Trapped

“Wait,” says Ricky, cocking an ear. “You hear that?”

Strange noises emanating from the bunker. Sounds like children keening. In his mind it feels like the transmission has slipped, can’t get in gear to the next thought. Stuck on children keening, eee eee eee.

“That’s the ventilation pipe,” Roy reminds him. “Wind goes across the top, makes a weird noise.”

Keening becomes wind and his mind moves on.

“Open the door,” he says.

Out comes the nasty smell. To Ricky a white smell. “Need to empty the bucket,” he points out.

“He kicked it over.”

“Then mop it up. Use Pine-Sol.”

Roy gives him a little look, like are you serious? gets it that Ricky is deadly serious, and looks away. “Okay, sure. Pine-Sol it is.”

Inside the fetid bunker Ricky clicks on his lantern flashlight. The beam finds a frightened face, hollow eyes, a handsome mouth distorted by a gag.

“Hey, Seth, I talked to your dad. He sends his love.”

Ricky jams a tranquilizer dart into the white boy’s thigh, sees his eyes registering a higher level of fear.

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