After the Birds

Chapter Five

Remerton

NY, USA

2039

Andy

The dead body should have sent shivers down my spine, but the life I lead gives no space for that. His is not the first life I’ve taken, and I’ve seen so many bodies that I sometimes think I’ve seen more dead than alive people in my day. After a quick assessment of my new situation, I reach the conclusion that there’s no chance for escape just yet. Even if I take them by surprise and threw myself in under a vehicle, they’ll shoot, if not me, then Zoya. Instead, I decide to cease the opportunity to see what these new people are all about, and where their camp is. After all, I’ve been captured by more violent types before and still managed to escape at the earliest opportunity.

“Okay,” I say and make sure I sound nonchalant and assertive. “On one condition. The dog comes with me and you’re responsible for her not ending up on a plate like someone’s delicacy.”

The colonel studies my dog carefully. “Is it trained? Reliable?”

It? “Her name is Zoya and she’s more reliable than most people I run into these days.” I place a hand on Zoya’s head.

“If you can guarantee that she’s healthy and won’t bite, she can ride next to you. If I see sign that she’s a security risk, she’ll have to be muzzled and kept on a leash.” The colonel looks at me without blinking. I can tell she’s serious, but I’m not worried. I know my dog.

“Okay.” I look down at the man on the ground. It was him or me. If I hadn’t intervened, the colonel might have reacted too late, and no matter what she represents, he was worse. A man without scruples that had lost his humanity a long time ago and reduced to a killing machine for the Loxi-gang. I’ve seen people like him grow in number and sometimes I wonder when they’ll start going extinct. How can they maintain life, if you can call their existence living, these shrunken souls?

“We’ve got to hurry. There can be more where he came from,” the colonel says, and I agree. During daytime you can dare to travel along the big highways, but when darkness has fallen, it’s unwise bordering on insanity to attempt it.

I hoist Zoya and place her in the back of the truck to the right. The seats are made up of low benches, attached around the sides. I sit down and place Zoya between my knees. To my surprise, the colonel jumps in after me. My bet would have been that she normally always rides in the front. I wouldn’t mind doing that, if nothing else, because I was fifteen when I rode in a vehicle last.

Zoya growls quietly when the truck starts rolling. I feel the power of the engine when it picks up speed going north. It’s actually exciting to see what’s going to happen when we reach our destination, wherever that is. The ride is a thrill. It’s like looking back in time, when cars and buses went everywhere, people went to work, and I went to school. Back during that time, a betrayal by a friend was the worst that could happen to you. You looked at life differently when all your friends died within the span of two weeks.

I change the direction of my thoughts. That way of thinking only leads to new depressions and I have nobody else to pull me out of the emotional fox holes but myself. It is dark under the trap, but a faint light from the driver’s cab, casting a greenish glow over us. Apart from the colonel and I, twelve soldiers are squeezed in next to us. Two of them sit on the floor, while I’m given space on the bench next to the colonel. I don’t think it’s a courtesy toward me, but to the colonel, and in some way, to Zoya. She sits and looks around with great interest, and that reassures me. If anyone’s a good judge of characters, it’s my dog. The people she approves of usually turn out to be good people eventually. Can it really be true that I’ve stumbled upon some sort of noble knights that are trying to save humanity by kidnapping Loxi losers?

We rattle along on the old highway, and occasionally, the truck makes literal jumps I nearly lose my grip of the bench and go airborne. The others seem used to the rough treatment of our asses, but to be honest, the last time I went on a road trip with Mom, she had rented a Ford Focus, and it was like a luxury ride compared to this dinosaur of a truck.

I lose track of time, but I don’t think we’ve been going far when the truck stops and turns off the highway. Now it rocks so much that even the colonel is having problems holding on. At some point, she’s thrown against me and lands against Zoya who calmly sniffs her forehead. I hear the colonel gasp. Perhaps she thinks my dog will bite her nose off, but then she probably notices that Zoya is just curious. Carefully, she pats Zoya’s head and looks like she’s about to smile but then thinks better of it. Zoya sniffs the colonel’s fingers and then looks pleadingly at me.

