Eight
The border—or the place it was supposed to be—was still a couple kilometers away. With a heavy chest, I steered the vehicle towards it, pushing past the industrial buildings and several advertising screens that now flickered with noise. The area lay flat before us except for some hangars and industrial complexes. An urge settled in my chest. A thought that there was no time. No time.
Those people, their faces, their names… they chased me. As if they were burned into the back of my head. The hairs on my neck stood up at the sight of what came next. Two men dressed in black linen—Sub members—tore out a woman from the entrance of a factory building. Probably a worker who happened to stay at the office far too late. There was blood on their hands, but I saw that the woman was not dead.
