Running Dry (26 page)

              My body goes tight and I sit up straight.  "What did you just say?"

              "They used this place to punish people, like a prison...only worse," Zane repeats.

              "No.  The other thing.  This place is called No Man's Land?"  Either is was the first time I had heard it being called that, or it was the first time I really heard the words and connected the dots.

              "Yeah.  Why?"

              "No Man's Land," I repeat.  Then I pull the notebook out of my pack.  "I've hear of it before.  LeRoy wrote about this place in a poem."  I open to the page and read it to them.

              "Don't go to No Man's Land

              Instead head for the sand

              In order to flee             

              Try three

              61 is the key

              You'll be free, like me."

"You think he knew about this?" Zane asks.

"Remember I told you he warned me something bad was about to happen.  How could that crazy old coot know about something like this?"

              Zane didn't answer.  It was clear his mind was already onto something else.  He takes the notebook and reads the poem again, under his breath, then he passes it to Frankie.

              "61 is the key.  What do you think 61 is?" Frankie asks.

              "I don't know, but I'm thinking three might mean tunnel three.  Have you ever been?"

              "Tunnel three?  No," Frankie says. "Have you?"

              "No.  It might be one of the only lines I haven't been through.  That seems like it could mean something."

              "It's worth checking out.  We don't have any other options," Frankie says.

              Zane turns back to me.  "You think he knew about this somehow?  Do you think he's setting us up for a trap?  Something even worse?"

              I think back to everything that happened between LeRoy and myself.  "No.  I trust him.  Why would he have warned me about this if he wanted me dead?  If anything, I think he was trying to save me."  I have no idea what that codger was up to, but I feel a warm bit of gratitude for him. 

              Zane nods.  "Then I think we should try tunnel three."

              "The problem is going to be finding it," Frankie says.

              "Yeah.  Most of the tunnels filter into the rest, but this one might not.  In which case, we're screwed," Zane says, with a worried look on his face.  "It's probably best to get in there now, during the day, when it's sure to be empty."

              Frankie nods in agreement.

              "Are you up for it, Mom?" Zane asks, placing his hand on his mother's. 

              "I can make it," she says, confidently.

He turns toward me and just looks at me for a brief moment.  We don't share any words, but we don't have to, have never had to...I know what he's thinking. 

Zane

This isn't where I want to be right now, but it's our only option.  Frankie and I spent some time with a stick in the dirt mapping out the tunnels before we came down.  Based on our combined knowledge of the tunnel system, we have a general idea of where we need to go.  I wish I could explore it without my mother in tow, but I don't like the idea of leaving her in No Man's Land any better than I like dragging her around in the rats' maze.

              It's a long and grueling walk.  We end up having to backtrack a few times before we

think we're on the right path.  Or possibly the wrong path.  We won’t really know until we get to the end of it and find out, but I trust Bekka and I can only assume this old man saw the same thing in her that most people do.  She isn't like the rest of us.  Somehow her heart hasn't been hardened by this world.  I believe she showed this homeless man compassion and in turn, he protected her from what he somehow knew was coming.  Maybe he's truly crazy and the poem is nonsense, or maybe he knows things others don't because kept his eyes and ears open more than most.  That's enough to make someone appear crazy.  In my experience, people travel through life in blind ignorance; maybe not because they wanted to, but as a defense...a survival tactic.  

Nevertheless, as we grow nearer to the end, I feel queasy and unsure.  The idea of stepping out of another tunnel into the great unknown, and dragging all of my loved ones along, is unsettling.  There could be guards surrounding us, or we may be stepping out into the middle of the battle zone, or who knows what else.  

              After awhile, when I'm sure we must be getting close to the end, I pull everyone into a nook to have a little food and water.  I attempt to argue my case for them to stay here while I go up and check things out first, but they are just as ready as I am to get out, regardless of the consequences waiting for us, and I can't find any reason to disagree with them.  At least we'll be staying together. 

It's already been a very long day and it's not even evening yet.  I want to get out of the tunnel before there are any runners, but I also don't want to step out into the unknown in the broad daylight, so we wait until dusk to make our move. 

              I know my senses are keyed up, but as we start to walk again, I swear I hear something every now and again behind me in the tunnel.  Frankie is up ahead, in the lead, and I'm trailing the pack, so I stop for a minute to just listen.  I definitely hear it again. 

              I run my hands along the wall and feel for another nook.  When I hit it, I duck in and wait quietly.  My hand trembles as I make sure my gun is locked and ready.  I hold my breath and focus on the sounds.  Then I feel it, a faint breeze passes by me in the tunnel.  I jump back in and sprint.  I reach out and grab at the blackness and the next thing I know, I've got someone.  I pull them down to the ground.

              "Who are you?" I yell.

              "Zane?  Is that you?"  A question.  A woman's voice.  A familiar woman's voice.

              "Who are you?" I ask again.

              "It's me...Harlow.  What are you doing?"

"Harlow?"

              "Zane?"  This time the voice is Bekka's.  It grows louder as she approaches.  "Zane!"

"It's okay," I assure her.  I get Harlow up but keep hold of her.  "What's going on?" I question her.

              "You tell me.  I'm on duty."

              "What?  Where's your guard?"

              "It was supposed to be you.  You didn't show, so here I am.  Who's she?"  Harlow asks, speaking about Bekka.