“May she kiss you?” I ask. I find it amusing to observe how the colonel’s eyebrows shoot up toward her hairline.

“Kiss me.” The colonel’s expression is unreadable.

“Yes, she won’t kiss you unless I tell her it’s allowed. Not everyone likes it, and I don’t want her to do anything that might get her killed by some trigger-happy fucker.”

“I see. It’s fine.” The colonel manages to sound as if she’s some benevolent autocrat who deigned to grant an audience to a lowly individual. The way she extends her hand, the back of it toward Zoya, only strengthens that impression.

“There you go, Zoya. Give the colonel a kiss.” I feel a bit flustered for using these words around the colonel but monitor Zoya who sniffs the back of her hand before she licks it carefully. It surprises me that the colonel doesn’t wipe her hand off on her jacket, as most people would. Though, most people wouldn’t allow Zoya to greet them at all.

The truck comes to a stop with a, by now, familiar jerking and jumping. “Time to load up,” the colonel says and gets up. It’s possible to remain in the truck, but I recommend going outside, in case something happens. Can you swim?”

I stare at her, dumbfounded. “Swim?”

“Yes. Breaststrokes, crawl—any of that ring a bell?” The colonel goes to the edge of the truck and, agile and elegant, she jumps down. I follow and Zoya jumps down before me. When I inhale the crisp night air, I try to figure out where I am. We’re somewhere north of Remerton. I estimate roughly that we’ve traveled for forty-five minutes, which should mean we’re in the subdivision called Oakfield. I used to visit a friend around here and remember the impressive river. I can hear the water through the sound the soldiers make when they pull out a winch in the front of the two vehicles. The water is not rushing, but it’s audible. I think about the colonel’s words. Swim? Really? Hell no. I’m not swimming to the other side.

I lift my gaze and see something moving above me. I realize that it’s the moonlit clouds that pass us above. Then I understand. I’ve only seen this in daylight before. There used to be a bridge over to Birchland, the next subdivision. Some misguided people blew it up two years after the birds. Not sure if it’s true, but I’ve heard that the people in Birchland tried to keep the sick away by blowing up every single bridge in and around Remerton. It sounds nuts, but we’re living in a crazy world, so perhaps it’s true. What I do know is that the bridges are gone.

“You never answered. Can you swim? I suppose the dog knows how.” The colonel comes up to me.

“Yes. I can swim, even if it’s been a while.” Nowadays you don’t bathe for pleasure. It’s far too risky to leave your belongings on the edge of the water while you splash around. I have Zoya to guard my stuff, but it’s not safe for her as a potential thief might injure or kill her. So, a quick dip to clean off is all I ever do when I’m on the roads, no matter the season.

“Good,” the colonel says. “Step aside and when the trucks are on board, you will go to the stern with the dog.”

To the stern of what? I squint at the moonlight glittering in the water. Closest to us, what I thought was some kind of dock, turns out to be a moored, flat thing. When I walk closer, I see that it’s made of modules and remember vaguely from old movies how soldiers could build these bridges very quickly. So, we’re crossing to the other side. It’s only now that I properly look across to Birchland. I don’t know what I expect to see, but my jaw drops.

One of the old ruins of a church on a hill is surrounded by small fires, showing a presence that’s never been there before.

“Yup. That’s where we’ve set up camp,” a male voice says next to me in an accent I think means he’s from Minnesota. It’s hardly a surprise that the colonel has given on of her men orders to keep track of me. It would be strange if she didn’t. I gaze up at the tall man next to me. I can’t see much of his face, but he’s exchanged his helmet for a worn military cap that sits low on his forehead.

“Looks like a drafty place.” I lean against a lamppost and put on my best arrogant look. There used to be some sort of factory here, but all that remains are ruins and old lampposts. “But you’ve managed to make it cozy with the bonfires. S’mores and barbecue for everyone?”

