I married at twenty-three.
My husband, Chad, was in his forties. Established in the Capitol as an administrator, he was respectable, ambitious, and decidedly unclever.
At first our marriage was practical and manageable and only unpleasant when he wanted sex, which was fortunately only a few times a month. But as he was promoted higher up the Central Cities administrative hierarchy, he became more grasping and controlling. He refused to let me visit my sister, Teresa, in the village where we were born or even have her visit me. He dragged me to endless social events to show off his young and attractive wife. He lectured me constantly about holding my tongue and acting in “wifely” ways. He got angry every time I glanced at another man or laughed with a friendly woman.
He hired Ben under the guise of “protection” since he was becoming such an important man in the city, but I always knew the truth. Ben’s presence was primarily to have an employee follow me everywhere and report on my doings.
There would have been innumerable women in the Capitol who would have mowed down armies to marry a man of Chad’s stature, even under those conditions, but the longer I was his wife, the more I hated him—and hated myself.
I had wanted to get away from my cruel stepmother, my selfish and petty stepsister, and a stiflingly limited village life, but the cost was far too high.
As I was brooding over how to get out of the marriage, Ben announced one day that he was leaving to return to the wilderness region where he was born and raised. He asked, quite unexpectedly, if I wanted to tag along.
I said yes.
So my marriage ended after barely over a year with the scrawled note I left for Chad and the paperwork he would have filed with the government afterward.
Other than seeing Teresa less often than I would want because she still lives with her husband and family in our home village, my life has been far better ever since.
I don’t knowwhy I’m thinking about Chad an hour later as I follow the radio chatter from my people. They’re taking positions around the perimeter of the outpost and planting explosives and booby traps in strategically planned locations.
I was barely past childhood when I married. Desperate and resourceless. Gambling on a husband seemed like my best chance to gain some degree of security and freedom. It didn’t turn out that way for me, but it does for some women. Teresa married for similar reasons, and she got lucky or made a better choice in her man. She’s happy today.
Hers might not be a life I’d ever wish for, but it’s the one she wants, and that’s all that matters.
My marriage was a mistake, but it was an understandable one given my circumstances. I should have sympathy and not judgment for the scared, trapped, very young woman I used to be. The whole thing was objectifying and demeaning, but it was such a long time ago.
And I never would have met Ben if I hadn’t made the mistake of my marriage.
Speaking of, he’s still over there guarding the door to the command station so that we don’t get surprised again. He’s scowling to himself.
He must notice me watching because his eyes cut toward mine without warning. His eyebrows go up in a silent question.
I give my head a brief shake before looking away. He’ll know what it means.
He needs to shake off his annoyance with me and get over his bad mood.
I don’t like when he’s this way, and it might distract me.
None of the outpost guards had the chance to call into the Capitol with a report or request help. That has to be done from the command station, and Ben and I have been here the whole time. That means no one will know there’s trouble until it’s time to radio in the morning briefing.
Even then, they’ll likely send a scout to see what’s going on before they bring any sizable force.
We have plenty of time to prepare ourselves to hold this outpost.
Whether we can successfully do so for any length of time is an open question.
It takes about two hours of work before I’d consider us ready. The traps and explosives are strategically placed, and we’ve set up lookouts and guard posts in every direction.
I call the four team leaders back into the command station so I can get updates, and we go over our plans for various military responses.
If they send out a large enough force, we’ll be overrun for sure, but I doubt they’ll send more than a single unit. Maybe two. President Vincent has always done everything he can to keep news of protest or rebellion from becomingwidely known. He pretends no one ever acts out against him, and he’s been successful in giving that impression to the populace of the Central Cities at large.
A lot of people are born and raised here believing that no one would dream of acting against the government, that no one would even want to.
A large contingent of guards would get attention from passersby and the inhabitants of the nearby villages. They would know something is wrong, someone is rebelling, and the word would spread quickly.
Vincent won’t risk that.
