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The Story:

Tree limbs scrape my face as I dash through a dense forest. Glancing over my shoulder, I can see nothing in the fog, but I can hear their dogs closing in on me. I pick up my pace to a treacherous speed.

A better choice could have prevented this chase. Why did I have to punch the guard? They’ve shoved me hundreds of times without incident. But my father was always there to hold my temper back. Now, he’s gone.

The work camps provide us with livable rations and a bunking placement. If any of us are ejected for any reason, including old age, we become a povy and eventually starve to death. Dad got old. Yesterday, he was shot at the entrance to the camp, trying to see me one last time—the only defiant act he ever committed.

I shake away my thoughts of Dad. I need to focus. Survival alone is impossible, but I’m not ready to give up yet.

The fog seems to thicken more as I blaze a trail through the trees, until the ground abruptly disappears ahead of me. I barely stop at the edge of a cliff, swinging my arms to reverse my momentum. Taking a couple of steps backwards, I survey the fog-hidden landscape for options.

The barking dogs behind me get closer and closer, and I know my only option. Getting down on my hands and knees, I inch my way over the edge, finding footholds and handholds in the rock face. My left hand clears the edge just in time for a snarling Great Dane to chomp at the air. I keep inching down until a man appears at the top.

“Well, well, Julia Hast. Yesterday, your father put on quite a show for an old man, and now, look at you.”

I look down to concentrate on my descent but stop at the sound of a cocking gun.

“Can’t go this way, Hast.”
“What?”
“Climb on back, and I’ll let you live as a povy, but no one is allowed to run east. All povies must go west.”

I’ve never read this rule, and I have suspicion that I’m not supposed to know it.

The fog is too thick to see what’s below, but I think I heard water below, moments earlier. I smirk up at him.

“East, huh?”

He frowns and takes aim.

Hoping for a river at the bottom, I let go of the rock.

 

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