Inside

by Kyra Anderson

  Also, we were pretty far off course from where we had sent everyone else to cross into Mexico. The little town we would have to traverse through to eventually cross the river was unknown territory. There were no safe houses in the vicinity. No one had done that route before and there was no way of confirming its safety.

  However, if we could get across the border, it would likely be easier to blend in to the crowd and slowly disappear from the sight of the Commission as we made our way to Monterey and to the last safe house.

  When it was completely dark and the distant sound of cows mooing in the stockyard quieted, the door to the stock trailer opened once again and Jack walked to the front of the trailer, grabbing another bale of hay to take it out under the guise of feeding his horses again, setting it down to sit on as he faced us, sighing heavily.

  “So…” he started quietly, “I guess this is it…”

  I swallowed hard, and then walked forward to hug him tightly.

  “I cannot thank you enough,” I whispered.

  He hugged me back, his arms holding me securely for a long time. Still, the embrace was not long enough. Mark also moved forward to shake Jack’s hand, giving him a half hug before nodding silently in thanks to the man who had patched up his wounds.

  “I’m sure you guys will be fine,” Jack said. “And who knows? Perhaps everything that has happened recently will cause enough people to want to change things and the Commission can be dismantled. Perhaps, even sometime in your lifetime, you can return to America.”

  “That’s a nice thought…” I murmured, not sure if I was so optimistic about the future.

  “Yeah…” Jack agreed, his eyes going to the trailer floor between us. “But…even if that doesn’t happen, I hope that you find a happier life in Mexico. I’ve heard it’s a pretty rough place, but at least you don’t have to worry about the Commission busting down your door and taking you in the middle of the night.”

  “Assuming we can successfully get fake citizenship,” I said with a nervous laugh.

  “Details,” Jack chuckled.

  I hugged him once more, blinking a way bittersweet tears.

  “Thank you,” I said sincerely. “And know that, if your circumstances ever change and you need to get out of the country, you will have allies down in Mexico.”

  He nodded, pursing his lips against the tears in his eyes, the moisture glistening in the light of nearby stockyard utility lamp.

  “Can I treat you both to one last dinner before you go?” he asked, forcing a smile.

  Even though I denied, telling him that he had fed us quite enough in the time that we had been such a burden to him, he walked just outside of the stockyard to the nearest fast food restaurant and brought us back some greasy food to send us off on our journey.

  Around ten o’clock at night, Mark and I carefully crept out of the stock trailer, being sure that no one else was around as Jack walked with us to the end of the livestock yard, leading us to the edge where the desert once again greeted us.

  Jack pointed. “Head that way until you come to the hills and you should be able to see the town limits, as well as the river. Once you see that, you’ll know where you have to go.”

  With one final hug, we finally said goodbye to Jack and began the trek into the desert.

  Even if Mark had been able to speak to me, I was sure that neither of us would be up for conversation after the goodbye. We both walked silently, our eyes on her feet, the moon illuminating our path as we climbed the gentle rolling hills that surrounded the town. When we were at a certain elevation, Mark stopped and turned to look at the city and the river. I also looked over the illuminated streets, the suburban sprawl of the small town, and the glistening, large river that sat between us and a new country.

  Seeing the river was surprisingly sobering. That was the border. Once we crossed it, we would be out of America—and out of jurisdiction of the Commission of the People.

  There was a large bridge that had an illuminated sign for border control. A few cars were lined up there, going through customs and inspection before entering Mexico. As I looked over the brightly-lit station, as well as the number of headlights parked along the bridge to be sure that no one was crossing illegally and the spotlights sweeping back and forth across the water below, I realize that crossing the enormous river would be nearly impossible.

  “Doesn’t look like we can get across…” I mumbled.

  Mark stared over the river, his eyes scanning the entire area, trying to find the best way for us to get out of America. When a solution to not immediately present itself, he sat in the sand and continued to watch the activity below.

  I sat with him knowing that, at that point, it was best to trust Mark. His brilliant mind was working around every possibility, trying to formulate a plan for navigating a town he did not know, and a predicament he had not anticipated.

  As I stared over the town, wondering how many Commission employees were in the town already, conducting house-to-house inspections for possible fugitives, Mark suddenly straightened and stood, his eyes turning toward the west.

  “What is it?” I asked, also standing and grabbing my backpack, worried that we had been spotted.

  However, Mark did not seem to be looking at a threat, but rather another way across the border.

  His eyes were fixed on the railroad tracks, and the bridge that crossed the river to the west of the main bridge.

  There was a train clicking over the rails of the bridge, which had drawn Mark’s attention. The bridge was dark, apart from the lights of the train, and there was one spotlight on each side of the bridge that swept back-and-forth, scanning the waters mechanically for anyone attempting to cross. However, compared to the spotlights on the main bridge, the two spotlights seemed weak and easy to avoid.

