Mahira Farooq’s eyes shot open. She bolted upright, then stilled herself. Her ears strained to hear something in the thick silence between her husband’s snores. She listened for the children and the soft click of the heater turning on, but heard nothing. She held her breath and calmed her heart. Did I hear something or just dream it?
She tossed the thick covers aside, crept over to her weapon’s locker, and unlocked the door. Her fingers found the familiar wooden grip of her loaded Smith & Wesson.
“Mahira?” Jasper rolled over. “What is it?”
“I thought I heard something.” Her eyes scanned the darkness. “Did you?”
“I thought it was in my dream.”
“Not if I heard it, too.”
Jasper’s flat feet landed hard on the bedroom floor. He snatched his gun from the cabinet and flicked on the light.
Mahira squinted against the sudden brightness and turned her head away. She noted that the contrast of her shadow against the wall wasn’t as strong as normal. “I think we’re on emergency power.”
He ignored her and stomped around the home, searching for an intruder.
So much for stealth, she thought. She frowned, locked the weapon away, and hissed, “Shh, you’ll wake the kids.”
Jasper’s eyes narrowed. “You haven’t checked on them?” he asked accusatorily.
“I just woke up.” She brushed past him and dashed down the hallway.
Peeking into the children’s room, she was relieved to see that all three were fast asleep and undisturbed by the commotion. Her heart settled, and the immediate threat faded. She tiptoed to each bed and gently adjusted each wayward blanket. Bending down, she kissed each forehead and inhaled their comforting scent.
To her, they smelled like a mix of sleepy mornings, warm shampoo, well-worn blankets, and something unnamable but recognizable—like comfort and home wrapped together. They smelled of laughter, scraped knees, and a hint of mischief. If the concept of home had a fragrance, it lived in them. And something tugged at Mahira’s heart—an assurance that no matter how fractured life might feel, this bond would never break. She closed their door quietly.
She turned to face Jasper and forced herself to stay calm in the face of what she knew would be another pointless fight. “We should check on the neighbors,” she suggested.
His brows furrowed in confusion. “Why would we do that?”
Mahira rubbed her eyes. “There’s nothing here, but I know I heard something. If you heard it too, then it wasn’t a dream.”
She glanced around one last time, ready to dismiss it all as unimportant or someone else’s problem. But then she saw it—a small brown circle on the floor in their living room near her desk—a wooden coin from her collection.
Throughout her years of service, Mahira had been awarded over forty military coins. Each one represented a different achievement: lives saved, integrity maintained, alliances forged, and innovation pioneered.
Usually, they set undisturbed in their mahogany-stained display on the shelf above her cluttered desk. Her eyes narrowed as she spotted the culprit: a stack of books had slipped, sending the coins tumbling onto the desk below. The heavy volumes sprawled atop the scattered tokens, concealing their misdeed, save for the lone wooden coin that had escaped, coming to a quiet rest on the floor. As she lifted the books, the intricate designs of the metal coins gleamed up at her mischievously. She smirked back at them—the gears, the skulls, the fish, the spiders, and even the one with New Appalachia’s mountain logo. Each coin had been handed to her with a handshake and an oft-repeated phrase, “Sometimes, doing the right thing won’t feel right.”
Each token slipped back into its designated place within the case. As she slid the wooden display back onto the shelf, she eyed the unruly stack of books. “Were you that desperate for someone to pluck you from the shelf that you threw yourself off?” she mused with a wry smile. Perhaps they deserved a better spot—somewhere they wouldn’t undermine the fragile order she clung to.
Jasper stomped through the house, weapon in hand, flipping switches in every room, only to find that some lights refused to come on. “Is the power out?”
“I said that we’re on emergency power,” she said in her calmest voice.
Jasper rolled his eyes. “I didn’t hear you.”
“You usually don’t.”
“Oh, go ahead with your ‘woe is me’ crap. Play the victim.”
