Almawt Virus Series (Book 2): Days Since...Xavier [Day 853]

by Wilson, Robert

  Many of the homes wore tattered bedsheets billowing from the gutters and roofs. It suited most of them just fine. Their ugliness hidden by the white sheets painted with red Qs, warning the uninfected to stay away. The wind stopped and the sheets settled.

  “Not much to look at anymore.” Grant's head passed from side to side in depressed swings—his chin maybe an inch from his chest. “It's all been picked apart by gangs, scavengers, whoever comes through.”

  Simon raised a fist above his shoulder, signaling for them to stop as he moved to cover behind the trunk of a nearby car—his cheek folded onto the butt of the rifle as he began scanning.

  Their carefree attitude dissolved as Grant took Xavier by the arm and pulled him toward the back of a rusty blue minivan. They stumbled. Xavier’s body pressed against Grant’s as they fell to the road. Their bags slammed against the asphalt, breaking Grant’s water jug. “Shit!”

  The gush of water washed the chips of the van’s shattered window away from their feet as they scrambled behind the vehicle. They crouched down, just below its busted out window, waiting for the echoes of gunfire to bounce off the houses. But, it never came. They waited, hearts pounding in unison, scanning the roofs and windows of the vacant homes. Nothing stuck out.

  “False alarm!” Simon shouted. “Things are moved. Looks different from when I came through here last time.”

  Grant peeked from around the bumper of the wrecked minivan. “We good?”

  “Yeah.” Simon's hand waved them forward.

  Grant stood from the ground and helped lift Xavier to his feet. Grant looked him over. “You okay?”

  “I am.” Xavier brushed the chips of broken glass from his pants. “I thought it was going to get crazy.”

  “You did good, boy. Real good. We have to react and recover,” he reassured Xavier. Grant looked at the thin plastic shell of his jug, crumpled and now completely empty. He sighed. “Guess it beats gettin' shot, but damn, all that dippin' and duckin' for nothin' but losin’ all my water. Stupid thing erupted all over the damn place.”

  “We still have mine,” Xavier said, as he shook his jug.

  “Where your glasses at?”

  Xavier's eyes slowly closed while he let out a frustrated groan. Please don't be at my feet already crushed to bits. He bent over to look among the broken glass that littered the ground beneath their feet. Grant snatched the glasses from the air as they fell from between Xavier's shoulder and bag strap.

  “You ain't ever gonna see luck like that again in your life, boy. Now, come on!” He started to move, but stopped almost immediately for a double take—his attention drawn back toward where they came from. “Holy— No wonder that wind's buildin' up. That storm’s movin' toward us fast.”

  “You have to be kidding me.” Xavier deflated right there in the street. “I wasted all that gas on the reservoir tanks.”

  “You guys need a break or something?” Simon yelled back to them.

  “No reason to dwell on it. Let's go, boy.”

  “I have to tie my shoe.”

  Xavier bent down, and Grant continued slinking along the cars toward the middle of the block where Simon stood. At any moment this walk could change for the worse. Xavier kept his eyes on the houses that slouched along the street as he fidgeted with the laces.

  Grant stopped abruptly and moved toward the sidewalk. Again, the beating of Xavier’s heart struck against his rib cage. This is crazy. Xavier ducked down behind another car. Alone. Where the hell is Grant? He lay on his stomach and edged to the driver side, peering down the length of the car—no one, even Simon had moved from the street. Nothing was said. Maybe they had been sniped. It was time. Run! Just run! He rose to his feet and broke for the backyards.

  “This one’s mine.”

  The calm familiar voice halted his sprint. He looked to his left, Grant stood just twenty feet away, his hand resting on the top of an old mailbox. Grant's mouth formed a weak smile as he bent down to pick up a fragment of concrete from his flaking driveway. He ran his teeth across his bottom lip—saddened by the empty shell that slumped before him. Its wood siding was cracking from the stress of the sun beating upon it—day in, day out. The stale blue paint flaked into the overgrown mulch beds.

