Xavier looked up.
“That might be jumpin' the gun. You could use some time. We’ll work on the letter later.” Haverty nodded slowly with a smirk on his face. “Yeah, I’m gonna give ya some time to think on it.” He paused. “But, what about Grant? What’s he know ‘bout that letter?”
Xavier sighed with slight relief. “He doesn’t know about the letter. I found it after I left him.”
Haverty started walking around the room again. His hands crossed, lying on his stomach. “Be honest with me, son. I’m gonna talk to him again. Already got his story before. I need to see if it changes now that he’ll see ya.”
“We were scared. That’s the only reason Grant might still lie about that.”
“Son, I don’t want no speculation. Just the truth.”
“The whole story about being attacked was made up.” The words came out faster than he had intended them to. Remember. Slow down. “Er, well, not completely. Grant was attacked. It just wasn’t like we said. There was a big argument about someone that Simon had killed. One of our people. Grant started yelling at him, and Simon lost it. He went right after Grant and wrapped him up in a chokehold. I couldn’t get him off, and… so I shot him.”
“Where’d ya get a gun? We took all them guns. Every last one from the school.”
“I didn’t have one to bring. I found it buried under some trash in a pickup. I didn’t have a choice. Simon snapped, and Grant… He was going to die. So… I shot him. Snuck right up and shot him.”
“Where’s the gun now?”
“I don’t know. I really didn’t want it, so I left it with Simon and all the rest of his things. If it’s not there, then Grant took it or someone else came along, but the stuff about the binoculars is true. I did take that.”
“The letter?”
“I took Simon’s boots. My shoes were so messed up I needed some new ones.” Xavier revealed the boots from underneath the desk, and Haverty nodded before Xavier started again, “Grant and I came up with the story we used and split up to make it more believable. I found the letter in the boot after I had left. Grant had no idea.”
“Where’s it?”
Xavier turned away from Haverty and fell silent.
“Hey!” He called out to the front office. Haverty’s assistant poked his head into the room. “Gimme a Guard.”
“Yes, sir.”
“I told you what I know about Grant,” Xavier said. “I can’t let you know about the letter. It’s my insurance policy.”
Haverty chuckled at the notion, slowly pacing the room, very clearly thinking about what was said. “Son,” he said, turning sharply toward Xavier, “I’ll have ya killed when I’m good ‘n’ ready.”
Xavier shot from his seat as Haverty jerked him up by the neck and kicked the chair out from beneath him. He was shoved forward but caught himself on the desk. His pockets were checked, turned inside out. The pocketknife slid across the oak top and landed in the chair opposite him. That was it. All he had. Haverty seemed disappointed.
“Straighten yourself up. You're lookin’ like a slob.”
Xavier adjusted his shirt and tucked the pockets back into his pants. “You’ll never find it,” he said while turning toward Haverty, catching him just before he exited through the door.
Haverty stopped and rotated his shoulders back, slightly toward Xavier. “No matter. They'll never find you neither.” He chuckled loudly as he exited. “In there! Bring up the other.”
Chapter Ten
Where is he taking me? There was definite uncertainty in Xavier’s steps and where each one would eventually lead. It was no matter. He was going—a Second Alliance Guard made certain of that. Each step through the basement was more unwanted than the last, plodding along through a dim gray. Scant slivers of sunlight shone through the half windows, dying into the concrete, leaving small boxes of light along the floor. That patterned array guided Xavier's feet as he was forced through the vast halls underneath River's Edge.
It had become the dark belly of a Second Alliance beast that was about to digest Xavier or at least let him drown for a bit within the acids as it figured what best to do with this treasonous morsel. He was shoved down the gullet, each step, a dominating squeeze of its throat. Only by force, did he proceed, hoping that eventually if he moved slowly enough, he would get stuck, unable to go any further. Or if that wouldn't suffice, hopeful he could cause such a stir in the beast's gut that it would reject him, and he would be discharged back from where he came, filth-covered but free.
