The Swailing

The Alley: Crossing

We drive and drive, past never-ending empty brown fields. Every once in a while we see a sign for a nearby town off the highway, but we limit our stops to fuel, bathroom, and vending machine breaks at rest areas. These rest areas are meant mostly for trucks that cart goods from one sovereign to another. The facilities are functional, the food fills us up, but there is no glamour or appeal to anything. Brown. Flat. Empty. That's how it feels.

Finn tells me this area – The Alley – is mostly agricultural and supplies a lot of the sovereigns with grains they can't grow themselves because of climate. The population is quite small and spread out and Finn tells me he hasn't spent much time here. Just like when we passed from Vegas into the Rockies, there was no border check when we came into the territory. Finn says that, like the Rockies, The Alley has very limited government and chooses not to spend resources on border control. Looking around, I can see why. Who would want to come to this dreary, flat void?

We take turns driving through the night and when neither of us can keep our eyes open any longer, we stop at a rest area so we both can sleep.

The sun comes up and we eventually get to a border crossing – a real one this time. I feel my stomach in my throat. We are finally at Prospera – the place I know my mom was 14 years ago. I wonder if they will turn us away. Or turn me in. By the look of the fancy guard station and uniformed officers, I'm pretty sure our easy crossings are behind us and they will not just let a 17-year-old girl and her companion waltz into their territory without some kind of proper paperwork. And wouldn't it be just my luck if I can't get into the sovereign I need to get in, and can't go back to the one I came from. I might be stuck in The Alley forever. I glance out the window and feel panicked.

There is something about the tightness of Finn's jaw and his grip on the steering wheel that tells me he might be a little nervous, too. I wonder how many times he's done this. I wonder if he's ever done it with a runaway teenager.

Finn tells me to let him do the talking at the crossing station, and I'm happy to oblige. My mouth is dry and any words I'd croak out would surely give us away.

We pull up to the heavily guarded gate and an officer in a crisp blue uniform approaches. Finn clears his throat and opens his window.

The officer holds out his hand wordlessly and Finn places a small data stick, similar to the one he loaned me, in the guard's beefy hand. The officer looks down at it, then at me, before making eye contact with Finn again. Finn gives the officer a friendly smile, which the officer does not return. He backs away from the window a step and plugs the data stick into a small tablet and studies its screen for a moment. He approaches the car once again.

"I need hers as well." His voice is deep and slightly threatening. Finn shifts a tiny bit in his seat.

I start to reach into my backpack for my data stick – it has my birth certificate on there, anyway, and maybe would be helpful – but Finn places his hand on my arm, stopping me.

"We ... lost hers," he says.

The officer leans down and looks through the window at me. I can feel moisture starting to dampen the back of my shirt and bead at my hairline. I shrug and try to look like an irresponsible teenager – not too much of a stretch. It doesn't seem to work on him. Maybe he has an irresponsible teenager of his own and is about done listening to excuses.

He opens Finn's door. "Sir, please exit the vehicle."

Finn sighs so quietly that only I hear it, and climbs out of the car.

"Please bring your belongings."

When Finn reaches into the car for his small backpack, he meets my eyes and gives me what I'm sure he means to be a reassuring smile, but all I can think is that they're making him take his bag because he may not be back.