Page 19 of Longing for Liberty

TWELVE

STATE NEWS: CITIZENS HEALTHIER THAN EVER WITH LOWEST BMI SCORES IN A CENTURY!

Monday morning, Fitzhugh was there at the table with his laptop when I arrived. The sight of him gave me a start, because he was normally only there in the afternoons, but I recovered quickly.

“Good morning, sir. I’ll stay quiet in this area if you’re working.

” I rushed past him into the kitchen, wishing it were separated and not open-concept where he could see me.

As much as it didn’t feel right taking off my shoes and stockings while he was there, he had commanded it.

I took them off in the kitchen and set everything against the wall.

He hadn’t greeted me verbally, just given a nod as I walked in, but I felt the heat of his eyes on me as I unpacked his dinner basket before facing my breakfast tray.

Oh, wow. An omelet—it appeared to be ham and cheese—with home fries: diced potatoes loaded with peppers and onions.

Still feeling his eyes, I peeked over to find him watching me with open curiosity.

“Thank you, sir,” I said, quickly turning back to the plate.

Was there anything more awkward than eating while being watched?

To say I felt self-conscious was an understatement.

I wondered if I looked stupid standing there chewing a bite that was too big, and I kind of hoped I did.

Perhaps I could sabotage his interest, and even this job, by chewing with my mouth open and burping.

I held back the maniacal laugh that wanted to bubble up.

“What are you thinking?” he asked.

My insides jumped with surprise, then plummeted. Had I been making some sort of expression?

“Nothing, sir. Just…that this is very good. And too much for me.”

“You need to eat it.”

I nodded, taking another bite and wishing he would just focus on his laptop and leave me alone.

I ate as quickly as I could, but again, my stomach was getting too full too fast. I finished the omelet and put the lid back on.

We seemed to have an unspoken agreement that as long as I ate all of the food by the end of my shift, that was acceptable.

I’d even stopped bringing my peanut butter sandwiches.

As I bustled past the Secretary in my bare feet, I’d never been more hyper-aware of myself. I analyzed every single movement I made and how it might look, trying my damndest not to appear sexy or unprofessional. All business. That was me.

We both worked quietly for hours, me doing his laundry, making his bed, cleaning his bathroom, and dusting everything in sight. Then I finished my home fries. Before the war, I would have asked for no peppers and onions. What an ungrateful girl I’d been. Now, I ate every bite.

Each day, I swept the floors, but on Mondays and Fridays, I washed and polished the floors after sweeping.

I was glad the Secretary didn’t have a dog or cat like some of the other officials.

Although I loved the attention the dogs gave me, their hair got into every nook.

We weren’t allowed pets now. Only the higher-ups could afford the luxury of animal companionship.

Pet food manufacturers had all been shut down, so pets ate human food.

I heard the Secretary’s murmured voice from the dining area and realized he was on a video call.

As I swept my way quietly down the hall from the bedrooms to the open main area, the voices became more distinct.

Vice President Walinger’s scratchy voice and arrogant tone raked up the back of my neck like a jagged fingernail.

I wished I could file down his vocal cords.

“What’s the update on military personnel, Fitz, and when can we finally expect to get Community Five turning a profit?”

Community Five ? My neck prickled. Maybe I’d misheard, because there were only Four Communities. We, the government sector, were Community One. The VP sounded irritated, and Amos’s voice was flat when he responded.

“We are still stretched too thin. Community Four is only newly under control. Until we can pull a significant number of new cadets from Communities Three and Four, we cannot afford to go into Five and have our troops overrun by rioters?—”

“They’re weak,” Walinger said. “You give them too much credit. And we were told the Force scoured those states for weapons before they were set loose. Remember? Not even a baseball bat was left in Florida and Georgia.”

My ears were burning.

“Of course I remember, but I won’t take the chance,” Amos responded. “We’ve got them surrounded for now, and they seem to be self-sufficient and surviving quietly for now.”

“And what of Canada and the border there?” A chill went up my spine at the smooth sound of President Roan’s rich voice.

“Non-issue,” Amos answered. “No one will venture near the border since the news of radiation. And Canada’s too decimated to consider anything other than attempting to rebuild.”

