In the beginning, the Sun bathed the surface in its warm light for everyone to enjoy. 

But then, the rains came.


The Manuals of the Bunker, Vol. 3, Verse 1

"Yer idea is brainfuck." Amy's head hid behind the large wicker basket of garbage she carried against her chest. The thing muffled her words.

"Your waste stinks." I carried an even larger basket, embracing it before me. It stank too.

We had picked up these baskets and sneaked out of the city without anyone seeing us. But Amy wasn't happy about the arrangement. She kept nagging as we walked the concourse.

A broad-shouldered man wearing a threadbare shirt and carrying a hoe emerged from one of the fields ahead. Reaching the concourse, he turned towards the city—towards us.

He gazed straight ahead and gave us a wide berth as he passed.

"See?" I whispered. "People don't want to have anything to do with you when you're carrying their garbage. Your stench saves you."

"That's not my stench," she hissed. "Ye're the garbage man."

"Right, and you're the garbage girl now." I was walking ahead of her, blessing the Engineers that she didn't see my grin.

I glanced back. Her naked arms were grimy, and the bright light made the lank mop of red hair above the rim of the basket gleam viciously.

"From here, you look like garbage on legs," I said.

"Eejit!"

"The eejit's plan is working," I answered.

"We're not even halfway there. And if ye go on teasing me, there won't be no control room for ye. Ye'll stay here, hiding in the corn and nursing your crushed balls. I'll do the pushing of buttons and the ruling all by myself."

"If you find that control room."

"I will find it."

There wasn't a hint of doubt in her words.

She was right about us being not even being halfway down the concourse. Its dark ribbon still had a long way to go as it headed straight towards the distant wall where the chutes were.

The cavern felt even larger at day than it had done last night. The fields on both sides were a patchwork of green and gold under the warm lamplight. As we passed a herd of sheep, the baaed at us.

Amy baaed back.

Here and there, farmers were working, bent over their tools or kneeling on the ground.

"Do you see that?" I said. "The peasants are stooped while the garbage people stand tall."

She huffed. "Ye might have a point there."

"These are my dad's words."

For a moment, we walked in silence.

"How is he, your dad?" she asked. "I mean, what kind of person?"

"He's..." Her question took me by surprise. "He's a good man, I guess."

"You guess?"

"Yeah." I shrugged. How did you judge the quality of your dad? "He's always there for me. Just like dads are, you know how it is."

"I..." She hesitated. "Yeah, sure."

Her naked feet padded the ground while we walked a few steps in silence. "Listen," she finally said, "I'm sorry about yer dad. Fer them arresting him... and all."

"It's not your fault. And I'll get him out of there." It felt good to say this even though I had no clue how to do it.

"Saving yer dad and the craner..." She hesitated. "That's yer control room."

"My control room?" I couldn't make sense of her statement.

"Yes. It's something ye need to have, really bad. Just like I want to find the control room."

"Yes, but..." I wanted to object. The control room was a remote possibility or nothing but a phantom born from legend. But my dad and the craner were real.

Yet my plan of saving them—it was probably crazier than any of hers. "Okay, I get what you mean. It's like chasing sunlight."

Chasing sunlight—that's what we said when people dreamt of things that couldn't be.

"No," Amy said. "It's not like chasing sunlight. If ye want something hard enough and if ye keep fighting for it, ye can get it. It'll be the dream that comes true. It's not like sunlight. Sunlight is gone for good."

I fell back to walk beside her. She turned her head towards me, her cheek against the basket, a pretty smile on her lips.

She'd deserve to find her control room.

"Yes, you may be right." I so hoped it for her.

"Of course," she said. "And you'll see. The control room will be how we save yer dad and yer friend." She raised her eyebrows, prompting me to agree.

"I..." My voice broke, so I nodded at her. I didn't want to shatter the hope in her gaze.

Her eyebrows slid down again, and for a moment, she walked in unusual silence. But not for long. "Promise me," she said, "whatever happens... Don't give up. No one cares if I'm just chasing sunlight. But ye... Yer people need ye. Yer chase for sunlight matters."

