Runner

Chapter One

|| I did it, because it hurt to live without that love.

Perhaps she would have done the same.

Forgive me. ||

- Anonymous 

I stood in an abandoned shack, alone. It was hidden behind a closed curtain of vineyards and rolling fields. No one had lived here for a very long time. The walls were damp, the floor boards warped, the structure moaned with each whisper of wind. The drapes were the colour of sour milk, all the furniture shredded by rodents and age.

I gave myself a once over in a splintered full length mirror. In a prettier time, this would have been the master bedroom in an all-American family home. I adjusted the lace dress to sit right. It was a delicious scarlet red, but against the creams and greys of this washed out house it was almost sickly. Too sweet for this bitter world.  

The floors creaked beneath my feet as I shrugged my shoulders with numb defeat. My dark blonde hair hung down my back, tired circles under my eyes. I'd traded a lot of money for the dress, a dress I was hoping could resurrect the last slither of 'attractive human girl' I had in me.

That's why I risked going to the black markets; an illegal forum where humans sell of memorabilia from an earlier time. The markets would last only hours before they were shut down by marshals. I'd practically thrown my money at the wiry old women, as she passed me the dress. I'd sprinted through the streets, ignoring the bite of the cold air, my hood pulled up over my head as I heard the rumble of trucks and the beginnings of screams. I felt the sound crawl over my skin, itching and clawing. I ran faster.

I pulled on my black boots and then slipped out my backdoor, not letting the rusted iron rattle in its frame, my dress floating around my thighs with the breeze.  

Run. 

The taste of anticipation leaked into my saliva, danger drying my throat. It had been six years since I had been this close to Collective eight. I stayed tight against the wire fence, just out of sight of the road that broke through the hills.

The still landscapes morphed into a desolated rural town. No building stood untouched by poverty, theft, or disaster. The windows were shattered or missing, walls were vandalised with ramblings of the insane, neon signs and damaged streets lights flickered with random bursts of electricity. Shadows danced as I walked down the sidewalk. Home, sweet home.  

I felt it before I saw it. The thrum of the Collective vibrated beneath my feet, the thick smell of tobacco wafting under my nose as I approached the alleyway. A file of greasy women lined the wall for entrance. It was a Kaleidoscope of lycra, satin, and leather. We all had our reasons, and so I tried not to judge.

Several members of the gang, branded and tattooed, rifles in hand, guarded the women like pigs for slaughter. They were spread through the alleyway as I joined the end of the line, discreetly burying myself within the huddled crowd. A suffocating nervousness saturated my thoughts. I didn’t want to look up. Six years was a long time, I had been thirteen when we’d left. My plan needed no one to recognise me, but my heart hoped they would.

The alleyway was doused in graffiti and scum, the crunching of gravel grew as two figures paraded up and down the file of women. My heart beat faster. When they spoke, I knew their voices. Adrenaline fuelled whispers ran up and down the crowd, a constant nervous murmur buzzing around us. I sighed as I pushed myself further against the brick wall, hiding my profile as much as possible. In another lifetime I might have been lining up for a nightclub, fake ID in purse, and hand in hand with my on-again-off-again boyfriend. Not today.