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June’s notices the posters too. Her eyes are wide and hazy with fever, her breath rising in faint clouds of steam. All around us are what appear to be military barracks, covered from top to bottom with the same bright posters. Streetlights line both sides of the road in neat, orderly patterns. This must be where the tunnel and those underground shelters get their electricity. A cold wind blows more snow in our faces.
June suddenly grabs my hand. She sucks in her breath at the same time I do. “Day . . . over there.” She’s trembling uncontrollably against me, but I can’t tell if it’s from the cold or from what we’re seeing.
Stretching out before us, peeking through the gaps between the military buildings, is a city: tall, shining skyscrapers reaching up through low clouds and delicate snow, and each building illuminated by beautiful blue lights that pour from almost every window and every floor. Fighter jets line the skyscrapers’ rooftops. The entire landscape is aglow. My hand tightens around June’s. We just stand there, unable for a second to do anything else. It’s exactly how my father described it.
We’ve reached a glittering city in the Colonies of America.
METIAS HAD ALWAYS TOLD ME THAT WHENEVER I DO GET sick, I pull out all the stops.
I know it’s cold, but I can’t tell what the temperature is. I know it’s night, but I can’t tell what time it is. I know Day and I have somehow made it across the border and into the Colonies, but I’m too tired to figure out which of their states we crossed into. Day’s arm is wrapped tightly around my waist, supporting me even though I can feel him shaking from the effort of carrying me for so long. He whispers encouragingly to me, urging me on. Just a little longer, he says. There must be hospitals this close to the warfront. My legs are trembling from the effort of keeping me up, but I refuse to faint now. We crunch through light snow, our eyes fixed on the sparkling city before us.
The buildings range between five stories and hundreds of stories tall, some of them disappearing into low clouds. The sight is familiar in some ways and entirely new in others: The walls are lined with foreign flags shaped like swallowtails, colored navy blue and gold; the buildings have archway designs carved into their sides; and fighter jets line each rooftop. They’re distinctly different models from the ones in the Republic, with a strange reverse-swept-wing structure that makes them tridentlike in appearance. The jets’ wings are all painted with ferocious gold birds, as well as a symbol I don’t recognize. No wonder I always heard that the Colonies had a better air force than the Republic—these jets are newer than the ones I’m used to and, considering their rooftop placements, must all be able to perform vertical takeoffs and landings effortlessly. This warfront city seems more than prepared to defend itself.
And the people. They’re everywhere, both soldiers and civilians crowding the streets, huddled under hooded coats to shield themselves from the snow. As they pass under the neon glow of lights, their faces are tinted shades of green, orange, and purple. I’m too exhausted to do a proper analysis of them, but the one thing I notice is that all of their clothes—boots, pants, shirts, coats—have a variety of emblems and words on them. I’m shocked by the sheer number of ads on the walls—they stretch on as far as the eye can see, sometimes bunched so closely together that they completely hide the walls beneath them. They seem to be advertising anything and everything under the sun, things I’ve never seen or heard of before. Corp-sponsored schools? Christmas?
We pass one window where a bunch of miniature screens are displayed, each broadcasting news and videos. SALE! the window display reads. 30% OFF UNTIL MONDAY! Some channels’ broadcasting programs are familiar—headlines from the warfront, political conferences. DESCON CORP SCORES ANOTHER VICTORY FOR COLONIES ON DAKOTA/MINNESOTA BORDER. REPUBLIC RUBBLE AVAILABLE FOR PURCHASE AS SOUVENIRS! Others broadcast movies, something the Republic only shows in rich sector theaters. Most screens are showing commercials. Unlike the Republic’s propaganda commercials, it’s as if these ads were trying to persuade their population to buy things. I wonder what kind of government runs a place like this. Maybe they don’t have a government at all.
“My father once told me that the Colonies’ cities are like glitter from far away,” Day says. His eyes skip from one brightly colored ad to the next as he helps me through the shuffle of people. “It’s exactly like he described, but I can’t figure out all these ads. Aren’t they strange?”
I nod back. In the Republic, ads have organized displays with a consistent, distinct government style that remains the same no matter where in the country you are. Here, the ads don’t follow any sort of color theory. They’re jumbled, a mishmash of neon and flashing lights. As if they weren’t made by any sort of central government, but by a number of smaller, independent groups.
One ad shows a video of a smiling officer in a uniform. The voiceover says: “Tribune Police Department. Need to report a crime? Only 500 Note deposit needed!” Underneath the officer, in small print, are the words: TRIBUNE POLICE DEPARTMENT IS A SUBSIDIARY OF DESCON CORP.
Another ad says NEXT NATIONWIDE EHL* CHECK SPONSORED BY CLOUD—JAN. 27. NEED SOME HELP TO PASS? NEW MEDITECH JOYENCE PILLS NOW AVAILABLE AT ALL STORES! Below this, another small asterisk is followed by the text: EHL, EMPLOYEE HAPPINESS LEVEL.
A third ad actually makes me do a double take. It shows a video of rows of young children, all dressed in the exact same clothes, smiling the biggest smiles I’ve ever seen. When the text comes up, it reads FIND YOUR PERFECT SON, DAUGHTER, OR EMPLOYEE. SWAPSHOP FRANCHISE STORES ARE A SUBSIDIARY OF EVERGREEN ENT. I frown, puzzled. Maybe this is how the Colonies run orphanages or the like. Isn’t it?
