Running Dry

by Wenner, Jody

  "I will," I promise.

  Chapter 18

  Bekka

  When I get back to my apartment, I set the notebook near the sink and wiggle out off my wet clothes. Standing in my kitchen in nothing but my pantys and bra, I plug the drain, get a small cloth from the drawer, lather my hands in soap and turn the tap on slightly. I quickly rinse and turn the tap off. I dip the cloth in just enough to make it damp then wipe the laminate portion of the outside of the notebook.

  Letting it dry on the counter, I make my way to my bedroom and throw a robe on. I've got a hundred things swirling in my head and I need to jot down the name of the person Jameson told me to see at the factory before I forget. I gather the notebook and a pen, and pour myself a drink, and head for the sofa. My head is pounding. I throw a few pain relievers into my mouth and wash them down with the water. As I shuffle through the notebook pages to find a blank one to write on, it hits me. This is not my writing. I close the book and look at the outside again. The cover looks the same, a plain spiral notebook, same size as mine, but opening it to the first page again, it's clear. This is not my notebook. The bum gave me the wrong book!

  I blow my hair from my face and sink back into the couch. This is not happening to me. This time, instead of just wanting to cry, I actually do. Big fat tears. I just let them roll off while I have a full on pity party for myself. My agent is a creepy jerk who clearly thinks I'm a young, inexperienced girl who knows nothing. The worst part is, he's probably right. What do they expect from me? I don't know anything about politics or moods or wars. I don't understand why they chose me for this job, but I also don't want to be fired and sent back with my tail between my legs. There is nothing for me back there. Failure is not an option. I'm strong. I need to figure out how to do this.

  I wipe my face and open the notebook again, determined to make this work. I flip through to find a blank page to start writing out a new game plan, but then I stop and read something the bum has written.

  You are out there.

  I've seen you.

  Beautiful and flowing.

  Scenes from long, long ago.

  Someday I will return to you.

  I will escape again, not only in my mind.

  To the place that is blue.

  A poem? It's hard to believe someone who lives like that could actually write something so beautiful. I've only read poems from the old books in the abandoned library. Maybe he didn't write this. He probably stole it from someone, just like he did my notebook. I flip through the rest of the pages and there are hundreds of them, poems similar to this one, written in very sloppy, hard to read letters, like a small child scribbled them down. But the words themselves are flowing and gorgeous.

  There are no blank pages in the whole book, in fact every white space on every page has been filled, some letters tiny and some huge, all going in different directions. I start to wonder if he kept my notebook not because he is crazy but because he needed more paper. I had visions of going back to him, in the daylight hours, and taking back what was mine, but now? I don't know. It seems evident he has a need to write, like Zane.

  Something about these haunting words make me feel guilty. This crazy old coot sleeping in the street has some kind of a gift. I don't really know what it all means, but it calls to me. Maybe the pain meds have kicked in and that's what's making everything feel so surreal, but I sit and read page after page, lying on my couch until I fall asleep.

  I dream that night of water that swirls around me in mystical ways, engulfing me into a swaddle, like a baby in a blanket, and I sleep more deeply and relaxed than I have in a very long time. When I wake the next morning, the first thought that pops into my head is that I need to let him keep my notebook. Something tells me that guy isn't going to turn me in. I can always buy another notebook, once I get that job.

  Zane

  The next night I find myself rehashing dinner with Fulton as I wait for my charge at the tunnel access point. She's late. I shouldn't be surprised at all when Evy arrives. It's my first time working with her. I realize immediately that I'm anxious to talk with her, but we have work to do and I expect as a newbie, she won't be as comfortable as chatty Laney in the tunnel. She fastens on her gear as I punch in the access code.

  "How's life, Zane?" she says, ready to enter.

  "Not bad. You enjoying being a runner?" I question.

  "Sure," she says in an upbeat manner, which throws me for a loop. Then she adds, "All of it except the physical exertion, danger, and freakishly pitch black tunnel of doom."

  "Ha. That's the Evy I remember. Ready?" I swing the heavy door open and step back.