The man smiles and his teeth a surprisingly white. “I prefer the tents we’ve put up in the back. Until we have added to the old church, there are only a few rooms that we’ve managed to restore. Colonel Priestly has one of them of course.”

“Of course.” The colonel holds the highest rank among the soldiers. I’ll be damned. No generals, admirals, or whatever.

“I’m called Dakota.” Dakota holds out his hand. I stare at it and try to remember when I shook hands with anyone last. It was a custom that quickly disappeared when the virus hit. Nobody touched anyone if you could avoid it, least of all their hands. Nowadays, I suppose the polite gesture has fallen off people’s memories, and even if we who are still alive are immune, I’m not touching anyone’s hands.

 But, if Dakota dares to, I should be able to, right? Slowly I take his hand in mind and it’s a firm grip. Not hard, as if he feels he needs to prove anything, but comfortable. I try to match Dakota’s grip with my own and shakes his hands three times up and down. That seems about right.

“Why do people call you Dakota?” I ask, feeling awkward when he smiles again.

“I’m from Minneapolis. Since I’m the only one on the force from there, it just happened.”

“What’s your real name then?”

“Nothing even half as cool as Dakota. What about you?” He hoists the rifle attached to his back.

“Andy.” I point to my dog. “Zoya.”

Dakota crouches. “I had a dog once. You don’t see many around anymore. The ones we’ve come across are often first or second-generation wild dogs. Damn unreliable if you try to tame them. “He pats Zoya carefully and scratches behind her ears. “It seems like you’ve managed though.”

“Zoya’s mom wasn’t wild.”

“How old is she?” Dakota looks up at me.

“Three.”

Dakota smiles again and gets up. “Then you’ll probably have you buddy for another ten years or so.”

I know this, and ten years seem reassuringly long, but then I think about how fast the thirteen years went by after everything happened, and a tendril of anxiety slithers through my stomach.

“Colonel!” Dakota and I turn around when we hear one of the soldiers that the colonel has ordered to stand guard approach her. It’s a young woman and she points behind her. “We have visitors. Two groups. One toward the center of town, and one up on the mountain. I can’t see how many there are, but it looks like at least ten. Maybe more that are out of sight.”

“I think we can safely say that’s the case.” The colonel motioned for us to get onboard the pontoon-looking raft.

I hurry toward the stern with Zoya right behind. At the edge, I see tall, plastic cones, probably meant to prevent the drivers ending up with the trucks in the water. Loading the trucks takes a few minutes and I don’t take my eyes off the area behind us. If the one’s spying on us from Oakfield shows up, I’m going to jump back on land and head south. Ther are other, safer ways than the highway—or the river—to travel on foot.

“Cast off!” One of the soldiers calls out in the darkness and I feel the entire pontoon dislodge from the ramp on the shore. The current makes it jerk back and forth. I have no idea how they plan to move it over to the other side. Boat engines are as rare as car engines, and the downside to both is how loud they are. A few years ago, some kids rode on jet skis in Remerton harbor. They had a great old time until they saw the docks packed with less wonderful people on both sides of the harbor. I didn’t witness the outcome myself, but Ogden said it was brutal and only one boy survived. Some people will do anything to steal from others. I know that firsthand.

I push the thoughts of Ogden away and study the guards around me. Some of them are lined up behind Dakota and me. I hear low voices behind the trucks from my vantage point and understand that the rest are lined up over there. The two Loxi prisoners must be among them somewhere. Perhaps they’re tied up in one of the trucks. That’s what I would’ve done.

The pontoon-raft jerks again and I grab ahold of a rearview mirror of the closest truck with one hand, and Zoya’s harness with the other. The difference is how the rhythmic shaking now appears to move us in a zig-zag pattern across the black water. It takes me a few minutes to figure out how it works. On the other side of the river, several people are tugging at long ropes, simply hauling us over. How many of them are there? I squint but we need to get closer before I see that there are five on each rope. Three ropes, one attached in each corner, and one in the center of the raft.

