Chapter 1
The memories don’t want to fade.
Even now—long after all that I have been through, no, all that we have been through—just thinking of your smile makes my day lighter. The way your left dimple was a bit deeper than your right. The way you hid behind your hand when you laughed because you didn’t like me teasing you about them.
What a time that was.
Suddenly, I hear this voice interrupting my thoughts:
“Under His Eye, Noflenn. We’re leaving for the Capitol in an hour.”
I haven’t heard that name in years, and I thought I never would again.
And there is only one person who called me that.
Irritated I say: "You know that’s not my name, Chloe.”
“Oh, sorry. Are you going to call Mister-President Blackridge for this too?”
I have never more wanted to drill my fist down somebody’s throat than hers right now. She knows how much I hate my father's name being used on me. If I told you everything that’s going through my mind…
I better not. The Eye might be *correction* is watching.
It’s always watching.
I learned that the hard way.
“What are you even doing here, Chloe? Don’t you need to protect the Senate leaders or something?”
“As God has seen it, the Senate has called upon the wisdom of your Commander.”
“Are you sure you have the right Commander? There’s another Commander Fred who lives down the road.”
“And my Commander, with all due respect, isn’t likely to be called upon for anything related to the Senate, considering the recent scandal with his wife.”
“Are you in the Senate?”
“No.”
“Then why do you even remotely think I would answer your questions?”
That b*tch—pardon my French. She’s someone I once considered my best friend. Even before the revolution. But then again, all good things come to an end, don’t they?
Let’s just say that ours ended… badly.
It all started when we worked on detailed protection for one of the highest ranked Commanders in the whole Republic and his wife: Commander Lenn and Amanda Smith.
We got the assignment because we had always been the best.
That’s what they told us, anyway.
At West Point, Chloe and I were never apart long enough for anyone to remember one of us without the other. Battle buddies, the instructors called it. It meant shared rooms, shared drills, and shared everything.
We woke up to the same alarm.
Brushed our teeth shoulder to shoulder over the same sink.
Collapsed into the same bunks after night exercises.
People assumed things. They always do when a man and a woman refuse to separate.
But aside from the occasional curious glance in the showers, nothing ever crossed that line. We were just… us.
Or so I believed.
The coup came a few months after graduation.
One week we were officers of the United States.
The next we belonged to Gilead.
They called themselves the Liberators. Said God had reclaimed the country. Said they were restoring order.
At first people listened. They always do when fear is dressed as faith.
Then the schools changed. Uniforms, marches, slogans — children turned into something out of another century. Parents protested.
So the Senate decided re-education would solve the problem.
Everyone over sixteen.
Week one is still carved into me.
Buses lined outside the schools.
National Guard in hallways.
Doors kicked open in neighborhoods that didn’t answer fast enough. Stripped of everything that had ever been ours. Even our names weren’t spared.
After driving for what felt like an eternity I saw a familiar view.
I nudged Chloe who sat next to me and asked her: “Isn’t that our old training camp up in Maine?”
She looked up at me and said, “If it’s going to be anything like the last time we were here, it’s going to be hell.”
We chuckled. This place…
Suddenly we stopped.
Doors opened.
A man stomped in.
The way he stands…
“EVERYONE OUT OF MY BUS!!!”
That voice…
“MEN FOLLOW THE YELLOW”
“WOMEN FOLLOW THE RED”
All of a sudden I’m five years younger and following the same line.
The only difference is that back then they wanted us to succeed.
Now they don’t.
I locked eyes with Chloe.
We both knew that could’ve been the last time we saw each other.
I mouthed, “De Oppresso Liber”
“Hooah,” she smirked.
“STOP TALKING”
“HEADS TO THE FLOOR”
“FOLLOW THE LINES”
The line stopped. I almost bumped into the guy in front of me.
I looked up to see what was happening.
BAAMM
“DID WE SAY YOU COULD LOOK UP?”
The DI’s stick on my head felt like a reminder.
“I’m just a statistic here.”
“ATTENTION!”
“UNCLE SAM ON DECK!”
Uncle Sam?
That almost made me laugh.
“Welcome, gentlemen—”
The speakers shrieked, an ear-piercing scream cutting him off.
As if nothing had happened, he continued.
“Today marks the beginning of your new life. In six weeks, those found worthy will be entrusted with the tasks God has prepared for them.
Before we proceed, the rules must be established.
General Kent, take the wheel.”
General who?
“Thank you Uncle Sam. First rule-“
The stance.
The voice.
The name.
It was him.
The man who once taught me how to stand
was teaching me how to kneel.
