The Runner: The Author's Cut

Chapter 2

After completing my stops in District 3, I arrived at the Checkpoint for District 2 and had to wait in line once more but since it was now around midday and most people were at work or elsewhere, I was able to make it through the checkpoint very easily. Making my way into the District, I was greeted by the sounds of music, the scents of Latin, Middle Eastern, and African American street food, and the sound of cars going up and down the repaired roads and the bustle of the open-air market as well as the more natural sounds of bird calls and barking dogs, adding more vibrancy to the soundscape of the Districts. I continued along my route, delivering the bulleting before I arrived at one of the many apartments and dwellings that I was instructed to deliver to and there happened to be a special request on this specific address which simply said "knock." Cautiously raising my hand towards the rickety wooden door, I knocked three times before I heard movement from within the apartment, sounding like a group of men making their way toward the door.

After waiting for what felt like forever, the latch was undone and I was greeted by a tall man who wore a simple short-sleeved button-up shirt and a pair of Woodland BDU trousers and combat boots.

"You Adrian Blake?" he inquired in a strong South African accent.

"Yes, sir," I replied nervously, holding out the bulletin which he promptly took from my outstretched hand.

He looked over the bulletin before he spoke again, opening the front door more as he did and scanning the area behind me, doing what I assumed to be him checking to make sure I hadn't been followed.

"Come inside," he said, his tone leaving no room for hesitation. I nodded, swallowing hard, and stepped over the threshold. The door slammed shut behind me with a finality that echoed in the silence of the dimly lit hallway. The sound of the key turning in the lock was like a hammer striking a coffin.

"Upstairs, now!" His voice was sharp, demanding, and filled with an edge of menace. One of the armed men prodded me roughly with the barrel of a weathered Kalashnikov, its cold steel pressing into my back. "Make this easy for me."

As I trudged up the creaking stairs, hands on my head, my mind raced. "I'm guessing you're the mystery client?" I ventured, trying to pierce through the suffocating tension."

"I'm guessing you're the mystery client?" I asked as I was forced up the stairwell with my hands on my head.

"Don't utter a word until we're in the meeting room," he warned, his voice like ice. "Otherwise, you'll find a bullet in your back before you even get a chance to speak."

I simply nodded as they continued to force me through the building until we came to the top floor where another man was sitting at a large meeting table surrounded by armed guards, the man at the table smoking a large pipe. On the table sat two stacks of letters, all bearing a red wax seal which bore the crest of what I realized to be that of the local partisan group that operated within Portland.

"You the guy we hired?" he asked, taking another long drag.

"Yes sir," I replied, nodding my head.

"Then pull up a seat, make yourself comfortable," the man said, gesturing to his bodyguards to secure the perimeter while the man who let me in sat down next to him.

"Y-yes sir..." I replied shakily, taking a seat at the table, and setting my bag on the ground as I did so.

"Now that you're settled," he began, taking another long drag from his pipe. "We can get down to business. Do you know why you're here?"

I shook my head and he continued.

"Well... you're here for an incredibly important job and one that The Resistance has great interest in," he said, leaning in and bringing his voice to a hushed whisper. "Now what do you think that would be?"