When we reach the other side, we are met by smiles and several people slap the returning soldiers on the back, but I can’t help but notice that nobody seems to ever consider slapping the colonel anywhere. When they see Zoya and then me, some of them back off, but Dakota gives them the condensed version of why I’m there, but he exaggerates when he informs them of how I saved the colonel’s life. I feel awkward but true to my habit, I meet their looks defiantly, no matter if they study from head to toe. Sure, my style can’t compare to their stricter dress code, but I’m no fucking tramp either.

“Let’s move on.” The colonel points to one of the trucks and I lift Zoya on board again. The colonel effortlessly jumps up after us and I wonder how old she is. She can’t hold the rank of colonel and be super young, but she doesn’t look old either. Maybe I can ask Dakota. I’m a bit hung up on the age thing. Ogden and his wife are in their late sixties… Angry at myself for not being able to edit my thoughts tonight, perhaps because I’m so damn hungry and tired, I pinch my thigh hard enough to nearly yelp. If I had been along with Zoya, I would have taken out some of our emergency rations, but since I don’t have enough to share, I don’t. You don’t sit around and eat all alone when others around you are hungry too. It’s not just impolite, it can be lethal. I’ve seen more than one attack happened, most resulting in death, when someone’s done such a foolish thing.

The truck rattles and then we’re on the road again. It only takes a few minutes before we come upon a smaller body of water, where we repeat the entire process again. I’m so tired now, I can barely stand but forces the last of my energy into my legs and keep close to Dakota. Zoya presses against my legs, as if saying, “Stay strong.”

Eventually, we get back into the truck for a third time and drive to the north side of the old church ruin. We’re met by rough voices that don’t only bark at the driver, but also shine some strange, green light into the back of the truck, and also ask for a password. Surprised why that’s required when they can clearly see the colonel sit there quite relaxed, I listen to her, Dacota, and one other solider answer with, “Gamma-three-eight-six-nine.”

The soldiers relax and smile. The one in front says, “Welcome home. We have guests, I see. Food’s ready.”

I flinch. Did I hear something about food? Even Zoya perks up and raises her head from my lap. She wags her tail against my foot. I hope she can have something, at least. If not, she can have half of my portion—if there is one. I can’t see Dakota, or the colonel, refuse me the basics, though.

The sound of the engines changes just before they’re switched off. When I jump out, I can see why. We’ve driven into a large tent. When we step out of it, the soldiers close it off with several tarps and ropes.

“Let’s go eat before we do anything else,” Dakota says, and I follow him to the east side of the church. The crackling fires are spaced out with four-five yards between them. About fifteen yards farther toward the river, I can see a newly dug trench. It appears to go around most of the church and part of the cemetery and is deep enough to hide the soldiers on sentry duty.

“It was a bitch to dig that thing. We worked like dogs, all of us. Even the colonel dug for hours every day.” Dakota shakes his head. “We had a party when it was done.”

“Party?” I try to remember when I was at a party last. Old memories flicker through my brain. Glittery, fun discos in the gymnasium. The girls and I wore makeup for the first time and dressed in the cool tops we bought at Forever 21 without telling our moms. They showed off our bellybuttons and we had attached fake piercings to them. It was fun while it lasted. The ‘bellybutton piercings’ became our downfall, so to speak. One of the chaperon parents called Ayesha’s and Hadya’s mom and complained about how we were dressed. Their mom in turn called mine and Ebba’s. Perhaps she called Molly’s mom too, but she never showed up. The other three did. We had to go home and explain ourselves, which wasn’t fun. But being the coolest at the disco for an hour made up being grounded for two weeks.

“You bet’ya,” Dakota says now and ends my trip down memory lane. “Walter had brewed his version of beer, and even if it tasted a little too much of yeast, we made sure to have a good time.”

