Days Since...: Xavier: Day 853

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.