  Mark’s eyes turn to me and we stared at one another for a moment before both nodding in agreement that the train tracks were our best bet to get across the border.

  Using the cover of darkness to our vantage, we descended the hill, remaining on the outskirts of town, being sure never to draw too close to any houses or buildings. We skirted the town until we reached the train station, which was when we dared to get closer. We still used the dark desert as a cover as we crept to the bank of the river, following the tracks.

  The sound of the water gently bubbling made me believe that it would not be difficult to swim across. But the sheer size of the river was daunting. There appeared to be no rocks in on the surface that could cause us any problems, but the water was moving very quickly, meaning that the current would pose a challenge.

  Hiding among some of the larger bushes that grew on the banks of the river, Mark carefully surveyed the train tracks and the bridge. I wondered if he wanted to climb on top of the bridge and walk the train tracks, or if he was searching for a way to walk on the underside of the bridge. The train that we had seen crossing the river earlier had already long departed and the tracks were completely abandoned, providing no cover for us from prying eyes or sweeping spotlights.

  Mark turned to me, pulling out a new notepad Jack had bought and jotting down his thoughts.

  “There are four pillars holding this bridge in the river. If we’re careful, and we swim hard enough, we should be able to swim to each pillar, rest, and then go to the next without being seen in the spotlights.”

  I glanced over the river once more, not sure that my limited swimming abilities would allow me the strength to make it from pillar to pillar. Even though there were four of them in the river, they were still extremely far apart.

  “Can you swim?” Mark pressed.

  I nodded.

  “But I’m not very good. I can’t hold my breath for long,” I whispered.

  Mark glanced back at the river and then opened his backpack, rifling through to the bottom to pull out a long, thin rope that Jack had bought for us. He lifted it to show me before returning to his notebook.

  “I am a strong swimmer. We can tie it around your waist so I
can pull you to the pillar if you need help.”

  I nodded, unable to find an argument against his plan.

  We executed the plan that we had already concocted, wrapping everything inside our backpacks in a large garbage bag and tying it shut before replacing it in the bag, just in case water manage to get through the supposed watertight zippers. Then, Mark and I both tied an end of the rope around our waists, preparing ourselves for the most dangerous part of our journey.

  Mark waited only a little while longer in the tall bushes before taking my hand, holding the excess rope in the other and darting to the next cluster of bushes on the banks of the river. In that fashion, we moved closer to the bridge, always keeping our eyes and ears out for anyone nearby.

  Mark also kept a close eye on the mechanical spotlights sweeping up and down the bridge. As we drew even closer, he had to be sure that we would not get close to the bridge when the spotlight was on our side of the river.

  In a quick sprint, we crossed the remaining expanse of riverbank and pressed ourselves to the first pillar of the bridge, crouching under the sturdy structure holding up the tracks and listening to the river pass in front of us.

  Mark took my hand and squeezed it to encourage me before we both waded into the river.

  The water was surprisingly cold but not unbearable. The current, however, was extremely strong—even stronger than I had anticipated. I temporarily lost my footing in the loose river rock below, but managed to stay upright as I waded in up to my waist.

  The first submerged pillar was a short swim from the pillar on dry land, and once we reached it, it was hard to find any grip on the cement block sticking out of the water. My hands barely managed to secure themselves against the rough texture, my nails scraping for purchase.

  Mark swam carefully around the side of the pillar, keeping his hands on the cement to secure himself against the river’s current as he kept a close eye on me, being sure I was able to get to the other side of the pillar as well.

  With a quiet nod, he pushed with his legs off of the pillar to get as far into the river as he could before swimming. I did the same, following his lead.

  The current was very strong. Once the momentum I had gained from propelling myself off the pillar had faded, it felt as though I was swimming in place just to keep myself from floating out from under the bridge.

  I felt myself beginning to flail, fighting desperately against the current and trying to orient myself to find the next pillar. It was dark, and the water was cold, and it was difficult for me keep my calm. Panic began to take hold.

  Even though I was splashing more than I should have, I managed to get to the second pillar.

  We were halfway across the river, and the current was even more unforgiving.

  Mark swam to one side of the pillar and allowed the current to push him against the cement, helping me around and looking me over, assessing if I was alright.

  I was not sure that my endurance would allow me to finish the swim across the river.

  Seeing I was struggling to catch my breath, Mark allowed the current to push us against the cement, conserving our energy for the rest of the swim. We both watched the spotlight pass over the waters not too far from us, searching for swimmers. I caught my breath, watching the light, wondering if it was an automatic system or if it was only meant to scare people away from crossing the river.

  But I knew not to doubt that Dana would have border control out in force looking for any members of the Central Angels.

  Mark turned to me with a questioning glance, wondering if I was ready to continue. Though I was sure I was not, I knew that waiting longer would tire me further, since it was difficult to breath against the sharp current.

