"This bench isn't bad. I mean, it ain't the most comfortable, but it's not that bad."
Samori lay back-to-back with Bean, just like they used to do when their mother had her fits after coming down. No matter how hot it was, Bean always found themselves shivering in their sleep. Last night, Samori thought Bean was having some sort of seizure the way the bench rattled.
[It's bad, Sam. You ain't gotta lieeeeeeee,] Bean chuckled, dragging out the word "lie" like a saxophone whine.
"How are you so jolly, Be?" Samori sighed, smirking at the sounds Bean could make with her mental voice.
[Because why not?] Bean said plainly.
She sat up and looked into the distance. She had to be the wisest young person in existence, Samori thought. Spending so much time in people's heads, Bean had lived through way too much trauma for someone her age.
[Yeah, I have,] Bean whined as she began to stretch, responding to his unspoken thought.
About six hours had passed since Samori's recent art creation, and stretching didn't seem like such a bad idea. He guessed if it was the surface the sun (whatever that was) would be rising right now.
As they both stretched in silence from their awkward sleep on the bench of Howl's lowest level, a siren in the distance signaled the beginning of the work preparation period. They had two hours before their shift started.
Every citizen in Howl was required to show up for work—no exceptions. Even though the actual work only lasted three hours, missing those three hours would cost you a finger or two. Age didn't matter when it came to punishment; it was distributed fairly. They almost took Bean's knees because she was five minutes late to her shift when she was seven years old. Simply put, they didn't play around.
The work wasn't hard, difficult, or complex. Most of the time, people spent their shifts picking things up and putting them down in cramped spaces. No one's diet in Howl consisted of anything nutritious enough to produce a body capable of amazing feats. In the mines, they moved rocks from one place to another, slightly different location. Each shift lasted three hours with two fifteen-minute breaks—one for eating, one for reflection. The food came in plastic, noisy wrappers that Bean hated but Samori loved. Their mother had always saved the extra sandwich for Samori, something about him needing to be well-fed for what was to come. This confused all three of her children because nothing ever seemed to come in Howl. Every day was almost the same, and when it wasn't, people dissapeared. But even that felt normal to them.
[What are we going to do, Samori?] Bean stared emotionless at him, but her voice expressed concern for their current predicament.
"I already told you our plan, Bean. We're getting out of here, and we're getting out of here today."
Bean stomped her foot. [How, Samori? We have to figure out how!] A flash of headache entered Samori's mind for a split second—a telepathic attack from Bean conveying her frustration.
Samori stared at the ground where Bean had stomped, a confused look crossing his face. Concerned, Bean grabbed his arm. [I'm sorry I used that ability, Sam. Don't be mad, please.]
"No, no, it's not that," he whispered, still staring at the ground.
Where Bean had stomped, there was a large, murky puddle with waves still moving from her earlier movement. Expanding his gaze, Samori noticed that the entire area was damp.
"I was wrong, Be. The flooding is starting," Samori whispered as he bent down to touch the dark liquid.
[No!] Bean yelled, making Samori freeze just as his hand was about to touch the vibrating liquid at their feet. Bean's concern crept into Samori's mind without her having to explain.
Their mother had theories, theories that the flooding wasn't natural and that the systematic killing of Howl's lowest floors was intentional, carefully planned. Bean was convinced the water had magical properties because of their mother's warnings. Better to lean toward caution, Samori decided, appeasing Bean's suspicions.
Not only did they need to create a plan to get out of Howl and reach the surface, they had to do it quickly.
Week after week, Samori had monitored the flooding to create a hypothesis for when the rising water would reach them. According to his calculations, they should have had another day.
"That was supposed to be tomorrow," he thought to himself.
The inconsistency could mean two things. One: something had happened to speed up the flood's rise, which could have a reasonable explanation. Or two, which seemed equally reasonable to him: someone was directly connected to the rising water and the systematic culling of the lowest levels.
[It has to be the latter,] Bean chimed in, offering her thoughts to Samori's inner brainstorm as she often did.
[That guy yesterday was complaining about having to leave fast. Whatever he was planning to do to us, he wanted it done early so he could move on.]
Samori nodded, his brain shifting to possible solutions for reaching the next level of Howl in less than twenty-four hours. Who knew how many levels of darkness existed in this place? In his eighteen years of life, he had watched five levels beneath theirs get swallowed by water. There could be hundreds more, and Bean wasn't completely certain the surface actually existed. She was a realist—she had to be, living in other people's heads for so long. If the surface wasn't real, she couldn't afford to waste mental energy on it or she'd literally go insane.
But at this point, both of them agreed on one thing: they needed to move, and move fast.
"I have a plan."