Running Scared

I've been keeping track of the pregnancy with a small, handmade calendar that I hide behind my mirror in the bathroom. Four months and I feel and see the bump in my abdomen, pronounced enough that I have taken to wearing jumpers twice my size, even as the weather turns warmer. Grahame has lent me one of his button up shirts but even that is starting to shrink against my growing stomach.

My hands and mind are busy as I finish off a scarf, undoubtedly my last now that the colder seasons are behind us but I can't keep myself from thinking about the bag squashed beneath my chair, full of clothing and blankets and anything essential I could find. I've had it prepared since Grahame told me about the plan, both terrified and eager for the day when I can finally shake the dust from it and escape here forever.

I'm daydreaming about dinner when I hear it; the sirens.

A jolt tremors through my stomach till it sticks in my throat and I realise that this is it. I make no move even as I hear the footsteps stomp outside my door, waiting on instruction for Grahame, despite how much my instincts are screaming for me to get out of the building. Through nightly meet-ups, we have mapped out our plan to the last detail: wait for the sirens, don't leave my apartment till Grahame shows up, find the furthest fence from the Court and using tools that Grahame stole from the greenhouses, break through the fence and hurry into the forest.

This isn't foolproof, I know that. Anything could go wrong but as the weeks have passed, I realised that this is my only choice and if Grahame is so willing to help me, I can't turn it down.

A tap on my door and without thinking, I cram the knitting needles and wool into the bag I've pulled out from under the chair before unbolting the lock.

Grahame doesn't speak, only holds out his hand for my bag which I offer without argument. He jams it into his own, rearranging the tools so that they're closer to the top, before grabbing my hand and towing me away from my room for the last time. I don't feel weepy at this knowledge, I can't even bring myself to look back once more. It means nothing to me now.

I find myself staring at Grahame, at the back of his head, at the hair cropped short only a few days ago in case an opportunity to leave suddenly arose. My gaze moves lower, to the roll of fabric against his skin, stopping just short of where his longer hair used to curl; he wears a high neck jumper, the material heavy enough for cooler weather but light enough so that he won't suffer in the heat. His sturdy boots are scuffed but well worn, comfortable to walk long distances in. I'm not the only one who has been ready to spring into action at a moments notice.

"We keep to the back of the crowds until we can split. Don't take your eyes off me, don't let anyone push you aside. It's essential we stay together, alright?" he says as he shoulders the doors to the staircase open, reaching for the box of candles.

"What - ?"

He doesn't wait for me to catch up in my head, just grabs several and zips them into his backpack too. Of course - light, it will come in handy.

He releases my hand when we hear the scuffle of hundreds of feet moving below us but surprises me by stopping.

"I thought we need to stick with the others?" I say, watching him rummage through his bag until he comes up with one of my knitted hats.

"We will. This is just an added precaution," he tells me calmly, slipping the hat onto my head, tucking in the strands of hair until it's all concealed. "On the off chance that there are a few others who are skipping the execution, this might help a little. It might make you less distinguishable so if anyone sees you walking away and reports us, they won't be able to definitely place you at first. It's lucky you make these for a bunch of people, can't pinpoint a hat to just you that way."

I nod and he squeezes my shoulder gently before waving me on, keeping a few steps behind me when we reach the back of the cluster of people. We follow them even as the burst of sunlight hits our eyes and I wait impatiently for Grahame's signal as we move closer and closer to the Court. Sweat beads up on my forehead beneath the woolen hat but I don't dare remove it. I try to act impassive but I can't quite pull it off.

There's a brush on my shoulder and a flutter against my neck.

"Now." he breathes, leaping into the alley beside us. I follow suit, flinging myself into the cover of the shadows, not stopping for breath as we run as fast as I can make myself.

Blurs of buildings pass us by, we halt only to peer around edges of flats, searching for any stray Enforcers. The longer we move, the more the buildings change, growing smaller and smaller the closer we get to the edge of the city.

