How many are being held down here? At least two. Haverty still wants Grant, so he has to be one of them. The other’s Sam? Has to be. They must have been caring for him down here. The one that can still walk… Xavier waited anxiously.
“Not a word to the other prisoner.”
Xavier nodded.
Grant emerged from the open doorway, a Guard directly behind him. Grant carried a foul smelling bucket in his hand. His clothing disheveled and twisted. One of his shoes untied. Stains of food running down his front. He gave the impression that he’d been up for days. His head was down and remained that way as he passed by Xavier.
“I found a letter.” The remark rushed from Xavier’s lips before he was abruptly knocked back, his body cradled by the slack in the fence as his fingers caught the chain link, preventing a complete fall to the ground.
Grant peered over to him from the corner of his eye and gave a reassuring smile. Xavier’s Guard took Grant by the back of his shirt and began pulling him along. Xavier watched as their silhouettes disappeared into the gray of the basement. Good-bye…
“Grab a bucket,” the Guard barked while securing the gate.
Xavier did as he was told, grabbing a large, white bucket. He looked to the Guard for further instruction and was shown a sausage-like finger pointed toward the door. “Let’s go.” The Guard swung the door inward and immediately lifted a solar-powered lantern hanging on the door. He clicked it on—the sterile light punished the eyes.
“In there.” The fat finger pointed again.
He looked in the mirrors, disappearing in the gaps between each one as he made his way to the showers. Underneath each sprayer, cots lined the white-tiled walls. A bucket at the foot of all of them but one. The Guard stepped in first, fully illuminating the small room. Xavier followed.
A body. The head wrapped in gauze, a redness absorbed within the cloth. “Sam!” It was him, unconscious, but breathing. The man was broken, stripped down, covered in a thin blanket. Bloodied towels and soiled clothing strewn about the floor beneath the cot his body rested upon. His left hand cuffed to the frame, not that he was in any condition to leave. A faint whistling noise filled the air, projected from his twisted nose as he wheezed.
Xavier tiptoed around a few empty bowls and crusted spoons then slumped onto the cot nearest to Sam. The Guard followed and handcuffed him to the metal frame of his cot. Xavier tugged, but it was no use. Damn. He leaned back against the wall. Sam. Be strong. I’m here. We’re on the same team. We’ll get through this, man.
All Xavier could do was sit and stare while he had the light nearby. The Guard checked on Sam, took the gauze from his head, and pitched it to the floor. Taking a sponge from another bucket, he wet Sam’s head, rinsing the blood away. Sam has no idea what’s going on. The Guard finished wrapping his head with fresh gauze and stood.
“Just sit there and shut up.”
“How long wi—” The Guard snatched Xavier’s jaw with his hand, squeezing his cheeks tightly inward.
“Don’t!” the Guard said. “Not again.” He took his hand from Xavier’s mouth and left.
Xavier threw his head back against the stiff pillow on the cot. So, this is it. Shifting to his side, he just waited in the darkness.
The revolution might rest completely with Matt and Jenny now. Xavier had bet on the wrong people, foolishly sharing far too much information with Rupert. It didn’t take him long to switch from dissenter to supporter. Absolute snake. Haverty was right. People do just want it easy. Any sense of normalcy like before and people couldn’t help themselves. Maybe everyone really did know about the Second Alliance but simply didn’t care.
It’s possible morality shifted. Faith was tarnished, almost obsolete. Xavier questioned God’s benevolence—his intentions for creating a disease so catastrophic. Almawt damaged even the most devout. People felt betrayed. Within the walls of River’s Edge, the word God had almost become unspoken. People were now focused on survival—the immediate payoff. With that to guide them, what could one expect? Not even man’s laws with tangible punishment were around to stifle man’s evilness—to help guide morality.
Maybe it was gone. Maybe morality no longer existed, and it truly was survival of the fittest. Do what you will to ensure you and yours live—that your way of life moves forward by whatever means and sort out morality later. Fear and violence were far greater motivators at the moment. Maybe the Second Alliance had it right. Maybe the world needed this—needed them. Someone to do the dirty work, to save humanity, and decide right and wrong at a more convenient time.
Xavier lay there, a sliver of light snuck past the corner from where the Guard sat. It lay just across Sam’s body,--still, except for the rise and fall of his chest. He watched it, counting each of his breaths to pass the time. It was silent, except for that low whistling. He was hoping that at any given moment Sam would stand up, rip the wrap from his head, and speak. Let Xavier know that he wasn’t wrong. That this world is still worth fighting for and will be fought for. But for now, all Sam could do was lay there and breathe.
342, 343… The breaths fluctuated between labored and ease. He stopped counting, taking his mind from Sam’s struggling condition. Xavier began to slide the handcuff up and down the length of the cot. A shrill scraping of metal.
“Stop!” the Guard shouted. “Relax! Go to sleep. Talk to that guy if you want. I don’t care. Just stop acting like that.”
“How long? How long will I be here?” Xavier pleaded.
“Not up to me.”
“What’s your name?”
No answer.
“Sir, come on please.” Xavier’s voice cracked. “Just talk to me.”
I can’t do this. The palms of his hands covering his face muted the sound of his sobbing. He shook in silence. The frustration built. The restraint. The darkness. The stench of stale urine and excrement. The metallic odor of blood. He yelled out fiercely while yanking at the handcuff, tears running down his face. The effort was useless. The laughter from the other room confirmed his futility.
“Sir! Please!”
No answer.
The light swung wide across the tile wall and then disappeared. Footsteps clicked across the floor and faded to nothing. Black, completely. Just that low whistling to let him know he wasn’t alone. Xavier screamed again—something horrific as if his very life was being ripped from his body. Uncontrollable crying, spasms, he tried to stand, but couldn’t. The cot was secured to the wall.
“Come back!”
His yelling continued. He folded his hand over, trying to pull it free—too tight. The rigid metal held him in place. He continued to pull and tug, wriggling his hand. Still no use. Long breaths in and out, simply to calm himself. What now? Do I just sleep the rest of my life. He threw himself back onto the rigid canvas of his cot—isolated—stuck in a room with a breathing corpse covered in its personal filth.
Xavier untied his boots and set those, along with his socks, aside. His sweaty feet now rested on the coolness of the tile floor. He leaned forward on the edge of the cot. “Sam?” A forced whisper. “You there?”
Alone, just alone. He sighed and lay back down.
“Can you see it?”
“Yeah, it’s our school, Dad.”
“That’s not what I mean. You two, close your eyes. This is where we start over. Right here. We’ll start recruiting people and turn this into a town. We’ve come across decent people that are looking for something to help them, protect them. A city wall. We’ll start a farm right here. We can filter the river water. I can see it.”
“What if no one comes?”
“That won’t be the issue. People will come here, and we’ll find them along the way. Everyone’s going to want an easier life, and we’ll build it together. People can join in as long as they’re willing to help. It’ll be done the right way. It’s not going to be easy at first. It’s going to be a lot of hard work.”