"Yours too," I said.

She looked ahead, pressing her nose into the basket's interwoven twigs.

To chase sunlight, or anything, you'd have to know where it was hidden. But where did they keep their prisoners? I glanced back at the city. Dozens of houses—I'd have to search them all.

"Shite," Amy said.

I followed her gaze. Ahead, halfway between us and the far wall, a compact figure walked towards us. The blue ribbon the man wore around his waist and the red hair left no doubt about who he was.

"Shit," I agreed. "It's captain Wolfe. Just keep walking. Hide your face behind the basket."

The problem wasn't her, though. It was me. He was on the lookout for a black boy of my age, someone working in the lower cavern.

Someone carrying garbage.

He was no more than a couple of hundred steps away from us. Short grass grew on the fields on both sides of the concourse—nothing to hide in. Ahead, where Wolfe was walking, the corn stood higher.

"Do you see the fields to the left, ahead?" I asked. "The ones with the high corn?"

"Yeah."

"Once we've passed him, we can hide there. The corn goes all the way to the back wall. We can make our way through it to the hatch without being seen."

"Okay." Her reply was a whisper.

We walked on in silence. I lifted my basket high, eying the concourse through the tiny gaps between its twigs. My arms ached from the weight, and sweat made my palms slippery.

The gun holstered to Wolfe's belt dangled with his slow gait, black and heavy. His gaze was on the ground in front of him.

Good, he seemed in lost in thought.

We reached the edge of the first cornfield.

The soles of Wolfe's shoes clicked as they met the road. I trod softly, willing myself to be inaudible as well as invisible.

Amy carried her load high enough to hide the top of her head.

Wolfe wouldn't see our faces even if he looked at us. His eyes were still on the ground. He walked at the left edge of the concourse, Amy was on the opposite side. I stepped closer to her. Our baskets touched.

He passed us. I didn't look at him.

His steps clicked behind me now.

Ahead, a trail branched off to the left, cutting into the corn. "There's a path," I whispered.

The clicking behind me ceased.

The trail was no more than a couple of steps away. Amy's basket still touched mine.

"Hey, you! Garbage kids." Wolfe's harsh voice rang loud in the still air.

I stopped and turned towards him, holding the basket before me.

Wolfe strode closer. "What are you doing here?"

"Carrying garbage, sir," I said.

"Put it down." Wolfe gestured at our loads and stopped as he reached us.

I couldn't disobey him, and running would leave Amy behind, so I did as he ordered. Amy did the same and set down her basket at the edge of the road, fidgeting with it. Then she stood straight, hands behind her back, smiling at the captain.

Wolfe's gaze took me in. His face didn't move. "You must be Tim. You'll come with me."

He looked at Amy. "And who are you?"

"His friend, sir." Her smile was unfazed and sweet.

"And do you have a name?"

"Amy, good sir."

"Okay, Amy," he said. "You'll come, too."

She took a step towards him. "Why do we have to come with ye, good sir?"

Wolfe's eyebrows rose. "The bishop wants to see Tim." He hesitated and studied Amy. A frown wrinkled his forehead. "And as for you, Amy... I think I know everyone's face here, but I've never seen yours. And you don't talk like... anyone from the caverns. Where do you live? "

"Don't ye remember me? Ye disappoint. We've met down there, in the st... in the other cavern." She moved one hand from her back and used it to brush a strand of hair from her face, her smile sweeter than ever.

"No, I don't remember..." He hesitated, then he pointed at the hand that she still held against her cheek. "That ring you're wearing. Where did you get it?"

She frowned, squinting at her butterfly ring. "S'mine. I didn't steal it."

"I didn't accuse you of stealing it, girl. But where did you get it?"

"It's from me mom, sir."

"And where's your mom now?"

She stepped within arm's reach of him. "You are curious, sir."

In a swift motion, she swung her arm, moving the hand that was still behind her back right into his face, hitting it with a dull sound. He moaned, clasped his head, and went down.

Amy stood above him, her fingers clasping a fist-sized rock.