  "Not really," she says, but she climbs in and starts down the ladder rungs. I follow and once I'm down, she says, "Route Four tonight."

  I nod but realize she can't see it, so I whisper, "Gotcha."

  After walking a fair distance, all is normal. Though I didn't drink much at Fulton's the previous night, it seems to have really thrown my body out of whack because I feel groggy and tired, like I'm carrying heavy bricks. The quiet, soft, rhythmic sounds of our feet and the darkness is making me drag even more. It doesn't help that Evy is walking slower than most of the other runners I've worked with and I keep stepping on her heels.

  "Ouch," she hisses.

  "Sorry," I say, yawning.

  I follow her to the spot just outside of the checkpoint and stop. I wait here and guard her from the nook while she does her work. I don't even really know what the work entails exactly. Laney has indicated to me that she is basically a grease monkey. Runners need to be small. That's who they need for this job. That's why men don't do it. They need people tiny enough to wedge themselves into tight spots within the pumps to crank valves, change up pipe-lines, switch out rusted bolts or whatever is assigned to their dockett that night. All of this is just to keep up maintenance on the waterworks.

  Since we are wide open to our enemies while she does the repairs, the runner needs to be quick and ready to bolt should anything unusual go down, which is where the term runner came from. Funny that after all of these years of thinking runners physically run water or something, it's nothing like that at all. They don't even run generally. They are mechanics who keep water flowing through the pipes. This is the job Bekka was desperate to have. She would laugh if she knew. It had been so idealized in her head as something noble and life changing and it turns out, it's a crappy job, just like all of the other ones, and it doesn't involve long distance, daily runs. Bekka is long and lean. Too long. She was born physically incapable to get her dream job.

  My role is essentially nothing more than a patrol, trying to keep things clear for the runner to make it to and from the machinery, which somehow allows water to pump from the river to our output valves somewhere only few people have access to-- the higher ups who work in Water. From there it get distributed amongst the residents. The whole thing is so ridiculous to me. Every night I stand here wondering if it isn't all a bunch of bull. There has to be a different way. We are all just pawns in the government's water war, of that I'm fairly certain.

  Yet, I stand in this nook like a trained animal and listen for who knows what, thinking about my bed, when I feel a slight breeze flow past my face. I'm alert now and wondering if I am completely insane or just overly tired. I listen harder and tell myself to relax. And that's when I hear Evy scream.

  Shit.

  I run toward the sound and draw my weapon. After a few yards, the tunnel opens to a larger space but I don't know what I'm up against, so I yell, "Evy!"

  "Over here!"

  I start to follow her voice and then decide to turn on my flashlight. Gun in one hand and light in the other, I scan the space and see a large metal piece of machinery that twists and turns with pipes and tubes. Below it, lying on the ground, cupping her foot, is Evy. I flick the light around, searching for something or someone else, but there’s nothing.

  I crouch to her, "What happened?"

  "I just fell from a ladder. Totally jack
ed my ankle though."

  "Oh. K. Let me help you up." I holster the gun and breathe deeply. Everything’s okay.

  "Ow. Ow." Evy whimpers as I lift her. "I don't think I can walk on it, Zane," she says, alarmed.

  "Are you sure? What if I take the weight on this side," I say, looping her arm around my shoulder.

  "Jesus. It hurts. I can't. Put me back down." She is crying now.

  The idea of staying here all night long is not a comforting one to me and I imagine the same thought hits Evy too because she wails, "What are we gonna do? I want to get out of here!"

  I think. "Okay. I have an idea. I know of a spot where we can go not too far from here."

  "I want out!" she screams.

  "Shhhhh! I know, Eve. This spot is outside. Come on."

  I pick her up and we slowly make our way to where I know we can get out. Tunnel Twelve.

  She hobbles up the ladder rungs slowly by jumping on her good foot and once out, I carry her down the path to the scene of my first Resistance meeting and I set her down in the grass.

  "Where are we?" she whispers, exactly like I did the first time I came out here with Fulton.

