Savage Run

by E. J. Squires

  I hop down from the tree and shove my feet into my cold, wet sandals. When I arrive at my bike, my whole body is shaking. This is it.

  I heard once that if I run toward my fears as fast as I can, my fear will transform into courage—and courage will lead me to freedom. But as I sit down and wait with my bike behind the thick hedge in front of Master Douglas’s property, my whole body is quivering. Where is the courage now?

  I have a heightened awareness about everything—from the soft rushing sound of the leaves to the squirrel in the tree, chewing on a chestnut, to the damp spot on the back of my legs. The pit in my gut is growing wider by the second, festering like an untreated ulcer. Is this a ridiculously bad idea? After all, it isn’t called Savage Run for nothing. I shouldn’t even be considering signing up. If I’m discovered, as a female Laborer—the lowest ranking citizen in our nation—I’ll immediately be taken to Skull Hill.

  No. I can’t second-guess myself now.

  Hearing the whirring sound of an aircraft above, I look up. It roars loudly as it makes its final descent into Culmination. Red, yellow and white stripes—the official colors of the Savage Run—decorate the tail. My father says billions of newkos have been spent on the Savage Run program and it disgusts him. I’m sure if he had a son who could honor him in becoming a Master citizen, he’d think differently.

  Suddenly, I hear the gates creak open and my arms brace my chest, right above my racing heart. Master Douglas jogs past me in a green jumpsuit and continues down the road. I undo my ponytail and pull back my black, wiry hair, looping the elastic band around so tightly that it tugs at the edges of my already slightly slanted eyes. I wait until he disappears around the bend, and when I’m sure he’s gone, I push my bike out onto the road. Grabbing the concealed knife from the basket—just in case I need it—I slide it up my sleeve and head straight for the gates.

  A transporter zooms by me, and I pretend that I’m just doing my job as usual, here to deliver medicine. I stop at the entrance feigning to pant, like I just climbed the long hill, and nod toward the heavily armed Unifer. Recognizing me, he punches in the code and the tall steel gates open. Clutching my arm against my abdomen to keep the knife in place, I walk the bike across the courtyard and rest it against a fountain. I pick up the prescription bag from the basket and step up to the stained-glass-encased silver door. I ring the golden doorbell. A few moments later, the door swings open. I’m ready to greet Gemma with a warm smile, but when I see that the entire left side of her face is red—bruised—I gasp.

  She quickly lowers her eyes.

  “What happened?” I whisper, barely able to speak.

  She shakes her head. When I reach out to touch her, she takes a step back and wraps her arms around her abdomen.

  “You can’t stay here anymore.”

  Gemma’s bottom lip trembles, and her brows draw heavily over her eyes. “Go—before he comes back.” She holds a pale hand out to receive the medication.

  “No, listen.”

  Her eyes cautiously flick to mine.

  “When the truck comes…follow me; I have a plan and I can explain on the way.” But standing in front of her now, I somehow know she’ll object.

  She shakes her head again, her blue eyes wide and fearful. “He’ll hunt you down and kill you,” she whispers.

  I step closer to her, eyeing the Unifer behind me. He’s talking on the phone. “If we make it downtown, we’ll be safe. I promise.”

  She closes her eyes, and a tear rolls down her cheek. “Please—just go.”

  “No—come.”

  Opening her eyes, they wander side to side like they always do when she’s thinking. Just as she opens her mouth to speak, her gaze focuses behind me. Gasping, she brings her hand to her lips.

  “Heidi!” Master Douglas’s voice trills.

  The hair on the back of my neck spikes as I slowly swivel around to face him. I notice the sweat beads on his tall forehead, a patch of moisture on his chest. Instantly, I lower my eyes, and as my inferior class dictates, I wait to speak until he invites me to.

  “How are you, dear?” he asks.

  “Well—thank you. Did you go…running this morning?” My vocal cords feel like sealed clams.

  “Yes, well, normally I go for much longer, but this morning I seem to have a bit of indigestion.” He shoots Gemma an accusing glare.

  “This is for you,” I say, handing him the prescription bag. I hope he doesn’t notice how my arm shakes.

