The woman sat alone in her room, the hush of night in the desert heavy upon her. Moonlight streamed in through the sliding glass door leading onto the balcony and made grotesque shapes on the thickly carpeted floor. The soft glow of a table lamp filled the tiny space, holding the shadows at bay but only just; they encircled her like hungry demons, waiting for the fire to die so they could rush in and claim her with sharp claws and jagged teeth.

She was sitting on the sofa, arms and legs crossed, as she had been all day, the hem of her silken robe lying across the top of her creamy thigh. Every so often, her foot would jitter with nervous energy and her eyes would scan the room for a danger she could feel but never see. At one point, she got up and went onto the balcony, the cold night wind flowing through her hair; usually it was brushed and fashionably styled, but now it was knotted, the crown of a Queen who did not care...and long hadn't.

Laying her hands on the railing, cold wrought iron, she gazed first at the stars, then into the west, where, beyond untold miles of desert, Sir. Ginormous and his men waited for sunrise. A ball of dread formed in her middle and the acrid taste of bile coated the back of her throat. She turned away and went back inside, her bare feet shuffling and her frame slightly trembling with cold. The room stood as it always had, the canopy bed to her left, the TV she rarely watched on her right, its screen bearing a watery and distorted version of her that she couldn't bring herself to look at. Though there were no outward differences, the room felt different, somehow changed. A ripple of unease shot through her burning, nauseous stomach and she pressed her hand to it with a wince.

Crossing to the nightstand, delicate features contorted in agony, she sat on the edge of the bed and pulled open the drawer, taking out an unmarked pill bottle, orange with a white top. She unscrewed the lid and shook two tablets into her shaking hand, then tossed them into her mouth and swallowed them dry, her face puckering in distaste. She twisted the lid back on, replaced the bottle, and shoved it into an out of the way corner like a dirty little secret.

And it was. Unbeknownst to everyone but Lisa and probably Lester, Lola's stomach had been riddled with ulcers for over a year; as soon as one healed, the needling stress of ruling Bartertown begot another, then another, like an Old Testament sire heeding the Lord's call to be fruitful and multiply. She made it look easy because her pride was at stake, but it wasn't, and though no one knew it, she worried over everything. She was twenty-one and her blonde hair was already beginning to gray in places, and each time she looked in the mirror, she found another line at the corner of her mouth and eyes. She rarely slept more than three or four hours a night and what she ate eventually came back up. Her hands quivered incessantly and what little sleep she did get was fitful and stalked by nightmares of failure. In the light of day, she smiled and made her royal decrees, but inside she was a seething mass of anxiety and regret, like the soft, pulpy flesh of an infected tooth.

She thought she could do this, believed that she could do what her father did, but she couldn't; he was able to hold the world together with his bare hands, but of course he was, he was daddy, the strongest, smartest, and all around best man to ever live. She was Lola, and while she had many talents and winning qualities, staying the course just wasn't one of them. She thought being in charge would entail sitting there and looking good while everyone else did all the work, but she quickly realized that that wasn't the case. She accepted that, but once she came to understand just how much went into keeping Bartertown afloat, she began to doubt. The weight of everything rested on her shoulders, and one wrong move would send everything her father worked for, everything she herself wanted, collapsing like a house of cards.

And it would be all her fault.

She wished she knew what being the leader was really like before she took the mantle of power; if she did, she would have let someone else have it.

But she didn't, she picked it up for herself and that was that. She did a damn good job, but the toll it took on her body and mind…

Then...oh and then...he came along and everything got harder. She no longer had to worry about her kingdom falling apart, she had to worry about it being taken from her and watching everything she suffered to accomplish being raped, literally and figuratively.

Volcanic rage erupted in her and she flashed, slamming her fist against her knee. It wasn't fair. She wasn't a bad person, why was this happening to her? She had quirks like anyone, but she did everything in her power to give her people a good life - they had food, gasoline, a doctor, everything they could possibly want. Except for men.

What she told Lincoln was true, she did desire a bustling kingdom and the welling pride that goes along with not only ruling it, but having created it as well. For that, she needed men. Men who weren't rapists and murderers.

