Page 7 of A Better World

“What shadows?” Linda asked.

“When it hits,” Hip said. “Our bodies’ll melt against the walls. We’ll cast shadows for eternity… Or until the octopus robots scrape us off and throw us away.”

“You wish,” Josie said. “We’ll be vaporized. Atomized. Sub-atomized. Silicone life-forms from the fifth dimension’ll be breathing us from colonies on the moon.”

“Your father and I’ve kept you safe for more than fifteen years,” Linda said. “Inside or outside, there isn’t going to be a bomb. Stop saying that.”

“Totally will,” they said at the same time.

“There might,” Zach conceded.

Linda looked down into the darkness. Something looked back with beady eyes. It was lighter than the pitch, its movement slow, its size gargantuan. Fear lit up her hind brain like a pinball hitting jackpot.

“What is that?” she asked as she reared, arms extended to hold Hip and Josie back.

“What iswhat?” Zach asked.

“There’s something down there.”

Making prayer hands, Zach grinned with fascination as he leaned over the metal railing. “I don’t see anything.”

“It was moving,” Linda said.

“Maybe a bird or two. They wander in sometimes.”

Linda peered into the grim. “The caladrius?”

“They sneak down during festivals. It’s perfectly safe. We’ve put up electrical fencing around the reactor to keep them out.”

“It was big, though. Huge.”

“I don’t know what else it could be,” Zach answered with a note of impatience.

“My mom has a big imagination,” Hip said.

“She really does,” Josie agreed.

Linda watched the dark. It was still now. Nothing there.

They lingered, Zach delighted by the grand architecture, Linda wondering whether this shelter’s cold, dead walls would one day nourish the last pocket of humanity. Then they were heading out through turns and winding halls. Zach talked. Linda pretended to listen. On her mind was the thing in the dark.

Surely her kids were right. She’d imagined it. Even so, its beady eyes had seemed intelligent. Knowing.

“Hollow’s tenets are three-pronged: First, through good works, we recognize the disparity between our little town and the outside world. Omnium is a good work, but we also contribute to charity.

“Our second prong is ceremony. Each residence is equipped with at least one Hollow altar, where residents offer tokens of gratitude. This is optional. The four Hollow-based festivals are mandatory. These take place on Beltane, Samhain, Thanksgiving, and at the Plymouth Valley Winter Festival. We bunch them around the cold months to keep things interesting. You’ll especially like the Winter Festival,” he said, directing this last comment to the kids. “It’s the best party on earth.

“Hollow’s final prong is the feeding and caring for our caladrius. When they’re sick, we nurse them. When they’re cold, we ensure their roost is properly insulated. Circle of life. To cull the population, we sacrifice them regularly, particularly for our town-wide feasts. They’re delicious. You can eat the eggs any time, too.

“There’s more to Hollow, but it’s not worth getting into.” When he saw her worried expression (Not worth getting into? Had she done something to hurt their chances?), he added, “People learn through experience. That’s the best way.”

“Right,” she said. “We hope we get to be a part of it!”

Linda watched closely as Zach pressed his hand against the wall. She now saw a faint seam. It looked like a spiderweb crack, only the crack spread in five directions, for the placement of fingers. The handle emerged.

Then they were on the other side, in the wild Labyrinth. “Can you guess which way is out?” he asked. They each pointed in a different direction.None was correct. The stairs were straight past the crossroads and then left. They walked up, up, up. Her ears popped again. As soon as they saw sky, the kids ran ahead, grateful, she suspected, to be out from that covered place and in the open.

“What do you think?” Zach asked.

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