RUNNERS

by Sharon Sant

  Rosa spotted Elijah’s look of concern at the heaving crowds and smiled thinly. ‘This is good. No one is going to take any notice of us today. We need to use tokens, though, and we’re down to the last few, so it’s going to take some bargaining to get all we need. Leave the talking to me.’

  Elijah was stung by the tone of her voice, but couldn’t help feeling that she was right again. Rosa’s commanding air alone gave the impression that she was over sixteen, whereas he seriously doubted that he could convince anyone of the same. Rosa pushed her way through the crowds while Elijah tried to melt into the background. Once or twice he felt suspicious eyes upon him, and thought he heard whispers full of trouble.

  ‘Right. Let’s get out of here.’ Rosa returned with a bulging cloth bag.

  It was just as they were making their way out of the crowds that they both saw him at the same time - the unmistakable figure of a sallow faced youth wearing a waist length waterproof jacket and a sneering, stumpy-toothed grin. He had been watching them, it seemed, with great amusement, and acknowledged the fact that Elijah had spotted him by giving a mocking thumbs up, and then rubbing his belly in exaggerated way. Elijah’s blood ran cold with fury.

  Rosa, sensing danger, grabbed his wrist. ‘Don’t do anything stupid.’

  Elijah fought to keep his rage under control, fixing the boy with a hard stare. He mastered his anger, but not for long. It was the obscene gesture the boy made at Rosa that caused Elijah to lose all self-control. Blood pounding in his ears, he wrenched his arm free from Rosa’s grip and, in five swift bounds, was across the parched green, indiscriminately barging people aside; Rosa’s shouts of warning meaningless noise. The boy laughed. He turned to find a way out of the crowd, but wasn’t quick enough. Elijah, head down, tackled him, sending them both crashing to the ground. Elijah lost all capacity for rational thought; fury coursed like acid through his veins as they traded blows: punching, kicking, biting – no form of combat off limits.

  He felt large, rough hands grab him before he saw them. He was wrenched away and his feet almost left the floor. Even then, Elijah continued to lash out like a wild animal, scratching and biting, now kicking at air, until he was finally held tight.

  In the commotion, Rosa went unnoticed and backed quietly away from the fray. Seeing that there was nothing to be done for Elijah, she fled.

  Three: Cornish Coffee and Megalomania

  The carpet that Maxwell Braithwaite paced was a deep, plush maroon, adding an air of incongruous opulence to an otherwise coldly functional, though well equipped, office. The windows were large and the room bright with natural daylight. A holographic pine forest projected across one wall was the only aesthetic indulgence, besides the carpet. Every largely unobtainable item was housed here: phones, computers, a fax machine, right down to silver fountain pens and a generous stock of freshly ground coffee, specially cultivated in the eco domes of Cornwall. However, the presence of such luxuries was not worthy of note to Mr Braithwaite.

  Checking his watch for the third time, he was just about to reach for the intercom when there was a furtive knock at the office door.

  ‘Come.’

  A stubby, sweaty man in a white laboratory coat tentatively put his head round the door before apparently satisfying himself that there was no danger and allowing the rest of his body to follow. He waited expectantly for instruction, grunting heavily as though the very act of standing up straight was a mountainous climb. Mr Braithwaite stopped pacing and gestured for the new arrival to sit at the far side of a vast, intimidating desk, whilst he stiffly took his place in a much higher chair behind it, clearly designed to reinforce his superiority.

  Steepling his fingers, he fixed his subordinate with a hard stare. ‘If there’s one thing I cannot abide, it is tardiness.’

  ‘Sorry, sir,’ began the man, obviously flustered, ‘I’ve never actually been up to this floor before and –’

  Braithwaite waved his hand, as if swatting at an annoying fly, in dismissal of the excuse. Taking a sheaf of papers bound by a thin, red vinyl folder, he tossed them across the desk to the man, noting with undisguised distaste the copious amount of sweat beading the man’s forehead and nose.

