Running Dry (8 page)

Atop, the armies shoot at each other every chance they get from the ridges built to keep the other at bay.  I could have easily been assigned up there, in the real battle zones, and be forced to actually fight, so I guess being down here is slightly better.  I think.  Except the last thing I want is to get into a gun battle in a dirt maze, with bullets ricocheting around like pinballs. 

I come to the fork in the tunnel and remember, without having to dig for my flashlight again, that I am supposed to go right.  Finally, around the bend I hit the end of the line.  There isn't anything else on the map, but I feel another set of metal rungs.  I guess there is nothing else to do but climb out. 

This end of the tunnel has a metal grate and when I push, it easily comes away.  I step up and out of the darkness into more darkness.  I don't see anything.  I take out my flashlight and shine it around me.  I see something strange, something I've really not seen before.  Trees.  Lots of dark green trees are all around me.  And on the ground, there appears to be a worn dirt path.  I guess I need to follow it.

I'm clearly out of the city now.  I've never seen this many trees in my life, even fake ones.  They surround me as I slowly walk the path.  The scent of them is enough to make this whole experience worth it.  I just keep filling my chest with deep gulps of nature.  Eventually, my eyes adjust and the trees part and I look up at stars and moonlight.  If I wasn't walking toward my potential demise, this would be pretty spectacular. 

Faint voices let me know I've reached my destination, hopefully not my final one.  The clearing grows wider and I stop because this is it; my last chance to turn back, to run and never stop.  Once I accept it's not a possibility, not if I want a chance to see Bekka again, I march straight ahead intently, ready to get the whole thing over with and done. 

Charging in, I expect punches or gunfire and wince with arm shielding my face.  When I open my eyes, I can see instead, I'm hardly noticed.  I count about eight guys huddled in squatting positions with a dim lantern in the middle of them.  Their backs are turn toward me, so I can't even tell who any of them may be.  Someone finally notices me standing there and waves me over.  It's my CO, Officer Fulton.  There is a man speaking directly across from him in the circle that I don't recognize as I get closer.  He just keeps talking and the others are listening intently, even Fulton.  He doesn't stop as I approach.  Fulton inches over to make room for me to join the huddle.  The others look up, but keep their focus mostly on the guy talking.  He gives me a glance but finishes his sentence, "...so, it's a good idea, but I think we should wait at least two more weeks."

There are a few nods and murmurs. 

Fulton says, "Guys, I want you to meet Zane Brenner."

They all turn their heads to look up at me.  I notice one other squad leader from training, but none of the others look familiar at all.  "Hey," most of them say, or something like it. 

The guy who'd been talking says, "It's nice to meet you Zane.  We're glad you're going to take your brother's place.  We know the mission was important to him."

"Um, what exactly is the mission?" I say.

"For both sides to start working together," he says.

"Both sides?  You guys are Southies?"

He chuckles, "Yeah.  I'm Pete and this is Eddie, Johnson, and Frankie.  I think you know the others."

When Frankie turns and smiles at me, I see that he's actually a she with short dark hair, mostly hidden under a stocking cap.  Her eyes search mine and her smile is of a sympathetic nature.  I realize these are people who knew my brother, maybe even better than I did.  I suddenly feel very weak and emotional, like he is somehow with me right now.  And I'm also relieved.  This is not a mission to bury my body into the ground. 

"Welcome to the Resistance," Frankie says.  Fulton gives me two hard pats on the back.

The Resistance.  I like the sound of it.

Chapter 11

Bekka

The next day I wish I felt better, could accept the situation I've been dealt, but I can't and won't.  In fact, I think I feel worse.  I keep closing my eyes and opening them again, hoping I'm just having a bad dream.  Turns out the nightmare is my real life and now I've got to get up and out of bed and face it because I have an appointment to meet with the Dean.

Everyone meets with the Dean to go over their new position and get further instruction.  I had looked forward to this day but now I'm anxious and worried because instead of an orientation, I need to turn my appointment into a mission to get the Dean to change his mind somehow.  All I can do is rehearse my speech and hope that my argument is strong enough for him to see my reasoning.  I'm hoping maybe I won't have to do that though, that maybe he'll take one look at his paperwork and laugh at what a stupid mistake they made. 

As I wait in line in front of the Dean's office, I can't stop tapping my feet.  Everyone else around me sounds relatively happy about their assignment, at least from what I've gathered.  I haven't actually talked to anybody.  Instead I have my hoodie pulled up over my head and my eyes on the ground, as a sign for everyone to leave me alone.  My annoyance for life grows as I hear my peers chatting around me.  They make this sound like a game of some sort.  “Oh, I’m gonna be in Collection...hahaha.”  I've never been a particularly angry person, like Zane, but I think I'm starting to understand his disposition better.  Today, even the fake flowers in the large pot next to the Dean's office are bugging the crap out of me.   

When it's finally my turn, I go into the office and the secretary closes the door then goes to a chair on the far end of the room and sits down.

"Please sit, Ms. Tyson," Dean Ashbury says.  I lower my hood and smooth my ponytail.  I examine the Dean as he types something into his computer.  He is a broad shouldered man wearing a garish plaid suit.  His hair is thin and his meager attempt at covering his balding forehead, by combing over the scant remains of greasy strands from one side of his hairline to the other, looks worse than the suit he's wearing.

His desk is almost as large as the whole room and is piled high with scattered papers.  This is the man in charge of my fate, I think.  I feel claustrophobic suddenly.

"So," he says, "you have been assigned to our prestigious Espionage Department."  He doesn't look up from the screen and says the word “espionage” like he is sophisticated, which he is not.

I've been practicing my speech all morning, but now I panic and just blurt out, "Yes, but it's a mistake.”  I immediately know, as the words tumble from my mouth, that this is the wrong approach to take with Dean Ashbury.

