September 24, 2049

Twenty-three weeks, three days

Waning Crescent in Virgo

Yara woke with a start to the crunch of wheels on gravel and the sound of loud male voices outside her window. A navy-blue van emblazoned with the Kingdom of God eagle and cross was idling in the driveway of the Center. An armed man in wraparound shades got out and handed Shauna a manila envelope. Her yellow wrap dress and crystal pendant stood out against his dark blue fatigues. Her power outfit. She must have been expecting them. 

Another uniformed man opened the van’s side door and a small, stocky person with short, dark hair climbed out, their belly pushing against their prison sweats.

Staring out the window, Yara imagined grabbing the gun out of one KoG’s belt before he could react, gunning him down first, then the other. But she knew that if she actually went out there, she would have to fight the urge to smile at them. To simper. To grovel. She would hate herself afterwards if she did anything but violence. She waited until she heard the van doors slam before she went out to meet her new patient.

“Welcome to the Sovereign Women’s New Life Center!” Shauna announced shrilly as Yara walked up. “We’re so glad you’re here! Women care for women here, as we have since time immemorial! Come in, come in, are you hungry? Let’s get you some lunch, and then Yara here can check on your baby.”

Yara smiled at the newcomer, trying to convey a sense of reassurance that she didn’t feel. She went into the kitchen of the old student health center to reheat the chickpea and potato soup they had had for lunch. Again.

As they sat down to eat, Celeste appeared. Taller and heavier set than Shauna, white like all the Sovereign Women seemed to be, she had short, graying hair and an odd, almost purplish cast to her skin. “Olivia,” she said, looking up from the papers Shauna had handed her, “Welcome. I’m Celeste, Lead Wisdom Keeper of the Sovereign Women’s Assembly. This is a place for women to connect with their highest selves, supported by other women devoted to each other and the Sacred Feminine. She smiled smugly. “You’re safe here, probably for the first time in your life. Anything you need, you let me know.”

Olivia nodded, guardedly.

“Olivia is from Spokane!” Shauna told Celeste excitedly, “The Family Values agents said—“

“Yara,” Celeste interrupted, “is our midwife. Shauna here is a doula, another guardian of our sacred birth space. There are no men here trying to control the process or coerce you into interventions your body doesn’t need. Just us.” Celeste’s eyes probed Olivia’s. “I will be working with you to help you connect with your sovereign nature.” Celeste looked down at her untouched bowl of soup, then at Shauna, who seemed to shrink a little under her gaze. She rapped her knuckles on the table and stood up. “Well. I leave you in good hands,” she said briskly, and strode out.

“Well, um, yes,” Shauna said, rifling through the papers again. “A first baby, I see. What a blessing it will be to walk with you through this transition in your life!”

Olivia looked up sharply but then only nodded again, picking their spoon up to eat.

An awkward half hour later, Shauna, Olivia, and Yara crowded into the Center’s small exam room. “I’m sorry,” Yara said, “I will need you to lift up your shirt a little.” Olivia turned their head away, lifting their shirt to reveal several tattoos. A multicolored bouquet of flowers encircled by a ribbon that read “abuela.” A Mexican flag and trans pride flag, their poles crossed over the words “TIERRA Y LIBERTAD”. Yara blocked Shauna’s view of Olivia’s abdomen with her body as best she could, and moved her hands across Olivia’s belly quickly, estimating the baby’s size and position at a little over twenty weeks. When she placed the fetal heart rate doppler on their lower abdomen, the sound of the fetal heartbeat swooshed through the air in a loud, steady rhythm. Yara forced a smile. “Heart tones strong and steady!” she called out cheerily, hating herself a little. “This baby seems to have weathered the trip from Spokane just fine.”

“Of course she did!” Shauna trilled. “I hope you don’t mind me calling her she, it’s just a feeling I had as soon as I saw you! I’m usually right.”

“No problem,” Olivia said, as if pulling the words out of a deep well. It was the first time Yara had heard them speak.

Shauna beamed. Yara couldn’t stand it. As soon as the exam ended, she went to the bathroom, splashed some water on her face, and found her bike. When she didn’t have someone close to term in the birth center, she took long rides out through the Assembly’s fields of chickpeas and potatoes, up into the hills around what was left of Ellensburg. The bike gave her the closest feeling to freedom that she had. She loved feeling the air rush over her skin as she gathered speed biking downhill under a wide-open sky. At first, KoG quadcopters had trailed her on every ride, but they didn’t anymore. She knew there were probably more KoG surveillance drones higher up, though, ones she couldn’t hear. The pairs of armed women who patrolled the perimeter of the old Central Washington University campus on golf carts glared at Yara when she biked past them, but they didn’t stop her. Between the KoG and the SWA, they must have decided she wasn’t going to make a break for it.

Today, though, she saw the other drone again. It wasn’t a KoG drone, but something else, a mysterious visitor. She was northeast of town, partway up Naneum Ridge, not far from where she’d seen it the last time. The small green hexacopter looked like it had been repaired many times. One of its six legs was a replacement from another model, and another was held together with electrical tape. “Who are you?” she wanted to ask, “Where are you from?” Wenatchee was the next town, forty miles to the north, but Yara had no idea what was happening there, in the rest of the state, or anywhere else, for that matter. Celeste controlled all information in and out. Yara felt frantic to make contact with someone, nearly anyone, but also desperately cautious. What if it was a trap? She biked down the ridge, preoccupied.

