Jack looked down at the plate his older sister, Dee, had placed before him. The spinach sat limp and wet, a sad tangle on the tray, while the rice formed stubborn clumps. “No meat?”
“Can’t afford it.” She shoved a heaping spoonful of flavorless food into her mouth.
“I thought you haggled with the men in the river district?”
“I can’t anymore.”
“What do you mean you can’t?”
“I can’t, Jack.” Dee’s dark eyes pierced through him, then softened. “Something about regulations. There’s been an increase in pollution levels in the fish. They won’t let me haggle anymore. They said I have to go through the Green Street Market.”
“Why?”
“Because the merchants have the fish inspected before they’re sold.”
Jack scoffed and pushed the food around on his plate. “Dad said that’s not true.”
“It doesn’t matter. The fisherman won’t sell it to me directly if they think they’re liable for any health issues. They’d rather put it on the merchants.”
“And?”
“And I checked. We can’t afford the market prices. So, it’s spinach and rice again. It’s the best I can do, Kid.”
“I wish you’d stop calling me that.” Jack picked up his spoon and forced down a bite, shuddering at the taste. He barely chewed, just pushed the bland, mushy spinach to the back of his mouth and swallowed. “Do we have any salt?”
Dee’s eyes dropped with regret. “No.”
He huffed but didn’t argue. No point.
The air in their unit always had a weight to it. Mildew clung to the walls, thick and damp, layered into the cracks. A small ventilation fan spun above the entryway; blades half-choked with dust. It wheezed out a breath of cooler air from the tunnel—just enough to pretend it was trying.
A single overhead bulb flickered once and held. Its glow didn’t reach beneath the chairs or into the corners of the cabinets. That’s where the shadows crawled and claimed their territory. It was the kind of place that offered shelter, but never let him forget what he was hiding from.
Sanctuary. Prison. Both.
The kitchen barely qualified as one. A counter, welded from mismatched scraps of metal, served as their only workspace. Its warped surface was stained with years of burned meals and chemical cleaners that never quite finished the job. A dull, discolored pot sat on the single electric burner. Next to it, a crooked stack of bowls—scratched to hell, dented at the rims—tilted against the wall.
Makeshift shelves lined the walls, pieced together from whatever Dee could scavenge. Rusted tools. Chipped figurines. Tarnished trays that had once passed for serving dishes. It was all clutter now—a graveyard of memories and necessities cobbled together from the leftovers of a world that no longer existed.
Dee always said it gave the place character.
His eyes landed on the dining chair in the corner, half-swallowed by a mountain of laundry no one had folded in days. The cushion sagged. One leg wobbled if you breathed too close to it. But that chair—that chair—had belonged to their mother. The only thing left of hers in the house. And somehow, that made it harder to touch.
Dee stood. The legs of her chair screeched against the metal floor plates.
Jack winced as the sound yanked him back to the present. “When do you think Dad will be home?”
“He’s an adult. He’ll come home when he comes home.”
“Aren’t you at least a little worried?” He took another bite and chewed slower this time as if that might bring out the flavor.
Dee cleared her plate and carried it to the sink basin, shrugging off any concern. “It’s not the first time he’s been late. He’s probably just working overtime. We could use the money.”
Jack’s shoulders slumped. “I’d rather have him home.” His eyes darted toward the clock. “He’s never this late.”
She splashed water over her plate and then set it aside to dry. “Eat. I’m really not in the mood to play babysitter tonight. You should worry more about yourself. Tomorrow is a big day for you.”
Jack clenched his jaw and eyed the mess on his plate. “I don’t want to think about that.” He prodded the food with his spoon.
She massaged the back of her neck with dirty fingertips. “I think I’m done for the night. I’m too tired to think straight.” She turned toward him, flipping her ponytail over her shoulder. “Don’t let it go to waste, okay? It might not taste the greatest, but it’s food, and it’s all we have. I’ll grab a shower and crash,” she said, disappearing into another room.
Once she was out of sight, Jack pushed his plate away and fell back into his chair. He stared blankly into the emptiness in front of him.
When Dee turned on the shower, a burst of water struck the metal floor with a hollow ting. The silver notes bounced and scattered like loose change before they settled into a steady patter. The water purifier kicked on in the kitchen, and the galvanized steel pipes rattled as they pushed clean water her way. The sounds created a steady, soothing white noise that eased his stress.
