As he approached the supply office, he could hear the usual crowd of about fifteen people waiting out front for the assorted items needed to start their day. It appeared to be business as usual, but as he made his way to the fringe of the gathering, things were definitely off—it was the tone, the atmosphere that struck Xavier as odd. The sounds of laughter and genial conversation were absent, replaced by shouts and groans of uncertainty. A fog of discontent saturated the air surrounding what seemed more like a small mob than an orderly group at this point. He peeked between their shoulders and heads, trying to locate the source of the anger.
“Hey!” Matt tugged at Xavier’s shirt, pulling him in, so he could speak into his ear. “Just in time for the show.”
“What the hell’s going on?”
“If only two meals a day wasn’t bad enough, they changed the rules for getting supplies too.” Matt pointed to a large chart secured to the wall just outside the supply office door. “Wasn’t there yesterday, and as soon as people saw it, they just lost it.”
“What does it say?”
“I haven’t had a chan—”
“This is bullshit!” Their attention turned to Sam, the blonde man in his forties that elevated his voice above the protesting of the crowd. He forced his way through the group and toward the entrance of the supply office. “These are our supplies! This was our blood and sweat that got it, and they can’t expect us to work without it!”
The group roared with approval.
“If we don’t do the work, then what? More rules from this mayor brought in by the Second Alliance?” Sam continued.
The group’s collective voice elevated once again.
“Quiet! Quiet!” A young disbursement officer squeezed past Sam, so she could address the group. “As I tried to explain,” her shrill voice struggled to find its place of authority, “JC1s have the priority, then JC2s followed by 3s. The may—our mayor,” she corrected herself, “has instituted Job Classification Numbers for all occupations in the town. Check the chart and respond accordingly. Lines form within the offi—”
“Not my mayor!” Sam leaned into the officer’s face. “No one elected him!”
“Let it go, Sam! We can’t go back to how things were,” another man called out from the group. His attention clearly focused on something behind the two that were arguing.
“No! Never! We’re all puppets now! Two meals a day? What’s nex—”
Whack! Sam’s head split and everything went silent. Xavier saw the butt of a rifle retreat back through the doorway. The entrance to the supply office was darkened by a large silhouette. He had only heard tales of Second Alliance Soldiers—Guards and Sentries had become commonplace, but a Soldier… He had never stood in their presence. It’s true. They do exist. A man of legendary size fitted with the black uniform. The sun and moon split by a sword sewn into the fabric—rumored to be the mark most people saw only before death. The Soldier didn’t say anything. He didn’t need to. His point was made.
Xavier focused his attention back to Sam and the blood he now lay in. Damn, that’s a lot. Don’t stare at it. He looked to the others standing around the body. Horror stamped across the faces of everyone who witnessed it. Their eyes darted back and forth among themselves, and then all at once, dropped to the floor as the Soldier stepped into the hallway. The commotion was over quicker than it had come.
The Soldier lifted Sam by the ankles and dragged him past the disbursement officer. His limp body dangled from the Soldier’s grip. I should help. Xavier’s desire to do so urged his hands to reach out, but they wouldn’t budge. I better not. I— A trail of crimson followed them toward the infirmary.
“Now do we have an understanding?” the disbursement officer said with a fresh confidence to her voice.
The silence of the crowd was response enough.
“Good.”
She spun away from the group and entered the office to begin processing requests. Workers who knew their classification number followed, heads down. The only thing missing was a rifle pointed to each of their backs.
Those that remained in the hallway began clamoring around the JCN chart. Nobody wanted to cause another misunderstanding. I can’t believe this. Xavier remained silent, trying to absorb what occurred while the rest of the world trudged on. The blood. Stop looking at it. It’s over. It’s so red though.
“What the hell happened here?” Grant asked.
“Is he dead?” Xavier muttered lowly to himself.
“Boy? You hear me?”
Xavier simply stared down the hallway. This is crazy. His mind completely occupied with the red tributary wandering from where the body fell. Without any warning. Then… Wham!
“Xavier!” Grant gave him a quick shake of the shoulders. “Hey!”
“Yeah. What? I’m here.” Xavier shook his head, collecting his bearings as best he could while turning his view from the corridor.
“You sure?” He looked Xavier in the eyes. “What happened?”
“I… I thought you were working on the generators?”
“Yeah, I was until I got cut. On my way to the infirmary now. Need to get it cleaned up the right way.” Grant took the shop rag from his cut and showed him.
A jagged slice, more than likely a slip of a tool that took his hand across something it shouldn’t have. It was deeper than he let on. One could never be too careful. The sterile world of the past was gone, and one bad infection could lead to amputation or death.
“Are you okay?”
“Yes, damn it. Boy, I’m not askin’ again. What happened here?”
“I’m not really sure. It happened so fast. Everyone here was upset about the new supply process, and Sam started shouting, getting the group riled up. Then out of nowhere an S.A. Soldier struck him from behind. Blood everywhere.” Everywhere. The blood was everywhere. “Sam was just voicing his opinion. He didn’t deserv—”
An older woman’s elbow interrupted him. “Shh… ya can’t take a blow like that. It’s not worth talkin’ ‘bout now.”
Xavier looked to Grant. “It was bad.”
“We’ll talk later. I’m sure he’ll be fine. You got work to do. Make sure you get that request into supply and get back to the shop. No dawdlin’.”
As Grant tiptoed around the smears of red droplets on the floor, Xavier began to feel faint, a paleness overtaking his skin—his reality failing. That fresh blood on the floor swelled—droplets into puddles then into a stream. The walls, ceiling, and floor reached for each other, tightening into a single point. He began to stagger. Unable to brace himself with his hand, he struck the wall with a thud and slid to the floor, still conscious, but barely. His head felt light as he lay there.
The older woman bent down and offered her hand. “You able to get up?”
“Give me a sec.” He blinked slowly, his face enjoying the coolness of the floor.
“Can we get some water here?” she shouted. A freckled boy nodded, raised his hand, and ran inside the supply office. Her attention returned to Xavier. She held one of his hands and brushed the stray hairs from his face with her other. She lowered her voice, “You’ll be alright. No breakfast’ll do that to ya.”
“No, it isn’t that. I can’t… let me lay here for a bit.” Xavier closed his eyes. “I’ll be fine.”
She watched over him as he continued to lie there, waiting for this weakness to subside. She lightly stroked his forehead with her hand, whispering to him that it would be all right. Her sweet voice was calming, reassuring him that soon his feeling of helplessness would subside. Deep breaths.
“Here’s some water.” The freckled boy passed the cup to her. “What happened, mister?”