Mahira spoke with a clipped tone. “I’m not playing victim, and please keep your voice down. The children are sleeping.”
“I’m not yelling!”
“I didn’t say that you were,” she said, despite the fact that he was now. She walked into the bedroom and threw her robe over her shoulders.
“You in-insinu-implied-”
“Insinuated?”
“Whatever. I don’t see anything. You probably heard something in your sleep.”
Mahira huffed. She wanted to retort that he’d mentioned hearing it, too. But that was no longer necessary. “The books fell from the shelf.”
“What?”
She pointed toward the living room shelf. “The three books propped behind the coin collection slipped and knocked the coins down.”
“I didn’t see anything.”
“Because the books fell on top of them, and it looked like a stack of books on the desk. I missed it the first time I looked, too.”
Jasper squared his shoulders and pressed his lips together.
She’d grown familiar with this stance. He was looking for a fight so he could win at something and always thought that picking one with her would be an easy victory. It wasn’t like this in the beginning. He had been so charming, and she so unsuspecting. However, seven years together had taught her that as long as she didn’t allow him to bait her emotions, he could never win. But that didn’t stop him from trying.
Mahira turned from the bedroom, happy to leave him with his thoughts.
“Where are you going?”
“I can’t sleep,” she said simply. “The coins really jolted me awake.”
“Maybe you should find a better place for them,” he snapped as he crawled back into bed and turned the emergency light out, leaving her in the dark.
If she said what she wanted to, it would’ve only led to another argument. She saw the three paths it might take. She could remain calm, and he’d storm out in a flurry of insults, slamming the door behind him. Or maybe he’d give up and turn silent, brooding like he had lost a war. The worst was the third path: she’d let him rattle her, and he’d twist the argument, switching tracks until she lost her footing. The kids would wake to their raised voices, and in the chaos, she’d end up too frazzled to respond. He’d walk away victorious, leaving her confused, hollow, and wondering if the fault was hers after all.
She wouldn’t play his game tonight. Staying calm and ignoring him was her best bet.
Mahira turned from their room and walked back into the living space. The twilight glow of the Green Street Market spilled through the window; the gentle hum of activity offered a small sense of comfort. However, she did not expect the sight that greeted her.
Immune to the normal hustle and bustle of Green Street’s merchants and traffic, she hadn’t thought it out of place to hear the gentle mumble of a crowd outside, but tonight was different. Large shards from the overhead dome had cracked and fallen into the earth, smashing market carts and destroying small businesses. Debris lay across the kiosk-filled center of Merchant’s Square, and concerned citizens covered Green Street wrapped in their coats and bathrobes. They pointed toward the shattered mess. Through the jagged hole in the dome, the stars spilled into view—bright and distant. In her 42 years, she’d never seen real stars.
“Holy shit,” she muttered to herself.
People rushed to and fro as she pressed her face against the large window. A large fire broke out on one of the middle levels of housing. Its angry orange flames licked the surrounding structures and belched thick, black smoke into the air. The emergency services hadn’t arrived yet. Residents from nearby units scrambled to evacuate; some carried luggage, others clutched small pets or prized possessions.
She threw on her shoes, hoping to get a better idea of what had happened.
The surface was a death sentence—a wasteland of poisoned air and invisible dangers that seeped into your lungs and turned your blood toxic. The dome had been their shield, their unbroken promise of safety for over two centuries. Now, with it shattered, what horrors might be leaking in from the world above?
Jasper snuck up behind her and grabbed her by the arm. “Take the kids to your parents. I just got a message from the firehouse. You’ll be called in, too.”
“I imagine there will be clean-up and damage control. And keeping the peace. People will panic.”
“I’m sure they already are.” His unsteady voice betrayed his nerves.
“You sound like you are,” she said to him, concern in her voice. She placed a comforting hand on his back.
He shrugged her hand off him as though her touch burned his skin. His eyes darkened. “I don’t need comfort. I’m fine. You’re always trying to emasculate me.”