Stress. He remembered a time when life seemed simpler. There were no worries. Not a single one. He was younger, and his sister’s hands were softer. So was her demeanor. Now, a permanent scowl stained her face, and callouses lived on her palms. She picked at them when she thought no one was looking. Jack always pretended he didn’t see. He knew she hated them, but he couldn’t stop them from forming on her hands. He couldn’t protect her from the things she hated about herself.
Dee’s fingernails used to be nice, too. Now, their jagged edges snagged on the threads of her shoelaces or caught in her hair when she scratched her scalp. Her hair was always pulled back into a tight, unforgiving bun, slicked down with precision, not a strand out of place. Jack didn’t know how she didn’t always have a headache—maybe she did. Maybe that’s why she’s always so grumpy. When her nails dragged across her scalp, they sometimes caught on the smooth, taut surface, yanking a few strands loose. Tiny tufts would stick up at odd angles, disrupting the perfection, but she never seemed to notice—or maybe she didn’t care anymore.
“It’s the nature of the assignment,” she’d tell him as she stared at the lines of dirt stuck underneath each one where the nail abandoned the skin. The dirt stuck like a tattoo, and no soap or scrub could remove it. She once used a rusty nail to dig it out, digging so deep that her fingers bled and an infection spread. Jack couldn’t be sure, but it seemed she didn’t care if she lost a few fingers at the time. Or if she lost anything.
A strange sort of sadness had settled behind her eyes. It dulled the fire that used to be there. He wondered if that was just part of growing up—if one day, without warning, the same thing would happen to him, too.
A timid, scrawny rat appeared at the corner of the table. His ribs formed even bands underneath his patchy, disheveled fur, and his whiskers twitched as he sniffed for any signs of danger. A crescent-shaped notch interfered with the smooth ridge of his right ear—perhaps an old battle scar from a life long-lived. The rat’s beady eyes darted around the room until they landed on Jack’s leftovers. It hurried toward them.
“It’s okay, little guy. I wasn’t going to eat it anyway.” He tried not to move a muscle.
He watched the rat shove rice into its mouth with tiny, eager hands and thought, Aren’t we the same? No balconies, no grand views—just tucked away in darkened corners, hiding from danger. He often considered the levels above Miner’s Row, where homes had balconies and wide windows that overlooked the green squares. And what he wouldn’t give to breathe in the fresher air day after day. He’d throw everything he had away for a life up there.
Dee screamed.
The rat fled from the table as a steel-toed boot hurdled toward Jack’s leftovers. The outer sole hit the metal plate and tipped it onto the floor with a jarring clang.
“Why’d you do that?”
“Those things are vile.”
“He was hungry!” Jack stood.
Dee’s wet feet left prints on the floor plates as she stomped forward and retrieved the shoe. “They carry all kinds of diseases. Otherwise, I’d suggest catching him if you’re so desperate for meat. Dad works hard to keep this place clean for us. Can’t you at least sweep up the food? I’ve worked all day. I’m not cleaning up after you anymore.”
Jack rolled his eyes. He shifted his weight and rose from the chair. The small brush and rusted dustpan hung on the far wall. “I worked, too.”
“Sitting in school all day is a far cry from digging tunnels and carving new houses out of the ground.”
“Don’t machines do most of the work? I mean, it’s not like you carve them by hand.”
“Someone has to know how to work the machines. And, yes. Some things are carved by hand, whether you want to believe it or not.” She took a breath to settle her nerves. “Look, it’s not like I don’t remember what it was like before selections. I remember the pressure.” She soaked a stained dishcloth with soapy water and offered it as a trade for the dustpan, now filled with food.
As Jack reached for the cloth, Dee kept a firm grip on it, forcing him to look up and make eye contact. He shied away from the care and concern behind her dark gaze.
“I know you’re stressed. And I wish I could give you advice to help make it go away. But nothing I can say will change anything now.”
She dumped Jack’s leftovers into the garbage disposal unit. The device growled to life with a metallic rattle and shook the sink. A low, ominous hum turned into a sputtering grind that reeked of burnt circuitry.
“I know,” he muttered as he wiped the floor.
