RUNAWAYS

PART ONE: RUNAWAYS

RASHA

We're in an abandoned classroom.

The seats are destroyed and turned over on their sides, debris particles coat the floors. The four gray walls close me in, suffocating me of oxygen. It's dark and quiet, and only the sound of boots hitting the ground outside makes up for it. Black Mark soldiers are scanning the area– searching for runaway fugitives that hold confidential information. A bright flashlight beams through a tiny window. Charlotte hides under what looks like a teacher's desk, her chestnut hair matted and drenched in sweat. Zyran and I hide behind a bookshelf. His chest rises and falls with each ragged breath, matching my heart rate. My hands begin to shake. What if they find us? What if we have to go back to that inhumane facility that treated us like experiments?

Zyran intertwines his fingers with mine. When I look up, his gaze is straight ahead, his jaw tense. The sound of tanks shakes the ground. Just when I think it's safe to move, I hear another rustle outside. Or an engine.

Or a bullet.

"Can we move now?" Charlotte whispers, darting her eyes across the room.

The flashlight is still beaming through our window, and the occasional radio static is still clear. Black Mark soldiers are lingering, and they won't stop until they are certain we are nowhere to be found.

"Not yet," I say, looking behind the shelf. "They're still here."

After what seems like an eternity, the flashlight turns off. The sound of footsteps becomes more distant, and the engine's hum fades. Still, I sit here in silence, just to be sure. We've ran for far too long just to get caught in an abandoned classroom. If I had to go down, then it would be when I'm enforcing a new order, not sweaty and covered in dirt in a kindergarten classroom.

"Now?" Charlotte asks again.

When I rise to my feet, so do her and Zyran. We stretch out our stiff muscles and sigh in relief. Not only is the classroom absconded and on the brink of death, but it's also covered in missing posters of us. On the bottom, it guarantees and ten thousand US dollar award if we were found. It labels us as fugitives, rebels– a burden to our human society.

I'd rather be that than a pawn in Black Mark's game.

Zyran cracks his neck, and the moon's glow puts his barcode tattoo in the spotlight. Charlotte and I have the same one at the nape of our necks, a reminder that we do not belong to ourselves. But we don't have to live up to that anymore. We may be on the run, but freedom is near, and I will do everything in my power to get it.

Charlotte walks over to the hanging missing poster and scrunches her nose. "Seriously? They could've made me look better, or at least gotten my eye shape right. I mean, I wouldn't say they're almond-shaped, but, like–"

"Are you seriously worrying about how your eye looks right now?" asks Zyran, running a hand through his hair. "We're getting hunted down by the federal government. The last thing we need to is worry about is how we look in posters."

"Agreed," I say, stepping over a pile of burned books. The space smells like charred papers and leftover smoke. "I say we stay here for a little while until we know for sure we're in the clear. Black Mark soldiers could still be stationed. What sector are we in?"

Zyran's eyebrows knit together. "Five, I think?"

I nod, letting the map we were forced to study sink into my brain. If we're in Sector Five, then we're in the parts where everyone has pretty much left to rot. The fact that Black Mark soldiers came down here to track us shows their determination and the fact that we ran all the way here just shows how willing we are to escape.