The bitter winter air swirls through Vienna, Illinois, coursing through the vintage streets and sending a chill down my back. I pull my tattered coat around my body and hurry down the street. Around me, eager citizens prepare for the Tricentennial of Division, a more festive—and seemingly endless—version of the annual celebration commending the separation of the American states in 2279.

Maps of the divided nation are posted on every shop window, light pole, trashcan, and bulletin board in town. I’m not a particular fan of the celebrations, mostly because I’m not quite sure what we’re celebrating. Both the Red and Blue Nations have been in a constant, ever ongoing, cold War since the initial separation—three hundred years ago. I’m not entirely sure about the Red Nation, since we aren’t allowed information, but I know that the Blue Nation hasn’t been economically prosperous since division.

I quickly hurry through the door of Vienna’s only bank and immediately feel relieved in the warmth. The relief is short-lived.

“Corrine York,” my boss says from his office. I hadn’t even taken my place behind the counter yet. I walk among excited murmurs and worried glances from my coworkers to his office. He closes the door behind me.

“Corinne,” he began, looking down at his desk, “As you very well know…”

“I’m getting fired, right?”

My boss pauses.

“Well, yes,” he says, “But you know how the economy is! We had to make a few cuts and we chose the people with the lowest seniority.”

I get up, unsurprised. This would be my fifth job in the past two years to end in sudden termination.

My boss holds the door for me and I drag myself back out into the freezing air. The wind is more powerful now and the Tricentennial posters flutter in the whirling wind. I hurry home. I snatch a free newspaper from the almost iced over newspaper bin and quickly scan the job section. With only a few open positions in Vienna, I fold the job section into my pocket and throw the rest of the newspaper in a poster-covered trashcan.

I jog home and climb the rickety staircase to my apartment. I round the corner and stop—there is an eviction notice tacked to my door. I have five days to pay or move out.

Inside my apartment, I anxiously count my savings. I only have enough for one more week in my apartment and that’s without water, power, food, or heat.

Without any more options, I dial my mother’s number on my landline.

“What?!” she barks on the other side.

“Hi, Mom,” I say, “I needed to talk to you about a dilemma I’m in.”

“It better not involve money, because I ain’t got none for you!”

“Well, I was wondering if Dad left me anything before he died,” I say nervously. I hear her take a swig of alcohol.

“Nope, nothin’ for you. It’s all for me. Goodbye.”

I hang up. I sit on my sagging sofa and gaze at the peeling wallpaper. I stare at the map of America from the year 2200. It was a gift from my father. It always made me curious; the states were all one color; grey. They were one nation: the United States of America—not the Democratic States of America and the Republic of American States. I trace my finger along the current border, having memorized it from history textbooks. My finger travels from Southern California, across the bottom of Montana, South Dakota, Iowa, Illinois, to Delaware and the Atlantic Ocean. All blue states.

I pull myself away from my map and consider my economic options. I needed a home; that was vital. I also needed food. I had already applied for food stamps, but the government informed me they could no longer hand them out due to mass numbers of unemployment and hunger.

Overwhelming grief rushes over me. On impulse, I run outside, down the stairs, across the street, and into the dense woods surrounding Vienna. I find my usual spot between two birch trees and sit down on a frosted log. I sob.

I cry over my lost job, my lost apartment, my non-existent friends and family, and my damaged life.

Something darts from a nearby shrub. I crouch behind the log. Something or someone in orange sprints through the woods. It ducks behind a tree and then hurries onward. As it gets closer to me, I see it’s a man. Relieved, I stand up. He sees me and yells. He continues to run. Intrigued, I start after him.

“Wait!”

The man keeps running. The man looks back to see if I’m still running after him and trips over a log. He collapses to the ground. I take advantage of his obstacle and catch up with him.

The man slowly stands up. He’s tall and has red hair. His blue eyes pierce through me. Most terrifyingly, he’s wearing a prison jumpsuit.

“I have to go....” he says fiercely. He starts running again, and I follow.

“Where are you going?” I ask quickly.

“None of your business,” he snaps.

“Can I go with you?” I call.

“I don’t think you want to go where I’m going,” the man yells between pants.

“Where is that?”

“Home,” he says. I roll my eyes.

“Where is home?”

We keep running.

“Tennessee!”

“Where’s that?” I ask, trying to think of a city with that name.

“You’re not so bright are you? You don’t even know your Red States.”

My smile fell. This explains the prison suit.

“You’re…from the Red States?”

“Sure am. Now, please stop following me!.” The red-haired man picks up his pace.

“Stop!” I scream. He halts and turns back to me, frustrated.

“What?”

“I…I want to go with you!” I blurt. He eyes me warily.

“Why would someone like you want to risk your life to travel to the Red States?” he asks.

“Well…the Red States might be able to save me…”

I quickly explain my unfortunate state, and he eyes me dubiously.

“Look, sweetheart,” he says, in his Southern accent, “I don’t want to take anyone with me. The police are already after me and I don’t need someone who’s going to weigh me down.”

“I can do it!” I say, getting more excited about the idea. He stares at me. Finally, he sighs and nods. I eagerly squeal.

“You’re going to have to prove yourself,” he says.

“What’s your name?” I ask. He looks at me.

“Sebastian,” he finally says.

“Corinne. Nice to meet you.”

I stick out my hand but he rolls his eyes and ignores me.

Sebastian hikes through the woods, constantly telling me to hurry up. He refuses to tell me where we’re going and how we’re going to get there. As night falls, he switches on a small flashlight and aims it at the ground.
He finds a large log and rolls it over. Underneath was a large, hidden hole with four large backpacks. He takes one for me and one for him.

