daynight by Megan Thomason

support for a full-scale external revolt against the Theran cities. My dad pointed them in the direction of the other extremists in our home community.
    The second group hailed from Military City, twenty-five men and women marching in perfect unison. Their tales of the dictatorship regime, blind obedience expected, and execution of unwanted Second Chance citizens made my father’s description of Garden City sound like paradise. Well organized, they had a plan to train an army and overthrow Garden City headquarters that piqued my father’s interest, but they’d been Exiled without their weapons. Without the right arsenal any attack would be fruitless. They’d either have to bring munitions from Earth, or gain access to Military City’s vast supply. The latter would require crossing the Eco barrier, an impossible feat without insider information. At nightfall, the Militants were sent along to join my father’s band of Exilers, with promises that my father would return soon to hear more of their plans to shift the balance of power on Thera.
    I see how that chance encounter with the Militants turned my father towards extremism. Had we taken an alternate route to the portal, left a different night, or slept in different caves, my father may never have gotten on the Militants’ bandwagon of revolt. Sure, the Exilers had always looked for ways to improve their situation or make changes in the status quo on Thera, but their ideas and methods were tame compared to the Military City men and women’s brute force approach. But, my father readily drank their poison and sent them to infect the rest the Exilers. They were received with open arms by my father’s cohorts who’d resorted to extreme measures to protect our band of misfits in the past.
    On our final night’s travel to the portal we got a late start. Leila staged a dramatic temper tantrum. I dragged, slowing us further. The bugs swarmed more than usual and as I required more oxygen and had to suck in air by mouth, I’d ended up consuming bug chunks all night. My dad welcomed the ‘extra protein,’ but chewing on the crunchy creatures made me gag. I forced myself to swallow, knowing the roots we’d had for breakfast couldn’t provide the sustenance to take me the distance.
    At sunrise we had five miles left to go, and my dad chose to press on. Two and a half hours later we’d arrived, dehydrated and severely sunburned, at a small hut. An aged lady, horrified by our condition, insisted she minister to our wounds before allowing us to attempt passage. She covered us with a silvery-green paste and poured water into us until we felt bloated. The delay irritated my father, as our boat ride on the other side could decide we’d failed to pass through and return to shore, leaving us stranded.
    “We must leave now,” he’d said, pulling Leila from the lady’s arms.
    “How can you be sure they won’t bounce?” the woman responded.
    “They are special,” he’d said.  
    “Originals?” she’d asked. That’s where I’d heard it.  
    “It’d be hard to prove that without a DNA test out here, wouldn’t it?” he’d quipped. Why didn’t he ever mention it to me? Years of training and he fails to note something so critical to the motivations of the SCI?
    “Blake, you go first. Just walk down that dark corridor. Leila you’ll follow your brother, and I’ll follow you.” Energized by the water, ointment, and visions of food and bounties in the ‘promised land,’ I bounded forth. The shock-like sensations I felt couldn’t touch the pain of my burns and blisters, so they barely registered.
    Once through, the motion of the uncovered barge amplified an already queasy stomach, and I vomited what little water remained in my system. My sister did the same, although her reaction was more violent than mine. My father convulsed and heaved more heavily than Leila and me combined. I sat on the platform and let the ocean breeze wash over me. In two minutes time the