The wind stirs the dust around Nyla’s boots as she steps through the remains of the cabin. The roof has long since caved in, leaving behind only shadows of metal beams, sun-bleached wood and overgrown weeds. But she knows what she is looking for — the place her mother had whispered about.
“Why are we here, Mama?” young Nyla had once asked, holding her mother’s hand as they stood outside the cabin in silence.
Her mother’s lips moved without sound, her eyes distant, as if seeing things long gone.
Nyla kneels now, feeling the weight of that memory pressing down on her. Her fingers graze the dirt floor, tracing the worn boards that have somehow endured all these years.
*****
“Etta, you best be careful with that,” whispered Marie, Etta’s closest friend, watching as Etta prised up a floorboard in the middle of the night. “If they catch you —”
“They won’t,” Etta said, her voice steady but her heart pounding like thunder. “Ain’t nobody coming here at this hour.”
Marie shot her a look. “You say that now, but he’s been angry lately, more than usual. You saw him at the plant today. You can’t outrun his anger.”
Etta swallowed hard, her fingers working faster. She lifted the board, revealing the small pit beneath it. The hole wasn’t much, just big enough to hide a fistful of food.
“I ain’t running,” Etta said. “I’m just … getting ready.”
Marie glanced around nervously. “Getting ready for what?”
Etta paused, resting her hand on her belly. “For whatever comes next.”
*****
Nyla’s hands tremble as she prises up the same boards. They creak in protest but give way. The smell of earth hits her first — rich, damp and ancient. She closes her eyes, imagining the hands that once dug into this same soil, hands that scraped, bled and fought to survive.
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Her fingertips brush the edge of the hole, and for a moment, she freezes. This is it. This is where Mama hid. Where Grandma buried her fear and hope all at once.
*****
The master’s footsteps pounded across the floor above, sending vibrations through the boards. Etta pressed her body into the hole, but it was barely a foot deep, leaving a bulge beneath the boards. Her hands wrapped tight around her newborn daughter. The baby whimpered, and Etta’s heart nearly stopped.
“Shh, now,” she whispered, her voice barely more than a breath. “We gotta be quiet, baby. Just for a little while longer.”
She could hear the master’s voice, slurred and mechanical. His programming had deteriorated. He was shouting, calling for her. Her name echoed through the cabin, but Etta stayed still, as still as the dead.
“Etta!” the voice bellowed. “I know you’re here!”
Etta closed her eyes. She recalled the root commands — a ritual so ancient that almost none from where she came from remembered them. Etta prayed, pulling her baby tighter to her chest. Her body trembled, tears rolling down her cheek as she willed herself to transcend this inexplicable suffering.
The ground responded. It was a split of electric, like an embrace she had never experienced. She felt the earth all around her — cold, hard against her back — but it was safe. For now, it was safe.
She opened her eyes. She’s still close by, just not in the direction and dimension she knew. She saw the floorboards above creak as the master stormed through the cabin, his robotic arms tense, leaking lubricant, staining the dirt. She saw the silicone sealant of his dated processor peeling inside that rusty frame. A crash, then silence. For a long moment, all she could hear was her own breathing and the soft heartbeat of her child.
Then, the door slammed, and he was gone.
Etta didn’t move for hours, too afraid he might return. When she finally emerged from the shallow hole, her body was stiff and shaking, but her baby was safe. That was all that mattered.
*****
Nyla digs her fingers deeper into the hole, feeling the contours of the dirt. Her lip murmurs as her fingertips disappear into the land — just like Etta had on that night. It runs in the blood.
“She was here,” Nyla whispers to herself, her voice catching. “She is here.”
Her mother had told her how that old woman survived, how she outlived the droid who tried to break her. How she dug into the earth not just to hide, but to create something lasting — something more enduring than metal.
*****
Etta stood at the edge of the field, looking back at the cabin. Her baby was safe, hidden with Marie for the time being. But Etta couldn’t stay any longer. The master had been talking about selling her off to a terrafactory, and she knew what that meant. If she didn’t run now, she’d never see her daughter again.
She walked back inside, her eyes landing on the floor where the hole lay hidden. She had spent years digging, hiding, surviving — but now, it was time to leave.
She knelt beside the hole and reached down one last time. Etta whispered a prayer. She didn’t know if anyone would ever find it, but it was all she had to leave behind.
*****
Nyla’s fingers catch on something solid. Frowning, she pulls it free — a small, rotting piece of cloth. Her heart leaps as she realizes it isn’t just dirt.
She holds it up to the light. It’s a bag of seeds. Dry as the land, but they have survived. And they will thrive again. Just like Etta. Just like her.
