Robert Wilson

DAYS SINCE…

XAVIER: DAY 853

Prologue

Upon the dirt, their feet shambled forward, each resident edged one by one into the courtyard of River’s Edge Academy. A row of Second Alliance Guards formed a wall that corralled these lines of people into the lower half of the yard, ensuring they remained impacted. Shoulders pressed to bodies. Bodies to backs. One push and they would all topple over.

Without a choice, they simply stood there—astonished faces, solemn, much thinner now than in days past. Some clasped hands in preparation. Unnerved. Silent as they looked on.

“That’s all of them!” a Guard said before sliding back inside the door to the hallway and clicking the latch, prompting the Guard across the yard to do the same.

Collectively, the people’s faces twisted to see past one another—behind them—anticipating the death of one of their own. They knew it wouldn’t be long, dreading his arrival, the realization of a broken promise—sworn words taken back.

A clink of metal and the sharp gasp of the crowd sucked the air from the opened door. The prisoner stumbled forward, led by a noose around his neck to the scaffolding that had been arranged against the southern wall. With his hands cuffed behind his back, he pulled, fought from his forced path. “Quit your struggling!” A quick jerk of the rope and his feet fell back in line.

The Guards that encircled the crowd ensured no eyes were diverted from this spectacle. Three others that escorted the man kept any sympathetic hand from him. There would be no saving this prisoner. Nothing could go wrong. Not today.

“Keep your eyes on the grazing field,” a Sentry posted in a watch tower yelled to his counterpart. “Do your job, man!”

“And miss this?” His partner scoffed. “How often does something like this happen? It’s ‘bout time we get to see some action.”

“You’re sick,” the Sentry said while turning back toward the field he had been assigned to observe.

“It’s his damned fault. Treason they said. Not sure of the details, but I don’t really care.” His overzealous eyes watched every detail unfold. “Guilty’s all I need to know.”

A stiff wind cut across the prisoner, causing his balance to waver as he stood ten feet from the ground. The metal and wood creaked as two Guards moved about the scaffolding. Their movements were deliberate and rehearsed. Their hands worked to place the rope up and then over, securing the end to a lower portion of the frame. Another rope placed then tightened around his legs. The Guards jerked hard at the rope each time the knots were made.

The two Guards brought him upright, their arms interlocked within his elbows. With his knees bent, he practically hovered in place. The black hood that wrapped the man’s face puffed outward then in as his breaths sped forth.

The crowd maintained its silence while the muffled hysteria within the hood touched upon their ears—it was unknown to them what horrors were being said.

“Let him go!”

“He doesn’t deserve it!”

“Stop!” A Soldier—an iron man—raised his rifle as if to fire, but didn’t. “It won’t be too much longer.”

Chapter One

One Week Prior… Day 853.

The sun crested the horizon, pushing morning light through the slits in the metal sheets that now covered the alcoves in the wall. Broken glass had been swept from the floor, and gradually, over time, bits of rubble flaked from the stressed concrete and brick replaced it.

A flickering dust danced through the rays of light as it moved across the stained linoleum floor toward Xavier. He began to stir from his dream as the light crept up the legs of his cot.

“Xavier, I have to go, honey. I’m sorry.”

“Mom, no. You have to stay. Please!”

“Brown County’s in rough shape. There just aren’t enough physicians to help with all the sick people out there. I have to go. I have a duty to help others.”

“You can stay here. People need help here, too.”

“Dad’s going to stay with you two. He’ll handle things while I’m gone. He’s fully capable of caring for you both.”

“But he’s not a doctor. What if we get sick? What if Dad gets sick? I can’t handle that. You know me and Tara can’t do that.”

“None of you are going to get sick, but if you do, I’ll come back, okay? Here’s the number for where I’ll be. Don’t worry. Nothing bad is going to happen. It’s just a flu virus. It’s just giving people a cough.”

“But Matt said people are dying. He said that a lot of people are dying from this.”

“Matt doesn’t know what he’s talking about. I’ve been following this thing for a while now. The folks that have died already had issues. They’re not dying because of this. Healthy people don’t die from the flu.”

“Promise?”

“Of course I do.”

“Please say it.”

“I promise nothing bad will happen.”

“You can’t promise that if you aren’t here.”

“Xavier, ju— don’t do this. You and your sister are both good, healthy kids. I’ll probably be gone a month. No longer than that. You have to stop worrying about this.”

“How can you leave your family to go take care of strangers?”

“Xavier, please! It’s already hard enough. You’ll understand when you’re older. Someday, you’ll have to stick your neck out there for something bigger than yourself. It’s just my turn do it now.”

“But we’ll miss you. It’s not going to be the same if you’re gone.”

“You know I’ll miss you too. I’ll never stop thinking about you guys. You better help your dad and mind after your sister. I’ll be back. I promise I’ll be back.”

“I believe you, Mom.”

“I love you.”

“I love you, too.”

Xavier pulled a worn blanket, patched with old curtains and duct tape, over his head—just a little while longer before having to face life again. If only sleep could bring enough time to get through this, bring about the old, familiar world.

His eyes twitched in response to the alarm clock begging him to wake. He grabbed it from the floor and began to wind its crank. It had to be done carefully, replacing it would be nearly impossible.

The curled knuckles of his index fingers worked the sleep from his eyes. He loosely wrapped the ticking clock inside a t-shirt, slid it underneath the cot, and grabbed the only pair of shoes he owned. They rested side by side in front of him as he sat with his hands tucked underneath his chin. He sighed. Would today be the day they finally rejected him? He forced his feet, one at a time, past the tongues of his miserable shoes. A sense of relief curled his lips into a smile.

He stood from his cot, barely awake, with both feet pressed firmly against the floor, stretching his fingers toward the ceiling. The walls seemed to be pulled in by several feet—his personal space dwindling. It was only a matter of time until they started fabricating bunk beds out of old scaffolding or whatever scrap they could find. This is crazy. How many more people are they going to try and cram in here?

Xavier pinched two corners of his worn blanket, flung the other end forward, and floated it down over his empty cot as he eyed a few of the Second Alliance Guards doing the same. It doesn’t matter how many of them end up staying here. They’ll never be one of us. It’s not possible. Nobody wants you guys here. Don’t care how much protection you think you give us.

He glared at them a bit longer before starting toward the opposite wall of the sleeping quarters, moving past the cots of the other residents assigned there—each person waking to their own individual routine. Their groans and yawns acted as birds calling out, each one responding, growing louder, trying to outdo one another. The odor of sweat and moist bedding went unnoticed. Xavier had been there long enough for his nose to accept it as simply, air.

“Hey, do you mind if I—?” Xavier pointed to the footlocker at the end of Matt’s cot.

“Naw, you’re good,” Matt said. “You know you don’t have to ask, man.” He rubbed across his patchy moustache and beard. “Haven’t shaved in a long time. I think it’s starting to come in really good now. What do you think?”

Xavier shot him a look. It doesn’t look any different.

“You’ll start getting yours soon enough.”

“I already have.” Xavier looked up at Matt, turning his head so he could show off the two hairs poking from his chin. “See.”

“Nice.” Matt smirked. “A real man now.”

“Whatever…”

Xavier pushed the footlocker against the eastern wall. He ran his hand up and down the metal sheet that rested where a window once hung. It was generally smooth, but high-caliber gunfire had spoiled its overall condition—some spots worse than others. The slits in the metal sheets provided a limited view of the world beyond River’s Edge. Xavier from time to time would peek out. This one time… Mom. Dad. Come on! Come home… I need you guys. I don’t want to do this alone anymore. Today, only the trees and wild brush swaying in the wind greeted him.

In the distance, he could spot the houses which broke the natural line of trees that ran along the hillsides, eventually giving way to the skyscrapers of downtown—those dreary colossal figures. The throughways to the urban core were barren. The automobiles that cruised the smooth concrete were forgotten, waiting in their driveways and garages. The scene appeared as a model that was never touched by its creator—habitable, but abandoned.

Xavier remembered life before. Before the Almawt virus ripped the world apart. It had been over two years since the last victim passed away. Over two years since the structures built by the most dominant species Earth had ever known lay dormant. Houses, where the middle class raised their children, no longer lit up the hillsides. The manicured lawns and paved roads were filled with weeds and dust. Although he couldn’t bring himself to return there, he could still point out his house among the tall oaks and ash trees.

“Thanks.” Xavier left the alcove and returned the footlocker.

“Any luck today?” Matt asked.

“I’m not sure luck exists anymore.”

“It does. Just takes more to find it.” He patted Xavier on the back and then squeezed his shoulder. “Your dad told us the only way to lose is by giving up. Just gotta keep looking for it.”

“Yeah, I guess so…” Xavier’s voice faded as he looked toward the alcove again. “It’s been a long time since we’ve been out there. It’s kind of crazy to think about, huh?”

“Yeah…” Matt nodded. “Hey! You got something new going on today?”

“I won’t really know until I get over to the shop. You know how Grant is.” Xavier rolled his eyes. “We always have something new he wants to get started on. It feels like we never get anything done, but… whatever. What about you?”

“Me and Jenny gotta make some repairs to the wall on the river side. Some Guard saw someone on a motorboat passing through. Freaked him out or something, so they just want some stuff fixed up. Shouldn’t take more than a day or two,” he said, reassuring himself. “Just can’t help but think that boating’s a waste of gas.”

“Did they do anything other than cruise through?”

“Naw, not that I know. They don’t really tell me nothing. Just fix this or fix that. You know how things go around here now.” Matt gestured toward one of the Guards. “Everything’s a secret now.”

Xavier nodded. “You mentioned Jenny. How’s she doing?” Xavier’s face filled up with a partial grin.

“Meh, still nosy as ever.” Matt shook his head with a discouraged look upon his face. “Always in someone else’s business, and I just couldn’t deal with it anymore. She don’t listen. I didn’t have a choice but to end it. She’s gonna get into trouble someday.”

“Probably. She’s really cute though.” Xavier held a completely full grin now.

“Get outta here.”

“Yeah, yeah, I know, but…” He leaned in toward Matt. “If you two aren’t seeing each other anymore.”

“Go on! Get outta here,” he said while nudging Xavier away. “You about ready?”

Matt bent down, unlocked his footlocker, and grabbed a small, canvas bag from inside. Xavier did the same from his, and they made their way down the hall to the bathroom.

• • •

“Barely gonna be a wait for us today,” Matt said, as he placed his feet in line for the sinks during the morning rush.

“Good. We might not have much time before they take the lamps out to recharge.” Xavier eyed the solar-powered lanterns that were strung across the ceiling.

The men’s room was relatively open now. Toilets had been discarded in favor of a long white trough running the length of the room. It was secured to the wall at a slight downward angle ultimately terminating into a pipe that took the liquid waste from the building and into the river.

The sinks were relatively unchanged from the past, evenly spaced from one another, hanging from the wall opposite the trough. The only additions to them were the pipes that ran down from the ceilings.

Without running water, they had to rely on gravity and the reservoir tanks that rested on the school’s roof. Each sink’s pipe was fixed with two separate valves—one to get your allowance of water and the other to slowly release it for use. Each had a bucket underneath that caught the gray water from the drains.

Xavier and Matt hustled to find a spot in line for the sinks during the morning rush.

They waited patiently as their places in line moved them closer to the sinks. The chatter and laughter growing inside the room echoed, drowning out any individual conversation. The old bathroom etiquette of no eye contact and no talking was tossed aside. It was now a social event.

Xavier stepped forward, unzipped his bag, and placed his toothbrush and toothpaste on the sink. He tightened the lower valve of the water pipe and loosened the top one. The pipe filled with his allowance. He reversed the order, and a slow trickle began to run over his toothbrush. After he finished brushing his teeth, he splashed his face and ran the remaining water through his hair. He put away his things and went to leave.

“Hey! You better dump that bucket.”

He turned back toward the sinks and caught the scornful look of Geoff Rupert, his beady eyes locking onto Xavier. Geoff was the unfortunate man tasked with maintaining the latrines. And, if that wasn’t bad enough, the job included the outdoor bucket holes and burying the excrement outside the town’s wall.

“Sorry, I didn’t realize it was above the line.” Damn it—Xavier pulled the bucket from underneath the sink and put a spare one in its place—don’t apologize to that jerk. That’s why he has that crappy job. He’s too dense to realize if he’d only play nice, maybe he could do something else. Maybe he’d have someone on his side for a change.

He waddled over to the trough, the bucket unsteady in his grip. He set it on the floor and then relieved himself into the channel. Once he was finished, he leaned the bucket against the higher end and tilted it to a slow pour.

The gray, filmy water rushed toward the drainage pipe lifting whatever other filth lay along the way. It pooled at the bottom, waiting its turn to escape into the Ohio River. He noticed Rupert watching him as he returned the bucket. His close-set eyes glaring hate into Xavier’s being.

“There we go,” Xavier said, as he placed the bucket with the spares.

“Took you long enough.” Rupert puffed his chest out. “Don’t let it happen again.”

Xavier stared at him while shaking his head, then very deliberately spoke above the crowd, “I’ll see you later, Matt.”

Matt turned toward him, his eyes wide while trying to force a few words through a mouthful of toothpaste. He reached for Xavier, begging him to stop, but it was too late. Xavier had spun straight into a Guard—his body recoiled then crumpled to the floor.

“Watch it!”

Xavier looked up at him while scrambling to gather his feet underneath him. “Sorry. I—I—“

“Don’t let it happen again.” The Guard stepped over him rather than around. “What’re you lookin’ at?” he snapped at the onlookers, but no one dared speak.

Xavier fled from the bathroom. I’m so sick of this crap. He returned to his footlocker to secure his toiletries, slamming the lid in the process. I should light their beds on fire. Do something. He sighed and took a quick look around. I could get away with it. Who would tell? No one likes these guys. Seriously, who the hell would say anything? A few strong footsteps broke up his thoughts as they neared. Another Guard. Whatever… screw these guys. Xavier watched the man for a moment before heading out. Time for work. Again.

He drifted toward the maintenance shop, being led there by a discoloration of the floor that grew darker the closer you came. Xavier stopped—Classroom 101 always seemed to get in the way. The old desks were still there. ‘X was here’ carved along the bottom edge of the one. A juvenile act done against a dare. He immediately regretted it upon finishing. Not that he faced any punishment for it. It just wasn’t like him to do it. He was a good student and had a fond recollection of school.

Those classroom activities began to stir again as he sorted the memories highlighting his last year of normalcy. Life seemed so difficult at the time. Now, he longed for those problems—the minutiae of a child’s life—chores, homework, and play. A weak smile creased his face as he remembered his classmates. Most of them were gone now, including his sister. “I survive for you,” he said aloud.

“Here again?” One of the few teachers left in the town asked.

“I didn’t mean to interrupt you.”

“Need a refresher on your measurin’?” She chuckled to herself while she sorted through some objects on her desk. “I’m gettin’ low on pencils again. All we got are nubs. You got any in the shop?”

“I doubt we have any extras,” Xavier said, “but supply should still have plenty.”

“Guess we’ll find out.”

“I’ll see you around.”

“When ya goin’ to stop dwellin’ on the past? You’re here every mornin’.”

Xavier forced a smile. “I don’t know.” He took his hand from the frame of the door and continued along the discolored floor.

• • •

“About time,” a rough voice remarked, as Xavier stepped foot into the maintenance shop. “We’re gonna have a long day ahead if we don’t start now. ‘C’ and ‘E’ are about down. The belts begun to whine, and they gonna need replacin’.”

“Okay, Grant. Give me a second,” Xavier said, as he surveyed the room.

Many of the workers rushed about, gathering tools, preparing themselves for the day’s work. A few stragglers hung about the water cooler, gossiping and discussing the work they were going to do.

“We’re going to need some water too, X,” Alex said.

Alex. What a joke. “Why can’t you do it?”

“Your turn, boy,” Grant interjected.

Alex smirked, taking his glasses from his nose and wiping them gently with his handkerchief. A certain smugness about him as he returned to his conversation. The conversation he interrupted for the sole purpose of getting after Xavier.

“Alright, alright, I hear you. Everyone’s on me this morning, huh? Are any of you at least getting breakfast for us?”

“Breakfast?” Grant asked. “Boy, you must be crazy. Two meals, early lunch and dinner—that’s it. Ordered by the S.A., and they sayin’ we’re lucky to get that.”

“Since when?”

“Today’s when. Where you been? They been talkin’ about it for weeks. Surprised you haven’t heard it was comin’ down the pipe.”

“And the council approved it?”

“They didn’t have much choice but to do it. It’s all parta that deal now. We’re gonna have to make changes from here on out to fall in line with their expectations, or it could all fall apart.”

That might not be all bad.

Xavier stared blankly at Grant picking through the pile of dirty, grease-covered parts in the corner. He couldn’t help but worry that he was in the presence of his future—the life of a lonely, overworked man. Maintenance was much safer than scavenging or exploring, and Xavier knew that, but he still wanted something better for himself.

He certainly didn’t want Grant’s life. The wear and tear. The blackened mixture of dirt and oil that remained under his fingernails. All the long wrinkles in his forehead that spanned his entire brow. A constant reeking of gasoline—his cologne of choice. The stress of maintaining a town held together with scraps animated itself as slight tremors in his sixty-year-old hands.

“Why you lookin’ at me like that, boy?”

“Zoning out.”

“We ain’t got time for no zonin’. Don’t let that breakfast stuff get you down. We gotta worry about stuff we can help, so get your ass movin’.” Grant clapped his hands together several times. “These generators ain’t gonna make it much longer. We’ll tinker with these a bit then we’re gonna start on somethin’ else.”

Xavier sorted through the rubber belts that hung on the wall. “These will fit ‘C’ and ‘E’, right?”

“Lemme see.” Grant took the belts from Xavier and examined them. “This one here ain’t gonna help nothin’. Look at these cracks.” He traced them with his fingernail. “Minor, but they’re there. That’d be a whole other day’s work had we put these on. Not to mention had it damaged the mechanics.”

“How’d you see those?” Xavier leaned in and squinted at the belts that lay in Grant’s dirty palms.

“You needin’ glasses, boy? What else can’t you see? We can’t be makin’ mistakes with this stuff. Lemme put in a scavengin’ request for some glasses.”

“My eyes can’t be that ba—”

“Boy, it don’t matter. Can’t risk mistakes. Lemme write this out, and you take it down to supply. See what they got. I’ll get to these belts, so don’t you worry about them.” Grant found a scrap piece of paper and scrawled out the request. The writing bounced along with his tremors—it was barely legible.

“Are they going to know what this is?” Xavier rotated it, puzzled on which way it went.

“Yep. They know my writin’ over there. If not, just tell them what you need, but make sure you get the water before you go.” Grant pointed toward the water cooler sitting between Alex and his friend still chatting with no intention of working yet.

How the hell does he get away with this?

Xavier folded the order and placed it in a pocket of his ill-fitting cargo pants. The weight of his hand drooped them considerably from his bony hips. He adjusted his frayed leather belt, slipping the buckle’s prong through the last hole. The next step would be punching his own notches in the belt, and now with only two meals a day, it was almost a certainty.

Reaching between Alex and his even lazier friend, Xavier grabbed the orange water cooler. He hung it over his shoulder as he made his way from the hallway into the school’s courtyard. As he stepped onto the worn path that cut through to the other side of the school, his empty stomach began to growl.

He eyed the crops that grew just beyond his reach. It was tempting, but he wouldn’t dare take without permission. The Second Alliance Sentries watching over the courtyard with their rifles served as a constant reminder of the repercussions for interfering with the town’s food stock.

Xavier stopped for a moment to admire the impressive garden—organized and maintained. Only the makeshift wall of metal and wood separated the uniformity of the crops from the wildness of nature.

Women and young children sang as they worked among the neat rows of stalks and vegetation. Xavier couldn’t help but sing along to the words that he remembered from when he was younger. He looked on while the kids half-played and half-worked—running, digging; laughing, planting. They seemed so happy. Those days were over for Xavier. At fifteen, he was considered a man among the citizens of River’s Edge.

“Everything looks all right,” Xavier said out loud to himself, as he started toward the farm supervisor. He inspected the water lines that ran along the furrows while he continued in her direction—any excuse to talk to her. She had only recently joined River’s Edge but had already made a strong impression upon the settlement. She was sharp. She had to be. Her position was too important.

He watched her as he moved closer. The morning light accentuated her blonde hair that hovered lightly over her shoulders. Her arms were striped in varying shades of brown from long days in the sun. He remembered her eyes being blue but couldn’t be sure. There were only a handful of times he had been close enough to notice. Xavier knew that she was born three years before him. He had overheard some of the older teens talking about her, dwelling on her soft appearance, discussing how she was legal now. Legal? What does that even mean anymore?

Xavier stalled, briefly peering at her through the spaces between the leaves and stems. She’s so beautiful. He started again. As he neared, she faced him, breaking her conversation with a younger boy. She patted the boy on his bottom, and he ran off giggling toward the livestock pens.

“It’s good to see the water lines are still working,” Xavier said, his eyes lazily assessing the situation, wanting more than anything just to rest upon her.

“You’re not kidding. It was only a slight hiccup yesterday, but I’m afraid it’s only going to keep getting worse.” She lifted one of the water lines slightly from the dirt and let it fall back into place. “Several of the hand pumps are getting old and aren’t pushing enough out. Something needs to be done to their seals. We have their bases wrapped with tarps to catch the water as it leaks, but really, they just need to be replaced.”

Xavier paused for a moment. I don’t know if we even have any more of those. “I’ll talk to Grant, but I think the best we can do is disassemble them and rebuild.”

“If that’s what it takes, that’s fine.” She turned her gaze over to the hand pumps. “I’m just trying to look ahead. What we have still works, but it’s not ideal.” She turned back to Xavier, her face cracking a smile. “If it stays like this, that leaky pump will eventually flood the whole courtyard. We’ll probably all drown.”

“Really?” Xavier smiled. “You’re ridiculous.”

She laughed. “No joking around with you, Mr. Serious.”

Xavier politely laughed with her.

“We really do appreciate the help,” she said. “I’m just teasing with you.”

“No, I know. I don’t mind a good joke now and then… Just let me know when you have one.”

“I see what you did there.” She smirked while rolling her eyes.

“Anytime something comes up just let us know. It’s not a big deal. I’ll make sure I let Grant know about the pumps, but it’ll be up to him what we do with them.”

She nodded.

“Oh, and speaking of Grant, he was upset last time it rained. You guys have to make sure the gutters get diverted back to the interior reservoir tanks.”

“Yeah, I know. I filled out the situation report and gave it to the mayor’s office. It was an oversight on our part and won’t happen again.”

“I know you know, but that’s Grant for you. He’ll bring it up again. I’m just giving you a heads up.”

“Fair enough. You want something before you go?” She gestured toward the baskets of fresh produce.

“Maybe later.” He raised the water cooler slightly from his shoulder. “I have to fill it up before I do anything else.”

He took the cooler over to the tanks of filtered water and set it in the grass just below the spigots. He opened the valve and listened while it filled with the day’s ration. The water flowed freely, splashing as it fell until it slowed to drops as Xavier closed the valve. He lugged the cooler back toward the hallway.

“I still have to go by supply after this. Is it okay if I come back through later and grab something?” Xavier asked.

“Yeah. That shouldn’t be a problem. I’ll be here.”

“Can I grab something for Grant too?”

“It probably wouldn’t hurt to butter him up a bit.”

“Not at all. That’s why I asked.”

“Figured… It’s Xavier, right?”

“Yea-ah,” Xavier’s voice cracked. His demeanor soured in front of her. He tried to walk away but stumbled a bit, spilling some of the water. Xavier’s cheeks turned red.

“Do you remember mine?”

A blank expression hung upon Xavier’s face as he tried to gather himself to say something. Anything. But he didn’t. He just stood there. He set the cooler down and reached out to shake her hand. “Nice to meet you…” Ugh, what is it?

“Lana… You really didn’t know?”

“I’m not sure you ever told me.”

“Fair enough.”

She smiled at him as he broke his grip from hers. He turned and slunk away from the awkward end to their conversation. Nice to meet you? Nice to meet you? What’s wrong with you? “Remember her name. Lana. Lana,” he muttered under his breath as he made his way back to the maintenance shop. “Just keep it simple when you go back for the food.”

The promise of breakfast excited him. He picked up his pace, causing the water to smack against the lid of the cooler. He had already spilled once and couldn’t afford to lose more. Slow down.

“Hey, Alex! Help me with this!” Xavier called into the shop. Seconds passed. “Come on, Alex! It’ll only take a minute!”

Alex peeked around the corner then ducked his head back in.

“I just saw you! Come on!”

Alex’s head returned, and this time his body followed it out into the hallway. He trudged over to Xavier and grabbed one of the handles. They made their way into the shop and set the cooler down on its shelf. The main room was empty except for the two of them. It was clear that Alex was hiding out. Unbelievable! Everyone else is out working while Alex does nothing. I know I shouldn’t say this, but “Thanks,” Xavier forced it through his teeth.

“I’ll do you the favor of boiling the water.”

“A favor? For me? Really?” Xavier tilted his head with disbelief. “I’m pretty sure everyone will be drinking water today.”

“I’m serious.” Alex nodded. “Seriously, I’ll get it, X.”

“Don’t try and act like that, Alex,” Grant said from the back room. “I told him to do it, so you can get to supply. Now hurry on over.”

“I guess I’ll be off to get my glasses now.”

“I heard,” Alex grumbled.

“Can I ask you something?”

“I guess so.”

“You like your glasses?”

“You get used to them. Like most things.”

Chapter Two

Xavier walked the hall while following the lines in between the concrete blocks with his eyes—perfectly level around every bend. A row of blue lockers filled the other side of the corridor. Occasionally, he ran a finger along the grout, sliding it up and down as the opportunity presented itself. He maintained a count of ups and downs that reset at each classroom door that interrupted the game. Just a small form of escape. Something mindless to preoccupy these small journeys through the school.

As he approached the supply office, he could hear the usual crowd of about fifteen people waiting out front for the assorted items needed to start their day. It appeared to be business as usual, but as he made his way to the fringe of the gathering, things were definitely off—it was the tone, the atmosphere that struck Xavier as odd. The sounds of laughter and genial conversation were absent, replaced by shouts and groans of uncertainty. A fog of discontent saturated the air surrounding what seemed more like a small mob than an orderly group at this point. He peeked between their shoulders and heads, trying to locate the source of the anger.

“Hey!” Matt tugged at Xavier’s shirt, pulling him in, so he could speak into his ear. “Just in time for the show.”

“What the hell’s going on?”

“If only two meals a day wasn’t bad enough, they changed the rules for getting supplies too.” Matt pointed to a large chart secured to the wall just outside the supply office door. “Wasn’t there yesterday, and as soon as people saw it, they just lost it.”

“What does it say?”

“I haven’t had a chan—”

“This is bullshit!” Their attention turned to Sam, the blonde man in his forties that elevated his voice above the protesting of the crowd. He forced his way through the group and toward the entrance of the supply office. “These are our supplies! This was our blood and sweat that got it, and they can’t expect us to work without it!”

The group roared with approval.

“If we don’t do the work, then what? More rules from this mayor brought in by the Second Alliance?” Sam continued.

The group’s collective voice elevated once again.

“Quiet! Quiet!” A young disbursement officer squeezed past Sam, so she could address the group. “As I tried to explain,” her shrill voice struggled to find its place of authority, “JC1s have the priority, then JC2s followed by 3s. The may—our mayor,” she corrected herself, “has instituted Job Classification Numbers for all occupations in the town. Check the chart and respond accordingly. Lines form within the offi—”

“Not my mayor!” Sam leaned into the officer’s face. “No one elected him!”

“Let it go, Sam! We can’t go back to how things were,” another man called out from the group. His attention clearly focused on something behind the two that were arguing.

“No! Never! We’re all puppets now! Two meals a day? What’s nex—”

Whack! Sam’s head split and everything went silent. Xavier saw the butt of a rifle retreat back through the doorway. The entrance to the supply office was darkened by a large silhouette. He had only heard tales of Second Alliance Soldiers—Guards and Sentries had become commonplace, but a Soldier… He had never stood in their presence. It’s true. They do exist. A man of legendary size fitted with the black uniform. The sun and moon split by a sword sewn into the fabric—rumored to be the mark most people saw only before death. The Soldier didn’t say anything. He didn’t need to. His point was made.

Xavier focused his attention back to Sam and the blood he now lay in. Damn, that’s a lot. Don’t stare at it. He looked to the others standing around the body. Horror stamped across the faces of everyone who witnessed it. Their eyes darted back and forth among themselves, and then all at once, dropped to the floor as the Soldier stepped into the hallway. The commotion was over quicker than it had come.

The Soldier lifted Sam by the ankles and dragged him past the disbursement officer. His limp body dangled from the Soldier’s grip. I should help. Xavier’s desire to do so urged his hands to reach out, but they wouldn’t budge. I better not. I— A trail of crimson followed them toward the infirmary.

“Now do we have an understanding?” the disbursement officer said with a fresh confidence to her voice.

The silence of the crowd was response enough.

“Good.”

She spun away from the group and entered the office to begin processing requests. Workers who knew their classification number followed, heads down. The only thing missing was a rifle pointed to each of their backs.

Those that remained in the hallway began clamoring around the JCN chart. Nobody wanted to cause another misunderstanding. I can’t believe this. Xavier remained silent, trying to absorb what occurred while the rest of the world trudged on. The blood. Stop looking at it. It’s over. It’s so red though.

“What the hell happened here?” Grant asked.

“Is he dead?” Xavier muttered lowly to himself.

“Boy? You hear me?”

Xavier simply stared down the hallway. This is crazy. His mind completely occupied with the red tributary wandering from where the body fell. Without any warning. Then… Wham!

“Xavier!” Grant gave him a quick shake of the shoulders. “Hey!”

“Yeah. What? I’m here.” Xavier shook his head, collecting his bearings as best he could while turning his view from the corridor.

“You sure?” He looked Xavier in the eyes. “What happened?”

“I… I thought you were working on the generators?”

“Yeah, I was until I got cut. On my way to the infirmary now. Need to get it cleaned up the right way.” Grant took the shop rag from his cut and showed him.

A jagged slice, more than likely a slip of a tool that took his hand across something it shouldn’t have. It was deeper than he let on. One could never be too careful. The sterile world of the past was gone, and one bad infection could lead to amputation or death.

“Are you okay?”

“Yes, damn it. Boy, I’m not askin’ again. What happened here?”

