Running Dry (10 page)

When I'm finished packing, I have nothing left but to face Cheryl.  I go out into the living room.  She is listening to the Sacto daily news on the radio, which is basically the same handful of news stories played several times throughout the day.  She’s unwrapping dinner and humming.  I sit down on the bar stool on the other side of the counter.

"Thanks for the birthday cake," I say.

"You're welcome, kiddo!  Did you have a nice birthday?"

"Not particularly."  She's oblivious to most things in my life but I can't be mad at her about it because I'm equally to blame.  In fact, I've probably been more the culprit than her.  I have always strived for independence, from as young as I can remember.  I guess it was my way to make sure she always knew she wasn't my real parent.

"Well, I'm sorry, honey," she says, not looking up at me.

"Yeah, me too."

She starts opening cabinets, taking out various packages and placing things on plates.  The radio newscaster is reporting on a robbery in the lower flats.  "Oh!  I almost forgot!  How did the assignment go?  When do you move in to the runner's dorm?" she asks nonchalantly.

"I'm not."

She stops and looks at me for the first time since I came in the room. "What do you mean?"

"I'm a Spy.  I leave tomorrow for the South."

"What?  I don't understand.  There must be a mistake!"

"Nope," I say. 

She comes around the counter, wiping her hands on her work uniform.  She puts her arms around me, "Oh, my heavens!  Why didn't you tell me?"  She squeezes way too hard.

"I didn't feel like talking about it."  It's true.  Why discuss something that can't be changed?

"Well, I just don't know what to say!"

"It's okay.  I think I've actually kind of come to terms with it."  Except my voice quivers a little when I say it. 

When she pulls away, she looks at me and she actually has tears in her eyes.  "So, tomorrow?  I...if I had known, we could have gone out, some place fancy for dinner, like Ray's Place."

"Nah."

"It's all happening so suddenly.  I just..."

"Can we just eat?  I'm starving."

"Sure, okay," she says.

I set the small table while she finishes unwrapping a few more bars of foodstuff to assemble a full meal and the two of us sit down together to eat like we've done a million times before.  It feels normal, and also not, because I know it's the last time.  I really didn't think it would bother me, but everything feels so off. 

We hardly say anything, which is pretty normal, but Cheryl keeps looking at me and her eyes are glassy and wet.  I'm sort of surprised by it.

"Will I be able to write to you?" she asks.

"The packet says no.  I can send you something through my contact, but only a few times a year."

"Oh.  Okay.  Well, I'd like that, to know you’re doing okay."

I nod.

"Will you ever come home?"

"I don't know.  I don’t think so though."

"Right," she says, pushing food around her plate.

"Muma?" I say after a long period of silence.

"Yes, dear?"

"I guess, I just wanted to say thank you.  You know...for taking me in and everything.  I know I wasn't the easiest kid."

"You were a great kid!  But now you are an adult, and I have to let you go out into the world, just like every parent is forced to do."

"Well, I'm sure you probably wished you had gotten a kid who was a little more...I don't know, lovable."  I feel like there are things I should be telling her but I just don't know exactly what those things might be.  We just don't have that kind of relationship.

She doesn't say anything for a bit and when she does start to talk again, her voice is different.  It's not her own.  It's not loud, like normal, and it's not goofy, and she actually sounds sincere for the first time I can recount.  "I think we were a good match.  I don't know of any other kids who could have put up with me."

"Put up with you?  I think you meant, you don't know of any other parents who would have put up with me."  I'd never called her my parent before.  Not once. 

She sets her fork down and looks at me with an intensity I've never seen in her before, "Well, we were both damaged from the beginning," she says, looking back down at her plate.

"Damaged?  How were you damaged?" I've never heard her say anything like this before, but then again, we'd never had a real conversation before either.

"I just...well."  She inhales deeply, like air was as scarce as water or something, and says, "I've never told you this before but I lost my husband just before you came to me."

