The Bridge was old before my time,
built hundreds of years ago when the City wasn’t the hovel it is
now, back when the streets were newly paved and shining, when the
buildings glistened in the sun, when the lights of a million stars
twinkled along the river at night. But then the border wars started
and the City filled up with rebels—people unhappy with the
government, aided by foreign powers. Branded as terrorists, they
took over the island, isolated it, and swore allegiance to no one.
The Bridge became a no-man’s land, a palpable symbol of division.
No one ventures farther than midway across, and until the other day
there were only threats of war, skirmishes along the Bridge that
never amounted to anything.
Until the rebels bombed our
camp.
And Rosser sent Tomas to
Midway?
