Mads was getting tired now, her boots tearing up the fallen leaves and twigs like miniature bulldozers.
At first Col had scolded her, worried they were leaving tracks the Militia might follow. But as the sun bottomed on the horizon the forest grew quiet and still, every branch snap making him jump, smothering his whispers.
He tried to focus on the plan.
Everyone in HomeState knew the stories. If you cross the Last Freeway and scale the Wall, the Grey City authorities put you in a holding camp until you’re shipped back across the border.
But in the camps they fed you, give you clean clothes … medicine.
Mads coughed, skinny limbs shivering. The rattle was worse. He’d seen the red in her spit, the stuff she’d tried to stamp into the forest floor so he didn’t worry.
One more day, he thought. Just one more.