Ben frowns. “Don’t people live with their families?”

The General stiffens a little. “None of us have families,” she says, a hint of emotion in her voice for the first time. “When you desert the military, you don’t get a chance to bring your husband, kids, or parents with you.”

I feel a pang of sympathy in my gut. My dad wasn’t the only person who deserted his family for a cause he believed in. And I wasn’t the only person to abandon their mother.

“But hasn’t anyone formed a family since?” Ben asks, pressing her further, as though oblivious to her emotional pain. “I thought you said you began repopulating.”

“There are no families at the moment. Not yet, anyway. The community has to be controlled and stabilized to ensure we have enough food, space, and resources. We can’t have people breeding whenever they want to. It must be regulated.”

“Breeding?” Ben says under his breath. “That’s a funny way of putting it.”

The General purses her lips. “I understand that you have questions about how things work here, and I appreciate it may seem unusual to you from the outside. But Fort Noix has survived because of the rules we’ve put in place, because of our order. Our citizens understand and respect that.”

“And so do we,” I add, quickly. I turn and put an arm around my sister. “Come on, Bree, let’s get inside. I’m looking forward to meeting our new housemates.”

The General nods. “They’ll show you the ropes from here on out. Follow them to lunch when it’s time.”

She gives us a salute, then walks away, taking her soldiers with her.

*

A cheerful American woman named Neena shows us around our new home. She’s the “mother” of the house, which consists, she tells us, of a group of teenage girls and young women. She explains that the rest of our housemates are out working and that we’ll meet them in the evening.

“Give you time to settle in,” she says, smiling kindly. “A house full of twenty women can get a little much at times.”

She shows us into a small, simple room with bunk beds.

“You two will need to share a room,” she says. “It’s not exactly a five-star resort.”

I smile.

“It’s perfect,” I say, walking into the room.

Once again, I’m overwhelmed by the sensation of peace and safety. I can’t remember the last time I stood in a room that smelled clean, that had been dusted and polished and vacuumed. Light streams through the window, making the room look even more welcoming.

For the first time in a long time, I feel safe.

Penelope likes it, too. She runs around happily in circles, jumping on the beds, wagging her tail and barking.