  We waded to the right position, barely able to clutch onto the cement. Mark, once again, pushed off with his feet, swimming with more power due to his altered strength. I followed his lead, trying not to thrash in the water, worried about drawing attention from nearby spotlights.

  Mark helped me the final few strokes, but I managed to make it to the third pillar.

  We were almost in Mexico.

  Mark held my hand as we took a few moments to catch our breath again. He nodded to me, his eyes bright with the termination, knowing that we were very close.

  Being able to see the bank on the other side also invigorated me. I nodded back to him, taking several deep breaths and preparing to push as hard as I could against the current and get across the border.

  My determination was strong, but my muscles were not. Even though I had mostly recovered from my wounds, kicking my legs back-and-forth did aggravate the scabs on my thighs, and the cold water was causing my muscles to cramp. I began to lose my strength fighting against the current, so I felt a sharp tug against my will waist as Mark pulled me to him via the rope.

  In a confusing haze, we both swam the short distance to the pillar on dry land on the other side of the river.

  We were in Mexico.

  Hiding ourselves as best we could in the shadows of the bridge, we both unzipped our backpacks and tried to quietly change our clothes to dry ones, leaving our wet garments on the ground, not bothering to bring them with us.

  Once we were dry, we did not linger. Watching the spotlight once more, we waited until the perfect moment to dart along the bank of the river, hoping to find a place to regroup and think about our next course of action.

  Chapter Eighty-Three

  Despite the fact that I knew that we had crossed the border into Mexico, I did not feel any different. Mexico did not feel any different in America, even with the knowledge that the Commission was not looming over everyone’s shoulder on that side of the border.

  There were a lot of dense bushes around the river, which allowed us a decent hiding spot while we try to decide what to do next. Mark motioned for me to stay put as he did some scouting. Even though we had officially crossed the border, we dared not turn on any electronic device. Considering the late hour of the night and the close proximity to the American border, we were worried about alerting anyone to our presence so soon after escaping of the country.

  Mark came back telling me that he had discovered the train station very close to our location. He suggested that we go to the station and carefully make our way around the trains, following the tracks until we found the edge of town, or some abandoned train cars to rest in until it was less suspicious to see movement on the streets of the small Mexican town.

  Careful to keep low, just in case border patrol was also looking on the other side of the river, we picked our way through the thick brush, and then crossed an expansive field to the train station. There were a few lights around the trains, allowing us to see where we were going while also providing many shadows for us to hide in. The station was mostly abandoned by that time, and the only movement was from the security room, where I saw one man throw his fist into the air in celebration before tossing some cards up—I assume his winning hand.

  I was sure to stay close to Mark as we moved. We remained on the far side of the tracks just in case a train unexpectedly rolled in.

  I was surprised to find that, after the desert of southern region of America, there were so many trees along the railroad tracks. There were several lower income homes as well, but their yards were aligned with big trees that provided them with a buffer between their backyards and the passing trains. It also gave us the means to stay hidden as we moved along the tracks, searching for a suitable place to rest while we waited for daybreak.

  Instead, we found a train yard, with several tracks and numerous trains. Some of the trains were in disrepair, their sides rusted out, while others appeared to just be stopping for the night to avoid noise pollution of the nearby houses.

  Mark did not hesitate in pulling me further into the train yard, walking across the tracks and being sure to hide among the shadows. We went to one of the train cars that was out of service, mostly rusted out. He helped me climb into the hole of the train car before climbing in himself.


  After fishing my flashlight out of the plastic in my backpack, I clicked it on and glanced around the car briefly, making sure that no one else was there.

  Thankfully, we had managed to get it all to ourselves.

  Mark rifled through his own bag, pulling out some nuts and handing them over for me to eat. I took a little bit of the food, but was not particularly hungry, my mind still wrapped up in thoughts of leaving Jack, and managing to cross the border into Mexico.

  Sitting still again, reality found time to catch up to me. We had done it. We were out of America. Even though I did not feel like it, we had managed to escape and cross the border. I knew that there was a long way to go before we would be truly safe, since it was still possible for the Commission to be patrolling Mexico’s side of the border. But the fact that we had been able to cross the river, and even get so far is the train lot, meant that we had managed to escape Dana at for the time being.

  I did not sleep that night, nor did Mark. I had been unable to sleep because I was allowing my brain time to process our journey. But I was sure Mark did not sleep because he was being ever-vigilant about who could be around us at any moment.

  As soon as the sun began to light the sky, Mark pulled me out of the car and we took in our surroundings.

  The town was not particularly small, which meant that we had a long distance to travel before we were able to get away from people who could possibly report us. I pulled Mark behind one of the train cars to whisper in his ear.

  “Can we just ride a train out of town?”

  Mark grabbed his notebook. “In theory. Impossible to tell where any train is going. And getting off of a moving train is too dangerous.”