My mother’s gaze met mine. Even then we knew enough about the war to immediately think the worst. But never had the enemy attacked civilians on our own soil.

A whine started up, distant at first. The sound got louder.

“Serenity, get down!” My mother lunged for me.

She wasn’t fast enough.

The whine cut out, and for the briefest of moments, all was quiet. Then our front yard lit up, the windows shattered. A howling, fiery blast tore through the house, throwing my mother forward.

That was all I saw before the force of the explosion blasted the coffee table away from me and I tumbled, my body a ragdoll. Debris sliced against my skin, none so deep as the gash across my face.

Other than those cuts and what I later found out was a fractured wrist and several bruised ribs, I survived the explosion unscathed. Sheer providence kept me from further harm.

In the distance more bombs went off, the sound a whiplash to my ears. Each time they did, the ground shook violently. I whimpered at the pain in my arms and chest. But not even that could distract me from the sight ahead of me.

My mom’s eyes had always gleamed like she had some secret to share.

Now they were vacant.

There’s a knock on my door, and a moment later Lisa walks in.

“Hi sweetie,” she says. The endearment always amuses me. As though I’m some innocent flower. I’m not.

“Hey Lisa.” I can’t muster much enthusiasm. Before the war, Lisa owned a wedding dress shop, so she’s been the residential seamstress since her husband and the rest of her family moved in.

Her husband, like most of the men and women here, was an important figure when we still had a functioning government. My best guess is that he was a badass dude—the kind that can’t actually tell you their profession because of national security. I see a lot of those types around here. The bunker only has a finite amount of space, so only the most essential men and women are allowed to live here with their families.

Lisa drops the pile of material she carried in onto my bed, and my eyes are immediately drawn to the vibrant colors I see. Bright red, gold, rose petal pink. Iridescent beads catch the light.

I finger a bit of lace that pokes out amongst the pile. “Please tell me these aren’t my outfits.” They’re all beautiful, but the thought of wearing such flashy garments is horrifying.

She gives me a rueful smile. “Sorry babe, but orders are orders.”

“And what orders are those?” Surely I’d have heard about this. I thought I’d be wearing drab suits just like the rest of the men and women that meet for diplomacy talks.

“To have all eyes on you.”