These flats are some of the earliest models, inhabited now by the Enforcers so they can keep permanent watch on the outskirts. I cringe at the dark windows, forcing myself to remember that they're all at the execution, ticking names off registers as we run. There's not much time before they realise we're gone.

We turn the corner and face a field of dried, yellow grass. The fence is just beyond and I feel a thrill of anticipation just at the sight of it. I've never been this far out of the Community before.

Grahame can barely contain his wonderment at the field, kneeling down for the shortest of seconds to run his fingers over it before running with me towards the fence. The crunch beneath my feet unnerves me but I keep going, determined.

"Amelia? Can you keep watch?" he gasps, dropping his bag onto the grass by the fence.

I turn and squint at the closest buildings but they're far enough for me to give Grahame plenty of warning if I see anyone. He keeps talking as his hands move furiously while I stop myself from peeling off the hat. The running, my swollen belly and all this oversized clothing has made me too warm, too uncomfortable.

"This won't be clean and it'll give the game away. They'll take one look at this fence and realise we escaped through it." he explains, pulling out tool after tool. Some of them are simple, pliers and such that I expect to see considering his gardening work but others are grubby, oil-smudged and rusty. Objects he has no purpose to own. He produces a bottle of water from the depths of his bag and holds it out for me. I accept it gratefully, swilling the cool liquid around my cheeks before swallowing.

"Where did you get these from? And the water?" I ask aloud, bending down to examine the collection.

He works swiftly, deftly, so smooth and precise are his actions that I wonder if he's secretly done this before. I lean around him, curious despite the danger we're in and the fact I'm meant to be acting as look out, and see him loosening the nut on the chain link fence near the post, pulling out the bolt and yanking off the clamps as quickly as he can. He's tall enough to reach the top of the fence if he stands on the balls of his feet. It's not easy but it's possible.

"I acquired them because I needed them. No one will miss anything, I promise." he says. "They're not perfect but they'll do. As for the water, I've been collecting bottles over the past few weeks from meal times, smuggling them out whenever I could."

In one motion, he slides out a metal bar and throws it to the ground. I flinch at the sound it makes when it bounces off the discarded clamps; it rings through the air and I worriedly glance over my shoulder to the buildings again. Nothing.

"Pass me those pliers?"

I scoop them up and hand them over. Without a word, he reaches up and starts bending the fence ties with the pliers, the muscles in his arms strained from the effort. One by one, they join the rest of the dismantled fence on the grass.

"How do you know how to do this, Grahame?" I mumble quietly, slightly awed.

"I practiced." he admits, pausing to twist around so that he can look at me. "We have smaller fences in the vegetable patches, behind the greenhouses. It's where we grow potatoes and things. I snuck out at night and took them apart by candlelight. Every time I heard a sound, I had to blow the light out in case. I put them back together again by the morning, so no one figured it out."

"That's...incredible." I say, staring at him with wide eyes.

He appears bashful, cupping the back of his neck awkwardly.

"Not really. I noticed how similar they were, thought that it wouldn't be that great a leap when the time came. It's nothing."

I shake my head, temporarily forgetting about keeping watch or escaping or how Enforcers could be running to find us this very moment. It's important that he understands.

"It's not nothing, Grahame. I - I can't believe you did that. I feel like I've been sitting around, twiddling my thumbs while you came up with everything. I didn't know how much you had to take on with this...for me. I - "

"Amelia, stop. I promised I would think of something and I did. We're leaving, it's okay. You don't owe me anything."

He fixes his attention back on the fence, his cheeks still red from our conversation. He strips back the fence from the corner, leaving us with a gap wide enough to slip out of. We're escaping, we're actually going to do it.

"Right, let's pack up this stuff quick before - "

"DON'T MOVE! I AM ARMED AND I WILL SHOOT!"

I freeze in place, too scared to turn around because I know it's an Enforcer just from the sudden paleness in Grahame's face. His eyes dart from me to the person approaching, which means he's planning on doing something incredibly stupid.

