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still short of all-out hostilities. War on the surface was bad enough. War underground. . . The idea makes my blood run cold.
    “We’re putting together a special team,” my father says. “Intel, sabotage. Missions of that nature. I want you on it. I want Jake on it. We need the best.”
    Jake knew about this, I think. Just like he knew we were going to the surface. What else isn’t he telling me?
    “I thought you’d be happy,” my father says. “You and Jake seem good together.”
    I almost laugh, though not out of amusement. Could his timing be any worse?
    “Good together how?” I ask warily. “As a team or as a couple?”
    “Well, both, I guess. So what do you say?”
    “I don’t know. I need to think about it.” And if I take long enough, maybe I won’t have to make a decision at all.
    My father squints at me, the way he does when he’s displeased and trying not to show it. “I don’t know what you have to think about, honey. This would really get your career started on the right footing. Some key people are going to be watching this team very closely. Plus to keep Jake in the picture. . . I thought you’d be over the moon.”
    “Yeah, well, as to that,” I say, deciding I should just tell the truth. “I’m not so sure about Jake. I don’t think we have that much in common anymore. Like we’ve drifted apart.”
    My father stares at me, stunned, as if he’s the one being broken up with.
    “Wow,” he says. “I didn’t see that at all. I thought you two were doing so well. He’s a fine young man. He loves you. He told me so. We talked about it last month, he called me, and we decided that if you guys could just spend some quality time. . .” And then he sees my face and realizes that he made a serious strategic error by admitting that the two of them had been plotting out my future behind my back and tries to change tacks but I’m already gone, walking back down the beach toward my tent, which I wish had a door so I could slam it hard.
    I pass Jake, who might be an ass but isn’t dumb and steers well clear of me.
    War. We’re going to war. Maybe. Probably.
    What a bloody mess.
    I decide to get a massage while I still can.

Chapter Five
    Within a few short years, the billions left to their fate became as a dream, erased from the collective memory. Pre-Transition population estimates in most textbooks were radically revised downward.

    The raid comes in the middle of the night.
    This time, I was the sulky one at dinner, picking at my food and answering in monosyllables until everyone stopped trying to talk to me. I hate it when I get like this, but I’m so mad at Jake and especially my father that I can’t help it. My dad has the decency to look mildly embarrassed. We never fight, I hardly even see him, so it’s feels weird to be giving him the silent treatment. I’m usually agreeable and cheery, a total daddy’s girl. But I’m sick and tired of everyone else making decisions for me. I’m sixteen, not six, and it’s time he noticed that.
    I deliberately looked my worst, selecting a ratty tank top and hideous paisley skirt from years before that I’d packed in case of an emergency like, I don’t know, cleaning fish or something. No makeup. Just a permanent frown.
    Anyway, the raid. Speaking of bloody messes.
    Four am on the dot. The hour when a person’s defenses are at their lowest ebb. The military knows this, and so did the raiders.
    They come from the jungle side, and they come fast and sneaky. They’ve done this before. By the time the sensors go off, it’s too late. I wake to small arms fire popping in the darkness, followed by the deep boom of the artillery guns in the trenches and the rapid staccato of automatic weapons set to the fully open position.
    I roll out of bed, pulse racing, just as a spray of bullets rips through my tent, shattering the standing mirror and sending glass shards flying in a deadly rain that rakes across my shoulders. Wood splinters explode