Thirty miles is a very long distance to walk with a heavy backpack, especially when your back starts to hurt, causing one of your legs to feel like there's a weight on it. The end result is an awkward limp that involves half-lifting and half-dragging my foot over rough terrain.
I'm still a ways from the border, I think, but I'm not sure how to tell. I don't have a phone--I'm not an idiot, I know the thing can be tracked--and I don't have a physical map (because, come on, it's 2066).
I've been moving through a forested area for a while, but that's all I really know. Some part of me expects there to just be someone at the border to wave me inside.
I don't know. I don't know how I'll tell, but I wish I knew how much farther I had to walk. I'm sure that would motivate me to press on. Right now, I'm just making my bed against a tree. Hopefully nothing comes along to kill me--human or animal.
YOU ARE READING
The Imperfect's Journal: 1General Fiction
This is the journal of Darren Stratt, an "imperfect" who is being hunted in America due to a new law which has stripped disadvantaged individuals--now called "imperfects"--of their rights. In Darren's journal, he documents the horrors of a world run...