  Master Douglas steps into the doorway and shoves Gemma behind him like she’s nothing but a rag doll. “Thank you for coming on such short notice.” He signs the flap on the bag, tears it off, and hands it back to me. “But I ran out of a very important medicine, and I simply can’t live without it. It’s life or death.”

  I eye the green label, which means the content in the bag is a supplement, not a prescription.

  “It was no problem.” I nod, looking for Gemma, but she’s vanished back into the house. He takes my hand in his and strokes it, my skin feels like it has a hundred slithering snakes crawling beneath the surface. All I want to do is rip my hand away, but infuriating him would be dangerous.

  “I just thought I’d let you know that I’ve considered the possibility of you coming to work for me when you turn eighteen—next week, right?” He touches my cheek with the back of his lotion-scented, smooth hand, his fingernails immaculately manicured.

  I close my eyes and try not to let the revulsion show on my face.

  “I wanted to let you know that, Heidi.”

  I nod and smile, although my smile probably looks more like a frown.

  “You are at liberty to leave.” Then right before he closes the door, he adds, “Oh, and say hello to your father for me. He’s such a wonderful man—righteous. Honorable. God-fearing. It was his idea that you come and work for me. Brilliant. Absolutely brilliant.” He slams the door in my face.

  I blink. This isn’t what was supposed to happen! Gemma was supposed to come with me…and…and…we were supposed to…and my father? What is he thinking? Doesn’t he see through Master Douglas? Maybe he does and that’s exactly why he recommended I come here—to punish me. Get the devil out of me. For a moment, it feels like my heart is sinking into a bottomless pit, and I am unable to take a breath. I should leave now—I delivered the medicine—but my feet feel as if they’re fused to the cobblestones beneath them.

  The Unifer grunts at me, startling me back to reality. Forcing my feet to move, I drag myself away from Gemma, swallowing again and again, stuffing the tears deep down. I pick up my bike, and passing the Unifer I nod to show respect. Even though there is none. Just as I exit the gates, the delivery truck pulls up and parks in the middle of the driveway.

  Chapter 2

  Pausing outside the gates, my eyes sweep across our deep valley, the soaring mountains surrounding it, and the glistening river that I’ve swum in countless times. It must have been an amazing country when it was free.

  After the S1-P1 virus killed ninety percent of our inhabitants, an army of Unifers arrived in their blue and green uniforms. Unifers, as everyone knew, were soldiers from the Eastern Republic, a super nation comprised of most of Asia, Russia and Europe—a society built around goodwill, liberty and peace. However, the Eastern Republic didn’t send the soldiers; these soldiers were a rogue Unifer army led by the power-hungry General Volkov, and they were looking for a land to make their own. Finding us in a defenseless state, they immediately seized control. General Volkov Sr., was elected president, our nation was renamed “Newland,” and citizens were categorized into three classes: Laborers, Advisors, and Masters. That was sixty-six years ago, and now, President Volkov Sr.’s son, President Volkov Jr., rules the nation.

  I discreetly place the knife back into the basket, reenter the woods, and return to the same spot I was earlier. After I park my bike by an acorn tree, I kick the trunk a couple of times.

  Plan B.

  I lean my back against the rough, damp bark, and sta
re at the pale wall. Climbing over it and getting into Master Douglas’s property won’t be a problem. Not getting noticed will. Suddenly I hear Master Douglas yelling obscenities from the other side of the barrier. I grab the knife, quickly climb the tree, and carefully peek my head over the edge of the wall. My blood boils when I see Master Douglas hauling Gemma outside. By her hair.

  “I’ve told you before, you little tramp. I don’t want you talking to anyone who comes to the door! What do I have to say to make you understand?” He lets go of her hair, but grips her arms instead, shaking her so roughly that her head bops. “I’ll kill you, you little rat! And I’ll get another one just like you who is smart enough to comprehend and follow my rules!”

  “I’m sorry, I was just…” Gemma says.

  Master Douglas’s daughter comes outside wearing her swimsuit. “Dada, I want to go swimming now.”

  “Hi sweetheart. Go back inside while I punish Gemma for disobeying me,” Master Douglas says, his hands still clasping Gemma’s arms, his tone of voice like the purr of a cat.

