They got phased out all right. Computers were the height of our technological prowess, and now, we’re using them as latrine walls, thanks to the angels.

I go back to scrubbing a pair of pants on my washboard.

Lunch takes several lifetimes to come. I’m about to get Raffe for lunch when a honey-haired woman saunters over to him on her long legs. Everything about her walk, her voice and the tilt of her head invites a man to get a little closer. I change direction and head for the mess hall, pretending not to notice them walking to lunch together.

I grab a bowl of venison stew and a heel of bread and scarf them down as fast as I can. Some people grumble around me about having to eat the same old stuff each time, but I’ve had enough dried noodles and cat food to truly appreciate the taste of fresh meat and canned vegetables.

I know from my morning’s gossip session that some of the food comes from foraging in the nearby houses, but most of it comes from a warehouse the resistance keeps hidden. By the looks of things, the resistance does a good job of providing for their people.

As soon as I finish my lunch, I look for Obi. I’ve been wanting to plead with him all day to let us go. These people don’t seem that bad now that it’s daylight, and maybe they’ll sympathize with my urgent need to rescue my sister. Of course, I can’t keep Raffe from telling the enemy about this camp, but there’s no reason he’ll want to tell anyone until we reach the aerie, and maybe by then, the camp will have moved. It’s a lame justification, but it’ll have to do.

I find Obi surrounded by men who are gingerly moving crates from the storage closets I almost peeked into last night. There are two men carefully loading each crate onto a truck.

When one loses his grip on a corner, everyone freezes.

For a few heartbeats, they all stare at the man who lost his grip. I can almost smell their fear.

They all exchange glances as if confirming that they’re all still here. Then they continue their sideways crab-walking toward the truck.

I guess the things stored in that room had more bang than venison and guns.

I try to go talk to Obi, but a camouflaged chest blocks my way. When I look up, the guard who caught us last night, Boden, glares down at me.

“Get back to your washing, woman.”

“Are you kidding me? What century are you from?”

“This century. This is the new reality, sweet cheeks. Accept it before I cram it down your throat.” His eyes drop meaningfully to my mouth. “Deep and hard.”

I can practically smell the lust and violence on him.

A needle of fear spikes in my chest. “I need to talk to Obi.”

“Yeah, you and every other chick in camp. I got your Obi right here.” He grabs himself between his legs and sort of shakes it up and down like he is shaking hands with his dick. Then he leans his face down close to mine and wiggles his tongue in an obscene gesture so close to me that that I can feel his spittle.