Mily the Millennial

DRAW THE LINE

~ FIRST DRAFT ~ THIS TEXT IS UNDER REVISION!

How far down can we go before there's no telling if we'll come back up? Mily itched and twitched, sensing the weight of dirt, roots, and rubble growing denser. She knew the answer: Below, there was no telling. The elevator rode the old steel line deep beneath where the sun didn't shine. Will sat beside his little sister and held her hand. Mily didn't grip his hand back, but her rigid fingers begged her big brother to keep holding on tight. E and Esa were belted in between their parents and sitting just across the car from Will and Mily. The cousins, all facing each other, disguised looks of terror with grimaces and winces, straining against the crossed restraints. None of the eight-year-olds spoke because if they did, their small voices would've given away their fright. Instead they complained with pained faces.

At least their feet touch the floor, Mily thought, staring at her boots dangling five-inches off the bottom of the elevator. She felt just as trapped as she had sitting up in the Dropzone at the county fair. Except. There was no amount of fun to be found as they rode inward to Lockdown.

"Have we got to the basements, yet?" Will asked the four adults strapped in around them. Will was ten, he was braver than the others.

"No; we got a long way to go, still yet," answered Earnst looking and sounding unconcerned.

"How long?" Esa asked. E and Mily cringed at the question—they weren't supposed to ask it.

"We'll tell you when we get close," Elaeagnus said.

This response always made Esa contrary. "Well it's impossible to tell how long it's been when my stomach's bottoming out!" She squirmed in her seat. Her heels banged against the metal floor. The cold vibrations drove Mily's turbers mad, and they flared up like wasps buzzing behind her eardrums.

"It hasn't even been fifteen minutes!"

Mily's outburst made Esa's eyes narrow and her brows scrunch together. But all four parents chuckled when Dog checked his watch and whistled, tapping the glass face with his left pointer finger. "Like clockwork, Mil," Dog praised.

"I'll never know how she does that," Bird added, squeezing her daughter's right knee.

"Stop it!" Mily slapped her mother's hand, and Bird withdrew it as if she'd been burned. "You know it tickles!" she explained, but her mother only looked stung.

Even as the turbers buzzed, the worst of Mily's anxiety stemmed from sitting stuck in the middle of the elevator bench. She wanted to see out, even if staring at darkness up and down the shaft was all she had to see. Dark gray, overcast skies had hidden the sunrise that morning, and she was still bitter about missing it, although Mily probably hadn't pinned down the reason in her head. The endless rocking—forward... back... forward... back—was driving her nuts. It was worse for her because she couldn't plant her feet, so each forward lurch stressed her chest and hips painfully against her seatbelts. Dog had told her that the elevator rocked because it moved along an arch instead of a vertical chute, which might have been interesting if Mily could've been looking out the window instead of up at the fluorescent ceiling or down at the metallic floor.

There was silence for a while after her outburst at Bird, but she didn't feel bad because she was still mad at her mother for grabbing that spot on her knee. It's not funny! Mily whined to herself. She crossed her arms and found that the forward rocks didn't hurt as much, all knotted up. All the adults seemed at ease—all except her aunt Elae, who was playing with her fingertips, tight-lipped, wide eyes darting from place to place without pattern. A long time ago, Esa had told Mily that the twins' mother had been buried in her house for almost six whole days when Diana first fell to ruin. A groan fell flat in Mily's throat—she pushed it down as turber static turned into a high-pitched tone, deafening her to all other sounds for a few seconds. Are you going to be like this all the time?