Chapter 4
FEMA Resettlement Camp Bravo
Woodstock, Virginia
Thursday, January 6th
The dashboard vents blowing tepid air at his face, DHS Special Agent in Charge August Carter gritted his teeth and gripped the steering wheel with force enough to bend it. He tensed and trembled as his mind raced through countless adverse, almost subhuman thoughts, but those reflections were nothing compared to the heartbreak he was feeling. He was too sad to fight, too angry to cry, and yearned desperately for explanation—and reprisal.
August removed his hat, brought it about, and studied its golden embroidered logo contemplatively for a while before tossing it to the dashboard. He closed his eyes and rubbed his temples, then removed an earbud connected by a fine cord to a state-of-the-art receiver in his lap, one he’d been using to eavesdrop on what was becoming an extensive list of revealing conversations between his wife and the son of a bitch she’d chosen over him.
Replacing the void in his ear with a tactical earpiece attached to his radio, he peered over at the clock on the dashboard. The operation he was about to lead this morning was nearing the point of running late.
August tried remembering all the things that were supposed to happen today, including where he’d left off before deciding to take a chance and listen in. He inspected himself and his gear, finding everything where it needed to be, including his uniform, body armor, service weapon, backup pistol in an ankle holster, extra magazines, and other decorations of his trade. To his right, leaning against the passenger seat, angled at the floorboard, was his suppressed M4 carbine and a black, heavy-duty canvas seventy-two-hour pack, within which he carried all the supplies necessary for another three-day excursion outside the wire.
August strained hard to just let it all go. He tried to forget everything he had heard this morning, but there was no use. Today’s operation was going to be difficult to get through no matter what strategy he used to purge his personal dilemmas from his mind. He knew from experience that being preoccupied with frivolous matters while preparing for or being immersed in his duties was an effective way to wind up dead or cost members of his team their lives.
He held his breath, winced and flexed his muscles, trying to will all the hurt away to no avail. He then punched the steering wheel a few times. “Just snap the fuck out of it, August. You’re better than this…you weakling,” he growled. “We don’t have time for any more of your childish bullshit today.”
He punched the steering wheel again and prepared another strike, only to stop short. His eyes grew wide, and with a slackened jaw, his lips curled into a sneer.
You weakling!
This wasn’t him…and those weren’t his words at all. Those were his wife’s words. And they were now spewing from his mouth. He had become so accustomed to her berating and browbeating that he’d begun mistaking them as his own, mishandling them as some peculiar form of self-encouragement.
August shook his head. He was beyond being disgusted with himself. “Unbelievable,” he said, wishing now he’d remained in bed today. “How could you let her do this to you? How could you let this happen? How could you not have seen it coming?”
A rap on his window jolted him to attention. August rotated left and spotted one of his men waving at him on the other side. He took a deep breath and a quick moment to center himself before pressing the button to lower his window, unable to discern if his visitor had heard him talking to himself.
An agent wearing an identical uniform and toting a similar loadout placed his hand on the doorframe. “August? You awake? Are we doing this today?”
August hung his head and nodded. “Yeah. Sorry, Gil. I’m a little off this morning…didn’t get much sleep last night.”
“Sorry to bug you about it. Personally, I don’t mind sitting around all day, but the boys are getting antsy.”
“We’ll be underway momentarily.”
“I’ll pass the word.” Gil grinned. “Is the old lady keeping you up too late or something?”
A long pause. “Not exactly.”
Gil tapped him on the shoulder. “Hey, it’s all good, brother. A healthy sex life is a good thing, nothing to be ashamed about. Sure beats jerkin’ the gherkin, know what I’m saying? Anyway, no worries. The teams were just curious…and concerned, of course. Thought you might’ve had a heart attack or a stroke.”
Pretty damn close to it, August thought. He squinted at his fellow agent, then sent a smirk. “Not this guy. The PT regimen I’ve been following lately has this ticker in tip-top shape.” He pounded his chest.
The other agent leaned inward, gesturing to the radio device and earbud atop August’s beefy thigh. “What you got there? Something new? Doesn’t exactly look standard issue.” He chuckled. “You know…too high-tech for DHS.”
August reached for the device and wrapped the earbud’s cord around it, then placed it in the glove box. “Never mind about that.”
“Shit, man, calm down,” Gil pressed. “I’m not going to tell on you. What were you listening to? A soccer game in Spain or some shit?”
August didn’t answer.
Gil backed away from the door, sensing his colleague’s lack of enthusiasm. “Hear me out, brother. You’re the man around here, but we came up through the ranks together, known each other a long, long time. And believe it or not, my investigational skill set is just as keen as your own. I can hide
