by Wenner, Jody
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 outsi
de 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.
When I open the door Officer Fulton is on the other side.
"Good Morning, Private Brenner," he says, formally.
"Nice to see you, sir."
"It's been a while. How is the assignment?"
"Well, sir. Thank you."
"Great. Well, I just had a few errands to run on this side of the base and I thought I'd hand deliver this mail to you. It must have gone to the dorms and got lost in the shuffle," he says, handing over a sealed envelope.
"I appreciate that," I say, taking it and noticing another piece of small paper folded and stuck to the backside of it.
"Okay," he says, looking somewhat uncomfortable, his eyes darting around the inside of my apartment.
"Oh, did you want to come in?" I say, realizing I should have offered that up earlier.
"No, I've got to get back before my first training session. But I wanted to invite you to my place for dinner. Say Wednesday night? You’re off that night. I checked the schedule.'
'Oh. Sure. That sounds good.'
'Great. I left my address on a slip of paper there for you," he says, "See you then."
Inside, I take the envelope to the couch and can tell immediately from the handwriting that it's a letter from Bekka. I set aside the address and tear the letter open.
Dear Zane,
You probably know by now that I am not a runner. Did it surprise you as much as it did me? I wish I would have prepared myself more for the possibility. Looking back, I feel so stupid. But I've had a few days to sit with it now and you know what? This might surprise you, but I feel a weird sense of freedom, in a way I never saw coming. I'm actually looking forward to starting over. I'm even happy with the way things have turned out.
I've realized that you and I didn't always see eye to eye. I have decided it's best that we are parting ways. It would have happened eventually anyway, right? We are different people and were growing more different everyday. Things had to end. I know it sounds crazy but even after everything, I still want to do right by the war and my parents, so I intend to put everything into this job because I think that's what they would have wanted me to do. I hope you also find happiness in your life.
Always,
Bekka
I read the letter three times in total before I set it down. Not much of what she said makes a whole lot of sense to me, but I have a feeling she was in a crazed state after finding out she wasn't going to fulfil her lifelong dream. I wonder what that would be like, being told you couldn't do what you had wished and planned from a very early age. I feel bad for her, but jealous in the same breath that I never had a goal or focus so deep in life, at least until now, with the Resistance.
The fact that in just a couple of sentences she somehow managed to dismiss our entire relationship, the connection that got me through my life up until this point, leaves me crushed and frustrated. Apparently losing me didn't seem to have a big impact on her. I wish I could say the same. I feel like an idiot now for the amount of brooding I've done on her behalf the last few weeks.
Is she right? Would we have only continued to grow apart? Pondering it any longer is useless, because we’ll never know, so I tuck the letter into my dresser drawer and lie down on my bed. Deflated and exhausted, I decide to skip all of my chores and sleep the day away.
Chapter 16
Bekka
I'm sitting in a small cafe on the corner near my apartment, observing a young couple arguing about the rent. I'm taking a cue from Zane and using a notebook, pretending to be a writer. My recent training was short and mostly practical stuff, so I'm forced to think back to some of my espionage lessons from Mr. Daniels. I recall something about PERK: Pay attention to the things happening around you. Ears always turned on. Remember details. Key pieces of info go back to your agent during your monthly meet-ups.
So far, I've done nothing except sit in my apartment and memorize the junk in my packets. Maps with areas of the city, lists of schools, directories, and several charts and graphs for how the city operates as a whole. I have to have a keen understanding of who the new me is and where I am
at all times.
The city itself is more or less a carbon copy of North Sacto in terms of the physical appearances--a lot of run down structures and gritty, dry streets, except their motto seems to be TURN OFF THE TAP! I'm fascinated by the differences in normal, everyday life and I'm jotting them down since I'm supposed to pretend to be writing something anyway. For example, they still use the infrastructure and plumbing of the old city. They don't distribute water tickets or even seem to have a system for rationing beyond the fact that once you've used your monthly allowance, your pipes don't flow. It’s taken some getting used to for a girl who doesn't know how much water is actually coming out of the pipes. I like being able to see it sitting in the basin; makes more sense to me.
The vibe of the people here is even more startling. The whole place feels like the areas of North Sacto that I avoided running in, like the huffer neighborhoods. Even during the daytime hours everyone feels a little more reckless and angry, which is not super comforting, especially being on my own. I keep telling myself I've only been here for a short time and I’m probably just sensitive to the change, but my anxiety is definitely high. And it doesn't help that I don't have much to do except observe at this point, waiting for my meetings with my agent to begin. I'm used to staying busy with school, or running, or hanging with Zane. Now these things are all dead to me. I've spent a lot of time lately shoving those thoughts out of my head as fast as they surface, which is still pretty often.
I was instructed to blend in and try to make some friends, but it hasn't happened yet. The blending in part is no problem. People here dress fairly low key and don't seem to get into factions like the ones we have. Not many tattoos or purple haired freaks here. Seems more like the style is homely and unkempt. At least I have the plain Jane thing down.