“I’m not really sure. It happened so fast. Everyone here was upset about the new supply process, and Sam started shouting, getting the group riled up. Then out of nowhere an S.A. Soldier struck him from behind. Blood everywhere.” Everywhere. The blood was everywhere. “Sam was just voicing his opinion. He didn’t deserv—”

An older woman’s elbow interrupted him. “Shh… ya can’t take a blow like that. It’s not worth talkin’ ‘bout now.”

Xavier looked to Grant. “It was bad.”

“We’ll talk later. I’m sure he’ll be fine. You got work to do. Make sure you get that request into supply and get back to the shop. No dawdlin’.”

As Grant tiptoed around the smears of red droplets on the floor, Xavier began to feel faint, a paleness overtaking his skin—his reality failing. That fresh blood on the floor swelled—droplets into puddles then into a stream. The walls, ceiling, and floor reached for each other, tightening into a single point. He began to stagger. Unable to brace himself with his hand, he struck the wall with a thud and slid to the floor, still conscious, but barely. His head felt light as he lay there.

The older woman bent down and offered her hand. “You able to get up?”

“Give me a sec.” He blinked slowly, his face enjoying the coolness of the floor.

“Can we get some water here?” she shouted. A freckled boy nodded, raised his hand, and ran inside the supply office. Her attention returned to Xavier. She held one of his hands and brushed the stray hairs from his face with her other. She lowered her voice, “You’ll be alright. No breakfast’ll do that to ya.”

“No, it isn’t that. I can’t… let me lay here for a bit.” Xavier closed his eyes. “I’ll be fine.”

She watched over him as he continued to lie there, waiting for this weakness to subside. She lightly stroked his forehead with her hand, whispering to him that it would be all right. Her sweet voice was calming, reassuring him that soon his feeling of helplessness would subside. Deep breaths.

“Here’s some water.” The freckled boy passed the cup to her. “What happened, mister?”

Xavier opened his eyes and looked up at him with a weak smile.

“He’s fine,” she said. “A little shaken up that’s all. Thanks for the water, but ya need to get back to work, kiddo.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Xavier lifted his head from the floor, working himself toward a seated position. She helped stabilize his struggling and guided his back to the wall. She presented him with the cup of water.

“No thanks.” He waved her off and dropped his head between his knees.

“I’m not takin’ a no from ya. Ya need some water. Come on.”

With two fingers under his chin, she lifted his head. He connected with her gentle eyes and separated his lips. She tilted the lukewarm water into his mouth. He swallowed. It filled his core with a refreshing warmth that spread to his limbs. Xavier took the cup from her, smiled, and drank again.

“Thanks, but you don’t need to do that. I can take it from here.” He started to get up, but her hand kept him in place.

“Ya need to stay seated. I don’t want ya fallin’ again, okay?” A stern look left him without room for interpretation.

“I really am fine, honestly.”

“Just give it a minute or two before ya do anythin’ else,” she said with a forcefulness only a mother could perfect in sounding warmhearted. “That ain’t the first time someone’s taken a swing at Sam. Give it some time, and he’ll be okay. Take it as a lesson that the town’s goin’ to be a bit different now. We all have to accept it and watch what we say.” She rose to her feet and started down the hallway.

“Are we going to be alright?” Xavier looked to her, searching for an answer he knew she didn’t really have. At this moment, he just needed to hear it—something to settle his worrying.

She turned back toward him. “We’re goin’ to be fine. They’re here to protect us, but they do things different, and it’s goin’ to take people awhile to get used to it. Like I said, watch what ya say and you’ll be fine. My grandmother used to tell me ‘Dig no holes and the road stays smooth.’” She raised her voice to the onlookers, “It’d be best if the whole lot of ya let this go!”

Xavier nodded along with the others, but his mind, unable to accept such a simple explanation, wandered as he sat. The image of Sam wouldn’t leave him. That strike had sent him forward, his nose exploding on impact. The floor couldn’t have been too forgiving. His blonde hair turned a purplish red as it soaked the blood from his skull. The Soldier simply dragged him down the hall like a bag of trash.

Is this what they think of us? Are we just a bunch of garbage that they have to manage and dispose of? After all our hard work, is this it?

A squeaking wheel, intense in its whining, interrupted Xavier’s spiraling thoughts. The janitor, dressed in his maintenance garb, pulled the yellow bucket along as he passed a mop over the red streaks. His water became more and more blood-like with each wringing. The man shook his head in disgust as he worked to finish his task.

Xavier steadied himself with his hand as he regained his footing. He finished what water was left in the cup and set it on top of a locker. The group of workers analyzing the chart on the wall had dwindled to a small assortment of stragglers—everyone else had left as quickly as they could. The low whispering from their mouths expressed worry and concern over the details. All of their fingers occupied the rows of information, frantically moving up and down, fumbling over each other.

He found an opening in the huddle and manipulated his small frame through the gap. With his own eyes engaged in the search, he began to understand the frustration.

The chart was typed—an obvious display of power—only the mayor’s office had the resources for such things. It was immediately apparent that it was official, not that anyone would have questioned it after the earlier exchange. He focused his eyes and slowed his finger.

“Am I maintenance-electric? Or… I could be maintenance-mechanical?” Xavier stepped back from the chart to see if he had missed something obvious. Nothing, just the whiteness of the walls. This is ridiculous. He looked to Matt as he stepped up to the chart with Xavier. “I do both these things, and I do maintenance-general.”

“Yeah, nobody thought this through. Everyone’s confused. Jenny went to ask what we’re supposed to do. Should get an answer here pretty soon.” Matt gave him a nod.

Xavier stared at the chart.

“You feeling sick? I went to check on you, but I didn’t want to get in the way. I wasn’t gonna mess up what she had going.”

“I’m good. It’s been a bad morning. A combination of things—no water, no food… Sam. It was all too much. All that blood reminds me of everything from before.” All the deaths. “It gets me sometimes.”

“You’d think it’d get easier, but it doesn’t,” Matt offered.

“I gave up on easier awhile ago. Sure, we haven’t been attacked lately, but it’s going to come at a cost. What they did to Sam is just the beginning.”

Matt looked to Xavier as if he were trying to decipher what he meant.

“They’re evil, Matt.”

“She said to let it go, man. Seriously, what do you think you’re gonna do about it?”

“Me?” Xavier shrugged. “I don’t know, but us—we’ll do something. I don’t know what, but we can’t let this happen.”

“We’re not doing nothing!” Matt’s eyes went wide with unblinking seriousness. “Man, we’d end up just like Sam or worse. We just move on. If Sam wants to do something about it, he can. I’m listening and not getting wrapped up in this.”

“I know what was said, but someone’s going to have to do something.”

Matt grabbed hold of Xavier’s shirt. “It’s not gonna be us. I’m serious. We gotta worry about our own stuff, and I’m not doing this. Not a chance, man.” He let go of Xavier and straightened him up. “I need your word.”

Xavier nodded to him with a half-smile.

“Say it!”

“Alright, I won’t.”

“Alright.”

They continued talking while they waited for Jenny. Eventually, she came bounding out from the supply office.

She was tall and slender, her dark pigtails bounced as she walked, not from joy, but with the high point in her stride. She smiled. It appeared almost deliberate, as if trying to forget the scene from earlier. It was uneasy, with a slight quiver, but she hid it well. Xavier barely caught it. It was difficult to see as her lips always seemed to be moving. Jenny didn’t leave time for someone to miss her voice, but at this moment it couldn’t come soon enough. She seemed bold for questioning the new regime, even if it was something so innocent.

As she stood with them, his gaze became more deliberate. Xavier wanted to tell her to be careful. He wanted to speak up, but didn’t after he had agreed to let it go. Matt was right even though Xavier didn’t want to admit it.

“What’d you find out?” Matt blurted out, a hopeful tone in his words.

“They were actually pretty helpful. Basically, whatever your highest classification is you stick with that.”

“What if you’re gonna do stuff for a higher category?”

“Eh, they said you can’t adjust it based on what you’re working on. If the farm folks need the part, have them request it. Higher JCN and you’ll get it faster.”

“So we’re JC3s?” Matt asked.

“Yeah…” A discouraged look on her face.

“Man.” Matt turned to Xavier. “But—you’re a JC1 then, right?”

Xavier shrugged his shoulders with indifference. “I guess.”

“Lucky you,” Jenny said, as she picked at her fingernails, trying to appear as unimpressed as she could. “Didn’t realize you were such an important big shot now.”

“I’m just maintenance like you guys. You’re really making too big a deal of this.”

“I guess so, but… Of course,” her voice rose, “we could use your JCN to get the things we need. You wouldn’t have a problem with that?”

I wouldn’t if I thought you could keep your mouth shut. Xavier smiled. “We’ll see how things go.”

“When did you start working for Grant, anyways? Usually, you have to apply for that type of thing. I’ve had my eye on that job for quite some time now.”

“A few months ago I guess.”

“I didn’t see the job posted.” Her voice hardened. “How’d you get it?”

“Uh… I guess it was my time.”

“Really?” Matt asked. “I’m not trying to say nothing, but your dad got you that job before he left.”

“That doesn’t mean anything,” Xavier insisted.

“The hell if it don’t.”

“Who’s your dad?” Jenny asked.

“How don’t you know that?” Matt’s mouth dropped. “Seriously?”

“Yes, Matt, seriously!”

“I figured you knew everything around here with all those questions you ask.” Matt scolded her. “You don’t know when to quit.”

“Shut up!” Jenny stomped her foot.

“Stop!” Xavier said. “It’s been a bad enough day without this crap. What is it you want to hear? Did my dad get me this job?” Xavier paused, the two simply stared back, waiting for him to answer his own question. He sighed. “Yeah, he did. I’m not ashamed of it. My dad started this whole damn place, so whatever you want to think, think it! Without him, this whole thing here never happens!”

“Whoa.” Matt pumped his hands in a downward motion. “Relax, man.”

“You two are ridiculous.” Xavier sighed again, his head shaking with disappointment. “With what happened to Sam, you two want to fight like this? I’m done.”

Matt and Jenny nodded.

“I didn’t know it was your dad that started this place,” Jenny said, trying to change the subject. “That’s awesome.”

“How didn’t you know that?” Matt got after her again.

Jenny cocked her head to the side.

“What?” Matt asked defensively.

“How’d he manage to get all this done?” She looked to Xavier, but he turned his head away.

Always something with her.

“I guess I’ll tell… Xavier?” Matt tried to gain his attention. “That okay?”

“Yeah…”

Matt looked back to Jenny and shrugged.

“So, I don’t really know the exact day we got here. I just remember looking at the school while Xavier’s dad talked to us. He just stood there, pointing things out—all the ideas he had. Saying stuff we gotta do to get it up and running. Larry was probably thinking for a month on it before we got here. It looked the same, but it was all gonna change. It was gonna be our new home. I didn’t know what to expect. I just wanted things to be normal again.

“It’s just that—by the time we got here, people were done dying. The virus was gone, but everyone was staying in their houses. Nobody trusted nobody. The things people did to each other… It was crazy. People stopped caring, but—” Matt wetted his lips. “But once they saw we were for real, they joined up. We knocked on doors, grabbed whatever we could—people, supplies. We had more mouths to feed, but everything else became easier.

“Larry started giving people jobs… Man, when people met him, they just kind of knew we were gonna be okay. He just has that way about him. No pressure. It’s like you’re doing what he says, but it feels like your own idea. Things just kind of fell into place. We were grabbing guns, batteries, gas, everything we could get. People spent all day just taking stuff—rebuilding everything. Things became good there for awhile.

“But, things change. Maybe I was stupid to think people wouldn’t come after us. That first fight was nuts. This group of maniacs came to the school—knew we had a good thing here and tried to take it. The one night they came…” Matt looked to the ceiling for a moment before he continued. “They didn’t stand a chance. Xavier’s dad was prepared. He saw it coming.

“He led the adults, and they killed them all. Every last one of them. Those guys wouldn’t give up… they should’ve left. We didn’t see it though. Me and Xavier kept the kids down in the basement. We just sat listening to all the fighting—all the screaming. That next day was horrible.

“Everyone over twelve had to help. I hadn’t seen so much blood since the virus’s last month or so, but it—it was a good lesson. We knew people were gonna keep coming. From then on, everyone trained to fight. We started building up the school. Larry called it—he called it ‘an endless cycle of scavenge, repair, replace, and defend.’ It’s been hard.”

“Where did Larry go?” Jenny asked.

An uneasiness flooded Xavier’s body. His eyes became lost among the honeycomb pattern in the linoleum floor. Jenny leaned toward him wanting more—wanting his input too. It was obvious Xavier didn’t want to share. Matt shot Jenny a scowl and shooed her away with his eyes. Her eyebrows narrowed, confused. Matt clenched his jaw and jutted his neck forward, slightly, just enough to make it clear.

Xavier lifted his head. “I’m just going to get this request filled. I appreciate you figuring this new supply stuff out.” He turned for the supply office.

“I have a request too. Wait up.” Jenny trailed him toward the entrance.

“Always… Forget it.” Matt rolled his eyes and left.

“I just need to get this done,” Xavier said. “I have a lot of work to do back at the shop, and I don’t need Grant getting after me.”

“That’s fine.” Jenny smiled. “I’ll just be in line next to you. No big deal.”

“Okay…”

• • •

Xavier entered the office, and Jenny followed, deliberately ignoring his desire to be left alone. He moved between the metal partitions that wound their way up to the old concession stand windows—each line labeled by JCN.

Disbursement officers stood behind the counters as the workers approached. A paper request slid across the stand, they asked a few questions, filed it, and if they had it, they filled the order. “Next!” Repeat. People often left with nothing but a vague promise that the scavengers would be looking for their request.

Xavier moved forward in line. He could feel Jenny’s eyes upon him, but avoided her stare. She just won’t let up. His attention floated around the room as he waited. Battered menu boards hung on the wall, slightly cracked, but still functional. The food selection was removed, changed to product cycles and job openings. He attempted to read the small white letters, but was unable to do so. The blurriness of the world hadn’t been so noticeable until Grant had made a point of it.

“Next!”

He missed the smell of popcorn and hot dogs. The multi-colored displays of candy and chips were also gone. A boring array of in-bins and cardboard boxes sat in their place. This area of the school had been so alive too few years ago—people hurriedly purchasing snacks, trying to get back to the game. Fathers stacked as high as they could be with nachos, pretzels, and soda. The first time Xavier had treated a girl he liked to a soft serve ice cream cone. Mindy…

“Next!”

The wall just behind Jenny still displayed the school’s mascot—the River’s Edge Croc—smiling with all those teeth. Jenny peeked over her shoulder at the wall and then back to Xavier.

“That thing’s silly.”

“Why?”

“He just looks funny that’s all.”

“Some might think a sixteen-year-old with pigtails is funny.”

Jenny looked at him coldly. “It keeps my hair from my face when I work.”

“Yeah…”

“Next!”

Xavier turned away from Jenny and took his spot closer to the service window.

“Did I offend you or something?” Jenny asked, as she tugged at the tail of his shirt. “Come on. Talk to me. What’s going on?”

“I’ve been here since the beginning. There are a lot of people that want a history lesson, and I’m not in the mood today.”

“I’m not asking for one.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah…” Jenny tilted her shoulders away from him and unraveled one of her braided pigtails. “I’m sorry. Maybe we can talk another time then?”

“Next!”

“I don’t know.” He shook his head. “I’m up. I’m sure I’ll see you around.”

“That’d be nice.” Her lips twisted into an awkward smile, obviously upset by Xavier’s decision.

He stepped forward to the window and took the scrap sheet from his pants pocket. His fingers worked to unfold the order, and he laid it face down on the counter. “Good luck,” he said with a grin, pushing it past the partition. The disbursement officer took the paper and glanced at the chicken scratch.

“I see Grant’s your boss.” He worked to flatten out the creases as he spoke. “What do you really need? I’m not sure what ‘qirggeg’ are.”

Xavier gave a polite chuckle. “I only need glasses. I don’t know anything about picking them out, but yeah, I’m having some trouble.”

“Glasses are easy. I have bunches of those in the gym.”

You have?

“Do you have others to turn in or is this your first pair?”

“First.”

“Let me grab some up, and you can try ’em out.”

The officer shifted from his position and started toward the back of the service area. Xavier craned his neck as the officer opened the door into the gymnasium. No luck. How much of our stuff is still in there? The common hallway entrances were now chained from the inside—strictly off limits. He might never know. Everything was a big secret now.

Xavier drummed his fingers on the edge of the counter and hummed as he waited. He noticed Jenny putting in her request two windows down. Annoyance filled his thoughts but began to soften as he studied her body—top to bottom. She had a gentle face. Her skin complexion was fair, but a light dusting of dirt gave her color.

Jenny took to unraveling her other pigtail. She let it out—evened now with the other side. Her head swiveled, swishing her hair along her shoulder blades. She placed both elbows on the ledge and arched her lower back, angling her butt slightly toward him.

Xavier spun away. He couldn’t be caught admiring her. He was pleased with having her want something from him. The thought of speaking with her became more appealing now that he had properly vetted her.

Jenny’s attention remained fixed to the officer that was handling her request. Her voice was sweet. She was fluttering—laughing and smiling. Her gestures were pulling at Xavier. What is that guy saying that could be so funny? He stumbled, but caught himself on the counter. Jenny giggled again, but only this time, it was about him.

He adjusted himself, straightening in front of his window. He blushed. She knew. His advantage was probably destroyed. “We should work together sometime,” Xavier blurted out.

“Great. I’d love to.”

“Alright, got ’em.” The officer put a shoe box filled with glasses down in front of him. “Take these to the back of the room. Swap ’em out until the boards look clear to you. Nothing to it, really.”

Xavier collected the box and went to the back of the room. He carefully emptied its contents onto the floor and began. The words faded in and out as he tried each pair. Every attempt earned them a spot back in the box or off to the side for comparison. He rested a pair of thick black frames on his nose. Finally, the job postings sharpened, and Xavier could clearly read them:

Position: Farm Hand – Age: 8 years old

Position: Maint. Gen. – Age: 12 years old

Position: Scavenger – Age: 15 years old

“This is probably the best it’s going to get,” he said while glancing around the room.

Jenny grinned, making her way toward him but stopped just beyond his breath. She raised each side of the frames and reset them. “There you go. Much better.”

She caressed his cheek with the back of her hand. Xavier peered at the officers working behind the counter. He became nervous. Did they see that? She’s crazy. The three disbursement officers were preoccupied with their duties, and the last man in line was too old to hear or to even care about their conversation.

“You can’t do that here. We’ll get in trouble,” Xavier whispered.

“I’m sixteen.”

“Yeah, well I’m not yet, alright?” He kept a nervous watch over the others as he continued. “I can’t afford to have the town’s council after me too.”

“Who’s after you now?”

“The Second Alliance is after everyone.” A disbursement officer coughed, startling Xavier, making him reconsider the direction of this conversation. “Hey,” he whispered again. “Do you have a key to the basement?”

“No.”

“Go to the entrance by the maintenance room. Knock twice, pause, and then knock three times so I know it’s you. I’ll be there.”

“Why the basement?”

“I go there to think sometimes. It’s quiet. We’ll just talk.”

“But wha—”

“Be there an hour after the night lighting comes on.”

“I will.”

Chapter Three

“Lana, Lana, Lana,” Xavier softly reminded himself as he returned to the courtyard. By now, his stomach was well established in its revolt—groaning against the involuntary hunger strike. I’m here for one thing. Food. That’s it. Don’t get caught up in a conversation again. He pressed upon his stomach, assuring it that food would come, but then his thirst joined in, begging for water. He couldn’t win. It was an unfortunate start to his day that he just couldn’t seem to adjust to. Dad, you need to get back here and fix this… The S.A.’s taking our food, supplies—Sam…

He raised his eyes to the vast August sky, and sighed. The land it stretched across was simply a dream to Xavier—his life confined within the walls of River’s Edge. He held his hand across his forehead as he looked further into the distance. Not a single puff of cloud around. Not a bit of shade to relieve him from the sun’s unrelenting glare. It seemed higher than usual—hot and brutal—draping the school in a blanket of heat. A sweat began to form beneath his clothing as he stood there underneath it. What I wouldn’t do for air conditioning or some ice or… rain.

He spotted the reservoir tanks, now more empty than full, sitting along the brick wall. It hadn’t rained in more than a week—a serious concern during a long summer. He started toward the tanks, but stopped—his eyebrows puckered. Realizing that he was by himself, he began along the rows of corn, pacing, searching for someone else, but there was no one.

The rabbit hutches and chicken coops were filled, but without anyone to tend to their needs, they sat there, waiting. Only the bleating of a goat and its indiscriminate appetite picking through the grasses and dirt of its paddock gave any sign of activity within the farm.

“Hey!” A single Sentry perched in an observation post along the rooftop called out to Xavier while keeping close watch of his movements. The Sentry’s scowl pegged him as a potential thief. “Whatchu doin’ here!”

“I’m looking for Lana,” Xavier yelled back.

“Not here.” The Sentry waved his hand across the open farm below him as if he were a magician and had made them all disappear.

“I see that. Do you have any idea where she went?”

“Lunch.”

“Lunch already? What time is it?”

The Sentry pointed toward the sun. “Guessin’ bit after eleven, you know, lunchtime.”

“Thanks,” he called out and then lowered his voice, “dick.”

“Don’t be messin’ anythin’ up. Got my eyes on ya.”

The Sentry sat back down inside the observation post. He set his rifle in its slot on the rack and picked up his lunch. It was obvious he was rehashing the conversation he just had—speaking to himself and laughing between bites of his meal. Alone up there like he should be, miserable jerk.

Xavier made another pass through the empty courtyard, letting the green sanctuary flood his senses. Nature seemed foreign—a luxury. This instance within the enclosed farm was a pleasant escape. With no one on the path beside him as he searched, he felt alone. Finally, alone. He disappeared within the tall stalks in the field. One breath in, one breath out, timed perfectly. The air was muggy, but refreshing when compared to the stuffiness of the school. For a moment, he left the pungent smells of gasoline, sweat, and must behind. He felt invigorated as his nostrils filled with the unspoiled scent of his surroundings.

He rolled the sleeves of his maintenance shirt, welcoming the rays of the sun to tan his arms. How could he make this last? A long minute or two just to be—no work, no JCNs, no structure. An instant of life just to be. He closed his eyes.

“Dad, I think Mom lied. I don’t think—“

“Don’t say that about your mother.”

“Yeah, X.

“Tara, I don’t need your two cents on this.”

“Yeah, mind your own business.”

“You’re the one looking out the window all day. You should mind—“

“Stop you two! Your mother’s coming back. It’s just taking a bit longer than we thought.”

“That’s because everyone’s going to the hospital. Mr. Jones had a coughing fit out in his front yard this morning. It’s only a matter of time before he goes too.”

“Aren’t you just Mr. Wonderful today?”

“Cut it out! Can’t you both at least act like you two love each other? Or at least treat each other like family?”

“Sorry.”

“Sorry.”

“Dad… I just—I just don’t see this getting any better. Mom’s never coming back if it stays like this.”

“She’ll be back. She didn’t lie. It’s… she didn’t have all the information. We wait and keep doing what we have been—keep away from everyone else. The news is saying this Almawt thing is all over the world, not just the U.S.”

“I don’t care about that. I just want her back.”

“Xavier! Damn it, she said she’d be back in a month, okay? Quit being so selfish all the time. This virus is bigger than us. Your mother’s trying to make a difference, and once she’s done, she’ll be back. If it makes you feel any better, I’ll try and give her another call today.”

“Promise?”

“Do you two promise to get along?”

“Yes.”

“Yes.”

“We’re family. We’ve been lucky so far, so act like it. Act like we can get through this together.”

“Together with Mom maybe…”

“Xavier!”

“Yes, sir.”

“Tara, quit with that look.”

“I’m the only one left…” Xavier opened his eyes and sighed. He kicked at the dirt and watched as a few loose rocks collided with a fence post. Abandoned. Where are you guys? He moved back and forth along the path while he continued to strike the ground with his foot. A barrage of small rocks hurtled through the grass, bending the blades as they tumbled through. I’m still waiting.

An unlucky dandelion along the paddock’s fence became the target of his frustration. His aim was off, but the amusement began to build. He continued to kick, driving more and more rocks toward his target, but it wasn’t long before the goat interrupted Xavier’s game by snatching the weed from among the grasses. She bleated—satisfied with her find.

A half-smile raised Xavier’s cheek as he made his way toward her. “Hey girl, you’re not going to leave me, right?” She moved her head between the rails and nuzzled it along the post. He scratched the thin goat along the ridge of her back. “That feels good, huh? I almost feel bad doing this, but you’re actually cleaning the dirt from under my nails.” He laughed lightly to himself while continuing to scratch at the wiry hair of her back. The goat’s tongue drooped from the right side of her mouth. “You’re a funny girl. I like you,” he said in a high-pitched voice one would use to talk to a baby. He looked around. I sound like a nutcase. I’d better cut it out.

He rubbed the goat along her sides and began to feel a tugging at his pants. “Hey! You can’t have that. These pants are in bad enough shape.” He tried to peel her jaw open, but it wouldn’t budge. He pushed her head away from him, yelling, “Quit! Quit biting that!” He hoped that it would scare the goat into obliging his request, but the goat persisted.

As he continued to try and forcefully remove her from his leg, she bucked back at him, cracking a portion of the rail. This goat is strong as hell! Xavier pulled back hard and fell backwards to the dirt. Rip! He groaned as he watched the fibers of his cargo pants appear and disappear from the goat’s mouth. “Aww, Come on!”

A loud fit of laughter came from the rooftop—the Sentry doubled over, halfway falling out of his seat. “Nice work!”

Ass! Xavier slapped at his pants then picked himself up from the ground. You know what? Screw that guy. He did his best to ignore the laughter. He couldn’t resist the goat’s dopey grin. At least you didn’t laugh at me…

Cautiously, he extended his arm forward, keeping his distance while he rubbed her muzzle. “You’re not getting me again.” He laughed at her. “You don’t know any better though, huh?” The goat kept chewing. “I still like you.”

“Do you now?”

Xavier flinched then turned to see who got the better of him. Lana. Did she see me fall? Xavier’s cheeks flushed, and his heart skipped. He couldn’t prevent it. Her beauty was disruptive. His words escaped him. Thought shifted to her. Emotion shifted to her. Get it together. She can’t possibly like you. She’s older than you. Stop! She’s just a girl. It didn’t matter. Xavier was stung.

“Uh, yeah!” he finally blurted out. “You snuck up on me there.”

“It wasn’t too hard. You’re here schmoozing your girlfriend.” She laughed out loud while resting her hand on the fence. “What’s going on with those glasses?”

“That bad, huh?” He forced a weak smile. These stupid things.

“No, not at all. They just—they make you look old.” She shook her head. “No, I didn’t mean that.” Her hand moved a few stray hairs from her face. “They make you look older, not old. You look good.”

Xavier couldn’t help but smile. Don’t get ahead of yourself. She said ‘they’ look good, not you. Or did she…? Say something! “Thanks,” he forced it out and then calmed himself, “but I don’t really have a choice. Grant seems to think my eyes could start affecting my work. I couldn’t deal with listening to him if that ever happened. Besides, now that I have them, I kind of wish I would’ve gotten them sooner.”

“Are they that big of a difference?”

“Definitely.” He took the glasses from his nose, moving them back and forth from his eyes while focusing on the rabbit hutches. The difference was obvious. “I really didn’t know how bad it was until I got them.”

“Well, good.” She paused for a bit, her eyes searching for something to talk about.

“How was lunch?” Xavier spared her from the awkward silence. “Good?”

“Yeah, it wasn’t bad at all. A nice stew made from venison and potatoes. They butchered the deer early this morning. I heard the Sentry that shot it bragging that he only used one round, but I’m not sure I believe that.”

“I thought I heard a shot this morning, but wasn’t sure. Used to be a normal thing. It’s been awhile now.”

Lana nodded in agreement. “Oh!” Her eyes lit up. “And they had some chips at lunch. Actual chips! They were expired, but the flavor was still good, not too stale either.”

“I haven’t had chips in a long time.” His mouth began to water. “Were there a lot?”

“No. Sorry.” She grimaced. “I doubt any are left. I really shouldn’t have said anything.”

Xavier’s head drooped.

“I know it’s not chips, but you’re still welcome to pick something out from here.”

“Yeah.” Xavier raised his head. A slightly relieved look upon his face. “I’ll definitely do that before I go. Hopefully, that will hold me over until lunch.”

“Aren’t you going now?”

“I’ll have to wait for Grant.”

“Is he up to something?”

“No, he had to go to the infirmary this morning to get a cut looked at. He’s probably going to need some stitches.”

Lana frowned. “You going to check on him?”

“No, he’d be more upset if I let anything go wrong with our work. I need to check on that first. I was try—”

“Then what are you doing here joking around with this goat?” Lana asked.

“I was actually looking to see if you needed us to run the pumps, but no one was here. That early lunch is going to take some getting used to.”

“We would’ve been here if that Sentry hadn’t reminded us about the meal change.”

“That one?” He pointed toward the observation post, and Lana turned to look. “Do you know him?”

“No. Why?”

“Nothing…”

The Sentry was now walking the perimeter of the school’s roof. A rifle slung across his shoulder as he moved toward a second outpost. He stopped and removed a pair of binoculars, glassing over the tree-filled hills. His head shook, seemingly disappointed there wasn’t anything more to do than harass the residents and shift about along the roof. I could do that job. Doesn’t seem like it’s that difficult.

“Xavier?” She waved her hand in front of his face.

“I’m sorry, what were you saying?”

“I didn’t say anything other than your name.” Lana gave him a look, indicating that their conversation was over. “Let me check on the wat—”

“Are you in charge of all of this?” Xavier asked, even though he already knew the answer. “I mean like the food, animals, everything?”

“Yeah. It can be quite a lot.”

“I bet.”

“Hey, why don’t you go ahead and grab a couple of tomatoes for you and Grant? I’m going to go check on the water levels and see what we need done.”

Xavier worked his eyes over the massive growth of green foliage punctuated with red tomatoes. Their vines crawled all along the monkey bars, swing sets, and jungle gym. The playground equipment had originally been planned for deconstruction, but Grant’s deceased wife thought better of it. Her concept of growing up instead of out had proved more efficient and led to an expansive scaffolding project that had yet to be completed. Soon, the entire interior wall would be lined with tomatoes.