"You were married?"

"I sure was.  His name was Lawrence."

"Why didn't you ever tell me?"

"Because I didn't like to talk about it.  I shoved it away, like you shove your problems away.  We are more alike than you know.  It seemed best just to act like everything was fine."

I'm floored by this revelation and it's my turn to not have anything to say.  We both sit picking at the foodbars on our plates.

"Can I ask how he died?"

"He was in Maintenance, a construction worker.  He died in a work accident.  One day he went to work just like a regular day and the next he was gone.  Fell from a weak plank fixing something on an apartment building not too far from here.  He was a good man.  We had been trying to get pregnant for a while when it happened.  I decided the best thing to do was carry on with my plan to have a child.  Shortly after, I got you."

"I'm sorry," I croak.  The guilt feels heavy suddenly.

"Don't be.  You were a good distraction.  Nobody sees what they've done wrong until it's too late to change it.  That's the irony of life.  I thought you could fix me and that I could fix you.  Turned out neither was true."

"It sucks," I say softly, looking down into my water glass.

She nods.  "I know you don't think so, but I do love you."

"I love you, too."  It's the first time I’ve said that to someone since my parents died.

Zane

I'm so excited to see Bekka that I'm the first one in the small meeting room.  A handful of other guys, one other from my squad, make their way in and sit in the folding chairs scattered throughout the small room.  One of the sergeants comes in first. 

"Good afternoon, men," he says.  "I'm Sergeant Michaels.  Congratulations on making tunnel guard duty.  I will be your superior and should you have any questions about your missions, you will report to me.  Otherwise, your shift schedules will be posted on the central communication board.  You will receive your pay at the end of the monthly period, along with your water rations.  Now, if there are no questions, I will bring in the new runner cadets."

He opens the door and there are six girls brought in.  They stand in a line at the front of the room.  I scan them all quickly.  I recognize one face, but it’s not the one I expected.  I continue to look left and right and then I makes eye contact with Evy.  Bekka is not among the group.  No matter how many times I scan the six girls, Bekka does not appear in the formation.  I turn my gaze back onto Evy and she answers my silent question with a shoulder shrug. 

The Sergeant continues on with his introductions but I don't hear any of it.  I don't understand.  Evy is a runner and Bekka is not here.  How could this have happened?  Evy is short and clumsy, not that you need to be tall and lean to be a runner, but the job is still pretty physically demanding.  She's a nice girl, I like her, but she isn't a runner. 

I'm trying to figure out if there will be a moment after the speech to talk to her, but before Michaels finishes, he tells the girls they are dismissed and they march back out the door from which they came.  I'm shocked and sad and I can't figure out where they might have assigned Bekka if not as a runner.  All of her teachers had been prepping her as a runner and her coursework geared her toward it.  There was never a doubt in anyone's mind she would be anything but a runner.  She was the only student in the school who actually really ran, and liked it.  I hadn't even considered that she might not walk through that door with the other girls. 

After we are dismissed, I head for the Sergeant before he leaves.

"Sir, I was wondering if you could check your records," I say.

He has gathered up a clipboard and some other papers and is putting them into a briefcase.  He stops to look at my name tag.  "Brenner?"

"I was just wondering if a Bekka Tyson is on your list of runners?  I didn't see her here, but I believe she should have been."

He takes the clipboard back out of the case and I see his eyes scroll down the list.

"I don't see a Tyson."  He looks up at me. " A friend of yours?"

"Yes, sir.  Is there any way you can tell me where she did get assigned?"

"I don't have all of the assignments with me right now.  I'm sure someone in the administration office could help you out though."

"Thank you, sir."

I follow Michaels out of the classroom and march straight toward the Admin office.  There is a middle-aged lady at the front desk wearing glasses and a gaudy pink sweater.  Her hair is pulled back in a tight bun.

"Can I help you?" she asks in a perky voice.

