Chapter 2
Serenity
Nine years ago I watched my mother die. That was also the day I received the scar that runs from the corner of my eye down my cheek, a permanent tear for all the souls the war has claimed.
At the time the eastern hemisphere had just fallen and the new king had set his sights on the west. In the wake of oncoming war, my father started working nonstop, leaving my mother and me to keep each other company.
That Saturday morning was just like any other. I laid under our coffee table flipping through a magazine, while my mom sat on the couch reading.
The only indication that something was about to happen was the trembling ground beneath me. I heard Mom’s mug rattle on the glass side table next to her.
My mother’s gaze met mine. Even then we knew enough about the war to immediately think the worst. But never had the enemy attacked civilians on our own soil.
A whine started up, distant at first. The sound got louder.
“Serenity, get down!” My mother lunged for me.
She wasn’t fast enough.
The whine cut out, and for the briefest of moments, all was quiet. Then our front yard lit up, the windows shattered. A howling, fiery blast tore through the house, throwing my mother forward.
That was all I saw before the force of the explosion blasted the coffee table away from me and I tumbled, my body a ragdoll. Debris sliced against my skin, none so deep as the gash across my face.
Other than those cuts and what I later found out was a fractured wrist and several bruised ribs, I survived the explosion unscathed. Sheer providence kept me from further harm.
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.
We make these meetings as clandestine as possible. While the WUN needs the information the Resistance feeds us, we don’t want to be openly associated with them. While we share a common enemy, they’re a terrorist organization.
“What are the casualty numbers this week?” Will asks first.
A crackly voice comes on over the Internet. “Ten thousand, three hundred and eleven globally—that’s the official number. As usual, we have reason to believe there are several thousand more unreported casualties that have died from radiation sickness and biological warfare.”
Next to Will, David jots these numbers down.
I rub my forehead. As much as I’m dreading the visit to Geneva, the WUN is at its breaking point. Our hemisphere’s population is only a fraction of what it was before the war. It’s not just fighting that’s felling our numbers. People are sick.
Will’s mouth is a thin line. “Any news on the enemy?”
“They’re still holding the Panama Canal, and reports in the area say that they’ve taken over the hospitals and research clinics in the neighboring cities—just as they have in all other conquered territories.”
“Have our spies figured out what the king’s men are doing in these locations?”
“Same as all the others—a little of this and that. Stem cell research, the regeneration of cells, you know, the usual work up.”
And we still had no idea what real medical developments the king was actually researching. He’s managed to keep that under wraps for as long as we’ve been fighting this war.
“There was, however, one thing unusual about this takeover,” the Resistance member says. “Many of the technicians the king let go were dazed.”
“What do you mean by ‘dazed’?” Will asks.
“They were confused. Couldn’t answer our questions.”
“Any ideas what might’ve happened to them?” I cut in.
The voice on the other end pauses. “None except the most general.”
“And what would that be?” I press.
“They lost their memory.”
The next day a knock on my door signals that it’s time to go. I sit alone in the barracks, fingering my mother’s necklace around my neck. I’m already wearing one of the dresses that Lisa tailored for me.
I despise the thing.
The door opens and Will pokes his head in. The sight of him brings me back to last night’s conversation with the Resistance. The king’s overtaken the Panama Canal; no wonder the WUN’s folding. The war’s ending soon if they’ve wrangled control of it.
And the hospitals … everywhere the king goes, he infiltrates the labs first. Initially we’d thought it was to decimate any chance of medical relief—and yes, he does do that. But when stories of his unusual research trickled in, we began to take note.
“Mind if I come in?” Will asks. His eyes widen as they move over me.
I motion him inside, banishing thoughts of the king. “What are you doing here?” I ask once Will closes the door behind him.
“I wanted to say goodbye to you,” he says. He shifts his weight, sliding his hands into his pockets. His eyes flick over me again. “You look really nice.”
I snort. “Yeah, if by nice you mean I look like a giant peacock,” I say, picking up a piece of the dress and letting it flutter back to my side.
Will sits down next to me. “You make it look good,” he says, his eyes full of that same intensity I’d seen him wear earlier.
Suddenly I get the impression that this isn’t just a friendly goodbye. Will’s not looking at me like I’m the soldier who fought alongside him. Nor is he looking at me like the friend who would stay up late talking about anything and everything that crossed our minds.
He’s looking at me the way a lover should.
“Serenity, you’re going to save our country,” he says, clasping my hand.
I shake my head. “Don’t put that on me, Will. We both know how this ends.”
“No,” he says, squeezing my hand tightly. “We don’t. And the representatives wouldn’t send you if they didn’t think you’d sway the king.”
The king. I’d have to speak with him, smile at him, pretend that he didn’t destroy everything that I held dear.
“But more than that, you have to come back because I’ll be waiting for you.”
My throat constricts. I can’t tell if it’s from this strange ardor of his or that, in this moment, I realize I will never experience love. Not given my circumstances.
Will’s expression softens. It’s such a foreign emotion on him that I almost laugh.
And then he leans down and presses his lips to mine.
For a moment, I’m so shocked I do nothing but sit there. And then I recover and kiss him back. I would’ve thought my lips would be clumsy, but they’re not, and the kiss … the kiss is nice.
