Running Scared

I wake to find that Grahame is already up. Above me, the sky is overcast with dark grey clouds and I thank the stars that the snowy weather seems to have passed, although rain would be no blessing at this time of year either. What I'd give for the heat of summer.

A bottle of water falls into my lap and I look up only to see the back of Grahame's head. Beside me, he has laid out a bread roll and an apple. It's only when I sit up that I notice the extra layer of Grahame's coat slipping away from my shoulders.

"Better eat up quickly. We should make a move soon, it's best not to linger." he murmurs from over his shoulder, already stuffing the plastic sheet back into his bag.

After I've eaten, the food barely enough to stop the rumblings in my belly, I pull out the calendar that I've taken from my room to mark off the day. There hasn't been time for me to really look through the baby book Grahame has brought with him but it's basic knowledge that a pregnancy lasts nine months. I figured that it would be best to keep track of this, as at least some preparation. I've forgotten to bring a pen so I make do with piercing a hole in the square with a stick instead.

Once we make a sweep of our camp, trying to hide any signs of our staying, we step out from the trees and start across the frozen ground. Even though there's a chill in the air, he doesn't pull on his coat so that the red of the uniform is unquestionable if anyone spots us.

All around us, there's no sign of life, animal or vegetation except for the forest we left behind. There's nothing except for this cracked, hard dirt and the abandoned building before us. The journey isn't far but it feels like it drags on surrounded with all this emptiness, like a void. When we've closed the distance between us and the structure, I see details of brick and wooden beams. This jars something in my memory; I recall a history book from school, depicting images of farmhouses back when the land was hospitable for agriculture. This is what this building must be.

"Do you think it's safe?"

Grahame cocks his head to the side as he appraises it, stumbling a little as he walks. "It looks alright, like there hasn't been anyone here for years, maybe decades."

I open my mouth to respond but I catch sight of his face as he stares up at the farmhouse this close. If his other smiles stopped my heart, this one could shatter the world. I swear I can feel the earth imploding under my feet as we take tentative steps towards the building, his crooked smile growing wider the closer we get.

But he's tired. I know that now he's allowed me to look at him directly. His eyes pop from out of his skull, set off by the dark bruises beneath them. Grahame struggles with his sleepiness, eyelids shuttering - flickering, as he wrestles with their heaviness. The only thing keeping him from laying down on the hard dirt must be the fact we're this near to a sort of shelter.

"Did you even sleep last night?" I demand, glowering at him as I skirt around bones. An animal, I suspect, its skeleton bleached white from years in the sun. I stare away from it, thoroughly disturbed. Grahame doesn't seem to notice them, or maybe he's pretending. "And don't lie to me!"

He drags his gaze away from the farmhouse, fixing his bleary eyes onto mine instead. Stubble is already growing on his jaw and chin, smudging shadows across his face, the effect like a hollowness in his features. I've never seen him this disheveled and we're only one day in of our escape. With the dirt stains on his uniform and his unkempt appearance, he makes for an unconvincing Enforcer.

"I couldn't. I had to be lookout, to protect you - "

"Don't use me as an excuse to neglect yourself, Grahame."

He groans, scrubbing his hands over his face. His mouth puckers but he nods, turning from me, his pace picking up so he's a few steps ahead.

"It was only last night. Once we're in that house then I'll relax."

"Sure, then only last night will turn into tonight, then tomorrow, then god knows how long! Next thing you know, I'll be dragging your body around with me because you're too drained to move!"

"Fine. I'm sorry. It won't happen again." he concedes dully, hoisting the bag further onto his shoulders with effort.

I've been too hard on him. I glare at his retreating back, annoyed that he's even put me in a position to feel bad for attacking him. My hand finds itself pressing against my swollen stomach, then I roll my eyes and call after him.

"No, I'm the one who should be sorry. I shouldn't have snapped, you're just looking out for...us." I spit out, glancing down to my stomach pointedly. "But you need to rest too. What would I do if we came across Enforcer's and I'm heavily pregnant and you're too exhausted to fight them off?"

Grahame shakes his head, stares up at the sky hopelessly. "No, I know. I just find myself scared out of my wits all the time. This was my idea and if you got hurt, or the baby - " he breaks off, searches through the air until he grabs my hand. "It'll be my fault. I can't get myself to sleep at night, just in case something happens."

"If we all spent our lives waiting for something out of fear, just in case something might happen, none of us would actually, you know, live." I tell him with a small smile.

He returns my smile with a squeeze of the hand, just as we reach the half rotted door of the farmhouse. It crumbles a little under Grahame's feather-soft touch but opens without a problem. Inside, it isn't much better.