He stormed into the bedroom, yanked his uniform from the closet, and threw hers onto the bed beside it. “Get dressed.”
“You don’t need to order me around,” she said in a sharp whisper, then softened her tone. “Please keep your voice down. The kids are still asleep.” She lifted her uniform from the bed. “And I do not emasculate you. You do it to yourself. You don’t like it when I call you ‘baby’ because you are one.”
His hands faltered mid-button, and his jaw tightened. “You insulted me.”
“No.” She took a deep breath and kept her voice calm. “I comforted you. I wanted to be there for my husband, a human being facing the same crisis as the rest of us. It’s okay to be worried, Jasper. It’s natural. But you pushed me away. It’s not my fault you think vulnerability makes you weak. That’s on you.”
“I’m not weak.” His voice rose in pitch. “And I’m not worried. I’m perfectly fine.”
“Who are you trying to convince?” She shook her head. “You always think I’m attacking you when I try to talk to you. What are you so afraid of?”
Her words hung in the air.
He scoffed at the mention of fear. His fingers stilled over his jacket, and his expression turned blank and unreadable.
A small voice peeped in the hallway as their son, Cyrus, appeared in the doorway. His dark hair stuck up in thick tufts. He tied the corners of his blanket together around his neck, forming a makeshift cape that snagged beneath his feet when he moved. A well-loved green dinosaur dangled from the crook of his arm. His twin sister, Yazmin, hovered behind him. Her fingers tugged at a strand of dark hair that had slipped into her face. She pressed the ends to her lips and chewed.
The tension in Mahira’s body melted. “Hey. Did Mommy and Daddy wake you?”
They both nodded.
Yazmin picked up on the commotion outside the window. Her bare feet padded against the floor as she ran toward it. “Why are so many people outside?”
“I need you both to pick out your outfits for today. Okay?”
“And wake Sandy up?”
“No, not yet. Let her sleep until Mommy and Daddy can get her, okay? We’re visiting Seedo and Sitti today. Now, go pick out your outfits.”
Cyrus and Yazmin raced into their room with giggles of excitement. The prospect of seeing their grandparents erased any lingering sleepiness. Their unquiet enthusiasm woke little Sandy. The babe stirred and cooed from her crib.
Mahira rushed to assemble the final touches of her uniform as Jasper headed into the children’s room. Unable to mask his residual anger, he barked orders at the children, making them cry within two minutes. As Mahira joined them, Jasper passed the screaming baby to her as though she was a leaking bag of biodegradable trash.
“She’s dirtied her diaper. I don’t have time. I have to go.”
“Oh, and I don’t?” Mahira darted to the small changing table with large strides. She wrestled a fresh diaper from the bag with one hand while she held Sandy in the other. Her eyes shifted around the room, searching for the misplaced wipes and baby powder. As she laid Sandy down, she noticed Cyrus had donned his trousers backward. “You helped create them. You don’t get to dump them off on me when it’s inconvenient for you because you have to work. I work, too, you know. And I make more than you.”
“You’ve mentioned it. Keep rubbing it in, why don’t you?”
Mahira bit back a retort. Part of her knew honesty would only make things worse with Jasper. Holding a mirror to him would only cause him to run away in shame and horror under the guise of anger and his definition of strength. Instead, she tried to redirect her focus to soothing Sandy, but the baby seemed to pick up on her stress. “Are you just going to stand in the doorway and fume? Or help?”
“Help with what? Being a bitch? You do that fine on your own. If you haven’t noticed, there is a crisis outside. Other people need help.”
“And those other people will manage without your arrogance and bad attitude for twenty more minutes. Your insecurities have gotten worse. In a crisis, you should know better. You need to put your own emotions aside. Remove emotion from the equation.”
“I do. Unlike someone.”
Mahira’s eyes grew wide.
“Daddy, why are you so angry?” Cyrus managed to turn his pants around and put them on correctly.