October 5, 2049

Twenty-five weeks, six days

Waxing gibbous in Capricorn

The next day Shauna started Olivia on her Sovereign Birth Program. She kept Olivia busy every morning with prenatal yoga, guided meditations, childbirth classes, and painfully awkward belly dance sessions. After lunch, Celeste arrived for Olivia’s individual “sovereign mentorship” meetings. Yara shuddered, remembering her own first few weeks at the Center, before she’d learned how to give Celeste what she wanted. Celeste was not subtle, but she had a narcissist’s cunning. Yara did not envy Olivia.

Throughout the first few days, Olivia stayed tight-lipped, their face a mask, retreating to their room and closing the door as soon as Shauna left for the day. On the fourth night, Yara came out of her room to use the bathroom and found Olivia sitting in the kitchen with a glass of water. Yara sat down across from them and cleared her throat.

“Hey,” she said.

“Hey,” Olivia replied, running a quick, assessing glance across Yara’s face.

Yara took a deep breath. “I don’t believe in any of this shit,” Yara started, “none of this TERF crap. I was kidnapped and brought here, and I am not free to go.”

Olivia was quiet.

“I saw your tattoos,” Yara went on. “I’m guessing you’ve been a lot braver than me, but for whatever it’s worth—and I’m not kidding myself that it’s worth much—I want you to know I’m on your side.”

Olivia regarded Yara coolly for a moment, their head cocked slightly to the side, then seemed to make a decision. They took their right sneaker off, lifting the insole to extract a folded-up piece of paper, smoothing it out and handing it to Yara.

It was an ultrasound report dated two and a half months ago. Scanning past the details at the top, Yara sucked in her breath as she read, “complete anterior placenta previa.”

Placenta previa. A condition incompatible with vaginal birth. Unless the placenta moved up and out of the way of the cervix later in pregnancy—something that only an ultrasound could confirm.f Oliva gave birth at the center, they would hemorrhage and very likely die.

Yara looked up and met Olivia’s steady hazel eyes. “Did the doctor explain this to you?” she asked.

“Yes.”

“Shit.” Yara said, horrified. She imagined the scene. The blood. Her own helplessness to do almost anything to stop it. Suddenly, she remembered the drone.

“Wenatchee,” she said, searching Olivia’s face, “Who is holding Wenatchee?” Coming from the outside world just a few days ago, Olivia should have more recent news than she had.

“The community,” they said. “It’s a commune now, like Yakima.”

Wenatchee and Yakima, communes? Yara was stunned. Communes. Only forty or forty-five miles away on trails she knew like the back of her hand.

“Are you connected to them?” Yara asked. “Is that why you got arrested in Spokane?”

“I am,” Olivia said, “but that’s not why. I got picked up after they raided a clinic. Didn’t matter that the doctor had sent me away, told me he couldn’t give me the pills because of where the placenta was. They convicted me for attempted fetal homicide anyway. And for gender ideology.”

“Damn,” Yara said. “I’m so sorry.”

“It is what it is.” Olivia shrugged, then looked Yara intensely in the eyes. “If I know one thing,” they said, “it is that I am not dying here.”

Yara nodded. “No. No, you are not.”

After a year and a half of bending herself around Celeste and Shauna’s expectations, Yara suddenly felt resolute in a way she had not for a long time. The last time was March before last, when Miguel, her exe, had called to say he had found a way to get the kids out of the city, paying a smuggler who could get them to safety in California. Only four bridges connected Seattle north and south across the ship canal, and that week, the KoG controlled all of them. They weren’t letting anyone through. Yara was stuck at work at the university hospital to the north, her family stuck at home to the south. Despite the pain and uncertainty, she had never regretted telling him to go.

Yara looked back at Olivia. “We have to get you out.”

Olivia nodded. After a tense pause, they asked, “Why did you ask me about Wenatchee?”

“I’ve seen this drone out biking,” Yara said, “only when I’m north of town. I don’t think it’s a KoG drone. It’s a green hexa with no insignia, kind of beat up. I’ve been tempted to talk to it, but I was scared. I didn’t know about the commune, and I didn’t know where it was from. Do you think it's theirs? Do you trust them? Would they help us get you out?”

“I bet it is,” Olivia said, “And yes. The people I know there would help us.”

“How do we know it’s the commune’s?” Yara asked, fear tightening her chest. “It could be anyone’s. If I talk to it, we might end up more fucked than when we started.”

“I’ll start with code,” Olivia said. “Do you have any paper?” Yara ripped a blank page out of the end of one of the novels she’d taken from the old CWU library and handed it over with the stub of a pencil. Olivia thought for a minute, then wrote: Marie, remember playing by the river when we were kids? We were so alive back then. I’m staying in my aunt’s trailer. My cousin can bring breakfast.

They handed the paper to Yara, who read it, frowning. “Fold it up and give it to the drone. If my comrade gets this, they’ll understand.”

“Okay,” Yara said.

“By the way, my name is Jack. I use he/him.”

Yara smiled and put out her hand, half-seriously. “Nice to meet you, Jack.” Jack shook her hand, briefly flashing Yara the first genuine smile she had seen since he arrived.

October 20, 2049

Twenty-seven weeks, one day

Waning crescent in Leo 

Two long, agonizingly slow weeks passed before the drone came back. Yara biked in the hills north of town every day, searching the sky, listening for the drone’s telltale buzz, hearing nothing but the calls of warblers and flycatchers in the creek valleys.

Meanwhile, Celeste was spending more time at the Center than usual. Yara felt the heaviness of her presence. An undercurrent of dread threaded through every day, but she knew that Jack was bearing the brunt of it. When Yara asked Jack what they talked about during his sessions, all he would say was, “gender shit,” stalking off to his room or out the front door to walk fast, angry laps around the campus.

