The Swailing

The Rockies: Target

The sun is barely up when I tap Finn on the arm. It takes a few taps, increasing in strength, before he starts to stir. A slant of sunlight stretches across his pillow and when he opens his eyes. I notice their color for the first time. A greenish-gold. I think it's called hazel. They are rimmed in thick, long lashes that leave shadows on his cheeks.

He stretches and rubs his face with his hands, making a slight scratching sound on his stubble. This morning he looks a little older again.

"Hey. I want to go for a run," I whisper. "You in?"

Finn yawns and glances toward the window, probably trying to gauge what time it is. "Now?" he asks. His voice is low and gravelly and it does something interesting to my insides.

I nod. "I can't take it anymore. My body feels like it's tied up in knots."

Finn runs his hand through his hair and sits up. "You're serious?"

"I can go by myself ..."

"No. That's okay. I'll go with you."

I wait while Finn uses the bathroom and gets dressed and then we sneak out of the apartment while Aspen is still sleeping.

We run slowly at first. Exercise is mandatory in Optima, so I'm pretty sure I'll be able to keep up with him. Oh, who am I kidding? I'll make sure I keep up with him. After a few blocks, I start to feel like my old self again and increase my pace. The air is thin up here and I have to watch my breathing, but my legs ache for longer strides.

After five or six kilometers Finn's breath gets more ragged and I slow my pace again.

"My fitness routine ... is spotty at best," Finn offers brokenly and waves me ahead of him. I shake my head and stay by his side for several more minutes until he waves me on again.

"Go on ahead ... I'll meet you back at the apartment."

I look at him to read his expression. Logan would never let me go on ahead. Despite almost fierce sexual equality in Optima, he is incapable of letting a female beat him, of letting anyone beat him, really. Maybe that's why I prefer running at the beach lately, without him. So I can enjoy it instead of it always being a competition. But Finn just waves me on and when I'm sure he means it, I run faster.

The resort town is serene and quaint, with little shops and restaurants lining the town square. Cars and large trucks with open storage in the back are parked along the streets, which are nearly empty of traffic at this early hour. The few people I see are walking or riding bikes, and they wave at me familiarly. I turn onto a residential street lined with two-story houses that appear terribly old and ornate – like they were built long before the Swailing – but they are well maintained and painted bright shades: yellow with purple trim, blue with green. So much different than the uniform modern beigeness of my neighborhood. As a backdrop to all of this, the mountains reach up to the sky. The treeless areas that must be the ski runs are little rivers of bare grass running around the islands of evergreens.

I loop around the block, hoping I'm going the right way. When I see Finn's car parked in the distance I sprint to it, my lungs and legs burning. I'm stretching when Finn catches up a few minutes later.

"Good God, you're a machine," he gasps, and leans against a parked car while he catches his breath.

"Didn't that feel great?"

"Great's a bit strong..."

I laugh. "It is harder to breathe up here, though."

Finn is bent over at the waist, one hand gripping his side. He gestures to himself with his other hand. "Obviously." He straightens up and lifts his arms over his head and I once again get a little glimpse of his stomach. "But no one would know it by looking at you," he adds.