by Louisa Lo
“Positive.”
Chelsea closed her eyes. So it was true. Her father was gone, just as Ruiz had claimed. Her heart squeezed as she thought about her dad, and the dream she’d had of him at the grocery store. Could it be that at some deep level she’d already known?
It was too much. She loved the Queen, both as her subject and as a distant relative. She loved her cousins, however many times removed, though they were never very close. And her dad was the one constant in her life. He might have been tough with her, but he had never abandoned her during his messy divorce from her mother. He had fought for full custody of her, and had loved her unconditionally.
And now she had lost him. She had lost everyone, along with the life she had taken for granted.
Along with the grief came fear.
“What am I going to do?” she whispered. How was she to move forward? All her life, whenever she had thought about her heritage and her possible ascension to the throne, she had never believed it would ever come to that. Not just because of how far she had been down the line, but also because she had known her dad would always be in the spot right before her. He had been her safety net, her insurance that ultimately she would always be free to live her own life, however frivolous and irrelevant many believed it to be.
“Don’t worry about it for now,” General Roland said gently, “Go get yourself cleaned up and rest. We’ll discuss it in the morning.”
***
Before cleaning up and resting, though, there was the medical examination first.
A trio of army medics was already at the general’s office door waiting for her, along with Colonel Martin. Colonel Martin led them all to her living quarters, which were in a separate building.
The quarters seemed to have been designed for senior officers, given how spacious they were. The main room had bare walls, with functional and minimalist furniture, and nothing to give a hint as to the previous occupant. There was a small room at the back, where the corner of a bed was visible from the main area.
The medics sat Chelsea down on a sofa. One started doing a thorough cleaning of the gash on her face, while the second one checked the rest of her body over. The third one asked her seemingly trivial questions that she knew were meant to assess her cognitive abilities. Finally, after well over an hour, they concluded that the gash was a flesh wound that had already started healing, the rest of her body was healthy, and her mind sound.
Then Colonel Martin ushered the medics out, told her he would come by in the morning to pick her up for breakfast with the general, and left.
Now what? Since it was mere hours before dawn, it wasn’t like there was a lot of time for resting. But Chelsea was not in the mood to sleep anyway. She would, however, welcome a hot shower.
Hoping that there would be a bathrobe in the closet somewhere, she went into the bedroom. She found three banker boxes on top of the bed. Curious, she opened them.
The contents of the boxes contradicted the rest of the room so dramatically, it was almost like reaching into a rabbit hole and pulling out stuff from a completely different world.
Or, in Chelsea’s case, from a completely different life.
The first box contained shower gels from Lush, shampoo and conditioners from Aveda, MAC make up, and even a goodie bag of Elizabeth Arden skincare samples. There was also a mini manicure kit, a bath sponge, and a pumice stone.
The second box had the bathrobe she was hoping for, plus a pink day dress that was one size too big for her, but nothing the silver chain belt that came with it couldn’t adjust.
The third box was really a container for two shoeboxes, both of them carrying shoes that were more or less her size, give or take a few tissues stuffed in the toe area.
Where did all these luxury items come from? She couldn’t imagine the general sent out a call to his female soldiers for donations. Sure, they might have been able to get the bath and hair products, maybe even the manicure kit. But the pretty dress and shoes?
Well, he had had more than three hours upon learning about her survival—and ascension—to get the boxes ready. Maybe he had ordered the soldiers on the ground closer to the city to pick up a few items before rejoining the base?
Never mind the ‘how,’ she was just glad she was given this respite. Reality would sink in soon enough.
Reality such as—how secure was this base? What about this very room? Was being surrounded by all these nice things going to get her killed in her sleep?
She took the longest and hottest shower she had ever taken in her life, washing every last bit of grime off her body while being careful not to get her dressed wound wet. It was quite the feat to manage, but not impossible. She had once taken a shower right after fixing an artificial nail with glue, so she had practice in not getting certain parts of her body wet while cleaning herself.
The drops of dirty water that managed to dance into her mouth tasted salty and bitter, causing her to gag and spit in disgust. She scrubbed her skin harder, wishing she could do the same with her tongue and mouth. She allowed herself to go crazy with a bit of obsessive compulsiveness. It was, after all, a source of comfort among all the sudden changes in her life.
She used over half a bottle of shampoo on her hair.
In the shower stall filled with aromatic steam, with the stink of dirt and sweat washed away and her skin feeling flushed, she could almost believe that everything was going to be all right.
Despite the heaviness in her heart.
***
It was after the shower that the reckoning came.
As she squeezed out the water in her hair with a towel, she stared at the girl reflected in the bathroom mirror. Dark circles under her eyes gave her the haunted look of someone who’d seen too much. There were scratches and bruises all over her body. They hadn’t even made her wince when she jumped into the shower, as desperate as she had been to get clean.
She looked like a banged-up Barbie doll. The girl in the mirror didn’t look like a queen, and she didn’t feel like one on the inside, either—whatever that was supposed to feel like.
