Runner

Chapter Four

Fifteen hours we spent in that bunker.

The safe house was an abandoned home at the north edge of the town a few miles from the main centre. Jack led the group down the inclined hill, away from the safe house, their shoes scuffing through the gravel road.

I watched them go, wrapping my arms around my body. Beyond the group, the township was curtained in thick smoke. Everything was still. Lifeless. Our home had been tortured, and destroyed.

The town reeked of a raid: belongings strung across the streets, houses abandoned, masses of the population gone, set to return when they knew the coast was clear.

People feared raids, we’d become a sentimental race – the little belongings we had left were the only reminders we had of our old lives, and families. We would risk anything to hold onto the memories of the past. Without them, it was as if that time had never existed.

The Collective itself was a disaster zone, the injured lined the halls and tunnels, and the once organized spaces were destroyed. It rattled me, to see such reckless desperation. It made me feel sick to think it had all been for us. We didn’t intend to inflict this kind of violence.

Come that evening, things seemed to quieten down, people settling back into routine, and rebuilding from destruction. This was not the first time, and certainly not the last. The night had been forgotten, filed away with traumatic experiences we’d rather not relive.

I seemed to just slide into the Collective, no one really welcoming me, and no one really objecting. I remembered only a few faces, and even fewer remembered mine.

The military order that functioned around me was both unsettling, and oddly comforting. I remembered this part of Collective life. The manufactured procedure that ran from the kitchen, through to the laundry, was like clockwork. The shower allocations, the curfews – no one did OCD like Jack. He was an ex-Army officer and his Collective was a factory of discipline.

Elek wasn’t happy. We didn’t see eye to eye on the decision to stay, or my decision to stay.

It was midnight, pitch black, on our first night in the Collective when he’d voiced his opinion, both of us in bed, and both aware that the other was awake

“We need to leave tomorrow,” he already sounded stoic and defensive.

“I don’t know,” I sighed, “this might be the safest place for now.”

“They were looking for us, they know we are here.”

“No, they know we were here. They would expect us to be on the run, they’ll be searching all the neighbouring towns. They won’t expect us to still be here, let alone in the midst of our enemy.”

I heard Elek bring his palms down on his face, “Fine,” he murmured, huffing, “but don’t pretend this is about anything other than the fact that you are too attached to this place to leave.”

I ignored his comment, flipping over on my mattress to face the wall.

The following morning, Elek and I were allowed a charming awakening from Jo-Jo. He slammed our door open, the echo of noise rolling through the tunnels and into our quarters. He tapped his foot, “Anyone would think you two are on holiday,” he conceded, flicking on our light.

Elek didn’t move from his bed. I buried myself under the covers.

“Jack wants you to go see Reaves, Elek. He wants you on the team,” Jo-Jo instructed, before he marched for my bed and threw back the covers, I scrambled to pull them back up. It was too cold, “And you, my darling, are to go straight to Jack.”