It was early morning when I awoke. The sun filtered through the tree canopy, scattering broken pieces of light across the bottom of the alcove. The forest was alive with the rustling of birds and squirrels, and a butterfly had landed on a vine near my head. On the floor of the gorge, the man was slumped against a pile of stones, his eyes closed and his face peaceful. I watched his chest rise and fall with each breath. He may be a liar, I thought, but so am I. And he kept us alive. I idly wondered what his name might be.

I climbed out of the alcove and down the gorge to relieve myself and assess my injuries. My bruises had blackened a degree further, and my body ached. My ankle throbbed, but not unbearably, and I walked carefully so as to not break my new scabs.

When I returned to the alcove, the man was awake and eating strips of jerky. His face had settled into its usual impassiveness.“Good morning,” I said.

“Good morning.” His voice was curt, but not unkind, and it occurred to me that he was trying to keep distance between us. “Come here, and answer me carefully.” I moved to stand in front of him. “When you were inside the Fortress, did anyone see your face?”

I hesitated for a moment. “I don’t think so. I had a mask on.”

The man sighed. “That is great news. We’re leaving here today. We need to find provisions before we go; the water’s running low.” I found myself nodding. Somehow, it seemed easier not to know where we were going yet–I could pretend that the peace would last.

The man led us out of the gorge, to an area where the underbrush was dense. I glanced around nervously. “What about the APF?”

“Gone, for now.” He pushed aside a bush and gestured to a shrub with large spines and maroon fruit. “This is a jujube bush. Pick a few handfuls of fruit and lay some out to dry. I’ll look for something with protein.”

“Okay,” I said simply. I began the mundane task of picking the fruit and carrying it back to the clearing by the handful. I struggled to keep my mind from wandering. My emotions were sharp and cutting, especially my guilt at leaving Owen behind. The air is sweet here, but do I deserve to taste it?

It was easy to distract myself. The forest teemed with life. Little red ants carried parcels of food up the jujube bush, and a puffy yellow slug wedged itself under a leaf by my feet. I was filled by a sense of amazement. We were less than fifteen miles away from the city, yet we had entered a different world. When the bushes rustled nearby, I even wondered if any large animals lived in the area.

After about half an hour, the man returned and dropped his findings onto the flat top of a tree root. There were tree nuts, large white mushrooms, and several clusters of dark blue berries. I looked at him, once again swallowing my questions. His story about living in Historical Amberasta as an ordinary citizen was seeming less and less likely. “What are these?” I asked.

“Nuts, puffball mushrooms, and elderberries,” he responded with a hint of pride.

“Thank you. I think I would starve if I were on my own.” The man chuckled, and I found myself smiling.

We spent the next half hour preparing the food. We ate the elderberries right away, but the nuts and dried jujube fruits were packed and stored for later. The man showed me how to mix some of our water and fruit pulp to make a sweet drink. My senses seemed to awaken with the taste of fresh fruit, something I had eaten rarely even in the city.

I leaned back and licked my stained fingertips. “What if I stayed here?”

The man considered me for a moment. “You wouldn’t survive.” I cringed at his honesty. “This is a rougher place than it may seem. It’s only a corner of the Old Forest. I don’t know if anyone could make it here alone.”

Alone, I thought grimly.

“Come on,” the man added, “our destination is only a day’s journey northwest. If we move quickly, we can arrive by nightfall, and maybe avoid any more confrontation.”

***

The man’s callused hand engulfed my own as he pulled me upwards. I settled onto a knot of the oak tree, panting slightly. I followed his gaze into the distance, past the tops of smaller trees and into the grey dusk. Long and low buildings seemed to materialize on the horizon, poking through the fabric of the descending darkness. A paved road cut a path through the forest and between the buildings.

I braced myself against the trunk of the tree. “Why are we here?” I asked anxiously, “This looks like an industrial compound.”

“Almost. It’s a fueling station for the trucks entering and exiting the capitol.” I stared into the distance, a heavy lump forming in my throat.

“You want me to board one of the trucks,” I said slowly.

“It’s the best chance you have,” the man responded. With the black mask once again fitted over the bottom half of his face, he seemed further away than ever. “Some of the semi-trucks go all the way to Karakul.”

Karakul, I repeated to myself. It was halfway across the country.

“Don’t be afraid now,” the man said, locking his dark eyes onto my own, “Karakul is triple the size of Historical Amberasta. You will be able to disappear there.”

Bitterness welled inside me like bile. I desperately wanted to refuse, but I could not–I was too heavy a burden for him to support, and if he had truly betrayed the government, he had more to worry about than keeping me alive.

We stared at the station as the last of the light faded. The number of trucks coming and going began to trickle off, and the compound’s lights dimmed. The air hung with an eerie stillness, and I ran my fingers up and down my goosebumps–it was all I could do to keep from suffocating.

***

My knees stung from the pressure of the concrete. I welcomed the pain, hoping it would keep my mind devoid of thought. The man was hidden in the shadow of a semi-truck, and a couple of metallic dings sounded as he fiddled with the padlock with practiced hands. Only a second passed before he beckoned me forward.

I dashed ahead, ducking to stay hidden by the nearby truck bodies, and hoisted myself onto the truck platform. The change in height made my head spin again, and I almost lost my balance. “Steady,” the man whispered. I nodded, gripping his bicep for support, and his eyes scanned my face. He turned toward the truck doors and pulled them open, both of us cringing at the wail of the hinges.

