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

“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.