“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.