  Grant kicked at the weeds growing between the joints in the sidewalk that led to the front. He sat down on the top step, placing his duffel bag next to him on the porch. He gripped an imaginary can and lifted it to his mouth. “Hey, boy! Come have a cold one with me. Well, you can have a root beer.”

  Xavier laughed and sat down next to him on the porch, removed his book bag, and mimicked the imaginary sip.

  “What the hell are you two doing?” Simon gawked at them from the front yard. He drew back some mucus and spit in the grass.

  Grant rose quickly from the porch steps and started to descend. “Don’t spit in my yard!”

  “This is yours?” Simon put both of his palms out toward Grant in an effort to calm him.

  “Yeah.” Grant stopped at the bottom step, pushing his chest up and out. “I haven’t been here for awhile. I need a sec.”

  “I’ll give you some time but not much. We don’t wanna get caught out here in the storm. That'll slow us down a lot.” Simon moved down to a neighboring house and kept watch from the porch.

  “Somethin’ wrong with him, Xavier,” Grant said, “but… I can’t know what for sure.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “This guy don’t seem right. First, he’s messin’ with us, then not, and now again. I don’t know. Something ain’t right. He could’ve been some rapist locked away in jail. Scary thing is that anyone can show up and say they’re whatever they want. Ain’t no way to look that up. Simon’s here tryin’ to play army man, but we don’t know anything about him. He could be some mental case. Some psycho guy.”

  “You think so?”

  “There’s no tellin’ and that’s my point. We need to be careful. Need to keep an eye on him best we can.”

  Xavier looked over to Simon.

  Simon didn’t appear particularly menacing. He was seated with his boots off, resting one foot on the step below him, massaging his other—the pain seemed to be evaporating from his body, even if it was only for the moment. He rubbed it a while longer then slid his boots back on, picked up the rifle, and went back to work. Grant obviously has issues with him, but what if he’s right?

  “I hear you. What do you think…?” Xavier let his words trail off. Grant wasn’t paying attention—his mind was somewhere else.

  “The neighborhood’s changed a lot since the virus.” Grant looked up and down the street. “We never used to hang bed sheets up like that.” A weak laugh. “I just… it’s hard lookin' at it.”

  “Is yours the only one without a sheet?”

  “Never got sick.”

  “What about your family?”

  “I ain't got no immediate family here. These people on the street here were my family just like the people at the school are now.” Grant paused and scratched underneath is nose. His mind wandered, but his bland appearance gave no hints to what he was thinking. He rubbed his thumb along the edge of the top step and stared out at the houses. “Helped bury most of them, and when it was just me, I started— I started rollin’ them over. Couldn't bring myself to do it anymore. Didn't wanna look at their faces as I shoveled.”

  “I didn't know you didn't have family up here. I just kind of assum—”

  “What?” Grant snapped.

  “I guess I thought that they all got sick. I figured you were married or something. Most grownups are.”

  “Never was until I met Lynn.” Grant took a deep breath and sat there for a moment, doing anything he could to occupy his mind—picking at his fingernails, cracking his knuckles. He wiped his eye. “Uncalled for... what they did to her. She ain't deserve that. Woman had a heart of gold. Just took her out without a warnin’. Cowards! If I ever find out who...” His voice trailed off.

  “I'm sorry.” Xavier laid his
hand between Grant's shoulder blades.

  “I'm thinkin' I'll prolly just live the rest of my life alone.” He wiped another tear from his cheek. “Focus on my work and tryin' to make things easier.” Grant smiled at Xavier. “You'll find someone some day and have a beautiful family.”

  Xavier blushed. “We're getting a little ahead of ourselves. I'm not sixteen, can't even date yet.”

  “That's a stupid rule. Never cared for it. You find someone, you go for it before this world takes her from you.”

  “I don't know, maybe someday I guess.” Jenny. Xavier smiled. “Anything’s possible, I mean, Simon actually did the right thing in letting us sit here for a bit, huh?”

  Grant laughed, “Yeah, he did.” He continued to smile, the tears fading from his eyes. “This whole stretch used to be filled with families. Kids runnin’ around like crazy. Just beautiful. All of it. Now, it ain’t nothin’. Just how the world is now, but it’ll get better. It’s got to.”

