The War Outside

by Kody Boye

  “There’s a switch on the wall to lower the blinds if you feel the sun is too overwhelming,” the Revered Mother says. “Groceries will be provided within the next few hours. Meals can still be ordered, but they will take longer, given the need for security. Do you understand?”

  “We do,” Daniel says. I merely nod in response.

  “If you have need of anything, you may simply ring the front desk.” Mother Merissa turns toward the door. “Your door will remain locked at all times. SADs will be posted at all hours. And I…” She pauses. “I will replace Revered Mother Terra until further notice. Understood?”

  “Yes ma’am,” we both say.

  “With that, I will bid you both goodbye.”

  The Revered Mother steps out of the room and closes the door behind her. An audible click sounds shortly thereafter.

  “Well,” Daniel says, spinning to consider the space around us. “This is definitely more than I’m used to.”

  “We shouldn’t have to be used to this,” I counter, seating myself on the plush white couch. “We should be having a normal day… not one where we’re being forcibly dragged around and locked away in the Countess’ Spire.”

  “We’re safe here, Kel. You should be happy.”

  “Well, I’m not. I feel trapped—like my back is against a wall.”

  “It’s only temporary.”

  “So far as you know.”

  Daniel frowns, but says nothing.

  I, in response, merely sigh, and lean back until I can gaze at the ceiling.

  “Hey,” Daniel says, leaning over my prone body to look at me. “I think I’m gonna order food. Is that all right with you?”

  “It’s fine,” I say, even though I find the idea of eating at this stressful moment completely impossible.

  Daniel stares at me for several short moments, then turns and makes his way to the console in the kitchen, leaving me to my thoughts.

  No matter what my rational mind is saying, my gut keeps telling me that something isn’t right.

  No.

  Something is wrong.

  The food is wheeled into our room by a heavily-armored SAD within the hour. Arranged atop a silver cart, upon which is a covered platter, she offers us little than a nod of greeting before turning and leaving the suite.

  “That was… unnerving,” Daniel comments, stepping forward to wheel the cart into the kitchen.

  “I think they’ve been told not to talk to us,” I reply.

  “Why, though?”

  “Because they don’t want information getting out.”

  “Who’s they? The Commandant? The Countess?”

  “Who else would it be?”

  Daniel shrugs and draws the cart to a halt near the island in the kitchen. He then lifts the platter and sets it onto the granite counter before lifting the lid to reveal our lunch, which consists of two sandwiches and two bowls of salad. “Damn,” he says. “This looks—”

  “Delicious,” I say. My initial unease over eating is gone, and is now replaced by a longing that leaves my mouth watering in anticipation.

  “Let me grab some plates and napkins.”

  As he rounds the counter to search for the necessary items, I step forward to admire the food.

  The bread is warm, the meat steaming, the cheeses melted, the greens fresh. The colored vegetables are vibrant, and though I long to reach out and touch the sandwich, my eyes are drawn to the edge of the platter, where two crescent-shaped objects await me.

  “What are the crescents?” I ask.

  “They’re fortune cookies,” Daniel replies.

  “Why would they send us cookies? And what makes them fortunate?”

  Daniel laughs. “They have little strips of paper in them that tell your fortune. I mean, they’re just proverbs, or sayings, but they’re fun. Go ahead—open ‘em.”

  “Both of them?”

  “I’m still looking for the napkins.”

  I snap the first cookie in half; and just like Daniel said, there is a fortune, written on a simple white strip of paper. “You will be prosperous,” I say.

  “That’s good to know,” Daniel says. “That one must be for me.”

  I reach for the second cookie and crack it open in the same manner before lifting the fortune before my eyes.

  It says only five words.

  Those words, written by hand rather than printed, are: Your time is now. T.S.S.

  The sound of a plate shattering, followed by Daniel swearing, jars me from my thoughts. “What happened?” I ask, balling the strip of paper in my fist.

  “Bumped the plate,” he says. “Don’t worry. I’ve got it.”

  I tighten my grasp on the strip of paper, then toss it into the trash.

  “What’d your fortune say?” Daniel asks as he walks toward what I assume to be the broom closet.

  “There wasn’t one,” I reply.

  “Really?” he asks, and opens the closet door. “Bummer.”

  As he makes his way back to, then begins to sweep up the mess, I come to a horrible realization.

  Daniel can’t know about the fortune. He’ll lose his mind.

  And me?

  Well…

  I sigh.

  What can they do to a person who’s nineteen floors above ground?

  Nothing, I realize. They can do nothing.

  That thought should comfort me, but it doesn’t.

  No.

  If anything, it makes me feel even more afraid.

  I try not to let fear get the best of me. Even though it is bottled up inside, and the cork is threatening to burst forth, I find that I am able to maintain my composure in spite of my overwhelming panic and go about the day as normal. I read. I write in my journal. I rest contentedly on the couch, then later look out at the city.

  Come nightfall, the feelings of helplessness begin to overwhelm me.

  T.S.S.