He found a tomato he liked and twisted it from its truss. This treat—the whole thing just for him—was a rare occasion. Most produce was used in stews, sauces, and soups to spread the servings, but not this one. This one would be enjoyed on an individual basis.

It gave, just slightly, between his thumb and fingers as he squeezed. His mouth opened, and his teeth pierced through its red skin. Xavier continued to chew through its flesh while searching for another one just for Grant. He unrolled his shirt sleeves and wiped the trickle of tomato juice from his face. This one looks good. He tucked the tomato for Grant into his cargo pants pocket and looked back to his, but unfortunately it was finished.

“That was delicious,” he said, as he joined Lana by the reservoir tanks. “Thanks.”

“You’re welcome.” She pointed to his chin. “You still have a bit on your face.”

Xavier wiped his mouth again.

“There you go. Looking good.”

“What’s the plan for these?” He pointed to the water tanks.

Lana put her hands on her hips and shook her head. “I really wanted to hold off, but it’s been too long. We still have several days’ worth, but some of the general use tanks are looking much worse.”

“Yeah, no, I get it.” Xavier nodded to her. “There’s no way to predict the weather, so I’ll take care of it. It won’t take long.”

She sighed. “I’ll feel a lot better seeing them full.”

• • •

Xavier worked his way back through the school and into the maintenance room. The shop was empty except for the stinging smell of gasoline and solvents that accosted him as he entered. He took the tomato from his pocket and set it on Grant’s plate. It wouldn’t be possible that Grant would miss the vivid red orb against the surrounding space of black and white—the color hidden by layers of grease.

A thick wooden workbench along the back wall endured the weight of unfinished projects and repairs. The shelving underneath was littered with scrap metal, screws, and whatever other grime settled there. At one point, the floors had been white, or at least close to it, but what point was there to trying anymore? A taupe floor worked just as well. A film of lubricants and dust caked the windows—shielding the room from most natural light. He pushed them open to let some fresh air into the room. Much better.

The generator best suited for the river pumps was unavailable. It sat on a side table, completely open and exposed, clearly in the middle of an in-depth tune-up. Xavier slid it toward him to examine its specifications. He needed a qualified substitute. As he read the placard, he noticed a droplet of blood on the edge of the table. Then one on its leg. And then a few on the floor. I guess Grant’s cut really wasn’t all that bad.

Xavier grabbed a hand cart and led it to the spare generators. He looked them over for what he needed and found a red and black Honda that would suffice. It was heavy. Or at least it was for a teenager without a decent meal in months. He picked up one end and then the other, shimmying it onto the bed of the cart. A few gas cans sat nearby, and Xavier picked one, swiveling the can by its handle—the gasoline inside crashed from wall to wall. “That should be enough,” he said, and he placed it next to the generator. He grabbed his tool bag and pulled the cart through the double doors—back into the heat.

From the top of the hill, just barely over the wall, he could see the Ohio River. It was calmer today than most others—still flowing through the Midwest with its usual brown color. The hills and forests of Kentucky teetered on the edge of the opposite bank, leaning over the river, observing him as he worked. Xavier had wasted hours of work over the past year imagining himself wandering the land. Someday…

He hustled the hand truck down the hill along a dirt path that sliced through the tall grasses. The cart thundered toward the riverbank as it shook over the unevenness of the ground beneath it. He parked it on a concrete slab and chocked the wheels with a nearby river stone.

The water pumps were parallel to one another, secured to a stout wooden platform constructed just beyond the sand of the bank. Large tubes of PVC fed the pumps all the water they could handle from the river.

With the ground cable connected to the generator, he unrolled the opposite end up the hill, dragging it through the overgrown lawn searching for the ground rod. A strong wind moved across the tops of the green blades, shuffling them about. The pink flagging tape marking the rod was finally visible. He wriggled the cable into the clamp. The bolt rotated, tighter and tighter as Xavier spun his wrench. He then connected the water pumps to the generator and poured the gasoline into its tank—just enough, nothing more.

The generator began to purr while Xavier monitored its gauges momentarily before allowing the pumps to do their job. The PVC pipes jolted from the initial pressure as the water began flowing up and over the rear wall of the school. A complex system of pipes invaded the rooftop like ivy, spreading to all corners, distributing the water to the town through various tanks and filters.

While waiting for the overflow basin to begin filling, he took a seat on the edge of the hand truck. He spotted an ant crawling along the concrete toward the other end.

Your life really hasn’t changed much, has it? It’s been the same as it’s always been. You have no idea how far the world has fallen. I envy you, but honestly, how could you know? You just do your job, no complaining. If you were as big as me—you’ve probably traveled miles upon miles today. I can’t do that. A hard day’s work out of you means the difference between life and death for so many others. Just one little ant. One piece of a larger machine geared for survival in this crazy world.

But still, you are just one ant. The queen wouldn’t miss just one tiny ant. Another could do your job just as well. You’re replaceable. Especially you! You aren’t following orders. Clearly, you’re off track—lost—or simply horrible at being an ant. You’re no use to the colony. Here you are goofing off. You’re not helping anything. There’s no food on this concrete slab. You can’t be relied upon to ensure the survival of the others. You don’t know how good you have it. You’re taking advantage of your good fortune.

Xavier zeroed in on the ant and brought his foot down. Its body twitched for just a moment, and then it didn’t. He watched as another ant marched along the same path, passing the corpse, never even giving it pause.

The sloshing sound of water pouring into the overflow basin distracted Xavier from the ants. He powered down the pumps and the generator and loaded up the remaining equipment.

Gravity seemed to be toying with him as the wheels of the hand cart creaked back up the hill. Each tug and grunt inched the heavy load closer and closer to the school. Sweat beaded around his hairline, occasionally dripping along the features of his face. His entire body touched with pearls of sweat. His chest pumped vigorously as it tried to catch up from the labor. Finally, Xavier could rest and wipe his brow. Damn!

His uniform was soaked. A shower would be nice, but it wasn’t his day to do so. He would simply have to manage with a change of clothes before heading off to eat. Or did he? A quick soak in the river just to cool off couldn’t hurt anything.

He decided to go for it. His uniform lay in a heap as Xavier, eager to cleanse himself, threw it to the ground. He waded waist deep into the pool of brown water that snuck under the school’s perimeter wall. His body cooled in an instant as he lowered himself below the surface. The echoes of the water passed over his ears until, of course, he had to breathe. His head surfaced. He bounced his knees while keeping his shoulders just below the water.

Xavier pushed slightly against the bottom letting his body float for a bit before submerging again. Thoughts of Sam began to run through his mind as he tried to see how long he could stay under. Sam… You didn’t deserve that. We have every right to be pissed. I can’t believe everyone just stood there. I— well, I couldn’t have helped, but… Something has to change. His lungs tightened. He gave in. The sunlight blinded him for a moment as he emerged from the water.

“Hey boy!” Grant called out while jogging down the hill toward the riverbank, keeping careful watch over his footing. A frayed bath towel hung around his neck. “Need you to dry up now! Not surprisin’ you’re goofin’ off when we gotta be somewhere! What you doin’ out here?”

“I refilled the water tanks.” Xavier ran his fingers through his hair then motioned for the towel as he stepped out from the water. “You should hop in for a second. It feels great.”

“I’m sure it does.” Grant launched the towel into Xavier’s face, briefly covering his ridiculous grin before it fell. He snatched it from the ground, shook it off, and began drying his skin.

“Thanks?”

“I’m serious.” A strange eagerness to Grant’s voice. “Let’s get goin’.”

“I’ve never seen you in such a hurry for lunch. I got you a to—”

“It ain’t lunch, boy. Quit foolin’ around and come on!”

“Alright, just give me a chance to dry off.” Xavier rubbed the worn towel over his body. “What’s going on?”

“We gotta meet up with Mayor Haverty. Big plans are coming down the line, and he’s gonna explain it all in his office.”

“I need to eat,” Xavier said.

“You should’ve gone already. What the hell were you waitin’ for?”

“I didn’t go yet, because I was waiting for you. I thought you were hurt. If I had known tha—”

“Settle down.” Grant waved Xavier’s concern off with his hand. “Haverty’s gonna have some lunch waitin’ for us. Quit your fussin’.”

“I’m not fussing. I’m just trying to explain why I waited.”

“I hear you, just start gettin’ dried up”

“But seriously, are you all right? I saw a little bit of blood down that side table in the shop.”

“Yep. There’s a reason there’s a little bit of blood. I was a little bit of hurt.” Grant peeled the bandage slightly from his finger to show the stitches. “See. Nothin’ to it. A few stitches is all. Usually, I wouldn’t even go. You know that. This was just a little deeper than I like.”

“Let me get my stuff on.” Xavier tossed the damp towel to Grant and collected his clothing from the ground. He brushed the debris from his uniform and pulled the sleeves back through. The sweat-soaked shirt and pants gripped Xavier’s body as he slid them on. “Do I have time to get a fresh pair?”

“Nope. You made that choice now live with it.”

Xavier replaced his glasses.

“Those the ones you picked out?”

“These are the ones that work.”

“As long as you can see, they look good. Now let’s go!” Grant climbed the hill. Xavier followed. “Don’t be lookin’ so down. This is excitin’ news, boy. Gonna be great.”

“How do you know?

He turned back to Xavier, a sharp grin on his face. “Just got that feelin’.”

Chapter Four

“Lemme do the talkin’,” Grant said to Xavier as they hurried down the hallway to Haverty’s office. “Whatever he’s gotta say will affect us both, but don’t get emotional. I ain’t gonna let anything crazy happen to us.”

“You don’t know anything about this?”

“Nope.”

Out of all the people in the school, why us?

The very little Xavier knew about Haverty was negative. This man, who was rarely ever seen, came to River’s Edge with some sort of an agenda. It seemed he was nothing more than a control mechanism aimed squarely at the lives of the people. Nothing but rule changes. “It’s going to be more bad news. I just know it.”

“It’s gonna be alright.” Grant patted him on the back. “Let’s give it a chance. I swear even Haverty’s assistant was braggin’ on it.”

“And you trust that?” Xavier asked, as he stopped in the middle of the hall.

“We ain’t got time for all this nonsense.” Grant’s patience seemed to be wearing thin. “What’s the matter, boy?”

“I don’t know if we should believe them or not.”

“So far, so good, in my opinion.”

Yeah, right. Xavier raised an eyebrow, clearly judging the honesty of Grant’s statement.

“Okay, yeah, the food business is a little off, but that supply change ain’t gonna affect us. You got your glasses didn’t you?”

“That supply change affected Sam and—”

“Sam’s a hothead and prolly had it comin’. I know I wasn’t there, but they got rules we gotta follow, ya know?”

“You’re right.” Xavier’s voice was fierce and quick. “You weren’t there. So you wouldn’t know. No matter what he did… them hitting him like that was stupid.”

“Calm yourself, boy,” Grant forced the words through clenched teeth. “Was he speakin’ against the S.A.?”

“I guess so.”

“They don’t tolerate that kind of stuff.”

“So you get beat?”

“Look!” Grant shot back. “They gonna open up a whole world of stuff to us. Make things easier for everyone. People just need to follow the rules, or they’ll mess the whole thing up.”

“What whole thing?”

“We haven’t been attacked for awhile now. That ain’t no coincidence. There’s a reason for that, and it’s Haverty—the Second Alliance. You ain’t dumb, so don’t start actin’ like it now.”

“We were doing just fine without them.”

“Tell that to Dale and my wife!” Grant shouted then lowered his voice. “I’m sure if they were still alive, they would’ve rather had that protection.”

“Yeah…” Xavier stood frozen in the hallway—his face lacking expression, his heart sinking. There had been too much loss over the years. He hadn’t meant anything. Only that he didn’t want Sam to be the next one. “I’m sorry.”

“You’re all worried about Sam, but what about the others, Xavier?” Grant paused, clearly hurting inside. He closed his eyes for a moment then started again, “I know seein’ Sam get hit like that up close had an effect on ya. I get that, but—“

“This whole thing sucks.”

“This whole thing’s our chance. Our chance that there won’t ever be another Lynn or another Dale.” Grant looked him straight in the eyes. “I get you bein’ nervous. The rules are tighter, that’s true, but I swear it’s gettin’ better.”

“So, what? We just wait? Accept all this?”

“Yep. We need to wait and see for now.”

I can’t do that. Not a chance. “Okay.”

“You ready for this?” Grant leaned toward him, nodding his head, almost mocking him. “Is this little therapy session over?” Grant turned abruptly from Xavier, starting toward Haverty’s office again.

“I’m sorry, but I have to know if you saw Sam when you were getting your stitches.”

“Boy, I don’t know.” Grant paused midstep and briefly closed his eyes, breathing deeply before continuing his words. “Come on, what’s gotten into you? I don’t wanna be in the business of askin’ questions around here…”

Xavier stared at him.

Grant took another deep breath. “He wasn’t there, no, but I’m sure he’s fine. They prolly put him somewhere else to rest, so people ain’t comin’ and goin’ all day.”

“Yeah, maybe.” Who’s side is he on? “It’s just that… this is weird. I agree they’re protecting us from others, but who’s watching out for us?” Xavier swallowed. “I mean, like, from them? They’re handling our supplies. They’re making the rules. Two meals? Every bit of our town’s hard work gathering, growing… whatever else we did.” Sam’s words clearly had an impact on Xavier’s thoughts. “We have no say now. It just doesn’t seem ri—”

“Stop!” Grant’s hand, shaped like a gun, shook in Xavier’s face. “Most everyone here’s happy to have them. They’re puttin’ their people in because they know what they’re doin’.”

Xavier wasn’t impressed.

“Okay?” Grant asked. “I’m serious. When we go in there you need to just stop, okay?”

Not going to happen. Xavier walked past Grant, purposely bumping into him. Grant turned, lunged at Xavier, and pinned him in place by the shoulder. He pulled hard to spin Xavier around, but it was resisted—shrugged off.

“Boy!” Grant scoffed.

A dull rumbling sound could be heard coming from down the hallway. A young girl pulling a wagon loaded down with books walked toward them. Grant straightened up, moving to the side, letting her pass. Xavier also gave her notice, backing up to the wall.

“Where you headin’, little lady?” Grant asked.

“I’m not a lady. I’m a girl,”

“Oh, I’m sorry. What’s the story with them books?” Grant chuckled.

Xavier rolled his eyes at Grant’s horrible attempt at a joke.

“I’m just doing what they say. Liberry to the gym. Nuthin’ more, nuthin’ less.”

“Well then, you have a wonderful day.” Grant waved her on.

They waited for her to move beyond their sight. The rolling of the wagon’s wheels gradually faded. Xavier and Grant looked at each other. Grant threw his hands up—defeated and unsatisfied—as Xavier began to walk off, but he couldn’t give up on him.

“You know…” Grant sighed. “Actually, you’re right. I can’t make you do anything you ain’t wanna do, but hear me out. You at least owe me that.”

Only because it’s you. Xavier stopped and turned toward Grant. “What?”

“This is our chance. If we play by the rules, we gotta shot.” Grant approached Xavier and rested his hand on his shoulder. Xavier backed away, and Grant’s arm dropped to his side. “I know this don’t feel right to you, but someday maybe things will be back to normal, or at least close to it. Trust me. I ain’t ever led you wrong.”

“It wouldn’t be like this if Dad was here.” Xavier’s eyes fell to the floor.

“That’s why you’re not seein’ straight, boy. This whole thing’s too personal for you. Things prolly would be different if he was here, but he’s not, and he didn’t leave another choice but to move on.”

Xavier looked up and scowled at Grant.

“I’m not sayin’ anything bad about your dad. I know things got worse when he left. Not a coincidence either. Your dad’s a good man.”

“I know, and when he returns, we’ll be back in charge.”

“Then let’s wait for him. For now, we’ll just act like everything’s good. I mean it.” Grant perched his hand on Xavier’s shoulder. “Hang in there. You know, if you don’t like what happened to Sam, then don’t become another Sam. We need to play it smarter.”

“I get what you’re saying, but this whole arrangement goes against everything my dad built. He wouldn’t have wanted this. They’re doing what they want, turning this place upside down.”

“Why you say that?”

“Look where we’re heading. Nothing’s sacred to them. Principal Ricard’s office was untouched like my dad wanted it until they came. Now Haverty took it over. What happened to not disrespecting the past? Doesn’t that matter anymore?”

“You’re right. On that one, you’re right. I just need— Let’s see where this takes us. You need to swear you ain’t gonna say nothin’ in there. Just hang back.”

“Alright,” Xavier nodded—his jaw bulging. I’ll play nice for now.

• • •

As Xavier and Grant sat inside the waiting room, they could see the changes. The diplomas and certificates, obtained through Principal Ricard’s years of public service, were now stripped from the walls. His family photographs disposed of—gone forever. The metal placard that read, Victor Ricard, no longer hung above his door. The memorial that Xavier’s dad preserved in his honor was destroyed.

“See what I mean?” Xavier whispered. “Everything’s gone. All of it.”

Grant turned his head, eyeing the assistant that sat just outside the door to the office. “I know. Just…”

“This isn’t right.” Xavier was careful to keep his voice low. “I still remember him getting sick. He was the first person I knew that caught it.”

“I knew the man. His boy came home from Syria, and that was it for the man. They say that’s how he got it—that his boy gave it to him.”

“He’ll see you now,” Haverty’s assistant announced.

Xavier and Grant stood from their seats and made their way into the back office. The first few steps into the room felt awkward. This isn’t right at all. His dad would be disappointed if he knew.

But he couldn’t say no, not after what happened to Sam. No simply couldn’t be an answer to a request from the Second Alliance. His heart raced. His nerves were bent. The office still had the same basic feel, but Haverty’s presence overshadowed his memory.

The large oak desk seemed diminutive, better suited for a dollhouse when compared to Haverty’s size. His clothing—stressed and exhausted trying to compress his girth. One could almost see through the material straining to hold together over his immense frame. A tan fedora, several sizes too small, covered the back portion of his head—his patchy hairline receded underneath it. He was sweating, simply from breathing. Those beads of sweat oozed in and out of his neck rolls, pooling at the top of his shirt, unable to squeeze between his skin and cloth. He blotted himself with a handkerchief.

“Sit down. Eat.”

“Thank you,” Grant said, as they both complied with Haverty’s order.

The plates that sat before them were filled with food, slightly picked over by Haverty, but still much more than they were accustomed to.

“Don’t be shy. I ain’t bitin’.”

Xavier gave pause. One bite would be surrendering to the Second Alliance. Refusal could be construed as defiance. Damn it! He was hungry. Play it safe. They began to shovel the food into their mouths.

“Y’all my guys. This here town’s gonna be… well, the talk of the town.” He snorted. His potbelly rocked the desk as he laughed. “Get it?”

The two guests nodded agreeably. “Sorry. We’re just hungry, that’s all,” Grant responded.

“Hell, I bet two meals a day ain’t too popular right now. Didn’t have a choice though. Y’all were gonna run outta food if the change didn’t happen.”

A cigar rolled around in between his stained teeth as he tongued it from right to left to right. His grin was menacing. His demeanor was unassuming. It was difficult to peg him. Under more favorable circumstances, Xavier might even like him.

Haverty raised a mug to his lips and spit—a few flakes of tobacco riding the brown goo to the bottom. Xavier cringed, almost losing his appetite. “How rude of me. Lemme get this outta here while y’all eat.” He opened a drawer to the desk and set the mug out of sight. “How is it?”

“The food? It’s great.” Grant said while nudging Xavier as discreetly as possible.

Xavier looked up from his plate. “It’s good.”

“Good, Good, Good. Glad we could get off to a good start here.”

Haverty lifted himself from his chair and walked to a small table against the wall. He poured himself a shot of clear liquid from a glass bottle. Putting it to his nose, he winced then smiled. The liquid raced down his throat as he threw it down. “Damn!” He dabbed at his skin with the handkerchief again. “I got some big plans fer y’all,” Haverty continued. “Fixin’ this place right up. Fixin’ how things are done here. I’m thinkin’ everyone’ll be happy with it.”

He moved just behind Grant and patted his shoulder, knocking him forward with his large hands. Grant coughed, expelling an uncomfortable something from his throat. He breathed deeply—all was okay.

“Gas is gettin’ scarce ‘round here. Not even really sure how y’all still have it, but yeah, I need ya both to be leavin’ here shortly. Goin’ on up to the capital.”

Xavier stopped eating and looked at Grant with wide eyes. What is he getting us into?

“Don’t worry son, there’ll be an S.A. Guard escort. Be takin’ State Route 50 into downtown. It’s all S.A. territory. Y’all know where that is?”

“Yessir,” Grant said, nodding enthusiastically.

“And, you?”

Xavier shook his head. “Route 50?”

“River Road,” Grant whispered.

Xavier nodded.

Haverty moved over to the maps that hung on the wall and pointed to River’s Edge Academy. “Here we are, ‘n’ this the way y’all be headin’.” His finger followed a bold line that snaked alongside the Ohio River. “And this here is the end of the line.” The finger rested on Paul Brown Stadium. “Y’all ain’t gonna find any more them Bengal tigers down there. Just the S.A., recivilizin’ the world.”

“What’re we goin’ there for?” Grant asked carefully.

“Like I said, that gas ain’t gonna last much longer.” Haverty sat back down in his seat and folded his hands. “Through our deal with you folks, we gotta protect y’all. And in return, we expect food ‘n’ supplies. For us to get the most outta this place, the S.A. needs it to be efficient. River’s Edge’s important to us. Gonna be our western post for awhile.”

Grant nodded.

“Sittin’ before me right now, or so I hear, are the two best maintenance guys in town.”

“Damn straight!” Grant pounded the desk with his fist. The plates jumped. Xavier almost laughed, but his mouth was full.

Haverty chortled. “I ‘preciate that fire. We’re thinkin’ a couple of solar panels’ll go far here. I’m needin’ both of ya to take a look ‘n’ see if they can be put to use. I’m no electrician, but the two of ya are, ‘n’ I’m expectin’ y’all to get them workin’.” Haverty looked intently at Grant, silently insisting on their cooperation. “Gonna be able to save a lot more people from this hell if we’re efficient like that.”

“We got it. Won’t even be a problem. We gotta few solar panels here that were salvaged from some highway construction signs. We’re familiar with the stuff.”

“These ain’t little makeshift solar panels. They’re the big ones.”

“That should make it easier.” Grant looked at Haverty.

“Good, Good, Good. Y’all be leavin’ within the hour. Finish up with them lunches ‘n’ get your stuff together. Grab up a bag with a change of clothes ‘n’ such. It’ll be one night in paradise. Nice shower ‘n’ dinner’ll be good for ya. Paul Brown’s nice.”

“How long’s the walk?” Xavier asked.

“It’ll take about three hours or so. Give or take. Sure there’ll be a stop to eat ‘n’ what not.”

“That’s not too bad, I guess.”

“We appreciate the big lunch you gave us.” Grant said.

“It may be y’all’s last.” Haverty laughed out loud from behind the desk.

Xavier once again looked to Grant, his eyes wide with fear and disbelief.

“I’m just foolin’. We’ve held Route 50 for awhile now. Y’all be fine. Hang back ‘n’ enjoy the views.”

What in the world is wrong with this guy? How can he joke like that?

“Grab up your plates ‘n’ head on out. Be in the courtyard no later than two. Simon’ll be the escort. He’s good. Listen to him ‘n’ he’ll keep ya alive. Alright?”

“Yessir!” Grant said. The two guests stood from their chairs and shook hands with Haverty. “We’ll be ready.”

“Don’t let us down here. Seriously, a lot ridin’ on y’all’s trip. Make sure those panels work. I mean it. Make it work. And Xavier, there’ll be a big surprise at the end for you, son. Now go on, get outta here.”

Grant and Xavier lifted their plates from the desk and left for the resident quarters to finish their meals. Grant continued eating as they walked the hallway. His plate rested on the top of his chin just below his lips as he bulldozed each bite into his mouth.

“We still have an hour before we have to go,” Xavier said.

“Maybe you do,” Grant said, as he managed to get the words out between bites, “but I gotta look at some things before we check out these panels. Gotta make sure this will work.”

“Are you heading to the shop then? Do you need me?”

“Nope, I’m good. Make sure you pack up your gear.”

“What’s my surprise?”

“No idea. Lucky you though.”

“Yeah…” Lucky me.

“See boy, Haverty ain’t so bad.”

“Maybe…” But I doubt it.

“Courtyard at two o’clock. Do what you gotta do, but don’t be late.”

• • •

The sleeping quarters were empty. Xavier maneuvered his way past the cots and personal belongings of his roommates. It felt eerie with everything set up and nobody around—like the abandoned houses where so many supplies had been plucked. That moist smell that lingered in the room while it was crowded was essentially gone. At this point though, it was probably impossible to eliminate.

The strong afternoon sunlight poured in through the skylights in the old classroom. It hit right on Xavier’s footlocker as he sat down to finish his lunch. When the plate was empty, he set it on the floor beneath his cot.

It wasn’t often that Xavier got a break during the day. The constant repair work and maintenance usually prevented it. The trip he was about to embark on kept running through his mind. He ran his finger along the floor pattern trying to remember the route to downtown. Three hours seemed to be reasonable enough—five honeycombs by the floor’s scale. He bobbed his head. You can do this. Armed escort and Grant. Nothing to it. He eyed the tip of his finger. It was covered with a gray film. He wiped it off with his shirt.

Xavier stood up from the footlocker, entered his combination, and lifted the lid, propping it open with a broken broom handle that he kept inside. Occasionally, a pain in his fingers would remind him to fix the tension on the hinges, but he never did.

He stuffed a set of clean clothes and his toiletries bag into an old book bag. I should change while I have the chance. He grabbed another fresh set of clothing and slid into them. Much better. The ticking of his clock perked his ear. He hadn’t meant to leave it out. I can’t believe one of those asshole Guards hasn’t snatched it up. He wrapped it in a t-shirt and placed it carefully inside the footlocker.

The contents of the chest were sifted through over and over again. Xavier didn’t want to forget anything. Of course, he didn’t want to overpack either. It would be hot and the extra weight would drag at him. He loaded what he needed—That’s just enough to get me through a night—and set his bag on the ground next to the cot and secured his footlocker.

His cot was inviting. He lay down. The cracks in the ceiling kept his interest as he tried to discern objects from nothing like clouds in the sky. His blinking became heavy. The whites in between his eyelids became less and less until they were gone.

“Dad! She’s throwing up again.”

“I know, Xavier! Hold on! Yes, sir… I understand, but… Yes, I know… Please, I’m just trying to get a hold of my wife… I understand, but that’s already been done… I’ve already left three messages.”

“It’s everywhere!”

“Xavier! I’m on the phone! Get her another bucket or something! No, not you sir… Her name is Janet Finch. She’s a doctor… Please try and find her… Yeah, I’ll hold.”

“Dad! She looks terrible. She’s white.”

“Get her another wet cloth and put it on her forehead.”

“She already has two.”

“Xavier! Just do it!”

“Okay. Okay.”

“Is she still breathing?”

“Yes… Mom isn’t coming. Can’t we just take her to the hospital?”

“I already told you the hospitals aren’t taking people anymore. There isn’t enough room. Your mom’s probably on her way back already.”

“Yeah, right. She broke her promise. Again.”

“Xavier, don’t you dare. Your mother went to help peop— Yes, sir. I’m here… You can’t find her? What do you mean?… Well, where the hell is she?… I know you don’t know… Is she still working there?… You can’t tell me? Why not?… Sir, please. I need to know wher— He hung up on me…”

“Dad.”

“What!”

“I don’t think she’s breathing.”

“What the hell, boy!” Grant barked at Xavier.

“What?” Xavier sat up and rubbed his eyes, “Crap, I fell asleep.”

“Get yourself up! We gotta go now! Somethin’ told me to come and get you.”

“Sorry. I really didn’t mean to. Are we late?”

“Not yet, but real close!” Grant clapped his hands at Xavier. “Come on! Come on! You got everything you need?”

“I’m pretty sure.” Xavier got up from his cot and flung his bag over his shoulder. “Change of clothes and my bathroom stuff. Do you think I need anything else?”

“That’s all I grabbed.” Grant shook his duffel bag. “Not sure we’ll need anything else.”

“Then we’re ready?”

“Born ready. Keep your head on a swivel and listen to the S.A. Guard. What he says goes. Don’t forget it.”

Xavier nodded.

“Listen to him and we’ll be good. You nervous, boy?”

“A little bit, but I’ll be fine.”

“Come on!”

Grant’s steps were quick, entirely rushed. Xavier traipsed just behind him—his mind preoccupied with the dream. He was tired of being let down. His mother and father guilty of the charge—the death of his sister the sentence.

It was getting harder and harder to trust anyone. Xavier wanted to with Grant, but his optimism seemed so blind. His unwavering hope made Xavier wonder if he even knew the world had ended. To him, it seemed that the Second Alliance could do no wrong when clearly their practices were questionable. What is Grant seeing that I can’t? Am I wrong? This journey could be the luck—that change Matt’s always talking about.

The distance between him and Grant continued to draw out. Get your head in the game. Xavier’s gait grew to a jog as he worked to close the gap between them. He noticed the duffel bag Grant carried seemed heavier than what he let on. The arm holding it was tense. The right side of his body seemed rigid. He was off balance. Grant’s arm didn’t swing. Curious, Xavier broke into a sprint, catching Grant just as he opened the door to the courtyard.

“Let me carry that for you,” Xavier said, as he reached for Grant’s duffel bag.

“Boy, don’t get so grabby.” He smacked Xavier’s hand away. “I ain’t too old to carry my own gear.” Grant rose up onto his toes, looking down on Xavier jokingly. “You ain’t so big yourself anyways.”

Xavier laughed. “It looked heavy.”

“Pair of clothes and my sleep prep. I guess I’m gettin’ too old, huh?”

“Probably.” Xavier tried to sneak a look through the broken zipper, as they continued their conversation outside.

“You my guys?” A voice hollered.

“Simon?” Grant asked.

“Yes.”

“Okay…” Xavier’s face looked puzzled with several pieces missing. This guy’s a Guard? Nothing about Simon gave a sense of security other than his black M4 rifle (one with all the bells and whistles) slung across his shoulder. This isn’t what I expected. Hardly the strong man that Haverty let on.

Simon was tall with spindly arms that would flap in a strong wind. That is, if his body didn’t fall over first. The features of his face were full and oversized—a stark contrast to his frame. Deep pock scars spotted his cheeks with a redness only matched by his bulbous nose. His mouth struggled to contain his teeth when he spoke.