  ‘I take it you have read my email,’ Braithwaite said. The man nodded. ‘And you are familiar with Grace McKee?’ The man’s head bobbed again. ‘Good. Whatever you are working on at the moment, Stein, you can leave. I want you to concentrate your efforts on this - the research I mentioned in my communication.’ He inclined his head at the papers and fixed the man with a steely grey stare.

  Stein took the file and flicked through it briefly, pausing every now and then to read sections more thoroughly.

  He finally lifted his head, his nerves forgotten and his voice quivering slightly with excitement. ‘I must say, when I received your email I discussed this subject with colleagues who have more of a specialist interest in it than I. Obviously,’ he added quickly, ‘I did not divulge the exact contents,’ Braithwaite nodded for him to continue, ‘but while this is certainly intriguing, it is a field I am not altogether familiar with. I don’t know that I am the man you need, many of my colleagues –’

  Braithwaite interrupted. ‘It’s all a matter of choosing the right personnel. I have an idea that some of your colleagues may be put off by more unconventional methods of collecting further data, and I can certainly assign staff to your command who are familiar with this area of research, and who can assist you with the more practical side of the operation… if you are prepared to take your instructions from me.’

  ‘I still don’t follow, sir...’

  ‘I have seen your work on the drug testing projects. You have efficient methods and get good results. Let us say that I am sure you have the right attitude to succeed.’ Stein visibly puffed up in his chair as Braithwaite continued. ‘The data we have here suggests something quite spectacular on the other side of this… disturbance, something that, in the right hands, could prove valuable. In short, something that many people would give a great deal to have access to. One has to be prepared to take risks when so much is at stake. Don’t you agree?’ Stein nodded. ‘Read the papers thoroughly,’ continued Braithwaite, ‘you will see that there are certain resources necessary to complete the investigations. When you have provided a suitable proposal of your own, as to how you wish to proceed, along with your equipment requirements, I will see to it that those resources are to hand.’

  With a wave, Stein was dismissed. He clutched the file to his chest and rose from his seat. ‘Good evening, Mr Braithwaite.’

  Braithwaite did not reply. Picking up a slim remote control, he aimed it at the holographic image on the wall of the office and the Alpine scene became a Mediterranean sunset. Braithwaite gave a small smile of approval, ran a sinewy hand slowly over his smooth, shaved head and sipped his Cornish coffee.

  As Stein made his way down the corridor to the lift, the lights went out, plunging him into gloom. Great! Power cuts. The lift will be out of order. Huffing and sweating, he trudged to the staircase.

  In the office that Stein had just vacated, the power was uninterrupted. Braithwaite buzzed his secretary.

  ‘Tessa, contact the regional CMO and arrange a meeting with Marcus. Tomorrow morning will do.’

  Four: Running Again

  By the time Elijah had stopped struggling, murmurs of unease already rippled through the crowd of onlookers. The sky was heavy and the air crackled expectantly with electricity. Many stallholders, choosing to ignore the disturbance, anxiously packed up their scant stocks as their customers hurried home. Elijah’s over-zealous captors – two burly middle-aged men and an older, grizzle-bearded man with undersized eyes - didn’t seem to show concern for the ominous warnings on the horizon. The sallow faced boy had picked himself up, wiping blood from his lip, and watched with sardonic amusement as Elijah wrenched and twisted to get free. The bearded man began to fire questions at his captive.

  ‘How old are you?’

  Elijah knew it was useless t
o lie – but he did it anyway. ‘Sixteen.’

  The old man narrowed his eyes. ‘Where do you live?’

  Not knowing the surrounding area, Elijah couldn’t lie his way out of this. The only address he could think of was the one he had shared with his father.

  ‘Ringwood…Victory Court,’ he panted, still struggling. ‘I’m telling the truth. I live with my dad. Get off me!’

  ‘Where’s your dad now?’

  ‘Home.’

  ‘You’re a bit far away from home. Who you staying with?’

  Elijah’s mouth worked silently as he tried to invent an answer.

  The man now looked at Elijah’s antagonist. ‘Do you know him?’

  The youth adopted an expression of mock innocence. ‘No. But I think…’ He glanced at Elijah, who thought he saw the tiniest hint of a smile. ‘I think he was trying to steal my tokens.’