“Why are you always fighting?” asked Yazmin.
“What?” Mahira feigned innocence towards her children. But she knew they were right and old enough now, at five, to understand more than she wanted them to.
“We don’t always fight,” Jasper bit. His tone turned sarcastic and condescending. “But today, Daddy has to go. I’ll pick them up from your parents’ house later.” He turned from them, grabbed his keys, and left without another word or a single look back.
Yazmin raced back toward the window. She pressed her small hands to the glass and watched Jasper walk away. When she spoke, her voice was heavy. “Daddy always has to go.”
“Why does he always leave?” Cyrus’s wide brown eyes fixed on his mother, searching for an answer.
Mahira’s throat tightened. “Because he thinks that money and love are the same thing. He doesn’t understand that people need more than food and clothing.”
The children exchanged confused glances.
Mahira took a deep breath and crouched down to their level. “Your father grew up in a house that fought to survive.”
“What do you mean?” Cyrus tilted his head.
“Some people don’t have an easy life. They learn to get through it by surviving—by making it to the next day.”
Yazmin frowned. Her small hand clutched the hem of Mahira’s uniform jacket.
Mahira stroked her daughter’s hair. “Look, it’s hard to explain right now, but it’ll make more sense when you’re older. Life is meant to be lived, not just survived. But sometimes, when people grow up in survival mode, it’s hard to stop. It’s scary to change, even when change means something better.”
“Why is it scary?” Yazmin asked.
“Because it’s all they know. Changing means learning something new, and that can be hard. Especially for adults. But just because something is hard doesn’t mean we can’t do it, right?” She reached out and tickled Yazmin’s belly, smiling as her daughter squirmed and giggled. For a moment, Mahira let herself relax as though the conversation had dissolved with Yazmin’s laughter.
“Stay close. Hold each other’s hands.” She rose and adjusted Sandy’s carrier with one hand. Her other hand guided Yazmin and Cyrus, forming a fragile chain as they moved toward the door. As she led them forward, her grip tightened around Sandy’s carrier, and she swore to herself they wouldn’t grow up learning how to survive without love.
The little ones were quick to pick up on emotion as crowds filled the streets. They mirrored the expressions of the people they passed—wide, darting eyes, mouths set in tight, trembling lines, or faces twisted with panic and dread. A few stared upward in silent awe, frozen in place. Others shuffled along, heads low, as though trying to ignore an unseen threat and hoping avoidance would make it go away.
“It’s okay. We’re almost there, little tigers. Stay close to Mama Tiger, okay? Stay together.”
“Did you pack Mr. Aardvark?” Yazmin asked with childlike desperation.
They were ten minutes from her parents’ door. “No, I’m sorry, Honey. I forgot. He’ll be safe at home.”
Yazmin let go of Cyrus’s hand. She stomped in place, fists clenched. “But I want Mr. Aardvark. He must be scared,” she pouted.
“Honey, we don’t have time. He’ll be safe at home. He was still tired from staying up all night watching over you. Mr. Aardvark needs his sleep. That way, he’ll be ready to play with you when you get home. Besides, you’re going to have so much fun with Seedo and Sitti. They’ve got those old Lincoln Logs from the surface world, remember? You get to build cabins. And remember the old toy barn with the moo cows and little wooden people?”
Yazmin relented and grabbed her brother’s hand again. “I’ll worry about Mr. Aardvark, though.”
“Well, there is no need for worry, my brave little tigers. Mama Tiger will always keep you safe.”
Finally, they arrived at her parents’ door. Mahira knocked twice. The door opened as though she was expected, even at this odd hour. “You’re already dressed?” she greeted in shock.
“No one is going back to sleep after that.” Mr. Farooq, tall and dignified with a neatly trimmed beard and warm, intelligent eyes, took one look at his daughter and understood everything. “I figured as much.”
“Seedo!” Cyrus jumped into his grandfather’s arms.
