Gone

behind the ridge. Rays of sunlight that sparkled and danced on the water seemed unable to touch the gray blankness of the barrier. It curved far out to sea, a wall rising from the ocean.
    “How high is it?” Sam wondered aloud.
    Astrid said, “I should be to able to calculate it. You measure from the base of the wall to a point, then you figure theangle and…never mind. It has to be at least a couple hundred feet high. We’re three stories up and we’re nowhere near the top. If there is a top.”
    “What do you mean if there is a top?”
    “I’m not sure. Don’t take anything I say too seriously: I’m just thinking out loud.”
    “So think out loud enough for me to hear,” Sam said.
    Astrid shrugged. “Okay. There may not be a top. It may not be a wall, it may be a dome.”
    “But I see the sky,” Sam argued. “I see clouds. They’re moving.”
    “Right. Well, imagine this: You’re holding a piece of black glass in your hand. Like a really big, really dark sunglasses lens. You tilt it one way, it’s opaque. You tilt it another way, it’s reflective. You squint real hard straight into it and you almost think you can see some light coming through. It all depends on the angle and the—”
    “You hear that?” Quinn asked. He had arrived unnoticed, scratching himself indiscreetly.
    Sam listened hard. “An engine. Not far away, either.”
    They ran from the room, pelted down the stairs, and burst through double doors onto the hotel grounds. Around the corner, back to the tennis courts.
    “It’s Edilio. The new kid,” Sam said.
    Edilio Escobar was seated in the open cage of a small yellow backhoe. As they watched, he maneuvered close to the barrier and lowered the shovel. It bit through grass and came up with a shovelful of dirt.
    “He’s trying to dig his way out,” Quinn said. He broke into a run and leaped up impulsively onto the backhoe beside Edilio. Edilio jumped about a foot in the air, but came down grinning.
    Edilio killed the engine. “Hey, guys. I guess you kinda noticed this, huh?” He jerked a thumb at the barrier. “By the way, don’t touch it.”
    Sam nodded ruefully. “Yeah. We figured that out.”
    Edilio revved the engine and dug three more scoops. Then he hopped down, picked up a shovel, and pried away the last few inches of dirt between the hole and the barrier.
    The barrier continued, even underground.
    Working together, Edilio, Sam, and Quinn dug five feet down with backhoe and shovel. They found no bottom to the barrier.
    But Sam did not want to stop. There had to be a bottom. There had to be. He was hitting rock, unable to get the shovel to bite deep. Each spadeful was lighter than the one before.
    “Maybe a jackhammer. Or at least some picks to break it up down here.” Only then, hearing no response, did he realize he was the only one still digging. The others were standing, looking down at him.
    “Yeah, maybe,” Edilio said finally. He bent down to give Sam a hand up out of the hole.
    Sam clambered up, tossed his shovel aside, and beat the dirt from his jeans. “It was a good idea, Edilio.”
    “Like what you did at the fire, man,” Edilio said. “You saved the hardware and the day care.”
    Sam didn’t want to think about what he had saved or not saved. “Wouldn’t have saved anything, including my own butt, without you, Edilio. And Quinn and Astrid,” he added as an afterthought.
    Quinn shot a hard look at Edilio. “So why are you here?” he asked.
    Edilio sighed and propped his shovel against the barrier. He wiped sweat from his face and looked around at the well-tended grounds. “My mom works here,” Edilio said.
    Quinn smirked a little. “Is she, like, the manager?”
    “She’s in housekeeping,” Edilio said evenly.
    “Yeah? Where do you live?” Quinn asked.
    Edilio pointed at the barrier. “Over there. About two miles down the highway. We have a trailer. My dad, my two little brothers. They had a bug, so my mom kept them home. Alvaro, my big brother, he’s in Afghanistan.”
    “He’s in the army?”
    “Special Forces,” Edilio grinned. “The elite.”
    He wasn’t a big kid, but he stood so straight, he didn’t seem short. His eyes were dark, seeming almost without whites, gentle but not fearful. He had rough, scarred hands that looked like they belonged on another body. He held his arms slightly out from his trunk, hands turned palm forward just a bit, like he was getting ready to catch something. He seemed both completely