Every time Yara came back from a ride with Jack’s message still in her pocket, she hated meeting his eyes. Today, over lunch, she shook her head to let him know that she’d had no luck, again. He pressed his lips together and nodded back tersely, trying to suppress his disappointment and frustration. When they finished, Yara beckoned him to help her with the dishes. Under the sound of the water running, Yara said quietly, “I don’t know if it’s ever coming back. Maybe we just need to go. Head overland somehow, figure it out ourselves, without their help. There are more bikes around, maybe we could find you one.”

Jack raised an eyebrow. Yara’s shoulders slumped. The idea of Jack mountain biking forty miles, six and half months pregnant—with the Sovereign Women and KoGs in pursuit—was stupid, and she knew it.

“When do I really have to get out of here by?” Jack asked.

“C-sections for previa are usually done at thirty-six weeks,” Yara said, “But people can go into preterm labor or start bleeding anytime. I want you out of here now, but I really want you out of here by thirty-two weeks.”

“Okay,” Jack said, “so we can wait a little longer.”

“I don’t like it, and I don’t like not having a backup plan,” Yara said.

“Neither do I,” Jack said, shrugging unhappily.

The next day, the drone showed up. 

October 21, 2049

Twenty-seven weeks, two days

Waning crescent in Leo

As Yara rode, she found herself thinking about her kids. She tried to keep that box in her mind tightly closed, but sometimes it slipped open. Had they made it to California? Gotten stuck in Oregon when the border closed? Had they been injured? Separated from Miguel? Adopted by strangers? Worse? As the scenarios unspooled in her mind, she almost didn’t hear the drone. When the buzzing sound finally broke through her dark reverie, she jumped off her bike and scrambled to untie an old CWU Wildcats sweatshirt from around her waist. “Over here!!” she yelled, waving it like a bright red flag high above her head. For a moment she heard nothing, and her heart sank. Fuck. I missed it because I wasn’t paying attention. Fuck, fuck fuck. But then suddenly, the little green hexacopter was hovering in front of her.

“I have a message,” she said, holding it out. The drone extended its two front arms and grasped the paper delicately, tucking it into a small compartment on its underside. It hovered a moment more, then flew away. Northeast. Towards Wenatchee. That gave her hope.

When Shauna left the table to put her bowl in the sink after lunch, Yara squeezed Jack’s hand twice, hard, under the table. Jack shot her a look and Yara nodded, beaming.

“No shit!” Jack whispered, “Seriously?” Yara nodded again and then looked away before Shauna came back.

Now, we wait.

October 26, 2049

Twenty-eight weeks, one day

New Moon in Scorpio

For four unbearably long days, Yara rode the ridges without seeing the drone. But on the fifth day, high up on Naneum Ridge, Yara heard it. As the drone came into view, Yara jumped off her bike and watched it approach.

“Hello,” a voice said behind her. Yara spun around, heart pounding, to see someone in an unfamiliar dark green uniform standing behind her, blending in with a small stand of Douglas fir trees. Medium height, light-skinned but tan, they wore a flat-brimmed cap the same color as their uniform. They were pointing a cheap-looking 3D printed pistol right at Yara’s chest.

Yara’s hands shot up instinctively, her body registering the gun before her mind did. She started box breathing out of habit, like she had at checkpoints, or when the hospital was commandeered by one armed faction or another. Inhale, 4-3-2-1. Exhale, 4-3-2-1. Feel my feet on the ground.

“Hello,” she replied, trying to keep her gaze steady.

“We got Jack’s message,” they said. “There was enough in it for us to come check this out. What is going on?”

Yara hesitated, wary and afraid, but couldn’t see any way forward other than to tell them.

“Jack is stuck in Ellensburg. The KoG brought him there from Spokane. He has a pregnancy complication that can be deadly without a C-section, and we don’t have an operating room. We need help to get out, or he could die.”

“Jack is pregnant?” the green-clad person said incredulously, then caught themselves, clearing their throat and schooling their voice. “Are you armed?”

“No,” Yara said.

“Take the sweatshirt off, then lift up your shirt and turn around.” Yara did as she was told, throwing the red sweatshirt to the ground and baring her stomach to the cool mountain air.

“Take your shoes off and lift up your pant legs.” Yara had no weapon concealed in her old sneakers or ratty socks.

“Throw the backpack over here.” They gestured with the barrel of the gun.

“You’re sure there are no weapons in there?”

“There’s a scalpel in the front zipper pocket,” Yara said. She had found the scalpel in the student health center’s abandoned supplies, parts of an old kit for removing contraceptive implants from students’ arms. It was the only weapon she had.

“Get your stuff and come under the cover of these trees.”

Yara complied, putting her hands back up as soon as she had set her bike and shoes down.

“You can put your hands down,” they said, holstering the gun at their hip. They pulled a small rectangular device out of a buttoned pocket on their belt. “Come here.” They ran the mod scanner around Yara’s head. Yara was not a veteran and had never been an early adopter of new tech. She had no mods, no tattoos, nothing to mark her as belonging to any army or faction. 

They put the scanner away and leaned lazily against a tree, arms crossed. “What do you know about Wenatchee?”

“Jack said it’s a commune now,” Yara said, “I can’t believe that people are living freely so close to here. South too, in Yakima, right? Fuck me.” She shook her head.

“Jack’s right,” they said, “I’m from the Wenatchee commune.”

Yara let out a breath she hadn’t known she was holding. “Thank God,” she said, “Will you help us?”

“Who is us? We know that the KoG has set people up in Ellensburg but we don’t know why. Looks like you’re growing potatoes? What else? Why do you have Jack? 

Yara let out a short laugh, “So many goddamn potatoes! I’d be happy to never eat another one in my life.”

