In the distance more bombs went off, the sound a whiplash to my ears. Each time they did, the ground shook violently. I whimpered at the pain in my arms and chest. But not even that could distract me from the sight ahead of me.
My mom’s eyes had always gleamed like she had some secret to share.
Now they were vacant.
There’s a knock on my door, and a moment later Lisa walks in.
“Hi sweetie,” she says. The endearment always amuses me. As though I’m some innocent flower. I’m not.
“Hey Lisa.” I can’t muster much enthusiasm. Before the war, Lisa owned a wedding dress shop, so she’s been the residential seamstress since her husband and the rest of her family moved in.
Her husband, like most of the men and women here, was an important figure when we still had a functioning government. My best guess is that he was a badass dude—the kind that can’t actually tell you their profession because of national security. I see a lot of those types around here. The bunker only has a finite amount of space, so only the most essential men and women are allowed to live here with their families.
Lisa drops the pile of material she carried in onto my bed, and my eyes are immediately drawn to the vibrant colors I see. Bright red, gold, rose petal pink. Iridescent beads catch the light.
I finger a bit of lace that pokes out amongst the pile. “Please tell me these aren’t my outfits.” They’re all beautiful, but the thought of wearing such flashy garments is horrifying.
She gives me a rueful smile. “Sorry babe, but orders are orders.”
“And what orders are those?” Surely I’d have heard about this. I thought I’d be wearing drab suits just like the rest of the men and women that meet for diplomacy talks.
“To have all eyes on you.”
My jaw slides open, and I look at her in disbelief. “Why would the WUN want that?” My father was the one they should have their eyes on. Not me.
Her eyes are sad. “Because you are young and attractive. It’s easier to sympathize with someone who looks like you than someone like your father.”
It makes sense. Of course it does. The representatives have to leverage whatever they can. Still I grind my teeth together. Those who watch the peace talks might sympathize more if I dress like this, but they will also see us as weak. No one is afraid of a pretty bauble, and that’s just what I’ll be.
“Time to remove your clothes, sweetie.”
I shuck off my fatigues and stand in my bra and panties. Lisa doesn’t say anything about the sick way my collarbones stick out or my flat, empty stomach, but her brows pull together while she takes down my measurements, as though it pains her to see me this way.
There was a time when obesity was the losing battle our people faced. Not so anymore. As soon as food became scarce, curves became coveted.
Lisa puts away the tape measurer and rifles through the clothing, removing garments that she knows she can’t tailor to fit me.
“Where did you even get all of these?” I ask.
“They’re not mine. These are property of the WUN—and no, I have no idea where and when they came by these.”
I try some of the remaining garments on, and Lisa tugs and adjusts the material, writing down notes in her notepad on adjustments. After the better part of an hour, she packs up her stuff. “I’ll finish these tonight and have them packed for you tomorrow,” she says. “And I’m supposed to tell you that Jessica’s pulled out of kitchen duty to cut your hair and show you a thing or two about makeup.”
I almost groan at the thought. Getting a haircut is one thing, but makeup? I’ve never worn it. I’m going to look like a clown. All for a televised meeting that will be viewed mostly by the enemy.
Few people in the WUN will even be able to watch. The king destroyed a large portion of our electronics years ago, and he has since halted the sale and distribution of all devices manufactured in the Eastern Empire. We have only a limited number of functioning electronics left.
Lisa cups my face, bringing me back to the present. She stares at me for a long time, and I can tell she wants to say something profound. Her eyes are getting watery, and I’m getting distinctly uncomfortable.
All she ends up saying, however, is, “You’ve got this, sweetie.”
I nod my head once, not trusting my own voice. Because the truth is, I don’t. We don’t. This is really, truly the beginning of the end.
My roommates have long since gone to bed when I sneak out of the barracks, my hair several inches shorter from Jessica’s ministrations. At night the florescent lights that line the subterranean hallways are turned off to save energy, so I make my way through the compound based on touch and memory.
When I get to the storage cellar, most of the group is already there, waiting for the meeting to begin.
Someone whistles. “Is that makeup, Serenity? And here we thought you were a dude this entire time.”
I flip off David, the guy responsible for the comments. All he does is laugh.
Will nods to me and pats an empty crate next to him. I make my way through the cramped room to sit down. We wait five more minutes, and when no one else shows up, Will clears his throat. “This is the North American WUN command center. Let’s commence the hundred and forty-third meeting of the Resistance.” His voice is being recorded and streamed to other meetings occurring throughout the globe.
As the general’s son, Will became the de facto correspondent with the Resistance. The group of us sitting here—all former soldiers and children of the various representatives—gather and relay information back to our leaders.