“The colonel too?” I ask and feel silly, but I wonder how she is with her soldiers.

“Well,” Dakota says slowly. “You can’t stay that the colonel parties the same way as some of us do when there’s a chance, but she came for some beer, that’s for sure.”

We round the corner and come upon a half torn down structure, which I imagine was used as a garage, or storage back in the day. It is placed perpendicular to the church, creating a courtyard of sorts. I see sturdy, long tables and benches providing plenty of seating. People are placing piles of plates on a table. Forks and spoons sit in boxes next to them. I almost expect napkins with napkin rings, and I know that my blood sugar is now so low that I’m getting giggly. Typical.

“Guest goes first,” Dakota says and places a hand against my back. I suppose I scare him shitless when I jump to the right and put my hand up in a defensive gesture.

“Good lord, girl. Easy does it.” Dakota holds up his hands as if to show he means no harm. Around us, I see several people step closer to us.

“What’s going on?” The colonel approaches and looks displeased. “Already causing trouble?” She sighs and places her hands on her hips. “Now what?”

“It was my fault, Colonel,” Dakota says before anyone else chimes in. “I wasn’t thinking. You know, I have the personal space of a bur.”

The colonel’s lips twitch. “Uh-huh. Well. If you’re done horsing around, why don’t you get something to eat so the rest of us can finally get some food.”

I’m ready to say what I think about being treated like a sullen teenager, but the hunger draws me to the pot that smells divine. Someone here knows how to cook. “What is it?” I turn to a man and a woman who stands behind the pot.

“Vegetarian today. With so many out on missions, we’re short a few hunters.”

I want to know what they usually hunt for, but I can always ask that later. Vegetarian is a safe bet. I take the ladle and place one scoop on my plate. Then I look at Zoya, my plate, and the couple behind the pot.

“You’re not thinking about giving the poor animal vegetarian casserole, are you?” the woman exclaims. “I’m sure I have something better for the poor thing.” She beckons Zoya to come closer. “Come on, doggie. I have some leftover rabbit.”

“I prefer if she stays here with me,” I say, still holding the ladle.

“That’s fine. I’ll just fetch it instead. Grab some more food for yourself now. We’ve already fed the ones here at the camp. There’s plenty left.”

They don’t have to tell me twice. I add two more scoops of the casserole and a mug of water. Clean and pure water, from what I can see. The benches aren’t comfortable, but it beats sitting on the damp ground. Dakota sits down across from me and begins to eat. “That was Jeanette that you talked to over there. She is a brilliant cook. She and Alf. They work together and cooking is their main chore. We protect them at all cost, because without them we’d be back having to eat what used to go for food around here.”

“So, they’re not, eh, soldiers?” I eat so fast my stomach begins to ache. It’s not easy to slow down, but I do, so I can enjoy the food.

“Hell, no.” Dakota looks surprised. “Not many of us are, initially. Perhaps fifty of us. Those who are professional soldiers have most often the highest ranks, but not even that is entirely true anymore.”

“What about you?” I point at him with my spoon.

“I’m an old sergeant, promoted to major.”

“Wow. And you’re put on babysitting duty?” I shake my head. “Just your luck, I guess.”

“On the contrary. The colonel puts her next in command on the tasks she feels are most important. You saved her, and now she’s curious about you. She’s very particular which ones she picks up along the way.”

I don’t like the sound of that. “I’m not picked up. I came along because it was the smartest thing to do from my point of view. I stay for as long as I keep thinking that. When I want to leave, Zoya and I will simply be gone. Like that.” I snap my fingers.

Dakota looks at me with a slight frown pulling his eyebrows together. “Ah. Okay. I see. You’ll be here, eating our food, and enjoying our protection, and then you’re out of here when you got what you came for? Is that how you meant?”