"Yes.  I was wondering if you could tell me where I might find out the assignment of a new cadet."

"I can help you with that," Pink sweater says cheerfully.

I feel some relief.  At least I'll know where she'll be.  "Great," I say.

She begins happily tapping away on her keyboard.  "What is the name?"

"Tyson.  Bekka Tyson," I say.

After a second more of tapping, she stops and looks up at me, her smile is gone.  "I'm sorry, sir.  We have no such person in our files."

I feel a tight panic stretch across my shoulders.  "Um, what does that mean?"

"I have no more information to give you.”  She looks back down and the typing begins again.

I have no plans to leave until I get a answer.  "Did something happen to her?"

"I don't know," she says without looking up.

"Can you please check again?  I bet you just missed it. Tyson, with a T."  My voice gets louder and my patience begins to grow thin as I fret over what might be happening.

Her peppy demeanor changes to that of a person who is suddenly nervous.  She looks around at the other workers at their desks behind her.  "Sir.  Please calm down.  I'm afraid you need to leave now."

I'm sure she can see from my expression that I'm about to lose my cool, what little of it still remains, so she says in a very thin voice, "Her record has been made confidential."

I mull over what she is saying to me and weigh it with the fact that Fulton told me that I need to start being more careful.  Making a huge scene in the middle of this office is probably not a good idea.  "I...Okay.  Thank you," I mumble as I back out of the office. 

Walking back to my bunk, I keep repeating the phrase, "her record has been made confidential."  All I can think of is that something bad has happened and I can't help comparing this to what I know about Zander, which makes me start to feel queasy. But it really doesn't make sense.  Bekka is all for the war.  She is so pro-water she was willing to be in a position that could easily have gotten her killed.  

But maybe they somehow linked her to me.  The fact that she and I are so close, could it have kept her from getting the job as a runner?  All of my thoughts are so irrational that they are easily disputed.  They wouldn't need to punish Bekka for my indiscretions, they could just do that to me directly, like they did to my brother.  Nothing makes sense to me right now, but I can't sit and think about it anymore either.  I have to get my stuff packed up and take care of my errands before the ceremony tomorrow.

Chapter 14

Bekka

I wake up feeling more rested than I have in several days.  I slept heavy, maybe to make up for how little sleep I got the whole of last week, or maybe it was the resolution with Cheryl and the sense of relief in moving on with things.  Whatever it is, I’m alert and ready to go. 

It's so early that Cheryl is still asleep when I slip out of the apartment for the last time with just my backpack and small tote bag.  I worried I would wake her or she'd be waiting to say goodbye this morning, but I wanted to leave things as they were last night and I didn't think I could handle a formal or emotional goodbye, so I’m glad for the quiet exit.

As I walk to the undisclosed location on the map it's still dark out.  I'm used to being up this early, except usually I'd be running.  I stop at the nearest mailbox and drop in my letter to Zane.  It doesn't say exactly what I would have liked, but I don't think those words exist.  My head has been so jumbled since my argument with Alex, I'm not even sure exactly what my standing is with Zane.  Or was. 

Part of me wants to figure it out and part of me wants to believe things haven't changed since the last time I saw him, at the pool house.  My thoughts are constantly getting interrupted by the reality of the fact that I will likely never see him again so there is no need to analyze the relationship further.  I’m left with the simple advice Regina told me which is that I have his memory and I can never unknow him.  Sometimes I wonder if that isn't worse though.  I might be stronger right now if I was able to go into South Sacto without this feeling of loss, like I'm leaving half of myself behind. 

Zane

The ceremony is short and to the point.  We are no longer soldiers in training, but are now expected to act in our roles as members of the North Sacto Armed Forces.  So on and so forth.  I spend the entire length of the ceremony searching the auditorium for my mother.  I finally see her, seated near the back of the room, near the doors.  She is alone.  I'm irrationally worried she'll slip out before I get to her, but I don’t know why.  She's here to see me.  Besides, there will be a short visitation after the formal pageantry is over where we are allowed to share some food and drinks set up along the back wall.  The free beverage is a real treat for people and some families look forward to it for a long time.

