You softly open the old metal door to your bunker, seeing streets piled with rubble and miscellaneous machinery parts. The sky is blue as a painting; the sun sears into your skin. You shut your eyes, recalling fables of cool, foresty grass and the smell of dampened concrete. You imagine your reflection frolicking through the crystal rivers and endless oceans. You blink, slapped back to the reality of dreary gas-scented streets and machinery the size of houses. But the sky beckons you still, the only trace of the dreamlike stories you treasure. The bustle and hum of your life behind you . . . the clicking of the broken stove, the soft chatter of those sneaking away from their chores. The whirr of the anti-artillery kite’s power box lures you back inside.
You turn to the bunker, the scent of gas making you a little woozy. Kathunk! You hear something fall to the ground, followed by the sizzle of blown circuitry and a string of curses soon after. You see tall, ginger-haired Kody standing over (yet another) piece of kite box that has fallen off the main unit. Kody is the klutz of the group. He never fails to make anyone crack a smile.
“I swear these pieces of junk always stick out when I’m walking by!” he whines.
You smirk at his constant struggle with the machinery as you walk back into the bunker, closing the door behind you. Adults check on the commotion and scold Kody, again. Everything stays the same here. You know that Kody will always break anything too close to the edge, the kids playing games will always tear up the matted rugs, the adults will always have hushed conversations. There is certainty here. Why would you leave this certainty when everything about the outside is unknown? You are allowed to leave the bunker after twenty solstices, but once you leave, you can’t come back. Not one person ever returned to the bunker. Maybe they died or found utopia, but no one inside the bunker knows.
You putter about the bunker, looking busy so no one gives you more tasks. You wander through the cluttered, bustling kitchen, around the warm, silent greenhouse, past the empty playrooms.
Maddy, usually studious and composed, bumps into you. She’s panicking over why she can’t find the kids. You tease her as you both check empty rooms. Giggles echo from the ceiling, signaling that they are up in the attic. Maddy rushes to the stairway, you in tow. She slams open the wooden attic door. Light illuminates a surprised Kody and the children.
“Cripes, you guys gave me a heart attack!” Kody exclaims. “At least knock next time.” He holds two identical gadgets in his hands, each buzzing softly. He hands one of the gadgets to you. “I think you’re the most trustworthy of the people here. You hold onto this for now — it’ll be our only method of communication.” The kids in the room nod in agreement and go back to giggling among themselves. Maddy pulls Kody aside.
“Kody, what are you going off about?” Maddy snipes.
“I am leaving th-this bunker tonight. I love you all to bits, but there’s so much more outside of here. I want to be the Jim Hawkins who discovers Treasure Island! I . . . I’m sorry. B-but I can still talk to you! The kids and I created the walkie-talkies, like from those old spy movies, so . . .” Kody stammers.
You silently nod your head in understanding. You think back to the movie nights you all shared. You imagine the kids cozy together on the rugs, transfixed by the explosions and bright lights on the screens, the hugs and the fights and the adventures to Neverland. You all dreamed of adventuring outside, but none of you ever dared. Maddy says nothing, just hugs Kody. You don’t want to third-wheel, so you meander over to the kids who are laughing like nothing’s wrong.
Night arrives, and you and the kids gather at the attic window to watch Kody leave. You clench the warm metal of the walkie-talkie. Studying the dials on the side, you push a red button and twist the largest dial to the tick mark labeled “1.” You hear a loud static sound. Then:
“Ca . . . hear . . . e?”
One of the kids starts hollering, “Kody! We hear some of you!”
“Chan . . . four. Change to th . . . el four.” You grip the side dial and twist it clockwise to “4.”
“Kody, can you hear us?” Maddy leans over your shoulder and talks into the gadget.
“Maddy. Read you loud and clear, over.” You hear Kody’s clear voice. “Okay, I’m leaving now! I’ll tell you all the things I see.” You hear the door gently click shut behind him.
