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The day drew close to an end. Time passed, time they could ill afford to lose. Trent and Mason sat, hidden on a small hill with foliage to block them from view, looking on at the chain-link fence that didn't exist on any maps or mark the boundary of any known location. The winding-down of their second day on the move left a bitter taste in their mouths. Impatient and irritated. The fence presented another obstacle in what seemed to be an endless glut of 'fuck-yous' from life itself. Guards walked up-and-down its length, passing their secluded position many times. Their uniforms matched Mason's earlier descriptions, and indeed the word 'Colony' labelled them as a force unknown — were they connected to Bovinex? Or was this some organisation of government spooks? Questions for another time, likely to never be answered if they could slip by quietly and be on their way.

Seeing guardsmen grab the fence, jabbing their exposed digits through its million metal mouths, gripping and holding to help prop themselves up as they moved across patchy, uneven ground proved to them it wasn't electrified. It was a normal fence, something you could purchase from a garden supplier and set up anywhere. No electrification, no barbed wire, and — even more surprisingly — its sentinels carried no weapons — in an interesting contrast to previous experience. Suspicion clouded Mason's mind as maybe...just maybe there were some with rifles, or pistols, hiding. Out-of-view. But the men they could see before them carried nothing except their flashlights and a stern posture.

“This must've been assembled quick," Mason whispered to his companion, “they don't look prepared or happy to be here." Trent nodded in agreement, peering out from the undergrowth. How much longer were they going to stay, paralysed by inaction? What was their next move? Mason's telling of Kola Ridge lessened his apprehension; if these guys weren't packing serious firepower like he'd been told, there was a chance. Slim, but a chance to avoid being stranded any longer than necessary.

“You sure? I don't want 'em pulling guns on us?"

“I'm sure. No holsters. Nothing on 'em that looks like it could go 'bang'."

After due deliberation, they decided to sneak past. “Besides," Trent reassured himself, “might give us a chance to see what all the fuss is about."

Waiting until nightfall for better cover, their trespass begun. A small gap in the guard's lazy patrol route was exploited by the duo. A frantic rush of rustling and clambering threw them over the barrier, the chain-link fence shivering under the assault of two grown men scaling its pocked hide. Thud. They hit the ground on the other side. Next: drumming, beating footfalls, a mad gallop to the nearest clump of trees. One stumbled, but recovered. Heavy breathing, strained exertion, and a sigh of relief all followed in rapid succession as they made it across. Mason darted from trunk to trunk in search of a better vantage point. Trent hid himself, eyes out, scanning the blackness as best he could for any spotters.

Nobody...

Nothing...

Good.

“We did it."

“Thank fuck," Trent wheezed.

“Now, what's our next move?"

“Lemme see." He produced his smartphone.

About to consult his map, something caught Trent's eye. Where they hid lay a couple dozen metres from the fence, having dashed across open grass 'neath cover of shadow. No-one was near, and they chose the best possible time to hop the fence, but something was now awry. A guard ran towards them, parallel to the fence. Trent's heart stopped. He hurriedly pushed himself and Mason deeper into the woods. Turning back he saw the guard stop at where they'd climbed over, frantically searching.

“What the? Why is he here!?"

“Have we set somethin' off? An alarm?"

A sinking feeling spread from the pit of Trent's stomach, slowly but surely enveloping and suffocating his elation. “Uh-oh."

“Uh-oh? Uh-oh what?" Mason grabbed his arms.

“I tripped on something back there. Could be a wire."

“Shit shit shit!" Mason cursed his luck. “I saw that...saw you..." He planned his next move carefully. The guard had illuminated his flashlight and was casting great beams of blinding white light through the gaps in the vegetation. Bright rays borne aloft from the portable sun burst through the forest, shining past their heads, obliterating the glimmering silver moonlight previously painted on the bark and leaves of the trees. Mason had to be quick — he was in no mood to be spotted. He and Trent crept away, but their troubles worsened as another guard joined his comrade in searching the surrounding area. They crossed the divide between field and forest, venturing into the woods. They hadn't seen them yet, but were coming closer and closer.

“We've made a huge mistake."

“Yeah well we've made it, now we have to deal with it. C'mon!" Mason dragged him sideways as he took off. He was spotted instantly. A mess of shouts and stomping chased them. The brief glimpse they'd afforded the guards had left their pursuers baying for blood. A third and fourth appeared now — the whole squad had been summoned. These two were different. They carried not guns, but long steel poles. Atop each was a flickering, crackling bolt of blue lightning.