He had never thought of it as something so dark before. The basement had been something much better in the past. This potential danger that now existed within it ruined his memory of the place. In months previous, it had been his sanctuary from the madness of the world. A place to reflect.—a place to plan, to contemplate, to move forward with projects, decide what necessary things needed to be accomplished. Also, a place to be Xavier when he needed to do that—only that.
He reflected on that time as if it had all been wasted. The thoughts were nothing. His plans were nothing. None of it mattered. Nothing had been achieved by the effort. The basement was no longer a sanctuary for thought, but had become nothing more than a sealed vault that the Second Alliance slyly annexed for themselves. Another form of control, limiting access, the beast was in charge. Its claws gripped firmly into the school, cutting off their resources, ensuring that no one would ever dream of biting the hand that fed them.
“Where are you taking me?” Xavier asked. He attempted to face the Guard escorting him, but another push prevented it.
“Just keep it movin'.”
“Why can't you tell me?” The pitch to his voice higher than before.
“Because it don't matter,” the Guard said. “You're goin' there regardless. You should worry more 'bout what they’ll do with ya.”
“What is it?”
No response. The Guard’s silence ate at Xavier’s heart, creating a hollowness that expanded within his chest. What does he know?
It was hard to accept the circumstances—the prospect of either death or imprisonment. Death frightened Xavier, but at least it was finite. It wouldn’t be the constant pain of worrying about loved ones—the constant running of what ifs—the back and forth of wondering where a person went wrong. It was true that a miserable death could be awaiting him, but even if he suffered, it would be over, and the memory of the pain would die along with him.
The idea of imprisonment worried him most. Conditions of the world were poor enough. He couldn’t imagine living for years off the scant remains set aside for a prisoner. His frail life could dwindle down to one of only experimentation and torture—abuse or neglect.
The thought of being held down there for an indefinite period of time made him want to break apart, lose it. But there could be no crying—no feeling sorry for himself. Xavier had cast aside his life for the greater good and would have to bear the weight of that decision. He had essentially asked for this, refusing to help himself with the one answer that Haverty desired.
What little hope that remained within him was only for the revolution. It was still possible that Sam was alive and he would be found. Perhaps that Soldier hadn’t meant to strike Sam like that, or it was an individual act, one not condoned by the Second Alliance. Sam's isolated outburst could not have possibly risen to a sentence of death. It had to be a mistake, not that the Second Alliance would apologize, but this trespass could be swept away, forgotten. And once better, Sam could move forward, not shying away from his disobedient thoughts.
These things were all possible. Xavier’s fate wouldn't actually be the end of the dream. He couldn't give up hope. River’s Edge could still be saved. Someone else would uphold the vision set forth by his father.
Xavier stopped and turned toward the Guard, his hands already raised to deflect the push that he knew was coming. “Why—” The Guard came toward Xavier. “Please, I need to know.”
“What?” The Guard dropped his hands.
“I can’t tell ya nothin’ like that.”
“Why not?”
“Cause I don’t know. Just a Guard, nothin’ more than that.”
“How—How don’t you know why you do it?”
“It’s just my job. Now move!” The Guard spun Xavier around.
“But—” He was shoved forward, his feet catching up below him as he stumbled. Blindly following orders. He probably doesn’t realize the pain he brings to people. Probably doesn’t want to know. He’s not even that much older than me. “You know you don’t have to do this.”
“I do though.”
“No you don’t,” Xavier pleaded.
“Then what? I’d be where you are.”
He's right.
The Guard might not fully understand the repercussions of his actions regarding other people, but he certainly understood his place within the Second Alliance. Everyone had a reason for their actions whether selfish or selfless. Can I really blame him? He had more than likely seen the full extent of the Second Alliance. He knew exactly what happened to people who made the same choice that Xavier had. I can’t convince him otherwise. Defeated, dropping his head, Xavier continued down the concrete corridor.
