Chapter 3 #2
“Do you remember the map? We’re north of where the original crossing was, but this is another weak spot in the wall.
A crew of enforcers were here last night, so they shouldn’t be back for a while, plus we’re arranging a couple of diversions.
Don’t linger, don’t look back. Keep your wits about you and try not to stop until this time tomorrow.
The important thing is to keep on moving.
You don’t have to travel fast, but don’t stop. ”
I climb out of the box, my body sore from lying down. He passes over a bottle and waves at me to drink it, so I do in one gulp before passing it back.
After I have my backpack on and my pockets full of as much food as I can handle, he points me to where I need to go. I hop out and give him a quick hug of thanks before I do what he said—walk without turning back.
In the media and all the propaganda, the wall the government built to protect us is nothing at all like the wall I’m facing. The mesh wire fence is high, I’ll give them that, but there’s no concrete at all. Clearly, the fence surrounding us is another of their lies.
I’m sure I’m fixating on the details as a way of coping, but it works as a way not to get overwhelmed by what I’m about to do, which is to scale an impossibly high fence, an illegal thing to do, and a dangerous one too.
So I set my sights on what is in front of me as I start to climb and keep climbing until I’ve scaled to the height that I have to figure out how to get through the barbed wire top.
I definitely don’t look down.
Pushing on the wire, the tension means it barely moves, and I simply won’t fit through the gap.
But as I shove against the fence more vigorously, I see a spot farther along that has more give.
I scurry sideways to the weak point, and as soon as I’m there, I can see and feel that the tightness is different.
It will be a squeeze, but I’ll be able to fit through the narrow gap.
The motion of unclipping my backpack makes me sway, which is great for getting through to the other side but bad for my spinning head.
I have to grit my teeth and squeeze my eyes shut until the dizziness passes.
As soon as it does, I don’t waste any more time.
I drop my bags to the ground before I wiggle my way through the gap, then clamber down the other side of the fence.
My hands are sore from the wire mesh and my muscles hurt from holding on, but I’ve survived the trauma of my parents dying, so this is a piece of cake. Well, that’s what I keep repeating to myself as I ready myself to do the whole thing again.
The second time is easier, and I scale up and down like a rock climber, spurred on by how close I am to escape.
I also panic at how long it’s taking me to climb these damn fences.
This is probably the most vulnerable time of my escape.
If any enforcer saw me, there would be no questions asked and my life would be over.
As soon as my feet touch the ground, I strap a bag to my front and one to my back.
I force myself to wait a few seconds, to triple-check that I’m alone and no one is watching.
The pause brings clarity. My night vision settles in, and I’m figuring out which way I need to go when a noise stops me dead in my tracks.
I drop into a ball, not moving a muscle, while my heart thuds so loudly it drowns out any noises around me.
I know it’s dangerous, so I stay frozen until my pulse isn’t racing and my hearing returns.
It takes a few minutes before I can hear the night critters over the jet engine blazing in my ears.
I stay still for a little longer and am about to stand up when I hear the noise again.
But this time, I hear it differently, not like something imaginary is chasing me. It’s whisper quiet, but once you’ve heard something in pain, you recognize the sound.
I turn slowly, moving cautiously to where the noise is coming from. Maybe it’s a horrible idea, searching it out—it might be a trap too—but I can’t leave something suffering. And I also think it’s better to face whatever it is head-on.
Closer, it’s easier to hear whatever is making the noise, and when I creep around a bush, I can see what it is.
I’m glad I escaped because looking down at how cruel humans can be makes me sick.
My knees hit the ground before I can check myself, but whatever is in the hessian sack is seriously hurt.
I know humans are responsible for whatever is inside, because the bag comes from one of the government’s own farming enterprises, Agrifuture.
The logo emblazoned over it signboards human involvement.
I undo the shoelace holding the bag shut before gently opening the top and peering inside. The darkness makes it difficult to see, but there’s no possible way to miss the fear in the eyes of the creature. The injuries and muck caked on its face make it hard to define what kind of animal it is.
“Hey, little one, I’ll take you somewhere safe and get you better.
” I talk, soft as the wind, running my hand gently over a small spot on the top of its head where it looks relatively uninjured and clean.
Curling the injured animal into a shape I can carry better, I balance it on the bag at my front as I open one of my water bottles and dribble some water into its mouth.
It whines and recoils, but I keep the trickle deliberately slow and calm until it drinks.
“I won’t hurt you. And I’m sorry someone did.” I stand up and readjust my bags so I can carry the poor animal and my bags.
As soon as I’m able, I walk away from the fence line, but before I can get too far, I’m stopped by another bag. This one is similarly sized, but it’s stained and sodden by a dark liquid I don’t want to identify. Regardless, I’m not leaving the bag or what’s inside it here for the worst of humanity.
I grab the bag and am surprised by how light it is. There’s something inside, and perhaps I should check if it’s alive, but I’ve seen enough proof of how fucking awful humans can be today. I also can’t stand to be so close to humanity anymore.
I shove the bag into the top of my backpack, then walk away from everything I’ve ever known with a heavy heart and the worst headache I’ve ever experienced. Each step hurts, but I don’t stop walking or sharing my water or food with my new companion.