infant. But to have the ability to form a relationship with someone makes the casualty that much more traumatic. He was close with Calvin, and since his disappearance, he trusted that he was still alive out there. Ten years later, he uncovers the truth. And it's a stab in the heart.

When I stumbled upon him rummaging through Calvin's container of possessions, I wasn't angry with him. I watched how contorted his face became when he saw me staring. I have read that note over ten times, and I still have not been able to keep my emotions internal. That's my best friend who wrote that. But to Slater, that's his father.

Brick-traced townhouses line both sides of East Sands Road as soon as the freeway exits into the city. They are reddened by the rain, though the storm has died down since the buildings have appeared. I can see sidewalks slicked with puddles that are still filling, and rivers flowing on the pavement toward the nearest drain. I can hear the wheels of my car traversing through their path, sloshing water up against the door.

Slater finally lifts his head, swiping some of the loose hair away from his eyes. "So, was my dad always like that? Did he always think the Imperial Guard was bad?"

I shrug, pressing the brake at a traffic light turning yellow. "No more than the next person. The fact of the matter, Slater, is that everyone knows that being in the Imperial Guard is hell. The reason why we stay is to support our families, and that's it. If I could quit right now, I would. We know what we're doing is sometimes wrong, and with that mission, we certainly did. Your father took the words right out of our mouths."

I release the brake and continue down the road. We are swiftly approaching Slater's old abode. I can't tell how he's feeling about this, but I'll speak for myself and say that the nerves are spiked for this encounter. I'm worried for Slater. I don't know how Jo is going to take her son returning.

"What was my dad like? I mean before I met him."

I rest my elbow on the sill of the car window and grin. "Your father was something else. He had a big heart, except when it came to some Imperial Guard duds or drunk buffoons when we went to the bar. Never had an ill word to say about anyone." A twisted thought relays through my head. "For a while, at least. Things changed for us very quickly."