He looks past the screen finally and stares at me like I've just committed a crime, and for all I know, I have.  "A mistake?  I don't think so."  He smiles and there is a large gap between his two front teeth. 

Now is my chance.  I inhale a large gulp of air and start to say, "I mean, it's just that...you see..."

He interrupts,  "Are you unhappy with your assignment?"  His tone switches from smug to annoyed.

I think.  "Well, yes."  Come on, Bekka!  What is wrong with me?  I’m screwing up my one chance at this.

"Would you care to elaborate?  And, please make it quick.  I have several other students to get to today."

"Dean Ashbury....I'm a runner!  I've been training since I was seven years old.  It was my first pick.  I've studied and studied and it's all I've ever wanted to be, sir."  It all comes out in one long stream and it sounds like I am seven years old again and demanding a prize from my parents, but I have no control over the situation.  I'm out of my head with desperation.

"Why is that?"

"Because!"  I pause.  Because why?  Think Bekka.  My mind is a jumbled mess of random cliched words and phrases and I'm incapable of making any of them sound exactly right.  Slowly, I say, "My mom was a runner and I just..." My face begins to feel flushed and I want to do something to make him understand.  Instead he just looks at me in a pathetic manner with his stupid suit and ridiculous hair.  I want to scream.  And cry.  And stand up and shake him until he gets it.  Instead I just sit there, frozen.

He looks back down at his papers.  "It says here your mother is a cafeteria worker in a building downtown."

"My foster mother.  My real parents, Agnes and Leo Tyson, died in the line of duty."

There is a moment of silence that feels like it extends a lifetime.  My heart pounds and the weight of the moment almost crushes me, like this one second could determine everything.

Finally, he straightens a pile of papers, sets them in a folder and tosses it aside casually.  He clears his throat.  "Yes, well.  While I acknowledge that you've got famous parents, they weren't entirely in the right.  Besides, you know the rules, Ms. Tyson.  Your assignment is final.  I can't change it.  Even if I had that authority, I still wouldn't do it.  Then everyone in that line out there would come in and start demanding they be switched to something else and the whole system would fall apart.  You don't want to be known as the girl who toppled a good city now do you, Ms. Tyson?"

I nod, but my mind hasn't stopped trying to work out a case for why I am different.  I have known my whole life I was going to be a runner and I've seen it play out that way every single day.  I have seen it in my sleep and in my wake, and lately I've seen Zane there, with me, as a guard.  There is no way that has all been wrong. 

"Anyway, we are here to discuss your new job," he says in a very chipper way, as if to insinuate we could all just move on and pretend that first part didn't happen.  "I'm sure you will find it very interesting.  As you know, the Espionage Department is lumped under the umbrella of the Government, but it is a large and reaching department and your specific assignment actually falls under the Military branch of operations."

I have a second to process this.  This means there is a chance I will be living on the base, with Zane.  Maybe all is not lost.  Perhaps I can still salvage this to some extent.  Maybe I will train soldiers in covert operations that involve swiftness and agility.  Yes.  This could work.

"There are a few different jobs in this area, but you have been given one of the very special ones.  You should be proud."

I try to smile but I really want to just yell, "Tell me, already!"

Flatly, he says, "You will go across the river."

"I will
what
?"

"You are going to be a spy, Ms. Tyson.  Congratulations!"

My mouth drops open and I just sit, staring at the Dean. 

"You should receive an envelope by Wednesday at your residence that you will need to study.  It will contain all of the crucial paperwork, a handbook, the like.  Should you have any questions, your new supervisor is..." The Dean digs into his cluttered mess and reveals a clipboard from the pile and finds the information with his pinky finger.  "Jameson.  His contact information will be included in the orientation packet.  Now, do you have any further questions?"

My eyes begin to flood, but I will not let this disgusting man see me cry.  I can't.  Yet, I can't speak and I can't move.  I just look at him, fighting my emotions. 

He sighs loudly.  "Listen, Ms. Tyson," he says, lowering the clipboard, "You have been chosen for this job carefully and thoughtfully.  It is a very important job and will help in the war efforts greatly.  I have every faith that you can and will succeed at your new position."  He raises from his seat and nods at his mousy secretary, who comes to the chair and pulls it out a bit for me.  Then she opens the door and calls the next in line.

Somehow I get up and walk out of the office and instinct takes over and before I'm even outside, my legs are moving in giant strides.  I'm running faster than I've ever run, down the hall, past the line of kids waiting, and away from the school.  And that's it.  I'm running, but I’m not a runner. 

Zane

Once the meeting is done, my head is swimming.  Fulton tells me to walk with him, so I follow, down the path in a different direction than the one I'd come.  The others quickly disperse in every direction.

We go a short distance and come to another large clearing.  Now I can see millions of stars and feel a light breeze.

"Sit," Fulton commands, so I do.

I feel cool, damp grass underneath me.  Behind me, I realize, is a high fence. We are outside the wall.

"Where are we?" I whisper.

"We’re on the ridge."

"Outside the border?"

"Yeah.  If you listen closely, you will hear gunfire every once in awhile near the areas close to the central fighting zones."

I listen and I do hear some distant popping.  But there is something else too, a gushing, churning sound that can only be one thing.  "Is that…?"

"The river.  Yes.  It's just below us on the other side of a steep cliff.  I wish you could see it.  It's amazing."

"You've been here...in the daylight?"

"Yeah.  I come here to think sometimes.  It's hidden and well downstream from the action."

"Wow," is all I can think to respond.

"Anyway," he goes on, "I'm glad you decided to come to the meeting.  I'm sure it was hard for you to trust me after everything I put you through.  I know it must have been confusing and I'm sorry.  I needed to make sure it was safe, for both of us."