by Kody Boye
“Are you cold?” he asks, then says, “I’m roasting” before undoing a few more buttons. He parts his shirt to reveal naked but sweating flesh and sighs as he leans forward to consider me. “You’re sure you’re all right?”
“As all right as I can be.”
“I’m sorry about what I said. Out there, I mean.” He juts his chin out toward where the SAD stands acknowledging the world beyond us. “I didn’t mean to be insensitive.”
“Oh. That.” I shake my head. “Don’t worry about it.”
“The truth is: I admire you. I really do. I… can only imagine what all you’ve gone through, and… well… I just want to say how much I appreciate being here with you.”
I blink, stunned.
Daniel laughs and extends a hand. “Sorry,” he says. “That was kind of corny.”
“It’s all right,” I reply, taking hold of his hand.
He squeezes my digits and nods as he tightens his hold upon me. “I’m glad you’re okay.”
“I’m glad you’re okay,” I reply.
“We’ll get through this together. All right?”
I nod.
There’s no telling what will happen come time we leave this bunker and make our way back to the Spire. Tradition says one thing, duty another, my heart a third and his likely a fourth.
Either way, I know I can’t dwell on it.
Here, in the present, all I know is that we are coming closer together.
With that in mind, I allow the touch to linger, if only to draw from it every ounce of strength I can.
Eighteen
It is hours before there is any sign of activity outside the bunker. Tired, hungry, disoriented, and ready to be back in my bed within the Spire, I barely notice the sound of footsteps as they approach, or that of a woman shouting in the distance.
“What—” I start, but am cut off as Daniel stands and approaches the end of the platform.
“It’s happening,” he says, a smile across his face.
“What is?” I frown.
“We’re going home.”
I am just opening my mouth to speak when a gargantuan groan splits the air, raising the hairs on my neck and causing goosebumps to flower across my arms. Shortly thereafter comes the rev of engines, followed by the sound of treads as they crush dirt and rock underneath.
Within moments I see a vehicle approaching.
My entire outlook changes in an instant.
I stand—though shakily at that—and reach out to stabilize myself on Daniel just in time for the SAD agent who’s been patrolling the grounds for the past few hours to step beneath the shade of the bunker.
“Your ride is here,” the Dame says, without much in the way of excitement.
I blink—stunned—and look out at the massive military vehicle, which is not unlike the one me and Ceyonne rode out of the Sandstone Hills within. Its armor glistens in the light of the afternoon sun, blinding in its intensity and purpose.
“Well?” Daniel asks, taking hold of my hand. “Shall we?”
With a nod, I allow him to lead me down the short flight of stairs, careful to maintain a tight hold on his palm as we descend each step. I can already feel the effects of sunsickness taking their toll on me. My head swims, my body aches, my eyes flutter, ready to fall into sleep. I am just barely off the landing when I feel ready to collapse.
“Daniel,” I say, tightening my hold on his hand.
“Are you all right?” he asks.
“I feel sick,” I reply, and grit my teeth in an effort to stave off the headache.
He says little, but his actions are far louder than words. In but a moment, he is looping his arm around my back and pressing his hand against my ribcage, and burdening himself with the weight of my trembling body. I feel childish, knowing that I cannot trust myself to walk on my own two feet, but realize this is part of the companionship between us.
In a few short moments, we are approaching, then being helped into the armored vehicle.
A Dame extends a bottle of water back toward Daniel. “Here,” she says. “For her.”
Daniel twists the plastic top off the water and pushes it toward me. “Drink,” he says.
I do, and am relieved to find that the water is cool, to the point where, as it descends within my parched throat, I instantly find relief. I reach forward to take hold of it and gulp greedily, only to have it pulled away a short moment later.
“Why—” I manage.
Daniel smiles and says, “You’ll give yourself a brain-freeze.”
“A… brain freeze?” I ask.
He laughs and adds, “It’s when your head starts hurting because of the cold water.”
Somehow—maybe because of the grim situation, or maybe the way he’s said it—I laugh, and reach down to take hold of his hand.
He stares at me for several long moments, his gray eyes unsure and calculating, then nods and lifts the bottle to his lips. He drinks steadily until the other half is gone.
“We’ll be moving out shortly,” the Dame who gave us water says, then gestures another to close the door before turning her attention toward the front of the vehicle, which is sectioned off with steel mesh. “Are we clear?”
“We’re clear,” the woman driving the vehicle says.
“All right then. Let’s go.”
The vehicle lurches, causing both me and Daniel to slide forward in our seats, and begins to make its way toward the gate which, until recently, has been closed.
At first, its slow pace startles me. Then I realize we are being flanked by SADs on foot.
“Is this really necessary?” I ask, turning to look at the Dame who offered us help. “Ground troops alongside a military vehicle?”
“A suicide bomber took out over a dozen agents and nearly killed a Beauty and Grace in the process,” the woman replies. “If you ask me, this is too little.”
Too little? I think. For us?
