A/N: I always figured there had to be at least one kid who tried running away before Stanley and Zero did. So here's his story.
There are two different POVs, the first is in the present, in second person, and the second is the past from third person.
So you're the new kid everyone's talking about, huh? I have to say I'm not impressed, but then again, you wound up here somehow so I guess you deserve some credit.
Have they preached the rules and regs to you yet? Regulations, stupid. The rules and regulations.
Yeah? Well, don't believe a word they tell you. No one here really wants to help you. They're all here for the money, which is probably why this place still looks like some camp in the desert from a horror movie. It wasn't always a desert, though. It was a lake, about a hundred years ago. But then it stopped raining one day, and it hasn't rained since then. So the government decided to turn it into a detention center. You can tell how great that's working out. Seriously. The warden and Mr. Sir and Pendanski take all the money they can suck out of their paychecks and give us the bare minimum. Don't believe me? Take a look around. Then taste the food. You'll catch on soon enough.
They tell you to try running yet? I remember when they told me to try. I practically pissed in my pants, I was so freaked out.
Mr. Sir's gun? Nah, they wouldn't use a gun on us. That's pretty much the only thing they can't get away with.
Anyone tell you the story about the runner yet? Well, know how Mr. Sir told you no one's ever run from this place? 'Cause it's out in the middle of nowhere and there's no water or shade or anything out there? Well, there was one kid. A long time ago. He was in A Tent.
A Tent's where the really dangerous kids stay. They won't be out of here 'til their hair's gray. That's why you won't ever see them. They're guarded twice as much as we are. Anyway. This kid's name was Jeremiah Brady. Runner, to everyone who didn't want their face punched in. Some people say they called him that because he was a drug runner, but he would always say it was because he outran the cop car that was chasing him. He was the only one to ever escape this place, but no one knows if he even made it out alive.
They say he just started running and never looked back.
***
"Spit, shut up,"
"Well, it could happen,"
"No, it couldn't. Have you seen the security cameras this place has?"
"You can trick the cameras. Don't give technology so much credit, Runner. Especially this lousy excuse for technology. I'm telling you, we could do it,"
Runner shook his head as he set his lunch tray down on the table and scraped his chair across the wooden floor.
"Whatever. Just don't come crying to me when you get caught and they make you stay an extra eighteen months,"
"Well, you shouldn't come crying to me when I bust out of this place,"
"Fair enough,"
"What're you two jawin' about?"
Spit and Runner looked up from their seats to find a mass of curly hair blocking the fluorescent light.
"Nothing, Red. Spit just wants to get out of here,"
"Don't we all," said Red. He slammed his tray down onto the table then moodily picked at the meatloaf with his fork.
"What's eating you?"
"Nothin'. Mom's just been buggin' me about 'turnin' my life around' and crap,"
"He's always doing that. It's his job,"
"Yeah, but he's doin' it more than usual and it's gettin' to me,"
Spit and Runner glanced at each other, but they knew better than to say anything else. Once Red was in a bad mood, it was better to keep your mouth shut.
"Boys?" Dr. Pendanski's nasally drawl broke the silence, "Finish up; it's time to get back to digging,"
Pendanski strutted away to the next table and the three boys rolled their eyes at his back.
"How the hell do they get away with calling digging holes character building?" Red asked as they threw the rest of their lunches away into the over-sized green garbage cans.
"Don't ask me. They probably couldn't think of anything else for us to do. 'Character building' sounds better to the government than 'digging holes in the goddamn-forsaken desert',"
Runner rolled his eyes and punched Spit in the shoulder, "Yeah, I guess so,"
They each grabbed a pair of gloves from an old orange crate and a shovel from the rack as they left the cafeteria and made their way to the dirt path that lead to where they were supposed to be digging. There were already a few boys there when they arrived. Runner sighed. He looked around at the sorry assortment of boys and felt very drained all of a sudden, even though the work hadn't started. They all looked the same. Different hair color or skin color, maybe, but when you got down to it, they really were all the same. Hands stuffed into the pockets of their identical jumpsuits, wary eyes fixed on the ground, and they were all labeled as criminals or delinquents.
Even if they weren't one.
