Running Dry

by Wenner, Jody

  "I did NOT!" I yell. My mouth drops open, but he keeps going.

  "No. I've been thinking about this for the past few days. I realized I'm not gonna be a sucker like Zane. I'm not gonna cry. I'm over it, and you. I've moved on. Have a nice life, Bekka!" Alex gets up and stomps back to the huffers.

  I want nothing more than to go over to him and finish the conversation. He is wrong. Dead wrong. But the huffers are still all looking and snickering in my direction and I'm sure most of the people in Chuggers just heard what Alex said about me. The terrible, nasty lies he just spewed at me. He's just jealous, I tell myself, as I get up and walk out acting like what he said didn't affect me. I thought nothing could affect me anymore than what already happened in the last few day, but his words stay with me and burn.

  As I walk home, I feel nothing less than rage toward Alex. I regret not telling him off. He is the one who had been pursuing me hard these last few months, even after I made it clear to him that I only wanted to be friends. Then, he had the nerve to say I used him, but what's worse is that he thinks I used Zane! I may have made a bad choice with Alex, but I never used him and I don't even know what he is talking about with Zane. He doesn't know anything about Zane and me.

  A very small part of me starts to wonder if some of what he said isn't really true. Do I only think about myself? I was so focused on running I may have been a little blinded by things, but now that the smoke has lifted, I feel alone and mixed up. I wish I could take to someone but the only one I can think of is Regina, Zane's mother. I can’t talk to her about Zane. And I can't talk to Evy about her own twin brother. As much as she says she doesn't even like him, I know that's a lie. She will defend him and I can't fight with her too. I have no choice but to go home and wait until I leave, which is sounding better to me each minute of the day.

  Zane

  The next few days tick by slowly as I go through my orientation as a tunnel guard. I have spent several days in the classroom learning the essentials of my job. Me and the other new guards will meet the runners later today. I have to see the barber and get my uniform tomorrow before the initiation ceremony. I'm looking forward to seeing my mom there. My new job starts on Monday so this weekend I have to move into my new apartment which is still on the base, but not part of the main structure where the trainees live. I guess I'm an adult now.

  I sit next to Harmond in the mess hall and eat a small breakfast before tackling my errands. I usually eat in silence, but I'm feeling pretty good today, the anticipation of seeing Bekka later fueling my mood.

  "Will your parents be coming tomorrow?" I ask Harmond.

  "Sure. Yours?"

  "My mom," I say.

  "What's the deal with your dad, anyway?"

  "He left us when I was little."

  "Why?"

  "I dunno, Harmond. I was like six years old."

  "He was a soldier though?"

  "He was, but he was discharged after an injury."

  "Was he shot?"

  "Not sure," I say, swallowing hard on some dry soybar .

  "How are you not sure?" Harmond's voice carries a twinge of annoyance and it looks like he is sweating worse than normal. I realize it's probably because he is going to be sent to the frontlines on Friday. He was assigned to Infantry.

  "He didn't really talk about it," I say, shrugging my shoulders. I feel for Harmond, but I don't know what to say.

  "Can I ask you something?" That seemed to be the catchphrase with this guy.

  "Sure."

  "Do you think it can mess you up? I mean mentally?"

  It all gets clear. "Oh, you mean being in combat?"

  "Yeah. I mean, I've heard it can happen. That maybe it happened to your dad. And I just, you know, like after I hurt you that day, I feel bad, you know?" He lowers his fork and he looks at me hard. His voice is nearly a whisper and he says, "Like, I'm all confused and scared. I'm like really, really scared, Zane."

  I feel angry because I wish there was something I could say to him to make him not be scared, but I also think being scared out there is probably better than being a Junkie. Maybe. I wish I could give him some kind of deep wisdom or something, but I'm the wrong guy to be asking about advice when it comes to fighting, and my dad certainly never passed any of it along to me.

  "Yeah," is all I can say, "I think it can really screw people up. What does your Dad do?" I ask.

  "He works in Food."

  "I see. Well, I bet he's proud of you." I try to get it out with as much sincerity as I can muster.

  "I wish I would have done better at training so I could have gotten assigned guard, like you," he says.

  I don't know what else to say, so I just finish eating quietly. It's not fair and I feel terrible, but nothing can be done to change it. Or maybe something can. My mission with the Resistance firm up and feel more clear suddenly. I nod to Harmond when I get up to leave. "Be safe, man." He nods back and I wonder if I'll ever see him again.

  Chapter 13

  Bekka

  I slowly start packing up my meager belongings. I carefully remove the one photo I have of my parents from the small bulletin board attached to the wall near my desk. I hold it up close to my face like I used to do when I was young in hopes of getting some deeper insight into who they were, but I see only a faded photo this time. I’m no longer a dumb kid but somehow I turned into a jaded adult overnight.

  It's been so long since I've moved the picture from this spot, the bulletin board has a light rectangular shadow where the picture was, like a mirage. I put it into the front pocket of my backpack and zip it.

  I hear Cheryl come into the apartment, home from work. I haven't talked to her since before my birthday and I feel mildly guilty. I've spent the last few nights locked in my bedroom but I know I can't put it off any longer. I leave tomorrow. And all of the soul searching I've done after my talk with Alex has made me feel guilty about my relationship with my muma. I have started to realize that I never let her in, never even gave her a chance. I was always running from her and never made a real attempt to get to know her, or let her know me. And I'm all the more aware of it because now it's too late.

  According to the packet of information I received in the mail, I am to bring my bags and new paperwork with me to the place shown on the map. There will be a few days training before the relocation, but I've been instructed to read through the manual before I get there. The thought of crossing over is something I'd never contemplated before. I mean, the idea of living with the enemy, the people who killed my parents, is not really appealing to me.

  I have no idea what will be expected of me or how I’m going to start over, only that I’m confident I know how to take care of myself. I've been doing it for a long time now. Maybe that's why they chose me. Zane once told me that the government knows more about us than we think. I remember laughing at his paranoia, but maybe he was right. Maybe they chose me because I’m someone who is quickly forgotten and hard to remember.

  Nobody here is going to miss me. Except maybe Zane. The last thing I plan to do tonight is write him a letter. I don't know what I'll say, but I know I need to do it.

  Besides my toothbrush, a few sets of clothes and the photo, I'm basically packed. It's kind of sad to realize I can fit all of my necessary belongings into a few small bags. I've boxed everything else up so Cheryl can donate it to the recycling center. I got most of it from there in the first place and I wonder how many other people will use it again. It makes me feel small and inconsequential, but I'm getting used to that idea.

  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 particul
arly." 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.