Jack is putting on a big show. I had no idea how they could tell it was morning. Being inside the box was like being trapped in a black hole. I woke when the wooden post Ben used to bolt shut the hatch clattered down against the floor next to my bed. He pushed the door open with the point of his spear, and I watched with groggy eyes while he and Griffin climbed out of the hole, black shadow puppets against the monochrome Marbury gray that came seeping in from the hallway above. I followed them. I guess every morning went just about the same for Ben and Griffin. They half ran for the garage, to the side door, and then outside the house to pee in a spot where there used to be oleanders and a lawn. Now there were just broken things, dead things. They were still angry about what was said the night before, I could tell. Everyone was. None of us really blamed anyone for our situation, but that didn’t make us any less pissed off about the truths we aired over the kids’ broken-down dinner table.
