Free Abandon by Elana Johnson

stared at one another for a few long breaths. Long enough for me to notice the smattering of freckles across the bridge of her nose. Long enough for me to forget I was a twenty-minute hoverboard ride from safety. Long enough for me to wonder why I’d never seen her properly before.
    Then the moment broke. “Yeah.” I cleared my throat and directed the northerly to take us away from prying Freedom eyes.
    *   *   *
    Vi launched herself at me and cried into my neck before bustling off to sit with Jag. She and Pace disappeared into the hospital nook, leaving me and Saffediene alone in the war room.
    The cavern permeated sadness. It seeped from the very rocks themselves, clogging everything and everyone with melancholy. I inhaled slowly, but the thought of staying in the confines of this sadness choked me.
    I turned and strode toward the exit, desperate to escape. Escape the cavern. Escape the sadness.
    Escape my life.
    *   *   *
    Saffediene found me a half hour later, my back against a skinny tree trunk, facing away from Freedom. She sat down without speaking. She picked at the wild grass, and strangely, I didn’t mind her presence.
    “Gunner asked me to go with you to Harvest. We’re leaving at dusk,” she said.
    “Yeah, sure,” I said. Whatever , I wanted to add. The Director of Harvest could wait. Saffediene must’ve heard the pain in my voice, because she slipped her hand into mine.
    Her skin felt startlingly cold; her hand was dwarfed by mine. I loved Vi, but this was the first meaningful human contact I’d had in a long time, and I didn’t want to let go.
    So I didn’t.
    We sat that way under the tree, palms pressing together, until the sun started its arcing descent to the west.

Jag
    11 . Walls surround me on every side. Above, below, there is no escape. And it’s wildly hot. So hot, my fingertips feel blistered from touching the metal several hours ago. Maybe they are, I can’t exactly see.
    There’s only miles and miles of darkness; endless metal, smooth in every direction, maybe without corners, maybe not.
    I can’t tell anymore. I don’t know how much time has passed. I made it all the way to the vineyards in White Cliffs before the vanishing tech had worn off. With the teleporter ring, I’d escaped scrape after scrape, always landing in an unknown city.
    I could figure out my new location pretty fast. I mean, I have the entire Association memorized, and whenever I used the ring , I always had the image of Vi in my head. I liked to think my destination had something to do with her.
    The first time I teleported, back in early July, I landed on the beach. Violet loved the beach. I didn’t know if she was on a similar beach at the time, but that’s what I imagined.
    That way, our separation didn’t hurt so much. That way, my heart didn’t feel like a fish out of water, flopping and useless.
    The teleporter ring ran out of juice by August. Who knew that could happen? Well, me now, I guess.
    I’d flung the ring at the approaching guard in Baybridge, nailing him in the left eye. That’s how I’d made it out of that alley. Seemed everyone in the whole blasted Association was looking for me.
    I spent the fall on the run, moving from one Midwestern city to another. No one would hire me—my skin held too much sun, and that called everything about me into question. Then officers/guards/patrols would be summoned, and my picture would come up on every screen.
    Forcing me to run again.
    Sure, I relied on my network of Insiders every step of the way. I knew the hideouts. I knew most of the leaders, if only by name or picture. They certainly all knew me.
    My hair went from black to blond to brown and back. An Insider in Northepointe provided me with eye enhancements in October. I got a work permit. I shoveled snow for months.
    And I hate being cold. But the bulky suits—and hats—kept me off the radar. It’s my mouth that always puts me back on it.
    I choke inside the capsule. There’s not