He’s trying to guilt trip me, which says more about him than about me. If that trick had worked, I never would have gotten away from the Loxi-gang, or any of the others that meant to harm me. They started with promising tons of advantages and when I didn’t buy into it, they changed their tunes immediately. I put down my spoon and look exasperatedly at the half-empty plate.

“No. That’s not what I meant. When I’m in someone else’s camp, I pull my own weight. I do my part. This doesn’t make me anyone’s slave. My will is my own, and I’m not a freeloader.” I sit ramrod straight, despite the exhaustion that spreads through my entire body.
Dakota stares at me. “Damn if I can make heads or tails when you’re concerned. You’re like a hedgehog, all thorns, but at the same time you possess a weird sort of integrity. Maybe that’s what she sees in you.”

I’ve lost the thread now and almost slumps against the table when someone’s approaching. It’s the woman, Jeanette, who’s bringing a sizable bowl containing cooked rabbit leftovers. Zoya whimpers from sheer joy and looks at me with mild panic in her eyes. I can’t’ deny her such a meal. And if she eats, I must finish my food as well. If I don’t, I come off as, what was it the colonel said, as I’m only horsing around.

“Go ahead, girl,” I say softly and pick up my spoon again.

Zoya throws herself at the bowl much like I did just before, humming happily as she chews. Her strong teeth crack the small bones, and I know she’ll bury the bigger ones for upcoming, perfect times. She has several places around Oakfield where she has buried her own emergency rations.

“Okay,” I say. “I guess we know where we stand now.”

“We do,” Dakota says seriously. “But I want to ask you a favor. If you decide to leave, don’t just take off. Our soldiers shoot first and ask questions later, when they’re on sentry duty, and…” He shakes his head. “Tell us when it’s time. As far as I know you’re not a prisoner, and not considered the enemy. You wouldn’t sit here and eat with the rest of us, if you were.”

I chew and nod at the same time. After swallowing, I have a new question. “Speaking of prisoners. Are you feeling the Loxi guys?”

“We are. Not unlimited portions like you, but they get enough. We’re not barbarians.”

It doesn’t seem so, but I will wait to pass judgement. I have no idea what their motives are for their sudden presence in this neighborhood. They’ve been here a while, judging from the size of the trenches. I harness my curiosity and don’t ask any more questions. That doesn’t stop Dakota.

“How long had you been on your own?”

“I don’t know how to answer that but finishes off my plate and drinks my waters. I haven’t been this full in ages. “Since it started, more or less. Sometimes I’ve been staying in collectives, but mostly I keep to myself. I have my dog.”

“That’s what keeps you safe. She’s a deterrent and warns you, I would imagine.”

“Yup. She makes it possible for me to sleep.” I pat Zoya’s head when she leans against my leg. “Speaking of pulling my weight. How do I clean my plate?”

“We all clean what we’ve used over there by Alf’s table. He’ll take care of it all afterward.”

“Okay.” I get up and can’t hold back a yawn. It only takes a few seconds to clean the plate in the smaller bucket and rinse it off in the bigger one. I crinkle my nose at the strong smell of detergent.

“Rinse carefully,” Ume says from behind while he washes his plate. “It’s strong stuff as you can tell. The colonel is particular about us not getting sick and close to sterile plates, mugs, and utensils, are her strict orders. We’re all immune against the virus, but not against everything else out there.”

That is smart. It only takes one person being careless for it to have an impact on everyone else. Especially when so many people live together.

“You look like you’re ready for some rack time.” Dakota laughs, probably because I must look entirely confused. “Sleep. Pardon the old soldier-speak.”

“Old?” I regard him in the light of the flickering fire. “How old?”

“Forty-four.” He nods with mock sorrow. “Over the hill.” Then he tilts his head in a way that I’m starting to recognize. “And you, dear child?” He winks at me, and I have to smile. A rare sensation.

“What date is it? Do you know?” I see that my question surprises him. Maybe he can’t fathom how hard it is to track dates, even months, if you don’t have someone to help you with it. My guess is on May.