As he stood there looking at Grant and Xavier, he began pacing in front of them, looking them up and down. He guffawed. It was annoyingly loud and calculated—seemingly purposeful in its exact spacing between each outburst.

Grant and Xavier’s faces met with disbelief. This just couldn’t be real. This is who was going to protect them? Xavier lifted his hand, but Grant swatted it away before Simon noticed. Grant raised his eyebrows to Xavier, signaling to him to let it go for now. Xavier faced forward.

“Take this water and tie ’em to your bags,” Simon said, as he tossed two jugs—one at each of their feet. “We need to get moving. Looks like those clouds are bringing rain.”

Xavier looked to the west as he bent down and collected the jugs from the ground. Sure enough, a pattern of gray clouds were hovering in the distance. He shook his head and wiped the jugs free from the dirt that stuck to the wet plastic. Grant reached out and took his from Xavier. The two of them ran the straps of their bags through the handles of each jug.

“Neither of you seem prepared. Why are you even here?” Simon asked.

“Doin’ what Haverty wants us to,” Grant said. “Nothin’ more than that.”

“Well, I’m here to do my job and nothing more than that.” He smirked and continued pacing back and forth, starting in on his lecture. “I’m not here to be your friend. I don’t care why you’re going. I’m just going to get you there.”

Off to a good start.

“You need to listen to what I say and pay attention to what I’m doing. I may not be able to get the words out, but if you see me duck…” Simon paused and eyeballed each of them. “Then you duck.

“I’ve been doing this for awhile now. Been on my own for even longer. This is an easy route, so don’t embarrass yourselves. But more importantly, don’t embarrass me.”

“You sure you wanna do this?” Grant asked.

“Questioning me?” Simon squared up to him, getting in his face.

Grant lifted his chin, staring straight into Simon’s eyes. He began speaking slowly, “You’re actin’ like this is some big inconvenience. We can do this without ya if that’s what ya want.”

“On your own?” He spun away from Grant and scoffed at the idea. “You two don’t know the first thing about this. Why the hell did you think it would be a good idea not to pack food and water? You’re lucky I’m coming with you two amateurs.” Simon laughed. “Alone? Ha!”

“We just packed what Haverty told us to,” Xavier said. “We don’t want any trou—”

“The baby speaks? Should I have socked away some diapers too?”

Grant threw his bag to the ground. “Look boy! I’m probably twice your age. You keep this up, and I’ll beat ya so hard…” Grant’s tremors began to get the best of him. He worked his fingers in and out of each other, rubbing his knuckles in an attempt to hide it.

Simon ran the back of his hand along the stubble on his chin and snickered. “You nervous or what old man?”

Leave him alone! “He’s got tremors!” Xavier immediately regretted saying it.

“They’re sending a man with a condition, huh? This keeps getting better.” Simon’s shoulders bounced as he chuckled. “Look, screw it. I’m not trying to argue with a kid and a geriatric.” Simon looked directly in Grant’s eyes. “Haverty commissioned me for this job. So… so let’s play nice. Get this done.”

“To hell with you!” Grant said. “We can do this on our own.” Grant stared at Simon and picked his bag from the ground

“Good! That’s what I wanted to hear! I want to hear that resolve, that determination. Haverty told me to get you guys fired up a bit before we head out. Nothing personal.” Simon rubbed his hands together. “What about you, kid?” Simon eyed him suspiciously. He seemed unconvinced of Xavier’s abilities, acting as if he expected Xavier to say no.

“I’m ready.” Xavier adjusted his book bag. He tightened the lid of the water jug and shifted it to the bottom of the strap. “What do you need from us?”

“First off, enjoy yourself. Not sure how long it’s been since you two have been outside the wall, but this’ll be easy. Second, I’ll lead. Stay back at least twenty yards. That’ll give me a chance to give you some kind of warning if something’s going on. Pay attention, here are the signals you’ll need to know…” Simon ran through some basic military hand signals with them. “Got it?”

They nodded.

“Don’t drink all your water right off the bat,” Simon continued. “Don’t be loud. If you’re going to talk, keep it low. I got some stuff for us to eat, so don’t worry about that. Any questions?”

The two of them just looked at Simon.

“Seriously, this is the time. Won’t be able to ask if we’re being shot at.”

“You think that will happen?” Xavier’s nervous words poured out. He hadn’t even had a chance to think them.

“No, but it’s always a possibility. Keep it in the back of your mind. As we’re walking, run scenarios through your head. Imagine what you’d do. I recommend finding cover and running through the woods. You two aren’t going to be able to fire back. Just hide until the shots stop, then run. It won’t be hard to find your way back here.”

“But do you think someone’s going to shoot at us?” Xavier pressed him.

“I told you it’s fine. I’ve been down this way many, many times. Nice scenic views. I only bring it up so you two have it in the back of your minds.”

Grant turned to Xavier and rested his hand on his shoulder. “It’s gonna be fine.”

“I know you two…” Simon looked around, rested his chin on his shoulder for a brief moment, and smirked. He ran his hands up and down his body, checking his gear, adjusting his equipment. His focus returned to Xavier and Grant. Something was clearly running through Simon’s mind, but what? His vacant stare began to move beyond them as his head curled to the right like a confused dog. A moment passed and then another. It became awkward.

“You okay?” Xavier asked.

Simon motioned for them to follow. “It’s time to go. Let’s do this thing.”

Grant nodded to Xavier and whispered, “We’ll be fine.” He gave his duffel bag a quick shake. “Alright?”

Xavier nodded, and the two of them left for the front gate, trailing Simon as they weaved through the large field of corn.

“We’re ready!” Simon shouted.

The large metal doors to the town began to rattle as the bundles of iron rebar squealed and scraped while being pulled through their brackets. Trees surrounding the area swayed as the birds, alarmed by the noise, took to the sky. The white tails of rabbits bounced back into the wood line.

Both Sentries pushed open the doors as Simon crouched down just inside the edge of the crops. Hidden within the stalks of corn with the sights of his rifle aligned perfectly through the middle of the opening in the wall, he prepared to move. Xavier observed him, taking mental notes as Simon moved fluidly from one position of cover to the next.

Simon advanced just outside of River’s Edge, taking a kneeling position with his rifle resting across the hood of a burned-out pickup truck. He motioned for Grant and Xavier to take cover next to him. They rushed forward, ultimately ducking behind two other vehicles wedged into the makeshift barricade that surrounded the city’s wall.

“Push the doors back,” Simon instructed. “We got you covered.”

The Sentries closed the gate while Simon maintained his watch over the grazing field. The Sentries replaced the rebar into the brackets—the scraping of metal briefly resumed, then stopped. The town was again secure.

Chapter Five

Xavier’s old world lay before him. He looked out upon it, his feet planted where he had stood so many times before. If he chose not to turn around, everything appeared the same as before. If only I could go home. Actually, go home. His old world—the memories of leaving school, crossing the street to the worn path that split what was now the livestock’s grazing field.

That field in the past had been nothing more than that… a field, overgrown with goldenrods and aster. Through that field, the worn path had led him and his schoolmates up toward the hills, disappearing between two tall oak trees whose branches formed an archway into the woods. From there, they followed the broken twigs of honeysuckle that tussled with the children’s book bags as they ran past.

They continued over the dirt floor of the forest, their shadows blotting out the spotted sunlight that scattered in through the canopy. Their hands and feet gripped the exposed roots jutting from the creek’s bank—acting as a ladder—assisting their way down onto a shelf of rocks and clay. A purposeful array of stones, resting just above the shallow creek’s stagnant water, bridged the approach home. Careful footsteps across would keep most of their feet dry, but occasionally, a soggy shoe made it home.

The children’s way along the trail turned and required a steep hike up a hill to the backyards of the neighborhood. A loud, familiar bark sounded out as they made it back to the street where they lived. They stretched their hands out toward the Kentucky split-rail fence as a sign of peace. Archie, Matt’s brindle greyhound, scanned them with his cold, wet nose. The kids checked out and were free to hop over.

Xavier’s childhood journeys ended there at that old wooden fence. Today, there wouldn’t be any giggling, any smiling, or laughing with his schoolmates. He wouldn’t be on his way home. Not a single footstep would be taken across the grazing field and onto that now, overgrown trail. Instead, he turned away from his childhood and toward downtown—a place as foreign as any in his mind. Nothing would be as it was when he was younger. Xavier hesitated, looking back to the gate with mixed feelings. It’s been awhile, but I’ve been through worse.

“That isn’t going to work,” Simon called back to them. He was already a good distance down the road. “If you’re worried about anyone getting us, they would’ve done it when the gate opened. Let’s go!”

“You ready, boy?” Grant tugged at Xavier’s sleeve.

They squeezed through the bumpers of the automobiles that encircled the wall—some of them burned out frames, but not a single one of them unblemished.

“Remember when that guy tried to drive his truck through the wall?” Xavier asked while pointing to the man’s beat up Ford pickup crashed between a U-Haul and an old muscle car—its front end completely crushed inward. Bloodstains remained within the truck’s cab, visually obscured from multiple spider cracks in the windshield.

Grant chuckled. “That was one of the few fortunate times we could laugh at an attack.”

“Yeah…” I don’t remember laughing at all. “I was up on the roof that day patching a water tank with my dad. All you heard was a loud crash and then some gunshots. Dad hopped right on top of me, but I could still see our guys firing from the towers.”

“That maniac must’ve lost his mind,” Grant said. “Either that or he was tryin’ to get himself killed.”

“That’s a coward’s way out.”

“You never know what’s goin’ through someone’s head. We’re a bit spoiled with this town. The world is harsher than ya know. It was prolly too much for the man.”

“Why do people act like I haven’t experienced all this? Like I didn’t live through the collapse with everyone else.”

“I’m not sayin’ ya didn’t. It’s— You’re comfortable with life again. This gonna be a good taste of the change. We probably won’t see any action, but ya never know.”

“Yea…” Comfortable, huh? I hope something does happen. I’ll show him. Just wait. Xavier looked over at Grant as they walked on. What could he possibly know that I don’t? He’s been in this situation just as long as I have. Whatever… Xavier pointed to his right as they walked. “I remember painting that.”

A beat-up mural of the Cincinnati skyline was fading from the corrugated metal of the town’s wall. It remained barely visible from 50 feet, let alone a football field as it was intended. The only clear portion was just above the painting, the words ‘City of River’s Edge’ bolted to the metal.

Xavier gazed fondly at it. “Karen did most of the work. I’m not much of an artist you know, I actually think I messed it up in a few spots, not that you could tell now.”

“Yeah, ya prolly couldn’t see what ya were doin’.” Grant smiled, but Xavier wasn’t amused by the joke about his new glasses. He gave Xavier a playful push to the back, causing him to stumble forward a bit. “I’m only teasin’ ya.”

“Yeah, Yeah.” He turned to Grant and tried to push him back, but Grant dodged him. “Whatever.” Xavier smiled and laughed. “We should try to—”

“Keep it down!”

They looked to one another and nodded. He’s right.

“You know who did those letters—the words?” Grant asked Xavier.

He shrugged. “Dale, I thought.”

“Nope, he put them up. Come on boy, you know that’s my work. Look how smooth it looks,” Grant kidded.

Xavier eyed Grant with his head cocked slightly. Usually he’s riding me for everything. Now, he’s joking and acting like a kid. “What’s going on with you?”

“What you mean?”

“You seem… well, you seem happier I guess. Usually, you’re tougher on me, and now you’re—”

“Xavier, I gotta be tough on ya.” A fatherly tone. “I promised your dad that I’d watch out for ya. I told him I’d make sure every decision was in your best interest.”

“It’s just… you let Alex get away with everything. It doesn’t seem fair.”

“That’s not your concern. He’s his own man and you’re yours.”

“It just doesn’t seem—”

“Let it go. You’re here and he ain’t. Your hard work pays off. He couldn’t be trusted for somethin’ like this. Bein’ responsible leads to responsibility. It makes ya valuable.”

“Yeah…” Xavier couldn’t keep his eyes from the school. Quick glances. His neck bent further and further around as the school shrank in the distance.

“Up around this left here ya ain’t gonna be able to see her no more. Now’s the time if you’re not comin’.”

“Just looking.” Xavier straightened up, shifting his walk into a march, his chin up and eyes forward.

“Wanna be sure.” Grant took a quick glance back himself. “So,” he said, as he raised his hands up over his head, “what you think about all this?”

“What do you mean?” Xavier looked around.

“Bein’ out here. Seein’ all this. You remember this stuff?”

“It’s only been two years.”

“I know that. Wasn’t sure how much ya got out. Your dad’s pretty protective of ya.”

“I’m sure that has more to do with my mom and sister than anything else. He wasn’t always like that.” Xavier averted his eyes to the ground and began counting his steps, watching the imperfections of the road pass under his feet. The shoelaces bounced along with every strike against the pavement. These shoes are a mess. Please don’t fall apart. “I need some new shoes,” he said—his eyes meandering along the cracks of the asphalt.

“How much longer you got with those?”

“I think it’s maybe a few months.” Xavier whipped his feet forward as he stepped, exaggerating the flapping rubber of his sneakers.

“I wouldn’t even wish those on Simon.”

“I would.” Xavier laughed loudly.

As Grant joined in on the laughter, Simon looked back, staring coldly at the two of them. There’s no way he heard that. Xavier gave a single nod to Simon as they continued on ahead. He tried his best to keep the remaining portion of their conversation to themselves.

For the last mile, Simon appeared to be favoring one leg over the other. His stride tilted with every step. The weight of his body pressed more gingerly on the left sole than the right. Xavier imagined Simon’s face melting with pain as each pulse shot through his nerves. This trip would be agonizing in that condition. Simon didn’t seem to care, or at least, he never led on as such. He never mentioned it. His loyalty to the Second Alliance is what must have motivated his silence. He appeared to be pretty convinced of his duty to their flag. They didn’t tend to deal with failure or dissent well, and Simon surely understood that.

“When’s the last time you been downtown?” Grant wanted to know.

“I guess I was maybe nine or ten. It was the first and last time I ever went to a Reds game with my dad.”

“Used to listen to them all the time.” Grant imitated a pitcher’s windup. It was obvious he had never played. His arm bent at ninety degrees for far too long.

“You throw like a girl.”

“Like hell I do!”

Simon shushed them, “Quiet down, you two. We’ll be coming up on Route 50 in about a mile or so. You two can’t be making noise like that around there. If we’re going to be hit—that’s where.”

Xavier unscrewed the lid to his jug and sipped his water. He whispered, “Look at this place. It’s so rundown.”

“Watch yourself, boy.” Grant snapped. “This is where I lived.”

“Really?” Xavier raised an eyebrow. This place is a dump.

A swift wind moved through the blue-collar neighborhood that once bustled with industry. The depressed facades of the shotgun, row houses watched over the streets of Riverside. To be honest though, it hadn’t changed much because of the virus. It had its issues long before. Its appearance now was only slightly worse.

Many of the homes wore tattered bedsheets billowing from the gutters and roofs. It suited most of them just fine. Their ugliness hidden by the white sheets painted with red Qs, warning the uninfected to stay away. The wind stopped and the sheets settled.

“Not much to look at anymore.” Grant’s head passed from side to side in depressed swings—his chin maybe an inch from his chest. “It’s all been picked apart by gangs, scavengers, whoever comes through.”

Simon raised a fist above his shoulder, signaling for them to stop as he moved to cover behind the trunk of a nearby car—his cheek folded onto the butt of the rifle as he began scanning.

Their carefree attitude dissolved as Grant took Xavier by the arm and pulled him toward the back of a rusty blue minivan. They stumbled. Xavier’s body pressed against Grant’s as they fell to the road. Their bags slammed against the asphalt, breaking Grant’s water jug. “Shit!”

The gush of water washed the chips of the van’s shattered window away from their feet as they scrambled behind the vehicle. They crouched down, just below its busted out window, waiting for the echoes of gunfire to bounce off the houses. But, it never came. They waited, hearts pounding in unison, scanning the roofs and windows of the vacant homes. Nothing stuck out.

“False alarm!” Simon shouted. “Things are moved. Looks different from when I came through here last time.”

Grant peeked from around the bumper of the wrecked minivan. “We good?”

“Yeah.” Simon’s hand waved them forward.

Grant stood from the ground and helped lift Xavier to his feet. Grant looked him over. “You okay?”

“I am.” Xavier brushed the chips of broken glass from his pants. “I thought it was going to get crazy.”

“You did good, boy. Real good. We have to react and recover,” he reassured Xavier. Grant looked at the thin plastic shell of his jug, crumpled and now completely empty. He sighed. “Guess it beats gettin’ shot, but damn, all that dippin’ and duckin’ for nothin’ but losin’ all my water. Stupid thing erupted all over the damn place.”

“We still have mine,” Xavier said, as he shook his jug.

“Where your glasses at?”

Xavier’s eyes slowly closed while he let out a frustrated groan. Please don’t be at my feet already crushed to bits. He bent over to look among the broken glass that littered the ground beneath their feet. Grant snatched the glasses from the air as they fell from between Xavier’s shoulder and bag strap.

“You ain’t ever gonna see luck like that again in your life, boy. Now, come on!” He started to move, but stopped almost immediately for a double take—his attention drawn back toward where they came from. “Holy— No wonder that wind’s buildin’ up. That storm’s movin’ toward us fast.”

“You have to be kidding me.” Xavier deflated right there in the street. “I wasted all that gas on the reservoir tanks.”

“You guys need a break or something?” Simon yelled back to them.

“No reason to dwell on it. Let’s go, boy.”

“I have to tie my shoe.”

Xavier bent down, and Grant continued slinking along the cars toward the middle of the block where Simon stood. At any moment this walk could change for the worse. Xavier kept his eyes on the houses that slouched along the street as he fidgeted with the laces.

Grant stopped abruptly and moved toward the sidewalk. Again, the beating of Xavier’s heart struck against his rib cage. This is crazy. Xavier ducked down behind another car. Alone. Where the hell is Grant? He lay on his stomach and edged to the driver side, peering down the length of the car—no one, even Simon had moved from the street. Nothing was said. Maybe they had been sniped. It was time. Run! Just run! He rose to his feet and broke for the backyards.

“This one’s mine.”

The calm familiar voice halted his sprint. He looked to his left, Grant stood just twenty feet away, his hand resting on the top of an old mailbox. Grant’s mouth formed a weak smile as he bent down to pick up a fragment of concrete from his flaking driveway. He ran his teeth across his bottom lip—saddened by the empty shell that slumped before him. Its wood siding was cracking from the stress of the sun beating upon it—day in, day out. The stale blue paint flaked into the overgrown mulch beds.

Grant kicked at the weeds growing between the joints in the sidewalk that led to the front. He sat down on the top step, placing his duffel bag next to him on the porch. He gripped an imaginary can and lifted it to his mouth. “Hey, boy! Come have a cold one with me. Well, you can have a root beer.”

Xavier laughed and sat down next to him on the porch, removed his book bag, and mimicked the imaginary sip.

“What the hell are you two doing?” Simon gawked at them from the front yard. He drew back some mucus and spit in the grass.

Grant rose quickly from the porch steps and started to descend. “Don’t spit in my yard!”

“This is yours?” Simon put both of his palms out toward Grant in an effort to calm him.

“Yeah.” Grant stopped at the bottom step, pushing his chest up and out. “I haven’t been here for awhile. I need a sec.”

“I’ll give you some time but not much. We don’t wanna get caught out here in the storm. That’ll slow us down a lot.” Simon moved down to a neighboring house and kept watch from the porch.

“Somethin’ wrong with him, Xavier,” Grant said, “but… I can’t know what for sure.”

“What do you mean?”

“This guy don’t seem right. First, he’s messin’ with us, then not, and now again. I don’t know. Something ain’t right. He could’ve been some rapist locked away in jail. Scary thing is that anyone can show up and say they’re whatever they want. Ain’t no way to look that up. Simon’s here tryin’ to play army man, but we don’t know anything about him. He could be some mental case. Some psycho guy.”

“You think so?”

“There’s no tellin’ and that’s my point. We need to be careful. Need to keep an eye on him best we can.”

Xavier looked over to Simon.

Simon didn’t appear particularly menacing. He was seated with his boots off, resting one foot on the step below him, massaging his other—the pain seemed to be evaporating from his body, even if it was only for the moment. He rubbed it a while longer then slid his boots back on, picked up the rifle, and went back to work. Grant obviously has issues with him, but what if he’s right?

“I hear you. What do you think…?” Xavier let his words trail off. Grant wasn’t paying attention—his mind was somewhere else.

“The neighborhood’s changed a lot since the virus.” Grant looked up and down the street. “We never used to hang bed sheets up like that.” A weak laugh. “I just… it’s hard lookin’ at it.”

“Is yours the only one without a sheet?”

“Never got sick.”

“What about your family?”

“I ain’t got no immediate family here. These people on the street here were my family just like the people at the school are now.” Grant paused and scratched underneath is nose. His mind wandered, but his bland appearance gave no hints to what he was thinking. He rubbed his thumb along the edge of the top step and stared out at the houses. “Helped bury most of them, and when it was just me, I started— I started rollin’ them over. Couldn’t bring myself to do it anymore. Didn’t wanna look at their faces as I shoveled.”

“I didn’t know you didn’t have family up here. I just kind of assum—”

“What?” Grant snapped.

“I guess I thought that they all got sick. I figured you were married or something. Most grownups are.”

“Never was until I met Lynn.” Grant took a deep breath and sat there for a moment, doing anything he could to occupy his mind—picking at his fingernails, cracking his knuckles. He wiped his eye. “Uncalled for… what they did to her. She ain’t deserve that. Woman had a heart of gold. Just took her out without a warnin’. Cowards! If I ever find out who…” His voice trailed off.

“I’m sorry.” Xavier laid his hand between Grant’s shoulder blades.

“I’m thinkin’ I’ll prolly just live the rest of my life alone.” He wiped another tear from his cheek. “Focus on my work and tryin’ to make things easier.” Grant smiled at Xavier. “You’ll find someone some day and have a beautiful family.”

Xavier blushed. “We’re getting a little ahead of ourselves. I’m not sixteen, can’t even date yet.”

“That’s a stupid rule. Never cared for it. You find someone, you go for it before this world takes her from you.”

“I don’t know, maybe someday I guess.” Jenny. Xavier smiled. “Anything’s possible, I mean, Simon actually did the right thing in letting us sit here for a bit, huh?”

Grant laughed, “Yeah, he did.” He continued to smile, the tears fading from his eyes. “This whole stretch used to be filled with families. Kids runnin’ around like crazy. Just beautiful. All of it. Now, it ain’t nothin’. Just how the world is now, but it’ll get better. It’s got to.”

Grant took another imaginary sip of beer. The front of their pants started to ripple as the breeze picked up again. An old wind chime hanging overhead took notice. Its cluttered melody rang out along with the others that hung from neighboring porches. Xavier and Grant’s heads bounced from house to house as the entire row came alive. “I used to make those as a hobby. Gave them away to pretty much the whole street.”

“It sounds amazing.” Xavier stood, reached up, and brought the wind chime down into his lap. He looked it over. “You made this?”

“Yep.”

“Wouldn’t have expected that.”

“Yep. Really started by accident. Young lady I liked collected them and figured it’d be a good way to meet her.”

“Oh, yeah?” Xavier elbowed him playfully.

“Yep.”

“And?”

“Yep, that’s it.”

“Really?”

“Do I have to say it?”

“Yep?”

“Yep.” Grant doubled over with laughter.

Xavier rolled his eyes and hooked the metal chime back in its place. The song continued as the wind worked its way down the street. An occasional gust snaked its way in and out of Grant’s porous home, rolling through the empty doorframe and pushing at their backs. The cool air felt nice running up the tails of their shirts. Grant dabbed his forehead with an old shop rag from his pocket.

“I guess we should get goin’,” Grant said, as he stood from the porch.

“Let me finish this.” Xavier raised his invisible can of root beer. “It feels awesome being out here. It just feels different, good, I like it.”

“You ain’t signin’ up to be no scavenger. Need ya helpin’ me out.”

“I know that’s what my dad wants. What he told you, but I might want to make that change.” He looked up to Grant. “This feels right to me.”

“Boy, you dove behind that car quick as a cat when I stopped to look at my mailbox. Come on now.”

“I was just doing what I’m supposed to do. I wasn’t scared. I—I just don’t have a weapon.”

“Easy to say that now. Back about a mile an’ a half I bet ya can see the school again. See how ya feel when it gets a little more uncomfortable.”

And there’s the Grant I know. I knew it wouldn’t last.

“Lemme get an actual drink from ya.” Grant reached for Xavier’s jug and took it from the strap. He raised the water to his lips and took two large gulps. The shop rag touched his forehead again. “Good.”

“I’m ready if you are.” Xavier lifted his bag onto his shoulders.

“Let’s do it.” Grant crushed his imaginary beer can and tossed it through the broken window to the living room.

Xavier raced for the other end of the porch, stutter stepped, and bounded over the banister into the neighboring yard. He turned to see if Grant had seen—his eyes were closed, head shaking. A moderate grin attached to his annoyed mutterings. Xavier could tell by the look on his face that Grant wanted to slap him. The foolishness of youth. He could hear it now, an exasperated berating of what ifs. What if you had sprained your ankle? What if you had busted your head clean open? But instead, Grant simply picked up his duffel bag, slid his hand down the railing of the steps, and joined him next door. Hmm…

Simon was perched on the stoop. The other end of the neighborhood currently held his attention. A pair of black binoculars was pressed firmly against his eye sockets.

“Ready when you are,” Grant said to him.

Simon raised one of his fingers in the air, unwilling to break his concentration as he continued scanning. Xavier stared off in the same direction. As best he could tell, the horizon was clear, and they would be moving out soon.

Simon folded the binoculars and placed them in a pouch secured to his bag’s strap. He inched his way down from the stoop and worked his hands over his equipment to check his gadgets—a nervous ritual more than likely. He seemed satisfied. “Let me get the lead again, and we’ll go,” he said. “You get enough time?”

“Yep.”

“Everything good?”

“We’re ready.”

Xavier and Grant stood together, waiting in the yard for the signal. They kept their eyes on Simon as he made his way down the street. Simon’s arm went forward, and they stepped off. Another half mile until we’re on the highway.

They trailed him with measured steps through the remaining blocks of the neighborhood. Every so often, Simon would stop and raise his rifle along the roofline, between the houses, toward whatever might catch his interest. Each time, Xavier and Grant would find cover.

Grant started to seem worried. Something didn’t seem right. This stretch of Riverside was taking much longer than the first half, and Simon became increasingly more methodical with his advance. Grant stretched his arm across Xavier’s chest, settling them into a slower pace. “Keep your eyes movin’,” he told him. “Things are gettin’ slower. Remember to breathe.”

“What do you think it is?” The adrenaline began to fill Xavier’s body.

“Not sure. We’ll keep back a bit.”

A light rumble. Xavier snapped his head back. That storm was close now, bringing stronger winds that touched them with the dampness of imminent rain. It was only a matter of time before it would settle over them. Simon seemed to be picking up his speed, but it was hard to tell at first due to his hobbled stride.

“Should we take cover?” Xavier called out to Simon.

“Up this stretch and around the bend, and we’ll get to the overpass!” he yelled. “Hustle up!”

The two didn’t hesitate. The clouds steamrolled across the sky, passing darkness over the sun. The rumbling continued, moving closer, and the breeze grew stronger. You could smell it gaining on them—that unmistakable scent of a storm. Behind them they heard it, still gaining—the rain pinging any metal exposed to the sky. The staggered line between wet and dry pursued them from the far end of the road. It was like trying to outrun a train, but without a track to step off of, you just had to go—no hesitating.

“See! Up ahead!” Simon hadn’t realized that his companions had caught up to him. His hobbling severely limited his speed.

“Yeah, we see it!” Grant yelled over to him.

The wind and rain were deafening and continued to gain.

“We might make it!” Xavier hoped out loud, passing the others as he made his way around the bend.

In that instant, the rain made its decision. They weren’t getting away. It rushed through the remainder of the street. The downpour was thick. Its rain, with droplets so weighted and furious, blurred Xavier’s vision. Potholes filled with water. They were unavoidable in the haste of finding shelter. Every step was a game of chance—twisted ankle, tripping hazard, or a good splashing at the very least.

His entire being weighed down at the very moment the storm caught them. He chugged along, dragging every bit of himself against its will. Despite the added weight, Xavier was now clearly in the lead. Alone around the bend. A place he really didn’t want to be, but the rain convinced him otherwise. He breathed heavily, almost sucking in water from the air. The race was almost over. Grant and Simon were puttering out. Xavier could sense that shelter was within reach.

Chapter Six

Xavier swiped at his face, expelling the rainwater from his eyes. He blinked several times and refocused on his surroundings—his chest pumping. Although he knew his partners were just behind him, he shook, partly from his damp clothes and the cool air, but mostly it was his nerves. There was no telling who or what was with him in this improvised dump. There were too many places to hide.

Moving quickly to his right, he concealed himself behind a large box truck that had ignored the clearance warning and sat wedged between the ground and a series of pipes protruding from the wall.

The truck’s momentum had carried it far enough under the bridge that it ripped the plumbing apart. Rainwater spewed from the damaged pipes, flowing past Xavier’s feet and out along a line of garbage bags piled up across the road. Where are they? He circled around to the passenger side and stood on the steps to its cab, doing his best to visually clear the area through the windshield. He could only hope that no one was lying in wait.

He flinched at his surroundings. This place is filthy. An abundance of smells wrapped themselves around the deserted vehicles and piles of trash. On the far side, it appeared someone had attempted to barricade the road. Several wooden pallets were linked together with chains and bungee cords. They were still in good shape, but it was clear the idea had been abandoned.

His worry began to subside. If anyone was going to end him, it would’ve happened by now. He was barely hidden and exhausted—an easy target.

He leaned over after stepping down from the truck and rested his hands on his knees, taking quick, painful breaths to stop the biting in his lungs. As he looked up, he noticed that along the box truck someone had covered it entirely with Sharpie marker. “With my kitty at home, I never have to roam,” Xavier said aloud. Who writes nonsense like that over and over?

He stood there shivering—the breeze being forced underneath the bridge—a puddle gradually collected below him. He began wringing his clothing. This isn’t working. He dropped his bag and searched for a change of clothes. Within that moment, Grant and Simon burst through the onslaught of the storm.

