The Other Side of the Island by Allegra Goodman

world.
    There were no weather reports in the newspaper. They were broadcast every hour from the tops of buildings in the City. Three short beeps, then a long one and a man’s voice with the climate advisories. From inside the house, Honor couldn’t make out every word, so the bulletins sounded something like: “. . . Colony Early Weather Warning . . . if this were an emergency . . . please . . . without delay . . . humidity will be . . . no chance of . . . otherwise unchanged . . .”
    The two of them were sitting in this way in the living room when Honor heard a knock. She ran to the door immediately and opened it wide, as children were taught, and two Safety Officers stepped inside. They were wearing green jumpsuits and they carried drawstring sacks. They had no orderlies with them, but they were holding a grim-faced dog by the collar. Quintilian jumped up. He was afraid of dogs. He would have climbed on the table if Honor had let him.
    “Lady of the house?” asked the first officer.
    “Not home, sir,” said Honor, holding Quintilian by the arm.
    “Both parents at work?” asked the second officer.
    “Yes, sir.”
    The dog was straining toward the kitchen. It was a brown search dog with vicious teeth, pointy ears, and yellow eyes.
    “Mind if we take a look?” asked the first officer.
    “Yes, sir,” whispered Honor, because she did mind, very much. People got searched sometimes because of Safety Measures. Neighbors had been searched a year before; that didn’t mean there was anything wrong. She kept telling herself this as she clutched Quintilian.
    The dog broke away, lunging for the kitchen, and the Safety Officers rushed after him. Honor heard them opening the cabinets, the dog panting, pots and pans clamoring onto the floor. Glass shattered.
    “Watch the pieces,” one man warned the other. “Off. Get off,” he ordered the dog. Honor heard the crunch of the broken glass beneath heavy boots.
    The dog thundered up the stairs with the men behind. Honor could hear the scuffle and clatter of the dog’s sharp-clawed feet. She knew better than to follow, and she held Quintilian back. What were they looking for? Her heart raced as she thought of her mother’s drawing book and pencils underneath the frayed carpet, the seashells hidden in the light fixture. But when the men came down, their bags looked empty. The dog was dragging the plaid winter blanket in his mouth. The men tried to rip it away, but the dog wouldn’t let go until they threatened him with a stick. Even then, he circled and snarled at the old blanket until one Safety Officer dragged him outside. The other stood and filled out his paperwork. He looked hard at Honor.
    “They’re coming home when?” he asked her.
    “My parents?”
    “You’ll expect them when.”
    “Hour six,” she said.
    He wrote this down. Then he said, “It’s well past six now. Good night.”
    After the men left, Honor and Quintilian stood, frozen. Honor imagined the men striding down the walk, tramping down the cement steps past other houses, through the empty asphalt lot in front of the buildings. She pictured them jumping into their Safety Vehicle and speeding off. Only then did she let go of Quintilian. The two of them raced upstairs.
    Sheets had been ripped from the beds. The closets and trunks were empty and all the clothes heaped on the floor. The dog had worried the frayed carpet and gnawed the ends, but when Honor felt for it, she could touch her mother’s book. In the hallway, the light fixture was undisturbed. She sank down on the floor and rested her head on her knees. She strained to hear her father walking to the door with his keys jingling in his pocket, but she couldn’t hear anything. She prayed for her mother to come. How could they leave her and Quintilian all alone? If it was already past six, where were they? Don’t ever be afraid, she thought. That’s what they’re hoping for.
    “I want Mommy and Daddy,” whimpered Quintilian.
    “They’ll