Children Play with Dirt

He pressed the button again.

“…characterized by the cognitive lag it induces in the subject. It’s quite fundamental. It ranges from difficulty par— swish.” It died once more.

“Mara, the radio won’t stay on!”

“Leave it off then,” Mara said, peering through the keyhole. Her mother’s car completely obstructed the view of the street.

Milo sat in the candlelight, papers covered in scribbles strewn across the table.

“Aren’t you tired of waiting? I’m getting bored.”

“Yes, Milo. I’m bored, but there’s not much we can do about it.”

The power had been out for a long time. They didn’t know what was happening, but according to their parents, people were fleeing the town for some reason. Why were they taking so long?

Mara cracked the door open, poking her head through the gap. She wanted to see how things stood outside. No flash of sunlight greeted her. Only the familiar sight of her block, muted by an unusual, heavy grime in the air. With hesitant steps, she stepped out to gain a full view.

“There’s no one here. I can make a run for it.”

Milo was already at her side. “Are you going to look for more candles?”

“No, I’m getting Mom’s flashlight. You wait inside,” she replied, but as she spoke, something caught her eye.

At the corner of the next block, a small car was visible, barely humming. With its lights off, it moved so slowly it was frustrating to watch. It was as if it were searching for something, or trying not to make a sound. Mara watched until it vanished into the haze. She couldn’t make out the driver.

“Mara,” Milo tugged at her blouse.

“I told you, go inside.”

“I saw Ricky, look, he’s there.” He tried to point, but she shoved him back indoors.

“Don’t try to come out. I’ll be right back.”

She headed for the rear door of her mother’s car. She opened it and rummaged through the seats. Just as her fingers brushed the cold metal, a shove against her legs made her slip. She fell sideways into an awkward position, pinned in the footwell between the seats.

Something came from under the car!

She was too slow to react. A large, gaunt dog with a mangy coat lunged at her. It didn’t growl, it didn’t bite; it simply crushed her with its weight. The pressure was enough to strain her joints. The stench of the stray only made it worse. Its tongue hung out, parched and bone-dry, showing yellowish cracks.

“Rickyyy!” Milo’s scream rang out.

And just as she was on the verge of tears, it happened. The window shattered into a thousand pieces. A massive head burst into the vehicle. With a short, decisive whinny, the intruder lunged for the dog and bit into its back. A brutal force dragged the animal through the window as if it weighed nothing at all.

Amidst the crunching of bone and howls of agony, Mara shook off the glass shards and looked out the window. The scene, rather than bringing relief, provoked a feeling she had never truly known until now: Terror.

The horse dragged the dying dog to the far side of the street, its jaws mangling flesh with every tug. Upon reaching the sidewalk, the twisted carcass thudded to the ground.

Ricky turned his head to contemplate it. He leaned in close, staring fixedly, judging the body as if it might rise at any moment.

Mara seized the chance to run back to Milo, grabbing his hand. He seemed more enthusiastic; he had only witnessed half the act.

“Ricky… He saved you, Mara.”

“Shhh, we have to go, now.”

They moved in a crouch, hugging the walls of the houses.

“Where are we going? Aren’t we going to wait for him?”

“We’re looking for Cinthia. She’ll know what to do.”

She didn’t even know if Cinthia was still there, but she was terrified and could think of nothing else. The shop was just around the corner.

The dog had stopped screaming. The hooves, clicking softly against the pavement, sounded like a countdown. Mara didn’t dare look back.

Clap, clap, clap. It was getting closer. The shop’s storefront was finally before them. She turned the knob and didn’t know who to thank—the door was unlocked. She hurried inside with Milo and, to the chime of the doorbells, immediately lowered the shutters.

The noise stopped. The light filtering through the slats was blocked by a massive, patient shadow. Ricky waited outside in total silence.

“Look, Mara,” a nonchalant Milo said, “Cinthia has everything clean. She must be around here.”

Mara turned and, in the dim light, confirmed it. The place was immaculate, everything in its place. It looked as if nothing had ever happened. They ventured into the aisles, steadying themselves against the shelves. The stock was full, but a closer look revealed that some packages had been opened and carefully resealed.

“Cinthia, are you there?… Whoa, what’s that?”

“Huh? What are you talking about?”

“It’s a ball!”

“Oh. That…”

Standing at the front of the path, Mara realized “that thing” was no ball.

“It’s just a mound of dirt.”

Milo couldn’t believe it. After all, why clean the whole place only to leave a large, filthy pile of dirt in plain sight? It had to be a ball. Surely Cinthia had been playing with it recently. He ran ahead to prove it to Mara; surely this thing would bounce.

“Milo!” Mara tried to grab him, but he slipped through her fingers. Milo trusted the flat ceramic floor to dash through the darkness. He timed the distance, braced himself, and delivered a heavy kick, aiming for the wall he sensed at the back.

“Ow!”

Things did not go as planned. What he thought was a ball disintegrated into a great cloud of dust, and his foot vibrated like a struck iron rod.

“Argh! Cough, cough, cough!”

He inhaled a massive amount of dust. This, combined with the intense pain, triggered uncontrollable convulsions.

“Cough, cough…” He tried to stop, but couldn’t. He doubled over, splashing saliva and mucus onto the floor, which was now covered in a sort of white fiber.

The air abandoned his body; he was helpless. It was the worst decision of his life. Was this how he was going to die? He could feel someone thumping his back, but it was useless. His vision was already darkening. He no longer had the strength to resist. Consciousness… was leaving him.

“…”

“Uff.”

“…”

Unbeknownst to him, time passed and he recovered. His lungs burned like hell, but he was alive. He heard heavy breathing in front of him, though he couldn’t yet open his eyes.

“Milo.”

Mara? Cinthia? No, this was an incredibly masculine voice.

“You’re finally awake, Milo.”

“Huh?”

“You must get up now, brother. Our territory remains in danger.”

Milo wiped the grime from his face, but his eyelids remained stuck together. The effort to move made his aching muscles throb. He had no choice but to rest. Regardless, the voice did not continue speaking. As his sense of smell began to return, the sharp scent of iron prompted the big question.

“Where is Mara?”

“Mara…” The presence hesitated, but found the courage to face it. “Our sister didn’t make it. But you’re different, Milo. You’re like me. You’ve adapted very well, and together, we can both thrive. Save the world… and play all day. It’s what she would want. It’s what we have to do.”

Perhaps it was that strange way of speaking, or the confusion of just waking up, but Milo could only think of two things: Why can’t I hear anything yet? And also…

“Who are you?”

The presence did not hesitate to answer.

“I’m Ricky…

…"

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