Far from Jade Street—or what remained of it—a group of slaves and attendants collapsed in a heap, gasping for breath.
Though their legs were weak with exhaustion, they turned back to look. One glance left their hearts colder than the world around them.
"If we'd run any slower, we'd have frozen to death there too, wouldn't we?"
That thought crossed their minds as they turned grateful eyes toward the slave who had led them.
He had told everyone to evacuate the moment the explosion went off underground, sensing the danger before it struck.
Otherwise, few of them would have survived while caught up in the thrill of revenge.
He had dragged them out of the casino despite their protests, and carried those who could barely run. Without him, the consequences were unthinkable.
Many slaves had survived, and at least half owed their escape to him. They were grateful.
But once their relief settled, a practical question confronted them all.
"So... where do we go now?"
One slave's question drew everyone's attention. The others froze, then sank into sadness.
Where were they supposed to go now?
How long had they been slaves?
Months? Years? They had forgotten.
Each day, all they had prayed for was a mouthful of cold leftovers at night, enough to keep them going until the next day. They had no energy left to count the time.
Their families had probably forgotten them by now.
Or were their families even still alive?
For a while, everyone was lost.
Then the same slave stepped forward. He tugged his slightly torn navy T-shirt straight, climbed onto a large rock, and shouted, "The world's a big place! Go wherever you want! As long as we stay alive, we'll find somewhere we belong!"
He had picked up the T-shirt while fleeing Jade