Aza had been on the run for hours, and she didn’t know if she could keep going. Her eyelids were drooping with exhaustion, and her sisters’ screams as they were murdered rang ceaselessly in her head. They were really gone from this world, never having seen the outside like they’d dreamed. It was a miracle Aza had. She kept running, with each footstep a word of her prayer for them. That they were not in pain. That they could finally see the sky. That they were still together. That wherever they were now, they could go on a journey like they’d wanted. One where they could eat. And sleep.

Keep going, Aza, she told herself. Just until you find help. She tried not to think about the fact that she hadn’t seen anyone she could communicate with since she’d escaped. Her vision blurred as she stumbled on, past another concrete path.

She blinked. On the other side was a vastness of world, untouched by humans, instead the domain of the tall, peaceful creatures who cast a shield of green over the land.

If she’d been allowed to dream, she’d know they were trees, and she was looking at a forest.

Despite her exhaustion, she watched both directions, searching for the huge machines that came without warning, spewing toxic smoke. She’d barely survived her first encounter with them. But none came as the light spread on the concrete. It looked like the bright orb was returning, but she was too tired to think about that. She gathered the last of her strength to run across before the machines came, and stumbled into a dip in the ground, out of sight.

Don’t die, Aza, she commanded herself, then finally fell asleep.

***

The metal grill below her cut into her feet no matter how she shifted, trying to sleep until the warehouse door slammed open. A human lumbered toward her cage, scowling. How many times had those hours replayed in her mind? How many times would she have to relive it as she slept?

She shared a look with her sisters that said, Not again. Humans never brought anything good. And this one wasn’t carrying food.

The human unlatched the cage door, then grabbed Bridget and threw her somewhere out of sight, slamming the door before they could react. It dragged a crate in front of the cage.

No one put in a crate ever returned.

“Think we can fight it?” Adela asked, her eyes wide with fear.

“We wouldn’t know where to go, and there are always more,” Aza said. “I think we should wait it out.”

Wait it out. The words haunted her, and her feathers fluttered in her sleep.

“I agree,” Althea said. “Maybe it won’t have backup there.”

Then the huge, merciless hands threw them into darkness.

Aza couldn’t tell much past the painful bumps and nameless, scratching claws. The darkness went on forever, but it passed in a moment.

They fell out into a huge room. As she adjusted, she realized she could move around, and there was no grating beneath her feet. Maybe it is better here, she thought for a moment. Then she saw the blade, and the blood and feathers streaking the floor.

The smell of death and destruction was overpowering.

Behind her, the door opened with a sliver of blinding light.

“We need to go now!” Aza said. They surged toward the door, pushing blindly past the human’s gloved claws into freedom.

A moment of dreams. They could make out the shapes of creatures they’d never seen, smell air fresher than they’d ever known. Elegant green creatures — plants? — beneath a blue-and-white dome that seemed infinitely high above them — was that the sky?

But with their wings cut and their legs injured, they could only move so fast. The humans caught up with them, and they were bigger. Stronger. Ruthless. Already, Aza could hear screams from the direction of the building, could almost feel their pain.

“No!” She ran forward as the humans carried her sisters to their end. She ran . . .

She ran . . .

The painful hours of the previous day blended together, but she needed to go faster. Faster . . .

“Go!” Adela told her. “Be free for all of us. Get help for the others.”

Aza couldn’t leave them. She scratched at the human in front of her, but it only grabbed her too. She clawed herself free, but Adela was already too far away. Aza braced herself to make her last stand.

“Go,” Althea said, struggling weakly against her captor. “Go find help. Get our children out of there. They still have hope.”

“Althea —”

“You’re their only hope.”

“I will.” Aza helplessly held Althea’s gaze as the human took her to her death and slammed the door. Then she twisted away, and ran.

Somehow, they didn’t catch her.

She ran and ran.

She ran for hours, her lungs burning, her legs aching.

Go.

Get help for the others.

You’re their only hope.

Adela . . .

Althea . . .

***

Aza awoke to a throbbing in every muscle. Her various scratches were stinging, and she didn’t think she could move her legs if she tried.

Alive. I’m alive. And her sisters . . .

They’d been slaughtered. The humans had won.

There was no outlet for her fury, and no one would know what had happened. Helplessly, she screamed into the world.

At last, a thought brought back her sanity. The children. The people like them whom she’d never met. She had the chance to save them, the chance that had been stolen from Althea, Adela, and everyone else, and she would live up to it. Whatever it took.

Aza looked back at the concrete strip now humming with machines, shuddering at the proximity to humans. But they ignored her, and she took in her surroundings.

The world of her painful sprint hadn’t been some sort of delirium, after all. The ground was soft beneath her, not the metal bars she’d had there her whole life, and she smelled food nearby. Food that had never been touched by a human. A variety of unfamiliar sounds filled the air — air that was finally free of the stale, despairing smell that had permeated the warehouse. Above her, it was once again bright and blue. The sky. Wherever Althea and Adela were, Aza hoped they could see it too.

A small, dark shape flew across it — another bird, Aza realized. That was possible? The bird had black feathers and long wings, and they circled above her before landing on one of the tall plants’ limbs.

Aza forced herself to her feet, fluffing up her feathers. She didn’t think she could fight in this state, and she probably smelled like easy prey. She eyed the other bird’s sharp, ominous beak.

The bird landed on the ground a few feet away, watching her.

“Let’s be friends?” she said, though the other birds she’d seen didn’t understand her. Would she find anyone who did? How could she recover, let alone rescue everyone on her own? But she could never give up, now that she was free.

The other bird watched her for a few more moments, and then nodded.

“Do you understand me?” she asked, a strange feeling coming over her. Was this hope?

They said something aloud, melodious and strange.

“I don’t know what you’re saying.”

But the bird didn’t leave. They flew upward toward the distant realms she could finally see, landed, and looked at her. She took a stumbling step forward, and they nodded.

She nodded back, and followed, that new thing called hope giving strength to her aching legs. Her guide folded their wings, strong and unmarred by the land of humans, free to take them anywhere in the world. But that was not Aza’s legacy.

Aza was one injured, orphaned chicken who had barely escaped with her life, who was setting out to fight an army of huge, powerful creatures. But she was alive, and that was enough. 

Soon, she heard a new sound, something like water.

“Thank you,” she said, looking up at her guide. Maybe there was such a thing as help in this much larger world. Maybe there was hope.