moving down the hall, Bello spins in slow circles, letting momentum swing her arms wide.
“I bet our parents are coming to get us,” she says. “They have to be looking for us, right?”
“Mine are,” Yong says instantly.
Bello nods. “So are mine. But…I can’t remember them. Yong, do you remember your parents? What they look like?”
He makes that
pfft
noise again. “Of course I remember them.”
We all know he’s lying. He knows it, too, but no one challenges him, because it’s a nice lie, one we’d all like to believe.
Bello’s spin slows. The excitement drains from her face—fear owns her.
She stops. So do the rest of us.
There are tears in her eyes. Crying again? Bello is really starting to bother me.
“Our parents,” she says. “What if our parents are the ones who put us in the coffins?”
I wondered the same thing. I’m ashamed I considered it, even for a second. I see the others looking down, looking away—we’ve all had that thought, but Bello is the first to voice it out loud.
No one answers her. She seems to shrink, hunching over a bit, elbows pulling tight to her ribs, hands wringing left over right, right over left. Bello stands still, lets the group pass her by, then she falls in at the rear.
We return to walking in silence. We hear only the sounds of our breathing and our shuffling feet.
And our growling stomachs.
Maybe another hour passes. Maybe two. We keep going because we don’t have a choice.
Then, far up ahead, that ever-present meeting of ceiling and floor changes: another hallway, crossing ours. It’s something different, which is enough to make us pick up the pace despite our exhaustion.
We reach the intersection. The new hallway leads off to our right for a long ways, but the light from the ceiling is dim. Farther in, it looks like there is no light at all. Maybe a hundred steps away, I see a single archway door in the dimness. It’s wide open. Maybe there are more beyond it, but it’s too dark to tell.
To our left, the hallway goes a few feet before it stops at a wall, a wall that looks like black liquid frozen in mid-splash—as if it melted, then cooled. Maybe it used to be a door, very different from the other doors we’ve seen so far.
Spingate steps a few feet into the hallway on the right. She stares down it, tilting her head slightly as if that might let her see a bit farther.
“We’ve been in the same hall for a long time,” she says. “We haven’t found anything. So far, I mean. Should we try this new one?”
No one else speaks. Are they waiting for me to decide?
Yong walks to stand next to Spingate. He stares down the new hall just as she did, even tilts his head the same. Then he looks back at me.
“We’ll go this way,” he says. “That makes sense.”
I’m not sure that it does. The hallway to the right is different: it looks
flat
. I don’t see the floor-meeting-ceiling illusion I’ve been looking at for the last few hours, but then again, that could be because there isn’t enough light to see that far.
The hallway we’re in now seems endless, but it has to lead somewhere; I can’t say that for sure about the new direction.
“We’re not going to walk down a dark hall,” I say. “Besides, we need to keep going straight.”
Aramovsky points down the hall to the right. “But that way is flat. Maybe you didn’t notice. We’ve been walking uphill for…well, for a long time. My legs are tired.”
So are mine. I’d like to give my legs a break as much as he would, but I know I’m making the right decision.
“We go straight,” I say again. “If we start making turns, we might not know what direction is what. If we keep going straight, at least we know how to get back to where we came from if we get into trouble. I know it’s tiring, but walking uphill is a good thing—every step we take is a step closer to getting out.”
I see shoulders droop, I hear heavy sighs. They don’t want to agree with me; they want to
“I bet our parents are coming to get us,” she says. “They have to be looking for us, right?”
“Mine are,” Yong says instantly.
Bello nods. “So are mine. But…I can’t remember them. Yong, do you remember your parents? What they look like?”
He makes that
pfft
noise again. “Of course I remember them.”
We all know he’s lying. He knows it, too, but no one challenges him, because it’s a nice lie, one we’d all like to believe.
Bello’s spin slows. The excitement drains from her face—fear owns her.
She stops. So do the rest of us.
There are tears in her eyes. Crying again? Bello is really starting to bother me.
“Our parents,” she says. “What if our parents are the ones who put us in the coffins?”
I wondered the same thing. I’m ashamed I considered it, even for a second. I see the others looking down, looking away—we’ve all had that thought, but Bello is the first to voice it out loud.
No one answers her. She seems to shrink, hunching over a bit, elbows pulling tight to her ribs, hands wringing left over right, right over left. Bello stands still, lets the group pass her by, then she falls in at the rear.
We return to walking in silence. We hear only the sounds of our breathing and our shuffling feet.
And our growling stomachs.
Maybe another hour passes. Maybe two. We keep going because we don’t have a choice.
Then, far up ahead, that ever-present meeting of ceiling and floor changes: another hallway, crossing ours. It’s something different, which is enough to make us pick up the pace despite our exhaustion.
We reach the intersection. The new hallway leads off to our right for a long ways, but the light from the ceiling is dim. Farther in, it looks like there is no light at all. Maybe a hundred steps away, I see a single archway door in the dimness. It’s wide open. Maybe there are more beyond it, but it’s too dark to tell.
To our left, the hallway goes a few feet before it stops at a wall, a wall that looks like black liquid frozen in mid-splash—as if it melted, then cooled. Maybe it used to be a door, very different from the other doors we’ve seen so far.
Spingate steps a few feet into the hallway on the right. She stares down it, tilting her head slightly as if that might let her see a bit farther.
“We’ve been in the same hall for a long time,” she says. “We haven’t found anything. So far, I mean. Should we try this new one?”
No one else speaks. Are they waiting for me to decide?
Yong walks to stand next to Spingate. He stares down the new hall just as she did, even tilts his head the same. Then he looks back at me.
“We’ll go this way,” he says. “That makes sense.”
I’m not sure that it does. The hallway to the right is different: it looks
flat
. I don’t see the floor-meeting-ceiling illusion I’ve been looking at for the last few hours, but then again, that could be because there isn’t enough light to see that far.
The hallway we’re in now seems endless, but it has to lead somewhere; I can’t say that for sure about the new direction.
“We’re not going to walk down a dark hall,” I say. “Besides, we need to keep going straight.”
Aramovsky points down the hall to the right. “But that way is flat. Maybe you didn’t notice. We’ve been walking uphill for…well, for a long time. My legs are tired.”
So are mine. I’d like to give my legs a break as much as he would, but I know I’m making the right decision.
“We go straight,” I say again. “If we start making turns, we might not know what direction is what. If we keep going straight, at least we know how to get back to where we came from if we get into trouble. I know it’s tiring, but walking uphill is a good thing—every step we take is a step closer to getting out.”
I see shoulders droop, I hear heavy sighs. They don’t want to agree with me; they want to
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