The room is mostly empty, ransacked of whatever possessions were here long ago. There's a few broken pieces of furniture, a web encrusted lampshade and a patterned rug covered with a thick lining of dust and dirt from outside.

There must be a break in the clouds because suddenly, light streams in through the window pane, basking segments of the room in a harsh yellow beam, rendering the dust motes visible to our weak, human eyes. I swirl a hand through them, throwing them into disarray before we're plunged back into shadows.

Grahame nudges the corner of the rug with the toe of his boot, revealing the spotless underside of the floorboards from where the rug has protected it all these years.

"Home, sweet home." he says with grim twitch of the mouth.

And then it starts to rain.



One of the first things we learn about the farmhouse is that it leaks. The rain has become so heavy that puddles are expanding across the floor and we've been forced to move around to avoid them. The plastic sheet is back out, this time spread across the dirty floor, to save our clothes and blankets from rainwater.

I tire much more easily now that I'm pregnant and, with Grahame running on nothing but an apple from this morning, we're gathered together in the corner of the room, wrapped up in jumpers from Grahame's backpack. His arm is slung across my shoulders and for once, I'm not wriggling with discomfort. I think I'm getting better at this being open thing, maybe Grahame's tendency to be free with his touches is finally starting to rub off on me?

"Can you pass me a bottle of water? There should still be some left from this morning." he asks drowsily, slouching further down in his spot, his eyes shut.

I plunge my hand inside his bag, hunting through our possessions by touch until I feel a sharp corner of something. I whisk it out, only to find the photograph from Grahame's home in my hand.

"You brought this?"

One of his eyes peels open, sees what I'm waving in front of his face. He jolts up, wide awake now, and plucks it from my grasp.

"Of course I did." he says defensively, stuffing it into one of the pockets in his jeans, about to remove his arm from around me.

"No, wait - you don't have to hide it. How did you even get it?"

He studies my face, then brings it back out slowly.

"I swiped it when she - the worker who took the photo - wasn't looking." Grahame says, holding it out for both of us to see, relaxing again now that he knows I'm simply curious.

"Why did you want it though?" I ask, tracing a finger around the edges of the photograph. "You're a glutton for punishment, aren't you? You enjoy torturing yourself with photographs from an unhappy childhood."

"No - no, not at all. I just think, well - when I was a boy, I'd been called to her office for some reason, I don't know...I guess I was playing up in one of my lessons. I was waiting for her to show up and I saw it on the desk and I guess I just wanted it because it was something I'd never seen before, it was an impulsive reaction. When I looked at it, it was like we - we were a unit, a family." he explains, his eyes glazing over, transporting himself back to another time. He snaps back to the present though, nervously shoots a glance at me. "Does that sound crazy?"

I shake my head, urge him to go on. His face softens.

"Well, I wanted that, in a time where we're all so hellbent on being individual, singular because we're so terrified. It was the only time I felt like I was a part of something. It was the first time I saw anyone like that, not just a bunch of kids who were in the same place with different agendas, not like how we are in the cafe when we eat. We were in it together."

And suddenly, just like that, I understand Grahame. I understand why he's here with me, instead of back in his flat with his three meals a day and the comfort of his own bed. Why he's prepared to spend the night on the forest floor and in abandoned farmhouses as the weather changes from one extreme to another, with rain dripping constantly through leaks in the roof.

He wants the unconditional love that we never had growing up, he wants it for his own child. He wants to give our baby a chance in a world that won't allow it. He wants me, even if it means going on the run and, potentially, death for just trying.

I don't know how to react to this knowledge, it seems too big for me to process. I may not be able to find the right words to say for this moment, but I do have an idea...

"Come on," I say, clambering to my feet and ordering him to stand. "Get up, Grahame."

The downpour has stopped. Almost in an instant, the clouds disperse, leaving behind the dredges of a bright, wintry day. Not enough time before night falls.

"Why, what're you doing?"

I move in front of him, rest a hand lightly on his arm. His head stoops down so that my vision is filled with nothing but him, his scar prominent against his pale skin. I will ask about it one day.

"I think it's finally time we get rid of that uniform."

I help him with the buttons on the jacket and his eyes flash with surprise but he remains quiet, shrugging the clothing off as soon as he can allow it, leaving him in a sweat-stained vest. Already, it's like he has been released from a burden, rolling his bony shoulders back to shake off the former weight and symbolism that the uniform carried for us.

I turn my back on him when he starts to peel the rest of the uniform off, only look back again when he says my name softly. He's dressed in his own plaid shirt and jeans frayed on the bottom from years of wear, the Enforcer's uniform bundled into a ball on the floor. He's holding out the box of matches with a sly grin.

And as the sun begins to dip behind the horizon, burning up the sky in an orange blaze, we finally start a fire of our own and cast the red uniform into its depths.