No Time To Bleed

Brett Wiggins sat in his armchair, fire rustling before him. He was resting in Southwestern Airport’s study far off from many of the mongrels that this airport kept.

The office was dark and dim at the moment despite the searing sunlight outside. He always preferred to keep curtains drawn closed. It gave a person such as him a sense of privacy.

Privacy was something he found to be coveted.

The bag of ice rested on his right hand just on the chair’s arm. The skin there seemed to be irritated and throbbing from this morning’s events. He hoped it wasn’t infected. He always hated getting close to those who were possibly infested with the disease that had brewed from Lexicon’s grasps.

The company had been a long family mission for him. It had been handed to his father from his great grandfather and even before then it had existed. Brett never liked his own father very much. He’d been an irrational and demanding man whom Brett never saw much of himself in.

Yet, they both shared a relentless surge of something, a need to hold a hand over others. A need to be the one with a full deck of cards at their arsenal. It was something he’d appreciated he’d been raised on from his father since his mother had never been around.

Relentless power. It was what fed Brett and the things that surprised him all the more was after over 3 decades of running this company, it surprised him to know that a singular group of people could cause such turmoil.

First it had been that Lion individual and then the Rushman friend of his.

They’d both dropped off the face of the map when the virus had gone too far from the reach of control. He’d been keeping on their tracks, but it was hard. Even using their kids and family against them wasn’t working so well.

But, then again, their family seemed to be trained.

Ryant Brown hadn’t been the smartest teenager to walk right into their clutches and neither had anyone else of his family as well as Jasmine. It surprised him to see such a lack of competence in those individuals.

He chuckled to himself, squeezing down another small glass of scotch through his lips. He savored the taste. Alcohol had become his friend over the years, but never an addiction. He never let anything get the better half of him.

His son was in the corner of the room in his own armchair, reading a book. The book was The Art of War to be exact. He wondered why his son read such peculiar things.

A knock came at the door and Mr. Wiggins checked his gold plated watch for the time.

“Come in!” he called out.

The wooden door creaked open and he set his glass down to the table near him. Two guards walked in, guns at the ready and stone upon their faces.

“What is it?”

“We’ve been informed there’s been an escape from Level A.” One of the two guards mustered out.

Brett sneered. What type of servicemen were these people? He paid them generously an hour and they couldn’t even handle a simple task such as keeping people in check?

“Why have I hired you men?”

Both of the guards remained silent, guns still slung before them in their hands.

“Did I ask the two of you a question?” He propped his feet up on the coffee table revealing his brightly polished black dress shoes. The polish on them glistened in the close fire.

“You hired us sir because you needed to keep these people in check. To distract them and hold them in place until-“

Brett snapped his hand out. “Don’t say it! Don’t say the name of it! I don’t want any stray ears leaking over things that don’t need to be spread! Understand?”

Both of them nodded. Brett noticed that one of them appeared younger than the other.

“You, how old are you?”

The guard swallowed, pale brown eyes trembling under his helmet. “I’m 20 years old sir. I just served two one year terms in Iraq.”

“And may I ask why your back in the States then?”

“Because I wanted to support my family, sir.”

Brett stood, walking steadily over to this 20 year old guard. He grabbed a hold of the underside of the guard’s chin and pointed it in his son, Rodney’s direction.

“Do you see my son over there?”

“Yes, sir.” The man’s words were slurred under the iron grip.

“Do you think I enjoy knowing my son’s life is in danger when you allow these lunatics to run free in my airport?”

“No, sir.”

He shoved the guard back. “Then, learn how to do your stinking job! It’s what I pay you for! Have you reviewed the surveillance tapes to see where they are?!”

The other guard answered. “Surveillance shows they’re moving through the Level A kitchens to the roof. Their group is separated in two.”

Brett smiled then. “Really? Separated in two? Well, let their little group reunite then we’ll have a little present for them on the roof. Get some of those things from Level B and get them on the room whatever way you can.”

The guard nodded and helped his fellow worker up from the floor.

“And, sir?” he asked.

“Yes.”

“Should we postpone the speech for a later time? We know it’s only 45 minutes away, sir.”

Brett shooed them away with his hand, pouring more scotch for himself. “No. Of course not. That’s the most idiotic thing I’ve ever heard. You’ve already informed the people I’m doing a speech and that’s what I intended to do.”

The guards left out and Brett heard the door close behind his back.

He swirled the caramel toned liquid within the glass before bringing the bitter alcohol to this lips once again. He savored the taste and felt the warmth smooth his icy soul

If there was one thing he knew about today, he knew he wouldn’t let those kids get the better of him.

But, when Brett had thought of those kids, he didn’t think his own son to be a part of them. That’s why he didn’t even care to notice his own son had slipped out the room.