  The anagram haunts me like a specter in the night. Looming close by, and threatening to attack at any moment, I feel as though I am running even though I am truly not, and desperately trying to avoid the knife it so viciously wants to stab into my back. The binding of the book I hold feels slick, and though my hands are trembling, it is not my actions that trouble me, but my companion’s.

  Daniel is going stir crazy. Having been confined to single spaces for days on end, he paces back and forth, left and right, up to the window and then down the hallway toward the door, all the while appearing as though he will lose it at any moment.

  “I can’t stand this,” he finally says, after what feels like an era of troublesome warfare.

  “I don’t think we’re supposed to,” I reply, lifting my head from my book and hoping, to the Great God, that I look as composed as humanly possible.

  He pauses to consider me and lets out a long, breathy sigh. “I just wish there was more I could do. I mean… I’m an engineer for God’s sake. I shouldn’t be here. I should be elsewhere.”

  “Have you thought about asking Mother Merissa if there’s something you can do? I mean…” I pause, careful to to choose the right words. “It seems like they’re after me more than they are you.”

  “Who?”

  “Whoever is doing all these horrible things.”

  Daniel frowns and turns to approach me.

  As he comes to sit beside me, and as his arm falls across my shoulders, I find myself sinking into his touch—not because I necessarily want to, but because I feel I need to.

  He’s your husband, my conscience offers.

  Only by law, I want to reply, and try not to think further than that.

  I know we are in this together. That is a reality I cannot shake. But at the same time, I feel this whole Process—from the Procession, to our meeting, to our wedding, then to the declaration of my Purpose—has left me in a state of mind that is completely atypical.

  I could’ve never imagined being in the position I am now. The old me would’ve laughed and called me insane.

  Are you, though? m
y conscience offers. Because based on what you’ve done, it seems like you are.

  Me? Insane?

  I want to laugh, but all that comes out is an unfortunate sigh that does nothing but reveal my true state of mind.

  “Something’s bothering you,” Daniel says.

  “Everything is bothering me,” I reply.

  “Do you want to talk about it?”

  Do I? It seems likely, given my state of mind. But if I were to tell Daniel about the message, and if he were to tell one of the SADs, there’s no telling what might happen to either of us.

  We’ve already been confined to this room, almost the highest in the Spire, with the best security the country can possibly provide. What would be next, I wonder? A jail cell in a maximum-security prison?

  I close my eyes.

  No, I think. Telling Daniel about the message will only put us in a worse position. And besides—it’s not like words on a printed page could harm us if only I saw it. Right?

  Right, I think.

  I take that to heart as I dog-ear the page in my book, then rise to make my way down the hall.

  “Where are you going?” Daniel asks.

  “I’m tired,” I reply. “It… may not seem like I’ve done much today, but… after everything that’s happened—”

  “Don’t say it,” Daniel replies. “I understand.”

  With one last nod, I slide the book into the shelf, then enter the bedroom.

  At least here, in this space, the only thing I have to worry about is what comes next.

  The knock that comes at the door the following morning immediately awakens me from my slumber. Paranoid beyond belief, but knowing that my safety is guaranteed by the SADs standing outside our room, I roll over to face the open threshold, and sigh when I hear the door open.

  “Rise and shine!” a pleasant female voice says.

  “Great,” Daniel mumbles. “Just what we need. A merry Maid.”

  I decide not to reply and instead rise from the tangle of sheets and blankets I am wrapped within. I wrap a robe around myself, consider my sleeping companion, and frown as I turn toward the threshold.

  “Are you up?” the Maid asks.

  “I am,” I reply, stepping into the hallway.

  I cross the threshold that leads into the kitchen only to find that the Maid has already begun to prepare the spread across the kitchen island—filling the ornate drink dispenser with tea, setting platters of food on the counter. She places plates—two in total, with matching silverware wrapped in fine napkins—before the stools, and spins to face me a short moment later. “Hello, dear.”

  “Hello,” I say, taking in the sight of the plain Maid serving us our breakfast. “Thank you for coming this morning.”

  “It’s a pleasure, my dear. You look marvelous today.”

  “I just rolled out of bed,” I laugh.

  “Still—a pretty face is always pretty, no matter if it has makeup.” She finishes setting out the two glasses we are meant to drink from and lifts her eyes to me. “Would you like some sweet tea, dear?”

  “Yessum,” I say.

  The Maid pours me a glass and passes it across the table to me a short moment later. “How’s it taste?”

  “Delicious,” I say.

  “Good. I had a hand in making it, and I always test the batch to make sure it’s nothing short of perfection.”

  “Thank you. For all of this.”

  “I take it your husband is still asleep?”

  “He’s waking up,” I reply, and force a smile.

  The Maid smiles back at me. “I must say—what you said the other day was inspiring. I was so glad to hear that you stand with us.”

  “Thank you,” I say, without missing a beat. The response is so natural that I’m barely aware that the words have come out of my mouth, but not because I did not mean to respond.

  No.

  As the Maid turns toward the cart, the impact of her words begin to hit me.

  That you stand with us.

  Us.

  “Us,” I whisper.

  The Maid releases the locking mechanism on the serving cart and begins to make her way toward the door.

