Hotfoot

"This is a resilient space. Outside these walls the tension of events tear everything apart.” Anna turns toward the bright projection upon the wall, a serene pale blue. Lines ebb and flow across the space, frequency waves undulating as the calm voice continues, “Here, we collect ourselves, liberated from the tethers that pull at us. The past, the present, the future, everything is one."

Anna turns from the wall to see a silver-haired man standing right behind her. Though his hair colors him old, his physique seems young and fit. The few lines on his face, residual charisma from frequent smiling. His eyes are soft and disarming. He lays a hand on her shoulder.

“Anna,” he says, “You’ll be happy to know that Ella is in one of the rec rooms.”

Anna takes in a sharp breath.

He pats her shoulder, more to keep her steady than to comfort. “We have watchers all around and in the courtyards as the children play. They’re with her now. You both will be safe. That’s what you want, yes?”

Anna nods.

“But that's not why you're here. You're here because you feel lost."

Anna nods again, her face pleading.

"Nothing is ever lost, Anna. Not safety or people or even house keys. These are only misplaced in time. Here, we retrieve all that was lost.” He begins to walk away, but Anna doesn’t move.

“I'm the Founder,” he says, “And this is my center. Come with me. I’ll take you to your daughter.”

* * *

Over the next few weeks, Anna becomes acquainted with the peaceful gray walls of her new confines. The constant mantra of the blue wall muffled and diffused by the sparse but constant traffic of other residents. She begins to know the classrooms, cafeteria, shared spaces, courtyards, and atriums. She begins to appreciate the simplicity of life lived within the “resilient experience,” the bare minimum of technological reliance for the sake of maximizing freedoms, the use of “the screen” only in shared spaces “as to avoid personal dependence apart from the whole,” as Steve says. And it all makes sense with Ella by her side. Ella needs her. Ella needs her mother.

They trade their sturdy boots for soft-soled slippers and their quilted sweaters for cotton shirts. The simple clothing suits Anna. She wants simple.

At night, she lays down on her simple bed and turns to see her darling daughter, Ella, lying there next to her, usually already asleep. If she lies awake, staring back, with her big brown eyes, Anna will sing to her until they both fade into the next day. Tonight, Ella is asleep, but Anna begins to sing anyway.

She is interrupted by a gentle knock at her door. She cracks it open enough to get the message, "You have a guest."

* * *

Anna rushes down the corridors toward the West Atrium. She holds her linen jacket closed over her nightgown with both hands. As she nears her destination, her gait slows. She stops completely, seeing the man sitting at a picnic bench. His silhouette stenciled by moonlight. He turns as she approaches.

"Anna," he says.

Anna sits down across from him.

"Anna," he says. "Come home."

Pools of shadow rest over his eyes and in the caverns and crevasses of his face, hiding the full form of his expression. But his tone is desperate and commanding.

"Anna," he says. "I took a train up here with the last of my coin. This is how you treat me?"

Anna sits forward. "I'd rather treat you like a dog and get along than treat you like an equal and fight." She says the words, as if repeating them back.

His face changes, the mask of cordiality sliding off.

"Your holiday," he says. "I'm thinking it should be done now."

Anna leans away. Her hands fall into her lap and she stares at them. Without looking up, "What about Ella?" She says.

The man stands up from the bench. He opens a worn gift bag and pulls out a doll. The doll seems unused but faded, a dull little unicorn with a once bright rainbow ribbon tail. The man walks to Anna and sits beside her, placing the doll in her hands.

They both look up and stare silently into the corridors of the center. Two kids run past the atrium. A watcher scrambles to give chase.

"Probably not used to runners around here," he says, breaking their silence. He smirks. "I'd like to see Ella running again. Around and around in circles. Doing what a little hotfoot does. Running and turning and burning off steam. Remember when she used to run? Out in the fields back home? She were mighty fierce and free. She ran like a little flash. Double quick. My little hotfoot of the fields."

Anna stands, clutching the doll. "You should be off now."