***
Yeah, we have to dig holes all day. Didn't anyone tell you that? What, you thought you'd just sit around all day twiddling your thumbs? Well, you've definitely got a rough day ahead of you. The first day is always the hardest. The days after it aren't exactly much better. They treat you the same no matter how long you've been here. A day, a month, a year, whatever. They don't really care. No one does, really. Cops, teachers, bosses, nobody.
But they say Runner was one of those kids who did have a pretty decent family and people who liked him back home. Somehow he got pushed in the wrong direction and ended up here. Some people think it was drugs, but I don't know.
I wish I had known him. I wonder if he knew he was going to be one of those people whose names you whisper behind your hands. I guess he didn't. No one knows who they're going to be, really. The future's always changing.
Anyway. The warden and Mr. Sir and Pendanski always have us working for hours in the sun digging. We get water twice a day, a two breaks during the day, which I guess is okay. It's practically heaven compared to what A-tent gets. They only get one break a day. Ten minutes. And there are guards crawling all over the place to make sure they all do their share of the labor.
***
Runner wiped the back of his hand across his forehead. The back of his neck burned, but there was no way he was going to turn his hat around to cover it. Then there would be nothing covering his face and it would burn too. He gritted his teeth and dug his shovel into the dry dirt. Five feet tall, five feet wide.
"Keep goin'," Mr. Sir growled at them. "I ain't bein' paid to babysit you Girl Scouts,"
He paced up and down the row of holes one more time before hopping into his truck and leaving the babysitting to the guards.
"We're never going to get out of here," Runner said. He stood up and rolled his shoulders back.
"Just figured that out, did you?" said Red.
"No, I mean even when they let us out, they're just going to find a way to get us back in. We're going to be stuck here forever. And when we get too old, they'll just lock us up in jail. They're convinced that we're going to be hardened criminals forever, so they'll track us down, wherever we are, and lock us up again,"
Spit rolled his eyes, "You're paranoid, boy. Once we're gone, they're glad to be rid of us,"
"And why're you so negative all of a sudden? I'm usually--" said Red.
"Quit your yakking and get back to work," one of the guards said.
The air became thick with dust and humidity the longer they worked. It got into their eyes and noses and mouths, and no matter how hard they scrubbed, it would not come out of their hair when they took their showers that night. The seven half-dug holes were all they had to show for their long hours of work. And the day wasn't over yet.
"Thomas, your hole looks like a demented trapezoid. How hard is it to dig a hole that's round? And you, Brendan, yours is half a foot away from where it's supposed to be. Disgraceful. Fix them,"
Whistle and Gadget stared at the guard who was yelling at them, mouths agape.
"Well, get to it. Use your breaks to make them perfect. Camp Greenlake is about making you fit for society, and society seeks perfection,"
Spit shook his head and he, Runner and Red pulled themselves out of their holes and wandered over to each other.
"I told Whistler he should have paid attention in Geometry,"
Red and Runner both rolled their eyes at him.
"Shut up, Spit," Red said, shoving him. "He didn't need to make him give up his break for it. It really wasn't that bad, either,"
"I was next to him, and it looked pretty circular to me," said Runner.
"See? And Runner passed Geometry,"
"Well, it's like Pendanski always says, 'society seeks perfection'. People these days don't really settle for anything less,"
As they slowly sat down to make themselves more comfortable, Runner drowned out their conversation. 'Society seeks perfection'. Was that really the best they were going to get, even if they did ever get out of Camp Greenlake? Runner sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose to get rid of the sudden headache that was making the ground spin.
"What's the matter? Heat getting to you?" Spit asked, punching him in the shoulder.
"I guess," said Runner, "I dunno. Never mind,"
"There's only two hours left. We'll be back inside pretty soon,"
"Yeah,"
"How much more time do you really think we can spend on digging holes anyway? We're gonna run out of desert eventually,"
Red snorted, "Yeah, when we're dead,"
"Exactly. Who the hell cares, anyway? They're just fuckin' holes,"
"No, they're character building, remember?"
"Screw 'character building. I'd rather pick up trash on the side of the road,"
"Yeah, anywhere, as long as there are girls you can pick up, right?"