There was another aspect to her need, however, a more personal one.

She needed a man, someone handsome, strong and steady, someone she could lean on and share her troubles with, someone she could open her heart, mind, and body to in a way she could open them to nobody else. She felt a certain spiritual longing at the concept of baring herself completely to a man, in standing naked, vulnerable, and unguarded before him...no makeup, no pretenses, no false fronts...just her, weaknesses and all. She never knew she wanted that until she was alone at the top, isolated from everyone and pretending day after day that she was okay when she wasn't. Everyone needs love, intimacy, and understanding, even her, and there is no greater pain than not having it. She was a flower without the warming light of the sun; a fish slowly suffocating out of water; a lost, lonely little girl with no one to hold her hand, look into her eyes, and give her the affection for which she was so desperately starved. Every boy she had ever known wanted her only for her looks. They told her she was beautiful and charmed her into bed, but there was never any substance to their feelings...they wanted that proverbial one thing, and once they swindled her out of it, they suddenly didn't care about her thoughts and feelings the way they did before. She was nothing but her face and her body, pretty but ultimately unimportant. Her looks mattered, everything else did not...she, the Lola within, the real Lola, did not.

At first, she accepted this...she opened her legs for any man who put in a little effort because at least during the act, she could make believe they loved her, and if she closed her eyes and strained, she could feel the faint stirrings of that warm, magical sensation of being loved. As she grew older, she came to resent not only men but herself, because no matter how much she tried, she was still desperate for love. Why, she didn't know - her father was a good and loving man, and to imply she had daddy issues...that he caused this...was an insult not only to him, but to her as well. She was simply born this way.

Oh, but she hated it, and right before the Collapse, she resolved to never let another man have her ever again. They were all the same, anyway, manipulative users who only cared about getting their dicks wet and their egos stroked. Only deep in her heart, she didn't really believe that. Not all men were that way, just the ones she associated with. Everyone has a type, was hers trash? Surely the onus was on her...she made an easy target of herself and all but let them take her, like a gazelle placidly presenting its throat to a lion. A real man, a good man, did not prowl the way her men did, they...she didn't know. Hung out in churches? Worked all the time? Already had families? Were gay?

Or did she simply ignore them? She couldn't say, but she knew that somehow, she was to blame. Other women might lack the self-awareness to realize that they were but dogs returning to their own vomit, but not her. Every man she dated, whether black or white, rich or poor, boisterous or quiet, was of a like - predators who put on a mask, like Michael Myers hunting babysitters, and told you whatever you wanted to hear.

And for some God forsaken reason, she was drawn to them. Every man was not like that, she decided, but every man she was attracted to was. Therefore, she designed to withdraw, for it was better to have no one at all.

That didn't pan out. Like anyone, she needed love and companionship, and going without it was like having a buzz saw in her stomach, ever spinning, threshing her insides to paste.

Her wanting a sprawling kingdom, she thought, sprang from her need for love: She could not have the deep, intimate love of one person, so she would make due with the superficial love of a million. And maybe...in all those loyal subjects...she would one day find what she'd been looking for.

But what point was there? What point was there to anything? Even without that musclebound bastard - wanting her beauty just like every other man to sniff around - the ceaseless pressure of keeping Bartertown afloat was killing her.

Now there was tomorrow to worry about.

Her stomach rolled and she swallowed a bitter rush of acid. It was over...all over...no matter what she did, she was going to lose. Let him in and submit or fight and die. Her hopes, her dreams...all broken like a pane of glass on the ground.

She thought of the gun in her nightstand as she often did these days, hidden beneath a cashmere scarf, a compact .38 revolver, chrome with black grip. It was Daddy's and he carried it with him always, tucked into a shoulder holster hidden by specially tailored coats - at home, to the country club, even to board meetings. She saw herself taking it out, pressing it to her temple, and pulling the trigger. A flash, a bang, and it would all be over.

