1
JENNY
The crappiest thing about my nightmares is that they're not even sexy nightmares.
I open my eyes and stare up at the top bunk, where Manda's still asleep, her hand hanging over the side. Quietly, I creep out of bed. I pad toward the metal-covered window and slide my fingernail between the screws bolting it to the wall and the metal, looking for signs of daylight. There's nothing, which means it's before dawn. Very unlike me.
It's just lately the nightmares have been too much.
Normally I'm the last one out of bed, but for the last few days, I'm the first one up and about in the panty program. It sucks.
I fight back a yawn, looking longingly at my bed. As beds go, it's a rather nice one. Sure, it's small and cramped and hard, but I have a pillow and blankets, and in the After? That's downright luxurious. Plus, I don't have to share it with anyone. There's four people to a room in the barracks, but in this program, they're all women and it's almost like camp.
I miss Dad, but he'd have been thrilled that I'm this safe here, so I really can't complain.
I head across the hall quietly, rubbing my eyes and yawning. It's so early at least I get the bathrooms to myself. I do my business and wash my hands, then surreptitiously wash my face. Ever since I got to Fort Dallas, the washing's been the biggest problem. When I was out in the scavenge lands with Dad, we'd always stop somewhere that we could wash up, even if it was just a river or a broken building with working toilets. In Fort Dallas, there's so many people that fresh water's at a premium. We're allowed luxuries here in the panty program, but we're also only allowed to wash on Saturdays.
If anyone knew I'd just washed my face, I might get in trouble. I glance around to make sure no one's caught me, and then tuck a few stray locks of flyaway hair behind my ears, watching the mirror. Good. No one's coming.
I head out of the bathroom—and yelp, nearly running into one of the guards.
It's Daniels. Manda's boyfriend. He must have overnight duty. He glares at me, his hand on his weapon. "What are you doing out of your quarters?"
I press a hand to my chest, my heart racing. "I…I thought I'd get up early for breakfast." I hope he didn't catch me washing my face. The rules of the panty program are stupidly strict, and if I get kicked out, I'm going to be dumped on the streets of Fort Dallas with no way to earn a meal but one—on my back. "Is that a problem?"
"It's three in the morning." Daniels frowns at me.
"Oh." I pause, thinking. "I…guess I'll go back to bed, then."
"Come on. I'll escort you." He reaches out to put a hand on my shoulder and then pauses, pulling away before he does. That's another rule of the panty program—no touching. The men aren't allowed to touch us at all.
It's scent contamination.
For the longest time, I had no idea why the rules of the program were so weird. Now I know—they're keeping our scent pure so we can lure dragons. When we were first offered the “program” in Fort Dallas, all we were told was that we'd be provided with shelter and protection, clothing, and two square meals a day. It sounded like heaven, even if we didn't know what we were being collected for. After a day or two, I kinda thought we were a weird harem of some kind. The soldiers weren't allowed to touch us, but they collected our panties every day and gave us fresh ones. We were only allowed to bathe once a week, and we were sent out scavenging with a bodyguard, but no one really scavenged seriously. It was mostly just day-trips to areas already picked clean.
We couldn't figure it out, so I thought harem. I wasn't the only one. A lot of the girls thought the same—that we'd all be waiting for Lord Azar to come in and pick a new girlfriend amongst all of us. The sad thing is that we still showed up for the program. We knew it was probably prostitution of some kind, but when you don't have a male protector, you need some sort of safety in the After.
After my dad died, I was counting out how many days I had left before I'd have to turn to whoring. I know how to take care of myself, but so does everyone else that managed to survive in the After. The only skill I have that anyone might want is sewing, but you have to have something worth sewing. Bartering for scraps took all the items I had saved up as trade, and I had no luck scavenging. It was pretty clear to me that whoring would be the only way to live.