Page 123 of Under Story

“His life could be better here,” says Laurel. She has to force the words out.

Eli looks at her now. “You mean we’d leave him here to die.”

“But we wouldn’t leave. We’d wait.”

“That sounds like hell.”

“For us,” says Laurel.

“For Silas, too.”

“But it would be natural, dying that way. It happens to everyone here.” Laurel feels as though she’s pleading, though she doesn’t know with whom. “And this time, we’d be with him until the end.”

“Laurel,” Eli says, and there is something queer in his face, something warped. “Do you know what it is that happens to everyone here?”

Laurel shakes her head. She has avoided that information pathologically. If she knew, ahead of time, what she might have to do, she isn’t sure that she would be able to go through with it.

Eli opens his mouth.

“Please don’t tell me,” she says.

The ship shifts over waves. They stay at this impasse for what feels like minutes.

“Let’s go to sleep,” says Eli, finally. “See what you think tomorrow.”

—

With its simple shape and primary colors, the dive hut looks like a children’s playhouse. Laurel drags her equipment from the PistenBully: dry suit and tank, buoyancy device, face mask, harness, fins. As soon as she opens the door, she knows that something is wrong. A tarp lies over the stove. The walls bear a thick crust of ice, and the hole has frozen over.

“Mama?”

Laurel feels a hand on her shoulder.

“Yes, sweetheart?” she asks, dragging herself out of the dream.

“Where you want to take me?”

She opens her eyes. “What’s that?”

“You and Papa want to take me somewhere. Where?”

Silas looms beside her, looking down. His forehead is tense with concern. Laurel bites her own cheek. He must not have been asleep while she and Eli talked.

“Come with me,” she says, thinking quickly.

To the right of Silas’s cot is a rectangular room with just enough space for a small sofa. Laurel and Eli use it to store their bulky outdoor clothing. Laurel lifts their coats from the couch and gestures for Silas to join her. When he settles, she spreads the coats on top of them like blankets.

“You heard me and Papa talking?”

Silas averts his eyes.

“Not supposed to,” he admits.

“That’s okay. I’m glad you told me.” Laurel takes his hand. “We want to bring you to the place where we were born.”

“Cemetery?”

“Well. No,” says Laurel. “You know how, when someone is ready to be born, Mr. Nakamura takes them out of the ground?”