Only she couldn't. She was sad, depressed, and empty, but she didn't hate herself, nor did she want to die. She wanted to be happy, that was all. Like anybody would. The woman who kills herself does not revel in her dejection, rather, she yearns for joy, and only commits suicide when she becomes convinced that it will forever elude her. Lola still held hope...and as long as one has hope, they can weather any storm.

Her hope was fading, though, and she was growing weary. She didn't want to die, but she also didn't want to be the -

Someone rapt on the door and her heart blasted. She jerked an apprehensive glance at it and swallowed thickly. The outside world was calling...reality invading her fantasy-bound sanctum with bad news...always bad news. She should ignore them...they'd go away eventually.

Instead, she folded her arms defensively over her chest and crossed her legs at the knee. "Come in," she called, a quaver in her voice.

The knob turned, and Leni poked her head in, a big, beaming smile on her face as per usual. Leni was simple-minded and thus immune to the stresses and worries of life. Lola valued the shrewd intelligence she inherited from her father, but there were times she wished she was like Leni - innocent, untroubled, and unburdened. Leni floated airily through her day with the unfettered freedom of a cloud, and in all the time Lola had known her, her smile never faltered and the radiant glow about her countenance never dimmed once.

"Hi," Leni chiruped, then furrowed her brows. "How are you feeling?"

Earlier, Lola told Leni she was ill. It wasn't a lie. "I'm fine," Lola said, touched by the girl's genuine concern. "Thank you."

"Do you feel up to seeing Lynn?" Leni asked and glanced over her shoulder, "she's right here."

Lola's stomach turned. Lynn. She probably wanted to talk about things having to do with...tomorrow, and that was the last thing Lola needed right now. As leader of Bartertown, however, she was obligated to meet with her defense minister. "Yeah, send her in."

Leni stepped aside, and Lynn entered, followed by Lincoln. Lola darted her eyes away from him because to her he represented everything she could have had and everything she would lose tomorrow. She didn't know him very well...whether he was a good man or not...but she had planned to teach him. He could impregnate every woman in the village, but she would shape him into her ideal, and to her he would come home at the end of the day. That wasn't going to happen now - her kingdom, her admirers, her one-day lover like a knight on a noble steed, all of it was castles in the air. The only thing she had to look forward to was being taken as Ginormous's bitch...or shooting herself to escape. Which fate was worse? She had hope now, but she doubted she would once he and his men overwhelmed them. Once they won, her hope would extinguish and she'd turn into one of those women who believe that happiness will always elude them...one of of those poor, pitiful wretches who really do kill themselves.

Leni slipped in behind them and closed the door, standing dutifully there and ready to serve in whatever capacity was required of her. Lola was silently grateful for her presence. Lynn approached and sat in a chair facing the bed, her skin sallow and peaked. A bulge under her shirt marked the spot where she was shot. When Lola heard what happened, her gord rose and she nearly vomited. She didn't, though, not until Lera left and she was alone.

As there was only one chair, Lincoln stood next to Lynn and crossed his arms, his head tilted slightly back and his chin jutting defiantly out. Lola fluttered her eyes to his and then away with a dropping sensation when she saw what she took to be unveiled contempt.

He hated her.

But why wouldn't he? He didn't understand her or why she did the things she did. Maybe he would understand if she explained the contents of her heart, but while in fantasy the idea of being metaphorically naked before a man was appealing, just the thought of doing it now made her feel like she was going to puke again.

She lowered her gaze to the floor like a scolded dog, hoping that she didn't look the part as much as she felt it. "How's your arm?" she asked her French tipped toes.

"Hurts like a bastard," Lynn responded, then, without further preamble, "what are we doing tomorrow?"

Lola's intestines tangled and molten acid bubbled up in her esophagus. She didn't know what they were doing tomorrow. Aside from dying. She was determined to fight for her life and her dreams, but she didn't think they had a chance in hell of succeeding. Lynn regarded her with urgent anticipation, and Lola slipped her fingers anxiously into her hair. "Trying to survive," she said shortly.

"We need something specific," Lynn said impatiently. "A concrete plan."

Lola sighed and held up her hand. "I-I can't do this."