The soldier raised an eyebrow. Yara reeled herself in. Relief was making her giddy. “Sorry. Yes. Um, Ellensburg is run by a faction of TERFs who allied with the KoGs before the war. After the KoG took Eastern Washington, they gave them Ellensburg. They use the old CWU campus as their base of operations. They call themselves the Sovereign Women’s Assembly.”

They looked skeptical. “Okay. What the hell does this have to do with Jack?”

“They run a birth center. It’s part of their whole, like, ecofeminist schtick. The KoG brings them pregnant people that they don’t want from KoG territory. Undesirables. I’m … ” she hesitated, flushing, “I’m their midwife.” Shame flooded her as the soldier frowned.

“Go on,” they said.

“I got kidnapped out of one of the refugee caravans out of Seattle and I haven’t been able to get out. I—it’s a long story.” Yara paused, wanting to sink into the ground. This isn’t about me. It’s about Jack, she reminded herself. “I’m the only healthcare worker at the center. I’m not a surgeon to begin with, and they won’t even let me have medications to stop a hemorrhage, let alone anything that could help what Jack has. He needs a hospital with an operating room and a working ultrasound. You have a functioning hospital in Wenatchee, right?” Yara asked, her stomach dropping at the thought that maybe they didn’t have what Jack needed, either.

“We do,” they said.

“Oh, thank God,” Yara said again.

While they talked, Yara took the soldier in. They moved like a cat, graceful, but with a coiled energy. Their chest was flat, but their green utility pants hugged broad hips and muscular thighs. This person just held me at gunpoint, and I’m checking out their ass, Yara thought. I’ve been away from people for too long.

“So, that’s about it,” she said, fighting for focus. “You’ll help us?”

The soldier eyed her for a long moment. No matter what happened in the past, Yara thought, I’m doing the right thing now. She forced her breathing to slow, looked up, and met the soldier’s eyes with her own steadied gaze. And you are going to help me.

“Yes,” they said. “My name is Red, by the way.”

“Red,” Yara repeated. “I’m Yara.”

“I’ve been thinking,” Yara went on, relieved, words tumbling out, “it’s the new moon tonight. What if we snuck out on the next one? Maybe the KoG drones would be less likely to pick us up.”

“That’s . . . not a bad idea,” Red said.

Yara grinned. “November twenty-fifth.” Red raised an eyebrow. “If there’s one thing I know living with a bunch of fucking eco-TERFs,” Yara laughed, “it’s what phase the goddamn moon is in all the time.”

“You don’t want to try to get out sooner?” Red asked.

“I have an idea that needs time to work,” Yara said. “There’s an old campground surrounded by pines right off Naneum Creek. We can meet you there.” Red handed Yara a tablet, and she dropped a pin on the topo map.

“Naneum Camp. November twenty-fifth,” Red said. “Okay. Be there by sundown.”

“Okay,” Yara said. “I better go. I’ve been gone a long time.” She put her shoes and sweatshirt back on for the ride home. “Thank you,” she said, grabbing Red’s hand impulsively.

“We don’t leave our own behind,” Red said, giving her hand a small squeeze. “Just get yourselves here on the twenty-fifth. And tell Jack that Marie says hi.”

Yara flew down the trails and country roads back into Ellensburg, elated and afraid.

When Yara got back to the Center that afternoon, Jack was nowhere to be found. Yara would usually have tried to slip away to her room unnoticed at a moment like this, but instead she poured herself a glass of water and sat down next to Shauna at the kitchen table. Here we go.

“It was beautiful in the hills today,” Yara started. “I sat and meditated under a tree for a while,” she lied. “Isn’t it the new moon tonight, Shauna? A good time to think about our intentions for the coming month?”

“Well, yes!” Shauna said, delighted. “That’s exactly right. We seed intentions in the new moon that will blossom into fruition with the full moon!”

Jack appeared in the doorway behind Shauna, his face a storm cloud. Yara shot him a look and plowed ahead, “Maybe we should do a new moon ceremony tonight! To seed our intentions, like you said.”

“I love that idea!” Shauna positively chirped.

“Can you help us?” Yara asked.

“Oh yes. I know just the right fire ceremony,” Shauna said, turning towards Jack in the doorway. “Olivia, there you are! You know how to build a fire, don’t you?” Yara widened her eyes at Jack above Shuana’s head and nodded exaggeratedly, willing him to play along.

“Sure.” Jack said. “Where do you want it?”

Shauna seemed completely unaware of the way that she turned to Jack for help with stereotypically “masculine” tasks, despite her idol Celeste’s efforts to force him into communion with womanhood.

“What about the stand of cottonwoods by the edge of the creek?” Yara asked.

“That sounds lovely,” Shauna said.

Jack looked at Yara, the storm on his face replaced with a quizzical expression.

“Want to help me, Yara?”

“Sure, no problem,” she said.

As soon as they were out of earshot, Jack turned to her and asked, “What the hell is this all about?”

Yara grabbed his arm excitedly. “They came, Jack! From Wenatchee! Not just the drone. I actually talked to someone.”

Jack pulled up short, jerking Yara backward. His face went blank, eyes closed, like he’d left his body in the middle of the road and gone somewhere else. “Who did you talk to?” he asked.

“Red?” Yara answered.

“What did they look like?” Jack asked.

“White, freckles, curly brown hair, grey eyes.” Grey eyes, Yara thought, flushing a little. Jesus Christ, I sound horny. “They said to tell you Marie says hi.”

At the mention of Marie, a soft smile spread across Jack’s face that Yara had never seen before. Jack let out a breath, opened his eyes, and started walking again. “What else did they say?” 