This place... He took it all in. It used to be so different. Now it's over. Xavier stood in the present, imagining the past, remembering how far they had come. Those large open spaces of the basement framed by cinder block pillars and oddly shaped rooms. Each area now crammed full of pallets stacked high with canned foods, clothing, ammunition, everything that had been taken—all of it organized by expiration date, size, or caliber.
Xavier noticed there were still tools and parts scattered across the floor where he had assisted in the beginnings of a heating solution for the school. The undertaking was far beyond his abilities alone. Dale and Grant had requested very particular scavenging trips through the older neighborhoods of the city to collect as many coal burning stoves as they could.
Unfortunately, the project had been delayed—the setback being the loss of Dale. The plan was to have all of them installed by November—a task that Grant was once convinced would still happen. In preparation, the town had already begun stockpiling coal from a local storage dome downriver. The depot hadn't been touched, and the amount of coal could see them through many lifetimes. All this progress...
Xavier didn’t realize that he had slowed, completely still now. Another quick poke and he started again. He could see the area just underneath the gymnasium where the locker rooms were located. He now understood where he was being taken.
A newly constructed chain-link fence separated them from the locker room door. They stopped just in front of it, and it began to shake as Xavier’s Guard impatiently smacked at it, calling out, “Hey!” The deadbolt’s thumb turn rotated, and the door to the locker room was pulled in. A Guard stepped out, approached the fence, and unlocked the gate, letting Xavier and his Guard pass through.
“I need the one.”
“Which?”
“The one that can still walk.”
“Wait here.” The Guard entered back through the door.
How many are being held down here? At least two. Haverty still wants Grant, so he has to be one of them. The other’s Sam? Has to be. They must have been caring for him down here. The one that can still walk… Xavier waited anxiously.
“Not a word to the other prisoner.”
Xavier nodded.
Grant emerged from the open doorway, a Guard directly behind him. Grant carried a foul smelling bucket in his hand. His clothing disheveled and twisted. One of his shoes untied. Stains of food running down his front. He gave the impression that he'd been up for days. His head was down and remained that way as he passed by Xavier.
“I found a letter.” The remark rushed from Xavier's lips before he was abruptly knocked back, his body cradled by the slack in the fence as his fingers caught the chain link, preventing a complete fall to the ground.
Grant peered over to him from the corner of his eye and gave a reassuring smile. Xavier's Guard took Grant by the back of his shirt and began pulling him along. Xavier watched as their silhouettes disappeared into the gray of the basement. Good-bye...
“Grab a bucket,” the Guard barked while securing the gate.
Xavier did as he was told, grabbing a large, white bucket. He looked to the Guard for further instruction and was shown a sausage-like finger pointed toward the door. “Let's go.” The Guard swung the door inward and immediately lifted a solar-powered lantern hanging on the door. He clicked it on—the sterile light punished the eyes.
“In there.” The fat finger pointed again.
He looked in the mirrors, disappearing in the gaps between each one as he made his way to the showers. Underneath each sprayer, cots lined the white-tiled walls. A bucket at the foot of all of them but one. The Guard stepped in first, fully illuminating the small room. Xavier followed.
A body. The head wrapped in gauze, a redness absorbed within the cloth. “Sam!” It was him, unconscious, but breathing. The man was broken, stripped down, covered in a thin blanket. Bloodied towels and soiled clothing strewn about the floor beneath the cot his body rested upon. His left hand cuffed to the frame, not that he was in any condition to leave. A faint whistling noise filled the air, projected from his twisted nose as he wheezed.
Xavier tiptoed around a few empty bowls and crusted spoons then slumped onto the cot nearest to Sam. The Guard followed and handcuffed him to the metal frame of his cot. Xavier tugged, but it was no use. Damn. He leaned back against the wall. Sam. Be strong. I'm here. We're on the same team. We'll get through this, man.
