Running Scared

Two weeks pass in the farmhouse and March arrives with the endless downpour of rain. We've been here long enough for Grahame to pitch up a sort of smaller shelter within the house, made up of floorboards that he's ripped up and the plastic sheet so that the water doesn't leak through onto us constantly.

I know we have to leave eventually, as does Grahame, but for now neither of us has it in us to bring it up.

Our situation is becoming desperate though. Our supplies have dwindled down to nothing more than a pack of crackers and a jar of peanut butter, not enough to last us more than four days at most, even if we ration it, and our water has long gone. We've taken to collecting rainwater in any container we can find and boil it up in the afternoons in a large metal can we found in one of the disintegrating cupboards, so that the light of the fire won't draw attention. The water has an unpleasant metallic taste to it now but it's drinkable.

I've been wearing the same clothes for a six days, too exhausted to bother washing them. There's a sink in the kitchen area that we sometimes use for this purpose, sparing a bar of soap for the sake of clean clothes, but with little food and no energy, this luxury is only for our good days; the days where we find some some hidden source of purpose and determination. Grahame seems to have these days far more often than I do but I can never tell whether it's for show to make me feel better. He is having one of these days today.

"Do you think it's time I test the stairs? I don't think they're rotted too badly, I doubt they'll collapse if I climb them." he calls to me quietly.

Though we haven't seen a soul since we left the Community, we're too afraid to speak above a whisper.

"Do whatever you want, Grahame." I sigh, always so tired that I don't snap at him anymore. Almost everything is met with resignation now.

He scratches at his beard, a tell that warns me he's agitated. I spotted this early on, when his facial hair irritated his skin and I had no other activity to pursue than to watch him. It's grown out a little now but he's kept the mannerism of dragging his fingernails across his jaw and chin whenever there is something on his mind.

"Hungry?" he asks, turning from the stairs to pick up his nearly empty bag.

I nod because I'm always hungry now and he passes me a cracker spread liberally with peanut butter. He's packing everything back up again when I stop him.

"What about you?" I say, my eyes roaming over his gaunt figure. I try to remember the last time I saw him eat but I've always been too preoccupied with my own starving belly that I never noticed. "Grahame, when did you last eat?"

He's a terrible liar, I know the second he opens his mouth.

"For god's sake, Grahame. You're gonna let yourself die so I can get your share of the food? You've got to stop doing this!" I hiss, putting the cracker down in disgust.

We end up here all the time. Arguments flare up so easily when both members of the party have empty stomachs and an ever-present fear buried inside of them. It's like a scratch; you try to ignore it but the more you do, the more you feel it, itching at your skin until you want to claw at it. It's always there, burning you up, sucking you in, drowning you in your own head.

Grahame never handles these heated conversations well, he's not made for it, keen to be liked and gentle in temperament. I thrive though, always rising to the occasion, hating myself afterwards every single time. I pushed him too far just last week, unable to recall how it even started, how the thoughts just popped into my head. He was boarding up windows in an attempt to stop the rain dripping through the broken glass, I was curled up beneath every blanket we owned, cold and famished. I kept staring and staring at my stomach, a hatred just growing in my chest until I blurted out words I hadn't even planned on saying.

"I wish I'd never even met you."

He'd not heard, he was busy measuring out a piece of wood against the window frame. This only made my anger white hot, so much so that tears sprang into my eyes.

"I WISH I'D NEVER MET YOU!"

He had spun around, dropping the wood in shock, the sound of it unnervingly loud in the farmhouse. The clattering rang in my ears, I should have taken a moment there to talk some sense into myself but I was too wrapped up in trying to make Grahame feel as awful as I did. I thought that it wasn't fair that he seemed to be getting off so lightly.

"Amelia? Are you - "

"No, I'm not okay. I wish I'd never met you. I wouldn't be pregnant, I wouldn't be hungry, I wouldn't be stuck with you in this fucking farmhouse, where everything is damp and decaying. I just want my old life back, without you in it."

He hadn't said anything right away, only rubbed the side of his neck so hard that it turned red and splotchy, his nails left angry streaks that stood out against the pale skin there.

"Maybe you should get some sleep? You haven't been sleeping well for days. Maybe when you wake up and you still feel mad, we can - "

I didn't want to know. Even as I was saying those things, I knew I would regret them later. It just felt important to get them out of me, so that maybe I could feel sane again.

"You and your run. Why did you ask me, Grahame? Why did you volunteer? Nobody volunteers for the run. I can't believe I was idiotic enough to go with you. This is all your fault."

Grahame held up his hands and had taken a step forward, not knowing what to do. "I'm sorry, I know it's my fault, Amelia. I'm so sorry."

