Running Dry

Chapter 1

Bekka

I run along the same street every day, jumping and weaving to avoid potholes and garbage.  I'd rather focus on the ridge, out beyond the edges of the city past the chain link fence, but then I'd trip and fall.  Instead, I keep my eyes down toward the ground, mostly on my worn sneakers.  It doesn't matter.  I'm running and that's the important thing. 

The wind hitting my face helps calm me and provides the only breeze I'll get in this arid wasteland.  I kick up dust as my legs carry my mind away from the ruins of the city and allow me to daydream about the river and trees I know exist somewhere out there.

Once at the pool, I sit and attempt to catch my breath.  While I do, I smooth my ponytail and wipe the sweat from my face with my shirt.  There's no reason to be nervous, but butterflies have started to dance around inside my stomach.  With nothing else to do but wait, I wiggle to the edge of the pool and dangle my feet over the pit.  The once blue liner is a gnarly greenish brown color which matches the debris taking the place of water. 

It's quiet.  Nobody lives up here in this abandoned neighborhood once called the upper flats.  Everyone's been forced into the center areas of town, into the high-rises, for water distribution purposes.  It feels like a ghost town here now; a crumbling, desolate reminder of what it must have been like when people lived normal, hydrated lives.  That was well before my time, but I sit and pretend anyway that the pool is full of clear blue water and I'm in a lush green world instead of a gray, cracked one.  

I hear Zane arrive before I see him.  The sound of his skateboard grinding the pavement grows louder behind me.  Then it stops and he's sitting next to me.

"Hey," he says in his usual sullen voice.  His feet begin to dangle and sway in unison with mine.

"How are you?" I ask, kicking his foot lightly.

"Eh."

"Yeah, well.  Try to pretend you're happy.  For me, okay?"  I finally turn toward him, worried he won't look the same anymore, but he does.  His dark hair is hanging over his sad eyes, a poor attempt to conceal them.  His most recent tattoo peeks from his shirt sleeve just enough for me to make out the bottom of the letters that spell his brother's name. 

"I'm happy to see
you
," he says, kicking me back playfully.

"How long do we have?" I ask hesitantly. 

"I need to be back to base in twenty."

I feel sick.  I know this might be the last visit like this we get.

"Come on," he says.  Zane pulls me up and half drags me toward the abandoned changing house once used for swimming parties.  He crawls through the window, already broken out, who knows how long ago, then I do the same.  He smiles weakly at me as I come face to face with him for the first time in a month.  He looks older, tired.  I wonder how I look to him. 

We sit on a couch riddled with graffiti tags and is baring more springs than fabric on the musty cushions.

"When do you start?" he asks.

"I have a week left before the test."

He only nods.  I'm used to that.  Zane isn’t a big talker, which is okay.  I know him so well I can easily fill in the silence with what I think he'd say. 

"You do know that runners don't actually need to run, right?  I mean, not like you do anyway," he says.

I stiffen. "Have you gone out?  Past the ridge?"

"No, not on an actual run, just training exercises.  Enough to know."  His hands fidget with some frayed bits of couch fiber and he feels far away.

"And?"

"And, it was awful, Bekka.  Okay?"  His voice gets low and soft. "I...I wish you’d reconsider."

"I can’t."  He knows it.  I'm tired of explaining it to him. "Awful how?"

"Just, you know...dangerous."

"Everything here is dangerous!"  My voice echoes my irritation more than I want.

"This is worse.  I just don’t see why you have to do this."

"Do we have to talk about it?  Now?  We only have a little longer.  I don't want to fight with you."  Tears well up, but I push them away. 

"Okay," he says.

"Hey, why aren’t you in uniform? And how come your hair isn't shaved?"

"Not until I finish training."

"When will that be?"

"Never, if I can help it."

"Stop it!"  I hate when he's like this.

"I can't Bek.  I need to understand."

I sigh. "We’ve been over this so many times.  This isn't about me, Zane.  I was born a runner.  My whole family…"

"Is gone because of it."  He hits me where he knows it will hurt the hardest, but I was expecting it and I'm able to deflect it today because I need to. 

"Hey." I punch him in the arm and say in the goofiest voice I can muster,"We all need water." 

WE ALL NEED WATER is the city's motto.  It's plastered on every street corner and condemned building.  It's the slogan that has plagued our lives.

"That's the stupidest thing you've ever said.”  But he smirks just a little and gets up from the couch.

"You have to go already?"

"Yeah."

I stand and look down at my running shoes. "I hate this."

"Me too."

"When...will I see you again?"  I hold my breath.

"I'm getting my assignment soon.  I've been trying my hardest, Bekka.  The tunnels are only for the elite.  My scores are good so far, but I don't know.  I might be placed on the fence, or maybe somewhere else altogether, even the ridge."

Now it's my turn to nod.  My chest is tight. There's nothing I can say.  I knew this day would come, but I never wanted to think about it.  I swallow hard.  Zane pulls me toward him and wraps his bulky arms around me tenderly.  It feels strange in a way.  We've only hugged a handful of times before: once after Zander died, and then again just a few months ago when he left for the military.  Now makes three.  All bad things.  Yet, it feels surprisingly normal somehow, curled up inside of him like this and it's hard to let go.

There aren't words for what has to happen next.  How do you tell your best friend, who you might never see again, goodbye?  The person who has lived down the hall from you since you were a toddler and who has been there for you ever since, how can you translate the emotions into words?  There isn't a way, so we just break apart and I stand numbly and watch him back out through the empty window frame and I'm alone.