  She pouts. “But I want to go now!”

  “Do as I say, child. Gemma needs to learn her lesson, even if I have to beat it into her.”

  Master Douglas’s daughter stomps back inside and slams the door shut. I can’t get over how indifferent she seems to how her father is treating Gemma, though I hardly should expect anything different from the offspring of such a man.

  “You don’t deserve to work here!” He tears Gemma’s shirt open, exposing her shoulders and chest, and then he throws her to the ground so she lands face down. When she lifts her head, blood flows from her mouth and she’s crying. The white floor has spots of red. He undoes his belt buckle, draws his belt out of his pants and strikes Gemma with it. The belt makes a sharp cracking sound as it hits the skin on her upper back.

  “Please, please,” she pleads, lifting her arms up to cover her face. But he keeps whipping her.

  Something snaps inside of me and without really thinking, I hop the fence, and charge toward Master Douglas. What I’m about to do goes completely against the laws in our society where Laborers must at all times—even in life or death situations—maintain respect and remember their inferiority to their superiors.

  I don’t care.

  He doesn’t see me coming until after I’ve lifted the knife above my head. But before I stab him, I hesitate. I don’t want to kill him, just injure him enough so I have time to take Gemma with me. I jab the knife into his shoulder, and quickly pull it out. But it’s not enough. He grabs me by the shoulder and slams me to the ground, my head hitting against the marble surface. I drop the knife.

  “Heidi!” Gemma says, her mouth dropping open.

  Master Douglas clamps his hand around my neck and squeezes tightly so I can’t breathe. I kick my arms and legs trying to free myself, but he only pushes harder. I start to see stars in front of my eyes.

  Suddenly, I hear a thump, and the next thing I know is that Master Douglas falls on top of me. I gasp a few times to catch my breath, and then with all my might I push his lifeless body off me. There stands Gemma with a rock in her right hand.

  “Is he…dead?” she says.

  He moans.

  Still feeling the pressure from his hands around my neck, I stagger to my feet and pick up the knife. “Let’s go!” I grab Gemma’s hand and pull her with me toward the wall. But there’s no tree to climb up on this side. I head for the mansion instead—desperately hoping the delivery truck hasn’t left yet. If it has, then the gates are closed. “The front door.”

  We sprint through the sliding doors, across the living room, and into the foyer with the marble floors. Frantically and panicking, I open the front door. Outside, the truck driver is talking to the Unifer, waving his hands and laughing.

  Clutching the bloody knife, my eyes steal to the gates. Relief washes over me when I see them wide open. I take Gemma’s cold hand in mine and we slip behind the truck. The truck’s door slams shut and the engine starts with a roar. Exhaust spews out in front of me just as we pass the back end and out the gates. Once outside, I curse myself for leaving my bike behind the house. But even though it will take an extra minute to get it—and those few extra minutes might be what will make or break my plan—we need the bike in order to have any chance of escaping.

  I pull Gemma behind the hedge, the leaves scratching my arms. “Wait here.” Tearing into the forest, I get my bike, and throw the knife in the basket. Before I know it, I’m pedaling hard, zigzagging my way among the trees, adrenaline coursing through me like a fiend, my body rising into a frenzy.

  Gemma steps out from behind the hedge with fresh tears on her cheeks. She’s gripping the front of her dress, gathering the material where Master Douglas ripped it apart. The right side of her mouth is even more red and swollen than before, but it’s not as bad as the despairing expression in her eyes. I help her get on to the back rack of the bike, and within seconds, I’m in my seat and we’re flying down the hillside, the wind straining against my body. Only a few moments later, I hear a dog barking.

  “He has dogs?” My throat is dry—parched. I’ve never heard them before, despite having been here hundreds of times.

  “Two,” Gemma yells.

  The Rottweiler catches up quickly, running alongside us, barking and snarling. Its gums are peeled back from his teeth. I pedal faster, and Gemma’s thin arms clutches harder around my waist.

  Suddenly she lets out a loud shriek.

  “What?”

  “The dog bit me!”