All Xavier could do was sit and stare while he had the light nearby. The Guard checked on Sam, took the gauze from his head, and pitched it to the floor. Taking a sponge from another bucket, he wet Sam's head, rinsing the blood away. Sam has no idea what's going on. The Guard finished wrapping his head with fresh gauze and stood.
“Just sit there and shut up.”
“How long wi—” The Guard snatched Xavier’s jaw with his hand, squeezing his cheeks tightly inward.
“Don't!” the Guard said. “Not again.” He took his hand from Xavier's mouth and left.
Xavier threw his head back against the stiff pillow on the cot. So, this is it. Shifting to his side, he just waited in the darkness.
The revolution might rest completely with Matt and Jenny now. Xavier had bet on the wrong people, foolishly sharing far too much information with Rupert. It didn't take him long to switch from dissenter to supporter. Absolute snake. Haverty was right. People do just want it easy. Any sense of normalcy like before and people couldn't help themselves. Maybe everyone really did know about the Second Alliance but simply didn't care.
It's possible morality shifted. Faith was tarnished, almost obsolete. Xavier questioned God's benevolence—his intentions for creating a disease so catastrophic. Almawt damaged even the most devout. People felt betrayed. Within the walls of River's Edge, the word God had almost become unspoken. People were now focused on survival—the immediate payoff. With that to guide them, what could one expect? Not even man's laws with tangible punishment were around to stifle man's evilness—to help guide morality.
Maybe it was gone. Maybe morality no longer existed, and it truly was survival of the fittest. Do what you will to ensure you and yours live—that your way of life moves forward by whatever means and sort out morality later. Fear and violence were far greater motivators at the moment. Maybe the Second Alliance had it right. Maybe the world needed this—needed them. Someone to do the dirty work, to save humanity, and decide right and wrong at a more convenient time.
Xavier lay there, a sliver of light snuck past the corner from where the Guard sat. It lay just across Sam's body,--still, except for the rise and fall of his chest. He watched it, counting each of his breaths to pass the time. It was silent, except for that low whistling. He was hoping that at any giv
en moment Sam would stand up, rip the wrap from his head, and speak. Let Xavier know that he wasn't wrong. That this world is still worth fighting for and will be fought for. But for now, all Sam could do was lay there and breathe.
342, 343... The breaths fluctuated between labored and ease. He stopped counting, taking his mind from Sam's struggling condition. Xavier began to slide the handcuff up and down the length of the cot. A shrill scraping of metal.
“Stop!” the Guard shouted. “Relax! Go to sleep. Talk to that guy if you want. I don’t care. Just stop acting like that.”
“How long? How long will I be here?” Xavier pleaded.
“Not up to me.”
“What’s your name?”
No answer.
“Sir, come on please.” Xavier’s voice cracked. “Just talk to me.”
I can't do this. The palms of his hands covering his face muted the sound of his sobbing. He shook in silence. The frustration built. The restraint. The darkness. The stench of stale urine and excrement. The metallic odor of blood. He yelled out fiercely while yanking at the handcuff, tears running down his face. The effort was useless. The laughter from the other room confirmed his futility.
“Sir! Please!”
No answer.
The light swung wide across the tile wall and then disappeared. Footsteps clicked across the floor and faded to nothing. Black, completely. Just that low whistling to let him know he wasn't alone. Xavier screamed again—something horrific as if his very life was being ripped from his body. Uncontrollable crying, spasms, he tried to stand, but couldn’t. The cot was secured to the wall.
“Come back!”
His yelling continued. He folded his hand over, trying to pull it free—too tight. The rigid metal held him in place. He continued to pull and tug, wriggling his hand. Still no use. Long breaths in and out, simply to calm himself. What now? Do I just sleep the rest of my life. He threw himself back onto the rigid canvas of his cot—isolated—stuck in a room with a breathing corpse covered in its personal filth.
Almawt Virus Series (Book 2): Days Since...Xavier [Day 853] Page 15