I lock eyes with my mother just as things wrap up and I make sure not to lose sight of her in the crowd as I quickly make my way toward her.  We embrace and I note how small and fragile she feels in my arms.

"Zane," she says shyly.

"Hi, Mom.  I'm glad you came."

"I wouldn't have missed it for anything.  You look very handsome in your uniform."

"Thanks.  Want me to get your something to drink?"

"No thanks, darling.  It looks like a mob scene over there.  I'd rather spend the time talking."

"Me too.  Let's go out into the yard," I say, taking her gently by the hand and leading her out of the auditorium.

We sit on a picnic table near the back of the yard, with a view of the high-wired fences.

"So, you made guard.  I know that's what you were hoping for," she says, but her voice is sad.

"It was, but..." I think about how my struggles to get the job feel meaningless now.

"Bekka," she says, which surprises me.

"You know about Bekka?"

"Yes.  I'm sorry, Zane."  She’s looking down into her lap.

My stomach drops.  "What happened?"

"She’s been assigned to work in the South."

It all suddenly falls into place.  "A Spy," I say.  There is a little relief though, knowing she's still alive.

"Yes."

"I don't understand.  You talked to her then?  What did she say?"

"She didn't know anything more.  She was to leave this morning."

I feel hollow.  My mom knows enough to not say anything else.  We just sit and stare out past the fence and she puts her hand on mine. 

Eventually she says, "Sometimes honey, things don't work out like we had planned.  I know it doesn't help you to say that right now, but in time it will get better.  I can say that from experience.  And unfortunately, life doesn't stop throwing curve balls.  You just have figure out how to deflect them and move forward."

"Have you figured it out?" I say with more anger than I want.  "How to deflect?  You look thin and I worry about you."

"I still have bad days now and then, but I'm trying," she says.

I think about all that she’s been through and my problems feel petty and lame in comparison.  Bekka is alive and didn't leave by choice.  All I can do now is switch my focus to other things, like the Resistance.  Maybe that's better, anyway.

Finally, I squeeze her tiny hand and say, "I guess I don't have a choice but to try too, then."

She smiles weakly. 

PART TWO

Bekka

I'm blindfolded before they take me through the tunnel, which is funny, because I assume it's too dark to see much.  But, for security, I'm told it's important I don't know anything about my journey to the other side, which sounds like a scary metaphor for my death and I guess maybe in a way, it is a bit like I'm dying.  Well, the old me is, anyway.

I'm being tied now with a rope around my waist so I can follow easily.  We've been instructed not to speak.  Then, there's a tug at the rope.  The sign to start walking.  As I shuffle along, my senses are keyed up and I can hear what sounds like maybe three people walking.  It's possible there are others going across, another spy, or someone going for another reason.  I'm not sure why I can't know who the other North Sacto residents are who are living over there, but I suppose they don't want us to cling to each other like lost puppies.  It would make us vulnerable and open to suspicion.  I've been told if I see someone familiar on the other side, I am not to speak to them. 

I'm good with the silence as we walk in the damp tunnel.  This is the only chance I have to feel what my parents felt.  I'm emotional, but I make sure to soak it all in.  My mother and father probably ran along this exact ground that my feet are now touching as they made their way to the river.  What did it feel like for them?  I can only assumed they had that adrenaline I know so well, that can only come from running.  Maybe they experienced it even stronger down here since they were doing something so dangerous and so noble.  I feel a moment of deep utter sadness that I'll never know what that feeling is like.

I walk along slowly on my tether and am annoyed with the other thought that keeps interrupting my experience.  I keep wondering who the guard is that’s leading us through.  Is it Zane?  I think he would have figured out a way to let me know if that was the case.  Or maybe after my letter, he wouldn't.  What would I say to him if I could see him one more time?  I hate the thought of it, so instead I decide to turn my brain off entirely and just walk.  

