The Compound

Eli and his family have lived in the Compound for six years. The world they knew is gone. Eli's father built the Compound to keep them safe. Now, they can't get out. He won't let them.

S. A. Bodeen is the author of several acclaimed picture books. A native of Wisconsin, she most recently lived in the Pacific Northwest, where she wrote The Compound and taught creative writing. This is her first novel.

I knew what had happened that night. We had been prepared. Other kids got bedtime stories about fairies and dogs. We fell asleep with visions of Weapons of Mass Destruction dancing in our heads. . .      Dad gripped my shoulders and pulled me away from the silver door, twisting me around to follow the rest of my family. What was left of it. I clung to my father’s hand. He rushed ahead of me, his hand dropping mine.
     I lifted my hand to my face. It reeked of fuel.
     The corridor ended. We paraded through an archway strung with twinkling white lights, then entered an enormous circular room. The place reminded me of a yurt we’d built in school, but about 80 times bigger. The curved walls were made of log beams; the same type which criss-crossed over our heads in an intricate pattern. The roundness of the room was odd yet comforting . . . Dad flicked a switch. 
     A plasma television dropped down from the ceiling, blank monitor glowing. "I figured we’d be in here a lot." The blue from the television tinted Dad’s face and blonde hair in a garish way. He startled me when he threw his arms out to the side. "Cozy, yes? What do you think?"
     "It’s not what I expected." Mom’s voice was shaky.
     Dad rubbed his jaw. "What did you expect?"