Page 2 of Run of Ruin

“Hi Ava!” He beamed brightly at her, swatting her hand away from his dusty blonde hair with a chuckle. “I’m great!It’s election day.” Ava tensed beside me and I offered her hand a soft comforting squeeze.

Her older brother was our elected Challenger when we were girls, and the pain of his death still lingered for her. It did for me, too. That was the year I understood what the Reclamation Run really was.

“Sure is, buddy,” she replied softly, doing her best to hide the haunted echoes in her eyes.

“You doing okay?” I whispered to her.

She nodded a few times, but I could see the faint sheen of unshed tears in her eyes, and I knew it had nothing to do with the stinging sand that whipped across our skin in the wind. I squeezed her hand gently, my fingers drifting to the inside of her wrist where the small moth tattoo rested. She’d gotten it after her brother died, her way of keeping a part of him with her, a permanent mark of mourning and memory inked into her skin.

Before I could probe further, the discordant and familiar anthem of Nexum began to play. Too loud for anyone to think or speak. As the music died, Nova took her place at center stage, the five faces I’ve memorized stood in line behind her.

“Please join me in giving our candidates a round of well-deserved applause!” Nova exclaimed, her voice dripping with over-the-top theatrics. The crowd clapped, half-heartedly, but I saw the way her smile tightened, frustration flickering behind it. We weren’t giving her the energy she craved. They’d probably just replace our lackluster cheers in editing anyway. I remembered a few years ago, when they dubbed over the video of our election, layering on what sounded like thousands of screaming fans. It felt hollow, wrong, but then again, so did everything Praxis did.

“These five candidates have proven themselves to you, campaigned long and hard for the opportunity to representthe Canyon Collective at this year’s Reclamation Run!” Nova gestured to each of the individual's standing on the stage beside her.

‘Campaigned’ was a generous term, and it didn’t even come close to describing what the five people up there actually did to earn one of those ‘prestigious’ spots. Five people must make up the ballot each year, and those spots can be voted on in a primary election, or filled by candidates volunteering. In some Collectives, they carefully cultivate their candidates, prepping them to compete in the Run for most of their lives, but in Canyon?

Our five candidates are criminals. People our Collective viewed as expendable. Leadership in Canyon has come to use this election as a way to punish them. That might be why we never win any of the trials.

My eyes trailed to Rexen. He was up there because he created a poison that couldn’t be identified, smelled, or tasted. By the time you knew you’d ingested it, you were already dead. He was a murderer, but he was also a genius. He had at least a small chance against the brainiacs they typically send from other Collectives.

That’s why he had my vote.

Next to him stood Ezra, the one Jax had voted for. He was the youngest on the stage by a mile, maybe a few years older than me. I wasn’t even sure what his crime was. His trial had been quick, quiet, over before anyone really had a chance to talk about it.

Not that it stopped the rumors. They spread like wildfire, each one more outlandish than the last. Smuggling contraband. Theft. Murder. Conspiracy against Praxis. Some even claimed he caused the mining collapse that killed a bunch of people a few months back. Whatever it was, it had to be bad enough to land him up there.

He was probably Rexen’s biggest competition for the vote. Young. Fit. And there was that air of mystery, the kind that makes people lean closer to their screens. If he got in front of the camera, maybe they’d finally find out who he really was. He was also handsome enough to warrant garnering a fan base. Something I’m sure the producers would be excited about.

“As you all know, the Reclamation Run is the method Praxis uses to provide for the Collectives of Nexum,” Nova began, her voice smooth and practiced. “One hundred years ago, the world as we knew it was collapsing, resources were dwindling, people were starving, and it led to a war that changed everything. Praxis emerged from the ruins of a broken society, bringing order to the chaos.” She delivered the same tired rhetoric she spouted every year. A story of desperation, war, and the monstrous acts people committed when survival was at stake. It was easy enough to swallow, though, since I’ve seen first hand what happens when humanity is stripped away. Of course, I wouldn’t claim that the people of Canyon aren’t suffering, we are, but Praxis offers us just enough hope to stave off the worst of it.

“Now, please stand by for a message from our Archon, Evanora Veritas,” Nova exclaimed, turning her back to us to watch the screens behind her.

The image on the screen shifted before focusing on a woman who seemed almost too perfect. Her dark brown hair was slicked back into a neat bun at the nape of her neck, and her eyes were framed by just enough makeup to still be considered subtle. She wore a sharp, golden blazer, its lapels gleaming as if they had never known a stain. I was never good at discerning ages just by looking at someone, because in my experience, the more suffering life has dealt you, the more it shows in the lines of your face. Her unblemished and unwrinkledskin could mean anything in Praxis, but I’d be willing to bet she’d lived a fortunate life.

“Good afternoon, Collectives,” she spoke, and her silken voice echoed in the empty desert. “And allow me to welcome you to the first day of the 90th annual Reclamation Run.”

Nova broke out into applause, and the crowd meekly followed suit.

“Our Earth has a finite amount of precious resources, resources that our ancestors took for granted. They were used and abused until the world we inherited was unrecognizable. Now, Praxis understands the necessity of rationing, of making deliberate, thoughtful decisions to preserve what we have. For the sake of both our present and our future.”

I scanned the crowd, taking in the faces around me. Hungry, desperate people. Last year, we finished dead last in eleven out of twenty-one trials. And in this challenge, last place gets you nothing. No resources. No seeds to grow food, no electricity, no lumber, no water filtration. That was just the beginning. You’d think we’d finally try sending someone with a real shot at winning. But maybe we’ve just accepted this life of constant scarcity, where survival means learning how to live with less.

I looked down at Jax. His little face was twisted in pain, and I knew his legs were straining under the pressure of holding him up. I never should have let him come, I cursed myself.

“Come up here, sprout, so you can see.” I said, leaning down to let him hop onto my back. He did, with a little extra strain that cracked my heart wide open. I settled him onto my back, holding him tightly.

“The Reclamation Run was created as a fair and honest way to divide our resources amongst the Collectives,” Archon Veritas continued. “Because of this practice ofpreservation, Praxis has been able to provide for all the citizens of Nexum.”

Fair and honest weren’t words I typically associated with Praxis, but I didn’t dare say that aloud. No one would if they wanted to keep breathing.

“In celebration of our 90th year, and in show of Praxis’ commitment to building a stronger future for everyone, especially those who may otherwise remain unseen, we are amending the rules of this year’s run.” Murmurs of interest and confusion rippled through the crowd.

“In addition to each Collective’s elected Challenger, we’re excited to announce a new addition. A lottery to randomly select a second participant to represent your Collective in the Reclamation!” She delivered the words like it was some kind of gift, as if she wasn’t just sending another person to their death. “This generosity is to remind you that everyone has the chance to benefit from the goodwill of Praxis, not just the most popular among you.”

The crowd’s whispered confusion grew heavy and worried.

“May your Collective’s Challengers embody the strengths of your people, and may the Reclamation begin.”

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