“Oh! Little tigers, little tigers,” Mr. Farooq chimed as he squatted down to the children’s level. He squeezed the twins into his arms.
Mrs. Farooq, a stern and graceful woman, stepped forward. Gold adorned the fingers that wrapped around her tea cup. The way she glided across the room amplified her serene presence. She wore her customary turban with pride, its vibrant colors as bold and unapologetic as she was.
Mahira glanced over her mother’s shoulder and spied the tea kettle, which was set atop a large candle to brew without electricity.
“They’ll be fine.” Mr. Farooq reached forward for Sandy’s carrier.
Mrs. Farooq grabbed the diaper bag from Mahira, avoiding eye contact. She invited the twins inside. “Come on, in you go. We’ll have breakfast ready in no time.”
Mahira felt a weight lift from her shoulders. She was relieved to have somewhere to take the children without any notice. Before she could say thank you, her father interrupted.
“We know.” He placed a hand on his daughter’s shoulder. “Do what you need to do. They’ll be safe with us, and we can keep them as long as you need.”
“How are you so calm? Haven’t you seen what’s going on out there?”
He shrugged it off. “It’s life. You’ve still got some things to learn. To me, you’re still a little tiger, too, you know. Help people. Do what you do best. We’ve got the children,” he confirmed.
Mahira nodded. Something in his voice made her believe, just for a moment, that everything would be okay. She gave each child a quick hug and kiss. “Be good for Seedo and Sitti, okay?”
“Yes, Mommy,” they chorused, their earlier fears forgotten in the comfort of their grandparents’ home.
As soon as they left her arms, her ‘mommy’ visage wore off, and she became Lieutenant Colonel Farooq once more.
***
Dee squeezed her eyes tighter. She willed the rumbling to go away and hoped it was part of a dream. Perhaps she had only imagined someone whispering her name.
“Dee!” Jack hissed.
She rolled over and hugged the covers closer. “Jack, it’s the middle of the night.”
“Dee.” He placed a firm hand on her shoulder and shook.
She gasped, unaware that he was that close in her groggy state. “Jesus, Jack! What is it?” She opened one eye and saw Jack, fully dressed, with an old lantern in his hand. “Why are you dressed? It’s just a power outage,” she speculated as her eyes surveyed her unusually darkened room. She threw her head into the pillow, hiding her face from him and his intrusive light. “Go back to bed. I have to work early tomorrow, and Dad will have a cow if he thinks you’re sneaking out again. Do you really want to deal with that?”
“He never came home last night.”
“What?” She tossed the covers aside and automatically reached for her work clothes. “Are you sure?”
“Yes, I’m sure. He’s not here.”
She rubbed the sleep from her eyes. “What time is it?”
Jack shrugged. “I think three-ish?”
Her shoulders slumped in disappointment, and her hair fell forward. “Why are you even up?”
“I heard something.” Jack turned toward the kitchen.
Dee threw a flannel work jacket over her shoulders to stave off the subterranean chill. “Nothing looks out of place.” She lit her lantern and followed Jack into the kitchen.
Voices stirred outside their front door.
“Come on. There’s a lot of people in the tunnel. Dad’s probably just outside. Something big must’ve happened,” she ventured.
They stepped out into the main tunnel of Miner’s Row. Silhouettes loomed in the weak emergency lighting. Under other circumstances, it would have seemed creepy. But, the sound of familiar, neighborly voices comforted them.
Miner’s Row was a winding network of low-ceilinged tunnels carved deep into the mountain, where the rock walls were left jagged and unfinished as if the area had been abandoned halfway through its construction. Homes were carved directly into the earth. Only the main tunnel had an additional second, and in some places third, level. Upper levels had makeshift additions or extensions assembled from salvaged metal panels. Most of the dwellings had no proper doors—just patched fabric curtains or repurposed sheets of tin.