I shake my head and cross my arms over my chest as I watch the world beyond me—and realize that perhaps she might be right. Though their lives seem, at least to them, to be worthless, ours are worth their weight in gold. It makes sense that we would be surrounded by enough firepower to take out a small village.
But is it right?
I ponder this as the vehicle advances beneath the massive gate and into the streets of the Glittering City—unsure what to think, unaware of how I should react. My body is beginning to recover from the heatstroke thanks to the air-conditioned vehicle, and though I am more alert than I have been since their arrival, I feel drained both physically and emotionally.
A hand falls over mine, stirring me from my thoughts.
I look up and see Daniel staring straight at me.
“Thank you,” I say.
“For what?” he asks.
“For making sure I was safe.”
“You know I’ll try my best to make sure you’re safe.”
“I know,” I say, and my heart feels warmer than I could have ever possibly imagined.
With a nod, and with a smile I know is born out of confidence rather than nerves, I turn my head to look back out at the Glittering City.
The streets are empty. Not a soul lingers upon them.
And though I can no longer see the ash, I know, deep down, that the world is burning.
* * *
The Spire is eerily silent as we enter through its front doors and make our way toward the elevators. Given that we are the center of attention, the spectacle is enormous. Everyone—from maids, to desk clerks, to civilians, and soldiers—are staring.
I shake my head and bow my chin to avoid their stares and allow Daniel to lead me toward the elevator on the far side of the room.
At the elevator, he asks, “Which number?”
“Twelve,” I reply.
The doors close.
I lift my head, only to regret it a moment later.
Here, the elevator’s walls are paned with glass, and I can see all the destruction that has been w
rought upon our persons. From my hair, to my makeup, to my shoes, dress, skirt and train, nothing has been left untouched. What pains me the most, however, is the expression upon my face—which, in this cruel moment, appears pained and tortured.
“Hey,” Daniel says. “What’s wrong?”
“It’s all starting to sink in,” I say.
“What is?”
“What happened.”
“We’re alive. That’s all that matters, right?”
I suppose it is, but that doesn’t explain how or why it happened—or why we, of all people, were targeted. Was it because of my mistake on the red carpet? My single utterance? My false proclamation? Just what caused this… person, this… Fanatical rebel… to attack?
I do not know—and now cannot—and for that reason understand that there is no point in dwelling on it.
As the doors to the twelfth floor open, I step forward, stretch my hand out behind me, and wait for Daniel to take hold of it before saying, “Follow me.”
I lead him the few short feet to the doorway which bears my name. I then, with grace and dignity I feel is beyond me, reach up, take hold of the key that dangles beneath my tattered dress, then disengage it from its chain before leaning forward and sliding it into the doorknob.
Once inside, I close the door behind us and turn to look at Daniel. “Well,” I say. “This is it.”
“It’s nice,” he says. He makes a move to step forward, but stops before he can move more than a few feet.
“Are you okay?” I ask.
“I… should probably wait here. While you shower and get changed.”
“Oh,” I say.
The awkward silence between us is punctuated by the fact that this is the first time we are truly alone together. The tension is palpable—like soft bread being cut by a hot knife—and causes me to lower my eyes to gain my bearings. When finally I do, I lift them, try to force a smile, and fail in the process.
“Daniel,” I say.
“Go,” he replies, without waiting to see what I will say. “I’ll wait here—see if I can get some clothes sent up to me.”
“They’ll accept your call?” I frown.
“You’re Mrs. Cross now,” he replies. “They should understand what’s happening.”
I mouth an ‘O,’ then turn, gather the clothes I will wear from my dressers and closets, then enter the washroom.
Inside, I close the door behind me and lean against it—allowing, for the first time, my body to truly relax.
I am fine. I am safe. I am sheltered. I am warm in the company of another. But what will he expect now that we’re alone?
I swallow a lump in my throat and reach down to press a hand over my heart.
Always remember, my mother used to say, the body’s sin.
Nodding, but knowing that it is far too early to even begin considering that, I disrobe—and, with one last look back at the door, climb into the shower.
The waters are warm, their touch gentle, their beads of pleasure tantalizing me to higher awareness. I scrub, from my face, the makeup that was smeared from the heat and my tears, and run my hands through the dirt and ash along my body, which I fear is in part the remains of human beings. The thought troubles me deeply, for throughout my entire life I have never been privy to the finer details of the war, just that it had and continues to happen daily.
Somewhere, my father is fighting.
Somewhere, people are dying.
Here, though, the war has come—and in the past few hours I have been made a target by the resistance against the South.
I turn the water off when the comfort it brings has been lost on my thoughts and crawl out of the tile-lined shower.
It takes only a few moments to dress and pull my hair back into a bun, then crack open the washroom door.
I grimace as I hear voices beyond the main room.
“Is she all right?” a familiar female voice asks.
“She’s fine,” Daniel replies. “She—”
They stop—suddenly, as if they are aware that someone else is listening.
I pull the door open and step into the apartment.