I had laughed, a mirthless laugh that sounded manic. "Oh, you're sorry!"

"Yes, I really am. Just calm down, please - "

"You dragged me out here, "

"It was stupid, I know - "

"With nothing to eat, "

"It was as much as I could get - "

"And I'm fucking pregnant, Grahame. I hate it."

"Amelia, please."

I wasn't done but I was already sweating from what I knew I would say next.

"You and your - your ridiculous desperation to fit in somewhere, that's all it is. It's just a pathetic dream, Grahame! It's bullshit." I finally spit, kicking off the blankets to stand.

His face had turned ashen, then his cheeks pinked. I'd clapped a hand to my mouth, knowing I'd crossed a line. The room was so silent, I could hear my heart drumming in my ears.

"Just fuck off, Amelia." he'd whispered, backing off and kicking the door open hard enough to break it off its hinges. Almost immediately, the rain from outside spattered against the floor and I hurried to catch up with him.

He was checking the perimeter of the house, still looking out for me even after I'd been so cruel to him. He turned as soon as he heard my footsteps sloshing in the mud and mouthed something at me the moment thunder rumbled above us.

He tried again. "Get back in the house, you're going to catch a cold. Please."

This, without his usual warmth, like I was a burden who insistently messed things up. I deserved it. Small rivulets of rainwater ran down his face, beaded up in his beard, hung from his eyelashes. I'd slipped on the mud towards him, his eyes widened and he raised his arms to catch me. I had seen it in his face; I was an idiot. An idiot who couldn't even walk without making a scene.

"Grahame, I didn't mean those things. It doesn't make it right, what I said, but I'm sorry."

He'd nodded tersely, glanced around at the edges of the forest.

"I don't think it's a pathetic dream, you know. It's such a sweet, simple thing, something the rest of us would be too embarrassed to admit. The wanting to belong, to be loved by someone else." I'd murmured, dropping my gaze to his chest. "I wish I knew how to say this right."

His grasp around my waist from when he caught me loosened, his hands moved to my back.

"You already have." he'd mumbled into my ear, sighing heavily. I'd felt his chin rest on the top of my head. "We really need to stop fighting."

I'd been so relieved that he'd forgiven me. We had returned to the house and he'd started a fire to dry our clothes, I'd helped him wash his hair and board up the rest of the windows. I take Grahame for granted so often, I depend on him to get us through every day.

Which is why I'm annoyed to find that he hasn't been eating because of me.

"You take half of this cracker or else I'm not eating at all, either."

He drops onto the floor and holds out his hand. "It's futile arguing this point, isn't it?"

I snap the cracker in half, hand it to him. "Yes. Please stop depriving yourself of things you need to live. Like sleep and food...you moron."

He cracks a smile at that, gulping down the dry cracker in one bite. "We really need to find food. Any more of those crackers and my mouth will turn into sandpaper."

He gets up to peer through the slots in the boards, immediately stiffening. There's a bar of light from outside across his eyes, lighting them up to a brighter shade of blue but he looks alarmed.

"Amelia, pack everything up right now."

"What - why?"

"Enforcers. They're tracking us, I can see them. We need to leave through the back, otherwise we're going to get caught."

I jump into action, shoving anything I can reach into the backpack. The blankets go in mushed into a ball, crinkling our empty bottles that held the water.

"Grahame? What about water, we should fill some of these up before we go." I tell him, panicked, plucking them out one by one. He runs over to me, scooping them all up and plunging them into the container of water, throwing them back over to me when they're full.

I'm taking too long, he gently pulls me to my feet so that he can take over. I resume his position at the window, seeing the red uniforms in the distance, moving around in the trees. I realise that they're searching our temporary camp.

"Oh god, " I gasp, feeling Grahame's hand on my shoulder.

He pulls me to the back door, past the stairs that we never climbed, through the kitchen with our sink full of water and scum from the soap.

"Hold on, let me just pull the plug." he says, his hand shooting in to find the chain, droplets of water jumping out and onto his face. He tosses the plug onto a counter and he grabs for my arm again, I can still hear the gurgling of the sink emptying as we reach the back door.

"Go, go." Grahame urges, giving the place a once-over before he follows me outside.

As we hurry across the flat land, I look up at the sky and my stomach plummets.The sight of the storm clouds reminds me of something and despite everything, I freeze on the spot.

"Grahame! We - we forgot the plastic sheet!" I say, struck with terror but he's shaking his head, squinting desperately at the forest and the shrinking figures. He's trying to pull me along with him.

"Nothing we can do about it now, just focus on getting back into the trees over there."

There's nothing we can do at all, except to run.