“Whoa,” I say, “Where’d all that stuff come from?”

He grins.

“Someone is always here to help.”

Inside our backpacks is water bottles, flashlights, necessary survival equipment, and camouflage suits, which we put on immediately.

We run through the cold woods. Excitement courses through my bones. I trust Sebastian completely; in a way, he saved me.

Sebastian does not feel the same. He stops me after an hour of running, hiding, and then more running.

“See those lights over there?” he asks. I see them in the distance and nod, still panting from the sprint. “Those lights belong to a grocery store,” he informs me. I nod again. “You are going to go in there and get us some canned goods.”

I sense this is a test of trust and I knew he wasn’t planning on paying for them.
***

“Why are you here?” I ask Sebastian as we eat a can of corn. Sebastian sighs. He quickly searches around him and turns to me,

“I’m a SORAS spy. I came here to receive the help of Senator McDougal of Wisconsin. He was willing to contribute to the cause. Unfortunately, I never made it there.”

My mind swirled with questions.

“What’s SORAS?” I ask.

“The Secret Organization for the Reconciliation of American States.”

“What cause did Senator McDougal want to contribute to?” I ask.

“Our plan to reconnect Blue and Red through peaceful negotiations.”

“Why didn’t you go to Honolulu, the capital?” I ask, puzzled.

“That was not my mission. Another agent was sent there,” he says.

“Do all Red people feel the same way you do?”

“Well it’s not just our nation. There’s a SORAS headquartered in one of your blue states: Napa, California.”

I’m awestruck.

“Really?” I ask, “What’s our headquarters like?”

“Well, it’s a large building, like most buildings, I guess. It’s supposed to be inconspicuous…”

“You’ve been there?” I ask incredulously.

“Yeah. That was my first mission in SORAS. I crossed the border three years ago.”

“You weren’t caught?” I ask amazed.

“No. And I wasn’t caught when I went to Washington D.C. either.”

“The old Capital? I thought that place was a ghost town!”

“It is,” Sebastian says solemnly, “The last President of the United States left a series of valuable documents in the White House—er, the house where the President lived—and I retrieved them.”

“What did they say?”

“That’s confidential,” Sebastian snapped. I frowned.

“Did SORAS plant those backpacks under that log?”

He nods. We were silent for a while.

“How did you get caught this time?” I inquire, breaking the silence. He shakes his head and smiles.

“You are one curious person, aren’t you? If you must know, I had only crossed the border when Blue State Police caught me. I was sent to jail to be questioned, but SORAS sent assistance and I escaped before they could kill me.”

“And then you ran into me in the forest!” I say enthusiastically.

Neither of us says anything. In the distance, we hear the trumpets of a town’s Tricentennial parade.

“What do you intend to do when we reach the Red Wall?” I ask, breaking the silence.

“You mean the Blue Wall,” Sebastian says. I furrow my eyebrows.

“I mean the Red Wall. The Wall that divides the nations.”

“That’s the Blue Wall,” Sebastian insists.

“Fine. What do you intend to do? It’s heavily guarded.”

“I know. There’s an underwater crevasse used by SORAS spies that we can slip through. We have to do it in the dead of night.” He paused. “When you cross, you won’t be able to get back over.”

I nod slowly. I know once I cross, I’ll forever be a traitor of the Democratic States of America. I’ll forever shame my father, a Senator of Illinois. I’ll have to survive in an entirely new nation with an entirely new political platform.

“I want to join SORAS,” I say suddenly. Sebastian immediately grins.

“That’s great! It would be helpful to have a former resident of the Democratic States on our side!”

“How do I join?”

“You have to be sworn in by the President. The headquarters for the Red State SORAS is in Key West, Florida. You could also serve the SORAS in Juneau, the capital.”

“Which place is warmer?” I ask, detesting the freezing winters in Vienna.

“Florida by far.”

“I’ll go to Florida, then,” I declare eagerly.

“That’s nice. Now get some sleep; we cross the border tomorrow.”
***

We hid in the bushes on the riverbank. The moonlight faintly illuminated the soft waters of the Ohio River. The wall that separated Kentucky from Illinois, Red from Blue, towered over us.

Sebastian and I waited anxiously for the patrolmen to finish passing in their boat; in less than ten minutes, we were to cross. My heart thudded vehemently in my chest; freedom was a quick swim away.

We dove under. The water was freezing and almost iced over. Sebastian led the way to a large crevasse in the wall. Sebastian motioned with his hand and I swam through the crack. I came up on the other side. My heart plummeted.

A ghetto shantytown was on the other side. Homeless people crowded the streets. Sebastian removed his mask.

“Welcome to the Red States, Corinne,” he said. I stared. Although it was ruined, I felt free.

“Stay here, “ Sebastian said and he dove back into the crevasse to retrieve our supplies.

Gunshots pierce the night sky. Impulsively, I dive back into the water. I navigate my way through the crevasse and come up on the other side of the Wall.

The Blue State Federal Police surround me. The ever-strict security has finally caught up with us. I turn to cross the Wall for the third time but police haul me out of the water. I land on a patrol boat.

I’m handcuffed. Tears spring to my eyes. I look around for Sebastian.

He’s bound to a chair on the opposite side of the boat, punctured with gunshots, his head lolling to one side, his blue eyes gazing lifelessly at me.

I squeeze my eyes shut. The patrol boat returns me to Illinois. The police lead me, handcuffed and mentally broken, to the police department.

Behind me, the towering Wall that divides our two nations casts a ghostly umbrage across the River, shielding the death of a loyal patriot from view, as the Blue State Police patrol the waters for trespassers.