The air is cold but my skin is burning. I don't know when the fever started or if it will end. I only know that if I stop they will find me, and that will mean the end of my life. Or worse.

I've broken free before, and I ran until I was exhausted, then hid in a cave until my joints were frozen and my mind was gone. I didn't make a sound, barely even breathed, praying for safety. Then I heard it. A scraping crunching, sound, then the man with the mask scooped me out of my rock womb and took me back to the complex, too frozen to fight, too weak to cry.

I'm never going back again.

Some people think there is no worse fate than death. They are wrong. I've lived it. I've been pushed past the breaking point. I've withstood the systematic destruction of my people, my family. They singled me out to break me down, cut me open to alter my structure, and raped my mind to take advantage of my abilities. They wanted a weapon. I refused.

"Intelligence is a dangerous thing in a woman," I overheard one man comment to another. And I have nothing if not intelligence. My eyes glitter with it, my brain sparks with it- it is my birthright. I am a dangerous thing.

I feel my nostrils flare wide as I suck deep draughts of desert air, scenting for my pursuers. I smell nothing. Ahead I see the lights of a town, and I pick up speed. My limbs are leaden- I escaped before dawn, and ran through the day. Now it is night, and I have the uncomfortable feeling that one of the twinkling stars overhead is a satellite, watching me, tracking my every move.

My lungs burn, my legs burn. And I wonder why they haven't caught me yet. One woman on foot couldn't possibly elude satellites, radar, infrared and God only knows what other technology they have.

What if they've let me go on purpose? To lead them to the others?

I'm bathed in the lights of the town, now, walking the near-empty sidewalk. Funny how your mind wanders when you're sure you're going to die. As I ran in the desert heat this afternoon, I thought about my last kiss.

His hair smelled like dust and his kiss tasted like woodsmoke and ashes. He held me for a moment, and whispered that he would come back for me, to save me from the horrible life we were living. His brown eyes were golden and bright, full of hope. His charred body was dumped in my cell the next day as an example, to warn me away from attempting escape.

I will never forget my last kiss.

Somehow I make my way into a 24-hour truck stop, where the attendant doesn't even glance up from his magazine as I stumble through the door. Iwalk in the ladies' restroom, the kind with the stick figure with a triangular dress as a symbol for women. I wonder why the figure has a dress but nohair. On with the light. Lock the door. My hands shake violently as Istumble to the mirror and take inventory. My gold-colored hair is tangledand streaked with dirt. There's a cut on my collarbone still oozing blood. My pretty mouth is swollen and bleeding, and my dark eyes are... too bright.