by Jason Parrish

Created on: May 06, 2008

At 4 AM, Michael swallowed his second caffeine tablet, a yellow one, timed for release in three hours. Then, he settled down for a nap. The caffeine, he knew, would wake him up at precisely 7 AM-when the humanzees left the pit. Outside, the snufflings and scratching sounds continued. The humanzees kept busy at their digging. Digging for what, he did not know. He felt assured the creatures could not penetrate his concrete bunker with their primitive tools.

There was no moon. The humanzees grunted as they dug. After a time, a pattern to their digging and earth removal became apparent. Though without speech, the humanzees had an order. Like a hive of ants, they moved and worked as one organism. What would they do if they struck concrete?

The creatures left during the heat of day and returned to their caves overlooking the opposite side of the road. Silence. A fair-sized wind blew sand over their tracks concealing most of their tracks. Michael felt certain the humanzees slept during the day, but didn't know if they kept a watch from their caves. He descended the spiral staircase and crawled through the nearest escape hatch. He emerged a hundred yards from the edge of the clearing, hesitated, then walked to their pit.

The sand was deep, but compact enough to walk with little effort. He removed his sand goggles and saw their picks and shovels lying about. Apparently, they weren't too concerned about thieves. The diggings appeared to be done half-hazardly. Piles of rock surrounded holes in the ground, but the holes, some as large as a car, formed no discernible pattern. In what was more or less the center of the area, a large wooden crate rested with two poles on either side. He peered inside. Bits and pieces of an old farmhouse filled the bottom half of the bin. He recognized broken cups, bits of old newsprint-one of the dates read 7 July 1987-a part-eroded picture of an old man and woman standing by a tractor, a Mason jar full of seeds, and a some tin cans.

The desert had once been a prairie dotted here and there with farms, but that did not explain why they were obsessed with unearthing and collecting these trinkets. He trekked back to the escape hatch an hour later, giving ample time for the wind to cover his tracks.

At dusk, they returned. Michael kept his vigil from the aperture. Slowly, methodically, like mice creeping from their holes they resumed their drudgery. Most were employed digging. Some carted of the soil to mounds, and some spent the entire time on hands

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