"Grahame, whatever you think you're going to do, I swear to god that I'll - "

But what my threat was going to be, Grahame will never find out. Fingers grip my forearm with such strength that my hands start to tingle with numbness and in my peripheral, I spot the tip of a gun, aimed at Grahame.

All I can think of is, "We were so close."

"Now, now, now. Where do you think you're going, exactly?" the Enforcer wheezes. My insides turn to ice at the recognition of that voice.

He steps out from behind me and plants his feet firmly in the middle of me and Grahame. It's the same Enforcer who caught me in the streets on the night of the run. His eyes are liquid black, lingering on my face longer than I'd like.

"I know you..." he murmurs, as if to himself. His eyes spark with a memory and they dance wickedly from me to Grahame. "You're that girl from the other month, the lost girl from ninety-two..."

Bile rises in my throat and I can't tear my eyes from the gun at his hip, his fingers twitching at the pistol grip. I understand; he won't take us back into the Community, he's going to shoot us out here. He tuts slowly, savouring his presumed victory.

"Missing an execution, taking apart the fence, plans of leaving the Community by the looks of it. That's the death penalty for certain."

Grahame hasn't figured it out yet, he hasn't grasped what the Enforcer is planning. He tries begging.

"Please, we were just messing around - it's just a joke."

The Enforcer narrows his eyes at Grahame and steps forward, crushing his fingers around his throat. Grahame changes tack, knowing he's getting nowhere. He chokes out words as best as he can.

"Take me then, it's my fault. I made her come out here, I was showing off. I wanted to show her the fence and - "

Before I can think, the gun is in the Enforcer's hand and pointing at my face. He hasn't even turned to aim but it settles between my eyes.

"Guess she should die first then, for her stupidity."

This is the end. The last thing I see is Grahame's blue eyes drawn wide and his gaping mouth open with an unformed cry before I squeeze my eyes shut.

A low chuckle and the rustle of grass beneath feet.

"Say goodbye, deary."

"NO!"

I hear the crack of the gun firing and I jump, waiting for the pain but it never comes. I realise a few seconds later that I'm okay, I'm not hurt, I haven't been shot, I'm not dead and it's blissful relief. Then I remember Grahame.

"He's alive," I think, dragging my hands over my face as I laugh shakily. "He's alive, he's alive, he's alive."

He stands before me, clutching the gun in his hands so tight that his knuckles have turned white. He's looking at it like it's not real.

Between us, the Enforcer - Jones, I remind myself - lies face up, his vacant eyes gazing up at the sky, a slither of blood dribbling down his chin.

"You - you killed an Enforcer!" I shriek, yanking off the hat so that I can push my fingers through my hair.

"I didn't mean to - he just - I tried to stop him from - " Grahame stumbles for words, glancing up at me in horror. "He tried to kill us!"

I look at the gun in his hands, then to Jones dead on the ground. Suddenly, a wild idea comes to me - I just hope Grahame will agree to go along with it.

"Take his uniform, " I say, nodding down to the Enforcer. "You can disguise yourself to get us out of here. If there's any other Enforcers out there on the roads, they'll just see one of them escorting a girl to another city. No one will think one of us would ever overpower an Enforcer. They think we're afraid."

He looks unconvinced, already starting to lower the gun to his side.

"Look - it's not permanent. We hide his body in the trees, they won't find out he's missing until we're long gone, then you ditch the uniform. We have a weapon now, Grahame. This is an advantage." I press, gathering the tools and pushing them into his bag.

He still hasn't moved.

"Just do as I say!" I shout forcefully. "If we don't move now, others will come and make no mistake, they will kill us."

A few minutes later, Grahame is dressed in red, the gun secured at his hip and he holds the fence to the side so that I can climb through. His face is blank but every now and again, I catch him glancing down at his chest, at the Enforcer uniform, with a look of disgust.

With difficulty, we pull Jones' body past the fence and into the trees, covering it with debris from the forest until we're satisfied it won't be found for a while and then Grahame returns to the fence and pins it back as much as possible. At a distance, it appears the same as always. We will not be found out immediately.

We take one last look at the Community.

Then we leave.