The pathways branching off from the main tunnel were narrow and uneven, lit only by caged bulbs strung along the ceiling. Their weak glow barely reached the ground. Coal braziers provided some warmth, but the shadows loomed larger here. They pooled in every crevice.
Normally, children played barefoot in the passageways while they dodged rusty mine carts still used to haul debris from deeper recesses. Miner’s Row wasn’t a place for luxury—it was a place for survival as the weight of New Appalachia pressed down on everything and everyone.
Other neighbors had already gathered in the main hall—some faces they recognized, others they didn’t. They all carried various lanterns and flashlights. The city’s underbelly glowed a soft amber while everyone’s lanterns flitted like fireflies, hovering and blinking between huddles of conversation.
Two doors down, a home left an unlit candle on a shelf outside its door for such occasions. The light did little to illuminate the tunnel, but it was high enough to reveal nearby faces. Dee watched Mr. Sumner, an elderly man, shake out the match and stuff a small box into his pocket. As though he felt her eyes on him, he glanced her way and offered a small smile.
A scream from above drew everyone’s attention—those with flashlights directed their beams to and fro to find the source of the shrill sound. Mrs. Mitchell, a middle-aged woman who worked as a hairdresser, cried out, “The stairwell is blocked! We’re trapped! The roof is caving in!”
Panic sent people into motion—some to help, others to save themselves. Jack and Dee looked up toward the roof of the main tunnel as dust fell in small chunks. A larger clump fell next to Dee’s feet. She gasped and leaned towards Jack. He instinctively threw his arm around her.
Another scream echoed behind them, emanating from the depths of a narrow passage. Then, another cry for help. In all the commotion, it was hard to tell what came from where. Without warning, the crimson glow of first responder lights pulsated through the cavern.
Dee grabbed Jack’s hand. “Come on. You need to get out into the open, under the dome. It’s safest if this place crumbles.”
“Safest? Isn’t that thing made of glass?”
“Polymers,” Dee corrected.
“What the hell is a polymer?”
“Um, something synthetic.” She shrugged as though it wasn’t important.
“What about you?” Jack protested. “I’m supposed to leave you here?”
“Jack, I’m a tunneler. I have to help Mrs. Mitchell and others who might be stuck.”
“Can’t I come along? I can help, too! The emergency services are here; they can help, and we can stay together.”
Dee shook her head. “They don’t know anything about structural integrity. I have to stay and help. I need you to go find Dad.” Dee pushed him along. “Go. You’re practically an adult now. Selections are tomorrow,” she reminded him, hoping everything would calm down and return to normal.
“Today, you mean?”
A look of annoyance crossed her face. “Right.”
“How am I supposed to know where to find Dad?”
“Start with work and backtrack from there,” she yelled over her shoulder. “I’ll meet you back here later.”
Jack shifted and looked toward the red beacons of the emergency vehicles, which snaked their way through the masses crowding the route. An announcement blared from the loudspeaker on the first vehicle. “Please remain calm. There has been an unplanned event. If you are able, please proceed to one of the open squares. Please remain calm. There has been an unplanned event.”
Dee watched as the crowd swallowed Jack. Screams and yells echoed through the winding tunnels. The voices carried with eerie clarity. Shouts of fear and confusion bounced off the dirt and stone walls and filled the air with panic. She scanned the frantic faces in the crowd, searching for any sign of her father.
Something tugged on Dee’s pinky finger, begging for her attention. She jumped, half-startled by the deliberate touch. She looked down to see a small child.
“What’s wrong?”
The unfamiliar child, no more than five or six, said nothing. Dirt stained her cheeks and her bare feet. Her wide, frightened eyes darted around the tangle of people. She pressed closer to Dee’s side and pointed away from the crowd.
“Does someone need help?” Dee asked.
The little girl nodded.
“All right. Can you show me where?”
The child nodded again and charged toward one of the side tunnels.
“Hey, wait!” Dee raced after her. “Not so fast!”
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