Running Scared

I'm starting to fall asleep. Stupid, really, knowing that we're being tracked by Enforcers. We had been moving for a long time though, ceaselessly kicking fallen branches aside, pushing through bushes until our faces were scratched - not that it makes any difference to Grahame's.

It has been three days since we last saw the Enforcers yet we've barely stopped for breath since. I haven't eaten since yesterday morning, when the last of our supplies ran out. The exhaustion is something I'm not used to; it weighs on me like chains, sagging my shoulders and dragging my feet to wrestle with it.

In the end, I have to wear Grahame down, beg him to the point of crying for a rest, for somewhere to lie and fight off this dull headache throbbing in my brain, brought on from dehydration, no doubt. Grahame has his back to me, keeping look out, rubbing his fingers over his scalp again and again, already changed so much since we left the Community.

How open he had seemed to me after the run all those months ago. I've long stopped wondering whether he regrets muttering to me across the table in the cafe, of choosing me. I've seen enough of Grahame to know he's here until the end, there is no half-in, it's only all or nothing with him. I worry for him though; how far will he push himself to save me?

I groan as the headache intensifies, pressing in behind my eyes. Grahame twists to look at me, already half up, but I wave him away - it's okay, nothing wrong here, go back to keeping watch. He settles back down again hesitantly but takes my word because how could he not, after all we have been through?

The pregnancy is taking its toll on me and it's only been around five months. The further we go, the more I realise that this cannot continue; us constantly fleeing at a moments notice, relying on our surviving strength and the speed in which we can carry ourselves away. How could I possibly do this when the pregnancy is reaching its end? Will I make it that far?

My eyelids droop, the weariness from being unable to sleep from the fear finally threatening to take me over, when there's a sudden commotion of leaves being stirred up. I open my eyes to find Grahame clamping a hand over my mouth; he presses a finger against his lips and leans in, close enough for my cheeks to warm from his breath.

"There was a noise, over there - " he murmurs, pointing to a small break in the trees, tensing up ready to sprint if we have to.

I strain to listen, chewing my lip in my anxiety, praying it is in his imagination but no - there it is. The unmistakable noises of someone walking around, just outside our field of vision.

I want to bolt, get up and leave everything behind me but Grahame slides his arm around my shoulders, pinning me into place. Our best defense is to remain quiet and hope that whoever it is doesn't head our way.

We wait, breath caught in our chests, as the sounds grow louder and louder...

A woman, plainly dressed in overalls and a distressed jumper, her thick hair twisting into a plait down her back, steps out from the trees, stopping short when she catches sight of us curled into each other on the ground. She disguises her initial shock well, quickly masking it as she surveys us.

"Oh my, " she says, her voice low and rich, smoother than the marble that adorns the steps of the Court.

Her eyebrow arches almost mockingly at our appearance - our ragged, unwashed clothes - especially Grahame's fading bruises but there's a flicker of appraisal there, too, her eyes drinking in the handsome features of his face. They sweep briefly over me before resting on Grahame's hand clinging tightly to my arm. Her mouth twitches as if to laugh.

Someone follows her through into the clearing, a boy. He's barely eighteen years old to my eyes and when he sees us, he reacts quite differently, halting so fast that his whole body sways.

He chooses to linger on the outside of the group, closer to the trees. His wispy blonde hair flutters across his forehead, in desperate need of a trim, his eyebrows so pale that they're practically invisible. He can't seem to hold his gaze still on any one thing for longer than a second and he looks grossly apprehensive to be around us. He looks ready to fly.

I watch as another person steps into view, as the boy turns to appeal to the newcomer. I can feel the shock in my expression when I notice the lines creasing the man's face, the grey of his hair. For someone of such an age to be out here affects me in a way that the others have not. I have always assumed that the older generations had long settled into the routine of our mundane lives, become comfortable even. I see now that it was a naive thought.

