Janna stood at the borders of the bubble with his sister Gretel, and they watched the world burn. The flames licked the curved surfaces of their little sanctuary, greedy for more, but they couldn’t get to the children.

 

“Is Mama out there?” asked Gretel. She'd finally stopped crying. Janna thought it was only because Gretel had no tears left. Her well had finally dried up.

 

“Yes. And Daddy… and puppy.” He didn’t see any point in lying. They were all out there. All dead and dying. Becoming ash. Lots and lots of ash. They’d only just got the puppy too, a little golden retriever, hadn’t even got round to naming it.

 

“There wasn’t any time to get them, was there?”

 

He’d already been through this before, plenty of times.

 

“No, Gretel, there wasn’t enough time. We had to get to safety. Teacher told us, remember?”

 

Gretel nodded, but Janna knew he’d be asked again in a few hours. Something nudged into his hand, and he looked down to see Gretel had slipped her little hand in his. They only had each other now. That was all that was left of their little family. He looked around the sanctuary, to see children just like them, probably around a hundred, gathering together in small, sad groups. They were all orphans, with not a single adult among them. Other than Teacher. But Teacher didn’t really count.

 

* * *

 

They sung songs later. Teacher gathered them around and they sang the National Anthem, and Here Comes the Sun and Stand by Me. Teacher played it through her little stereo. Janna supposed it was meant to make them all feel better, but kids were sobbing all the way through. Little kids, just like Gretel, kids who kept asking for their Mamas and their Papas, and were screaming, and crying, and a few were even throwing their fists around. Teacher had to sedate some.

 

“Are we gonna live here now?” asked Gretel. Her eyes reminded Janna of puppy, the way she looked up all big-eyed and trusting.

 

“Yup, until it's safe for us to go outside.”

 

“When will that be?”

 

Janna looked outside at the fire still raging, the flames still licking the outside of the bubble.

 

“It could be a while,” is all he said.

 

* * *

 

That night Teacher assigned them all rooms. They didn’t have beds but had something called sleeping pods. Gretel didn’t want to sleep in her one, so she crept into Janna’s pod with him, nestling into that space in the crook of his arm where she made her soft little snores.

 

There wasn’t any time to get them, Janna reminded himself as he tried to find sleep. That’s what Teacher had said when the first alarms had sounded. Lockdown! And she had ushered them into the sanctuary of the bubble that had been purpose-built for such attacks. The thing is, when Janna thought about it, there had been time. It was more than an hour later that the first flames had come, as if from nowhere, licking up on the outside of the bubble. That would have been time enough for his parents to join them, for others to come to fill the empty sleeping pods that were all around them. But Teacher had locked the doors. Lockdown procedure, she had said. And you didn’t question Teacher.

 

* * *

 

The next day a hundred or so bleary-eyed children woke up to a new day, but the same flames.

 

“They don’t look any smaller,” said Gretel. “I thought they’d be smaller today.”

 

Janna thought so too, but he tried to hide his disappointment. “It’ll take time, Gretel.”

 

Teacher fed them breakfast, pre-packaged food of which there was plenty. It tasted bland, not like the eggs his Mama cooked.

 

“I don’t want it,” moaned Gretel, pushing her tray away.

 

“It’s all there is, you have to,” admonished Teacher as she went past.

 

“When can we go outside?” asked someone.

 

“When it’s safe,” replied Teacher.

 

“When will that be?”

 

But Teacher didn’t answer, she just glided away on her little bubble of air.

 

* * *

 

It was later that afternoon when Janna was looking at the flickering flames that he began to notice something: a repeating pattern and a slight pixelation.

 

“Do you see that Gretel?” he asked, pointing it out, wondering if his eyes were at fault, but she saw it too.

 

“What does it mean?”

 

“I don’t know.” But Janna had his suspicions.

 

By night-time, others had noticed too. And the whispers began: The flames aren’t real. The lockdown isn’t real. Teacher is lying.

 

It’s funny how children can turn. One minute the victim. The next minute the bully. The Teacher tried to sedate them. But one hundred or so is too many.

 

Liar! Liar! Pants on Fire!

 

The children bore upon their Teacher and tore out her shiny parts. Her programs didn’t permit her to fight back, so she never really stood a chance. Her circuitry and wiring were ripped out by angry little hands looking for answers. A distorted version of the National Anthem played on loop until finally, it played nothing at all.

 

“Is she dead?” asked Gretel.

 

“She was never alive to begin with,” answered Janna. And he thought of his puppy.

 

Sometime later they all stood by the door that Teacher had locked, keeping them inside. Keeping them safe. A hundred or so children without a Teacher. Without an adult. Without answers.

 

“Should we?” someone asked.

 

Janna didn’t remember who dared to open it in the end, but he remembered closing his eyes, holding Gretel’s hand and fearing for the worst.

As the door to their world was slowly reopened he heard a collective intake of breath, the sobbing of his sister and the distinct sound of a puppy barking.