  Grant took another imaginary sip of beer. The front of their pants started to ripple as the breeze picked up again. An old wind chime hanging overhead took notice. Its cluttered melody rang out along with the others that hung from neighboring porches. Xavier and Grant's heads bounced from house to house as the entire row came alive. “I used to make those as a hobby. Gave them away to pretty much the whole street.”

  “It sounds amazing.” Xavier stood, reached up, and brought the wind chime down into his lap. He looked it over. “You made this?”

  “Yep.”

  “Wouldn't have expected that.”

  “Yep. Really started by accident. Young lady I liked collected them and figured it'd be a good way to meet her.”

  “Oh, yeah?” Xavier elbowed him playfully.

  “Yep.”

  “And?”

  “Yep, that's it.”

  “Really?”

  “Do I have to say it?”

  “Yep?”

  “Yep.” Grant doubled over with laughter.

  Xavier rolled his eyes and hooked the metal chime back in its place. The song continued as the wind worked its way down the street. An occasional gust snaked its way in and out of Grant's porous home, rolling through the empty doorframe and pushing at their backs. The cool air felt nice running up the tails of their shirts. Grant dabbed his forehead with an old shop rag from his pocket.

  “I guess we should get goin’,” Grant said, as he stood from the porch.

  “Let me finish this.” Xavier raised his invisible can of root beer. “It feels awesome being out here. It just feels different, good, I like it.”

  “You ain’t signin' up to be no scavenger. Need ya helpin' me out.”

  “I know that’s what my dad wants. What he told you, but I might want to make that change.” He looked up to Grant. “This feels right to me.”

  “Boy, you dove behind that car quick as a cat when I stopped to look at my mailbox. Come on now.”

  “I was just doing what I'm supposed to do. I wasn't scared. I—I just don't have a weapon.”

  “Easy to say that now. Back about a mile an’ a half I bet ya can see the school again. See how ya feel when it gets a little more uncomfortable.”

  And there's the Grant I know. I knew it wouldn't last.

  “Lemme get an actual drink from ya.” Grant reached for Xavier’s jug and took it from the strap. He raised the water to his lips and took two large gulps. The shop rag touched his forehead again. “Good.”

  “I’m ready if you are.” Xavier lifted his bag onto his shoulders.

  “Let’s do it.” Grant crushed his imaginary beer can and tossed it through the broken window to the living room.

  Xavier raced for the other end of the porch, stutter stepped, and bounded over the banister into the neighboring yard. He turned to see if Grant had seen—his eyes were closed, head shaking. A moderate grin attached to his annoyed mutterings. Xavier could tell by the look on his face that Grant wanted to slap him. The foolishness of youth. He could hear it now, an exasperated berating of what ifs. What if you had sprained your ankle? What if you had busted your head clean open? But instead, Grant simply picked up his duffel bag, slid his hand down the railing of the steps, and joined him next door. Hmm...

  Simon was perched on the stoop. The other end of the neighborhood currently held his attention. A pair of black binoculars was pressed firmly against his eye sockets.

  “Ready when you are,” Grant said to him.

  Simon raised one of his fingers in the air, unwilling to break his concentration as he continued scanning. Xavier stared off in the same direction. As best he could tell, the horizon was clear, and they would be moving out soon.

  Simon folded the binoculars and placed them in a pouch secured to his bag's strap. He inched his way down from the stoop and worked his hands over his equipment to check his gadgets—a nervous ritual more than likely. He seemed satisfied. “Let me get the lead again, and we’ll go,” he said. “You get enough time?”

  “Yep.”

  “Everything good?”

  “We're ready.”

  Xavier and Grant stood together, waiting in the yard for the signal. They kept their eyes on Simon as he made his way down the street. Simon's arm went forward, and they stepped off. Another half mile until we're on the highway.

  They trailed him with measured steps through the remaining blocks of the neighborhood. Every so often, Simon would stop and raise his rifle along the roofline, between the houses, toward whatever might catch his interest. Each time, Xavier and Grant would find cover.