“They said they’d get us out,” Yara said. “I have a plan, which is why I’m playing up this moon cycle shit with Shauna. Bear with me.”

Jack nodded and started collecting firewood while Yara used a willow branch to clear leaves and debris away. She needed this idea to work, but she didn’t want to set the campus on fire while they were at it. It had been a long, dry summer and fall.

“True confessions?” Jack said after a moment, emerging from behind a thimbleberry bush with an armful of branches.

“What?” Yara asked.

“I actually kind of go in for this moon shit,” Jack said. “We used to throw full moon parties in Spokane. Underground parties. The energy was always wild on the full moon.”

Yara laughed, “I mean, I can never sleep the night before the full moon. The menstrual cycle can’t be twenty-eight days long for no reason. There’s something to it. I just can’t take it when it’s mixed with the rest of their TERF horseshit.”

“I know,” Jack said, “Me neither.” He looked lost in thought for a moment and then shook his head. “Those full moon parties were amazing.” Stacking the firewood into a pyramid, he continued, “That’s where the breakfast thing came from. The code in the message you gave the drone.”

Yara remembered: Remember playing by the river when we were kids? We were so alive back then. I’m staying in my aunt’s trailer. My cousin can bring breakfast.

“We used to sell breakfast burritos off the back of our bikes the morning of the parties. People would buy them to get the directions. Piece of paper tucked inside the tinfoil. Sometimes we’d pass other messages that way, too. Things we didn’t want to say over comms. I was saying you could be trusted with a message. I knew Marie would get the reference—”

“Marie?” Yara asked, immediately regretting it as Jack turned his back, hiding his face.

“I hope you’ll find out soon,” he choked out.

“Never mind,” Yara said, putting a hand on his shoulder.

Jack didn’t turn around, but said, “I said I was at my ‘aunt’s trailer’ because when we were kids, a trailer in the park where I grew up burned down. We used to call the lady who lived in it Tía Pastilla because she sold pills. That was to say I was in danger.”

“Damn,” Yara said.

“Might as well tell you what the whole message meant,” Jack said, turning now, “in case we both don’t make it out. Knowing could help them trust you.” He sat down on a fallen pine log and rubbed his lower back with both hands. “We used to bike around Spokane and tag shit when we were kids. After they outlawed speaking Spanish in school, we decided to do a big piece under the Inland Empire Way bridge over Hangman’s Creek.” Yara filed these details away in her mind. “It was going to say ‘Viva la Rebeldía,” but we saw cop cars coming and ran. So it only ever said ‘Viva.’ It was there for years, until they finally painted it over. Viva. Alive.” Jack looked over at Yara, “Hablas español?”

“Yeah,” Yara said, sitting down next to Jack. “Mas o menos. My Spanish is best if you’re giving birth.”

Jack laughed and shook his head. “The one thing I never thought I was going to fucking do.”

“Never?” Yara asked.

“Nope,” Jack said decisively. “I hope they have collective childcare bien figured out in Wenatchee by now, because I am not raising this kid by myself. I don’t want to be a parent at all, if we can figure something else out.”

“Good to know,” Yara said.

Jack sighed. The late afternoon light was fading around them. “I guess we better go get Shauna,” he said.

“I guess so,” Yara replied.

“Do you think we’ll have to sing?” Jack asked.

Yara laughed. “If I have to sing, I’ll sing!” she yelled, twirling around the willow branch rake like it was a dance partner and pretending to use it as a microphone. “Whatever it takes.”

“Whatever it takes,” Jack agreed.

In the end, Shauna’s ceremony was relatively painless. Shauna led them in a short, generic guided meditation, the kind you could have streamed on any mindfulness app before the war. She handed them paper so they could write out their intentions and then throw them on the fire. Yara felt a pang as she watched the rare, precious paper burn—what she wouldn’t give for a notebook and a working pen. As the firelight danced across their faces, Shauna said, “The fire’s Shakti will carry the energy of our intentions into the future, but it is you who must mold that energy into what you desire. You have more power than you know!”

The absurdity of hearing these words from her de facto jailer almost made Yara laugh out loud. She caught Jack’s eye across the fire. He nodded back with a determined half-smile. Damn right we do, Yara thought.

November 17, 2049

Thirty-one weeks, one day

Waning gibbous in Leo

Three weeks later, it was time for Yara to set her trap. “Did you know,” Yara asked casually over breakfast, “that the indigenous people around here had a sacred grove?”

“Really?” Shauna asked, her eyes brightening over yet another potato-based breakfast. Home fries this time, courtesy of Jack.

“Yes,” Yara lied, “I read about it in a book I found in the library. It’s a grove of ponderosa pines that lines up perfectly with a bend of Naneum Creek. The Wenatchi women had their new moon circles there.” Forgive me for this rank bullshit, Yara thought, mentally apologizing to every First Nations person she’d ever met. It’s for a cause.

“Wow!” Shauna said, “The next new moon is in a week! We could go up there and do our own ceremony.”

“We could!” Yara said, thrilled at how easy this was. “It would probably be even more potent than the last one, with the energy of all those centuries of women. We could focus our intentions on Olivia and her labor.” She winced internally as she misgendered Jack.

Shauna looked at her proudly. “You know, you’ve really come a long way, Yara. Let’s do it. I’ll ask Celeste for the car,” she said brightly, standing up. “I think this will be good for us.”

“I think so, too!” Yara said.

God, I hope this works.

November 25, 2049

Thirty-two weeks, two days

New moon in Sagittarius

Yara and Jack spent the day trying to act normally. After lunch, Yara channeled her nerves into chores, wiping down counters, cleaning the fridge, and mopping the floor. “A good new moon deep clean!” she chirped brightly to Shauna, who looked on approvingly.

