The Compound

Eli and his family have lived in the underground Compound for six years. The world they knew is gone, and they've become accustomed to their new life. Accustomed, but not happy.No amount of luxury can stifle the dull routine of living in the same place, with only his two sisters, only his father and mother, doing the same thing day after day after day. As problems with their carefully planned existence threaten to destroy their sanctuary'”and their sanity'”Eli can't help but wonder if he'd rather take his chances outside. Eli's father built the Compound to keep them safe. But are they safe'”really?

S.A. Bodeen is the author of several acclaimed picture books, including Elizabeti’s Doll, winner of the Ezra Jack Keats Award. A native of Wisconsin, she and her husband, both Peace Corps workers, along with their two daughters, have traveled the world. Most recently, Stephanie lived in the Pacific Northwest, where she wrote The Compound and taught fiction workshops for adult education programs. Her next book, The Gardener, will be available from Feiwel and Friends in 2010.

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?”