              I think.  I guess I was supposed to be on duty tonight.  None of it mattered anymore, so I hadn't even considered the possibility.  I have to make a quick decision about Harlow.  I weigh my odds.  "She's Bekka," I finally say.

              "What's going on?" Bekka asks.

              "It's okay, Bek.  She's a runner."

              I can hear Bekka take a deep breath.

              "What's she doing down here?"  Harlow asks.

              "Uh.  That's a long story," I say.

              "I'd love to hear it," Harlow says.

              I have no choice but to come clean to Harlow.  I'm banking on the fact that she's going to understand my predicament and will let us go without any problems.  "The end of the tunnel is up ahead.  Why don't we discuss it outside?"  

Chapter 36

Bekka

I have no idea who Harlow is, but I can tell from Zane's voice that he trusts her.  Once we get to the tunnel end, we climb up and exit the manhole cover.  The light hits me and I shield my eyes.  Once they adjust, I look around.  We are on a dusty road that stretches out forever, but there is nothing else around, no tall buildings, no trees--just one long street out of here.  The air is dry and stale and the wind whips loose bits of dirt across the path.   

              Zane and Harlow exit the tunnel last.  Even in uniform, I can tell she's a curvy, attractive woman with dark hair that is fashioned into a perfect bob even after her tussle with Zane.  Her skin is olive and flawless.  She looks a few years older than me, maybe a little younger than Frankie.  She has a runner's pack strapped around her waist and running shoes I'd kill for in my previous life.

Zane looks around for a minute before refocusing on this new person next to him.             

"So what's the story?" she asks facing Zane confidently.

              "We're leaving.  My father was killed and we're in a bit of trouble."

              "Where are you going to go?"  She finally seems to take in her surroundings.

              "We're not entirely sure yet."

              She nods.

              "Listen," he says.  "I just need to get them to safety.  We mean no harm to anyone.  It's just time for us to go.  Do you understand?"

              She is silent for a while and I can see Zane studying her.  She bites her lip and for a few tense moments, I have no idea what is going to happen.  Then she says, "I want to come with you."

              "What?" I hear myself say.  She looks at me for the first time, then back to Zane.

She looks mildly vulnerable for the first time since popping out of the hole.  "I want out.  Please.  Take me with you.  I don't care about what your trouble is, I just want to get the hell out of there."

              "What about water and food?" I ask Zane looking down the long stretch of road before us.

              Frankie steps forward.  "My whole pack is full of foodbars from the factory.  I think we'll be okay with food for a good long while."

              "I have two full water bottles in my pack," Harlow says in a pleading manner, scanning the group.

              Zane looks at me.  I nod reluctantly, just wanting to get moving. 

              "Okay," he says.  "Let's go."

It's hot and dusty, even as the sun sets.  There's nothing out here to shade us, just miles and miles of road.  There are some small plants too, weird looking ones with prickly things on them.  And dirt.  Lots of dirt.  We walk more or less in silence, stopping occasionally for small sips of water. 

              After about an hour or so of walking, we see something rising out of the dirt.  It's tall and skinny and mostly rust, but as we approach, I can tell it's a signpost.  Affixed to the top is a small rectangular piece of metal.  Zane wipes away years of dirt with his hands to reveal old letters etched in to it.  It says Highway 61. 

              "This must be the 61 LeRoy was referring to," I say.  "He's been out here before.  The other side.  How?"

              "Maybe he used to be a tunnel rat," Frankie offers.  I suppose it could be, but I think there must be another story, one that I won't ever hear.  Regardless, I feel a little better knowing we might be headed for something.  What that something is, I have no idea, but the possibility that there are other things, maybe even people out here, is hard to fathom.  Looking around, it seems pretty difficult to accept, but I wouldn't have believed people had actually survived in No Man's Land had somebody told me before today either. 

              Eventually, it's too dark to see any longer and we decide to stop for the day.  We sit on the side of the road and eat a little of the food.  I'm curious to hear more about the new member of our group, so I say, "Harlow, don't you have any family back home that will miss you?"

              "No, not really.  My mom died in childbirth with my younger sister and my dad works in Water.  He's an obsessed scientist.  Once my mom died, he basically just dove into his work.  He was trying to figure out how to make water appear from thin air or some such craziness.  I dunno.  I never cared enough to pay attention.  Anyway, I have no regrets.  I hated running more than anything."

              I flinch at that last part.  Even after all that's happened, those words still rub me the wrong way.

              "Bek," Zane says, "What else did this LeRoy guy tell you?"

              "He didn't tell me so much as he wrote everything down, in poems.  When I asked him about stuff, he never seems like he wanted to talk about it, so I just left it alone.  I think I mentioned I was a pathetic spy."

              Zane chuckles a little.  I punch his arm lightly and continue, "I've been trying to go over the poems in my head.  I'm mad at myself now because I packed the wrong notebook.  The first one he gave me had page after page of poems.  I read them all a bunch of times because I thought they were so beautiful, but I can't really remember now.  Anyway, for some reason, I took the other notebook, the one with blank pages in it.  I don't know why."  I paused.  "Except that it got us here.  It had the one poem in it I showed you.  I guess that's good, but I can't stop wondering how much more information could be gleaned from the others.  He mentioned water a lot, but that's about all I can really remember."

              "Maybe because he was thirty," Harlow says.