Dee didn’t say anything. She shut off the sink, wiped her hands on a threadbare towel, and left the room.
Jack waited until her footsteps disappeared into the far end of the hall. Then, slowly, he rose from his perch on the floor. Every part of him felt heavier than it should’ve. He shuffled toward his room, not because he was tired—but because there was nowhere else to go.
The second he shut the door behind him, the silence pressed in. His thoughts spun, knotted around questions he didn’t want answers to. What now? What next? This was his last night of not knowing.
He remembered that day—two years ago—when some overexcited man came to their school to talk about “seeing the sunshine.” Jack had sat dead center in the middle of the assembly room, surrounded by peeling paint and the scent of old wood varnish, and wedged between a bunch of teenagers who didn’t want to be there. The floor creaked with every movement.
The plump, energetic man took the stage, which was little more than an elevated wooden platform. “In two years’ time,” he began, “you will all be up for selections. This is one of the most important days of your life. It’s the day you will finally be free of school and see the sunshine.” The man spoke in slogans—bright futures, big dreams, change starts with you.
Jack had believed him. Or wanted to. Either way, it stuck. Though he wasn’t sure why it had been dubbed “seeing the sunshine.” It’s not like we get to go to the surface or anything.
“This means you get to tell us your top three picks for the job you’d like to hold here in New Appalachia. But here’s the trick: It’s competitive. If you’re at the top of your class, you’ll be guaranteed the first option that has an opening for a new employee. Luckily, not all of you are interested in the same fields. However, you need to keep in mind that not every job will have an opening available. This is why it’s important to be at the top of your class so that you have a better chance of getting exactly what you want.”
Back then, it had sounded like hope. Now, it felt like a trick of the light—something promised but never real.
His gaze drifted toward the carved-out recess along the wall above his bed—a narrow shelf hollowed into the clay and rock, just wide enough to hold a lifetime’s worth of small, quiet treasures. Dee had found most of them while tunneling. She had plucked each item from the earth. Little earthen secrets. Odd things. Beautiful things. Things that didn’t belong here anymore, if they ever had.
Smooth stones the color of dusk. Razor-edged bits of glass turned soft by time. A fossilized snail, perfectly preserved in its spiral tomb. Curved fragments of metal with etchings too faded to decode—maybe from some ancient label or a machine long since gone to rust. He didn’t know where they came from or what they meant. That was part of what made them special.
They weren’t worth anything, not in any real way. But to Jack, they were magic.
His most prized possession was a talon that had once belonged to a fearsome beast. Given how deep they had dug to enlarge the colony, Dee believed it came from a dinosaur, but in his imagination, it was a trophy from a vanquished dragon.
Dee stood in the doorway with her arms crossed over her chest. She’d braided her damp hair for sleep.
“What is it?” he asked.
“I didn’t mean to snap earlier.”
Jack shrugged. He placed the dinosaur claw back on the shelf.
Dee’s eyes lit up as they grazed over Jack’s collection.
“You can come in,” he offered.
“I guess I haven’t looked into your room for some time. I didn’t realize you kept all these. I didn’t realize how much they meant to you.” She reached forward and plucked a polished green rock from the collection. “Do you know what this one is?”
He shook his head as she came to sit next to him.
“It’s called unakite. It’s said to be a stone of rebirth.” She pressed the stone into his palm.
“That’s cool, I guess.”
She took another look back at his shelf. “Unfortunately, I don’t think I ever dug up anything for luck, but you should take that with you tomorrow. To selections. Maybe it helps somehow.”
He grunted in reply.
“Do you want to talk about it now?”
His eyes locked onto the pale green stone that rested in his palm.
Dee knew better than to push—sometimes, silence was the only way to reach him. So, she waited. She let the quiet linger between them until he was ready.
“I hate all the waiting.” He stuffed the unakite in his pocket. “Why didn’t they just do it at the end of school today? Make it part of a last-day ceremony instead of dragging it out another night?”
Dee pursed her lips in thought. “I think they use the time to fine-tune the selections. You know, make sure that they have the right people in the right positions.”
“But you’re not in the right position. You hate your job.” He paused, unsure if he’d struck a nerve. “I’ve heard of people switching,” he offered.
