actually act upon it.
Frankie, the only girl I've seen at the meetings, generally butts heads with Pete and I don't know if it's because she is vying for the leadership position herself or if there is a history between them. I really know nothing about any of them on a personal level at this point, but the two of them seem to argue like exes. Or maybe they are still a couple. I have no idea.
This morning I find no map under my mat. I try to push the disappointment away, but it's all I've got to look forward to at this point. As soon as I get in my apartment, I throw myself down on the couch, too exhausted to make myself food. I reflect on my shift, which was a fairly standard one. I met Laney Addelson, a seasoned runner, at the main access point. I punched in the codes and we both entered the tunnel.
I've worked with Laney a handful of times now and have come to find that she is a chatty lady, maybe in her mid-thirties. She's nice enough. I've gathered that everything about Laney runs, especially her mouth. She is insanely fit for a woman in her thirties and she is pretty quick on her feet. I find myself wondering if this is what Bekka would have been like.
Laney takes everything in stride. She seems comfortable and even cheery in the tunnels, which baffles me, just like Bekka baffled me. She acts like each run is a trip to the market. I have yet to get used to the underground world; the darkness, the muck that sticks to every crack and crevice of my boots and pant legs, and the possibility of things lurking that I can’t see.
Today, as Laney and I headed to the first checkpoint, she was prattling on about something funny that happened to her while she was getting a haircut. We aren't supposed to be chit-chatting in the tunnels and my job is to be alert and listening, but how can I tell this woman to shut up? She is a decade plus older than I am and has been doing this a long time. I tell myself she would likely know more than me if anything was amiss. I try to take cues from her and relax, but I'm still not able to do anything anywhere near relax down there. Maybe that's a good thing. Getting complacent is what got Bekka's parents killed, after all.
Now, on my couch, my muscles are still tense and tight and I have my usual post-tunnel headache, from straining my eyes in the dark for the last several hours. I close them and rub my temples when there is a knock at the door. I wait and listen for it again just to make sure I'm not hearing things. I haven't had a visitor since I've moved in several weeks ago now.
When I open the door Officer Fulton is on the other side.
"Good Morning, Private Brenner," he says, formally.
"Nice to see you, sir."
"It's been a while. How is the assignment?"
"Well, sir. Thank you."
"Great. Well, I just had a few errands to run on this side of the base and I thought I'd hand deliver this mail to you. It must have gone to the dorms and got lost in the shuffle," he says, handing over a sealed envelope.
"I appreciate that," I say, taking it and noticing another piece of small paper folded and stuck to the backside of it.
"Okay," he says, looking somewhat uncomfortable, his eyes darting around the inside of my apartment.
"Oh, did you want to come in?" I say, realizing I should have offered that up earlier.
"No, I've got to get back before my first training session. But I wanted to invite you to my place for dinner. Say Wednesday night? You’re off that night. I checked the schedule.'
'Oh. Sure. That sounds good.'
'Great. I left my address on a slip of paper there for you," he says, "See you then."
Inside, I take the envelope to the couch and can tell immediately from the handwriting that it's a letter from Bekka. I set aside the address and tear the letter open.
Dear Zane,
You probably know by now that I am not a runner. Did it surprise you as much as it did
Frankie, the only girl I've seen at the meetings, generally butts heads with Pete and I don't know if it's because she is vying for the leadership position herself or if there is a history between them. I really know nothing about any of them on a personal level at this point, but the two of them seem to argue like exes. Or maybe they are still a couple. I have no idea.
This morning I find no map under my mat. I try to push the disappointment away, but it's all I've got to look forward to at this point. As soon as I get in my apartment, I throw myself down on the couch, too exhausted to make myself food. I reflect on my shift, which was a fairly standard one. I met Laney Addelson, a seasoned runner, at the main access point. I punched in the codes and we both entered the tunnel.
I've worked with Laney a handful of times now and have come to find that she is a chatty lady, maybe in her mid-thirties. She's nice enough. I've gathered that everything about Laney runs, especially her mouth. She is insanely fit for a woman in her thirties and she is pretty quick on her feet. I find myself wondering if this is what Bekka would have been like.
Laney takes everything in stride. She seems comfortable and even cheery in the tunnels, which baffles me, just like Bekka baffled me. She acts like each run is a trip to the market. I have yet to get used to the underground world; the darkness, the muck that sticks to every crack and crevice of my boots and pant legs, and the possibility of things lurking that I can’t see.
Today, as Laney and I headed to the first checkpoint, she was prattling on about something funny that happened to her while she was getting a haircut. We aren't supposed to be chit-chatting in the tunnels and my job is to be alert and listening, but how can I tell this woman to shut up? She is a decade plus older than I am and has been doing this a long time. I tell myself she would likely know more than me if anything was amiss. I try to take cues from her and relax, but I'm still not able to do anything anywhere near relax down there. Maybe that's a good thing. Getting complacent is what got Bekka's parents killed, after all.
Now, on my couch, my muscles are still tense and tight and I have my usual post-tunnel headache, from straining my eyes in the dark for the last several hours. I close them and rub my temples when there is a knock at the door. I wait and listen for it again just to make sure I'm not hearing things. I haven't had a visitor since I've moved in several weeks ago now.
When I open the door Officer Fulton is on the other side.
"Good Morning, Private Brenner," he says, formally.
"Nice to see you, sir."
"It's been a while. How is the assignment?"
"Well, sir. Thank you."
"Great. Well, I just had a few errands to run on this side of the base and I thought I'd hand deliver this mail to you. It must have gone to the dorms and got lost in the shuffle," he says, handing over a sealed envelope.
"I appreciate that," I say, taking it and noticing another piece of small paper folded and stuck to the backside of it.
"Okay," he says, looking somewhat uncomfortable, his eyes darting around the inside of my apartment.
"Oh, did you want to come in?" I say, realizing I should have offered that up earlier.
"No, I've got to get back before my first training session. But I wanted to invite you to my place for dinner. Say Wednesday night? You’re off that night. I checked the schedule.'
'Oh. Sure. That sounds good.'
'Great. I left my address on a slip of paper there for you," he says, "See you then."
Inside, I take the envelope to the couch and can tell immediately from the handwriting that it's a letter from Bekka. I set aside the address and tear the letter open.
Dear Zane,
You probably know by now that I am not a runner. Did it surprise you as much as it did
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