"What's this? A couple of strays in need of our help?" grins the woman, blowing a curl from her forehead. It doesn't sound malicious, yet nor is it friendly by any means. I glare at her from where I'm crouched but with Grahame's arm fixed around me, I can't help but feel like a trapped animal. There's a triumphant flash in her expression, like she knows exactly what I'm thinking.

"Margery, don't tease." the man warns, leaning heavily on a knobbly branch, a make-shift walking stick. "Well, I never..."

"What should we do with them? Leave them? Kill them in case they get caught and blab about us?" she suggests excitedly, staring unblinkingly at Grahame, lips spread wide in a smirk - reading his reaction, I realise.

"What would you want if you were in their position? Really, Margery, you astound me sometimes." sighs the man, shaking his head. "They're just kids. They look like they've been through it, alright."

"Ugh, you ruin everything - "

"Please - " Grahame interjects, slowly rising from his knees. He holds his hands out with fingers splayed in the air, trying for innocent and nonthreatening - not that he has to reach far for that. "Please, we don't want trouble."

"Oh, " the woman - Margery - huffs, laughing. "No trouble? We've heard that before. We take you in like saps and before we know it, all our food has vanished and you two have disappeared along with it."

"We're not like that! Just look at us, for god's sake. We're half starved."

"I don't know, you look plenty strong to me." she says, eyes glittering, enjoying Grahame's desperation. "You could easily overpower me."

Grahame casts around wildly, coming to a rest on me.

"Take her then, at least." he begs, moving to pull me to my feet. "I'll stay behind, you can kill me, whatever you want. Just take her...please."

"I'm not going anywhere without you, Grahame." I hiss, violently tugging myself free of his grip, staring furiously at him.

He growls at me, half exasperated and half resigned, a look that plainly says 'just-do-this-one-thing-for-once.'

"Look, no one has to split up." the old man speaks up, stepping closer to us. "I'm sure we can sort this all out peacefully."

"You don't get to make that decision, Roger! You can't just invite everyone we meet into the group." Margery seethes, rounding on the boy in the background. "What do you think, George, huh? Should we just take anyone in now?"

George shrinks away, shrugging with obvious discomfort at being brought to attention. He awkwardly fingers the strap of his bag as he talks.

"I don't know, " he mumbles meekly. "Ask Stephen and Julian."

Margery glowers, exaggerating an eye roll, putting her back to him again.

"That's a good idea, George." Roger says politely, smiling a little. "We should ask Julian and Stephen. They are in the group after all, and seeing as Margery is suddenly all for the benefits of the group, they should have a say in what happens."

Margery's mouth hangs open for a moment before she recovers. "You can't be serious, Roger."

"It's only fair."

His tone implies a sense of finality and Margery is already striding off, branches whipping behind her, nearly smacking George in the face. I catch his eye and he offers a weak smile but I swiftly look away, not willing to be so trusting just yet. Roger chuckles softly as he watches her disappear in the trees, with, unbelievably, more than a touch of fondness.

"I guess that's settled then," he says, holding a hand out to Grahame. "Let me carry your bag, you look dead on your feet."

Grahame and I share a look but Roger tuts gently, with his hand still outstretched.

"Come on, lad. I doubt I'll get far if I were to try and steal it. Just trying to make your life a little easier, is all."

I nod at Grahame and he deftly hands his bag over to Roger, earning a crinkly-eyed grin.

"That's it," he nods, satisfied. "Sorry about Margery, by the way. She's always like that. You'll get used to it. Now if you follow me..."

I'm blank faced, not daring to believe what his words are implying. He seems to be the leader, the one with the most authority. I'm sure that he can persuade Margery to welcome us into the group and if not welcome us, than at least make her learn to deal with it. I'm not thrilled at the prospect of opening our lives to more people but on the other hand, a chance for food and shelter and more security than we have right now is, begrudgingly, something we cannot pass up.

I know for Grahame, at least, that is worth everything.