When Shauna left, Jack came into the kitchen and grabbed Yara firmly by the upper arms. “Stop,” he said. “You’re making me nervous. Save some energy. It’s going to be alright.”

Yara took a deep breath, closed her eyes, and sighed. “I’m sorry,” she said.

“It’s Okay,” Jack said. “Just keep breathing.” He laughed. “Aren’t you supposed to be the one telling me that?” Yara laughed, too, feeling some of her tension dissipate into Jack’s grip.

To Yara’s relief, when Shauna came back with the car, she was alone. This would have been so much worse with Celeste present. Yara directed Shauna northeast out of town, through open rangeland dotted with red-leafed hawthorn bushes to the old state campground. Tall ponderosas stood in an uneven ring around the perimeter of the campsite. Behind them, brilliant yellow cottonwood and willow branches hung over the creek, shading clusters of wild rose, serviceberry, and Oregon grape. Shauna pulled camping chairs out of the trunk. Jack and Yara started building a fire as the light fell around them.

Once the fire was lit, Shauna took a meditation bell out of a bag at her side and cleared her throat. “We will begin by clearing the vibration of this sacred space with sound,” she said, clanging the bell repeatedly.

As if this beautiful place could be improved by our shitty vibrations, Yara thought, arranging her face into what she hoped was an expectant expression.

Shauna intoned, “On this new moon night, we celebrate the death of the old and the dawning of the new, as our women ancestors have done since time immemorial. We are so proud to see you two starting to let the pain and confusion of the past fall away, embracing the rhythm and power of your lives as Sovereign Women.”

Yara glanced at Jack. His face was still in the flickering firelight. It was nearly dark now.

“Celeste agrees,” Shauna went on, “that you are ready to take the next step. She is sorry she couldn’t be here tonight.”

Next step? Yara thought with a prickle of alarm. What is this about?

Shauna beamed at them and continued, “I don’t think I have to tell you that history, as written by men, has distorted and perverted the true nature and power of women and forced our ancient wisdom underground. What if I told you, though,” Shauna said, standing up, “that this conspiracy goes deeper than you could have imagined? To the core of our being, to our very DNA?” She paced around the fire. “How do you think human beings became the most intelligent species on the planet, the only species ever to create a complex civilization in millions of years of evolution?”

I thought the most intelligent species were octopuses, Yara thought absurdly. Or some kind of dolphin.

“Why do so many myths and religions talk of gods and angels coming down from the sky and mating with human women, from Zeus to the Nephilim?” Shauna’s voice rose, “Why do they talk of the sacredness of the Goddess’ blood? Her blood is gold!” she almost shouted. Celeste had a poster with this slogan in her office. “It’s not a metaphor!” Shauna paused dramatically. “It is time for you to learn the true secret. In ancient times, our foremothers really did mate with angels who fell from the sky. A race of superintelligent aliens who bestowed their wisdom on us, through their DNA. On women. The full power of the sacred inheritance we carry in our blood is only activated when our DNA is alchemized by the precious metals they brought to the earth!” She leaned down and pulled a plastic bottle and a large spoon out of her bag. “You are ready to begin activating your true nature. Not with gold, not yet, but with silver.” She held the bottle and spoon up above her head for a moment, beaming.

Colloidal silver, Yara thought, an image from nursing school floating into her mind. It turns your skin blue. Celeste’s weird coloring! She felt stupid for not making the connection sooner. Shauna opened the bottle, poured the clear suspension into the spoon and held it out to Yara. Like a fucking TERF Mary Poppins, Yara thought, swallowing it down. It didn’t taste like much, just a slight metallic tang. As Shauna moved on to Jack, his eyes flitted to Yara’s with an unspoken question. Yara nodded and mouthed “It’s okay.” She wasn’t about to start taking a spoonful of colloidal silver every day, but one dose wouldn’t harm them. If there was any chance the Wenatchee crew was still coming tonight, they had better keep playing along. Jack swallowed, too.

Shauna marched triumphantly back to her camping chair, put the bottle away, rang the meditation bell again, and pulled a small leather drum out of her bag. “Now,” Shauna cried, “let us sing, to awaken the Goddess within!” She began to chant, her reedy, uneven soprano calling out “Isis Astarte Diana Hecate Demeter Kali, INANNA!” Yara joined in first, and then Jack. Shauna eventually stopped singing, gazing at them around the fire, a blissed-out look on her face.

Yara looked around, beginning to worry. What if they’re not coming? Fuck. 

And then everything happened at once. Two shots rang out, hitting the back tires of Celeste’s station wagon. Shauna screamed and ran towards the road, right into Red, who caught her around the shoulders, pinning her arms. Her eyes went wide at the feel of the metal barrel of Red’s pistol against her temple. She stopped screaming. “Don’t move,” Red said, “and you won’t get hurt.”

A second soldier appeared, their green uniform and dark skin blending into the moonless evening. They tossed Yara a coil of polycord, jerked their chin towards Shauna and asked, “Just one?”

“Just one,” Yara confirmed.

The second soldier nodded, “Help Red tie her up.”

“What the fuck?” Shauna cried.

Red pulled Shauna to one of the ponderosas at the western edge of the campground, where the creek bent as it curved southeast and the rushing water was loudest. Red pushed Shauna up against the tree and handed Yara a pair of plastic zip tie handcuffs. Yara shuddered as she remembered being zip tied herself, the plastic cutting into her skin as she sat terrified on the floor of the old weigh station off I-90, wondering what the biker gang would do to her and the other women and femmes they had picked out of the crowd of refugees. Before her offer to stitch up a leg wound, identifying her as a healthcare worker, had changed the trajectory of her life. Now the zip ties were in her hands. She looped the plastic around Shauna’s wrists and pulled.