  "On the ridge," I say. "You don't have to whisper. We're safe here. Do you think it's broken?" I ask.

  I can see her now, in the light the moon is casting.

  She rubs her ankle. "Maybe just a sprain. I came down pretty hard on it but I don't feel anything out of place."

  "You think you'll be okay to stay here tonight? Maybe it will feel better in the morning."

  "I don't think I have a choice."

  "It's better than staying down in the pit of doom," I say, trying to lighten the mood.

  "True. Thanks," she says.

  "Sure."

  I get comfortable. It's not that hard on the soft grass with trees and the glow of the moon.

  "I've never slept outside," Evy says, as if reading my mind.

  "If you listen carefully, you can hear the river."

  "How do you know this place?"

  I hesitate. "I got lost in one of my training sessions and ended up here."

  "You liking it?"

  "The job? What's not to like? There's that whole danger thing you mentioned and another perk is when you get to carry injured girls."

  "Hardy, Har. Funny man," she says. "You know I'm with Greer Davis now, don't you?"

  "No. I didn't. You think he’s gonna kick my ass for the whole rescuing you thing?"

  "Wow! And I thought you were cynical before."

  "Before what?"

  "You know, before Bek left."

  "Ah."

  There is a long stretch of silence.

  "Sorry," Evy says.

  "Don't be."

  "If it makes you feel any better, she screwed over Alex before she left too."

  "Screwed him over?"

  "You know. Well, not all the way. But she did jerk him around."

  "Huh? That doesn't sound like her," I say defensively.

  "Well, I guess it doesn't matter anymore."

  "You're right," I say and try to sound like I mean it. "So, Greer Davis, huh?"

  "What? That is exactly what Bek said."

  "No. Nothing. It's just...you know, the whole no marriage thing?"

  "Ah. Well, yeah. We didn't mean for it to happen. I mean, I didn't exactly ask for this," she says. "But, I love him and he loves me and that's not something you can just stop, you know?"

  "Yeah. I know."

  Chapter 19

  Bekka

  The Food Bar is housed in a tall, brick building that is located not all that far from my notebook's new place of residence. I'm not that keen on revisiting the neighborhood, but I don't have a choice. At least the rain has cleaned some of the crap off the sidewalks, literally. I drag myself in and am stopped by a large man in denim overalls sitting on a metal folding chair. This is a very uninviting lobby, I decide.

  "Hi," I say. "I'm looking for someone named Rhonda."

  He grunts at me and pushes a button on the wall. There is a buzz and he points to a door.

  "You gotta follow the yellow tape on the floor to the second office on the right," he says.

  "Alright. Thanks," I say, going through the door.

  I knock on the office door, though it’s half open and I can see a woman sitting at a desk right in front of me.

  "Yeah," she says, not looking up.

  "Hi. I, um, came about a job. Jameson sent me."

  "Fill out an application and leave it," is her reply.

  I look around. I don't see anything that resembles an application anywhere. I am in a tight, empty hallway. Then I see a folder attached to the back of her door, but there's nothing in it. I pull it open anyway and confirm it. I stand there for a minute. I don't know what to do. I know what I'd like to do, but I can't run this time.

  I knock again.

  "What now?" Rhonda yells out.

  "Um. Sorry, but I don't see any application forms."

  "Aren't they tucked in the sleeve on the door?"

  "No. It's empty."

  She sighs. "Okay. Come in. I'll find some."

  I push the door open a little and slowly step in.

  Rhonda is a decent sized woman and appears to be wearing men's clothing and a permanent scowl on her face. Her office is pretty organized though, so I'm hoping this is quick. She shuffles some files around and grumbles to herself, but has yet to look up at me. She gets up and turns her back to me, digging around on a shelf behind the desk.

  "What's your name?" she asks with her back to me still.

  "Tyler," I say quickly.

  "Tyler?"

  I think. That's right. Was I not convincing? I start to sweat a little. "Yes," I say, feeling

  in my pants pocket to make sure I have my new ID.

