The Fence Mender

Chapter 16

The exchange was simple, with Xander handing over a sealed bag full of maps and charts to Maddox. For a brief instant, he thought of Horatio and wondered if he would understand. As Xander walked down the line of vehicles loading up and preparing to take off, he noticed things in the light of day that he had missed in the pitch black of the night. They were rough, covered in bullet holes and burn marks. Large pieces of metal had been welded to the front grills and fenders forming sharp, jagged points. The scavengers passed him by, many conversations went on, but no one talked to him. It made him uneasy, these men with no homes, armed to the teeth and none of them were pleased with the situation. Leon, in particular, seemed less than happy, a large bandage now covered his broken nose.

Another scavenger emerged from the woods, one he had not seen the night before. He was different than the others—his head shaved down to stubble, his skin a pale shade of grey looking as if he only went out at night.

"'Bout time you showed up," said Maddox. "Busy night?"

"Never busy enough," Pike replied walking up to the flatbed and finding a seat.

The other scavengers seemed a little nervous around him; those sitting nearby shuffled in the opposite direction. Xander took the only open spot left next to Pike.

The flatbed truck brought up the rear of the caravan as they left the farmhouse and headed North towards Liberty. Xander sat in the back keeping his hand close to his gun as he was still untrusting of the company he kept. Pike continued to stare at him. He could almost feel his eyes burning into him but continued to ignore him as best he could.

"Drip, drip, drip," Pike said.

Xander turned away, not sure of what he was saying—or even if he was in his right mind.

"Drip, drip, drip," he said again, this time a little louder.

Xander looked back over, the glazed look in the man's eyes made him more than a little uncomfortable.

"Fawcett City," he said to Xander.

"What about it?" he replied.

"I know you."

"What's his deal?" Xander said to another scavenger.

"Who? Pike?" the scavenger next to him said. "He likes to talk."

"I barely ever saw you in town," said Pike, his focus solely on Xander, "and when you did, you never said so much as a word. Always rush, rush, rush. Always off mending your fences."

Xander looked back over to the glassy-eyed Pike, his lips curled into a smile. He had nicks all over his scalp from constant shavings.

"Do you remember me?" he asked.

"No," Xander replied, not bothering to give him a second look.

"I wasn't like the others. When they marched me to the gates, I didn't say so much as a word. No tears in my eyes, no pleas for help." His tone was so even, the look on his face so perpetually pleasant. "They thought they were condemning me when they sent me into exile, but they weren't. They were setting me free."

"Put a cork in it, Pike!" shouted Leon from across the back of the truck.

"There are no rules out here, Fence Mender," he said, wrapping his fingers around the barrel of the rifle. "I'm not the only one out here by choice, am I?"

Within the banality of his words were certain truths; the kind that you only hear from the free minds of the mad and the blunt honesty of children. Xander had made a deal, for better or for worse, one that would have consequences. He buried himself in the only thing that still felt real: the recording. He continued to play it in an infinite loop. From his pocket, he pulled out the chess piece and began to run his fingers over it. Most of the others didn't seem to notice or care—but not Pike. He studied Xander's every gesture, facial expression, and the attachment he had to the chess piece, slowly putting together Xander's story.