For the next week, you and the kids all take shifts with the device, listening to Kody talk about the world outside. He talks about the abrupt end to the cityline, how it transforms into lush fields and endless sky. You can hear the breezes through the speakers, the splashes of the water he crosses. Maddy always takes night shifts. You know they like each other, so you give them space to talk.
A month into Kody’s exploration and stories home, his battery stash runs out, and communication with him is cut off. All you can do inside the bunker is pray that he is still safe.
You turn to the bunker, the scent of gas making you a little woozy. Kathunk! You hear something fall to the ground, followed by the sizzle of blown circuitry and a string of curses soon after. You see tall, ginger-haired Kody standing over (yet another) piece of kite box that has fallen off the main unit. Kody is the klutz of the group. He never fails to make anyone crack a smile.
“I swear these pieces of junk always stick out when I’m walking by!” he whines.
You smirk at his constant struggle with the machinery as you walk back into the bunker, closing the door behind you. Adults check on the commotion and scold Kody, again. Everything stays the same here. You know that Kody will always break anything too close to the edge, the kids playing games will always tear up the matted rugs, the adults will always have hushed conversations. There is certainty here. Why would you leave this certainty when everything about the outside is unknown? You are allowed to leave the bunker after twenty solstices, but once you leave, you can’t come back. Not one person ever returned to the bunker. Maybe they died or found utopia, but no one inside the bunker knows.
You putter about the bunker, looking busy so no one gives you more tasks. You wander through the cluttered, bustling kitchen, around the warm, silent greenhouse, past the empty playrooms.
Maddy, usually studious and composed, bumps into you. She’s panicking over why she can’t find the kids. You tease her as you both check empty rooms. Giggles echo from the ceiling, signaling that they are up in the attic. Maddy rushes to the stairway, you in tow. She slams open the wooden attic door. Light illuminates a surprised Kody and the children.
“Cripes, you guys gave me a heart attack!” Kody exclaims. “At least knock next time.” He holds two identical gadgets in his hands, each buzzing softly. He hands one of the gadgets to you. “I think you’re the most trustworthy of the people here. You hold onto this for now — it’ll be our only method of communication.” The kids in the room nod in agreement and go back to giggling among themselves. Maddy pulls Kody aside.
“Kody, what are you going off about?” Maddy snipes.
“I am leaving th-this bunker tonight. I love you all to bits, but there’s so much more outside of here. I want to be the Jim Hawkins who discovers Treasure Island! I . . . I’m sorry. B-but I can still talk to you! The kids and I created the walkie-talkies, like from those old spy movies, so . . .” Kody stammers.
You silently nod your head in understanding. You think back to the movie nights you all shared. You imagine the kids cozy together on the rugs, transfixed by the explosions and bright lights on the screens, the hugs and the fights and the adventures to Neverland. You all dreamed of adventuring outside, but none of you ever dared. Maddy says nothing, just hugs Kody. You don’t want to third-wheel, so you meander over to the kids who are laughing like nothing’s wrong.
Night arrives, and you and the kids gather at the attic window to watch Kody leave. You clench the warm metal of the walkie-talkie. Studying the dials on the side, you push a red button and twist the largest dial to the tick mark labeled “1.” You hear a loud static sound. Then:
“Ca . . . hear . . . e?”
One of the kids starts hollering, “Kody! We hear some of you!”
“Chan . . . four. Change to th . . . el four.” You grip the side dial and twist it clockwise to “4.”
“Kody, can you hear us?” Maddy leans over your shoulder and talks into the gadget.
“Maddy. Read you loud and clear, over.” You hear Kody’s clear voice. “Okay, I’m leaving now! I’ll tell you all the things I see.” You hear the door gently click shut behind him.
For the next week, you and the kids all take shifts with the device, listening to Kody talk about the world outside. He talks about the abrupt end to the cityline, how it transforms into lush fields and endless sky. You can hear the breezes through the speakers, the splashes of the water he crosses. Maddy always takes night shifts. You know they like each other, so you give them space to talk.
A month into Kody’s exploration and stories home, his battery stash runs out, and communication with him is cut off. All you can do inside the bunker is pray that he is still safe.