He guided me inside, propping one door open with his heel. With swift, confident movements, he put down his backpack and shined his flashlight around the truck body. Heavy construction equipment cast long and ominous shadows. The man gestured for me to sit behind a mid-sized cement mixer, where I would be hidden from anyone who looked inside.

The flashlight fell in my lap, followed by a bundle of dried berries, nuts, a drawstring bag, and the canteen. I looked up at the man questioningly, but he only shook his head. “I’ll be fine,” he whispered. He kneeled in front of me. “Listen carefully,” he said, speaking quickly and quietly. “You were inside the Fortress during one of the biggest uprisings of the decade. The APF knows I was traveling with another person, so you’ll be the first one on their hit list. Your only defense is that no one knows your identity, so don’t draw any attention to yourself for as long as the king is in power.”

I shivered at his warning, and he turned away from me with practiced swiftness. Without thinking, I rose up and grasped his forearm, my pulse pounding in my ears. His eyes narrowed with confusion. “You-” I stopped, breathed deeply, and started again. “You saved my life. Thank you. Will I ever see you again?”

The man stared at me with his dark eyes. “For your sake, I hope that you don’t. Don’t try to leave until they unload the truck. Good luck.” With that, he hefted his backpack onto one shoulder and slipped away, creating a void where he had once stood. The door closed firmly, and I heard the terrible click of the padlock.

I sat frozen for a moment, the thumping of my heart becoming louder and louder until it overwhelmed me. It had been naive to think that I would be able to stay by his side, if only a moment longer. My hands began to shake, and tears burned in my eyes. I sobbed violently, muffling myself with my shirt. In the stark and cold truck body, the surrealness of the forest abandoned me. No longer would I hear the bird songs and smell the fresh scent of pine. No longer would I be protected by the strange and mysterious man.

I thought of Katrina, who would be waiting for Owen to return; of my parents, who would enter the ranks of the childless; and of Peter, who had been murdered. I was so naive, I realized. So stupid… stupid to follow Peter blindly… to leave my parents without a second thought… to chase after Owen when he decided to risk his life. Stupid for my own powerlessness.

I tilted my head against the metal of the truck wall, tears dripping onto my neck. Even if I could survive the trip to Karakul, only the bleak life of a political fugitive awaited me.

***

For the first time in days, light flooded the truck body. I groaned. For a precarious moment, I existed on the precipice between hibernation and awakeness, not caring if I was caught.

“Over here?” a man’s voice called. I welcomed the sour rush of adrenaline and seized control of my body, pressing myself further behind the mixer. “What’s the order?”

“Scissor lift and fan!” Someone yelled, and a couple workers piled into the truck bed. I grimaced as I smelled the odor that had accumulated from the three day journey, but the workers seemed not to notice–they wore heavy gear, with hard hats and cloth masks covering most of their faces.

I waited as the workers unloaded the lighter equipment, my nails digging into the flesh of my arms. I brought my knees into my chest. Don’t look back here, I prayed. Just leave and go back to whatever you were doing. I gazed longingly at the open door. In the past days, the truck bed had become my prison. If I stayed any longer, I had no doubt that I would go insane.

Finally, the workers withdrew, saying something about getting a hand truck and lever bars. They threw the doors shut lazily behind them. I narrowed my eyes, my breaths coming quickly. I forced myself up on shaking legs and gathered the evidence of my journey. Come on, I urged my stiff limbs, move faster! Come on! I cracked the doors and peeked out into the evening.

The sound of faint voices wafted over from behind the truck. Ahead stood a skeletal building in the beginning stages of construction, and only a few workers were in sight. I slid off of the platform, my legs swinging haphazardly. The sand-like soil released a puff of dust as my sneakers dropped down.

I fought to keep my balance. The provisions that the man had left had proven to be far too few, and starvation and thirst had left me delirious. Although I wanted to collapse, my tired feet had a will of their own. They carried me through the site, hiding behind columns and equipment, and into the alleys of Karakul. I had the strange sensation that I was sleepwalking. My senses sent me snippets of my surroundings―layers of trash clogging the gutters, a putrid smell, and the buzzing of flies.

The smell of an overflowing dumpster filled my nostrils. I swallowed my pride, held my nose, and peered into it. Underneath dirty rags and plastic packaging, I found a water jug with half an inch of liquid at the bottom. Desperately, I titled it up to my lips and drank. Instantly, my head seemed to clear. I dug around again, eating scraps of food that I undoubtedly would have turned my nose at just a few days before.

When I was finished, I climbed out of the dumpster and continued my walk, looking to satisfy the rest of my thirst. Suddenly, I emerged from the dimness of an ally to the hustle of the big city. An alarm wailed nearby, making my hackles raise. A car whizzed past me and I tripped over the curve, crashing back onto the sidewalk and skinning my elbows. My breath came sharply. Some stepped over me as if I was nothing more than a puddle on the concrete. I scrambled backward against a brick building and tried to separate myself from the thrum of the city.

Panicked voices poured over me.

“Solokia has betrayed us!”

“How could this happen?”

“My sister is in Solokia!”

“They’ll call for a draft!”

My sluggish mind struggled to understand. I looked skyward, above the cars and to the massive skyscrapers that loomed over the street. A flashing billboard was mounted hundreds of feet above the roadway, showing a female reporter talking animatedly, with a bold headline blocking most of her features.

I squinted to read the words, and my eyes grew wide with horror.

NATIONAL OUTRAGE

FORTRESS ATTACKED - WAR DOVE STOLEN

AMBERASTA DECLARES WAR ON SOLOKIA