𝐛𝐫𝐨𝐤𝐞𝐧 𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬; band of brothers ✔

PART THIRTY THREE

"Thought you could use it." I flashed a smile.

He frowned at first, so I pivoted, only to be called back.

"Wait." He beckoned. "Just wait a minute."

I folded my arms, taking a seat across from him. He grabbed the bottle by its neck, pouring a large amount down his throat.

"Easy now."

He prompted his brows, "Long day."

"What happened?"

This was the longest conversation we had had since Sturzelberg, and he knew it whole-heartedly. "We found... God, I don't even know how to describe it."

He had another swig. I waited patiently.

"It was a prison, kind of. Buildings separated by alleyways, with three layers of barbed wire fence around it. Some parts were on fire, others just smoking. Hundreds of people."

"People?"

"Mm." Another sip. "Musicians, teachers, doctors, prisoners of war... That's what we did here earlier; ravaged the shops for as much food as we could find. Hadn't touched a bit in months." He sat back. "Couldn't even get half of it out of the trucks before Battalion ordered otherwise. Said they needed to watch the prisoners - too fast consumption would be more harm than good."

I nodded; we had seen almost a hundred Displaced Persons Camps, but this was different. This had incarceration to it. A lack of choice, of right.

"You can go." Spiers breathed. "I'll be here a while."

I thought to argue, but his eyes were already shut, fighting exhaustion. I retrieved my notebook, glancing over my shoulder before leaving the room.

Outside, the atmosphere had a heaviness to it, a coldness - despite the air carrying the highest humidity any of us had witnessed in months. No tree boughs swayed, no-one moved across the streets. For a moment, everything was completely and utterly placid.

Smash.

I didn't think too much of it; someone could've dropped something on accident. Only, it continued again and again, somewhat rhythmically. I examined the buildings in front of me, gaze landing on the furthest to the right. A furnishers, massive glass windows printed either side of the door. I followed the sound of shattering glass, no second thought. If only for the Reverand perhaps.

I pulled out a flashlight from my pocket, shining it through the window of the door to the shop. No-one in sight. Yet, more china smashed against the floor. I pushed on the door, still holding up the torch in one hand whilst another rested on my sidearm holder.

Smash.

I turned a corner, eyes softening at the sight. I lowered the flashlight. Glass covered the floor, alongside other shattered objects, a man staring at them, baseball bat in hand.

"Joe?"

He didn't look at me, almost ashamed.

"What's this?"

His boot tilted against a shard on the ground, "Needed to get some anger out."

"Why?"

He sniffed, rubbing his eyes with the back of his sleeve. I turned off the torch, the moonlight shining on his face, and put it back in my pocket. Each step I took had a gravity to it, shaking both of us. I pressed a palm to his cheek, moving his jaw slightly to reveal streaks of tears dividing his skin.