“Ow!” Shauna yelled. “What the hell is this? Who are these people? Where do you think you’re going? There’s nowhere you can go where the KoG can’t find you!”

“They’re not as powerful as they seem,” Red said calmly, as they tied Shauna to the tree.

“You ungrateful, lying bitch,” Shauna said, twisting to glare at Yara, her voice venomous. “After everything we did for you.”

“I’m sorry Shauna,” Yara said, turning her back on her, “you picked the wrong side.”

“You aren’t going to get away with this, you stupid cunt!” Shauna screeched after her.

Ah, there it is, Yara thought. So much for Celeste’s mind-numbing lectures about the ancient Indo-European—“dare one say Aryan?” she had said archly—roots of the sacred word cunt, shared with kund, as in kundalini, as in the oven or womb holding the holy fire of femininity. The etymology was wrong, like a lot of Celeste’s pseudo-historical claptrap. Yara had looked it up in the library one day when she had nothing else to do.

Suddenly, she turned back to Shauna, yanking her saffron-colored silk scarf off her neck. “I’m going to ask you one thing,” she said, “and you’re going to tell me, or I’m going to stuff this into your mouth before we go." The sudden power reversal was making Yara feel a little drunk.

“What?” Shauna asked, her expression wary.

“Why does the KoG let you have Ellensburg? I know you had an alliance of convenience before the war, but why do they let you keep it now? It has never made sense.”

“We provided a valuable service in the fight against gender ideology, and after we won, they kept their word,” Shauna replied primly.

“Bullshit,” Yara said. “They don’t have integrity like that. They turn on allies whenever it suits them.” She brandished the scarf in Shauna’s face.

Shauna looked away. “Fine! Celeste has a video of Axel Schmidt doing coke with a teenage boy. And then doing . . . other things he shouldn’t.”

Yara’s eyes narrowed. “Why don’t they just say it’s fake?” she asked, waving the scarf for emphasis.

Shauna winced. “It’s watermarked and the block chain running back to Schmidt’s phone has nodes on AWS servers in England. But mostly, it works because too many people already know it’s true.”

Yara whistled. Axel Schmidt, the eldest son and presumed heir of KoG President Cooper Schmidt, his father’s top general in the crusade against gender ideology. “Damn,” Yara said, shaking her head. “You deserve each other.” She put the scarf in her pocket and squatted to look Shauna directly in the eyes. “You will lose. I don’t know how and I don’t know when, but you will lose.”

She jumped back as Shauna tried to spit in her face, then turned away, back to the fire, where Red and the other soldier were talking urgently.

“I still don’t understand why we don’t just kill her,” the other soldier said, “She’s a loose end, she puts us all in danger.”

“I’m not killing an unarmed person when I don’t have to,” Red said.

“I hope we don’t all pay for your morals,” the other soldier hissed, turning to Yara and Jack. “Come on, let’s get the fuck out of here then. I’m Osprey, by the way.”

Red and Osprey led Yara and Jack up the creek to where four horses were tethered to an old fence post. Well, shit. Yara was surprised to see Jack mounting his horse as easily as Osprey did. Red’s saddle had an odd-looking rectangular plastic basket strapped to one side and a scabbard for a shotgun on the other. Yara stood in front of the fourth horse uncertainly. Catching the look on her face, Red said, “Horses help us avoid surveillance. Our heat signature won’t be that different from a cow or an elk.” When Yara didn’t move, a quick grin flashed across their face. “Come on, I’ll give you a boost.” Yara scrambled awkwardly onto the horse, far too aware of Red’s hands on her thighs. She clung to her horse’s reins, ruing her suburban upbringing, as they rode up Naneum Canyon in the dark.

Hours later, after they had crossed the high plateau and begun their descent toward Wenatchee, Yara began to feel drowsy. It wasn't relief exactly, but maybe just enough release of tension to feel how exhausted she was. It was four in the morning.

Before she was fully conscious of the sound, Yara’s body snapped to attention. "Drone!" she shouted.

"Dismount!” Osprey yelled, “Take cover under the willows!" Yara jumped off her horse without thinking, the shock juddering up her body as her heels slammed into the ground. The horse ran off into the night as Yara ran for cover. Yara heard a different, sharp, strobing sound over the drone’s buzz. Gunfire. The drone was shooting at them. She turned to see Red kneeling on the ground behind a small boulder, bracing the shotgun against their shoulder. Osprey was grabbing saddlebags off the three horses that remained, whinnying and stamping their hooves, as Jack held the reins. Yara felt a pang of shame as she realized that only her horse had run off. But then Osprey motioned Jack to let go of the reins and yelled, "Fire!" The horses ran into the night as Red shot the quadcopter out of the sky.

We're letting the horses go? Yara thought her mind unfocused until she felt the thud of one of the saddlebags hit her chest. "Take this and follow me," Osprey said, heading down the canyon, "Quickly."

Yara stumbled forward in the dark. They kept to the wooded side of the old dirt road that wound down the valley beside Stemilt Creek. Fifteen minutes later, they stopped at a stand of ponderosas in a narrowing of the valley. Osprey pulled a large green tarp and a pile of black netting out of one of the saddlebags. Working quickly, Osprey, Red, and Jack strung the tarp between four trees, covering it with the netting. "Listen," Osprey said as they crowded under it, "the tarp will block our heat signature, and the tree cover should provide decent camouflage. But this will only work if we stay under it. If you have to pee or shit, pick a corner and make do. Do you understand?"