“It’s rare and not easy,” Dee said. “Tunneling is all I know now. Whether I like it or not, I don’t feel qualified to do anything else. It’s a very specific skill set and doesn’t translate well into other services. Besides, there are so many options out there. I’m not sure where I would go.”
“On the day of your selections, what were you hoping for?”
“Wow.” Dee shook her head and leaned back on Jack’s bed. “I remember liking the idea of working with plants until someone mentioned I would have to work with bees and manure. I can’t remember if botanist made it to my list or not. Maybe it was number three. I know I wanted something clean,” she said with a small laugh. “That obviously didn’t happen.”
Jack snorted.
“When they announced my assignment as a tunnel rat, I didn’t even hear the applause. I saw my classmates clapping, but all the sound faded.” She took a deep breath and turned back to her brother. “I think there is a method to the madness, though.”
“What do you mean?”
“Like the tunnels I dig, somewhere the decisions on what—or who in this case—go where are being made by someone. Somewhere, it makes sense, and we’re all pieces on a chessboard. A huge chessboard. That, or all of our faces are plastered somewhere on a wall, and someone throws a dart to see where it lands. I’ve heard of very few people getting their top pick. There always seems to be a lack of openings in the good jobs.”
Jack rolled his eyes. “Great.”
“I mean, it makes sense. Those who have a good job hold onto it. What did you pick?”
He held up his fingers as he listed them off. “Botany. Alcohol production. Teamster. In that order. I’m not crazy about working with bees, but I guess it’s not so often. I mean, I haven’t had to deal with them at all since I’ve been volunteering there.”
“I didn’t know you were so interested in botany.”
“Dee, I’ve spent the last six months working with Mr. Garcia.”
“Sorry. I guess my attention has been elsewhere.”
Oblivious to the shift in her mood, Jack bounced from his seat and paced in front of her. “I love having my fingers in the soil. I love nature and the science of it all. Doesn’t it amaze you how we can use crops for medicine?” His face lit up with excitement. “Not only is it a decent salary, but it feels rewarding to create something—to nurture it from a seed and help it grow into something that could help others, feed them, nourish them. I feel like I’ve got a decent shot.”
“How are your grades?”
Jack grimaced and plopped back down on the bed.
“Well, I can tell you right now, they won’t give you alcohol production at fifteen.”
“Then why is it listed as an option?”
“I don’t know. And, teamster? You realize how much work that is, don’t you?”
“The money is really good.”
“Money isn’t everything. I’m pretty sure those people don’t sleep. They deliver everything—mail, food, weapons, you name it. Without them, I’m pretty sure the entire colony would fall apart. They certainly don’t get the time to spend that money.”
“I thought it would be a good way to stay in shape, be useful, and help us out. I don’t mind running around and delivering goods wherever they need to go.”
“Well, I hope you get it.”
Jack scoffed. “It’s unlikely. I’ve spent most of my spare time in the gardens with the botanists. My grades weren’t the best. Everything got so much harder once they made it competitive. It seems like overnight, school went from friendly to dog-eat-dog.”
“I think it’s a way for them to test our character and weed out the weak.”
“It’s stupid, and I hate it.”
She tucked a lock of dark hair behind Jack’s ear. “I know it’s a stressful time. I remember. But I still believe things work out for the best most days.”
“What about the other days?”
“Those are the days I stop believing in anything, including myself. You’ll do a good job no matter where you land, okay? And they rarely put siblings in the same job, so you shouldn’t have to deal with tunneling.”
“How do you stay so busy? How are there any tunnels left to dig?” he asked.
“Well, the colony is expanding. But we also have to repair the structures of existing tunnels and houses. We don’t just carve the tunnels. We work with engineers to carve out places like this, too.” She gestured to the recessed shelf next to his bed.
“It’s weird to think that someone carved my bedroom out of the earth.”
“It’s not all bad. I get a killer workout every day, and the money is enough to survive.”
“But not thrive.”
“It helps us. And it’s taught me a few things.” She hoped that a bit of playfulness in her voice might lighten his mood.
“Like what?”
“I learned I’m not as smart or special as I thought. I no longer have the youthful, blind confidence I once had. I’m still uncertain whether that’s a good or bad thing.”
Jack considered her words. “I guess I’ve got nothing to lose then. I’ve never had blind confidence.”
