The journey south was grueling, and Amer was painfully aware of how little daylight remained. Each turn of the pedals brought him closer to the border, and with it, the unknown. Each unanswered question gnawed at his resolve: Would he even recognize the border? Did the world—or at least the soldiers of the Pyramids—know what had happened? What would he face once he crossed?
Beyond the border lay a vast desert stretching endlessly toward the Victorious City, the capital of the State of Pyramids. That city, a beacon of safety and hope, was home to many of his friends and relatives who had fled in the early days of the war. For the first time in years, he let himself wonder: If his father had agreed to leave, would they have lived? The thought gripped him like a vice, the weight of what-ifs nearly unbearable.
His mind drifted into the haze of memory, to a simpler time when life was still whole. He recalled visiting the City of Palm Leaves, a coastal haven in the State of Pyramids, during his childhood. The vivid image of his family laughing, the golden sun shimmering on the water, filled him with a bittersweet sense of hope. If he could reach the border and remain near the sea, walking southward should lead him to Palm Leaves.
But the reality was far less idyllic. Amer had no money, no resources, and no means of transport beyond the border. He couldn’t take his bike across—it was too bulky and would draw attention in exposed areas near the crossing. Though it had been his companion through the ruins, the bike would be left behind.
As the sun dipped lower, casting long shadows, Amer reached the southernmost city of the Defiant Strip, Farah. The destruction here was overwhelming, different from what he had seen before. Unlike earlier stretches of his journey, there were no human corpses—most residents had been evacuated long before. But the carcasses of animals and birds littered the area, silent witnesses to the devastating range of the weapon.
The city offered little cover. Its once-proud structures were reduced to rubble, forcing Amer to rely on the camouflaged cloth for concealment. He moved cautiously, acutely aware of the possibility of being spotted by Pyramids soldiers—or worse, Zio forces lingering near the border.
By the time he reached the wall separating the Defiant Strip from the State of Pyramids, the sky had grown almost entirely dark. He hid among the debris, arranging his scavenged supplies—a few cans of food, bottles of water, and a sturdy backpack he’d taken from the Zio base. His stolen items were all he had, yet they were enough to give him a fighting chance.
He felt an odd pang of guilt as he left the bike behind. Though it was just a machine, it had been his only companion on this harrowing journey. The wheels had carried him through the wreckage, a silent partner in his desperate escape. He placed it to the side carefully, as if saying goodbye to an old friend, and stripped his camouflage cloth into smaller sections for easier handling. The humid heat of the day had given way to a cool, oppressive stillness, and Amer pushed the growing anxiety about the desert trek to the back of his mind.
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Approaching the border, he found the area oddly deserted. The Zios had cleared a section of barbed wire, leaving a fully exposed stretch of land before the towering wall. From his hiding spot, Amer scanned the wall carefully. There were no signs of electricity running through it, no hum of power lines, and, as far as he could tell, no soldiers patrolling its length.
He exhaled shakily, relief and suspicion battling within him. What had the Zios told the Pyramids soldiers to make them abandon the border? Radiation leak? Chemical spill? He couldn’t imagine them showing genuine concern for the Pyramids’ men, but perhaps it was easier to concoct a lie than to explain the unexplainable.
Amer dropped to the ground and began crawling, his body pressing into the cold, hard earth. The technique was instinctive, honed by months of survival under the watchful eyes of Zio snipers. His arms and legs protested every movement, the pain from his injuries a constant reminder of his frailty. But he kept moving, inch by inch, determined to reach the wall unnoticed.
Once he neared the wall, he crawled toward the sea. Scaling the barrier was impossible, but the water offered an alternative. He braced himself as he descended into the waves, the salt stinging his open wounds like fire. With a deep breath, he began swimming along the wall, staying as close to the rocks as possible for cover. The current was relentless, the cold water sapping his energy, but he forced himself onward.
Emerging on the other side, he stumbled onto the empty shore. The base beyond the wall was eerily silent, bathed in the faint silver glow of moonlight. He collapsed onto the sand, gasping for air. When he looked back, the Defiant Strip loomed in the distance, a dark silhouette against the night sky.
The realization hit him like a tidal wave. He had left it behind.
Tears streamed down his face, hot and uncontrollable. He hadn’t cried when he woke to find everyone around him dead. He hadn’t cried as he buried friends or watched loved ones fall. But now, alone in the stillness, the floodgates opened. He hadn’t even searched for his family’s bodies or given them a proper burial. He had abandoned them in his blind drive to survive, his humanity sacrificed to the primal need to keep moving.
Amer wanted to scream, to unleash the anguish that had built up over years of loss and guilt. But he couldn’t risk it—not here, not yet. His mission wasn’t over.
Steeling himself, he rose to his feet and surveyed the small base. It was hastily abandoned, its makeshift rooms and tents left scattered with supplies. Inside one of the tents, he found fresh clothes—a uniform belonging to a Pyramids soldier. He changed quickly, stuffing his old garments into his bag. With his water supply replenished and enough food to last a few days, he prepared to leave.
tanding at the edge of the base, Amer turned one last time to the Strip. The home he had known was gone, reduced to ash and memory. He was the last soul to leave, and now the Strip was truly and thoroughly dead. An overwhelming urge to rush back seized him—he wanted to search for his parents, to hug them and say goodbye. He wanted to talk to his siblings, to look one final time at the ruins of his house, his old life. But it was too late.
He had managed to leave after a struggle, but his journey was far from over. He still needed to navigate unfamiliar lands, figure out how to survive, and understand what his future held. His entry into the State of Pyramids was illegal, and though that mattered little to him after all that had happened, it would complicate every step he took from here. He had much to think about, but for now, he needed to move—get as far from the border as possible.
He needed to find a place to reset, to recuperate, before deciding on his next steps. With a heavy heart, Amer began his journey into the desert, the moon guiding his steps toward an uncertain future.