"Different in what way?" I ask. Something about the way he said the word has me worried.
Trigger rolls the flashlight between his palms, causing the beam to jerk dizzyingly. "Well, it's a way for some of the high-ranking people, the Chinese and New Amanian power brokers, to let out some of their urges, y'know. Urges that've been repressed by the government here. You see a lot of things that might startle you a bit at first. Sex, drugs, the way everyone dresses."
Sexual intercourse? In public? I can't imagine such a thing. Drugs are more familiar to me, after the time I spent with the Nukeheads in the refugee camp. Not to mention my own brief acquaintance with candy glass, a pink drug sold at le marché noir—the black markets in New Amana. But intercourse out in the open...that seems hedonistic, deviant to me in a way I can’t even begin to fathom.
Seeing my expression, Trigger grins. “You’ll see. This is your best shot to get further underground.” He grins mischievously and winks. “Maybe you’ll enjoy yourselves, yeah?”
I sit back and breathe in slowly, letting my mind adjust. “How do people dress at this yez? How do we blend in?”
Trigger holds my gaze. "Masks," he says. "You have to wear a mask at all times. It helps with anonymity—for everyone's safety. It’s the place with the best drugs and booze, the cleanest prostitutes. Makes sense there's a dress code, yeah? Only formal wear, like they had in the old days."
Masks? Formal wear? Does he mean ball gowns and suits? I'm sure he's joking until he points his flashlight at the box in the corner I'd noticed when we first entered. "See for yourself if you don't believe me."
Holding on to the wall for support, I walk to the box and pry off the lid. Inside is a swath of material I can't see because shadows pool anywhere Trigger's flashlight beam doesn't reach. I pull out the silky fabric on top.
It is absurdly ornate, an outlandish dress a deep burgundy color. The front of it is covered in small black beads and black lace. The waist is small, but the skirt is full and round. There aren't any sleeves. I hold it up to my body. It seems as if it will fit, but my arms and the top of my chest will be bare. I reach into the box again and pull out something that feels like a mask. It is covered in gold sequins and is meant to fit over my eyes and upper cheeks. One side of it drops down, like a long claw to cover one side of my face. Surely this isn’t real.
"Are we really expected to wear this?" I look at Shale in wonder.
"Everyone has to," Trigger puts in. "I'll be dressed up in black and white too, don't worry."
I look back down at the material in my hands, slippery like oil. “Where do you get this?”
Trigger smiles. “The black markets here supply much more than le marché noir in New Amana did.”
Shale comes over and reaches into the box. He pulls out a black suit jacket, much too small for him, and puts it back. As he rummages for his size, I go sit back down, holding the dress and mask in my lap. I run my finger over the bumps of sparkling beads. It feels as if I've stepped through time into another time and place, where I might turn the corner and see New Amana as it was before the War. I wonder where this dress came from, who its first owner was and what has happened to her now.
I look back up at Trigger, who is now rummaging in the box for his own clothes. “This person we’re meeting there...it’s a woman? From New Amana?”
He pulls out a white shirt. “She goes by the name Elara Miller. She was a Sympathetic back in New Amana. Here she’s the point of contact for both Rad fugitives and New Amanian officials. She walks that line quite well, but she’s hard to please. When Ananke made a delivery earlier today she told Elara you and Shale want out of that compound. Now she wants to meet you two, but she didn’t say why. Anyway, just do your best and we’ll see what she says.”
Do your best. Has there ever been a more ambiguous instruction? I’m to convince this powerful woman that she has to help my family, that without her help we will perish just as surely as if she’d called the Chinese officials herself. How can my best be anywhere close to enough? In the darkness, Shale meets my eye. He smiles encouragingly at me, but I cannot bring myself to return it.
We drive for a while in silence and just as I am falling asleep, Trigger says, "We should be there in about fifteen minutes. Let's get dressed."
We turn our backs to give each other privacy and I peel off my jacket, tunic, and pants. Then I slide the dress over my head. It smells a little musty, as if it has been waiting in the box a long time. I wonder if Ananke ever wore it. I'm sure it'd suit her rather well.
It's a bit hard to figure it out since there aren't any sleeves, but I manage it, feeling extremely exposed. Once I zip it up—it's a little snug around my middle—I sit back down with the mask between my hands. The truck floor hums under my feet. I keep my eyes on them in case the men aren't finished changing.
Two minutes later, Shale and Trigger says they’re done. I look up, and my breath catches in my throat.
In the dim light, Shale is staring at me much the same way I imagine I'm staring at him. His tall, lean frame is covered in a black jacket and matching black pants, and a white collared shirt with pearl-like buttons. He looks like a man from another time, older than he really is. He looks aristocratic, I realize. He looks as if he is noble by birth, as if that were still possible today.
He smiles at me. "That suits you," he says. "Perhaps you should wear it even when you're not at the yez."
I laugh softly. "I was about to say the same thing to you."
Trigger clears his throat. "Yes, that's wonderful," he says. Perhaps he doesn't know how memories and feeling can flare up and die down without warning. "Now, remember, when the truck stops, make sure you have your masks on. They won't come off again until we're back in the truck. All right?"
We nod, serious again.
◊ ◊ ◊
When the truck stops, Trigger turns off his flashlight. We wait in silence. We can hear absolutely nothing; not even the bang of the truck door as Ananke gets out or the crunch of her footsteps. When the truck door opens, I feel a swell of sudden fear, as if it's not Ananke who we're about to face, but a Monitor who’s been tipped off about us. But then the door to our space opens and it's Ananke's beautiful face peering in, her perfect lips upturned in a smile in the near-dark.
"All right, come on out," she says softly.
Shale gets up and walks out, and Trigger and I follow. Seeing Ananke in her gray wool clothes, I feel even more ridiculous and naked in my flouncy dress.
The three of them hop off the trailer. Shale holds his hand out to me, but I hop down without his help, pressing my skirt flat so that no one sees more than they're supposed to. I look around. We're in a large empty cement parking lot, with low industrial buildings and warehouses on either side. Beyond lie only wilderness and vegetation, inky from lack of light. It is windier here, and my dress blows against me, goose pimples rising on my naked skin. The mask presses into my flesh uncomfortably and my stomach rolls with anxiety. We’re here.
"Trigger will take you inside." Ananke's face is defined by soft shadows; the only light comes from the stars.
"Thank you, Ananke. That’s two I owe you," Shale says.
She smiles warmly. “I’m not keeping track.” I try to keep my expression impassive, to not let my jealousy show though it burns inside me like a wildfire.
Trigger pockets his flashlight and slaps Ananke lightly on the back. "Thanks for the ride." Then, turning to us, he says, "Follow me." He leads us to a warehouse on our right; it looks no different than any of the other buildings to my eye.
I hear Ananke getting into the truck and its engine rev. She pulls away and I feel another spasm of anxiety, as if we've been abandoned somewhere we can never find our way back.