“Jack.”
“Not in the way that you do.”
Dee wrapped an arm around her little brother’s shoulder. They looked like twins despite the ten-year age difference.
“I mean it. I think you’ve still got it. You haven’t lost it. It’s just buried somewhere.”
Dee’s shoulders slumped. “I wish I knew where. I’m certainly not living the life I want to live. I didn’t choose this. I want out, but I can’t see the path. I’ll have to dig my way out. It’s all I know how to do anymore.”
“I remember hearing you cry the night of your selections. I didn’t understand it then. But I get it now.”
She gave him a sad smile and a final squeeze around his shoulders. “Again, I’m sorry about snapping earlier. It’s getting late. Get some rest.” She slapped the tops of her thighs and stood, pausing for a moment as if debating whether to say more. Then, she added, “And one more thing. Your thoughts are the only things you own in this world. Remember that.”
Jack furrowed his brow. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Just think about it.”
He had never given much attention to his thoughts. The notion that they held any real importance or power had never occurred to him. He crawled into bed, pulled the thin blanket over himself, and glanced once more at his collection of trinkets.
Are my thoughts the only thing that’s mine?
***
Dee plopped down on the edge of her bed.
The overhead light in her room emitted its usual soft, steady hum. Once in a while, the hum escalated into a high-pitched electric wail. Every time this happened, the bulb flared until something within the fixture clicked. Then, the light dimmed back to its usual glow, and the gentle buzz returned.
She traced her fingertips over the worn stitching of her work boots and searched for fresh splits. Tunnel grime clung to every crease and seam. The thick rubber sole peeled away from the toe of her left shoe. And the right one had a large split across the middle. They would have to last. There was no money for a second pair—no money for anything. She’d find a way to manage. She always did.
She set her boots on the shelf, hoping to keep them as far as possible from any small critters who wished to nestle inside for a nap. She placed her clothes for tomorrow on top of them in a neat pile: socks, underwear, undershirt, overalls, and jacket.
A small brownish-grey object toppled from her folded jacket. Her heart lurched as she stifled a yelp. But the object struck the floor with a hollow thock, followed by a sharp clack as it tipped onto its side. Recognizing it for what it was, her initial shock faded. Not a rat. She bent down and retrieved the inanimate figurine. The dull, smooth wood slid gracefully beneath her fingertips.
When she found it at work, she dismissed it as just another piece of debris the tunnels expelled. The wooden elephant was scuffed, its legs uneven, and its trunk slightly chipped. She had almost thrown it out when she found it earlier that day, but Edna stopped her.
People didn’t listen to Edna because they had to; they listened because she spoke with conviction that left no room for doubt. Practicality was stitched into every part of her life, from how she tied her boots to the pride she took in her faded, dirt-smudged work clothes. The older woman never cared if they were stained or frayed; to her, they proved her decades of service.
She had a knack for balance—stern but kind, realistic but never bitter. While the older men on the crew grumbled endlessly about things they couldn’t change and the younger workers charged ahead with reckless optimism, Edna stayed somewhere in between. She wasn’t the loudest voice, but Edna always knew what to do when things went wrong—and they often did. Her calm steadied the crew when tensions ran high, and Dee admired her for it.
“Elephants are symbols of luck, you know. Keep that close, and you’ll be protected from bad energy.”
Dee laughed and met Edna’s eyes with a cynical smirk. Luck didn’t make its way to Miner’s Row—not for people like her. But the older woman’s words stayed with her, and because of that, the elephant remained in her pocket.
“Maybe I could use a little luck.” Dee tucked the small figurine securely into the cargo pocket on her trousers. She heard the gentle crinkle of plastic as she slid it in. For tunnelers, protocol mandated that they keep a secondary light source, such as an extra lantern, flashlight, or even a glowstick, on them at all times should their first light source fail. She wasn’t sure the old glowstick worked, but hoped she’d never need it.
She stretched out on her bed and pulled the covers to her chin to stave off the underground chill. Staring up at the light, she wished she had a better way to ward off the critters. Learning to sleep with the light on all night hadn’t been easy, but Dee found that sleep came when she was tired enough. The rats kept to the shadows. Eventually, she closed her eyes and allowed the gentle buzz of the overhead lantern to lull her into a fitful sleep.