Whisper, Wander
“You have to go Outside.”
Bobby took a step back and Sanni hugged herself even tighter. The Grownups had called this meeting and made sure all of the Children were present. That was rare enough; but Outside?
Sanni shuddered.
“Alone?” Bobby's tone was aggressive. He'd never seen eye to eye with the Grownups and wouldn't believe a word of what they said without proof. Large red marks on both palms spoke of his determination to learn the stove was hot by experience rather than speech.
Man nodded. “Yes,” his voice was deep but rarely kind; today it was empty.
Sanni drove forward out of her chair, but Jet pulled her back down – a confrontation with Man would do no good once his mind was set. But what was she going to do? They'd all been Outside at least once, but it was always in a group and never for more that a few minutes.
She'd found it less thrilling than the rest; the silence was unnerving compared to the smooth automation of the Nursery. Food, sleep, hygiene – all were regulated with a precision that became comfort. The Outside was wild, untamed.
Still.
“But why?” Pulling his hair out of his eyes, Bobby stood straight and met the gaze of both Man and Woman in turn. No simple instruction would be enough.
Sanni knew; they all did, even Bobby, but he wanted to hear them say it, hear them acknowledge what had been happening. What could not be happening.
It had started two nights ago, an atonal whispering around the steel-encased windows, a broken melody along the seams of the double-thick front door.
A song. A dirge. A call.
A wind.
That first night it came and went so quickly that most of the younger ones didn't notice; neither of the Grownups made mention of it.
But the next day at breakfast it was back, an unpredictable organic complement to the regulated hum of the Foody, sending the younger ones into a panic and fueling questions among the older. Sanni had just turned ten, but already her voice carried weight among them. She had Bobby had calmed the group and then found a quiet place to discuss the matter.
By dinner it was back, and even the Grownups had to hear the truth of it, had to make mention of the existence of what could never be.
“It will pass,” was all they would say.
Only consensus prevented Bobby from treading down the Hall without permission, from knocking on the old plastic door and demanding and answer, and even that peace held for merely the night.
By the morning of the second day, the wind was constant, unbearable. Volume would bellow and then whisper; tone would flatten and then spike, but the sound was omnipresent.
Maddening.
Bobby had stalked down the hallway.
“Convention be damned!” He screamed when she grabbed his arm. “We're people, Sanni, people! They owe us!”
Soon after, the call had come – meeting in One-Quarter. Even the youngest were called, pulled out of afternoon naps. They could not possibly understand, but they were to be present.
“Why?” Woman's voice was cold, but that was no surprise. None of them belonged to her, not in any biological sense. They were her obligation, her duty – one that she would see through to the end. “Because we say so.”
Bobby's single step forward brought Man to his feet. Five years ago, Bobby would have been no match, but Man had withered while Bobby grew strong.
“You hear but you cannot listen, Robert,” Bobby held his ground; that name was never used. “I know the words. They call for Wander. They call for you.”
A chill rooted Sanni to her chair. Bobby?
“Me?” Unexpected candor forced Bobby's voice up an octave from its recent baritone shift. “Why me?”
Man took his seat again, wrinkled hands spread on the aluminum table. “I am too old. The others,” he swept his arm across the gathered children, “too young. They whisper now, but too long and they will scream. Not even the Nursery can endure.”
His face pale, Bobby sagged, his adolescent swagger sighing out in a rush. “But I thought...”
“That it was over?” Man took the thought. “So did we. Two decades, Robert, and one before that. They are reverting. Slowly. But they are not done.”
Bobby's face twisted, round cheeks bunching, eyes clenching in on themselves as if to block out the room.
As if Man's words had called it, the wind battered the walls, sending one of the Electrolights crashing to the floor.
“Now!” Woman's voice cracked like a whip and she and Man moved together, taking Bobby under the arms and carrying him swiftly down the Hall.
To the Door. To the Outside.
Sanni ran, bursting in front of the other children, her lanky frame propelling her to within yards of Bobby's struggling form. The Door was reached, and breached as she threw herself forward, arms reaching out.
A backhand smack from Woman set her down hard, sent her sprawling onto the cold tile floor.
Bobby was gone.
Through the closing Door, Sanni could see him start to rise, start to charge for safety, but the Outer had already been barred.
“I'm sorry,” Man's voice was weary, almost lost in the ear-splitting howl of the wind that had come with the Bobby's ejection.
Outside, trees stood in perfect unison, row upon row encircling the Nursery. Each swayed in their own time, a frenzied whipping that left the ground scarred with their passing.
With a howl, Bobby sprinted down the Step and toward the Stream. The wind rose to a fever pitch and the trees nearest the Nursery seemed to writhe as Bobby's form approached.
Sound shook the Nursery as Man slammed the Door shut, almost enough to cover the scream.
Outside, the wind quieted.
- D
