Free The Remaining: Trust: A Novella by D. J. Molles Page A

expression. “Could they have been suspended for something? Hoarding diesel fuel or ration fraud?”
    Nunez shrugged. “All this shit’s typed in by hand, so somebody could have made a mistake, but usually if that’s the case, it will show ‘suspended’ instead of ‘terminated,’ and it will have some comments in it. Such as the reason for the suspension and the time period until it’s reinstated.” Nunez looked up at the major. “I’ve only ever seen it say ‘terminated’ when the family is dead or if they decided to move out of the Green Zone for whatever reason.” He sniffed. “Chasing relatives in California or whatever.”
    Abe stood, still and silent as a monolith. He stared at the screen but didn’t really see it. His arms had crossed over his chest as the corporal had given his explanation, and his right hand clutched his bearded chin tightly. Brow furrowed.
    Nunez grew uncomfortable. “You mind if I ask where you found that card, sir?”
    Abe’s eyes gained focus again. He directed them at Nunez. “I mind.” He put the ration card back into his pocket. “Don’t talk about this. With anyone. Don’t even bring it up with me again. Understood?”
    Nunez nodded and went back to his computer screen. “Understood, sir.”
    Abe turned away from the corporal, but not before noting the address on the screen. The address where the Donahues were supposed to live, according to the most recent census record. Then he grabbed his helmet and headed for the door.
    A ringing telephone stopped him.
    He stood there, facing the doors to the command center and gritting his teeth. Already knowing what the ringing phone was for. Who it was from. What it was about. You didn’t mess with a system like the Green Zone census and not get noticed. Computers were such treacherous things.
    Corporal Nunez answered the phone.
    A brief pause.
    “Yes, sir. Of course, sir.”
    Abe closed his eyes, still not looking behind him. What did he feel in that moment? He wasn’t so sure. Anger. Betrayal. The sense of being used. Being lied to. Having one pulled over on him. But those were low-burning embers, buried under a thick crust of complacency. Of being tired. Of just wanting all of this to end. And those feelings…those were the ones that rooted his feet to the floor, that slouched his shoulders and sank his guts.
    The creak of an office chair.
    “Major,” Nunez called. “The president would like to see you.”

SIX
    Abe found Briggs much in the same way he’d seen him when he’d left earlier that morning, in a rush to save Tyler and Fargo Group. In a rush to run headlong into problems that were not of his creation but that he was expected to deal with anyway.
    President Briggs stood at the head of the table this time, rather than sat. He was alone. Some papers were spread out on the table, and it seemed to Abe that the table had become his preferred workspace. When Abe came through the door, he was still dirty, still stinking like smoke and exhaust, hair still matted from his helmet, face still locked—unyielding even to his own emotions. The face of a man deliberately “switching it off.”
    President Briggs did not smile or greet Abe in his usual cordial manner. There was a tension in the air of the room that was immediately apparent to Abe. The president leaned on the table with one hand, the other planted firmly on his hip, and he looked up at Abe from underneath his brow. His usual stately expression was slightly pinched. His forthright eyes appeared now to be veiled and suspicious.
    Abe stood still, just a single pace off of the doorstep.
    The gap between the two men seemed ridiculously long.
    What do you say? What do you say to fill all that empty space when you both know, but neither of you want to put it out there? To make it real by speaking it into the void. Words are such pesky things. How they can lift you up and crush you down and make grand ideas seem very small indeed. Why speak them when they can so