We’d buried our Comet in the Square
Hole, under rocks, bits of broken concrete and clumps of grass ripped from the
surrounding field. We pulled the wheels and Suzie pried off the silver Comet
emblem that had managed to survive all the damage we’d done. Billy added a
snowglobe to the grave, stashing the others into the sack he’d made from a coat
he’d found. Everything else went in the wagon so we could take it all back to
our fort. Then we just stood and looked at the mound, silently, as though
honoring a fallen comrade.
“I wonder if someone will dig that up
in a thousand years and ask why it was given a burial? Maybe they’ll think it
was some kind of primitive robot that we loved enough to bury in a grave.” I
had thought about saying something inspirational, something like what the last
person says at the end of those films we watch in school, but all I could think
of was how we might be pranking future archaeologists.