She didn’t want to stay in the bathrobe she had donned after her shower because it made her feel vulnerable, so she dressed herself in the pink day dress and high heels. But even with that elegant get up, she still didn’t feel particularly royal.
She laid on the bed and stared at the ceiling, too wired to sleep.
She couldn’t focus on the crown—or her father, for that matter. Not yet. So she found herself mulling over things that were actually in her power to change…like wondering what had ended up happening with Emma and the rest of the civilians. Had they gotten through the gate alright? Had they been given living quarters and a chance to clean themselves up, as she had been? Chelsea made a mental note to ask General Roland about that when she saw him next.
Finally, there was a knock on the door. It was Colonel Martin, confirming it was time for breakfast.
Chapter Eleven
For the Sake of the People
General Roland met her at the small dining room in the same building as his office. He looked like he had gotten more rest than she had. He was again in his blue mess uniform, which Chelsea thought was a bit of an overkill, even for someone who loved pomp and circumstance as much as he did. She wondered if he had dressed this nicely for her, or maybe maintaining a more civil appearance in these uncivilized times was his way to project confidence to the troops.
“It’s lovely to see you again.” He bowed and pulled a chair out for her. She murmured her thanks and sat down. After having fallen apart upon his news only hours earlier, she wasn’t sure how to interact with the general, or whether to ask him those burning questions she needed to ask. She really didn’t know much about him, other than the fact that he had been friends with her father during her childhood. There had been many a time when the two men would share a bottle of port after dinner in the Spence Estate’s library. Chelsea remembered, because as a young girl she would peek at the adults through the Fr
ench door of the library, wishing the chat would be over soon so she could play with her father one more time before bed.
Luckily, breakfast was already laid out, giving her something to focus on first. There were various covered silver trays, adding an unexpected touch of indulgence to the meal. General Roland lifted the lids one by one. There were scrambled eggs, bacon, turkey sausages, potato wedges, various fruits, and whole wheat toast. A glass of strawberry banana smoothie awaited her, garnished with a kebab of pineapple triangles and grapes. On the general’s side of the table were a teapot and a cup filled with what smelled like Earl Grey tea.
The aroma of food drifted to her nose, and she suddenly realized that it had been almost a full day since she’d had a hot meal. She grabbed a fork, filled her plate, and dug in. There were some energy snack bars and bottles of water on the coffee table of her new living quarters, but she had been in no mood for food.
Until now.
The eggs were done nicely, the sausages juicy, and the toast was browned to perfection. She had no idea where General Roland had found such a talented cook, or whether or not he or she was enlisted for this job especially for Chelsea. Come to think of it, where the heck did the fresh eggs come from? She swore they were free-run. Never mind, she was grateful for the hearty meal.
Her reprieve didn’t last long. After her plate was empty and her straw was making slurping sounds at the bottom of her smoothie glass, she knew she had no more reason to stay silent.
So she started with the most basic question.
“Where exactly are we?” she asked.
“Camp 37,” he replied. “Run entirely on generators and solar power. Fully supplied for a year. This is a secret military base that’s designed to be utilized only during catastrophic disasters or unprecedented attacks on our nation.”
“I guess this qualifies for both,” Chelsea muttered.
“The base is now the makeshift command center for all branches of our military.” The general’s eyes narrowed, “What’s left of it, that is.”
What was left of it? It dawned on Chelsea that the military must not have been immune to losing their share of people, just like the rest of the population, given how randomly the Obsessed were activated.
“How bad was it?” she asked softly.
General Roland paused for a while before answering. “The military was not as hard hit as a lot of other organizations with more glamorized occupations, but we did lose a lot of people because of two reasons.”
“What are they?”
“One, the first ones being attacked were the Flag Officers.”
By Flag Officers, he meant the ones with stars on their collars, like admirals and generals. It made sense that they would be targeted first, given the monsters’ love of all things shiny.
Stars were shiny, so were medals.
“It must’ve been horrible to have the highest-ranking officers being killed on their own bases.” Chelsea couldn’t even imagine how chaotic and crazy it must’ve been.
“Only less horrible than having the other Flag Officers doing the killing. And that’s the second reason we lost so many.”
Chelsea breathed, “You mean some of the generals and admirals were turned into Obsessed, started killing people in their own rank, and the basic soldiers were forced to shoot at them?”
“Every Soldier, Sailor, Airman, and Marine,” General Roland confirmed. “The morale has been shit.”
No kidding. With the chain-of-command being so ingrained, it must have been difficult and traumatic for people to be put in a situation where they had to kill their superiors, and their superiors’ superiors. And the resulting hesitation, however slight, in turn might have contributed to more casualties.
“Who’s in charge now?” she asked.
“I’m the highest ranking officer who survived in North America. I had already assumed command before your arrival last night. Of course, now that you’re here, there are things to be done.”
“What things?” Chelsea asked.
“Your coronation, of course,” General Roland answered, sipping his Earl Grey tea.
