1
Year 46 afterImpactthe Fall
The outpost isfifty miles outside the Arsenal. It’s used primarily for mustering troops and as a landing station for regular patrols in the region south of the Capitol.
If we ever want to take the Arsenal, we need to take this outpost first.
It’s almost midnight on a sticky summer night, and I’m wearing a dress for the first time in years. A pink, fluttery one. A bunch of the guys hooted when I came out of my tent earlier, and I laughed it off in good spirits because whatelse could I do?
But the dress feels weird. It belongs to someone other than me.
I also brushed out my hair loose, so it’s hanging in thick, blond waves almost to my waist. It’s in the way, but I need to look the part.
Small. Traditionally feminine. Helpless. Like the fairy princess they used to call me.
In other words, not me anymore.
The outfit works for our purposes, and even Ben gives me a nod after staring at me for long enough to make me self-conscious. He’s dressed in his normal jeans with the kind of simple crewneck shirt that’s ubiquitous for men in the Central Cities for the past few years.
Ben also shaved and trimmed his hair, so he’s a lot more clean-cut than usual. Unsettlingly handsome.
Ben has been with me for seven years now. Bodyguard and chief adviser and all-purpose enforcer of the rebel group I lead. I’ve always liked the looks of him, but I’m used to seeing him rough and unkempt.
Not like this.
I ignore the disturbing impression the way I ignore every other stray thought that gets in the way of our goals.
We need to take that outpost, and we need to do it tonight.
We’ve gathered thirty-one of us for the mission. All my regulars, plus a handful of extra volunteers from the villages and homesteads nearby. My group has been operating throughout the Central Cities for years now, andwe’ve found a lot of people we trust for support who aren’t willing to invest their entire lives in this endeavor the way we have.
Thirty-one isn’t a large group, but it needs to be enough.
I’ve circulated to each subgroup, reviewing the details of their roles and making sure they’re all ready, so I return to where Ben is leaning against the driver’s door of a standard-issue worker’s motor—stolen this afternoon from one of the government farms so it can’t be traced back to anyone here.
He straightens up as I approach.
I don’t know why, but I pause when I reach him, standing directly in front of him, having to tilt my head to meet his gaze because he’s a foot taller than me.
He doesn’t say anything. If anything is true about Ben, it’s that he’s not a talker. He’s big with light brown hair, blue-gray eyes, and a square chin with a slight cleft. He’ll be thirty-seven next month.
“You good?” I ask after several seconds.
“Always.”
I nod, still not able to make myself move.
No one else can get going until I do.
“You’re comfortable with what we have to do?”
“Yes, ma’am. Wouldn’t’ve agreed if I weren’t.” He always speaks in a low, pleasant, wilderness drawl, but sometimes it’s stronger than others. He pauses before he adds, “What about you?”
“I’m fine. I’m ready. Let’s do it.” Spurred on more by the ultimatum in my words than any momentum of will, I nod one more time and head around the motor to the passenger seat.
I wave toward the others gathered nearby before I get in. “You all know what we have to do, and you all know why. Nothing else can be won until we do this. Tonight is the first step toward the end, so let’s not stumble.”
A murmur of agreement follows this blunt gesture toward a rallying speech. Ben is watching me as I get into the motor.
