The Grid Runner

Chapter One

Interconnecting tubes and cables streamed by as Zan McCawl ran through the large pipe. He hopped onto the next track without breaking his stride, rushing down to the bright light at the end. He dove out the pipe, rolling in the air, and swiftly landed on a wide plank suspended by hanging cables. His scarf flapped behind him as he continued his run. Hundreds of feet of empty air lay between him and the tops of the city below, a thought that had strangely (strange for other people) never bothered Zan.

He jumped onto an intercepting plank, spiralling through the air for fun, and made his way into another pipe. His pattering footfalls echoed around him, the only sounds apart from the constant humming of the surrounding machines. Running along an open platform, he spared a look at the sun to check how late he was. The bright metal ball was high above him to the side. Checking the time mark beside the huge ball –incremental indicators on the track that ran along the domed roof – he knew his da would definitely be waiting for him.

Passing over his neighbourhood, Zan jumped down several feet and dropped into a curving pipe. He slid down and fell out, landing on a tall statue. There he hung on, catching his breath and adjusting the pouch slung over his shoulder. Large tubes and mechanical towers were interspersed with the tiled roofs of the tightly packed houses. Smoke rose from a few chimneys, filling the area with hot food smells that rumbled Zan's stomach.

Manoeuvring around the bronze statue in a sweeping motion, he scrambled down the long plinth and jumped out, landing on a nearby rooftop. As he crossed over to the next building, Zan felt a sense of calm and safety warm him. Running the Grid had never seemed as dangerous as it should have, but being near his house always made him feel like nothing could harm him.

Swinging off a pole, Zan landed on a grassy patch and jogged up the pathway to his house. The three-story house tilted at an angle near the top, supported by a thick reinforced beam on one side. He followed the delicious cooking smells up to the house.

"Da, I'm home," Zan called out as he slid the door shut behind him. Rounding the corner into the kitchen, he found his da by the sink.

"You're late," Herrik grumbled, washing a pot.

"I know, I know," Zan said, shuffling over. "I lost track of time. But guess what I got."

"What I sent you out for, I hope."

Zan placed his pouch onto the counter and pulled the strings open. "Well, yeah. Veggies from the market. But, look, look." He brought out his surprise find.

Herrik showed only a slither of interest, but Zan knew he was holding back. "Strawberries?"

"Strawberries!" Zan declared, raising them high like a winning trophy. "I just found a patch of them, behind the old armoury. Just growing there."

"You see who they belong to?" Herrik asked, wiping his hands on a towel and coming over. He was a beefy man, having grown larger around the edges in recent years, and had developed a layer of stubble over his thick jawline – a scruffy look he never would have stood for back when he was working.

Zan shrugged defensively. "I think they were just there."

"Strawberries aren't just anywhere," Herrik said, his tone shifting to lesson-mode. "We'll keep these for now, save you the trouble of going all the way back there. But no more, you hear? Let whoever they belong to keep their secret garden."

Zan beamed. "I knew you'd like them."

"What did I just say?"

"No more, I heard you. Got it. I just wanted you to have them. I know you used to love them. Back in our old house."

Herrik sighed, his eyes softening. He ruffled Zan's wind-blown hair and smiled. "Thanks. Come on, you, it's supper time. We'll have to use the veggies you got for tomorrow's sup, seeing as everything else is ready now."

Zan set the table and got the drinks ready while his father spooned the potatoes and creamy chicken onto plates.

"I need your help tomorrow," Herrik said, handing Zan a plate. "Miss Abernathy brought over a broken converter-hub. Said I'd give it a look for her, but I need some parts from the market."

"Sure," Zan said, "I can head out in the morning." The nod his da gave him brought a warm, comforting feeling to him. If there was one thing Zan was good for, it was reading tech. Only a few people understood the language of the machines, but to Zan it had always been like second nature, as easy as talking. And he loved repairing old tech with his da, more than anything in the world.

Outside the window the sun had lowered beyond their level, darkening the area to a deep blue and orange. On the far side of the domed roof, tiny LED lights began to flicker on, dotting the sky with little stars.

Sitting opposite his da, Zan noticed him glance over at the empty chair between them, and he knew what Herrik was thinking of. It was so long ago now, but, back in their old home, Zan still remembered his place on the side of the table, and his ma would always sit opposite his da.

After a few mouthfuls, Herrik pointed his fork at Zan. "How far did you get today?"

Zan sipped his drink, buying himself time to think. "Just went to the market and back."

"Right," Herrik said. "And where's the donkey that brought you here?"

Zan withered under his da's intense, well-perfected stare. "Okay I might have gone a little further," he admitted. "That's why I was late. I just –"

"Just couldn't help yourself. I've told you before, running the Grid is dangerous. All it takes is one slip, and–"

"And you'll lose the only thing you have left in this world," Zan finished, having heard the line many times before.

Herrik gave a look that told him to be more serious. "How far did you go?"

"I didn't go near the old shops, don't worry."

Herrik sighed. "It's not the old shops that's the problem. It's what's below them."

"I know, da, I know." Zan realised it came out whiney and added, more evenly, "I know. I promised you I won't go anywhere near the Mayor's place, and I won't."

Zan shook his head. He wasn't a kid anymore. He was nineteen, almost a man. He should act more like it. His da should treat him more like it.

They ate in silence for a while, before Zan couldn't help but ask, for the hundredth time: "Why don't you like your old company?"

Herrik dropped his knife and fork with a loud clatter that made Zan jump. He gave Zan a severe look, but the sorrow hiding in his eyes made Zan's heart ache. "You can keep asking, and I'll keep giving the same answer. There are no good people in the Mayor's office. They were not good to me. To me or..." he caught himself and sighed, then focused on his food.

Or. There was an or this time. Since his da quit his job – soon after his ma died over ten years ago – that or was the closest Zan had ever come to a proper explanation. His da was one of the Mayor's top engineers. He helped build the latest iteration of the Grid, the vast network of machinery that ran across the entire city. The Grid was everything. The weather, the sun, day and night, crops – everything was fuelled by the Grid. And Zan's da was responsible for it all. Well, him and several others. When his da declared he would retire early, mumbling something about disagreeing with the Mayor and it not being the same company it used to be, Zan felt like it had something to do with his ma's passing.

Herrik's eyes tensed, shimmering the way they did whenever he thought of his wife. They finished their meal in silence, the strawberries forgotten about, and Zan went to bed with troubled thoughts.

(1374 words)