A dark shadow ran across Lynn's face. "You have to do this, you're in charge."

You have to do this...and that, and that, and this, and that and this andthisthatthisthisthatthatyouaretheleaderanditallfallsonyou. Lola felt herself flushing and beginning to shake but was powerless to stop it. Blood crashed against her temples and the edges of her vision strained. All of her darkest fears, lonely nights, insecurities, pain, hatred, and everything else she'd been bottling up her entire life burst against her in a choking deluge that threatened to spill from her in a black torrent. "I don't want to be the leader," she snapped; her voice was childish and petulant even to her own ears, the whine of a spoiled little girl who wasn't getting her way, but she didn't care, didn't care about anything. "Keeping everything together is literally killing me. I don't sleep, I don't eat, I have ulcers, I can't stand it anymore." The pitch and timbre of her voice rose with her passion until she shook like a tea kettle on a hot stove. Lynn stared at her with an inscrutable expression that Lola didn't like. Lynn always hated her and truth be told, Lola hated her too; Lynn was everything she was not - confident, self-possessed, and independent, and Lola envied her the way she did Leni. Envied her so much it made her sick and stoked hatred in her heart. She was probably enjoying this, relishing it as though it were an amusing stage performance. "I'm not Daddy and I'm sorry I ever tried. This job has been nothing but stress and I'm done."

She realized what she was saying as she spoke the final three words, and her stomach twisted in a queer and keen combination of trepidation...and release, like a crushing hand falling away from a crumpled throat. Once, she was terrified by the thought of not being in charge, and lobbied hard to replace Daddy. Now, the prospect of living life as a normal person was both terrifying and exhilarating. Let someone else worry about whether or not there was enough food for everyone, or enough gas, let someone else lay awake at night and take pills for their overwrought nerves.

Lynn gaped in surprised, then snapped her jaw closed and shook her head like a woman coming out of a trance. "Lola," she said lowly, "look, I know it's hard on you, okay? But right now we need you to -"

"No," Lola said and whipped her head away. A tiny pinprick of shame burned in the center of her chest. Lynn was going to say we need you to lead and that was true, but she was no leader. She sighed and relaxed her posture contritely. "Bartertown deserves better than me."

Lynn let out a deep breath and flicked her eyes to the empty spot on Lola's right as though she couldn't bring herself to look at Lola directly. The words came hard, halting."You're a good leader," she confessed, "you've done a lot of stuff I don't agree with and that's shit's gotta change, but you've kept us going and...you can't flake right now."

"I have no idea what I'm even doing, Lynn," Lola snapped and threw up one hand, "I don't know anything about war. I don't know anything about...fortifications or whatever. You're better at this than I am. You be the leader."

The color drained from Lynn's face, and her eyes widened in alarm. "I-I can't be leader," she stammered, "n-n-not of everything. I wouldn't know the first thing. I-I'd tank." She looked like a doe in the headlights, and Lola was honestly surprised. As much as she didn't like Lynn, Lola had to admit: She was a competent head of security and adept at managing people, time, and resources. Ruling Bartertown entailed the same things as Lynn's current position, only on a slightly larger scale.

Okay, a much larger scale, but if anyone could do it...it was Lynn. She said as much, and Lynn shook her head ardnalty from side to side. "N-No, I-I can't. I'll fail."

The words, and the heartfelt tone in which she spoke, hung heavy in the air between them. Lola searched her eyes and was stunned to see raw, primal fear, the same fear she sometimes glimpsed when she glanced unguardedly at a reflective surface.

She chose Lynn as her head of security (instead of someone she actually liked) for many reasons, the most important being her dedication to Bartertown and its ideals. Before he died (probably from stress of his own), Daddy spoke very highly of Lynn; Lola pinched her nose and gave her the position because Daddy never picked a loser, if he said she was good, she must be. Over time, Lola discovered that she was - she wanted many of the same things from Bartertown that Lola herself did, and she would give achieving those aims all of her time, energy, and blood. For her, as for many, Bartertown was a last refuge...there was nothing else beyond it, and she would die here if she had to because it was worth dying for.

