Chapter Four

 After I found the knife, I swam downriver until I found came to a small island, where, in the tall grass, I cut out the microchip that would be used to track me and prove I belonged to my husband.  I ripped some cloth from my skirt, and bound the microchip around a rock and then threw the rock into the deepest part of the water.  Hopefully, that would confuse anyone tracking me for a bit.  I took off my blouse, and used it to soak up the blood from where I had removed the microcip, and then artfully tore the skirt, messing the area to make it look as though a struggle had occured.   I left most of the skirt, but saved some of the fabric, placing it carefully back in the bag. I dragged my heels though the mud, to make it appear as though I had been dragged away by someone -- or something.  After that had been complieted, I continued on, hoping that my husband would be fooled into thinking I had been ambushed and probably dead.   Hopefully, it would slow them down.  I continued, well into the night, until I was sure that I had passed through the land owned by my husband.  The darkness was dangerous, but so was being a woman found out after curfew.   In the shelter of some reeds by the river, I hacked off my hair with the knife, looking at my reflection in the moonlight.  In the reflection, at least, I looked passable for a boy.   It was cold, but I didn't dare start a fire; I might as well just light a signal beacon for them to find me.   Then, I  used the material torn from my skirt, to use as a binder.  I was quite familiar with how to use them, as I had helped my brother transition.   I hadn't understood why he no longer wanted to be a girl, but now, I was afraid to be a woman.  For the first time in my life, I didn't want the body I was in.  I felt like prey.  I took the cloth and used it to bind my breasts tightly, so my chest would look flat under a shirt.  I had purposely worn a lighter colored skirt so that it wouldn't show thourgh the shirt I would wear over it.  The long sleeves would cover the hated tatoo until I figured out how to get rid of that.  At least I didn't have the microchip.  Once I was out of the wet clothes, and in trousers and a shirt, I no longer felt exposed and vulnerable.  I needed shoes, and could do with a coat, but people often left donations at the church doors, and if I went early in the morning, before the doors opened, I might get lucky.   

There were alot of people that could barely make ends meet now, even if they were lucky enough to have a place to live outside the camps.  The taxes had risen significantly, and it seemed like only the working class had higher taxes, not the rich, who just kept getting richer.  But it made the rich feel better about themseves to donate their unwanted clothes and shoes to the poor; they often filmed themselves doing it and posted it on Profile Book, or Click It, popular social media forums.   I certianly did not want to get filmed recieving a coat or shoes, it would ruin everything if anyone recoginzed me.  It was still dark when I crept into edge of a new town, and found a church, where sure enough, there was a box of clothes by the door.  I kept my face away from the cameras.  The churches didn't care about people taking from the donation boxes if they needed them.  They would only give them away anyway.   I was lucky enough to find some socks AND some hiking boots, that fit, which was lucky as they would be warm and protect my feet as I walked through some rough country.   I also found a sweatshirt,  and a heavy flannel shirt, and a stocking cap, although no coat.  I did find a backpack, although it was pretty worn.   It would come in useful though.  Well,  I could always keep looking for a coat.   I kept the boots on and threw the sweatshirt on and put the flannel shirt in the pack.   Hopefully I would find other useful things as I journeyed.  

With the sweatshirt, I felt less exposed, and kept the hood up.  As the day grew on, men who passed me by didn't look at me twice, and no one leered at me.   For the first time in a long time, I felt safer than I'd felt since the Leader took over, which was weird, since I was homeless, and on the run.  

I passed for a boy now, but I wondered what I'd do when I was further along.  What I'd do then, I didn't know.  I could wear baggy clothes, but that only worked for so long.  I had enough problems at the moment; I'd worry about that when I got closer to the time. Hopefully by then, I'd have reached Canada.  If Canada still existed.  For all I knew, the Leader had taken control of Canada, as well.  

If everyone was as complacent as they'd been here, he probably had.  Everyone kept saying, "that's not going to happen".  Everyone kept telling those of us who were worried that this could and would happen, that we were overreacting and being emotional, even paranoid.  It gave me no satisfacton to be right.  But it made me angry at the people who were sure it would never happen, not in the United States.    But we were no longer the United States.   We were The Nation, and while it still claimed to be under God - and only One God - there was nothing that indicated it was a nation that actually believed in the God they claimed to follow.  There definitely was no longer liberty and justice for all.  

They had called this election "historical" but I don't think anyone had predicted that it wold have been the death of a free nation.   But that was exactly what happened, even though the press potrays  a much different picture to the outside world.  

I will get my story out there, if it is the last thing I do.