Chapter 54: Xavier

Everything hurts.
I'm laying on the floor of a cell in Sanctuary's military headquarters. I'd tried to stay standing, then sitting. Tried to preserve my dignity for when the boss comes to see me. As the hours passed, so did any drive I had to maintain a dignified front. Eventually I slumped to the floor in a heap and then slid into my back, the most comfortable position I could manage with ribs still bruised and broken from the beating Fuentes had given me.
Despite my grim predicament my thoughts linger on one thing; Taran. What happened to Taran?
The last I saw of her was when I shoved her into one of the mercenary's cars. Then I was attacked from behind, taken down to the ground and nearly bitten. It took all my strength to save myself. Somehow, I got the upper hand, twisting until I was on top, straddling the Primitive trying to kill me. Reaching for the rifle that I had dropped in the dirt, I slammed it under the zombie's jaw and pulled the trigger. As his head exploded I thanked fuck that the weapon landed so conveniently close.
I didn't have much time to think about it though. Another Primitive launched at me, having successfully eviscerated its previous victim, one of the mercenaries. I crawled underneath the vehicle and out the other side, leaving the Primitive to slam itself into the side of the car while I ran through the scrub brush trying to get away.
I didn't make it far before I was detained. Only this time it was one of Fuentes' men, Jorje Cruz, sitting in his vehicle staring me down. I turned on my heel and ran in the other direction, only to come face to face with another Primitive. I didn't have enough time to protect myself, thought I was gonna die in that moment. Didn't though. Cruz was hot on my heels, following close behind me in his gutted, repainted Honda Civic. He hit the Primitive, throwing it up on the hood and then driving over it. I ducked as the car swerved to miss me, spraying dirt everywhere.
Jorje Cruz pulled himself up into the window frame. "Get the fuck in, Gunther, or I'll run you over next. Leave your weapon in the dirt, hands behind your head."
I didn't have a choice. I'd been arrested by Cruz on the spot. Told him I could fight, could help him take out any threats we encountered. He looked at me coldly and cuffed me to a bar he'd installed on his dashboard. Then he proceeded to kill more Primitives as we made our way back to the main clearing. He didn't say a word. Just did his job. I must admit, the man was impressive. His face was set in stone, a never changing expression as he shot the head off every Primitive we passed.
After we arrived at the mercenary camp I searched every face and every dead body, leaning as far out the window as I could while still cuffed to the interior, looking for my wife. Not my wife. My ex-wife. I wasn't given an opportunity to look thoroughly though. I was kept in the vehicle and monitored by a guard. The soldiers knew who they had; realized they'd managed to take the rebel leader into custody.
No one answered my questions after arriving back in the city. For all I know, Taran could be lying in the desert dead, her flesh being eaten away by whatever predator happens upon her.
Regret pierces me. Taran didn't deserve any of this. She's a pawn. She's always been a pawn; from the moment I took one look at her fourteen-year-old defiance and made her my wife. She was a youthful, charismatic dreamer that I used for my own ends to further the rebel cause. As the years passed, my admiration for her grew, but so did the distance between us. She's independent, idealistic, head-strong. I'm a realist, I don't suffer fools and I'm not a patient man. I didn't have the patience to woo a young woman realizing her potential and growing into herself, an incredible and principled young woman. It wasn't until I lost her, when she fell into Fuentes' hands, that I realized how much I love her.
Now I don't know if she's alive or dead. And no amount of shouting at my guards will give me the answers I want. I know, I've been trying for hours.
A door slams somewhere in the building and I hear footsteps approach. I ignore them. A dozen soldiers have come and gone, looking at the rebel leader behind bars. Watching me at my lowest point, not saying a word. I comfort myself by believing that I'm a martyr for the cause. But that soft voice in the back of my mind, the one that sounds like Taran, tells me otherwise. Tells me I lost sight of the cause.
A metal door slams shut and sharp voices reach my ears. I ignore them. They're nothing to me. Not unless they're either deciding my fate or telling me what happened to my wife. My ex-wife.
I look over as two guards walk past. "Hey, I want to talk to your Warlord," I call to them.
They ignore me and continue past, leaving the cell area. They've been ignoring me since they locked me up. I would've thought Fuentes or one of his minion's would want to interrogate me right away. It makes good sense from a war perspective, interrogate the prisoner while they're low, exhausted and beaten up. They should also be finding out if I have another attack planned. In short, they should be torturing me for information. But it would seem no one wants to touch me without the Warlord's approval and, as far as I know, Fuentes isn't even in the building.
This is what makes me anxious. Did something happen to Taran? Is that why her husband is missing? Is he distracted by his wife?
Pain slices through me at the thought of him marrying Taran. I didn't want to give her up, but I knew eventually it would happen. Figured she would fall in love and move on from me. Didn't figure it would happen this way. Part of me has always held onto the hope that I could make it work with Taran. But the years passed us by, each new one bringing in a new set of problems I had to deal with. There was never any time for us. My fault. She deserved better than me. She deserves better than Fuentes. My time is limited now. Diogo and his men will torture me for information and then have me publicly executed.
Before that happens, I will find a way to atone. To make up for my many shortcomings. Give Taran the life she always deserved. A family to love.
I fall asleep, thoughts of Taran haunting my dreams. I'm not sure how much time passes, but when I wake it's with the certain knowledge that I'm not alone. I've spent most of my life being hunted by the Authority. I can smell military a mile off.
I struggle into a sitting position, pulling myself back until I'm leaning against the brick wall of the prison. Diogo is sitting in the centre of my cell on a metal chair he must've brought it in while I was sleeping. I'm a little embarrassed that my enemy managed to get so close while I was vulnerable. But my exhausted body is trumping the hyperawareness that has become a part of my daily life.
"Fuentes," I greet him, attempting to swallow my hostility so I'm more likely to get an answer to my next question. It sticks in my throat for a second. I'm afraid to hear the answer, but I can't live without it. "Is Taran is she?"
His dark eyes turn even darker, becoming chips of ice as he spears me with his lethal gaze. "She is none of your business." His tone suggests that I might live longer if I never speak of her again. Of course, I was never one to take the easy path.
His use of present tense and the fact that he hasn't killed me yet for taking her outside the wall tells me she's still alive. I pull a leg up painfully and rest my arm over the knee. "What happened to her, is she hurt?"
He just stares at me, refusing to give anything away. No anger, no revenge, nothing. His face is set in stone. After a moment of silence, he says, "You will tell me if there are any other rebel plots to take out the wall, or any other part of the city. I give you this one chance to speak."
I blink in surprise and then force myself to readjust my thinking. Every thought had been for Taran, none spared for the fate of the rebellion I'd spent so long nurturing. Completely unlike me to think of a single person over the cause that has taken up my entire life. Of course Fuentes would be focused on the security of his city.
In a rare moment of humbleness, perhaps brought on by the beating he gave me a few weeks ago and my current incarceration, I admire him. It doesn't matter that his city was brought low or that I stole his wife and took her from Sanctuary. He is first and foremost the Warlord. Brutal, cold, efficient. He won't let me get under his skin.
"No."
"No?" he repeats.
"I'm not saying a word until you give me something. I want to know how Taran is. Better yet, I want to see her." I'm courting death by asking to see his wife, but I have nothing to lose. I'm going to die. Before that happens, I need to talk to Taran. The only indication of his displeasure is the barely perceptible tightening of the grooves next to his mouth.
He stares at me for a moment, maybe thinking about his response. Then he stands, picks up his chair and leaves the cell, not speaking again.