  Grant started to seem worried. Something didn’t seem right. This stretch of Riverside was taking much longer than the first half, and Simon became increasingly more methodical with his advance. Grant stretched his arm across Xavier’s chest, settling them into a slower pace. “Keep your eyes movin’,” he told him. “Things are gettin’ slower. Remember to breathe.”

  “What do you think it is?” The adrenaline began to fill Xavier’s body.

  “Not sure. We'll keep back a bit.”

  A light rumble. Xavier snapped his head back. That storm was close now, bringing stronger winds that touched them with the dampness of imminent rain. It was only a matter of time before it would settle over them. Simon seemed to be picking up his speed, but it was hard to tell at first due to his hobbled stride.

  “Should we take cover?” Xavier called out to Simon.

  “Up this stretch and around the bend, and we'll get to the overpass!” he yelled. “Hustle up!”

  The two didn't hesitate. The clouds steamrolled across the sky, passing darkness over the sun. The rumbling continued, moving closer, and the breeze grew stronger. You could smell it gaining on them—that unmistakable scent of a storm. Behind them they heard it, still gaining—the rain pinging any metal exposed to the sky. The staggered line between wet and dry pursued them from the far end of the road. It was like trying to outrun a train, but without a track to step off of, you just had to go—no hesitating.

  “See! Up ahead!” Simon hadn't realized that his companions had caught up to him. His hobbling severely limited his speed.

  “Yeah, we see it!” Grant yelled over to him.

  The wind and rain were deafening and continued to gain.

  “We might make it!” Xavier hoped out loud, passing the others as he made his way around the bend.

  In that instant, the rain made its decision. They weren't getting away. It rushed through the remainder of the street. The downpour was thick. Its rain, with droplets so weighted and furious, blurred Xavier’s vision. Potholes filled with water. They were unavoidable in the haste of finding shelter. Every step was a game of chance—twisted ankle, tripping hazard, or a good splashing at the very least.

  His entire being weighed down at the very moment the storm caught them. He chugged along, dragging every bit of himself against its will. Despite the added weight, Xavier was now clearly in the lead. Alone around the bend. A place he really didn't want to be, but the rain convinced him o
therwise. He breathed heavily, almost sucking in water from the air. The race was almost over. Grant and Simon were puttering out. Xavier could sense that shelter was within reach.

  Chapter Six

  Xavier swiped at his face, expelling the rainwater from his eyes. He blinked several times and refocused on his surroundings—his chest pumping. Although he knew his partners were just behind him, he shook, partly from his damp clothes and the cool air, but mostly it was his nerves. There was no telling who or what was with him in this improvised dump. There were too many places to hide.

  Moving quickly to his right, he concealed himself behind a large box truck that had ignored the clearance warning and sat wedged between the ground and a series of pipes protruding from the wall.

  The truck's momentum had carried it far enough under the bridge that it ripped the plumbing apart. Rainwater spewed from the damaged pipes, flowing past Xavier’s feet and out along a line of garbage bags piled up across the road. Where are they? He circled around to the passenger side and stood on the steps to its cab, doing his best to visually clear the area through the windshield. He could only hope that no one was lying in wait.

  He flinched at his surroundings. This place is filthy. An abundance of smells wrapped themselves around the deserted vehicles and piles of trash. On the far side, it appeared someone had attempted to barricade the road. Several wooden pallets were linked together with chains and bungee cords. They were still in good shape, but it was clear the idea had been abandoned.

  His worry began to subside. If anyone was going to end him, it would've happened by now. He was barely hidden and exhausted—an easy target.

  He leaned over after stepping down from the truck and rested his hands on his knees, taking quick, painful breaths to stop the biting in his lungs. As he looked up, he noticed that along the box truck someone had covered it entirely with Sharpie marker. “With my kitty at home, I never have to roam,” Xavier said aloud. Who writes nonsense like that over and over?

  He stood there shivering—the breeze being forced underneath the bridge—a puddle gradually collected below him. He began wringing his clothing. This isn't working. He dropped his bag and searched for a change of clothes. Within that moment, Grant and Simon burst through the onslaught of the storm.