“Holy!” Grant howled. The words were barely audible. The two of them leaned against the walls opposite one another, trying to catch their breath. “We’re gonna need to warm up!”

“What!” Simon’s face twisted with pain as he shouted the word. His breaths seemed labored, uncomfortable. Xavier was nearest to Simon, squatting over his bag, still searching. Simon snapped his fingers at him, but there was no response. “Hey! What did the old man say?”

“We need to warm up.”

Simon motioned for everyone to take cover as he walked toward Xavier and set his pack down. His attention was clearly drawn away from Grant’s trivial concern and to the significant amount of unknowns surrounding them. He took to his rifle, shifted it into position, bracing it tightly against his shoulder and activated the light. Slowly down the wall of the overpass, he cleared each section, his trigger finger riding the frame of the firearm as he moved the muzzle from object to object.

Xavier watched as best he could from beside the box truck, speechless, absolutely mesmerized by Simon’s precision. Even though he was out of breath and limping, it didn’t seem to affect him. His footwork. Light. His attention. Pinpoint. This is what I want to do. Simon slipped in and out of cover. It was clear now that he knew what he was doing. He moved from within Xavier’s sight, taking with him any doubt that Xavier may have felt about his abilities and discarded those doubts with the rest of the trash.

Grant crept over to Xavier. “Seems he knows what he’s doin’. Still a prick, but at least he won’t get us killed.”

Xavier looked on, his eyes filled with eagerness, waiting for Simon to return. Partially ignoring Grant, not on purpose, but simply because the idea of what Simon did was so intriguing, and he didn’t want to miss even the smallest detail. Grant spoke again, but Xavier didn’t hear it, his mind collecting as much as it could as Simon worked his way back toward them.

Grant’s words faded in. “…don’t ya get no ideas. You know I still need ya back in the shop. You ain’t leavin’ me yet, boy.”

“At some point I’m going to have—”

“We’re alone,” Simon said, as he moved toward Xavier. He reached into his pack and pulled a plastic baggie from within. A matchbox inside. He shook it, and the sticks rattled. “This’ll get us started.” He pointed to the vehicles parked along the shoulder, directing Xavier toward them. “Look through some of those cars and try to find some paper.”

Xavier tried the handle to an oversized pickup. Locked. He cupped his hands around his eyes in an attempt to look through the tinted glass. Without lighting it would be impossible to see its contents. Here we go. A portion of the damaged pipes lay in the gutter at his feet. He bent down and gripped it within his palm. One simple strike and the window popped, crumbling to pieces.

“Boy!”

“Sorry!” Probably should’ve warned them.

With the vehicle now unlocked, he entered, cleared the glass from the seat, and began rooting for scraps of paper. He could hear Grant speaking loudly, but couldn’t make out what was being said. Xavier looked to see the conversation, but the view through the back window was completely blocked. The bed was weighted down with a stack of wooden skids, tools, wheelbarrow, and several car batteries. The owner must’ve had something big planned.

Owner… The first time the word had really struck him as odd. In this world, the more appropriate word may have been possessor. Could you really own anything anymore? Or do you just have it until someone else takes it?

He riffled through the glove box, saving any paper he found. Where’s he want this stuff? Xavier took his stack from the vehicle.

“Where do you—“

“Help me with this!” Simon’s words fought against the noise of the rain.

Grant walked toward him, pointing to his ear. “What?”

“Help me with this.” Simon dropped the tailgate and pulled the wheelbarrow to the edge. He carefully guided it to the ground. “We’ll build a fire in this,” Simon said, as he wheeled it to the double yellow line.

“You want me to put this stack in there?” Xavier asked.

“Not yet. Try and get some more.”

“Alright.” Xavier placed the stack of papers on the floorboard of the pickup and climbed back inside. He felt the bed of the truck lower, followed by a banging of indecision—sporadic movements against the pickup’s cab. What are they up to now?

Simon shifted several of the wooden skids into a position to be lowered. “Four of these should be enough.”

Grant obliged him, taking them one by one and leaning all four of them against the wheel well.

“Go ahead and start breaking those down,” Simon said. “I’m going to try and find something to hang our clothes on.”

“Yep, you do that.” Grant took one of the skids and propped it against the wall of the overpass. He started stomping at it, eventually getting his foot caught between the slats.

“Whoa, Whoa, Whoa! Hey! What the hell are you doing? Just grab the sledgehammer. We can’t have you slowin’ us down if you get hurt.”

“I ain’t gonna hurt myself.” Grant wriggled his foot free. “Didn’t know there was a sledge. Where’s it at?”

Simon took it from the truck and handed it to him while shaking his head. “Be careful with it.”

“I got this,” he responded sharply, snatching the sledgehammer from Simon’s grip. Grant heaved each strike into the skids, splintering the wood into workable kindling. The sharp cracks of metal splitting wood continued, and Simon began rummaging through the junk that had been dumped there long ago. Old tires, metal rods, trash cans, all things in his way were being lifted and thrown about.

The clanging of metal caught Xavier’s attention. He looked across the truck’s cab and through the driver’s side window. No tint? The window was down. Guess I didn’t need to break this one. Oh, well. It appeared that Simon was clearing a path through the clutter. There seemed to be a method to it, although at that moment he couldn’t tell for what. Xavier’s view was blocked by Simon’s tall wiry figure.

Simon took an awkward stance and then, from his side, came a large metal barrel tilted on its bottom. He rolled it along its edge toward the wheelbarrow. It was slowly let down, wobbled for a moment, and then settled.

“This’ll work better for the fire.” He lifted the handles to the wheelbarrow and moved it to Grant. “Use this to set the kindling in.”

Grant scooped a good portion of the wood within his arms and dumped it into the wheelbarrow. “Decent amount.”

“We’ll need more.” Simon stared Grant down and then looked toward the truck. “Hey kid, how’s it coming?”

Xavier backed out of the passenger side of the pickup. “Not too bad. I’ll check that black car next.” He tilted the bench seat forward and poked through the empty beer cans and snack wrappers. A small pile of trash spilled over the top of the seat as he dug deeper into the mess. The light crunching and rustling paused for a moment. Something was out of place. His fingers gripped a much thicker metal. He lifted it up through the clutter. His eyes grew wide—the power…

“Here Xavier, straighten it up. Up a little more.”

“It’s heavy. My arms are getting tired.”

“Just up a bit more. Hang in there this is the last one.”

“How many more screws? Please hurry.”

“This is good for you.”

“This is too many.”

“There we go. You okay?”

“Yes. Those are just really heavy, and we did so many of them.”

“Hopefully this works out with the whole house boarded up. If it doesn’t… we’ll have to figure something else out. Not quite sure what, but we may just have to live in the woods or something.”

“I’m not doing that. How will Mom know where to find us?”

“We’ll leave her a note or something. This whole thing’s going to pass. It’s already dying out, and the gangs haven’t come through in awhile. That’s a good sign we might not have to leave.”

“We should have Matt and his mom stay with us.”

“Yeah, we’ll ask again. We just need to do something else first. Come with me.”

“What?”

“I wanted to wait until you were older, but— Xavier?

“Yeah?”

“You’re not a kid anymore.”

“Huh?”

“You can’t be one anymore. That world’s over. You’re going to need this.”

“Really? I can have it?”

“You have to learn to defend yourself. Just in case I hav—”

“To leave like Mom?”

“In case something happens. I’m not leaving. She’s still out there, she’ll be back eventually.”

“Let me hold it.”

“Not yet, you need to know the rules.”

A gun—a small, .25 caliber Raven pistol sat in the fifteen-year-old’s hand. Xavier whispered through his dad’s instructions, “Keep your finger off the trigger and along the frame… Don’t point it at anything you aren’t ready to shoot… Eject the magazine… Lock the slide… Make it safe.” He counted down the side of the magazine, “One, two, three, four. And, where’d that other one go?” He carefully sorted through the trash on the seat. The expelled round rolled into the stitching of the cushion. Xavier pinched it and pushed it into the follower. The magazine returned to the grip and the slide went back then rocketed forward.

It would be his secret. Grant would surely take it from him if he knew. Simon would argue he couldn’t trust him with it. There’s no way I can tell them. He checked the eyes of his companions. No one was looking. The gun went muzzle first into his pants pocket. The pile of scrap paper was gathered up, and Xavier moved on to the black sedan.

This already looked far more promising than the scraps that Xavier had folded into his back pocket. An assortment of books was piled up in the rear window area behind the backseat. Jackpot! The rear passenger window sat halfway down, and he peeked inside. Immediately, his head jerked back. A strong odor of ammonia made him reconsider whether or not it was worth it. “What in the world is that?” The smell may as well have knocked him over as he shuffled his feet away from the car.

He stood there staring at the car, shaking his head, he could still smell it. A strong huff of air from his lungs. This better be worth it. Xavier pulled his shirt over his nose, reached in, and popped the lock. The door was tight. He tugged hard at the handle, and the door shot open. And, there it is. A urine-soaked blanket lay on the floor behind the driver’s seat. The dark stains had set. Small black hairs were spread all over it. Definitely a cat living in here.

He continued holding his nose and as swiftly as he could, took his arm and pushed it across the back, bulldozing the books onto the pavement. He stacked them just neatly enough to carry them to the burn barrel.

“Take these.” Simon set the box of matches on the books as Xavier walked past. “You know how to get this going?”

“Yeah, I’m pretty sure I can handle it.” Xavier said, stopping just short of the barrel. He began to peruse the collection, sliding each one from the stack and onto the ground. “Never heard of these,” he said to himself, “1984, Lord of the Flies.” Each title a different sounding thud against the street. “Brave New World, Fahrenhei—.”

“These are the Classics, boy!” Grant interrupted, picking a few of them from the pile that lay at Xavier’s feet. “Couldn’t have picked somethin’ else?”

“I don’t know the difference.” Xavier shrugged. “I’m just trying to get the fire started.”

“Let’s hold off on these ones here.” He took a few more from Xavier’s hands. “What else they got back there?”

“This is mostly it. Maybe a few more over there on the ground, but pretty much the same sort of stuff.”

“Well, here’s the wood. Let’s not burn these yet. We’ll see if we can make do.”

The two of them started picking the larger pieces of wood from the wheelbarrow, setting them off to the side. Xavier pulled the scrap pieces of paper from his pocket, balled them up, and tossed each one into the metal drum.

“Need to get some air in there,” Grant said.

“Why?”

“Fire’s gotta breathe.” Grant clasped the rim of the barrel. “These walls are pretty thin. Maybe I ca—”

“I got this.” Simon reached into his pack and dug through it. He lifted a shiny, steel carpenter’s hammer and twirled it in his hand. He looked at Grant. “I’ll show you how it’s done.”

The overpass echoed with a sharp ringing as the claw punctured the metal. Simon’s arm flailed about, lacking precision, but it didn’t matter—holes are holes. His face turned red, and he switched hands to start again, fresh. He worked his way around, grunting while he did. The bottom of the barrel became a ruffled skirt—shredded metal bending every which way. “Let’s get this fire started,” Simon said between strained breaths, leaning over onto his knees, his butt resting on the truck’s bumper.

Simon watched as Grant meticulously placed the larger fragments of the broken skids inside, forming a cone within the burn barrel. “Let’s do it,” Grant said, taking the copyright page from 1984 along with a few pages from its foreword and rolled them into a makeshift torch. He patted Xavier on the back. “Light it up.”

Xavier struck a match and lit the end, forcing Grant to work it through the slits in the bottom of the barrel. Eventually, the fire took, and the wood began to crackle.

Outside, the roar of the storm was dying. The intensity of the wind settled along with it, but it still managed to chill the three as they huddled around the fire. Their shoes encircled the base of the barrel, and three pairs of socks hung from the rim. The wheelbarrow pulled closely to the fire held the weight of Simon’s rifle against it and several pieces of clothing from its rear frame.

“Keep feeding it. If we need to break down more skids, we will,” Simon said.

Or you’ll just make us do it. Xavier threw in a few more scraps of wood. Swirls of hot air and smoke carried flickering sparks from within the metal drum. It was beautiful. The smell of wood burning. The heat against his palms. No wall preventing him from the real world. A spontaneous campsite. All I need is an excuse to make this my way of life.

Simon casually worked the blade of a pocketknife over his fingernails. It never seemed as though he could stop fidgeting. Xavier watched him, wondering who Simon was—what he was thinking. How much of what he said was true? And how much was the act?

Some of it was certainly an act. He seemed to try too hard to convince them that he was in charge—that he was running the show. Xavier and Grant didn’t question that. He was in charge. Haverty had made that clear. What makes him tick? Simon’s eyes seemed lost within the task of trimming his fingernails.

“How long have you been with the S.A.?” Xavier’s words momentarily broke Simon’s gaze.

“Four months. I don’t know.” Back to task. His left index finger must have been tricky. He had been digging at the nail for quite some time now.

“And before that?”

“On my own.”

The look of disbelief on Xavier’s face went unseen by Simon. On my own? A simple response, but the words sank deep into Xavier’s conscience. Surviving this world alone? It couldn’t be. There wasn’t any way that someone could do it. One person for shelter, water, and food. That would be impossible. “How?”

Simon folded his knife and put it away. “What do you mean? You just do it. Otherwise, you die.”

“It takes a whole town for us to survive. By yourself… that just seems impossible.”

“Of course you think that way, you’ve been sheltered this whole time. To rely on yourself, well especially you, now that would be impossible.”

Xavier hesitated. He knew that was true, but it wasn’t his fault. He had simply done what his father told him to. No real chance to explore on his own thus far. He was still learning and would continue to do so. So what if he hadn’t been cast into the fire? He was still much further along than many. His skillset was important—a true learned trade. Simon knew how to point a gun. Anyone could do that. “You’re not so unique.”

“Compared to all the people you know, I am.”

Grant butted in, “You’re like us, city dweller. You ain’t no lone wolf. You gave it up.”

“That wasn’t the plan,” Simon snapped back. “I enjoyed being alone. Something you two could never do.”

“And, what? What changed for ya?” Grant said it from a pedestal, trying to rub in that Simon couldn’t handle it. Just a slight insinuation—an attempt to make Simon feel foolish.

“They took me…” Simon’s words faded with any expression on his face.

“Huh?” Xavier didn’t expect an answer. Simon, for the most part, had kept to himself—all business. When he said those words—‘They took me’—Simon seemed to be begging for an outlet. His proud demeanor had fallen, along with his guard, and at first, there was nothing from Simon, only silence as his stoic face faded in and out of the light. Is he okay? “Simon?”

“They took me… I didn’t have a choice.”

Grant turned toward Xavier, his eyes clearly asking what he had done.

“A choice in what?” Xavier asked.

“The S.A… They took me for trials. It was that or death. They don’t like loners out there doing for themselves. They don’t let you know this, but they wanna eliminate that. They want everyone to be S.A.”

Xavier nodded, believing every word. I know it.

“They test your loyalty. They made me kill. I—I didn’t want to.” He rubbed vigorously at his forehead trying to erase the memory. Simon shuddered and began pacing. “The first was horrible,” he continued, “simply horrible, an innocent… a woman minding some goats. She was smiling.” His eyes welled. It seemed the words had come from behind him. His lips barely moved. He was someplace else far removed from the overpass. “My sights on her, and theirs on me.”

“Lynn…” Grant’s head fell to the side. His painful countenance. There was no question about it. He whispered again, “Lynn.” Grant’s jaw tensed. His teeth pushed against one another, causing his jaw to flare. “Murderer!” Grant shoved Simon hard to the ground. “I’m tired of buryin’ my friends! My wife!” He rushed to Simon, but he just lay there on the ground where he was thrown. He didn’t even look up.

“They want your town.” Simon’s words died into the ground.

“What you say?” Grant stood over him, his fists balled tightly at his side, rising and falling with his breaths. “Get up!”

Again, nothing came from Simon. He just lay there dejected, seemingly disgusted with his own self.

“Get up! I need this.” Grant stomped at his ribs. The gasp was abrupt. The air escaped Simon as he covered himself from the next blow. “You deserve every bit of this!” He stayed covered as Grant continued. The strikes slowed. Grant stopped. “Coward.” He turned sharply from his victory and marched back to the fire.

Xavier stood still in the awkward silence that followed. He didn’t know what to say. What could he say? He just watched as Grant began pulling the clothes from his duffel bag.

“Where is it, boy!” Grant’s voice filled with desperate anger. “Where is it!”

“Where’s what?”

“You thought I didn’t notice the weight to your bag?” Simon said, rising slowly from his personal darkness, debris falling from his body as if he had stepped out of a grave. All that remained was a demon, possessed, his soul was corroded by the guilt of his unwanted taking of lives. “What were you going to do with it?”

“Give you what you deserve.”

“I deserve nothing from you!” Simon said, “You— You know nothing of me!” Simon squared up, taking a fighting stance—his lips curling into an evil sneer.

Grant swung at Simon, but he ducked it, moving past Grant’s arm and wrapping his neck tightly from behind. Grant dangled from Simon’s arms—trapped. He tried to strike back but couldn’t. “Go to sleep, old man. Go to sleep.”

“Stop it!” Xavier cried out. “You’re killing him!”

“Oh?” Simon looked over his shoulder to Xavier as he inched Grant closer to the barrel. “See if we can’t melt those tremors away.”

The respect Xavier felt for Simon dissolved as quickly as it came. He dug into his pocket. There it was. He pointed it forward. With his hand trembling, the muzzle crept toward Simon. A waver. A dip. No choice. Do it! A flash and it was done.

Xavier’s ears rang as he stood, watching the two bodies tumble into the barrel, spilling fire and ash against the pavement. The red embers glinted and then died. His silver gun fell to the ground, slipping from his loose grip. He gradually started working his way down the front of his clothing. Time unraveled in front of him as the weight of what he had done crushed him. He was numb—everything.

• • •

Grant skittered across the ground on his hands and feet—away from Simon’s lifeless body resting in the charred wood and ashes. Splotches of redness replaced the compression from Simon’s chokehold. The arms were gone from Grant’s neck, but the sensation was not. Grant stood and massaged his collarbone, then brushed the filth that belonged to the overpass from his body.

Grant approached Simon cautiously, taking the body and rolling it onto its side. Two fingers to Simon’s neck, and it was confirmed. He went to Xavier, picking the small pistol from the ground on his way.

The persistent ringing in Xavier’s ears began to give way to other sounds. “Xavier! Xavier!” Grant embraced him, squeezed him tightly into his chest. “Here, take it.” Grant slid the pistol into Xavier’s pocket.

“Jesus, boy! Hey!” Grant took him by the shoulder, narrowing his eyes into Xavier’s. “Hey, you did right.” Grant took the glasses from Xavier’s nose and waved his hand in front of Xavier’s face. “Hey!” He shook him lightly, then harder, “Snap out of it!” He replaced the glasses, helped him to the ground, and then joined him. “We can’t just sit here.” But Xavier did just that. “You’re not dead.” Pointing to the corpse, he continued, “He is. Just him.”

Simon still appeared to be very much alive. He stared back with unblinking eyes. The side of his face lay firmly against the street—his body never to move again. Only the brief memory of their journey would live on. No funeral. No real acknowledgment. He would rot under that overpass alone.

Xavier’s lips began, but the words faded before they made it any further than the tip of his nose. Grant leaned in to hear the muted words. It was repetitive. Over and over, it ran from his mouth, but continued to expire before it reached Grant. He couldn’t get any closer. Gradually it grew, and the words were audible, but unrecognizable. Over and over. Pieces started to come together, “I can’t… then… all of it is…” The repetition wavered in and out and then stopped. Xavier’s throat trembled. An abrupt spasm, then vomit. He groaned and pressed firmly on his stomach.

“Damn, boy!” Grant said, rising to his feet, ensuring he kept his shoes from the bile.

“What have I done?” He looked down at his hands, the vomit between his legs. What have I done? I had to, right? I had to do it. His breathing elevated. Calm down. Calm down. Get a hold of yourself. You’re not going anywhere. Stay right here. No fainting again. He stood, unsteadily, but Grant took hold of his shoulder.

“You saved me,” Grant said, every last one of his teeth showing. “Didn’t know ya had it in ya, boy.”

“I don’t want to do it again. Never again.”

“You ain’t done nothin’ wrong. I can’t have ya second guessin’ what ya did.” Grant rustled Xavier’s hair. “You did what was right. He would’ve killed me. I owe ya.”

He nodded to Grant with a feeble smile.

“I’d like to lay some more praise on ya, but we’re gonna have to get goin’. That shot might bring some undesirables around.” Grant slid Simon’s bag toward the rest of their belongings and began sorting through the contents. He tossed aside the clothing and personal keepsakes. A black handgun found its way into Grant’s waistband. He continued sifting through the pack. “Where’d he put that thing?”

“I still don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“A sawed-off. I brought a shotgun. He must— He had to have nabbed it up when I wasn’t lookin’. We’ll find it.”

“What do we do about him?”

“No doubt they’ll question us. We’ll need a good story.” Grant took no pause from the bag. His response seemed automatic, “We’ll get through the woods, go back to town, tell them we been attacked, and ran.” He punctuated every point with an emphatic nod, continuing his shuffle through the dead man’s belongings. “We’ll work out the details on the way back.”

Grant patted along Simon’s body. It was possible Simon stowed the sawed-off shotgun somewhere on his person. No such luck. Grant checked the pockets—only a pocketknife worth taking. He tossed it, along with the binoculars, into Simon’s pack. “That’s gonna work. One last thing.” Simon’s leather boots tumbled toward Xavier. “You should really take these.”

“You think?” Xavier hesitated. The suggestion of taking the boots from a person he just killed seemed wrong. It wasn’t the point for taking his life—to profit from such an unfortunate act. A robbery. Something switched in Simon, and he deserved it. It was justified. But to take the boots? Someone would surely come along. Someone else would take them. Xavier had taken before. He just hadn’t killed in order to do it. I need these more than anyone else. Really would be a shame to let them go.

Xavier discarded his sneakers into the piles of trash and slipped the boots over his feet. They were certainly his size, but the left was tight, uncomfortably tight. He examined the interior, noticing a raised portion of the insole. There was something beneath it. Xavier removed a plastic baggie folded several times over. A typed letter, one sealed with black wax, was inside.

SITREP

Sir:

It pleases me to share that the plan is running smoothly. River’s Edge has proven to be a fine addition. As you know, upon initial contact, the town was unreceptive to vassalage. That decision has obviously been rescinded. We instituted a typical Stage Two against the town. We recruited a loner for trials, and he proved to be quite accurate. A bit apprehensive at first, but typically, the deal convinces them to cooperate. The staged attacks, utilizing the loner and percussion grenades, produced masterfully. It took a period of two weeks of measured attacks resulting in minimal casualties for them to request our protection.

Citizens of River’s Edge are enamored with the agreement and are often heard boasting of the three month period without attacks. A typical Stage Three process, as drawn up for LPH Fortress, should strengthen our grasp upon the town.

“Found it! Got it now. What you got there, boy?”

Stage Three has only recently begun with the introduction of a two-meal day and standard JCN procedures. We are still friendly with the natives, but occasionally they have to be put back in their place. The buildup of Second Alliance Guards has largely gone unquestioned. It should not be long until we have enough people in place to turn it over to ourselves without resistance. We do, after all, have a lot to offer.

Your request for Xavier has been received, and as you hold this letter, you will know that he is with you. It is important that you allow him to assist the Maintenance Supervisor, Marshall Grant, with the solar panels. I understand that Xavier may not be returning,

“What’s he mean by that?” Xavier whispered to himself.

but I do reiterate the importance of this project. River’s Edge needs substantial upgrades to their power situation. They have limited gasoline, which in all honesty, is impressive it still remains here. They are extremely frugal with their resources and have amassed a substantial holding of goods. The library of the school has held intact, and we will begin transporting books back Home. Their supplies are essentially being withheld from them at this point.

Do what you will with the loner. After this trip, he is of no real use to me. I would prefer him dead or moved to an eastern outpost to avoid him informing the town of the proceedings against it.

Professionally,

Haverty

Speechless, he stood holding the validation for his skepticism, everything that Xavier thought was true… was. Not the minor details, but the overall tenacity of the Second Alliance—the proverbial wolf in sheep’s clothing—a false prophet. He could believe their objective was needed. It was. The notion of reuniting people to rebuild the world had its merits. Biologists, pathologists, epidemiologists all put forth studies, scenarios, but then it actually happened, and no one ever laid out the blueprints for putting it all back together. Someone had to right the ship for humanity’s sake. Our species had certainly stumbled, fallen squarely on its face, but it had to get back up. For Xavier, there was no doubting that.

But the means, the tricky part of actually getting to the good. The path taken to the ends was just as important. The Second Alliance understood this. It was demonstrated in their carefulness for gaining submission from those who stood in their way. They would scoff in your face at the accusation of being the bad guy as they killed your loves ones behind you. And then weep and hold you the next day at the funeral.

Their killing of innocents in a manner done to shield the aggressor’s identity forced people to submit or make decisions from deceit. The veil had been drawn over River’s Edge. Most of its inhabitants were ready to live as normal lives as possible, but the Second Alliance wasn’t this pure savior of the region. They were bullies with a vision, and the people deserved to know.

Xavier creased the paper in half and started it toward his pocket, but he felt a pressure on his wrist. “Lemme see it.” Grant picked it from his fingertips and began to pore over the details. As the curtain was gradually pulled, Grant’s face sank with each stunning word.

Xavier’s mind grinded along—bogged down with the enormity of the letter. It was difficult. It seemed any decision was charged with great consequence. Should they tell? Share their newfound truth? It would certainly be met with harsh rebuke if they were found out. Treason and murder. A sentence of death upon the discovery of them distributing the truth about the Second Alliance

The consequences would be difficult to bear. All forms of stability would be shattered. Any semblance of normalcy didn’t stand a chance if they took it out on the school. River’s Edge would be made an example of. But that was only if they were caught.

The possibility of a revolution against the first government since the fall seemed likely. A revolution to strike the giant before it grew beyond the ability to control it. Xavier knew it had to be done—that it was the right thing to do. He patiently waited for Grant to finish the letter.

“Gotta get rid of this.” Grant said, his voice torn apart, dulled from the prospect of what lay in his hands.

“What!” Xavier scowled at him with disbelief. “You can’t mean that.”

“This will end it all,” he muttered lowly to himself, his eyes darting across the print. “I can’t let—”

Xavier snatched the letter from his hand and backpedaled away from Grant and his poor decision. “You can’t be serious.”

“Boy! I can’t…” His expression said it all—a conscience torn in two. Xavier knew that Grant was done fighting, done rebuilding after all the violence. He wanted a routine without those things. It was time for him to be taken care of. The Second Alliance created that sense of life before the virus. Still, it was disgusting the lengths they would go to obtain it. “I can’t go back to fending for ourselves. I need this.”

“Lynn! What about that, huh?”

Grant’s buried his chin into his chest. He knew the hypocrisy of his choice. The anger surrounding Lynn’s murder had caused a man’s death. That point alone would have to be enough to sway him to do right, to stand with Xavier against the Second Alliance, but only silence from his thoughts.

“Don’t do this,” Grant begged. “I know it’s hard, but I’m tellin’ you— Stay with me. We can figure this out.”

“To think, Dad left me with you. You to teach me right from wrong. You just want it easy.” Xavier lifted Simon’s pack onto his shoulders, snatched the rifle from the wheel barrow, and ran into the trickling of rain. “Tell them we got separated,” he yelled over his shoulder.

“Xavier! Don’t do this!”

Chapter Seven

The creek was filled from the earlier storm that swept through the western hills. A temporary rush of water moved over the rocks and broken branches that lay between the banks. Leaves rustled as Xavier, unable to slow himself on the steepness of the hill, crashed through them, bounding toward the edge. At the last moment before going over, he took hold of a thick wild vine. His feet left the ground briefly, and like a pendulum, swung back, settling on the ridge.

A nervous chuckle. Another soaking was the last thing he needed. That was a close one. Behind him were the skid marks his slipping feet left in the mud. Too close. He set his (Simon’s) pack in the nook of a fallen tree, moss covered and slightly rotted. Pressing down upon it to ensure it could bear his weight—This will work—he sat. The rifle lay across his lap as he stared out into nature.

Along the winding bourn, in the lower portion of the ridge, a large American Sycamore stood with its root bulb partially uncovered from the eroding soil. The thick trunk risen from its seed, grew tall—its brown and gray bark blended toward the naked white limbs toward the top. Its twigs and branches etched their way across the blue sky above him, shedding what bark remained. The sun hung low in the sky and glistened against its exposed skin. Xavier moved just underneath its spiraling magnificence and rested his hand against its base.

It was old, several hundred years at least. It had witnessed triumphs and failures of man—man’s wars and humanity. It grew stronger and more resilient as man had grown unknowingly weaker and more susceptible to disease. It was proud and tall, a towering reminder that nature was before man and would be there afterwards.

Xavier breathed in the abundant freshness of air that existed in the woods and sat back down, alone with only his thoughts. He rocked the rifle by its muzzle, the butt swiveled back and forth at his feet while his mind seemingly floated beyond control. A revolution? Really? What the hell am I going to do? Taking out the letter, he let the rifle rest against the downed tree, and he began to glance over the details again. This is it. The truth right here.

He could only hope that the letter would be enough to convince the people of River’s Edge to realize the mistake that had been made. It would be a completely different thing to get them to act—to push the oppressors away. Agreeable words could only go so far.

They would need a strong voice—a strong leader. A fifteen-year-old boy seemed too unlikely. It would have to be another. But who? No one stood out for the task, his thoughts preoccupied with Grant. The caretaker that had failed him.

Hatred filled Xavier with visions of Grant’s dirty face—his tremors, the frayed nerves of a coward—the disgusting thought process that could tolerate such treachery for an easier life, but one not even that much easier than before.

Grant’s decision made Xavier nervous. The ease with which he could defile the memory of his deceased wife. The vengeance he felt against Simon was misplaced, and upon learning of the circumstances, why wouldn’t he place that vengeance appropriately? He had to see the connection between allowing the Second Alliance to kill her and now letting them get away with it. How could he even imagine destroying the letter? It was the only chance of revealing the truth, the revelation of a monster—the Second Alliance. But there he was, willing to destroy the truth. And for what? Unbelievable! The death of his wife in exchange for his own selfish desires.

Grant could never be forgiven. His loyalties had skewed from morality. A complete betrayal to ignore the simple right from wrong. He couldn’t be trusted anymore. And what’s more, how much further was he willing to go in order to get what he wanted? He had already written off Lynn. Am I next? What truth would Grant tell to Haverty? Simon’s death, the letter, or neither.