“Are you serious!? Cattle prods!?"

“What?" Trent glanced back at them. “Oh fuck that! I'm not gettin' tased by anyone tonight."

Hey, least it's not guns.

...

What the fuck am I even doing!? Breaking into restricted areas in the dead of night? This was never on my to-do list...

The pursuit continued. Mason and Trent had the advantage, their head-start gave them enough time to think ahead, duck and weave, throw off the scent; before vanishing into the darkness. “We can make it!" Mason gasped 'mid gulps of air. True, they were gaining distance. The advancing guards had slowed, and fanned out into formation, the crackling of their stunner prods audible over the sounds of nature — a vicious chorus, snapping and snarling at the air in front of them. They looked painful, you didn't want to be on the receiving end of a jab from these!

This game of hide-and-seek came to an end as quickly as it had emerged in the heat of the moment. The two trespassers got the better of the guardsmen, slipping away during a still moment in the chase. They now watched the four men march away from their position, paths diverging more and more, until they were nothing but a fading commotion.

“Lucky."

“Indeed." Mason smiled, exposing his teeth.

“Let's never do that again," his fellow traveller joked, adrenaline coursing through his veins. His lungs pained him, the stitch in his chest pestering him to exercise more.

“Ahh...yep," Mason coughed. He finally had a chance to check their route with Trent. A delay of many hours screwed with their timing, but tomorrow — for sure — they would be finished. The wind picked up as they walked, obscuring the shouts of distant guards. It blew fiercely, freezing their faces, in a complete reversal of the heat of the day just passed. “We could do with some more layers," Trent chuckled, feeling the temperature drop. “Neither of use planned to be out this late," Mason agreed, “gotta roll with the punches."

* * *

They trekked further and further away from the fence, their minds focused once again on the journey ahead, the excitement of the chase gone — now a stoic memory, bereft of emotional charge. Strong winds howled, blasting them with cold. The land around them maintained its natural, untamed appearance. Once this was the heartland of Unimerican agriculture, but over the course of several decades, decline found a home in the countryside, settling in, poisoning it with unprofitability and uncaring apathy. Letting nature recover its lost bounty. Someone clearly wanted this to change, if the active occupation by corporate interests was anything to go by. It didn't matter much to either of them, not really, but did Bovinex (or whoever) have to close off their land so suddenly? What was the hurry? They could've warned folk. It just felt off.

Questions questions questions. It hadn't made sense thus far.

Questions, lots of questions...and no answers in sight.

What was everyone hiding...?

“STOP!" Trent's arm shot out from his side, slamming into Mason's chest. Winded, Mason chewed him out: “the fuck...hack...was that for?"

“Did you hear that?"

“Hear what? I can barely hear you!"

“Nev-never mind..." Trent felt a tinge of embarrassment. “Thought I heard static, and talking. Like those guards were nearby, chatterin' on walkie-talkies."

“I didn't."

“Yeah, well...seems I was mistaken."

“We gave them the slip a while ago. If they were back on our trail I'd have heard it too."

“Bet it's the weather. Wind's blastin' my ears off."

Mason tutted. “No sympathy for the guy ya just whomped in the chest?"

“Right, right...whoops."

“Hey Trent."

“Hmm?"

Mason raised his voice to compensate for the wannabe cyclone that surrounded them. “Does it normally get this windy 'round these parts?"

“I wouldn't really know. Never spent time here. This was the less-lived part of the state. Since I was a kid I never cared for it."

Crossing another field, they left the safety of the woods and rejoined the original trail. The dirt path lay rough-hewn into soil and stone, the result of thousands upon thousands of nameless travellers walking this very way. They skirted the forest, open skies on one side, thicket on the other.

“Listen, Trent. I may have been a little brash with you since we met."

“There's no need to—"

“Nuh-nuh-nuh-no...there is. I was, to put it bluntly, a bit of an ass. Now now," he shushed Trent, “that's not to say you haven't annoyed me, but seein' as we're still stuck with each other I think a bit of friendlier small talk is something we can both use to pass the time."

“Ooo-kay then."

“Those guys back there worried me."

“You're not the only one they worry. I though this would be a normal, boring journey. Now I'm trespassing on God-knows-who's land — and it seems like it only changed hands yesterday!" Trent snorted.

“I know it's too late to say it, but if we had to chance to turn back I'd advise ya take it."

“Why?"