  A shocked whisper hissed through the remaining onlookers. The expressions of the three men hardened.

  Elijah shouted, pulling against the arms still holding him fast. ‘It’s not true. He stole mine from me. It was him, he’s got mine…’

  The men looked at the other boy, who shrugged. ‘He would say that, wouldn’t he?

  The older man turned to Elijah. ‘You dirty little thief! Do you know what they do in the East to thieves? Fancy a little Eastern justice?’

  Elijah’s antagonist drew his finger across his throat with a smug smile. Rage swelled in Elijah again. His attempts to get free from his captors became more frantic still. But it was the idea of pummelling that face into mash that drove him.

  ‘Ned.’ The older man turned to someone standing nearby. ‘Will you get a message to the CMO? Tell ‘em we’ve got a Runner.’

  The sallow faced boy, spying his chance, slipped silently away. Ned looked uncertain. Elijah saw the boy disappear into the crowds, and his anger gave way to rising panic.

  ‘No, please, let me go home… please. I live with my dad.’ He groped around for any argument that might save him, ‘I… I wouldn’t rob in broad daylight, would I?’

  Ned glanced apprehensively at the darkening sky. ‘Maybe we should just let him go. I’m keen to get home myself, if truth be told.’

  ‘Go home then,’ the first man replied. ‘Personally, I’m not giving the dirty little thief the chance to rob my food…’

  ‘I wasn’t…’ Elijah pleaded.

  ‘SHUT UP,’ the man bellowed. He turned to the others. ‘Here,’ he gave the bearded man Elijah’s arm. ‘Hold him. I’ll go.’ Turning, he strode into the retreating crowds.

  Elijah’s legs suddenly felt brittle, his mind raced, desperately trying to formulate some plan, spot some way to escape, but the situation seemed hopeless. If he had known about praying, he would have prayed like he had never prayed before.

  Even as all seemed lost, an ear-splitting crack echoed around the square, followed by a low rumble of thunder almost directly overhead. A fork of lightning streaked towards the earth and hit a nearby oak tree, which exploded into flames. One of its ancient branches came groaning and crashing towards Elijah. His captors loosened their hold, throwing themselves and him out of its path. Elijah reacted instinctively; taking advantage of the ensuing confusion, he scrambled to his feet and ran. One or two feeble attempts were made to stop him, but he dodged aside, flailing his arms madly to hit out at anyone who tried to grab him. Weaving through the scurrying stragglers, he tore away into the gloom.

  Another almighty rumble followed, then another, and another. The sky was alive, dancing with electricity. A raindrop the size of an egg splashed onto the baked earth and was swallowed immediately, quickly followed by more. Elijah ran for his life. Once or twice he had to check himself as he nearly overbalanced. His breath burned in his throat and chest. He never looked back; acutely aware of the seconds it would cost him. Now the rain came, torn from the sky in vast sheets; every crack and blaze brought a new sense of urgency. Water ran down his face, obscuring his vision. He considered hiding, but the sparking of another tree on his path sent him into new spasms of fear. The only thing he could do now was try to outrun the fury of the storm, before it really took hold.

  Five: The Body

  ‘Sky! Staring out of the window is not going to help us!’

  ‘Sorry, Rosa.’ Sky let the pivoting section of plywood fall back across the windowpane. She winced as another growl of thunder ripped across the sky above their den. The deluge outside pounded on the roof and ground in an unnerving cacophony. Here and there, evidence of the flimsiness of their shelter revealed itself as roof tiles rattled, and water seeped down walls and dripped from disused light fittings.

  ‘There are advantages to having no electricity,’ Jimmy noted grimly.

  Xavier, still grey, his shadowed eyes even more pronounced in the gloom, was propped up on the stained mattress. Rosa had arrived back, exhausted and fuming, shortly before the storm broke. It had taken ten minutes for her anger to abate enough to speak.

  Xavier asked her the question again. ‘You’re sure no one followed you?’

  She nodded uncertainly. ‘They were all so busy dragging Elijah off no one noticed me leave,’ she hesitated, ‘well… I’m as sure as I can be.’ Another thought occurred to her. ‘But if Elijah does make a break for it, they might follow him.’