  "How old are you?"

  "Eighteen."

  "Who did you say referred you again?"

  I feel like a heatwave is occurring inside my body. "Jameson."

  "Have a lot of food packing experience?"

  "Um…"

  She turns back around and looks at me for the first time. Her scowl is replaced with a

  smile. "Just kidding. Well," she says, sitting back down at her desk. She looks at me hard. "I can’t find any blank forms right now."

  "Okay," I say, starting to back out of the office, wishing I would never have mentioned

  Jameson's stupid name. He probably set me up for this.

  "I tell you what," Rhonda says, so I stop. "Can you start tomorrow? I'll have the paperwork ready for you to fill out then."

  "Oh. Yeah. Sure!"

  "Great. Enter at the door out on the West side of the building and ask for Frankie. She'll train you in."

  "Frankie. Okay." I turn to leave and then turn back. "What time?"

  "Can you be here by seven?"

  "Sure. I'm kind of a morning person."

  "Well, that's unusual because the rest of the slobs who work here are not." Then she laughs. "See you tomorrow, Uh...what's your name again?"

  "Tyler."

  "Right," she says and looks back down at her desk.

  This time I fully back out of the small office and I get myself out of there.

  Zane

  The next morning, before it gets too light, Evy and I hobble back underground, but not before we marvel at the insane view surrounding us. Green and trees and through a slight clearing, I can just make out some rocks that must be a ledge to the water below. I'd love to go explore more, but Evy shouldn't go any further than we already have to, so I promise myself to come back alone again soon.

  We make it back to the access point eventually. I lower her to the ground and tell her to sit while I get the EMTs with stretchers to take her back to the runner's dorm. I'll let her supervisor handle it from here.

  Returning to my apartment, I lie on my couch for the next several hours, thinking about what Evy told me about Bekka and Alex. I want to not care about it, but I do. I eventually fall asleep and when I wake u
p, I'm still stuck on this image of the two of them together.

  Remembering what Fulton said to me about getting out and moving past it, I decide to hit up that bar he mentioned. I use my water basin to brush my teeth and wash my face. I comb my hair and look in the mirror. It would be a good idea to pour some of my water into my tub and bathe now, but I know if I do, I'll lose the courage and momentum so instead I just use some deodorant, throw on clean clothes and head out before I talk myself out of it.

  It's still early so the club is fairly empty. I use a water ticket and get a drink at the counter. I take a seat at a small table and sip my drink slowly as I observe more and more people start to file in. I count about twenty guys and one woman in the whole place. She is a short, mousy-looking girl with short dark hair, but she is surrounded by dudes who are desperate for her attention. She appears to be enjoying herself.

  I'm not sure what I was expecting, but I knew not to expect a lot of women. There are jobs for women on base, but not a ton. It's not discouraged for military men to marry, but it's not an easy thing to accomplish with the given odds.

  I wish I'd have brought my notebook so I had something to do. I feel silly just sitting at a table alone, like I'm staking out a wife. I hear some more people enter the bar and turn to see Alex walking toward my table. Great. I hadn't even considered the fact that he would be on base now. His head is shaved, just like mine, but he looks just as cocky and confident as the Alex I remember.

  "Hey, Zane. How are ya?" he says.

  "Not bad, Alex," I answer stiffly. I remind myself I came here to move past everything. "Want a seat?"

  He looks mildly surprised by my offer. "Thanks, brother."

  "I just spent the night with your sister," I say, without thinking.

  He raises his eyebrows at me. "Excuse me?"

  "I mean, in the tunnel, on duty."

  He laughs. "Right. I forgot you're a tunnel guard. Sweet gig, huh?"

  "It's alright," I say.

  "Alright? I'd say it's better than alright. I'm shipping to the fight soon. I'd rather guard a bunch of hot chicks, personally. If you know what I mean."

  "I think both jobs have their level of danger," I say. He laughs again and it sounds like nails on a chalkboard to my ears. So grating this guy can be sometimes. "For example," I go on, "Evy was hurt last night."