For a second or two, I almost thought we were going to escape. Together, Raf and I reached the top of the washout, scrambling up the last meter to emerge gasping for air at the top. I caught his sleeve, dragging him after me as I ran away from the ravine, moving parallel with the border fence that lay a hundred meters or so to our right. Then I angled toward it, thinking it was best to get back to the relative safety of the Confederated American States. Just a few minutes into Aztlan, and already I’d had enough of the place.