If Lola knew her half as well as she thought she did, Lynn was afraid of the total responsibility that comes with the helm, afraid that she would not be good enough, that she would make the wrong choices and sail it into the ground. Lola first felt a rush of satisfaction at Lynn all but admitting what a good job she'd done, then a tiny twinge of sympathy because she knew those fears all too well.

But better Lynn than her. "Well, I can't do it anymore. Especially not now."

"You can't just step aside at a time like this," Lynn argued, "you're the leader and Bartertown needs you."

Lola opened her mouth to reply, but Lincoln cut her off. "How about this? Lynn and I will handle the war stuff, you stay here and hide or whatever you wanna do, then afterwards, you take back over. Have an election to find a new queen or something." He looked from her to Lynn, his gaze lingering on the latter just a little longer than it should have, then donned a smile that looked forced, but only a little. "This place is gonna be around awhile, might as well start thinking long term."

"Alright," Lynn said, and turned in her chair to face him. "What do you think we should do?"

"First," he said, "we need to figure out how many people to put on each side of the wall. The stiffest fighting's probably gonna be in the west. It's also the most protected. We got the trench, the pikes, and the cars. The chances of them getting through are really fucking low. The south and east sides worry me a little. I say we spread most of the people and heaviest firepower between them. A few good people can hold the west. How many of those machine guns are up?"

Lynn thought for a moment. "Three on each side. If you want fewer people on the west, they should have more of the pipe bombs."

"Do you think we should have fewer people there?"

"I dunno. Like you said, it's the best protected side, but unless we have people on it shooting, they're gonna overrun it. If that's where the worst is gonna be, it makes sense to have more people there." She looked up at him. "You know?"

Lincoln shifted his weight, and Lola was reminded of a high school teacher settling in for a debate with a particularly gifted student. "Alright, what about the other sides? Should we just do it equal? How many fighters do we have?"

"One-fifteen," Lynn said uncertainly.

A sharp ripple clawed through Lola's stomach. She knew there weren't many, but not that few.

Lincoln nodded. "Alright. We put a roughly equal number on each side. All the cars need to go on the east and south sides, though. We got the trench on the west and the rocks on the north but not much else on the others."

"Maybe we should put more on the east and south walls," Lynn fretted. "But if we do that, shouldn't most of the heavy artillery go on the west? That way we can have fewer people but doing more damage."

At the door, Leni went on smiling, though there was a strained quality to it now, as though it were beginning to slip and she was fighting to hold it up. She was simple, but she wasn't stupid, she fully understood what was happening and why. I'd rather, like, die then let those men take me alive, she told Lola earlier as she served tea. She lowered her voice to a scandalized whisper. They'll do bad stuff to us. Real bad stuff.

I know, Lola spat. She didn't mean to, but the implicit meaning of real bad stuff dropped into her stomach like a Mentos into soda, causing a chemical reaction that nearly had the same results. Leni wasn't fazed. I'll shoot myself before I let that happen. Lola didn't know if she would actually do it, but she certainly had the means; like almost everyone in Bartertown, Leni owned a handgun, and since Ginormous advent, she'd taken to carrying it on her at all times. She wore it in a holster around her left thigh. One day, she brought Lola breakfast in bed, then propped her leg on the edge of the bed and pulled the hem of her dress up to proudly display it. Look, she preened, Lynn gave me a thingie for my gun.

The thought of Leni, always bright eyed and smiling, putting a pistol to her head and wincing in expectation as she squeezed the trigger disturbed Lola more than it had any right to.

Humming ruminatively, Lincoln gave a slow, brooding nod. "Yeah, that would work. I don't know about you, but I'm gonna be on that side. If you ask me, you should be on one of the weaker ends."

"The east wall," Lynn said instantly, "I'll be on the east wall and Lana can be on the gate."

"Is she a good fighter?"

Lynn looked at him like he asked what color the sky was. "Uh, yeah. My best."

"Good," he said.

Shortly thereafter, Lynn, Lincoln, and Leni left, and Lola was alone.

She did not sleep for a very long time.