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

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.