The corpse of Simon could haunt them both. It already weighed heavily upon Xavier’s conscience. The death of another caused by his own doing. He wasn’t wrong—he knew Grant would’ve been killed. His only choice was to act, because despite his appearance, Simon was quite capable—his gear, tactics, whatever training he had received.

Everything had led up to that moment. Simon’s arrogance. Grant’s inability to keep Simon from under his skin. And then there was Lynn… Was Simon truly at fault? What choice did he have if it was his life or hers? Who wouldn’t have made that choice? The circumstances seemed too perfect—fate. Is this revolution my fate? Am I supposed to do this? He knew he did the right thing in saving Grant, but that didn’t make it any easier.

Grant… He exhaled, shaking his head, frustrated with his lack of control over the situation. What’s he going to do?

Xavier couldn’t believe that Grant would go backwards on the story of being attacked. That wouldn’t be an option for him. He had as much to lose as Xavier did. He had attacked Simon, which caused Simon to react, which caused Xavier to react. If anything it was Grant’s fault Simon was dead. That was the unfortunate truth, but it may have been a favor to Haverty. Simon’s death may not have been so bad in his eyes, except that his correspondence was found as a result.

Ultimately, Xavier decided that Grant would have to keep the letter a secret. If Haverty knew that Grant possessed that knowledge, he would have to be eliminated just like Simon. The Second Alliance didn’t seem to like to risk things, especially if the remedy was as easy as making someone disappear.

There was nothing Grant could do. He couldn’t say anything and probably already had the chance. Grant had certainly made his way back to River’s Edge by now. He had the entire way back to figure out what he was going to say. Xavier didn’t even need to know what it was—only that they were attacked and got separated in the madness. They would both be fine. Grant would let Xavier do what he had to, because he didn’t have a choice.

Xavier sighed. He took an unlabeled can from the bag and began to work an opener around its circumference. An aroma of salted fish bled from the slits. Tuna… He groaned. Just eat it. He picked the pink slurry from the can with his fingers and began to eat. The years-old tuna tasted surprisingly fresh considering the source. It wasn’t so bad after all. A meal wasn’t ever so bad.

He continued mulling his options, imagining his way down the halls of the school, cataloguing the people he came across daily—the dormitories, bathroom, food hall, farmers, maintenance. “Sam!” Xavier said aloud—much louder than he intended. It has to be him. Sam’s respected. Abrasive at times, but knowledgeable, and he’s loyal to my dad.

Sam would have to be the one to lead them. In a way, he had already started the movement, his words already resonating with Xavier. Sam was committed, stood openly in front of the Second Alliance, denouncing their orders. The first blood of the movement… Was he still alive? He must be. If he were to simply disappear, it would work against the Second Alliance’s campaign—the illusion of partnership—of choice.

It was decided. Xavier would have to go back to River’s Edge and find him. Push this movement beyond the thought and the letter that he possessed. Put into motion the reclamation of his father’s dream. To restore right and cast aside the wrong. Xavier nodded, confidence flowing through his body. He stood, pitching the empty can of tuna to the ground. It’s time.

On the other side of the creek, he could see it—the old root ladder from his memory—his path back to River’s Edge. But he couldn’t leave yet, not while holding the proof. The Second Alliance would surely destroy it upon his return. The letter and Simon’s gear would have to be retrieved later. I’m going to have to bury this stuff. I can’t risk someone else finding it before I get back.

He unstrapped a folding shovel from the pack and locked it into place. His boots splashed against the submerged rock shelf just below the ridge as he jumped down.

The bank was tall and broad, perfect for what was intended. He moved just opposite the root ladder and plunged the head of the shovel into the dirt, clawing at the wall over and over again. A small den began to take shape as each clump fell into the creek. He kept digging. Toward the back of the hollow a trickle of water began to show itself. That’s going to be a problem.

Out of the creek he climbed, his attention drawn back to the pack. He sorted through it for anything waterproof. Surprisingly, there was nothing.

Xavier sighed, then breathed in deeply, his eyes firmly closed while picturing his neighborhood just up the hill. What choice do I have? At least, I’ll be mostly familiar with it. He lightened his pack, hiding the unnecessary items in a thick growth of honeysuckle. Xavier slipped the rifle’s sling over his head and started the hike toward his old street.

• • •

His first two attempts at scavenging yielded nothing tangible. One really couldn’t expect too much nowadays. Xavier searched those two houses cautiously, letting the muzzle of the rifle lead him through the rooms—only to be found completely empty. He flung open the doors to cabinets, closets, anywhere something useful could be held. It was good practice. To be systematically clearing those residences by himself was important. Not just for supplies, but for people—people that may want to take what he had.

Working the angles and avoiding blind spots became an obsession. He had briefly watched Simon maintain cover while moving through the open streets of Riverside and later through the confined spaces under the highway. It seemed easy enough in these abandoned houses. Practice would make perfect. Most people weren’t holed up in single-family residences anymore. But one could never be sure if they would stumble across another desperate scavenger. It was best to be careful. Perfectly careful.

He found himself framed by a second floor window, watching his street below. It was barren, devoid of life, left to rot by the last residents on the street. Each house was nothing, not resembling the homes he remembered at all.

The windows were empty eyes blackened by flames and stones. Burned out shells of suburbia. Plywood patchwork stripped from them, lazing against their fronts. Some of it burned in stacks on the lawns for no reason at all. Rusted remnants of toys left in the rain for years. The old Jaguar still rested in his driveway—its tires deflated, crumpled by the weight of its frame. Someone had taken the hood ornament for some unknown use.

Xavier remembered the first gangs during the collapse of society. They were more destructive than practical. But they wouldn’t last. They were incapable of understanding that providing order would give them more power than instilling fear. Short-term solutions were their only concern. Rather than bring the people of the quiet street together, they extorted them, gleaning what little they could until it ran out. It was best to just let the gangs take what they wanted and hope they wouldn’t return. All anyone could do was wait it out.

It seemed endless at the time. The nights came and went—huddled with his father in a tent in the woods, waiting out the hordes of torches and obscenities, hoping that the gangs had forgotten them and moved on. The virus gradually thinned the gangs out. The violence would take a few more. Eventually, they would be nothing more than individuals fighting amongst themselves. But the damage had already been done. It was painfully obvious upon Xavier and his dad’s eventual return home—murder, starvation and disease.

“Last one.”

“Do we have to do this, I mean, can’t we just leave them?”

“We’re the last ones. We have to take care of them.”

“Why doesn’t Matt have to help?”

“Do you really think Matt should see this?”

“No.”

“Quit worrying about other people. Let him rest.”

“This doesn’t seem right though.”

“It’s the most honorable way to do this. These people are our neighbors, our friends. We can’t just leave them to be picked over by birds, dogs, whatever comes through here. That wouldn’t be right.”

“Why didn’t we do this with Tara?”

“We can’t bury them all.”

“I don’t know if I can do it. This whole thing is gross.”

“Xavier! Just help me. I know what this is. You don’t have to keep saying it. Please just do this. I know it’s gross. I know this is the last thing anyone wants to do. It’s something we have to do, so we’re doing it.”

“Dad.”

“Yes?”

“I’m sorry.”

“For?”

“This whole thing. Just seems like we have to deal—”

“Stop. This isn’t anyone’s fault. Nature got us. That’s all. Don’t apologize.”

“I just figured someone needed to say it.”

“It isn’t you that needs to. Do the right thing, and you’ll never need to.”

“To what?”

“Apologize. Even with all this nonsense going on, and when it does finally end— You do the right thing, and you’ll never fail anyone. You stick to your guns, and you’ll always be okay.”

“Okay.”

“Help me get this one on top.”

“Count of three?”

“One… Two… Three…”

“Phew! You want me to do it?”

“You’re not doing this. Step back. It’s going to be big. I don’t want you getting burned.”

“Okay.”

“This is the last time we do something like this. Life isn’t going to be any more of this hiding out and scrounging together what little we can carry. We need something sustainable.”

The asphalt remained scorched where the pile had been. A few scraps of bone left by whatever animals remained in the charred blackness. It still appeared as though it would warm the skin upon a touch of it. This is sick! It turned him from the window and into the bathroom. He opened the medicine cabinet and found a box of Band-Aids and some gauze, which he promptly stuffed into his pocket.

He lifted the seat to the toilet. To his surprise, it was clean and filled with water. Why not? He cut the cloth shower curtain into strips with the pocketknife and sat down, relieving himself in comfort. The trenches just didn’t have the same feel. He went to flush, but thought better of it. He retrieved a glass from the kitchen and returned, dipping it into the tank. It tasted stale but clean, possibly the last bit in existence treated by Water Works. The glass took another plunge, he drank it, and then threw it in the bathtub because he could.

Xavier noticed the Johnson’s red brick Cape Cod across the street. It looked relatively untouched, minus a few broken windows and an air conditioner shattered in the yard. Their driveway wrapped around to a garage tucked under the back of the house.

The door was stuck, maybe a foot or two above the ground—just enough for Xavier to slide underneath. He clicked on the light attached to the rifle and immediately caught eye of what he had come for—a box of large trash bags tipped over and unraveled across the floor. He rolled it back together and stuffed them in his pack.

A fractured (but repaired) doorjamb led Xavier into an unfinished basement—muzzle at the ready. Storage bins had been picked over, spilled, toppled—children’s toys and books strewn about in frustration. A furnace. Exposed ductwork. Cans of food stacked underneath a staircase. Blood streaked across the floor toward the utility sink. A mixture of foggy liquids pooled in the bottom. It smelled faintly of bleach. Something prevented it from draining. Xavier didn’t dare look. A couple of rooms off the main portion of the basement yielded more of the same—nondescript boxes and children’s toys.

The wooden stairs groaned as he made his way from the basement and into the kitchen. He extended the rifle forward—a cone of light leading the way. The beating of his heart couldn’t be slowed despite Xavier’s pleas for it to do so. He felt alone. An eerie silence existed in the house. It shouldn’t be this quiet—that hum only heard in absolute silence. He kept his eyes keen, anxious to the situation. No couches were turned. No cabinets spilled upon the floor. Unlit candles everywhere. The house was clean, not sterile, but lived in. This doesn’t seem right.

The entire street had faced the wrath of the gangs. This one was spared? Only this one? Seemed impossible, really. No one had lived here during the raids. It would have been easy pickings. Mrs. Johnson was admitted to the hospital early on, and she never came back. There was no one to put up a fight. Then it hit him. Someone had made this their home. Quite recently by the looks of it. Xavier turned to leave, but something prevented it. You’re not walking away. You wanted this, so do it. If someone was living here, then it meant there would be supplies, something.

With the rifle tight, not a space between the butt and his shoulder, he let it do the work pieing off the corners through the house. Slow. Breathe. Scan. Move! Breathe. Slow. Scan. Move! Breathe. Scan. Aim—it’s nothing. Scan. Breathe. Move! The cramped Cape Cod was stuffed with heat. A broad sweat glazed Xavier’s brow, but he couldn’t wipe.

Almost finished—another flight of steps and a thin corridor of living space leading to the back room. The door knob turned but wouldn’t budge. A deadbolt. He listened for silence and received it. He reared back and stepped swiftly through the door, breaking it inward. His back slid firmly against the wall—pressed outside the room. Still nothing, not a word. With the rifle up, he entered. No one.

The last spot was a closet with a slight opening in the sliding door. The butt of the rifle smacked it wide, crashing it into the wall. All clear.

Rummaging through the room, the old pine floors creaked as he moved about. Quick and quiet. It was always possible that someone had seen him, heard him, was waiting to get a hold of him. He had to stay aware as he searched. There’s got to be something good in here. It was secured for a reason.

Under the bed there were only folded blankets and a pillow. A revolver and some ammunition tucked behind a squatty cabinet in the closet. He ran his hand along the top of a large chestnut wardrobe that overpowered the entire room. A handful of dust from the top and some random clothing inside. The nightstand—he slid the drawer open and inside was a thick book, leather-bound and beautiful, lightly flaking from use. Xavier parted the pages and read.

Entry 432

It’s been almost two weeks since I saw Simon. I hadn’t been down to River Rd. yet, so I went to get some supplies. Saw an old Metallica shirt hanging on one of the gas pumps. I guess I figured he was the last person in the world still wearing that type of thing, but apparently not. It didn’t smell like him at all. He always wore that cologne for whatever reason. I never really understood why he wore it, but it’s never been my place to ask. He certainly had his way about him.

Nothing found at the gas station to eat. Food is becoming more and more difficult to come by. The garden hasn’t produced like Simon thought it would. I grabbed up some bandages, Tylenol, and gauze. Went back in the freezer areas and there was nothing but spoiled milk. Horrible smell. All the beer had been taken a long time ago. Found some lighter fluid by the cash register and left.

Back in the tent now before heading out for another look. Feeling kind of weak. Haven’t really been eating much lately. Need to nap before heading out. The problem with sleeping during the day is the holes in the tent. Need to find a tarp to patch it up with. Always something to do. Some of the day-to-day stuff was easier with Simon, but it was another mouth to feed.

I still can’t believe that anything has happened to him. He’s a tough son of a gun. I wonder if he felt it was time for us to both be on our own again. Maybe he went down to that school? Doesn’t really seem like him, but maybe it’s just time for him to stop ripping and running. I couldn’t blame him. He’s getting old. Maybe it’s time to stop looking for him. Either way I’m going to sleep for a bit.

Entry 433

Just got up from the nap. I can’t give up on him. I’m heading out to find him. Hopefully I come across some goods too. I need something to turn this around.

Xavier went further into the book.

Entry 611

Found Simon. I wasn’t really looking for him at this point. Had pretty much written him off. Figured he would have found me by now if he were alive. A terrible loss of life. He taught me a lot. A very special man. His service to the country before the virus was extraordinary. I won’t let his memory go to waste. I’ll find a way to honor him some day. He was stuffed inside a freezer at Kroger. Still had his hat and pants on. No shoes.

On a more positive note, the trip wasn’t a complete loss. Found some chips, pop and scraped some peanuts off the floor. I also found some money. Not that it’s worth anything, just thought it was kind of cool. I’ll probably use it to start a fire tonight. I’m so rich I can burn money now.

I’ve been scouting the area looking for better shelter. That dead-end street that I’ve been watching for a while still seems like a safe bet, nothing goes on there. Haven’t seen anyone come or go in several weeks. I’ve checked through all the houses for signs of living. Nothing yet, so I’m thinking of moving in. A house will be easier to defend and store goods. Simon always thought it would be best to keep moving, but I’m finding that not to be the case.

Still further.

Entry 653

I’m completely committed to the house now. It’s cleaned up. It looks good. Feels like a home. The only problem is the garage door. It’s stuck and won’t budge at all. I’ve tried everything I can think of, but I’m afraid to damage it. I don’t want to permanently shut it. It’s been much easier to maintain that one door off the garage. I boarded up the first floor windows and screwed the doors shut. I’ll leave the second floor windows as they are. It keeps it a bit cooler up here. I have a good vantage point from the front and back, and if anyone comes in, I’ll be able to hear them before they get to me. This whole street looks completely destroyed. Not sure anyone will ever come back.

I found a pallet of unlabeled cans in the back of a box truck today. Found it abandoned in the middle of the woods on some service road I guess no one knew about. I’m going to have to make several trips to get it all, but it will be worth it. I now have a safe place to store a bunch of stuff like that.

In the immediate future, I need to build a smoker and start a garden. Once I get the smoker finished, I’ll be able to hunt for deer. Any squirrel or rabbit I can eat in one meal, but a deer would be way too much. I’ll try my hand at a garden again. I’ll need to find a greenhouse or Home Depot or whatever to find some seeds. It may be difficult this late in the game. It’s possible a lot of that stuff has already been grabbed up.

The last entry.

Entry 664

Downed a deer today but was unable to retrieve it. I was really excited and became careless trying to go for it. Walked right out in the middle of the field. Very stupid. I heard the cracks from the wood line. Got shot in the arm and ran. Saw two people dressed in all black chasing after me. Wrapped my arm up tight, so they couldn’t track me. I lost them in the woods and made my way back home.

I tried to clean myself up in the basement. Used a bit of bleach on the outside of the wound. It was very diluted, but still burned like hell. I didn’t have anything else though. The shot went through and through. I can still feel everything okay. Just need to keep it clean, and it should heal. If not, I might have to go to the school for help. I can’t stitch it up myself. I’ve never done them any harm. Ran into them here and there, but it’s always been good.

I’m more worried about the folks that came after me today. Never seen them before. They were dressed in all black. The two of them seemed more concerned with hunting me than taking the deer. I would have just let them have it if that’s what they wanted. I hope they don’t find me. I’m not trying to start a war. Not sure I have it in me to kill someone. I just want to live in peace.

He rotated the book in his hand, impressed with the details of what he held. This is how history would be told. Through these tiny records of individuals, the world could be pieced together. How different of a life the author had lived compared to Xavier. Yet, here in his hand he was linked to the owner. By simply stepping foot in this home, he was part of this person’s web.

He slid his finger along the edges of the cream-colored pages, letting them glide from one cover to the other. The shuffling jumped abruptly in the middle—something stuffed deep into the gutter of the book. Two photographs. One a Polaroid, one not. He took the photos, but stuffed the journal in his pack.

The Polaroid was of a homely, thirty-something-year-old woman seated in a rocking chair holding a small child. Her smile was genuine, honestly beautiful. A tight bun held her brown hair back from her eyes. An unfortunate nose stuck prominently in the middle of her face. The boy didn’t care. He looked up—a gaze of unconditional love for his mother. Xavier closed his eyes hard for a moment and then opened. He turned the photo over and read aloud, “I love you, Teddy. Mom.”

The other photo was… Simon? Sure enough, it was him, a rather risqué photograph of him and another. The girl, more than likely in her teens, maybe high school or just entering college, with her bra falling off, and Simon pulling at it with a sensual bite. Her brown hair flowing over her shoulders, messy and playful. Her finger hung from between her teeth. Who took this? Xavier checked the back.

Sweet Teddy,

For a memory of better times.

Always,

Sheila

Xavier dropped the photographs to the floor. Astonished, he sat on the bed, looking around the room. Out of all the people in the world… But who? Teddy or Simon? Anyone can be anything they want. Grant was right. There was no fact checking people anymore. People could change their history—who they were, who they are. Did Teddy take Simon’s identity, assume his persona? Who did I kill? It didn’t really matter if it was a Simon or a Teddy. All that mattered was that Xavier and the man lying under the bridge seemed eternally linked by tragedy.

This may have been where Simon was taken and forced into the Second Alliance. If only he had knocked on the door of River’s Edge. If only he had reached out for help. This whole thing could have probably been avoided. Things happen for a reason though.

Xavier couldn’t keep his mind from wandering. The letter never would have been found had Simon not killed that deer. Had he not been forced into the Second Alliance and killed Lynn. Had he not let Grant know. That letter would never have been found. They would be downtown right now—Xavier and Grant eating, talking about the day, but they weren’t. Simon was dead under a highway. Grant returned to the school. And Xavier was alone on the street where his nightmare began.

His shadow grew long across the blanket, blending with the darkness of the room. As the sun set, a different kind of night snuck onto the street. It seemed darker than most. There were no lights in the room, the house, or any along the street. No wall to keep the night from invading—to keep the twisted shadows that crept across the lawns from him. Being outside would only make it worse. It was decided that he would stay overnight.

The house was secure with the exception of the basement door. He pushed it back into place and hung some two-by-fours across it. It may not hold, but the sound would certainly wake Xavier if someone were to break it down. He checked the windows, doors, fireplace, anywhere the house could be infiltrated—secured, but true peace of mind was impossible. This would do for the night.

Upstairs again.

He placed the revolver he had found in the closet underneath a pillow on the bed, stripped to his underwear, and shuffled his way under the covers. It was comfortable, much more so than the cot he had grown accustomed to. Maybe he would be able to sleep just fine. His head sunk deeply into the plush pillow that lay against the wooden headboard. The chirping of crickets passed loudly through the broken windows. He rolled onto his side and sandwiched his ears in the folded pillow. It didn’t really help. Maybe Xavier could just enjoy the sounds of the night. The sounds from outside the walls of River’s Edge.

Xavier lay there staring at the ceiling fan in the middle of the room. How he wished it would start spinning. It was still stuffy even though the sun was absent from the sky—one of those muggy summer nights that couldn’t be helped. He slid one of his feet out from under the blanket. He could have kicked it to the floor completely, but it was soothing to have, so he didn’t. The fatigue of the day had tired him. He placed his glasses on the nightstand, and it wasn’t long before he was asleep.

Chapter Eight

A loud banging of metal woke him with a start. Xavier grasped the revolver from underneath his pillow and knocked the nightstand over in the process. He peeped over the headboard. Had someone found him? It was still a bit before dawn, and most of the neighborhood looked a dark gray, not nearly enough light to see well. Again, the metal banged, clearly it came from outside.

In a frenzy, he scanned, focusing his eyes the best he could, but it was no use. The street was full of blurry figures against a backdrop of nothingness. If something was there, he couldn’t know it. His hand patted around the turned over nightstand, searching for his glasses. They weren’t there. I’ll be safer downstairs. He tucked the gun back under the pillow and grabbed the rifle.

Careening through the unfamiliar darkness of the house, he made his way down the stairs, bumping into most everything along the way. He lightened his steps. He couldn’t remember the exact layout. Slow down. The peepholes were barely enough. Still unable to identify much of his surroundings, he listened. The same banging—fairly consistent—from just down the street.

He looked again, almost the perfect angle. Xavier could just make out an aluminum trash can crunching from grass to sidewalk to grass and back. Its rolling stopped, and out crawled a hunched figure that hobbled off into the darkened yards. Xavier sighed. Just a raccoon. It was nothing to be concerned with on this morning. He returned to the bed, relieved, laughing along the way. He lay back down, his eyes wide. His chest gradually slowed, but his heart continued its racing.

The night had not been kind. Every branch scratching against the house and every piece of rubbish that tumbled down the sidewalk kept Xavier turning in bed. He could have used the remaining twilight to sleep but didn’t. Preoccupied with his planned return to River’s Edge, he stayed awake. He needed to figure the best way to go about it. Getting in wouldn’t be the trouble, they would be expecting him. The potential trouble would be everything afterward.

He had a good story and knew Grant would’ve already laid the foundation for it. All he would have to do was keep it simple and vague under any scrutiny. Explain that they were attacked, that Simon—I’ll have to keep calling him that—had died, and they ran. Simple. Of course the pack and the letter had to be hidden. That hole in the side of the creek’s bank would do well to conceal the contraband. Again, simple. The tricky part was the matter of finding Sam and convincing him of the greater good—the risk of moving forward against the Second Alliance. Once he did, they could return later to retrieve the bundle. The revolution was about to begin. It had to. The plan ran through his mind on a loop. Xavier couldn’t shake it.

Once the light clearly indicated morning, he rolled from the bed, his toes curling into the cool wooden floor, creaking again from his weight. The jumbled mess of his filthy maintenance outfit was slid to the side, revealing his glasses that were lost within the pile. He placed them back onto his nose then sorted through Simon’s clothing hanging in the wardrobe. He made his choice. A simple gray t-shirt and blue jeans. They were a bit large, but he would make do. His old clothes had made it far enough, and these felt soft and new.

The mirror hanging on the inside of the wardrobe’s door gave Xavier his first full look at himself in what had to be at least a year and a half. He was taller, older. He was starting to look like his dad. Matching brown hair. The blue eyes. Even his smile had the same bend to it. He was certainly Larry’s kid. There was no denying it. We got this, Dad. I won’t let you down. I won’t let them take it without a fight. Xavier stared for a while longer then swung the door closed.

He made one last pass through the house, collecting a few cans of food, ammunition, the journal, and a minimal amount of hygiene and medical supplies. The stock that Simon had amassed was impressive and unexpected. It’s no wonder he took offense when questioned. He certainly had survival down to a science—his only mistake being the one that cost him his life. And now, through some sort of sick progression of time, Xavier was again taking from him. Someday, I’ll make this right. Make your death worth something. I know you didn’t want to do what you did. I know you were forced.

Although it had taken longer than planned, he couldn’t complain about this slight detour. The medical supplies were a definite bonus, and another gun alone made the trip well worth it. The three firearms (two pistols and a rifle) were the beginnings of a small arsenal. Now, Xavier at least had more to offer than simply the truth. He only needed to recruit more hands to put them in.

He crammed the small Raven pistol along with the other supplies into the pack, adjusted the newly found revolver comfortably on his right hip within its holster, and slid underneath the stalled garage door. Come on! He struggled to bring the overstuffed pack from the garage, pulling, straining to edge it from below the door. Finally!

Xavier blinked hard, trying to bring the yard into focus, his eyes working to adjust from the darkness he crawled out from. The bag dangled from his hand as he carried it to the end of the driveway’s retaining wall. He set it to the ground, his arm beginning to burn from the weight of it.

It was early, and the heat was already starting to build. Another sweat was certainly on its way. He looked for relief. A rain barrel showed slightly above the tall grass. The gutters had poured yesterday’s storm within it. The water looked fresh—smelled fresh. This will definitely do. His hands brought the water into his mouth. He drank until satisfied, but his stomach still had a deep ache—the memory of the tuna from yesterday had long left it. Xavier knew it best that he ate breakfast before he set out.

He looked for anything of substance. Wanting to eat, but not willing to resort to the canned food just yet, he meandered through the unmown lawn touched with the morning dew. It wetted his lower half. His boots collected the seeds of dandelions as he kicked about, scattering the blades of grass and weeds away from his path. Nothing—no garden, no fruit trees, only Simon’s smoker pushed up against the side of a shed.

The smoker was poorly built, barely held in place smooshed between stacks of firewood. The black potbelly stove with a large wooden box fitted upon its stack pipe was missing a leg, propped level with an old dictionary. He didn’t care as long as it served its purpose. No luck. The wooden box contained no more than a few hooks hanging from a bar—no meat, not even scraps.

That was it. All the yard had to offer. With no other choice, he unbuckled the top flap to the bag and unloaded two tins. One contained pears and the other, baked beans. Not exactly the best choice for breakfast, but Xavier welcomed them both, tipping the cans and drinking as he sat on the retaining wall. The syrup from the pears was thick and lukewarm, delicious, almost a dessert. Baked beans had once been his favorite at summer cookouts. Now, anything could be his favorite depending on how hungry he was.

He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and bowled the cans under the garage door. They clattered and rolled about for a moment. He then lifted his pack and carried it to the fence line, heaving it to the other side. Xavier followed, but took a few minutes to view the old neighborhood before lifting the bag onto his shoulders.

There it was—his chimney stack. The thought of entering his home hadn’t crossed his mind. It would be too much—his mother leaving, his sister’s death, the horrors of the gangs. He knew he didn’t want to relive those things, and besides, it was empty. It had been cleared out completely before they had left. Good-bye. He turned from it, knowing better than to hang on to the past.

It wasn’t long before Xavier’s boots were wet, standing in the creek while stuffing the trash bags full. The den in the side of the embankment was deep but filled quickly. He pushed the bags, oddly-shaped and stubborn as they were, further and further into the wall of the creek. At least now his findings would be waterproof as they sat waiting for him.

Xavier clumped the dirt together over the hole, concealing the bags, then scattered the remaining soil in the water. It was no secret what had been done here. An obvious patch job. If anyone were to come along, they would pocket all his hard work.

He touched it up with some branches, making them look like roots from a nearby tree, and with a few more rocks and leaves, it looked more natural—not so obvious. Xavier checked his pockets one last time. There was nothing compromising. It had all been buried. He only took the binoculars and pocketknife. He climbed the root ladder and took the overgrown path back to the school.

• • •

The thick line of trees across from River’s Edge gave him ample cover while he lay there observing the town. Business as usual it seemed. Two Sentries in the outposts by the gate. The goats were grazing in the field. It looked like Matt patching an outer portion of the wall, but he couldn’t tell. Xavier removed the binoculars from its pouch and glassed the school, running his eyes along its hard lines.

There weren’t any extras, just two Sentries in the outposts and one Guard with the shepherd. It was Matt on the outside. He looked for Jenny, but didn’t see her. They always work together. Then he remembered. Remembered that he was supposed to meet her last night. Damn. She probably got caught past curfew, and it was his fault. Why else wouldn’t she be there? He had failed her, unintentionally, but still it happened. She would understand, or so he hoped. If he had time to make it right, he would. He would explain it to her. She would have to forgive him once given the truth. Hopefully, she would decide to join.

Xavier put the binoculars away, and he simply observed the activity from afar. Doesn’t feel like home anymore. Knowing the Second Alliance was there with their dark secrets cast the town in a different light. The brick building. The large metal wall. The barbed wire. None of it represented security any longer. No, it was something much different. A prison. A place where freedom and morality no longer existed. A place no longer needing protection from the world. The threat lived inside the walls.

Quietly, he waited for the right moment to approach the gate. It could end poorly if he wasn’t recognized and a Sentry decided to fire a few rounds his way. He couldn’t risk it. Patience is all he could rely upon. It would be best if he had someone escort him to the gate. He needed to get to Matt, but there was too much working against him—the Sentries, the goats, the distance, but then, as if the world had read his thoughts, the Sentries stepped down from their towers.

Without hesitating, Xavier pushed back from the ground—away from the field—withdrawing into the trees. He moved. Branches. Bushes. Trees. His arms shielded him from the snapping twigs and brush as he ran as softly as he could toward the other side. Matt would only be twenty yards away from that point. Xavier could get his attention without alerting anyone else. He took sharp glances toward the towers when he could. Still no Sentries. Then, an iron screech stopped him dead in his tracks. The door was opening.

He hurried to the edge of the trees and hunkered down into a position where he could see. The heavy doors crept open, and the Sentries stood at the ends of each one—their rifles scanning. They motioned for something within the town, but nothing came. Xavier waited, his eyes focused solely on the opening in the city walls. Still nothing. What’s happening? Why would they leave it open for so long? Xavier took out his binoculars and watched over the area. Are they taking something in? There was nothing except for the goats, but they were still eating, paying no attention to the town.

Finally Rupert emerged, pulling his clunky, filth-covered cart, cluttered with the waste-filled buckets. He walked slowly toward the trenches, his nose and mouth wrapped with a bandana. He certainly didn’t seem to be in a rush to get there. Who could blame him?