The President made a hmph sound of approval at that, and I was glad my back was to the Secretary as I frowned at the mention of Canada being decimated.

I swept past him, keeping my distance but fully expecting him to ask me to go somewhere else because hello…national security. But he paid me no mind.

“And what are the actual radiation numbers?” Roan asked.

Fitzhugh clicked around. “Radioactive Isotopes are still being discovered in a seventeen to twenty-mile radius around the L.A., Toronto, and Manhattan fallouts.”

“Good,” President Roan said. I shouldn’t have been shocked by this response and the glee in his voice, but I was.

“Well,” drawled Walinger, “The sooner we can get Community Five subdued and running properly, the sooner we can take our ships off babysitting duty and get back to international security.”

“All due respect,” Fitzhugh responded. “We will never be able to take our ships off watch duty. As long as Community Five is alive and well, the land-water border will need to be manned.”

“I disagree!” the Vice President yelled. “What do you think they’ll do, swim hundreds of miles?”

I swallowed hard at his angry tone, but the Secretary remained calm.

“When we get to that point,” Fitzhugh told him, “I will review the situation and devise the best plan.”

“How much longer?” the Vice President asked. “By your estimation?”

“I’ve got a one-year plan to give you,” Fitzhugh promised.

I swept the tiny pile into a dustpan and threw it away, then hurried to the utility closet to start filling a bucket with sudsy water.

Blood pulsed through my body in a rush, my system on edge after what I’d heard.

Had I missed a news alert somewhere along the way?

As far as I knew, I had opened and read every single one of them since that first day when the bombs were dropped.

And though I knew most of what we were told was bullshit, I still paid attention and tried to read between the lines.

Never had anyone spoken of Community Five.

I felt light. Buzzing. Euphoric.

Somewhere in this cursed land was a group of people large enough to need watching over, and at the moment, there were not enough military personnel to keep them in order and producing for the government. I wanted to laugh!

But then Roan’s voice broke through my thoughts. “And have we finally agreed that the area formerly known as Alaska will be Wright State Force Base, and the former island of Hawaii will be Samuel Roan State Force Base?”

Fitzhugh let out an annoyed-sounding sigh. “I suppose I’m outnumbered for calling them Communities Six and Seven.”

Walinger made a scoffing sound. “They’re not producing anything. Everyone in Alaska was either bused down to C2 or they agreed to join the State Force. The whole area is military now, so it just makes sense.”

“Yeah, and speaking of that,” Roan said. “Fitz, have your statesmen at Roan Base had any contact with the rebels on the Big Island?”

Holy shit.

“No.” Again, he sounded annoyed. “We have four of the smaller islands under control, and they’re all filled with State Force.

But we can’t try to take back the Big Island until we have more munitions.

We do have them under constant surveillance, though.

Nobody enters or leaves the island. They seem to understand that we won’t mess with them if they don’t mess with us. ”

Oh my God. I felt like bees were alive under my skin, but I’d stood quietly in the closet for too long. I had to move to keep from gaining his suspicion.

I wheeled the bucket with the mop to the guest bedroom and squeezed out the water, mopping the floor with a gusto that had me sweating in no time. I hated that their voices were too far away to make out now. I wanted to hurry and get back in there to listen.

Had I lost my mind? I definitely should not be listening!

But I’d had so many questions since the war.

I’d been dying to know what happened to people.

To learn that there were parts of the former U.S.

that weren’t under their control made me exuberant.

And was he saying that Hawaiians on the Big Island had fought them off? Ha!

I clamped my lips together against the smile that wanted to erupt across my face.

I needed to be careful. I was halfway through the Secretary’s room when I had to stop and wind my hair into a bun to get it off my damp neck. But as I stretched the hairband over the bun, it snapped in my hand, startling me.

Damn! That was my last hairband. I let myself mourn it for a moment before I pocketed it. My mass of hair immediately began to make my neck sweat even worse. Maybe at home I could tear a strip of fabric from something and use it to tie back my hair until I could buy a new hairband.

In the hall, I was going backward when I realized it had gotten quiet in the penthouse.

And then I felt a heavy awareness. I straightened and spun, sucking in a gasp at the sight of Amos Fitzhugh standing two feet behind me, hands in his pockets.

His jacket was pulled back enough to show his gun again.