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 think about The Remaining: Trust: A Novella?