When it ends, I blink at him. Will has a whimsical look on his face. It relaxes his hard features, and it speeds up my heart to think that I’m responsible for it.
I take in his dark eyes. “I didn’t know.”
“Now you do.” He’s looking at me like he’s waiting for something else. Something more.
I touch my fingers to my lips. “I wish things were different,” I say, because it’s the only thing I can.
The sharp lines return to his face. “So do I.” He eyes the door across from us and clears his throat. “We should probably get going. I’m supposed to be escorting you out.”
I nod and grab my bag. As I sling it over my shoulder, both Will and I hear the clank of metal inside it.
Will raises his eyebrows. “They’re not going to let you take your gun.”
“Then they’re going to have to pry it away from my cold, dead hands.” And I mean it. If I’m going to die on enemy soil—and I have no doubt that I am—I want the few beloved possessions close by. One of those is the gun my father gave me. Morbid, I know, but during the last ten years it’s become a dear and trusted companion.
A smile spreads along Will’s face. “I’m not sure even death could take that gun away from you.” His smile slips as soon as he says the words, and I get the impression that he’s vividly imagining it. My death.
“C’mon, let’s go.” Will takes my hand, threading his fingers through mine. This is the first time he’s held my hand that I can remember. I can’t help but think that it’s too little too late.
I take one last look at the barracks as we slip out the door. The room is the closest thing I’ve had to a home for a long time now. But as I take in the narrow beds, the cement walls and floor, the basin all eight of us use to wash out hands and faces, I can’t say I’m all that sorry to leave.
My heels clack as we walk through the bunker, drawing attention my way. The people we pass stop and stare. News has spread that I’m going to Geneva for the peace talks. I’m now the girl walking to her execution in a dress. But some look hopeful, and their hope gives me courage.
Will’s palm slickens the closer we get to the stairwell, which will take us to the surface. As soon as we round the corner and see it, his hand tightens on mine.
“This is where I leave you,” he says.
I nod. Swallow. No one goes outside unless ordered to. The radiation from the blasts is still too dangerously high. And if the radiation doesn’t kill you, your fellow citizens might.
Will tugs on our clasped hands, pulling me to him. “Make it back here alive,” he says. His lips brush my forehead. It’s not a goodbye kiss, and I really appreciate that.
After a moment, he lets me go. I back up to the stairwell door, watching him. I feel hyper alive. It’s the same feeling I have every time I fight on the battlefield. I can’t figure out if it’s the sudden, startling possibility of Will and me or the prospect of meeting the king that has me feeling this way, but it’s not an unpleasant sensation.
“I’ll try my best to come back alive,” I say.
Will gives me a small smile. “I’m holding you to that, Serenity.”
I climb the stairs for what seems like ages. When I finally reach the top, the floor closest to the surface, several people wait for me. Among them are the general and my father.
My father’s eyebrows nudge up when he sees me. This is the first time I’ve ever looked remotely feminine.
“You look … just like your mother,” he manages to say. I blush at this—that’s the best compliment my father could’ve given me.
General Kline grunts his approval. “Now that you’re here, Serenity, it’s time to get moving.” As he speaks, the general begins leading the group to the garage, where all our vehicles are kept. “We’re sending a dozen guards to go with you two,” the general says to my father and me. “They are there to protect you should negotiations dissolve.”
The general, my father, and I get into one of the military vehicles. The rest of our entourage piles into two other cars.
“I want you both to report to me every night,” General Kline continues. “Be sure to watch your words. Let’s assume the king can hear everything you say to me. You both know the code words.”
In front of us the cement floor tilts up until it kisses the ceiling of the bunker. As I watch, the ceiling slides back, and the leaves that helped camouflage the hidden door fall into the bunker like confetti.
Natural light streams in, the first I’ve seen in months, and the sight of it takes my breath away. The washed out sky beyond is not the same blue that haunts my memories, but it’s still one of the most beautiful sights I’ve seen in a long time.
Once the ceiling slides back far enough, our caravan pulls out. My eyes drink in the war-scorched earth. Out here in the middle of nowhere, the damage isn’t as apparent as it is in the heart of our once big cities, but if you stare long enough, you’ll see it.
It’s a five-minute drive to the hangar that houses our jet. Short enough that if the representatives ever needed to make a quick escape they could, but long enough that if the hangar were ever to be attacked, the bunker would remain unharmed.
We pull into it, and inside several aircraft wait. One sits in front of the rest, and several men and women already swarm around it, loading the jet, and checking up on its general maintenance.
“Ambassador Freeman,” the general turns to my father, “this will work.”
I see a muscle in my father’s cheek flex, and something unspoken passes between the two of them. Whatever it is, it has my father angry.
Beyond us, the rest of our group is beginning to load themselves onboard the aircraft. I grab my bag, clenching my jaw at the airy way my dress swishes around my legs—as if I am some delicate thing that requires only the lightest of caresses and the softest material.
I stare at the jet that will take me away from this miserable land to one that’s already fallen to the king. The same king that’s taken everything from me. I’ll come face to face with him. I take a deep breath.
Time to dance with the devil.