  The dog snaps its teeth at me, and I swerve quickly in an attempt to get away from it. A sudden shift in direction feels unnatural with the extra weight of Gemma. When I hit a thick branch—the road still slick from the rain—I lose control and crash into the ditch. I feel sharp pain several places on my body. I have no time to really feel it because the Rottweiler dives toward me. I kick the animal in the snout, but just as soon as it falls to the ground, it springs back onto its feet. My father’s kitchen knife lies on the ground right next to my foot, and just as the dog charges toward me, I pick up the knife and stab it in the chest. It keeps growling, so I pull the blade out and stab it in the chest again. And again.

  Finally, it whimpers and retreats down the road, and falls lifeless to the ground.

  There’s blood smeared across my hand and my whole body is quaking. Still clutching the knife, I notice that my palm stings. I open my hand, letting the bloody knife fall to the ground, and when I look at my palm, I see blood and grime compressed beneath my skin. My right knee hurts, too, and the hole in my pants have blood around the edges. There’s no time to sit here and cry.

  “You okay?” I ask Gemma. She’s still on the ground and has twigs tangled in her blonde hair and dirt on her white dress.

  She doesn’t answer.

  I help her to her feet, and we hop onto the bike again.

  “Come back here! Or I’ll send my Unifers to shoot you dead!” Master Douglas bellows. He must really think I’m an idiot if he believes I’ll do as he says. I start pedaling.

  Speeding forward, tears blur my vision, and all the way down the hill, I keep looking behind me, afraid that Master Douglas will come after us in one of his fancy transporters.

  * * *

  The shortest distance to Sergio’s is of course straight through downtown Culmination. I’ll take my chances. Riding by the lavender field, we come to the fresh food market that borders on downtown—canopy tents with tables lined up along Main Street. These shops are owned and operated by Advisors, like so many other small businesses in town. The main difference between them and Masters is that they can’t vote, they can’t hold political positions, and they can’t own property. Most Advisors run businesses, like these, become teachers or work in the service or hospitality industry.

  Riding past the Culmination Justice Building—a structure built in the same fashion as the Parthenon, but made of nothing but glass— I see Savage Run protesters camped out on the stairs. I rec
ognize several of them—Masters I have at one point or another delivered medication to.

  Laborers shadow behind their Master, carrying groceries or their Masters’ personal items. Just as we’re approaching Michelangelo Street, we bike past a Master beating her Laborer with a Palka—a short, flexible iron rod commonly used to remind us of our place. Another Master Douglas. I feel the iron against the palms of my hands, but like anyone else passing by, I don’t interfere.

  I steer down a dark side alley: our first safe place. I can hear glass breaking beneath my tires, but it’s difficult to avoid. The overhang is making the whole passageway really dark. We pass an abandoned transporter, and I jump when I think I see a rat scuttling deeper into the darkness. The closer we get to the dumpsters, the stronger the smell of rotten fish and moldy bread becomes, and the harder it is to see even the large pieces of trash in my way.

  Gemma’s muffled sobs echo against the gray concrete walls. Once I reach the dumpsters, there’s a narrow ray of light that shines from above. I stop the bike, and hop off.

  “Your hands,” Gemma gasps, climbing off the bike. “And your leg!” I look down at my leg and the bottom half of my black pantleg is saturated with blood.

  “I’m fine.” I stoop down beside her to look at her wound. The bite isn’t too deep; I’ve seen much worse than this one. From the looks of it, she probably won’t need stitches. Not that we’d be able to find a doctor for her. “We just need to clean it, or it could become infected. Are you hurt anywhere else?”

  She shakes her head as she wipes a tear from her bruised cheek.

  “We’ll be fine.” I say with a thin smile. I don’t know what possessed me to say such a thing because I really don’t know that at all.

  “No, he’ll kill us!” She buries her face in her hands and moans.

  I wrap my arms around her, noticing that she’s a mere ghost compared to before, so thin, so fragile, so weak. When Gemma lived at home with her mother, she was sturdier and carried a constant smile on her face. Her hair was thick and golden, but now it’s thin and matted and her cheeks are sunken—pallid. “The worst is behind us.” But I get a sinking feeling that we’ve only seen the first of many evils.