"Damn straight,"
"'Cause these jumpsuits are just so damn sexy--"
"Will you both just shut the fuck up?" Runner said, clenching his fist so hard he could feel his nails digging into his callused palm, "Do you really think this is just a game?"
Spit raised an eyebrow at him, "Runner, chill, dude. We were just fooling around,"
"Well, don't. It ain't funny, having to live your life in jail. We're fuckin' stuck here, don't you get it? Probably forever,"
"Uh, Runner? Do you hear yourself? 'We're stuck here forever'? You're paranoid, dude,"
"Seriously, we're just tryin' to find a way to deal with this shit,"
"Ignoring it isn't going to make everything better,"
"I never said we--"
"You really think this is all going to end, don't you? Like once you're out everything's gonna be fine? It's not. I've been here longer than the both of you put together. I've seen people leave just to come back a few weeks later. It doesn't end, okay? We're gonna be stuck in this fuckin' rut until we're just skin and bones. Quit acting like this is just some stupid stage in life. You're not gonna get over it,"
Spit frowned at him. "Look, Runner, believe whatever the hell you want. I really don't care. But I like to think that once I'm out of here, I'm gone for good. I'm gonna make something of myself when I get out. Maybe I got here by accident, or maybe not. Whatever. I'm not coming back, alright?"
"What seems to be the problem here?" Pendanski's mosquito whine floated over the heads of all the boys and he strolled toward Runner and Spit.
"Nothin', Mom, Spit and Runner were just talkin'," Red said.
"Quite a loud conversation," said Pendanski, "Maybe a shorter break will quiet you down?"
"Aw, Mom, we ain't causin' any trouble. You don't have to do anything drastic. It's really nothing to worry about, right?" Spit patted Runner on the shoulder and smiled at Pendanski.
"No," said Runner.
Spit snapped his head toward him. "What?" he hissed.
"I'm getting' out of here,"
"What--?"
"What was that, Jeremiah?" Pendanski asked, raising an eyebrow at Runner.
"I said, 'no'. I'm not taking a shorter break. I'm done. With all of this, okay?" He threw his gloves on the ground and kicked them to Pendanski's feet. And then he ran.
***
He just kind of snapped. I guess don't really blame him, though. I'd be dead if I had to be here for more than eighteen months. I don't know how Runner made it through two and a half years.
No one really knows how he ended up staying here for so long, since, you know, the usual sentence is only about eighteen months. Nobody'll tell us, since they pretend not to recognize his name when we mention it. You can tell they know, though. They can't meet your eyes, and you know they're lying when they say they have no idea what you're talking about. I guess they're scared that if they say his name he'll appear and, I don't know, wreak havoc on the place, or something. Like he'd even want to come back. Or they don't want a death on their records, so they pretend he never existed in the first place. Some of the guys here'll tell you his bones are lying out there, somewhere, in the dirt, because he never escaped. I don't think he's dead, though. Somehow I think he found a way out.
***
Runner coughed. He lay on his back and stared up at the endless expanse of sky with his arms outstretched. It seemed like he had run for hours and hours on end, although he suspected it had barely been an hour since he left.
After he threw his gloves, Runner didn't remember much of what happened next. It was mostly a blur. He remembered hearing Pendanski say "Goddamn, that boy can run", and even though he knew Pendanski hadn't meant for anyone to hear him, all the boys watching him disappear had heard. He knew that. He sort of hoped that that's what he would always be associated with. Running fast. He remembered Pendanski running after him for a few minutes, but he gave up pretty quick after he tripped and Runner was no more than a speck on the horizon.
And then he was just running, all by himself. Across the dirt desert. It seemed like forever ago that he and Spit were talking about making a break for it.
Runner put one of his arms over his face. He could feel another sunburn starting on his nose and his cheeks. Maybe he should just die out here. Mr. Sir had been right. There was no way he was going to make it out by running. But there was no way he was going back. At least he was sure of that.
He rolled over and got to his feet again. Runner squinted at the dusty landscape, but he didn't see so much as a hill in the distance. Runner sighed. He shoved his hat further down on his head and he started running again anyway.