Zane

After I walk out, I grab my skateboard from the spot I left it near the pool.  I kick and push without thinking because there's nothing I can do to change things, so what's the point?  I've already tried to figure out a way to stop this from happening, but there isn't one, so I just keep moving.  I’m empty, but I’ve been empty since I turned eighteen.  No, even before that, since my brother Zander was killed.  I’m angry with myself for not trying harder to convince Bekka to change her mind about running, but that's as impossible as changing the system.  God, she’s so damn stubborn! 

Once I'm back to the busier part of the city, I veer slightly from my course and skate past the apartment and count the windows.  Old habits are hard to break.  Fifth window from the left, on the fourth floor.  I stare hard at it as I roll by.  My mom is on the other side of that pane of glass, probably getting ready for work.  I wish I could see her but it's too risky and I’m out of time.

Distracted by thoughts of a life I can't go back to, and not sure I want to anyway, my front wheels find a crack in the pavement and I crash to the ground.  I'm used to falling, but my legs are sore and bruised already from combat training.  Luckily, I'm familiar with pain.  You have to be to live in this world.  I pick up my board and walk the rest of the way back to the barracks with moments to spare. 

Heading directly to my first training session of the day, I’m stopped abruptly by my commanding officer in the hallway.  His shoulder careens into mine.  It's no accident.  I know it.  He knows it.  I stop and play the game.  The rules here are simple.  Obey your rank.

"Oh, sorry about that, Brenner.  I didn't see you there,' he says.  His tone is cheerful.

Though I know it’s a lie, I have no choice but to say, "No problem, sir."

"Have a nice morning?  It's hot enough to swim out there."

It's an odd thing to say.  Nobody swims, of course.  Does he know where I've been?  That's impossible.  I've been out to meet with Bekka a handful of times now without being caught.  I'm always more than careful.  I've made sure of it.  I'm just being paranoid.  This place will do that to a person.  But, there's definitely something off about this guy.  I don't like him.

"Yes, sir," I say, trying to sound casual.

"Well, I’ll see you in the range," he says as he salutes and walks off with an ugly smile still plastered on his face.

"Yes, sir," I say, saluting back.  I don't know why he stopped me, but it seems like this guy really takes pleasure in messing with the trainees.  It makes it all the more frustrating that he seems to have my number.  I've done nothing more than try to fly under the radar for the past several months, but for some reason he's singled me out.  I can't help but feel uneasy about it. 

My mind is a mess as I enter the range to begin training.  I clench my teeth as I pick up my weapon and find my place at the target.  I stand and try to focus while guns pop off on both sides of me.  I fire at the target, but miss entirely.   I hear something off to my right.  I turn and see him over my shoulder.  My CO has appeared out of thin air and is standing behind me.   I shoot and miss again.  He makes a noise akin to someone choking.

I try to clear everything out of my head.  I can't let this guy make me fail.  It would obviously bring him great satisfaction.  I can feel his breath on my neck as he moves closer to me, scrutinizing.  I shoot.  He wants me to flinch from the kickback, but I don't.  The bullet pierces the target just millimeters below the bullseye. 

"You can do better, Brenner," he barks, too loud and close to my ear, before I hear him scratch something down on the paper attached to his clipboard.  If he's the only one in charge of my scores, my chances at tunnel guard seem slim.  My only hope to be with Bekka rests in the hands of a complete lunatic.  Perfect.  Before I shoot again, he moves down the line to the next trainee.  He doesn't have any comments for that guy.   

After the session I head to my bunk for a short reprieve before more training.  In the hall, just as I reach the dorms, I'm confronted again, but this time it's with a huge poster plastered on the wall.  Zander.  I try to look away each time I pass by it, but it's hard to not see those familiar eyes looking at me.  Sometimes I want to see them.  I miss my brother, but it hurts every time, like a million knives stabbing at my chest.  It makes me want to tear this military base apart, brick by brick, starting with that poster.  I thrust my hands in my pockets so I don't do it.

I climb onto my bunk and close my eyes, trying to block out the picture of my brother, but I can't.  Zander was ranked number one during his training and then went on to hold the highest military position for his age.  They sent him to lead an elite group in the middle of the worst combat zone.  He was the youngest soldier to be killed in action.  He is a martyr and a war hero now and used as propaganda, which makes no sense because eighteen year old boys don't have a choice about joining up.  I don't know why they need recruitment posters.  Even staring at my big brother on a war poster wouldn't make me want to sign up.  It's the last thing I would ever want.

I'm used to it though, being different.  Even Bekka is pro-war.  I'm likely the only person in the entire city who is against it.  I might be physically strong, but I actually loathe violence and everything it means.  Senseless killing.  It caused me to lose my brother and my father, after he walked out on us when I was little so he could pursue his dream of becoming a drunken bum.  Returned Soldier Syndrome (RSS) is what they call it.  Countless deaths, families ruined, a city in shackles.  All for water.

Chapter 2

Bekka

Still tired from the run and the emotional toll of the morning, I walk back to the apartment building slowly.   When I get inside, I kick my shoes off and head for the bathroom.

"Hi, Bekkers!" my foster mom says cheerfully.

"Hey, Muma."  That was the name we decided on.  It's not Mom and it's not Cheryl, but it's still awkward. 

"Only ten minutes before school, dear."

"I just need a quick change."

"Sounds good, sweetie.  How about some breakfast?"

"No time, " I say, closing the door behind me. 

"Runners need fuel, pumpkin!"

"I'll grab something on the way."  Cheryl has always tried too hard to be a good foster mom and I've tried hard to build up a wall between us.  She's just playing a part, for the extra water tickets, I assume.  She puts on a good show, but I figured out a long time ago, it’s just that, an act.  She's not a bad person and I appreciate that she's given me a place to sleep for the last thirteen years, but I can’t say I'll miss her and her over-the-top, jolly demeanor once I move into the runner's dorm, and I don't think she'll miss me either.