Роберт Уилсон - Days Since... - Xavier - Day 853

“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.