Yes, easy peasy lemon squeezy. We’re just going to casually talk about getting you crowned the new Queen of Great Britain, Head of the Commonwealth for North America, South America, Australia, New Zealand, and the rest of the world wherever colonization was a hit a few hundred years ago.
General Roland glanced at the stricken expression on her face and shook his head, his tone regretful but firm. “Now, now, don’t look like that. You know as well as I do how it goes: ‘The King is dead, long live The King.’ Your people need you.”
Her people.
“In times like this, people need hope. They need the comfort of traditions. Even the Separatists dare not talk about independence now.”
“The comfort of traditions,” Chelsea said doubtfully, “Even in the form of having Lady Spendalot on the throne?”
“Especially so.” General Roland waved his hand. “You’ll be a reminder of the elegance and civility of what once was, and what will be again. You have a duty to boost your people’s morale and lift them up when they need it the most. Remember, it’s not just the royal family that was decimated. So were the British Parliament, the White House, and Capitol Hill. You’re both the Queen and the Commander-in-Chief.”
Wait, the Commander-in-Chief? Just when she thought she had gotten used to one idea, he hit her all over again with another one.
Of course, she had always known that since America was a British colony, the Queen of Great Britain, rather than the American president, was its Commander-in-Chief. But it was more or less an honorary title these days, with the American president calling the real shots. Yet, if the White House was indeed wiped out along with the top dogs in the military…
It was too much to take in. It was one thing to figure out what type of assault rifle Day was carrying; it was quite another thing to command all the branches of the military in a time of crisis.
She was so screwed.
“Listen.” General Roland’s voice was gentle. She got a feeling that he was really making an effort to be kind, though he was also a man very focused on his mission. “Just concentrate on being the queen the people need you to be. We’ll get you glamorized, gather what press we can, and broadcast your ascension to what’s left of the civilized world. I’ll help you with all the military matters. You have my loyalty and my support. Your father would’ve expected no less from me.”
It was those last words that got Chelsea blinking back tears again. “Thank you.”
“It’s my honor.”
Chelsea swallowed, “Can I ask you some questions?”
“Of course.”
“Where are the civilians who came with me?”
“They’re still at the gate. We’re sorting through them one by one, and it’s a slow process.”
They were still there? It had been hours.
“Why were they stopped at the gate in the first place?” Chelsea demanded.
“The same reason I wanted to extract you at the grocery store,” he said without any hint of apology, “My first duty is your safety, and the safety of this base. I would not have either compromised.”
“But you already know that they have just as much chance of turning as anyone inside this base, and therefore there’s no reason to bar them,” Chelsea pointed out.
General Roland’s eyes narrowed. Suddenly Chelsea remembered how Colonel Martin had already tried to use that vet-them-for-safety-reasons line on her, not knowing Day had told her about the randomness of the Obsessed’s transformation. Not wanting to get Day into trouble in case what he told her was classified, she hastily added, “I kinda figured that out myself. I’m right, aren’t I?”
General Roland looked like he wanted to say something else, but stopped himself. “Yes, you guessed right. And of course, I’ll get them in right away.”
Wow, it looked like she really did have some power.
“But there’s one thi
ng you should remember.” General Roland’s eyes told her that in exchange for the anticipated expediency of the civilians’ entry, there was a price. “Don’t ever stray from the base on your own. I must have your word on that.”
“Why?”
“Because everyone, from top politicians to the most famous celebrities, not to mention your predecessors, have all died from makeovers. Their hair was yanked out while it was still wrapped in curling irons, with bits of scalp attached. Their faces melted by chemical peel with sulfuric acid. And blood clots caused by waist-training corsets. You don’t want any of those things to happen to you, now do you?”
Chapter Twelve
New Gig
Died from makeovers.
That sounded like something straight out of a bizarre horror movie. It would be almost funny if the Obsessed hadn’t already killed so many, or if they hadn’t already tried a similar stunt on her back at the grocery store.
As queen, she wouldn’t be a Barbie, she would be the Barbie.
General Roland need not worry about her wandering off on her own. She would stay in her room—and even on her bed—for the next ten years if that could be arranged. The base had to be very well protected, given the general’s willingness to put all his shiny medal and ribbons on display. It must mean he was ready for any threat, external or otherwise, right?
She took comfort in that.
Chelsea realized General Roland was looking at her expectantly. Right, she was busy thinking and hadn’t replied to him yet. Hearing about how the people who had gone before her had been tortured to death by beauty treatments had a way of doing that.
“Of course,” she swallowed. “I’m not going anywhere.”
“Splendid.” General Roland clasped his hands together. There was a knock on the door, and she turned to see Colonel Martin walk in with a woman in her forties. She was in a white blouse and black pencil skirt, not a uniform, but even if she had been, Chelsea wouldn’t have pegged her as military. She didn’t move like one.
With the click, click, click of her stilettoes on the marble floor and the pouncing quality to her step, she moved like an advertising executive.