Run

    The city is oddly quiet. The stars high above the building tops shine brightly. The moon is nowhere to be seen. There aren't any sounds. No cars driving by or honking. No sirens in the distance. No clatter of people ambling about. Nothing. Just the occasional bang, or rat-tat-tat-tat.
    It's starting to rain. The droplets are heavy. They fall from the sky, hurtling toward the concrete and asphalt surfaces of the city, like small kamikaze soldiers. They pummel any and all who wander beneath their attacks.
    It's late out. Maybe a little after one o'clock in the morning. It's far past the city's curfew—ten thirty. The Patrols are skulking about, looking for anyone who isn't locked indoors. They shoot now, rather than ask questions.
    A set of headlights flashes in the wet night. A van rumbles passed. Its tires splash at the roadway, sending small waves of water into the air. Patrols are in that vehicle. A woman up top, rifle in hand. Two men in back, looking out the rear window for anyone daring to defy the Laws.
    I'm standing in an alley. I heard the Patrol van at the last second and ran into the alley. I watched them drive off. Waited until I heard the engine rumble away into the distance.
    Crouching, I stay low to the ground and look around. I can't see any lights. That's one thing about the Patrols, they always have flashlights or headlights. Always with the freaking lights. But it works well. Sort of like a warning to us. It's safer for us that they have their lights.
    I wait there. The rain is soaking through my clothes. The heavy fabric weighs me down. I hate this damn uniform. But it's the only way we can get to our destination. Less likely to be seen if we look like the Soldiers.
    The uniform consists of big and heavy military boots. Heavy pants, lined with some sort of leather to act as armour. A white shirt underneath a heavier shirt, again lined with the leather armour. Thick gloves that barely allow the fingers to move. Though the index finger on both hands is naked. Better to shoot with. Then there's the jacket. It's big, bulky, heavy. It goes down to the knees. It's supposed to be waterproof. The seams always come undone, though. Shoddy craftsmanship. The jacket is made entirely of that leather crap. But the fabric holding it all together is very thin. It acts like a sponge for the water, absorbing the cold rain with hunger only to spit it out against your skin. I hate wearing these damn clothes. We both used to like that military-forest-green colour. Now we hate it. Everything is that colour.
    The rain comes harder suddenly. The entire world around me seems to be blanketed behind curtains upon curtains of gale-like rain. This is my chance!
    I look around, and quickly bolt out from the security of the alley. I run fast, but softly. I don't want my footsteps to make horrible splashing noises. That's the last thing I need right now.
    I make it to the next small alley and duck into its shadows. A Patrol van flies passed. My heart is racing like mad. They're passing by slowly. I can see the searchlight running along the ground. I thought for sure the rain would muffle my splashing strides.
    The searchlight falls into the alley. I'm already lying flat on my stomach, face pressed against the concrete ground. This is our tactic. This is why we wear the uniforms. We play dead. The light is still on me. I can't hold my breath much longer. They won't stop to inspect me. Please don't let them stop to inspect me.
    The engine roars to life and they drive off. I wait. I count to ten. To twenty. To forty. To two hundred.
    I can hear the engine off in the distance. It's been at least ten minutes that I'm lying on my stomach, eyes shut, face pressed into the concrete, inhaling so slowly and holding the air in my lungs desperately. I want to be one hundred per cent that it's safe to move. I can't afford to get caught. I don't know what I'd do if that happened.
    Finally, I look over at the entrance to the street. I don't see any shadows, don't see any puddles moving from footfalls. Slowly, I sit up, and then crouch. I edge toward the mouth of the alley and peer out into the street.
    I count four bodies. They must have been here for a while—probably just after dusk. The rats have already started congregating. That's why I can't get caught. We aren't Patrols. We aren't even Soldiers. We're just civilians who aren't following the Laws. But I'll cross Death itself to see her. And she would, too. That's why we break the curfew. That's why we wear these damn uniforms, and skirt through the city's streets at night, dodging the Patrols and risking our lives.
    We do all of this just to hold one another. Just to remember that no matter what happens, we belong to each other and no one else.
    I can see my destination. The old coffee shop. OUR old coffee shop. It was closed down last year. When all this started. I don't even remember how any of this happened. All I know is that we were separated. We were forced to marry Patrols. But we found each other quickly through the lines. It wasn't difficult. It was only two weeks after being separated. That's when we started meeting after the curfew. It's the only time we can. Our husbands can kill us if they discover what's going on.
    I see a shadow cross into the opening at the side of the shop. It's her! I know it is. The way she moves, the way her body slips along the broken sidewalk and into the small opening. I feel my heart start to race. I want to run toward her but I can't just yet. There are a good two hundred metres separating me from her. I can't afford to be reckless now.
    Very carefully, I inspect the empty streets. No headlights. No flashlights. I can't hear if there's anyone walking in the dark, the rain is falling too hard. It's hard to see, too. The water dripping from my hair is stinging my eyes. I try to wipe it away but I just can't keep up.
    I look around once more and see her appear in the grimy window of the old shop. I know it's her. And I can already feel her body against mine. Feel her hands pulling off my clothes. Her lips running over my body.
    With a deep breath, I rush into the night. My feet splash into the puddles and I swear at the rain under my breath. I quickly duck behind a large chunk of asphalt that's been upturned. There are two bodies lying beside me. I try to ignore them. One is dressed like me. The other is wearing the Patrol's outfits. I try not to pay any attention. But it's still hard to just ignore the bodies scattered around the city at night. The Sweepers will be here within two hours to collect these ones. That’s when the fighting takes place. At night, never during the day. You’ve got a better chance to survive if you fight at night.