“May fourteen. 2039.”

“Then I’ll soon turn twenty-seven.” I shrug.

Dakota nods. “That explains it.”

“I’m too tired not to bite. “What?”

“You seem so young in many ways, but at the same time very mature. Guess that’s what happens when the life has forced you to grow up in this world.”

I would like to know what he thinks he knows about how I’ve grown up after the virus hit, but I have no more energy. Maybe Dakota senses that, as he waves someone over. “She’s about to fall asleep standing up. Where’s she sleeping?”

I turn around and see it’s the colonel. She nods slowly.

“I gave it some thought while I ate. It’s not entirely cut and dry, since Andrea isn’t a prisoner, but not fully trusted yet. We can’t risk her slitting someone’s throat in the middle of the night or allow her to disappear.”

Right. We’re back to that whole thing with imprisonment and people finally showing their true colors. I’m jaded, I tell myself, but a churning feeling of disappointment is gnawing in my belly. Perhaps Jeanette’s and Alf’s casserole wasn’t for me either? It feels as if I’m going to throw up any moment.

“If this is how it’s going to be, why don’t I just leave? That’s got to be easier for everyone involved.” I can’t understand why I have this burning sensation behind my eyelids. I close my eyes hard before I humiliate myself.

“That’s a terrible idea. You can hardly stand up and you’ve been through a lot today. The colonel shakes her head as if she’s certain I’m void of any intelligence whatsoever. “There’s only one acceptable solution.”

Of course. Straight to the dungeon with Andy and Zoya. Nice. I’m just gathering enough energy to object when the colonel holds up a hand and continues.

“You will sleep on the extra cot in my room, in the church. I sleep very lightly, and I’ll hear you if you so much as roll over in bed. Understood?”

I study the colonel and then glance at Dakota. He looks as shocked as I feel.

“Colonel?” Dakota looks like it is his turn to object, but the colonel repeats her ‘talk to the hand’ gesture.

“Okay,” I say. Now that I know she’s not going to lock me up, I just want to go to bed.

The colonel shows me the way around to the opening into the church. Half rubble, half still standing, it’s obvious that these people have worked hard on restoring the church. A new, rustic door is half-open at the far end of the church. The colonel carries a torch and places it in a holder made of metal sitting on the wall as we walk into her room. The room is bigger than I envisioned, about the same size as my old living room on the eighth floor. To the right there’s a desk filled with papers and maps. In the far-right corner, a cot made up with blankets and a pillow, and in the opposite corner, another cot, obviously unused.

“You can take that one. The latrine is located to the left of the entrance a bit into among the threes.”

“Okay,” I say. I don’t have to pee and look longingly at the bed.

“Go to bed. I’ll be up a little longer.” The colonel motions toward the bed.

I’m on my way toward it when I stop and turn around, feeling awkward, and not for the first time when it comes to this woman. “Eh. Colonel? I just want to say…shit. What’s your name?” I can’t keep saying colonel all the time. I’m not one of her soldiers.

The colonel blinks. That might be the first time I’ve seen her blink at all, so far. “Miranda. Miranda Priestly.”

Wow. Really? Of course she would have a posh name like that.

“My name’s Sachs. I mean, my last name.”

“Andrea Sachs.” Miranda nods politely as if we’ve been formally introduced at some fancy cocktail party.

“I just want to say thank you, Miranda,” I say. Politeness isn’t what I’ve practiced the most these last fifteen years, but Mom drilled it into me from an early age and it doesn’t hurt to show gratitude when appropriate.

Miranda simply nods but looks pleased. I take off Zoya’s vest with pockets before I remove my backpack and gun belt. I shove it under the cot. The stone floor is freezing, which makes me point to the bed. “Zoya. Up.”

Zoya does as I say and curls up at the foot of the bed. I remove my boots and lay down. The last thing I remember is that some blankets seem to unfold over me by themselves.

Continued behind door 6

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