Rupert looked back as the gate closed, maybe finally reconsidering his place in life. The Sentries returned to their post, and one called out to Rupert. He looked up. There appeared to be some sort of an exchange, but Xavier couldn’t make it out—Rupert simply waved the Sentry off and continued.

It appeared Rupert would go it alone—no Guard. Xavier hated it, but this may be his only chance. A favor from Rupert might be impossible. Xavier didn’t even want to speak with him. The conversation would be excruciating, but he didn’t have a choice. With the Sentries back in their posts, Matt would no longer be an option—he stood too closely to the towers. Now or never I guess.

Xavier’s steps paralleled Rupert’s as best he could, ducking branches and stepping over brush and twigs, trying his best to remain unnoticed. He maintained what visual he could of Rupert, but it was limited to glimpses of clothing through the thick growth—flashes of white and blue to follow.

His cart slogged through the rain-soaked grass and mud. Rupert strained to keep it moving along, pulling at it, slowly making his way. There wasn’t a straight path to the trenches, only a winding progression—mostly forward. The usual cut-through was ruined by the storm, filled by puddles and debris. The rain had truly added an extra layer of misery.

Once there, Rupert stopped the wagon and unloaded his shovels and a rake, shaking his head and mumbling to himself. Xavier moved closer. He settled in to catch his breath. He now had a perfect view of Rupert and could almost hear him. Rupert thrust the head of the shovel into the ground and rested his foot upon its edge. He continued his rant, punctuating the words with gestures of his hands. His face lit up with anger as he spoke. His hateful drivel spewing forth. This conversation was going to be interesting. He was already so worked up.

“Psst,” Xavier projected it as low and straight as he could.

Rupert stopped his muttering and looked around.

“Psst, hey.” A little louder.

Rupert pulled the shovel from the ground and held it across his body like a Bo staff.

“Right here. It’s Xavier.” He crashed through the woods, his hands open out in front of him. “It’s me. Don’t hit me.”

“That’s not a good enough reason.” Rupert raised the head of the shovel over him as if to strike, and Xavier backed away. “I’m not going to hit you, dumb shit.” He lowered the shovel, and Xavier expelled the breath he was holding. “Why the hell are you watching me?”

“I’m not. I’m— I need a favor.”

“Good luck with that.” Rupert scoffed and spoke over his shoulder as he turned away from Xavier, “You’re not even supposed to be out here, so I don’t know what you’re up to.”

“I’m not doing anything.”

“How’d you even get out— You know what… I don’t even want to know.” Rupert readied his shovel for the trenches.

“Me and Grant left yesterday. I figured everyone knew.” Xavier began to worry. He has to know something. “Didn’t Grant come back yesterday?”

“Don’t know and don’t care.” Rupert began dumping the buckets, spreading it as evenly as he could within the trench. He crammed his shovel into a large pile of dirt and shook it over the waste. Layer by layer, he buried the excrement, sealing the stench of decay as best he could. “Now you really are watching me. What do you want?”

“I need to get back in.”

“Then go.” Rupert continued shoveling. “They’ll let you.”

“These S.A. people don’t know me.”

Rupert worked in silence.

“Come on, look,” Xavier pleaded, “I just need to talk to Sam. Have you seen him?”

“No.”

“It’s important.”

“He can’t talk to you… Not after what they did to him.”

“You saw it?”

“Hell no!” Rupert drooped the bandana from his face and shoved the wooden handle from one palm to the other. “Had I…” A breath. “Things would’ve been different. Would have popped that guy’s head right off, messing with Sam like that.”

Xavier’s mouth sat open, dumbfounded. That’s right. How could he have forgotten that Sam and Rupert were close? It made sense. The two of them notoriously disgruntled—a perfect match.

Rupert continued bad mouthing the Second Alliance, and all Xavier could do was nod in agreement. His ranting leaned the same way. The Second Alliance had bludgeoned his friend, leaving him unresponsive, wasting away somewhere in the school. There’s no way Rupert would settle for that.

“…and those folks don’t know what they got themselves into. People aren’t going to stand for that. No way. I’m not. I just…”

Xavier continued listening to him ramble. Rupert seemed more on board with this than he could have ever imagined. Rupert made it seem as if the whole school was buzzing with revolt—that the Second Alliance was finished in River’s Edge, as if no one could look past what they did to Sam. Xavier had only witnessed people submit after seeing the strike. They were scared. Rightfully so. People had suppressed their true feelings and were now ready. It was really going to happen.

“…crazy that it even happe—”

“How do I get to Sam?”

“Why do you care so much?” Rupert asked.

“Look.” Xavier sighed. “I just need to talk to him. Are you going to help me or not?”

“Haven’t decided yet, but you’re gonna need me to talk to him anyways.”

“Why’s that?”

“Haverty said that I’m gonna be the first talk to him,” he said, almost bragging. “So wrap yourself around that.”

“You talked to Haverty about Sam? Why?”

“Don’t really trust the bastards,” Rupert said. “It’s that— I needed to know he’s good.”

“But he’s not the only reason you don’t trust them.”

Rupert shook his head.

“What then?”

Rupert shoveled some more and ignored Xavier’s prying.

“I’m not leaving until you’re finished.”

“Gonna be awhile.”

Frustrated, Xavier stood watching Rupert’s lethargic pace of shoveling. “I’m not sure what you’re so afraid of. Why can’t you say? We want the same thing. Just say it!”

“Who’s afraid?” Rupert dropped the shovel to the ground and turned toward Xavier. “What is it you think? Huh? What do I want?” Rupert rushed him.

“Hey, hey, hey.” Xavier back-pedaled, stumbling, ultimately falling to the ground. “All I’m trying to say is we want the same— We want the S.A. gone, not just for what they did to Sam, but everything.”

Rupert stood over him, not saying a word.

“The two meals,” Xavier started, “the craziness with supplies. All of that’s driving everyone mad.”

Rupert left Xavier on the ground and turned away. “It doesn’t matter. Most are cowards and would never stand up to them. They’re going to take us over. Just a matter of time.”

“Exactly!” Xavier scrambled to his feet. “That’s why now is the time. I know Sam will help. We just have to find him. People will listen to him. He’s a leader.”

Rupert pulled the bandana back over his nose and shoveled some more, “I hear you. Just not convinced.”

“How’s this…?”

Nothing.

“Rupert!”

He looked to Xavier.

“We left yesterday for downtown. Me and Grant with an S.A. Guard. We all got into a… Well, someone— someone fired on us and killed our escort. But it turned out that the guy was carrying a letter from Haverty to the leader of the S.A. I grabbed his pack and ran. Found the letter inside. Everything is in it.”

“And?”

“It proves what they did. That they don’t want a partnership. They want full control. Come on! That’s why you should care.”

“What makes you think Sam will help?”

“The reason he got hit is why!” Xavier’s voice continued to rise. “He sees it coming. He knows. Just like you and me. Without a doubt, he’ll help. We’ve all worked so hard on this place and now, just to hand it all over is insane!”

“You’ve lost your mind. A kid against the world?” Rupert laughed loudly and began pulling the cart to another stretch of the trenches. “You’re an idiot.”

What’s going on in his head?

Xavier had no choice but to wait for Rupert to finish. Even if he couldn’t convince Rupert, at least he’d be able to get in without a confrontation with the Sentries. He didn’t expect much more than that, but some of the conversation gave him hope. Some of that hope lay with Rupert—most of it with Sam.

Within all of Rupert’s anger, the desire for something better existed. Xavier just needed to stoke that fire and not let up. He hated it, but Rupert could prove invaluable. Absolutely, without question, Rupert could make this happen. It’s possible that Sam might make that decision, the right decision on his own, but it wasn’t guaranteed. With the letter and Rupert, it would be.

Many minutes had passed since Rupert pulled the cart to the other end to begin filling the ditch. His shoveling was slow going, and it annoyed Xavier. At this rate, they would be sleeping out here. How does he get this done every day? Screw it. He took the long march over to Rupert and snatched a shovel from the cart.

Xavier had never noticed it before, but being this close to Rupert made it obvious. It seemed that he was constantly running a narrative. Not necessarily detailing his happenings, but just talking to himself. Xavier couldn’t make out much. A few words here and there made it obvious he was mulling over what Xavier had said—what had been pointed out as fact.

He began assisting Rupert with the trenches. With his first bucketful, the smell of excrement was overwhelming. He slipped the gray t-shirt from his back and tied it around his nose and mouth like Rupert’s bandana, but it didn’t help.

“I can still smell it.”

“I know. It’s to keep it from getting in your mouth and nose.” Rupert went to take Xavier’s shovel. “I got this. You don’t know what you’re doing.”

Xavier stepped away from him. “It’s shoveling I think I can handle it.”

“You just want in?” He motioned toward the front of River’s Edge.

Xavier nodded.

Rupert swiped the shirt down from Xavier’s nose. “Let’s go.” He took the shovel from Xavier and leaned it against the cart, along with his own. “I want to get my stuff done.”

The two of them walked along the perimeter of the fence—Xavier entangled within his t-shirt as he tried to pull it over his head. He tripped a bit over the uneven ground while trying to keep pace with Rupert. They were just beyond the Sentry’s view. Rupert looked back to him. “Just walk behind me, and I’ll get you in.” They turned the corner, and Rupert shouted for the Sentries.

Matt looked over his shoulder. “Xavier?” He rushed over, his arms swallowing Xavier whole. “Hey, man!”

“Easy, easy.” Xavier gasped for air.

“Worried sick man. When Grant came back without you I thought you were a goner. I tried to go out with the search team, but they just laughed.”

“Did they come back with anything?”

“No idea. Not sure they’re even back yet. You’re okay though?”

“Yeah, long story. I’ll catch you up when we get a chance.”

“Right now’s as good as any.”

“Uh…” Xavier caught Rupert glaring at him from over Matt’s shoulder. “Sorry man. I can’t right now. I’ll get with you. Promise.”

“I won’t be much longer with this.”

“I have something I got to do.”

Matt looked oddly at Xavier, perhaps trying to see if he was really okay.

“I’m good,” Xavier assured him. “Is Jenny okay?”

“Why wouldn’t she be?”

Good. “Nothing. I’ll get with you later.”

Xavier and Rupert stood in front of the school’s entrance. The doors shook and groaned once again, opening for what the Sentries had to have hoped would be the last time for their shift.

“Good luck,” Rupert said.

As Xavier stepped through the gate, he paused, watching Rupert return to the ditches, wondering if it was help that he offered or only luck. Why would he say that? Rupert had taken a stance of neutrality, denouncing the Second Alliance, but not going far enough to do something about it.

He could have. He could’ve walked through the gate with Xavier. He still could decide to help. There was nothing to stop him. If he wanted to do the right thing for Sam, he would. For now though, it would only be the luck that Rupert offered. It was something, and Rupert seemed sincere. The calmness with which he said it put Xavier at ease. It was strangely reassuring. Maybe if Rupert could be inched along toward the right thing, others would follow.

Chapter Nine

Xavier guided his fingers across the cornstalks—the field teeming with the late summer harvest. The women and children busily plucked the bounty while singing. Old grocery baskets overflowed with ears of corn. A woman swatted the hand of a child. “That’s enough in that one.” The child pouted, her lips quivering, but no tears. She ran for another basket, cutting Xavier off, and then disappeared into the thicket. The woman caught his eye and shook her head, snickering to herself. “Kids.” She resumed her singing.

Her song, joined in by the others, filled the air inside the walls. But would it last? The happiness that rose from their melody inflated their spirits. But these folks had no idea what was coming. Most of them had no idea what happened to Sam. They just sang, completely ignorant, blissful in the deception. No idea that the whole thing would be flipped upside down. It was going to be a painful truth.

As the song continued to pour into his ears, he became frustrated. He wanted to shut them up. Shout out the truth—that the Second Alliance attacked them, killed them, were taking over, but he decided against it for now. The pieces weren’t in place yet.

It wasn’t their fault. Xavier hadn’t known either. It was just mild skepticism at first. Only while holding Haverty’s letter in his hands, did he know with any certainty. These people don’t deserve what’s about to happen. The Second Alliance had nothing invested in River’s Edge besides terror. No blood. No sweat. Only a simple plan to deceive them into servitude.

They really were quite clever. To make it look like it was the town’s own decision to take their help—the difference between turning down their protection and begging for it, unknowingly sealing the fate of everyone. He couldn’t stand to stay and listen to their joy. It ate away at him that he couldn’t let them know yet. Xavier pushed his way through the remainder of the field and slammed the door leading into the halls. It was just too much. I have to find Sam.

His heart sank immediately upon setting foot within the school. A set of eyes set directly upon him. It was the one. The one that struck Sam. The monstrous being stood just before him—above him, around him—clearly perturbed by Xavier’s actions.

“Is there a problem?” He could speak.

Xavier couldn’t. Petrified, he simply creaked his head from side to side. Wide-eyed, mouth open. Oh, Shit. He could feel a cold sweat moving below his clothing. The seconds grew into a minute of silence, simply standing there, trying to avoid eye contact. The iron man wouldn’t move—didn’t for whatever reason. Xavier was clearly intimidated, cowering in his presence. What more could he want? Did he know? Xavier didn’t want to believe that Grant floundered in his explanation.

“Watch it.” He gave Xavier a slight push.

A nod was all he could bring forth. Xavier waited momentarily, hoping the Soldier would move first, but he didn’t. Neither wanted to show their intended path. He sidestepped, pressed between the wall and the black uniform, cautiously resuming what he set forth to do.

Xavier could feel him watching every one of his steps until the corner was rounded. This game was getting old. What does he know? A brief moment with his back against the cement blocks, just a moment, and then he doubled back. The Soldier was gone. It was nothing. What is going on? A misunderstanding? He couldn’t risk it. Maybe they did know. Xavier rushed toward his living quarters.

“Hey, watch it!” A pair of sneakers squeaked out of the way.

“Sorry.”

He barreled into the room and knelt down in front of his footlocker. His fingers fumbled through the combination. The dial spun far more than needed. Trembling through the numbers, he started over yet again. Thirteen. There. He pulled, and it disengaged. Finally! He shoved the binoculars into the chest then took an old notebook, riddled with doodles and old song lyrics, from the bottom. A clean sheet. Concise. Deliberate. Clear, but not too clear. What if someone else finds it? It couldn’t be spelled out completely. He began to write.

The old way home. Opposite wall of the ladder. Dig!

He folded it twice over and slipped it through the crack between the lid and base of Matt’s footlocker. He breathed a few strong breaths. Better, much better. An insurance policy. If anything was to happen to Xavier, then Matt would have to carry the torch. That note left for him would be the only path to the truth. There would be no other way to know what the Second Alliance had done. There would be no one else to carry on unless Sam was still able and willing, but if Xavier’s defiance led to his own death, then Sam had most likely already met that same fate.

Xavier had to believe that Matt would know what the note meant. It was only slightly cryptic. He wasn’t that dense, although he may struggle a bit with it. Jenny could help him, and their curiosity—especially hers—would lead them to the pack. They would find Simon’s journal and Haverty’s letter. They would find the guns. It would be up to them what to do with it. Xavier only hoped that Matt would do the right thing and Jenny would follow.

But on second thought, Jenny was the more ambitious of the two—the one more willing to raise issue with the problems that would be revealed to them. She had no problem questioning them, and only yesterday, Jenny seemed enamored with the idea of building, starting over from scratch. She held on to every word that Matt used to describe the process of River’s Edge. The days, the actions that it took to create a stable society. Hopefully, she would be up to the task and be able to convince Matt to follow.

Matt will listen to her. He tries to play like he doesn’t care, but he does. If anything happens, he’ll do what she says. Maybe I should’ve left it for her. Well, I probably couldn’t have made it into the girl’s quarters. This will have to do. He’ll show her.

He poked his head back into the hallway—no one around. The infirmary was closest to him. It’s possible Sam was there, being cared for, resting. Hopefully, he would be in the mood to speak, but more importantly, able to do so. Please. Xavier pushed the door to the infirmary inward, waking the woman at the desk from her dozing.

“Um, yes.” Papers scattered. “Hello there.” She collected them and shuffled through, trying to appear busy. The grogginess to her voice gave her away.

“Sorry to bother you. I’m look—”

“No, you’re fine. I’m just getting caught up with things. We’ve been busy,” she said.

“Okay?” Xavier looked around the office. The empty plastic chairs lined up against the wall. The years-old magazines stacked neatly on the coffee table. Not a single sign of anyone other than the two of them. “Did something happen?”

“Oh, yes.” She searched for truth in her words while soaking in the reality of her surroundings. “Maybe, not so bad really.”

Clearly, she was still in a daze. Pulling the black hair out of her face and into a ponytail, she gazed up to Xavier. She was a bit older than him, maybe nineteen, but it appeared as if her years were much heavier than his own—her life worn down by much different circumstances. A scar from the corner of her mouth back toward her ear. What has she been through?

She caught Xavier looking at the scar once she revealed her cheek. Her bangs were pulled from the hair tie and left to fall along her face. She pulled self-consciously at the long sleeves of her shirt, ensuring that every inch of her body was concealed. In a world unlike this one, she would have remained young, unblemished.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to stare.”

“It’s fine.” She turned her scarred cheek slightly away from him. “What is it I can help you with today?”

“I’m looking for someone. He would have come in here yesterday with some sort of cut on his head. Maybe a busted nose too. Does that sound right?”

“Truly, I don’t know.”

“Sam?”

She just stared at Xavier.

“Was there someone else working here yesterday?”

“No. Just me. I’m always here.”

“I’m sure you would’ve known if he came in here then. You tend to people, right?”

“Um, yes.” She spoke with uncertainty, but corrected herself. “Yes, I do.”

“Did you tend to anyone yesterday?” The frustration building as Xavier spoke. “Anyone at all?”

“I stitched up a finger yesterday. Real quick job.”

“Yes.” Xavier coaxed her along, rolling his hand. “And just before that or just after?”

“No.”

“Nobody at all? Are you sure?”

“I’m telling you no. Or, I don’t remember. I’ll show you the rounds if need be.”

“Yes please, I’m thinking one of us is confused.” It’s you. “There’s no way he didn’t come here at some point.”

“I know nothing happened today. No one has been here for help.” She stood from her seat, moved across the room, and sorted through the pages of a large book resting on a filing cabinet. “I’ll go back a few days just to be sure.”

“Thank you.”

He watched her finger run through the lines of the book. No expression upon her face, just a muted disposition. What is wrong with this lady? She had to be decent at her job for anyone to tolerate this nonsense. Regardless of how good she was, the whole arrangement was just another control mechanism. The Second Alliance could now manage who received care and who didn’t.

She brought the book to her desk and turned it for Xavier. “See. Nothing.”

“Any chance it didn’t get written down?”

“Not a one. They audit supplies using this book too. Supply office signed off on it this morning. See here.” She pointed. “It all checks out.”

Xavier just stared at her.

“I’m sorry about your friend. Hey, Thom—“

A heavy hand gripped Xavier’s shoulder, and he felt a hot breath pass within his ear. “Come with me.”

• • •

The sun flooded the office through the skylights—its warmth unable to escape. With all the windows completely covered and the air unable to circulate through the room, the heat stacked in layers within the office. Xavier slouched in a chair, looking around the room, trying to keep his mind from the sweat creeping across his body. He wiped from here to there, but no matter, it simply reappeared like a phantom itch that wouldn’t leave. His arms stuck slightly to the leather seat where he found himself. The sound of his skin peeling from the chair was almost laughable if it hadn’t made him feel so disgusting.

Xavier began to fan himself with the front of his shirt. It only pulled in the stagnant smell of sweat and an overcooked stew—the remnants of which sat within a bowl only a few feet away. There was only slight relief brought on by the fanning. He needed more. A water pitcher. Xavier removed himself from the chair and tried to help himself to it.

“Sit!” The Soldier in the front room reminded him where he was.

He cringed his way back into the chair and waited. It was miserable. It was never the intention of anyone to use this office again. No reason to make it more comfortable in these late days of August. Haverty hadn’t thought of that before moving in. Greedy bastard!

The room was large with ornate furnishings. A proper throne room for an improper king. It was beautiful, enticing. Not obvious with the drawbacks that he now faced from his shortsightedness. The heat was probably the reason he wasn’t there. Such a large man in a room more accurately described as an oven could be a stroke waiting to happen.

Xavier kept his eyes upon the water pitcher. Wondering how closely he was really being watched, he stood again.

“Sit!”

“I need to stretch.” He half-heartedly tugged at his limbs and attempted to move around the room.

“Just sit down and…” The Soldier’s voice trailed off into a muffled conversation in the next room.

My chance. Xavier glanced into the other room but saw no one. Again, the water pitcher. No one’s looking. He wandered toward the table where it sat and reached.

“Good, Good, Good.”

The familiar phrase startled Xavier, causing him to retreat. Damn!

“Thanks for findin’ my little buddy, Tommy. Take a break.” Haverty’s shoulders grazed both sides of the doorframe as he entered—his handkerchief already dabbing away. Unable to take another drop, it simply evened the sweat across his pores. Haverty squeezed behind the desk across from Xavier, preparing to take his seat. “No panels, son? No Simon? What in the world were y’all doin’ out there?”

“Can I get some water?”

“You can wait fer a bit. See how cooperative you wanna be.” Haverty leaned forward on the desk with both hands. “Well?”

Haverty loomed above Xavier as a cobra about to devour a mouse. His breath leaked from his mouth like a toxic gas. The cigar was missing, but his mouth smelled as if it was buried inside—dying.

“Don’t you dare do that. Don’t clam up. Where’s my guy? Y’all leave him under a bridge?”

“Is that what Grant said?”

“Now, son, I’m askin’ you. You, right there, these questions. Don’t do it again. Just needin’ ya to give up the truth. That’s all I want.”

It was obvious he had spoken to Grant, exactly as Xavier had imagined. Just keep it simple.

“It was fast. Honestly, I didn’t see much. We got ambushed. I didn’t see who or how many. I grabbed what I could and ran. I was scared.”

“And, Grant?”

Xavier shifted in his seat. He caught a glimpse of his boots (Simon’s boots) and slid them under the front of the desk as best he could. Overlooked by Xavier, this could be problematic. Although he couldn’t imagine that Haverty kept track of everyone’s footwear, it was still a good idea to hide them.

“Son?”

“I heard the shots, ducked, and ran. I didn’t see much beyond that.”

“What’d you grab up. Said you grabbed up what ya could.” Haverty leaned back off his hands a bit. It seemed he hadn’t blinked the entire time. His eyes completely fixated on Xavier, measuring him and every response. “What was it?”

“My bag and Simon’s binoculars.”

“How many shots?”

“Shots?”

Haverty’s eyes widened.

“It happened really fast.” Xavier took his eyes to the ceiling, acting as if he really needed to think about it. “I really don’t know.”

“Try.”

“I mean…” Xavier took a long breath while shaking his head. “Several. It wasn’t rapid fire. Just several shots.”

“How close were ya to Simon when he got shot?”

Xavier closed his eyes. Right there. I could have touched him. I did touch him. I killed him. His name was Teddy! I was right there. Never again. Xavier opened his eyes and looked into Haverty’s. “Not very close. I was in a tru—”

“How many feet?” Haverty moved in closer.

“I really don’t know.” Xavier’s forehead fell, now cradled in his hands—his elbows on the edge of the desk. “I just don’t really know.”

“Son, I’m really needin’ ya to try.”

“I can’t give you that answer.” Xavier looked to Haverty. “I was leaning in a truck when the shots came out. By the time I got out, Simon was down. I’m not sure if he had a chance to run or if the first shot got him. I really don’t know. I’m sorry.”

“Sorry fer what?” Haverty moved even closer. Their noses almost touching. The stench of his breath caused Xavier to recoil back into the chair.

“Sorry that I don’t have the answers you want.”

“Only the truth. That’s all I’m lookin’ for.”

“I understand.”

“Don’t think ya do. How’d ya get Simon’s binoculars?”

“I picked them up as I ran by.”

“You check on him?”

“No… I knew—I knew he was dead.” Xavier tried his hardest to look sympathetic, scrunching his eyebrows and biting slightly into his bottom lip all while angling his head toward the floor.

“How?”

“He had a hole in his head!” He began to rub his eyes, still facing the floor.

Haverty sat down in his seat and leaned back, folding his hands behind his head. He smiled to himself. One foot made it to the top of the desk, but the second didn’t. The seat creaked something fierce as it leaned. Haverty corrected it without hesitating, dropping all six feet even with the ground.

“Son, ya know this ain’t that big a deal, right? You ain’t gotta cover for no one.”

“It is a big deal though.”

“I’m glad ya think so, shows ya have heart, but this ain’t about that.”

“I can’t do this.” Xavier was sweating. “Can I get some water? I haven’t had any since last night.”

“Just a few more, and we’ll be done here.”

Xavier sighed, shifted again in his seat, eyeing the maps and documents around the room. Haverty snapped his fingers.

“So, you’re bein’ attacked?”

“Right.”

“You’re runnin’? Past Simon?”

“Yes.”

“He’s got guns. You know he’s got guns, and ya grab up some binoculars? Why?”

“Yeah—Yes.” Xavier blinked hard while trying to think. “I saw it laying on the ground next to him. It’s a pretty big pouch. I was thinking maybe a gun was in it. That’s why.”

“A gun in a pouch?”

“Yes.”

“How old are ya?”

“Fifteen.”

“How many guns you seen in a pouch?”

“I don’t know. None? I panicked.” A deep breath. “You ever been shot at?”

Haverty’s belly began to shake, building up pressure like a volcano and erupted with laughter. Gasping for air between snorts and outbursts, he turned red. He started coughing. “Good, Good, Good.” Still coughing. “That’s rich. Yeah, I’ve been shot at.” He cleared his throat one last time and went right back into it. “Where’s your bag?”

“I only had this change of clothes and my toothbrush. I left it at the house I stayed in last night. It’s less to carry. Less to think about.”

“Where was that?”

“Price Hill.”

“That’s a big neighborhood, son. Where?”

“On Grand, but I don’t know the address. The houses all kind of look the same.”

Haverty wiped along his bottom lip, down from the corners of his mouth. He smiled and rocked forward in his chair. He removed his hat and placed it on the desk. The saturated handkerchief spread the beads of sweat across his forehead. He placed the hat back upon his head and crossed his arms, shaking his head at Xavier.

“Not gonna listen to your bull anymore.”

Xavier just stared at him. This was expected. He needed to stay strong. Treat it as a bluff and wait for him to give up. Nothing Xavier said was incriminating. Nothing he said could be disproved by his words or any length of questioning. Haverty glared back, attempting to beat back his stare. Their eyes locked in a battle. Hang in there. Haverty smirked and folded his hands, all of his fingers interlocking, palms resting on the desk. He spoke—his accent missing—his wording exact and punctuated with accusation. “I know you read the letter. My letter. I know you did.”

Xavier’s heart dropped along with his eyelids. The heat overtook him again, suffocating him, his body unable to manage the stress, simply overheated further. His breathing ceased. A strange dizziness—his body, the pivot point to the world revolving around him. The room began to collapse—concrete and brick—all crumbling to the ground. Slivers of glass raining from the ceiling. Waves passed over his skin then ceased as the world snapped back into place.

A simple letter, not meant for Xavier, had damned him. He was finished. The revolution was over before it even started. Haverty spoke, but it didn’t register. Isolation was his best course. No talking. They would do what they wanted with him.

“Look son, I need that letter back. I can’t be havin’ that out there. Can’t have folks thinkin’ we’re the bad guys, ya know? We’re gonna do what it takes to get back on track. You ain’t gonna stop us, so… Where’s it at?”

“I really need some water. I’m not feeling so good.”

Haverty walked toward the old windows and poured some water from the pitcher. He set the glass down on the desk in front of Xavier. They looked at each other. Haverty was serious. Xavier knew it. He contemplated giving it up, letting him know where it was. But what good could it do? He reached for the glass and drank, buying time.

Grant, how could you? How could you let them know? How could you turn against me? All he had to do was keep his mouth shut. Haverty possessed no evidence of anything. Nothing at all, but Grant… Why would you? What did you have to gain by letting it go? That decision didn’t change what happened, and it quite possibly endangered him. How stupid of him to do that. It only gave the Second Alliance a reason to kill them. Xavier would never let the location of the letter be known to anyone else but Sam or Matt. No one else would ever know.

“Where’s Sam?” Nothing to lose.

“Son, I’m not foolin’ with that. Just get me my damned letter.”

“I can’t do that unless I know Sam’s okay?”

“Don’t quite know who that is or why I should be carin’.”

“What do you mean? Rupert said you had an entire conversation about him. He told me you worked out a deal with him, so he could talk to Sam when he’s better.”

“So ya did talk with Rupert?”

“I—I only…” Xavier paused, completely caught off guard. “Only briefly before I walked into town.”

“He came runnin’ to me with some sorta news. Said I’d be interested in what he wanted to say. Wasn’t much to get him to talk. Just a new job.”

A huge lump squeezed through Xavier’s throat. Rupert, that snake! It wasn’t Grant at all.

“Seems like ya had big plans, but all ya managed to do was light a match. Only managed to burn yourself. No kindlin’. Nothin’ else. Could’ve been a big fire, maybe. Sorry I’m gonna have to stomp it out.” Haverty began to pace the room, walking in and out of view as Xavier remained facing forward. “This world needs the S.A. We got more to offer than you do. Hard to get people to see beyond that. Folks want it easier, not harder. Sure we do things a bit different, but it ain’t bad. Never bad. Just depends on your taste.” Haverty rubbed his chin, continuing to pace. “It’s been a struggle puttin’ it all together. Certainly ain’t gonna let no one tear it down, especially no one from the inside. We’re gonna have to put ya away, son. Hold ya for a bit until ya come ‘round.”

Xavier struggled to contain the cries that wanted to break free. His eyes turned to glass then cracked—a single fragment trickled down his cheek. Immediately, he wiped it. No matter what he wouldn’t let his cries go. There would be no sympathy from this man. It would only let Haverty revel in this victory. Xavier’s breath fluttered for a moment, giving his back a quick jerk.

“Let it go, son.”

Xavier said nothing.

“Feelin’ sorry for yourself?”

Still nothing.

“Feelin’ like a martyr are ya?” He laughed. “You ain’t done nothin’ to be thinkin’ like that.” Haverty stopped behind him and rested his hands upon Xavier’s shoulders. His skin crawled from the touch. He tried to pull away but couldn’t. “I don’t get you, son. You could’ve had everything you wanted. Would’ve been a fine surprise for ya at the capital. But…you ain’t ever gonna know it now. Unless…”

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.