  “Wait,” I say, starting forward. “About what you just said—”

  “Enjoy your breakfast, dear. I’ve more to attend to!”

  “But I—you—we—”

  She opens the door and exits without so much as a goodbye.

  As the lock clicks into place behind her, thereby securing me behind a closed door with two SADs standing outside, I frown and reach up to press a hand over my mouth.

  Three letters enter my mind.

  T.S.S.

  I am just about to step forward when Daniel appears in the threshold—still shirtless, in pajama bottoms, and without socks. He stretches his arms over his head and says, “What’d she bring?”

  “I—” I start. “I don’t—”

  I pause before I can finish, then set my jaw into place as the realization hits me.

  Whatever this is, it’s far bigger than anything I could’ve ever anticipated.

  If Daniel knew something was going on, he’d immediately report it to the SADs.

  And me?

  I swallow.

  Where would that leave me, if not beneath the scrutiny of the Southern Allegiance of Dames or even the Countess herself?

  As Daniel considers me through tired eyes, I shake my head and say, “Sorry. I guess I’m still more tired than I thought I was.”

  “No need to apologize to me.” He walks over and lifts the lid off the platter. “Aww. No potatoes?”

  I can’t bother to respond.

  I simply round the island, plop the lid off my own platter, and slide a slice of banana into my mouth.

  Daniel can’t know.

  Eighteen

  We are asleep when the first of the vibrations begin to rock the building. Half-asleep, disoriented, and unsure what to think, I crack my eyes open to find that Daniel is sitting upright, and that his eyes are fixed on the threshold leading out of the bedroom.

  “What’s wrong?” I ask.

  “I… thought I saw something,” he replies.

  “Like what?”

  “A light. Bright and orange.”

  “What’re you—” I start to say.

  An orange light blooms outside the living room window.

  Another vibration rocks the building.

  Then an alarm begins to blare through the interior of the Master Suite.

  “Oh God,” Daniel says, throwing himself out of the bed.

  “What’s going on?” I ask, pushing myself upright. “Daniel! Daniel! Answer me!”

  “Someone’s attacking the building!”

  “Who?”

  The door bursts open.

  The SADs rush in. “Beauty!” one calls. “Grace!”

  “We’re here!” Daniel calls back.

  “We are being evacuated!”

  “What’s going on?” I ask as the SADs rush into the bedroom, then cry out as one yanks onto my arm and drags me out of bed. “Let go of me!”

  “Your safety is our priority,” the SAD says as she pulls me down the hallway.

  “I’m not even dressed!”

  “There’s no time. We must leave—now.”

  The urgency in her voice is alarming. Like wildfires her panic spreads, her desperation settles, her fear takes flight. There is no way to determine what is happening, but I know it doesn’t matter.

  No.

  If it is like Daniel said, and we really are being attacked, that can only mean—

  Another vibration strikes the building as we rush out of the Master Suite.

  The window shatters.

  A gust of wind rushes toward us.

  One SAD spins, weapon raised, while another rushes toward the elevator.

  “We can’t!” Daniel says. “It might—”

  The SAD stops along the wall and presses her hand against a discolored panel.

  One moment, t
he wall is intact.

  A second later, a segment of it parts to reveal a flight of stairs within.

  “Go,” she says, turning her eyes on me and Daniel.

  “But—” I start to say.

  Daniel takes my hand before I can finish and jerks me toward the hidden stairwell.

  “Don’t stop,” he says as he pushes me toward the first of the steps. “Go as fast as you can.”

  “But they—”

  He shakes his head, then pushes me forward.

  I run.

  The concrete is cold against my bare feet, the air freezing along my arms and legs. Dressed in a loose nightgown and nothing else, I shiver as we make our way down the stairwell at a speed I could’ve never possibly imagined. I fear tripping, especially since the stairs are narrow and spotted with abrasions, but the metal railing is my guardian angel, my body the mechanism through which it operates. I feel inhuman, running here, in this space, but I know it’s only because of the adrenaline pumping through my veins.

  A thousand thoughts and emotions run through my head.

  Who could it be?

  Why are they doing this?

  Are they after me? The Commandant? The Countess?

  I dread to think that the North could have somehow breached the city, then realize, with great and utter fear, that it is likely only the Fanatical, emboldened by the assaults on the Rita Blanca. Neither thought is comforting, and neither helps to assuage my fears, especially as another vibration rocks the building and sends dust raining down around us.

  “Daniel!” I cry.

  “I’m here!” he calls back. “Keep going! Don’t stop for anything!”

  “I won’t!” I cry back. “I—”

  Another tremor shocks the building.

  This time, I stumble against the railing—and see, quite clearly, how far we would have to fall to reach the bottom.

  Don’t think about that, my conscience says. Just run.

  Run.

  “As fast as you can,” I whisper.

  We reach first the eighteenth landing, then the seventeenth, the sixteenth, the fifteenth—

  As we reach the fourteenth floor, another explosion rocks the building.

  “Keep going!” Daniel cries. “We can’t stop!”

  “I won’t!” I call back. “I—”

  A tremor knocks me off balance.

  I stumble, slam against the wall, then bounce back off and nearly go over the side of the railing.