Yara nodded. “Then what?” she asked.

“We'll signal for help,” Red said. “But if no one comes, and we're not caught today, we'll try again tonight. Wenatchee isn’t far.”

Osprey, Jack, and Red huddled together over a map under the light of Osprey’s headlamp, Red pulled a small notebook out of one of their pockets and wrote out a series of numbers. Latitude and longitude, Yara thought.

On the other, they wrote: "Sheltering in place. No injuries." They folded the paper into a tiny square, reached for the plastic basket, and pulled out—a bird? They taped the message to one of the bird's legs, then glanced up at Yara and flashed her a small, crooked smile. "Yup," they said, "carrier pigeons.” Red held the bird’s wings gently between their palms at the edge of the tarp and let it go. As it took to the sky, Red said, "Try to get some rest. I'll take first watch."

November 26, 2049

Thirty-two weeks, three days

Waxing crescent in Sagittarius

Yara laid down to rest between Jack and Osprey, but her mind couldn’t settle. An hour or two later, as dawn broke, Osprey got up to take watch and Red laid down next to Yara, leaving a sliver of space between them. Yara turned, closing the distance, accidentally brushing her hand against Red’s. Without thinking, she tangled their fingers together, drew Red’s hand across her body and held it. Finally, she slept.

When she woke up, Red, Jack, and Osprey were up, whispering over the map again. Osprey passed Yara some jerky and dried apples. And then, they sat. Hours passed in cramped, tense semi-silence.

Sometime in the middle of the afternoon, a drone buzzed nearby. They all went still, as if the drone could hear them breathe. But after what felt like the longest five minutes of Yara’s life, it buzzed away. They passed another tense, uncomfortable few hours beneath the tarp, until night began to fall. In the twilight, Red and Osprey repacked the saddle bags. "As soon as we take the tarp down,” Osprey said, “it's time to move, as fast as we can, as fast as Jack can go.”

They had been walking for about half an hour, hugging the creek side of the road, when Yara heard something. Her body tensed, heart pounding. It didn’t sound like a drone. Red held up a hand. "It's us!" Osprey whispered.

"I think so too" Red said. "But take cover, just in case."

They crouched in the bushes, Red and Osprey with their pistols drawn, as the noise resolved into the sound of wheels on gravel and two ATVs came into view. Before Red or Osprey could signal, Jack burst out of the bushes and ran-waddled down the road. The second ATV slowed as Jack jumped into the front passenger seat and grabbed the driver, weaving his fingers into her hair and kissing her. She was lanky, with a strong jaw, a long, blonde ponytail, and a machine gun strapped to her back. Coming up for air, Jack yelled, "You didn't have to come yourself, you idiot! You don't have any goddamned legs!"

"You think I wasn't going to come for you myself?" the driver answered, laughing, "Besides, I’m the best driver in the squad, legs or no legs."

Looking up at Yara, Osprey and Red emerging from the bushes, the ponytailed person yelled, "Get in, losers!"

Jack rolled his eyes. "That's what my grandma used to say."

“Your grandma was cool,” the driver said, handing Jack their machine gun as Yara climbed in beside them. Red and Osprey squeezed in with the other driver, Red riding shotgun, literally, fitting their weapon into the built-in mount on the front passenger side of the vehicle.

“Everyone, this is Marie,” Jack said, beaming at the driver. “Marie, this is Yara. That’s Victor driving the other rig.”

“Nice to meet you, Yara!” Marie yelled, making a wild U-turn. “Buckle up!!”

They tore down the gravel road, heading northeast into the night. Marie was wearing the same drab pine green uniform as Red, Osprey, and Victor, but she had a hot pink tank top on underneath her mostly unbuttoned shirt. Both of Marie’s legs ended just above where knees would be. The ATV had been modified with a hand brake and accelerator, which she leaned on. As they tore down the road, the landscape around them flattened as vineyards and apple orchards whizzed by.

The ground opened up in front of them before they heard the drones. Yara felt heat and the energy of the explosion passing through her body. A hot piece of metal whizzed past her right shoulder, singeing her sweatshirt, just missing her flesh. “Hang on!” Marie screamed, as she braked and turned sharply, careening around the crater. The ATV began shaking and making a clunking nose. “Shit!” Marie yelled, “the shrapnel took out a tire.”

Within a few seconds, they could hear the drones but not see them. They must have been fixed-wing models, high in the sky. Marie and Victor kept the quads flying as they turned left onto a paved road, east towards Wenatchee, Jack and Red pointing their long guns skyward.

“They’re too high!” Jack yelled, “I can’t see them!”

Yara heard a whistling sound just before another explosion tore a hole in the earth just to their left. “Hang on,” Marie said again, “We’re almost there!” Yara could just make out a set of large, low buildings ahead, surrounded by high, pockmarked concrete walls. As they got closer, artillery fire erupted from the walls into the sky. A drone crashed to the ground behind them as they raced through an open gate into the walled compound. It must have been the last KoG drone in pursuit, at least for now, because the sky fell silent.

Jack, Marie, and Red erupted into cheers, Jack and Red brandishing their weapons in the air as they climbed out of the ATVs into a large, open courtyard. Victor and Osprey rushed to help several other green-uniformed people secure the heavy armored gate behind them. In one smooth movement, Marie detached the wheelchair from the side of her ATV, unfolded it, set it at an angle to the driver’s seat, and transferred herself in, her lean arm muscles rippling. Jack jumped into her lap, clutching her neck and laughing, then turned and held a hand out to Yara. “We made it!” he said, “Welcome to Wenatchee.”