    I peek over my shelter and look around cautiously. I don't see anything. Very slowly, I crouch down and make to run.
    I hear something ring in my ears. It's rapid gunfire. I duck behind the asphalt. How could they see me? There's no one anywhere within sight.
    More gunfire rings through the street. I peek around the chunk of roadway to see how many of the Patrols have seen me.
    I see something else. Two Patrol officers chasing a man in a green uniform like mine. They're running toward me. I start to panic. They'll see me. The man in the green, the Soldier, rushes past me. His arm is pointing back in the direction he came. The automatic weapon he's got fires. The two men chasing him fire back.
    The gunfire is loud. The asphalt explodes as bullets lodge themselves in it. I hear the Patrols coming closer and closer.
    Gunfire explodes all around me. They're just trying to kill the fleeing Soldier. I instinctively lay flat, under one of the dead bodies. There's no smell. Thank the gods on that one!
    The two men run past me. I listen to their footsteps, their shouts, their gunfire; all grow more and more distant. I look up, and carefully push the body off me. My stomach lurches and I throw-up, violently. I know she’s watching. From her vantage point she can't actually see me. The broken shard of roadway is blocking me from her view.
    Quickly, I look around myself. I don't see anyone. The rain is even harder now. It hurts as the drops assaults me. But I also can't see anything. Or hear anything. I decide to go.
    She can't see anything from inside the shop. She strains to see me through the rain, but she can't. She saw the gunfire. From her angle, she watched as chunks of the asphalt barrier flew through the air.
    My feet slam into the ground. I can't see anything. I know I'm going in the right direction. I'm positive about it. My heart is slamming against my chest, my lungs burn and strain. I'm swallowing a lot of water. My legs are sore and my chest is tight. But I can't stop running until I get to the shop. If I do, there's no way I'll make it.
    At the very last second, I see a mass of brick in front of me. I stop just in time. My feet slip and slide on the broken sidewalk. I lose all balance and fall backwards onto the ground. I see the small opening now. And then I see two hands grab my ankles. I'm pulled in hard and fast. Something looms over my head and I instinctively use my arms as a shield.
    But it's her. She’s slamming the small bit of metal over the opening.
    I stare at the ceiling, trying desperately to catch my breath. Water is pooling around me on the floor. My eyes sting from the rain. My hair is drenched. My clothes are stuck to me like a second skin and I'm shivering.
    "Oh god, love!" She pulls me against her body and holds me close, tight. Her voice is scared, but so relieved. Her lips press against my temple, my forehead, my hair, quickly. "Thank god you're safe!"
    I smile and wrap my arms around her. She’s only wearing the white t-shirt and the pants. She was dry. And as I wrap my arms around her body, I feel her shiver against me a little.
    She releases me, a little, and kisses me. The feel of her lips on mine is amazing. She kisses me hard.
    I pull off my jacket and move forward. I slip my hand to the centre of her back and ease her to the floor. I keep kissing her, my wet hair tickling her face as my body presses against her gently.
    Our lips break apart and I sit up. The smile on my face fades quickly though. "Oh my gods," I whisper, looking at her side. "You're bleeding!"
    She sits up quickly and looks at her ribs. "I can't be!"
    I pull at her shirt, lifting it along her chest, up to her chin. There's no wound. There's nothing there. I stare and run my fingers over her perfectly sound flesh.
    Her eyes widen and I feel her tear open the green shirt I’m wearing, revealing my soaked white one—and the growing splotch of blood on my right side.
    "Shit," I whisper, my head suddenly spinning.
    She catches the slight movement as my body acknowledges what's happened. I feel her hands on my back and neck as she eases me down to the floor. She peels off my wet shirts and stare at the bullet holes in my ribs. Her fingers skim over the throbbing flesh and she leans closer to inspect the wounds.
    "How the hell did the bullets get through the asphalt?" I ask, staring at the ceiling. My voice is calm. I don't feel any pain. It's just numb right now.
    She looks at me. Her eyes are dark, scared. "That's not a bullet," she says softly, looking at the blood covering my stomach and then back to my eyes. "It's a chunk of asphalt." She hesitates for a minute, and kisses me so softly. "It's a bunch of small chunks," she says in a soft and angry voice.
    I go to move, to sit up. But there's a sharp pain in my ribs. I gasp and squeeze my eyes shut. I feel her hand on my forehead, her lips against mine.
    "I'm cold," I whisper, the pain in my body fading quickly.
    She lies beside me on the floor, wrapping her arms over me and holding my body close. "Please don't die," she whispers, in my ear.
    I smile and turn my head, kissing her gently. "I won't. I'm just tired. That was a hell of a run I took out there." I shut my eyes and snuggle my face against her neck. "Just need a quick nap and it'll all be good."
    She holds me closer, tighter. I hear someone sobbing quietly. It's her voice. But I know it's not her. Why would she be crying right now?
    I'm so cold.
She picks-up on that and hold me closer, trying to warm my body.
    It's strange. Normally when she holds me like this I'm warm within a couple of seconds.
    I feel her kiss my temple gently. Her lips linger against my skin longer than I remember her ever having done. I hear you her whisper, very softly, "I love you."