Mother Terra stands nearby. Next to her is Daniel—who, bearing fresh clothes in his arms, awaits my departure from the washroom so he can take his turn.
“Revered Mother,” I say, stepping forward. “How are you?”
“There is no need for concern, Kelendra. As you already aware, I was not injured.” She turns her attention on the young man in our presence and says, “Go wash up, dear. You’re covered in soot and only the Great God knows what.”
He bows his head and crosses the distance between he and the washroom, only pausing once to consider me before closing the door behind him.
“Sit,” Mother Terra says, gesturing toward the bed.
I do, even though I’m unsure what it is she is about to say, and draw a small blanket over my mostly-bare legs.
With a sigh, Mother Terra clasps her hands behind her back and begins to pace the room, muttering, just loud enough so that I can hear, “Where to start? Where to start?”
I say nothing—mostly because I am unsure whether I am supposed to respond or if I’m supposed to remain silent. Her pacing, and the slow but silent movement of her lips, leads me to believe that she’s bracing herself for a conversation of monumental importance.
When she finally does turn to face me, it’s to say, “You are fully aware of the events that have taken place today. Are you not?”
“Fanaticals infiltrated the Glittering City,” I say. “A suicide bomber—”
“Killed at least six of my best and most honorable women, and injured nearly a dozen more.”
“I’m sorry.”
“This is not your fault, Kelendra. This is the work of extremists—most particularly: those who were targeting the Process.”
“Is that why they shouted Beauty and Grace?” I reply. “Because they were targeting me?”
“Yes, dear. That is why.”
“But why, though? Why not attack the Spire—or, worse… the capitol building?”
“Because they were aiming to take out a link they felt would send the most shockwaves: an innocent woman who has done nothing to draw their ire.” She pauses, here, and considers the closed washroom door, before saying, “This was… unexpected, to say the least.”
“How so?” I reply.
“We are accustomed to seeing male troops on the grounds, not women. This is, in part, our fault for being so naive. We should have known that there would be women on the fringes of society, fighting against what they believe is tyrannical oppression. Had we anticipated this, we would have known to intercept the bomber before she made her way toward where you and Mr. Cross were making your way to your vehicle.”
“This isn’t your fault, Revered Mother.”
“Perhaps not, but it was a mistake on my part, and on the part of our government.” She reaches up to press two fingers against her ruby-red lips. She only turns her head when the door opens to reveal Daniel—who, shirtless and still covered in water droplets, looks out at us as he mops water from his damp hair. “Have mercy, young man. You are in the presence of women.”
“My apologies,” he says, staring past the Revered Mother to look at me. “I don’t mean to offend.”
I swallow, but nod—trying, at the same time, not to stare at his lean and muscular body.
After disappearing into the washroom to pull an undershirt over his head, Daniel emerges to look Mother Terra straight in the eye. “Is everything all right?”
“If neither of you are injured, it is,” the woman replies, allowing the last word to trail onward, as if to compel a statement from one of us.
“Kelendra had sunstroke.”
“I’m fine,” I say, only to blush when the Revered Mother turns her head toward me. “Really… it’s nothing.”
“You say it’s nothing, but we can’t be for sure.”
“Please don’t send me to the infirmary,” I beg. “Plea
se, don’t. I just want to stay here, in my own room, with my—”
“Husband.” Mother Terra nods. “I understand.” She turns her attention on Daniel a short moment later. “I’ll see to it that some vitamin juice and food is brought up for the two of you.”
“Thank you,” Daniel says.
“Under no circumstance are either of you to leave this building,” the woman says as she makes her way toward the door.
I know instinctively that she’s speaking to me.
“Now,” Mother Terra continues, turning toward us once more. “Are there any further questions from the two of you?”
“Are our friends all right?” I ask.
“Yes,” Daniel says, clearing his throat. “Did everyone make it out of the Dome safely?”
“They were held for security reasons,” Mother Terra says. “But yes. To answer your question: everyone within the Dome is safe and sound.”
I sigh my relief.
“Without further ado,” Mother Terra continues, turning toward the doorway, “I have errands to attend to—most particularly: those dealing with the day’s events.”
“Thank you, Revered Mother,” Daniel says.
Mother Terra gives him one last nod before she closes the door behind her.
While seated upon my bed—staring not only at the door, but at Daniel—I try my hardest not to succumb to my emotions, but find myself doing just that in the process.
This day—it was supposed to be something marvelous.
Who could have ever thought that it would bring so much death?
Nineteen
“Why do you think she did it?” Daniel asks.
“Did what?” I reply.
“The bomber. Why do you think she… well…”
“Blew herself up?” I ask.
Daniel nods while staring at me, his eyes cloudy and unsure.
“I’m… not sure,” I reply, unsure how to respond to his question.
We are lying in bed and staring into each other’s eyes. Freshly fed, warm, and sheltered within my small apartment, there is literally nothing that could harm either of us, and yet, I feel afraid. It’s as if, at any moment, a man or woman could appear from nowhere and cause us harm. The knowledge is enough to inspire the utmost terror.