Zane

The days drag on in one continuous and repetitive routine.  My work as a tunnel guard is a night shift.  All of them are, actually.  Which seems strange because it’s dark down there at all times of the day, but for some reason, the operation occurs at night, like it’s less likely for the enemies to suspect us then. 

After my shift is done each morning, I find myself heading back to my apartment alone, checking under the mat outside of my door for a slip of paper with info about the next meeting of the Resistance.  Then, even though the sun is usually just starting to peek from the one lonely window in my small space, I make some dinner for myself and throw a heavy blanket over the window to block the sun and go to bed. 

I usually sleep for about six or seven hours, wake up and tidy things up around the apartment, maybe make another small meal, and then I have a handful of hours with nothing to do but file my reports or do some chores.  It's a miserable existence, the time between the meetings.  I've been trying to get back to my journal and have started jotting down some thoughts about each meeting, attempting to come up with ideas to contribute to the group. 

So far, I haven't said much the handful of times I've attended meetings.  I'm only able to go if I'm not on shift that night.  It's not always the same people there either.  There seems to be a decent number in the group, from what I've gathered, but most are from the South.  I haven't figured out why yet.  Maybe their conditions are worse over there, or maybe their government is less organized, making it less dangerous to have an opposing viewpoint. 

I'm still feeling my way around the group, figuring out the dynamics.  I have gathered that they try to run them in an egalitarian manner, but there are clearly a few amongst them who take on leadership roles.  Pete has a very energetic personality which tends to get the groups attention.  He seems to informally lead each meeting, but in my opinion he doesn't seem to be great at coming up with plans for action.  I get the feeling he likes to talk about stuff more than he wants to actually act upon it. 

Frankie, the only girl I've seen at the meetings, generally butts heads with Pete and I don't know if it's because she is vying for the leadership position herself or if there is a history between them.  I really know nothing about any of them on a personal level at this point, but the two of them seem to argue like exes.  Or maybe they are still a couple.  I have no idea. 

This morning I find no map under my mat.  I try to push the disappointment away, but it's all I've got to look forward to at this point.  As soon as I get in my apartment, I throw myself down on the couch, too exhausted to make myself food.  I reflect on my shift, which was a fairly standard one.  I met Laney Addelson, a seasoned runner, at the main access point.  I punched in the codes and we both entered the tunnel. 

I've worked with Laney a handful of times now and have come to find that she is a chatty lady, maybe in her mid-thirties.  She's nice enough.  I've gathered that everything about Laney runs, especially her mouth.  She is insanely fit for a woman in her thirties and she is pretty quick on her feet.   I find myself wondering if this is what Bekka would have been like.

Laney takes everything in stride.  She seems comfortable and even cheery in the tunnels, which baffles me, just like Bekka baffled me.  She acts like each run is a trip to the market.  I have yet to get used to the underground world; the darkness, the muck that sticks to every crack and crevice of my boots and pant legs, and the possibility of things lurking that I can’t see. 

Today, as Laney and I headed to the first checkpoint, she was prattling on about something funny that happened to her while she was getting a haircut.  We aren't supposed to be chit-chatting in the tunnels and my job is to be alert and listening, but how can I tell this woman to shut up?  She is a decade plus older than I am and has been doing this a long time.  I tell myself she would likely know more than me if anything was amiss.  I try to take cues from her and relax, but I'm still not able to do anything anywhere near relax down there.  Maybe that's a good thing.  Getting complacent is what got Bekka's parents killed, after all.   

Now, on my couch, my muscles are still tense and tight and I have my usual post-tunnel headache, from straining my eyes in the dark for the last several hours.  I close them and rub my temples when there is a knock at the door.  I wait and listen for it again just to make sure I'm not hearing things.  I haven't had a visitor since I've moved in several weeks ago now.