“It's just...agh...those assholes are the same types that swarmed into Kola Ridge, and all the places before it. Feels like I'm being chased."

“Well ya can put that fear to rest. You're nowhere near important enough!"

“Hah, I guess."

“Bear in mind that I wasn't keen on goin' places with you either. You did give me the impression you were some homeless guy."

“I thought as much. Realised that's how ya saw me when I came across you and your car. Your comments didn't help."

“Now it's my turn to apologise then. Sorry for thinking you're a bum."

“Apology accepted."

“So," Trent ventured, “what is it ya do?"

“I—huh?"

“Well, you're not homeless. At least technically not in the way most folks see it. But judging by the massive backpack you're haulin' I suppose you travel to work?"

“Seasonal labour, yes. Usually a hired hand for whatever businesses might need one for. Farming, fishing, and so on. You?"

“I sell washing machines and dryers."

“Great. Well, I'm out of topics."

“I have a business card. If...erm...you eventually need a new washing machine...or dryer..."

“No thanks."

“Wait. Hang on...nope, left them in my car."

“About that. Aren't ya worried 'bout someone stealing it?"

“What, my car? Doors are locked and it's stranded in the ass-end of nowhere. Who d'ya think is gonna stumble upon it? I think it's fine for a few days more sittin' pretty."

“Just sayin', your tow truck might show up and find nothing there."

“Let's hope they get off their asses and find their way there soon then, shall we?"

“They haven't given ya an update yet?"

“No. Still sayin' a week. At this point they're just coverin' their asses, so I don't expect anything more specific."

“Bummer."

“Bummer indeed."

* * *

Mason counted the change in his pocket. His grip was slipping, time was passing by...too much to afford. The notes in his wallet and the coins nestled in various nooks and crannies of his attire did not suffice for longer than two days, based on his present course. The plastic ATM card he carried useless once confronted by the fearsome maw of nature, tearing him from society and casting him far out into the countryside. His steps aligned with the rhythm of Trent's, forming an impromptu beat as their shoes stamped flat the partially-muddy ground.

This remained so, until he gradually slowed, falling behind his companion. In the black of the night they relied on Trent's phone screen to light the way. Care was taken to keep the brightness low, and the angle of illumination on a decline, lest they be spotted again.

“You doin' okay?"

“I—uh—" Mason withdrew his hand from the latest pocket audit. The metallic din of coins sliding together bade farewell to his interfering digits.

“Sure?"

“Yep," he replied, patting his pocket, “gotta keep a tight grip on my finances."

“D'ya want me to spot you some cash? Compensate for the delay? Neither of us planned this I know. And I can't know what kinda situation you find yourself in money-wise."

“Nah, I'm good."

“Sure?"

“Yeah."

“Absolutely?"

“I'm good." He raised his hands to illustrate how done he was with the direction Trent was taking their chat.

Another mile came and went. The weather improved. It wasn't as windy as the face-blasting barrage they'd been privy to thirty minutes ago. In a little while longer it would be gone completely.

Thud.

“Shit!" Mason shouted. Trent spun around, alarmed.

“What happened!?"

“Ahh, god-damn it! I kicked a god-damned root!" Mason roared profanities at the top of lungs at the pain of smashing his foot against an exposed root. Trent looked at the ugly brown obstacle, a giant writhing worm frozen mid-burrow, its skin cracked and bursting, the same fate it had inflicted upon the hapless topsoil.

“Shhhpppffffshhhiiieeerrrr..." Mason stifled a wail, leaving a slurred trail of silly sounds in its wake.

In their distraction they were found foolish. The rustling foliage spawned a huge number of black-clad figures in a sudden and frantic burst of action. Beneath the heavy torchlight now shining upon the two travellers, they were pinned and surrounded. Guards emerged from the woods. Unlike their predecessors in pursuit, these guys were armed. Weapons cocked and trained on centre mass. Trent and Mason sheepishly raised their hands, not saying a word.

The encirclement continued. Without so much as a shout their captors coordinated their movements, flowing like a river around them. This was it. They'd been found. Now...what fate awaited?

Sounds of scurrying troopers masked the approach of another behind their backs. Trent felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end, caused by the distressing feeling of the tall, looming presence hovering a few feet from where they stood. He stepped back. His head struck armour plate, the pain of the impact shooting through his skull. “Ack!" Mason heard his companion bump into someone...someone big. Like, really...really...monstrously big...

Her voice boomed:

“What do we have here?"