“Why do you do this? What do you people want from us?”

“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 given 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.

Xavier untied his boots and set those, along with his socks, aside. His sweaty feet now rested on the coolness of the tile floor. He leaned forward on the edge of the cot. “Sam?” A forced whisper. “You there?”

Alone, just alone. He sighed and lay back down.

“Can you see it?”

“Yeah, it’s our school, Dad.”

“That’s not what I mean. You two, close your eyes. This is where we start over. Right here. We’ll start recruiting people and turn this into a town. We’ve come across decent people that are looking for something to help them, protect them. A city wall. We’ll start a farm right here. We can filter the river water. I can see it.”

“What if no one comes?”

“That won’t be the issue. People will come here, and we’ll find them along the way. Everyone’s going to want an easier life, and we’ll build it together. People can join in as long as they’re willing to help. It’ll be done the right way. It’s not going to be easy at first. It’s going to be a lot of hard work.”

“I don’t know, Dad.”

“Matt, what do you think?”

“We’ll get it done.”

“See, Xavier, we can do this. First things first, we’ll have to get into the school.”

“Dad?”

“Come on now, with all the stuff we’ve had to do. Every crazy thing done to us. This isn’t one of the things we’ve talked about. No one is coming back for this school. When we talked about the rules, I meant natural right and wrong.”

“Mr. Finch?”

“I just mean the basics. No stealing, no killing, the basics. Think along those lines. We still have to do things the right way. We can’t abandon our principles.”

“What happens if someone is there?”

“If someone’s there, we’ll figure out how to get them on our side. We’ll talk to them. Explain our plan and hope they agree.”

“And if they don’t like it?”

“We’ll move on.”

“Where do we start?”

“We’ll cut through the woods to the back. It’s going to have to be a secret for now. It can’t be obvious what we’re doing yet.”

“Okay.”

“Okay.”

“We start gathering. Everything.”

He opened his eyes, not knowing how much time had passed—still surrounded by the void, completely absent of light. There was no way to tell. Even time spent awake could have been sleep for all he knew. He rustled about the cot, trying to get comfortable, but an overpowering smell of stewed corn made him realize how hungry he was. It was close by. Dinner? Lunch? Carefully, he poked around the floor searching for the source. The clanging of a spoon against the tile. It disappeared. He lifted the bowl to his lips and began to drink. It was cold. Probably there an hour or longer, but it still satisfied his ache even though it wasn’t a lot. He finished and slid the bowl underneath his cot.

The white bucket called to Xavier. He grabbed it from the foot of the cot and relieved himself, adding to the stench of urine within the enclosure. He held off on relieving himself completely, saving his bowels for another time, knowing that eventually he would have to give in. Once he was acclimated to the smell, it might not be so bad.

The pillow cradled his head once more. His pulling rattled the handcuff—secured—still without any give. Xavier’s eyes moved about the endless space around him. The whistling noise had stopped. A leaking faucet filled the void—a distinct smacking noise as each drop collided with the porcelain of the sink. He tried to filter the dripping from his mind. Where’s the breathing? He couldn’t see. There was no way to tell.

“Sam?”

Nothing.

“Sam!”

Nothing again.

“Help! I think he’s dead! Help!” The shouting bounced around the tiled chamber. It was unknown if the words made it to the gymnasium above them or not. He continued shouting. If Sam hadn’t died, it may still have been possible to save him. The metal handcuff scraped along the railing of the cot as Xavier moved to the corner, reaching, stretching as far as he could. His hand grasped for anything material, nothing but the emptiness around him. Finally, he felt it—the metal rail of Sam’s cot. He shook hard, but nothing. No response, not even a startle. “Hey! Wake up! Wake up!”

“What the hell’s going on down there?” A voice demanded.

“Hurry! I think he’s dead!”

Footsteps scurried across the floor. A light accompanied the Guard into the shower room. “Whoa!” The Guard startled at the sight of Sam, the lantern swung as he stopped.

Xavier turned his head away from the light. It was too much all at once. When he could see again, he looked back, his eyes following the trail of red. The gauze had been soaked through—the cot too, and now, blood dripped to the floor, running between the porcelain tiles toward the drain in the center of the room. The Guard placed two fingers on Sam’s neck. His shoulders dropped, and he turned from the body.

“Just you now.”

The Guard gathered the bandages, clothing, and towels from the floor and placed them in Sam’s waste bucket. All the light escaped the room, the bucket’s handle clanking with every step away from the showers.

Xavier now knew. There was no going back. This was the future. Every man, woman and child—the entire town—soaked in blood. No one would be safe. Squads of Second Alliance Guards lining the halls of River’s Edge striking anyone who deviated from the cadence. Citizens, with their arms and legs broken, struggling to maneuver the winding halls of the school. All the mouths of the dissenters sewn shut. Their tongues nailed to their foreheads. All of them stripped of clothing, humiliated, their bodies gaunt and wanting for nourishment. Everyone chained and bound together in a forced march to the capital—treasonous prisoners of a non-existent war.

The Guard returned shortly with another. The two of them spread a tarp across the floor and set the body onto it. They wrapped him. One of them turned to Xavier. “Did ya know him?”

“Every one of us knows each other, cares for one another.”

“Do ya want to say something before we go?”

“What will be done with him?”

“Burnt, more than likely. If you want to say somethi—”

“You guys killed him. Every one of you.”

Xavier lay back down, covering his face, softly sobbing, not just for Sam, but everyone else—River’s Edge. It’s over. Sam was dead. Xavier was simply waiting his turn. There would be no stopping the Second Alliance. Was there anyone that actually wanted to? Even Xavier’s faith in Matt was merely a glimmer. His passive reaction to Sam being struck—telling Xavier to let it go—that there was nothing that could be done.

Xavier now almost regretted writing the note and leaving it for him. Matt wouldn’t do the right thing. He was like everyone else. Fall into line and shut up. Nothing to see here. Move along. The vision his father had set forth was now gone. Abandoned by Grant. Destroyed with Sam. Rotting away with Xavier.

Chapter Eleven

It had been six meals, more than likely three days since he first lay on that cot. It was impossible to know for sure. The hunger between each bowl of soup seemed to suggest it was much longer. Those hours stretched, distorting any sense of reality that he hung on to as he remained there without conversation.

Xavier curled into a position he discovered was the most comfortable available to him on a stiff canvas cot with one hand locked in place. His wrist felt numb—his limbs rigid, unused, useless to any other task beyond sleeping.

He now understood why Grant had appeared as he did when he emerged from this tomb. His twisted clothing. The dribbles of food. And that was only one day of living in this absolute darkness. Xavier could only imagine his own appearance—one of dirt and filth.

He could feel his hair matted to his forehead from sweat and the inability to clean himself. Stripped down to his underwear from his own doing. The clothing ripped into tattered strips using the head of a screw on the cot. He wiped himself like he had before in that house on his old street. The waste and makeshift bathroom tissue filled the bucket, filling the room with a fetor that Xavier now felt as a film covering his skin.

He slipped in and out of sleep—only meals and the use of the bucket interrupted his dreaming. It was difficult to maintain whether his eyes were opened or closed. It truly didn’t matter, being unable to tell the difference would never stand in the way of sleep. His body now craved it. The darkness, the ennui of nothingness made it that way. With nothing to stimulate himself, it was a matter of survival to simply sleep through this ordeal before his mind deteriorated from the isolation.

With the body gone, it was just Xavier in the room. Sam was never truly present—only his breathing from a comatose state—only the extra stench of blood and waste. But it was still company. Company that Xavier sorely missed. A reminder, a glimmer of hope that he hadn’t made this choice for nothing. That Sam would pull through. That the eventual leader of the revolution would rise up.

Now, the only hope was soon something, anything would change Haverty’s mind. Xavier had proposed a meeting with Haverty several meals ago, but nothing ever came to fruition. Perhaps something was said during Grant’s second interrogation that made Haverty reconsider Xavier’s worth. Realizing now if the letter was hidden, then no one would find it. Realizing the letter was no threat at all to stability. Haverty thought by eliminating Xavier that the letter went with him.

Grant had not returned, but the thought of his condition remained with Xavier. Is Grant dead? Xavier’s anger had subsided. Grant was a good man. He had cared for Xavier as his own child, pushing him to be his best. I should have stayed with him.

Now seeing what Grant had certainly known from the beginning, Xavier understood why he thought it best to choose that path. He was now free while Xavier was not. Grant recognized the situation, understanding that the Second Alliance was a giant, and feeble chops to its knees would not bring the beast down. River’s Edge was going to be a slight hiccup in their plan or an easy assimilation. Grant made it obvious that assimilation made the most sense, and now Xavier regretted not seeing it.

A scuffle, quick footsteps and thuds against the wall—a bark of orders and expletives just as Xavier was about to doze off again. He lay still, not moving even slightly, he peeked through his eyelashes, waiting for whoever shuffled his way.

A muffled scream of pain bounced along the tiled walls. A hard-hitting crack in response. More screaming. The sterile light, beyond any natural white existing in nature, crept around the corner. It moved across the wall, sporadic, highlighting the locker room in a panicked manner. Low grunts. Thuds. A stifled murmur. Xavier didn’t move. His heart beat faster. He attempted to hide his quickened breaths, tightening his core, restricting it just enough so it appeared normal. The light continued to grow. His eyes shuddered.

A prisoner stumbled forward, pushed from behind—his bucket tumbling across the porcelain floor. His head moved frantically around the room, lost, unable to see through the black hood that hid his face. A man? Maybe a teenager. His build very similar to Xavier’s own.

The prisoner turned to leave, his body jolted, recoiling from the broad chest of the Guard that brought him—another one standing just outside the threshold. The hood was pulled from over his face. Brown hair, the dirt bunching it into short locks. He was easily, fifteen or sixteen years old. Xavier peeked again through his lashes. Who in the world is that? Blood ran from his lip. A bruised cheek. His eyes wide with panic. A cloth gag in his mouth prevented him from saying anything intelligible. He made another attempt to leave. Useless.

“Sit!” The Guard ordered and pressed him down onto Sam’s cot still stained with blood.

The prisoner mumbled, panicked, shaking his head in absolute protest to being forced into what was obviously someone’s death. Murder perhaps, from what he could figure. A swift kick to the inside of the knee and one of the Guards buckled to the floor, signaling the other to step in. The much bigger companion lifted the prisoner by the front of his shirt and pinned him to the wall.

“Stop!”

Xavier was sitting up by this point. There was no sense in acting as if he would be able to sleep through the commotion. The prisoner’s eyes met Xavier’s as he hung there, perched above the cot, begging for answers—for help. Xavier tugged at the handcuff in response. What does he expect?

One could see the disappointment flood the prisoner’s face. He threw his elbow several times into the Guard’s grip, finally breaking free but falling onto the cot. A harsh grunt. The metal rail against his back. Both Guards grabbed the desperate prisoner—one by the arms, the other by his feet. Taken to the opposite side, the prisoner continued fighting, flailing about, screaming—their shadows crawling like frenetic spiders across the walls. Xavier could do nothing but watch as the Guards attempted to handcuff him to the cot. The scuffle ended with the Guards standing over the prisoner now in full compliance—fully secured.

“Decent fight, kiddo. Damn shame it’s over.”

One of the Guards winked at the prisoner and took out a knife while smiling, sliding it between the gag and the prisoner’s skin. The cheek creased as the blade turned toward the fabric. It tore and was spit to the ground. The prisoner gave the Guards an exaggerated, menacing grin, pulling at his handcuff as if to strike them again. He began laughing and grabbed for the Guard’s shirt, but was promptly swiped away.

“You two get along now.”

The lantern was lifted from the floor and carried off—full darkness once again. All Xavier heard was panting and anxious movements coming from the prisoner’s cot. Grunts, clanging, scoffs of anger. The excitement was over and Xavier resigned himself back to his situation. He had already gone through the motion of trying. He considered telling the prisoner there was no use, but figured it would at least pass some time for both of them.

Who is that guy? Xavier had never seen him. Not even a vague familiarity that ate at an individual as they tried to place them in their memory. Even with the Second Alliance moving in new troops, he felt as though he had seen most everyone in the town, but he couldn’t be certain. It was possible this was a trap. Someone sent in to gain his trust. Someone to pry out the location of the letter. Maybe Haverty hadn’t given up on it. Xavier couldn’t be entirely certain.

The metal creaked as the prisoner leaned back into his cot. “So what you in for?” he asked.

“A misunderstanding. What about you?”

“Same I guess, if we’re both being careful about what we say.”

A measured response followed by silence. He too could be thinking the same thing as Xavier. Who could blame him? There was no telling what he was in for either. The same kind of charge of conspiracy against the Second Alliance. It would be the perfect plan to pose an interrogator as another prisoner. Someone to confide in. Someone who would understand.

“Feeding you?”

“Yeah,” Xavier said. “Barely, but yeah.”

The mere mention of food was enough to make Xavier’s stomach begin churning. A diet of soup simply wasn’t cutting it. He wanted more—needed more. Through that short scuffle, the light had revealed his physical state. Knowing he had lost weight, but unaware to what extent, the glimpse left him without question. His ribs appeared ready to snap from the tautness of his skin. Hip bones, pointed and peeking above the waistline of his loose underwear. He was nothing but a wireframe.

“What they got?”

“Mostly soup.”

“How long until next meal?” he begged. His voice was eager as if he had been starved up to this point, although he appeared to be in relatively good shape other than the few minor injuries.

“I don’t know. Before I was in here, the town switched to two meals a day, so I think that’s what’s going on, but I’m not really sure. You’ll lose track of time in here, but I’ve been trying to keep count of my meals.”

“How many you had?”

“Six, I think.”

“Maybe three or four days here?”

“Seems so, but like I said, I’m not really sure. I can’t be positive.” Xavier thought backwards, confirming for his own sake. “They’ve taken some of my bowls, but three or four days seems right.”

“Seem to be taking good care of you.” A slight hint of mistrust in his voice. “Barely a scratch on you as far as I could tell.”

The comment gave him pause. Why had they been so rough with this prisoner but given him a pass? Not even a scratch. The only physical confrontation was Haverty searching his belongings. And that was certainly nothing in comparison to this guy’s bloody lip and bruises.

“I didn’t fight back.” That’s the reason. You battled back and probably have been since you were first taken. “There’s no point in it. These people are monsters. I don’t stand a chance alone. No point in making it harder on myself.”

“How’s that?” The prisoner laughed through the question. “Got nothing to lose at this point. What’s wrong with you?”

“I’m going to find a way through this,” Xavier’s tone wavered, uncertainty plaguing the belief that his statement was true. The isolation wore on his spirit. He tried to hide it. “This isn’t the end for me.”

“That blood on the cot. A friend of yours?”

Xavier didn’t reply—he understood the point of the statement.

“I figured as much. Guessing this is where they bring people to die. This is the end. Delusional if you think otherwise.”

“Maybe for you,” Xavier said, “but I still have something they want.” A confidence began to build within him. This guy doesn’t know what he’s talking about. He’s clearly expendable being beaten up like that. The S.A. doesn’t need him. I still have what they want. That letter is what kept him alive. Kept him from the same fate as this stranger. “I have something they don’t want to get out. It could shatter the whole game they’ve been playing. They like to make you think they’re here to help, but it’s a joke.”

“Oh, yeah?” the prisoner asked. “Here to help?” Xavier had heard that tone before. The words matched with a pair of rolling eyes. “Been nothing but horrible. Not an ounce of good in them. They don’t care what you got.”

“You haven’t seen the act then. When they come to your group, they play nice, but they don’t mean it. They’re going to take you over by force, but they hide it. They make you think you need them. Then they just walk in.” Xavier took a deep breath. “Is that not what they did to your group?”

“Never seen these people before. Don’t know anything about them.”

“How can that be? Aren’t they all over the place?”

“Not where I’m from.”

“Seriously, who are you? You said it yourself that you have nothing to lose. I’ve told you a lot. A lot more than I probably should have.”

The prisoner descended into a silence that grew from seconds into minutes. What was this guy hiding? He already said he had nothing to lose. Out with it! “Whenever you’re ready.”

“I’m tired.”

“Whatever.” Xavier gave up. It’s been a long day for him. I’ll let him sleep for now, but later, he has some questions to answer. Xavier’s head hit the pillow, and he closed his eyes.

“Something doesn’t feel right about them.”

“What do you think they want, Dad?”

“I’m not really sure yet. It’s hard to know. There’s a difference in what people say and what they mean.”

“What are they saying?”

“I can’t tell you everything, but mostly they’re offering protection for food and supplies. And, they want to station some of their men here to use the school as an outpost.”

“That sounds like a pretty good deal, right?”

“Sounds good, yeah, but you just never know.”

“What do you mean?”

“Have you ever heard of the Trojan War?”

“The Trojan Horse thing?”

“Yeah, do you know the story?”

“Not really.”

“It’s a tale from Greek Mythology. There was a battle between the Greeks and Trojans. They were at a standstill. The Greeks wanted the city of Troy, but the Trojans wouldn’t give up. So the Greeks came up with a way to trick the Trojans into letting them in.

“The Greeks constructed a large wooden horse to give to them as a gift—something to show them they wanted peace. The Trojans accepted the gift, but things aren’t always as they seem. The humongous wooden horse was filled with Greek soldiers who snuck out that night and quickly took control of the city walls. They let the remainder of the army in, ultimately, taking over the city.”

“So they’re the Greeks?”

“Maybe.”

“You don’t trust them, huh?”

“I’m not sure yet. I need more information. We’ve built a great thing here, and people have come to take it before. No one has succeeded. The great thing about defending is that you only have to hold your ground. You don’t have to conquer. I fear that this group is the conquering type. I feel like they want peace, but only on their terms. If you won’t give that to them, then they’ll take the peace.”

“They haven’t attacked us yet. Maybe they just want peace. No fake gifts. Just cooperation.”

“I don’t know, Xavier. I just don’t know.”

Xavier opened his eyes. Dad knew. He just knew. He’s always right. Dad… You have to make it back. We need you. I need you.

He pressed his chest against the edge of the cot and patted along the floor searching for food. Not asleep long enough for a meal. Slowly, he shifted to the foot of his cot—half asleep—the handcuff scraping along the frame as he reached for the bucket.

“Awake? Good.” An eagerness in the prisoner’s voice. The silence may have already begun to wear down his nerves.

The bucket began to fill. “Did you sleep at all?”

“Maybe a little bit. Weren’t kidding about this place. Really lose yourself in the dark here.”

“How long was I out?” Xavier asked, as he finished with the bucket and pushed it from his cot.

“Wouldn’t guess too long after me. Guards woke me up. Two of them came through and went out a door down here. Didn’t come back.”

“Did they say anything? Leave anything?”

“Weren’t down here for us. Whispered back and forth, but couldn’t tell what they were saying. All I could make out was a loud choking noise.” The prisoner imitated the Guard, forcing out a disgusting rasp that caused Xavier to cringe. “Then the other one laughed all loud, and they walked out.”

Xavier rubbed along his jaw. There was nothing to say. The reality of his demise was beginning to take focus. There would be no denying it any longer. The picture was becoming clear—two prisoners awaiting their deaths, talked about by others as if they were already gone. This was the end.

“We’re going to die aren’t we?” Tears formed in the corners of Xavier’s eye. He wiped them with his fingers, but more began to pool. A silent cry.

“Your friend, what’d he think while he was down here? He know?”

“He never saw it coming. Sam was unconscious when he died.”

“Sam…” The prisoner’s voice trailed off as if he were thinking of someone he knew.

“He didn’t even know he was down here,” Xavier said. “Probably never had another thought after he was hit. Killed for no reason.” Xavier ran a hand through his hair, grabbing hold of a bit before letting go. “He was a good guy. He did a lot around here. Him and Grant were unstoppable.”

“Name’s David.” No hesitation in the prisoner’s voice. Xavier almost startled by the statement. It came from nowhere. “Figure since we’re both about to go we may as well know each other, right?”

Xavier couldn’t argue with the well-placed point. “Xavier. I work maintenance here.” He scoffed and corrected himself, “I did maintenance here.”

“Was a scavenger with a group in the Nor—” David coughed. “Was a scavenger.”

“Where?”

“Sorry.” Obviously, he was upset with himself for even coming that close to letting it go. “Can’t say.”

“Who would I tell?”

Xavier closed his eyes, dumbfounded that he had actually uttered those words—foolish. Of course something like that could be used as a way out. A simple way to avoid what seemed to be the inevitable. It had been done to him. Rupert used knowledge of the letter to help his own situation. Why would Xavier not do the same?

David was right to be careful. Neither of them owed the other a thing. No trust. No goodwill built between the two. If his group was worth taking, if what they had built was valuable, then the Second Alliance would be on their doorstep in an instant. He was right to protect it. David’s loyalty was refreshing.

“Can’t let you know that. Even if I did fully trust you, I couldn’t. Can’t have them coming after my friends… my family.”

“You still have family…” Xavier said under his breath, “they must be worried sick.” My dad has no idea what’s happening.

The thought of his dad returning empty-handed, unable to find his wife, and then finding out about his son—it would crush him. The guilt he would feel. I begged for him to let me come. Too dangerous? Now look at me.

“I get it,” Xavier said. “I wish I’d been more careful with information.”

“What you mean?”

“I…” Xavier started. What could it hurt to let him know?

Xavier could let him know the circumstances of his own imprisonment. If David was with the Second Alliance, he already knew the details. There was nothing new he would share with this acquaintance cellmate. Only the location of the letter mattered anymore, and he wouldn’t let that go—not for anything. Haverty would have made peace with Xavier by now if it was coming at all.

“I found a letter that shows what they do to people. It told everything. Showed they killed our people. That they manipulated us. They wanted us to agree to have them here—to have them protect us. But we didn’t know it was them that we needed protection from.

“I hid the letter and told another guy about it. I thought he’d help me because of what they did to Sam.”

“Sam’s the guy over there?”

“Yeah,” Xavier continued. “The other guy turned me in. That’s why I’m here. I hate these people. Before any of this happened, my dad knew there was more to them—more to what they wanted. And with the letter, everyone can know. That’s what they’re afraid of. They don’t want it to get out. But… I wouldn’t give it to them. I’ll never let them know.”

“What good is the letter if it’s hiding?”

“I’m hoping someone will find it and take up the cause.”

“How they going to do that?”

Xavier shrugged his shoulders out of habit. The darkness concealed it. Even his smile went unnoticed as he thought of Matt and Jenny. “Someone will if they really want to.”

“Take some luck, don’t you think?” David asked.

Luck… “You really believe in that? Even as we sit down here waiting to die?”

“World can be strange like that. Luck’s the only explanation I have for when things turn out crazy. Bad or good, it’s there.”

“A friend of mine talks like that. I’ve never really thought much of it,” Xavier said.

“Say luck hit and got you out of this. What would you do?”

“Find my parents,” Xavier said it without hesitation. The thought of them gave instant comfort. He sighed. “Just my parents. My dad would know what to do. He always does.”

A long silence came from the other side of the room. Xavier let it happen, allowing David to reflect on his own situation. There was nothing to do but reflect. Think of what could have been done differently. A curse of time—the constant reflection of where you went wrong—sometimes foolishly imagining the world on a separate timeline where nothing bad happened. So many forks in the road. How many times had Xavier taken the wrong way? Could he even pinpoint one particular decision or action that cuffed him to this cot? Life was just one large chain reaction. No one’s fault. Life was just that way.

David broke the silence, “We get out of here, you can come with me. Take you home, then we find your parents.”

“I appreciate that, but I have no idea where they are or if they’re even alive anymore.” Xavier lowered his head. “We were talking about luck. Not much of a real chance I find them or that we get out of here. All I can hope is that someone, someday, will figure this out and crush the Second Alliance.”

“Second Alliance?”

“That’s what they call themselves.”

“Why?”

“I have no idea.”

“You think they’ll find my people.”

“It’s possible,” Xavier said, “if they keep pushing further out like this, I would think so.”

The back door from the basement opened. Quick footsteps. Several sets. “Time’s up!” The words were loud and harsh. The light blinded Xavier as he blinked rapidly through the chaos. Four Guards or so it seemed. A tangle of arms, hands—each worked frantically to uncuff the two but maintain control of them to prevent any escape.

Xavier looked to David, expressions of horror flashing through the melee as David fought back, screaming, “Fight! Fight! Fi—” A hand. He bit down upon it, and the Guard screamed in response. “Fight!”

Xavier reared his head back and drove it forward into a Guard’s face. The nose exploded with redness as Xavier’s forehead smashed through it. The Guard howled with pain, falling forward onto the cot. The weight of Xavier and the Guard broke it free from the wall.

Xavier tried to get up but was still secured to the cot which lay under the injured Guard. He pushed at him—an exercise in futility—the man simply weighed too much. Another Guard moved over him, pinning him to the ground. All Xavier could do was work his head from side to side yelling obscenities at the Guards, cheering David on.

The Guard’s stance slipped, and Xavier saw the opportunity. His foot met squarely with the crotch of the man standing over him. He too filled the room with shouts of pain, falling over to his side, struggling to compose himself. “Get them!” Xavier screamed. David was still fighting with one of them. The other turned to Xavier and struck him in the head—his body went limp.

“It’s time Xavier. I’ve arranged for you to work with Grant. He’s a good man. He’ll keep watch over you and make sure you learn a good trade.”

“I barely know him.”

“It’ll be fine. Just listen to him. He won’t lead you astray.”

“Let me come with you, that way we know I’ll be fine. And that way, I can help you find her.”

“You’ll be safe here. Just trust me. Outside the walls is too dangerous.”

“If it’s so dangerous, then having me with you only makes it safer.”

“I couldn’t deal with something happening to you. I’d be without you and your mother then. I can’t have that. You’ll be safer here.”

“But if something happens to you, then I’ll be without both of you. There’s nothing you can say that will change how I feel.”

“Xavier, damn it, this isn’t something I want to do without you. It just has to be this way. I’m not risking you too. I’ll be back. It won’t take long.”

“How can you say that? We don’t even know where she is.”

“I know where to start, and from there… I’ll find her and bring her back.”

“You know that sounds crazy.”

“Xavier, stop. I need you to keep a watch over River’s Edge for me. With you around, people will remember me and what I made this place to be. It won’t escape them. It’s your duty to keep people to their promises. Remind people that we built this place to be greater than what exists outside of it. You understand?”

“Dad. I need to—”

“Do you understand?”

“Yes.”

“Then make sure it’s done. Don’t let anyone forget their promise.”

“Okay.”

“Mind Grant too. He’ll teach you a lot. Maybe you’ll be able to teach me a thing or two when I get back.”

“You won’t be gone long enough, right?”

“Yeah. Right.”

“I love you, Dad.”

“I love you.”

Xavier woke in a daze, his head throbbing—the blurred lines of his surroundings began to sharpen. As he came to, one of the Guards noticed and shifted his attention back to him.

All he could do was watch as the Guard crept forward. He pulled weakly at the cuff. Damn! Still stunned while lying against the broken cot, he could do nothing but submit. He could offer no defense. Xavier looked on as David was carried out, a hood wrapped around his face. “David! No! Please, no!” Xavier tried to stand but couldn’t. His head wobbled, but a firm hand steadied it. He felt the cloth in between his teeth, and the light became dull, filtered by a black hood. The shrieks of both prisoners vanished, replaced by muted cries.

Close

Despite the noose closed around his neck, the young man fought, twisting his legs, begging for freedom through muffled cries—excited words from beneath the black hood.

“We’ll let you go soon enough.” The Guard smiled. “No need to hurry, kid.”

He continued to struggle, causing the scaffolding to jolt forward beneath their feet. One of the Guards stumbled, his elbow dropped, allowing the prisoner to take this moment to wiggle an arm free. He fell to the decking—the rope snatched his head backward. His body convulsed through a coughing fit, only relieved by the Guard scooping him back up and into position.

“Can’t wait, huh?”

They tightened their grip as dulled screams escaped from inside the hood.

“Xavier Finch!” The crowd turned toward a man that appeared behind them. “You have been sentenced to death for the crime of treason. The evidence presented was noted during a private trial. The witness statements presented alongside the physical evidence were overwhelmingly substantiated in your guilty finding. May your death prove as a warning to others who may stray from the cause. Our mission is strong and righteous, and those who wish it harm will perish as well.” The man nodded as he finished.

“So long, kid.” The Guards swung the boy forward.

A collective gasp let out from the deflated crowd as he swung forward. The length of the rope jerked him just above the ground. The taut recoil brought him back and forth as he flailed about trying to catch upon anything. He struggled, fought what little more that he could.

A few pushed through the crowd. Several pled to have him cut down, but it was too late. The air had escaped him, and his body came to rest, swaying slightly beneath the tiers of the scaffolding.

The crowd’s cries for true justice were silenced by the firing of a rifle. That single shot—the hushing of anger, hostility, and dissent. They lowered their eyes. For everyone that stood in the courtyard now knew that the agreement was broken. That their world was something different. Peace had come at a cost.

• • •

“Haverty, sir, we searched the entire school and the grounds.”

“And?”

“Nothing. We did another head count just to be sure.”

“And?”

“They’re all still missing—a Matthew Swanson, Jenny Fischer, and Marshall Grant. They were last seen at dinner, but nothing since dusk.”

“How’d they get out?”

“It appears they snuck out through the back. Guards found some footprints leading through the mud toward the river. We think they snuck under the wall.”

“How’d y’all let them get away with that?”

“It looks like they were digging for quite some time.”

“And nobody saw them?”

“I’ll figure out what went wrong.”

“At least tell me Thomas went after them.”

“His crew is on it.”

“I want them found. Don’t care if it’s alive or not!”

“Yes, sir.”

Thank you

Thank you for reading Days Since… Xavier: Day 853. I sincerely hope that you enjoyed the story and will keep an eye out for Days Since… Jenny: Day 986

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Copyright

Copyright © 2018 by Power Shift Publishing, LLC.

ISBN-13: 978-1987527056

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means—except in the case of brief quotations embodied in articles or reviews—without written permission from the author.

The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental and not intended by the author.

I have used the city of Cincinnati as the location for this series. Please understand that this book is fiction, and I have bent the settings of certain areas to fit in with what the story needs. The Cincinnati in this book is not completely accurate.

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Content

Robert Wilson
DAYS SINCE…
XAVIER: DAY 853

Prologue

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Close

Thank you

Copyright