  Xavier brooded on the possibility. ‘I can’t imagine how he would get out of that, from what you’ve told me. Still,’ he continued coldly, ‘I think we should put some distance between him and us.’

  ‘What?’ Sky wheeled round. ‘Leave him behind?’

  Xavier nodded.

  ‘But – ’

  ‘He’s a liability. Trouble follows him – look at what we’ve seen already. I don’t fancy getting hauled in by the CMO. I don’t know if what people say about them is true – but I don’t want to find out. If he stays, I have a feeling we all will. Besides,’ he added with an air of finality, ‘its one less to get food for.’

  Sky looked at the others for support. No one could meet her gaze. Deep down, she knew that Xavier was being brutal, but what he said made sense. The others would have to agree. ‘Well,’ she said, defeated but hoping to stall the departure, ‘we can’t go tonight,’ she returned to the window and swivelled back the loose wood, ‘not in this.’

  The prospect of leaving what had become a sanctuary hung over them all and a tense silence accompanied their scant meal. There was only enough scrub for a feeble fire, so they ate what could be eaten cold or raw. There was no kettle boiling merrily tonight, no chat, no laughter – only the sense of a chapter in their life together closing. Apart from scraping as they ate, the only other sounds were the incessant roar of the storm and the pounding of rain upon the roof. Sky put a plate aside for Elijah. No one commented.

  Frantic hammering at the door shattered the silence.

  ‘It’s me. Let me in!’

  Jimmy leapt to the door but didn’t open it. He called through the wood, ‘Were you followed?’

  ‘What? Let me in… please.’ Elijah hammered at the door again. ‘Come on!’

  Jimmy glanced at Xavier who nodded permission to open the door. The sopping figure of Elijah tumbled over the threshold.

  ‘You’re soaking everywhere… get in the other room.’ Rosa grimaced at the puddle already forming at Elijah’s feet.

  Sky hurriedly took Elijah by the arm, leading him to a small bathroom off the scullery. ‘Try not to annoy them more than they already… oh, your face!’

  He put up a hand and felt it for the first time, realising that he was injured. The metallic tang of blood trickled into his swollen mouth. ‘It’s fine. I’ve got no other clothes, though.’

  ‘I expect Jimmy can lend you something.’

  Sky went to see Jimmy, leaving Elijah to strip. She returned and, seeing him almost naked, blushed, shoving the clothes at him before scurrying away.

  Elijah quickly pulled them on, grateful for the dryness, and tried to shake most of the wet out of his hair before rushin
g back in to the others to find out what had happened to Rosa. He had expected a chilly reception when he got back, but was not prepared for the outright hostility that greeted him. No sooner had he stepped into the main room than a furious Rosa rounded on him.

  ‘What the hell was that about?’

  Elijah cast his gaze to the floor. Rosa stamped her foot in frustration, apparently struggling for powerful enough expletives. Xavier glowered at him, clearly annoyed that he had made it back before they could leave him behind.

  ‘We’ll have to leave as soon as we can. It’s not safe here now.’ Xavier hadn’t needed to say any more. Silence fell again; the day’s events now an insurmountable barrier between Elijah and the others.

  Despite the gnawing hunger, he couldn’t bring himself to take the plate of food that Sky had put aside for him, it somehow felt wrong and he pushed it away with a look of regret.

  Rowan looked at the others. ‘I’ll have that if no one else is going to eat it.’

  Elijah lay awake listening to the others fidget and sigh, sometimes creeping over to the window, silently stepping over prone bodies to make a pointless check on the progress of the still raging storm. The heat continued to stifle, despite the downpour, and beads of sweat glistened on his body, making the sleeping bag he was lying on damp and uncomfortable. It was weird how they all slept together in the one room, Elijah reflected as sleep eluded him for the third consecutive hour. There were other rooms in the house, but ever since he had arrived it had always been the same. He wondered how much longer the security of companionship was going to last. The continuing cruelty of his fate seemed unendurable and self-pity threatened to consume him. With bitter thoughts and the constant pounding of rain on the roof, he finally drifted into a fitful sleep.