She leads the man back to the entrance. Once across the threshold, he swivels back to face Anna. In the darkness of night, Anna can't tell if he's angry or sad, glowering or crying.

"Anna, I got no money for going home," he says.

Anna reaches into her jacket pocket. She throws the last of her change at his feet.

The wind picks up. The man scrambles to collect the dollars swirling around and away from him. He stuffs the money into the empty gift bag. When he looks back at the entrance, Anna is gone.

Having collected most of the loose change, the man joins a line of restless people waiting by the road for a bus or taxi.

As he stands there, shifting in the cold, he is approached by a dark figure. The man looks up from counting his money. A flash of recognition crosses his face.

"This place," says the man. "It's yours, aye?"

The figure steps into the light. It's the Founder.

"Aye," the man continues. "I've heard of you. You're doing some kind of 'work' here. Time and space. Lost and found."

The Founder, without word, snatches the gift bag searching. Dissatisfied, he chucks the bag then grabs the man, but the man shakes himself free and out of his coat running back toward the center. Undeterred, the Founder quickly turns out the coat pockets.

"Nothing?"

He sees the man running past the center into the thicket behind. He follows into the dark. At first he hears the staccato footsteps of the frightened man - cracking twigs, crushing grass - flowing in and out of his own breathing, ragged with pursuit. Then he stops. The sounds of the man are silent.

The Founder shuffles a bit forward before he sees it. The man's body resting crookedly atop the dirt beneath the night. Perhaps he lost his footing and broke his neck. Perhaps he isn't yet gone. But in this cold, by morning, he will be.

The Founder takes a step back toward the center. He chuckles to himself then coughs. He coughs and coughs, his steps more and more unsteady. He sighs and coughs once more, before collapsing at the center door.

* * *

At the center, weeks pass. Social and recreational events carry on as scheduled. In light of her unexpected visit, Anna wants to speak to the Founder, but he hasn't been seen for a while.

One night, Anna overhears watchers talking about the "Founder's sickness." The next day, Anna asks a watcher if the Founder is recovering well. She whisked away to a dark corner and told,"When you need to know, you will. Until then, the questions stop here. This is none of your business."

The following week Anna feels a growing sense of claustrophobia. The eyes of the watchers seem always upon her. At night she hums to Ella, though softer than before. Quieter. The low melody is interrupted by a curt knock.

"You're wanted for questioning," says the voice behind the door.

With a sense of dread, Anna turns to Ella smooths the nightgown around her little shoulders.

"Don't worry," Anna says.

She stands and heads toward the door. With her hand on the doorknob, she looks back at Ella, her big brown eyes, black mop of hair, gentle smile.

"My little hotfoot," says Anna, her voice stern. "You just do what a hotfoot does. You hear me? No questions. Just do it double quick."

She exits leaving the door ajar.

* * *

The center's end is swift. A government raid with smoke and fire, bombs and debris. Anna never makes it back to her room from questioning. She never makes it through questions. But makes it through the raid, rescued by the unseen hands of a first responder. Anna tries twice to re-enter the building to look for Ella, but she's restrained.

Three days later, Anna learns that half of the center collapsed in the raid. The West atrium, the cafeteria, her quarters. Bodies are found in the aftermath, including the Founder. Ella is not found.

Anna leaves the government hospital. She returns home and knocks on the door with bandaged hands. No answer.

She pushes on the door and it opens to a vaguely familiar enclosure but a strange smell of sourness and mold. Dirty dishes on table and in the sink. Unmade bed. No one has been here for weeks. Anna grabs a lukewarm bottle of water from the dark fridge and plops down into a chair at the kitchen table. She sits the little unicorn doll on the table and squeezes it in her hand tenderly.

She closes her eyes and the sound of laughter tugs at her ears. She opens her eyes and jumps up rushing to the front door, throwing it open.

Anna squints into the sun. Turning circles in the distance, the silhouette of a small child running atop the fields.

The full bottle falls from Anna's hands, clunking to the ground with a bounce. She holds up the little doll in her hands before letting it fall too.

Then she runs, arms open, into the horizon of the sunset.