Bunker 77

1. Taken

To learn who rules over you, simply find out who you are not allowed to criticise.

-Voltaire

***

"Why do we keep making clothes that will end up in the bins?" A sigh from my mother broke the silence in the dimly lit room as she rested her hand on the sewing machine.

This was the third time the upper class returned the dresses we made because 'it didn't reach their standard'. Sometimes, it seemed like they did it on purpose to keep the work on us. They instructed us to burn the clothes, but the head of Sector D decided to distribute them to Division Two people. The action might cost her a penalty from the upper class, but I had a feeling they didn't really care what we did with the clothes.

"I heard they call it fashion. You know, the upper class loves to look good in everything. Even war," a woman on my mother's left muttered as she sewed some embroidery onto a hat.

"Or more like they love to waste things," my mother retorted, huffing slightly before turning on the machine and starting to sew a dress.

Beside me, Flora heaved a dreamy sigh as she held up a dress she had ironed and twirled around. "When the war ends, I'll go outside and put on a new and beautiful dress every day!"

I grinned at her, shaking my head. That's what she said every day, like some sort of mantra to bring hope to our sad, hopeless lives. It's nice to have someone who has that much positivity to wake up for another morning, since most people had lost hope waiting for the war to end.

"Stop it. That's what you said thirty years ago. Nothing ever changes," Lola grumbled under her breath.

Flora tsked, waving her index finger at the old woman. "The war has been going on since my great-grandfather. They should resolve their issues soon. I'm not planning to die here."

The possibility of the war ending anytime soon seems unlikely, at least from what Fikree told me. But the thought of dying in the bunker...

Without seeing the outside world once in my life, it felt like a sad life. Everyone in the room seemed to contemplate the thought too, as everything fell silent. Even Lola's usual retorts couldn't be heard.

"Think of it like this, Amna," said Flora, touching my shoulders as I ironed a dress. "You're still young, you have a long way to go. Yes, the outside world is dangerous, and no one is guaranteed to return, but it's so much more than our life here. You can see the sky, the stars... everything my grandfather used to tell me," she clasped her hands and finished her words with another dreamy sigh before leaving my side to dance around the room.

The twinkling stars. The blue sky. The green field.

My brother used to send us letters about the world outside. He said it was beautiful and panoramic, a sight to behold even with the war. But all the letters stopped when Fikree came to tell me the news of my brother's disappearance. No one ever told me what it was like outside now, since Fikree didn't like talking about it.

As I began to iron another dress, the door of the sewing room was slammed open. A collective gasp came from the women while two female soldiers entered the room and made their way to an oblivious Flora.

Flora, who was singing, stopped her song mid-way as the female soldiers grabbed her arms. "Hey, let me go! Why are you taking me?"

Unplugging the iron, I rushed towards Flora. "What's going on?"

"Flora, the upper class has been keeping an eye on you for a while, and today the council decided that you're no longer fit to live in the bunker," a familiar voice of a man reached my ears. He stepped into the room with his arms crossed against his chest. "Take her away."

I froze at the voice, but Flora's screams took me out of my trance. Flora thrashed in the soldiers' death grip, but her frail arms were no match for the officers' strength. The soldiers took her out of the room, and her reluctance could be heard all over the hallway.

As I watched them until they were out of sight, it reminded me of the incident during breakfast in the dining hall about Melati's outburst. Their cases were oddly similar; both were taken out for their 'madness'. No one knows what happened when someone was 'taken out', no one ever survived to tell the story.

"Apologies for the intrusion, ladies. You may continue your work," said Fikree, with a slight bow.

Among the murmurs of the women, my mother's eyes met mine. I was sure she could read the thoughts that raced through my mind. Without a word, I rushed outside of the room to follow the man who had left.

"Why did you take Flora?"

Fikree halted his steps before he turned slowly. "Like I said, the council decided she's no longer fit to live here. There must be something she did that was against the rules of the bunker."

"It must have been a mistake. She might be quite strange, but she's not a bad person."

A grim line formed on his face, and the creases on his forehead deepened. "It's an order from the higher officers. I can't do anything even if I try."

Sensing the stiffness in his tone, I nodded. There's no use arguing with him if it's from the higher officers. "When did you return?" I said, changing the air to a lighter topic.

"Last night," he relaxed and replaced the grim expression with a smile. "I'm sorry that we have to meet like this. I need to pay your parents a visit this evening if you don't mind."

"Why? Something happens?"

Before he could reply, a series of beeps stopped his action. He raised his right wrist and touched his watch to stop the beeping. "I need to go now. I'll see you this evening."

I sighed, watching him leave. Somehow, as our wedding day approached, it was harder to see him. His military activities were the main reason, but still, I expected him to be more excited about the wedding. Out of habit, I put my hands into my blouse's pockets. My right hand came into contact with a piece of paper.

When did it get there?

Knitting my eyebrows, I pulled out the paper and read a sentence that sent shivers down my spine.

'Don't trust the upper class.'

***