Their lives were destined for a different fate, and they would face it believing it was better than what they had known. To suffer infection. Heat exhaustion. Thirst. To hear the knotting of one’s stomach for weeks on end as the body slowly starved. Better to crawl for miles in the dirt and grass, the body low enough to smell the deep, fragrant earth as they inched toward another life. Better to be shot at as they jumped fences to escape, climbed trees, disappeared into the fields. Better not to be caught because yes, they were hunted, found, and dragged back, forced to return to their owners, or if not claimed sold at public auction. Yes, many never made it to the freedom they sought, but still they tried, and would try time and again.

They chose this, always this, because they knew it was better to drown in the rivers and swamps. To meet the sanctuary of wild animals who would tear their flesh to bits. Choosing to end themselves rather than go back, because at least death would be at their own hand, and there was freedom in that choice, and they would be free. Send the dogs with their snarl and wail, bring the pattyrollers with their batons and guns. They knew what awaited them once they were found—their heels clipped to prevent them from running, the devices meant to torture and maim until they were fragments of what they used to be. Do what you feel you must, they dared, because they would. They knew the truth. They would be free. No matter what was done to them, one way or another, they would be free, because they had seen the promise of freedom and would not let it go.

IV.

KIPSEN WAS MOSTLY the same. She’d come across Antebellum Road, a nickname given to the area of historical mansions where the privileged few lived. The town was still deeply segregated, but this time driving through the disparity felt more pronounced. As she drove, she saw more boarded-up houses and more trash littering the gutters of streets. Mira passed a multitude of closed-down businesses with the lingering signs of what they used to be. Not much remained of downtown. She saw a check-cashing-and-payday-loan store with its name glowing. Fast Cash Now another sign flashed. The existence of poverty was palpable and unavoidable. The streets were filled with potholes and despite Mira’s efforts, she couldn’t keep from feeling the jolts as the car bumped along.

A new road had been built to bypass all this and take visitors straight to the Woodsman property. She’d seen the sign for the exit and as she passed it knew what had been done. Curious, after she’d driven through downtown she circled back to find the exit and see where it would go.