Free The Dream Widow by Stephen Colegrove

of empty rifle casings bounced noiselessly over Jack’s combat boots and down the dirt slope. Something wet trickled into his eyes and he closed them.
    “Wake up!”
    Jack opened his eyes to an English garden and a leather recliner. The swish of wind flowing through the trees and the song of a mockingbird replaced the dull ringing in his ears. He realized where he was.
    He waved his hand sideways and a flickering video screen appeared, showing the dark ring of controller domes. Wilson and an older woman stood around Jack’s fish bowl.
    “Jack, wake up!”
    “I’m awake, stop yelling,” he said.
    Wilson’s mother held her hands over her ears. “What is that awful sound? It’s like a goat being kicked over and over.”
    Wilson sighed. “Jack, stop trying to scare her. Use your normal voice.”
    “Fine. Is this better?”
    “Thank you. Jack, this is my mother.”
    “Of course––Dr. Mary Abrikosov. I remember the surgery, because you were such a tall girl.”
    “That was thirty years ago,” said Mary.
    “Was it? You’re just as pretty today.”
    “Mother, don’t let this old man molest you with his words,” said Wilson. “This was such a bad idea.”
    “What are you talking about? Thank you, Jack,” said his mother.
    “How can I help either of you?”
    “My mother needs some time away from the village,” said Wilson. “Are there any living quarters down here?”
    “There’s a room or two near the surgical room that I can clean up. I admit, I’d be happy to have some company. Don’t feel like you have to talk to me if you don’t want to, Mary. I’m used to the quiet, anyways. I’ll send the boys to fix up your quarters.”
    Silver spider-arms burst from ports in the nearby wall and zipped along narrow tracks toward the surgical room. Near the stairwell, tiny green lights flashed on a waist-high rounded cylinder covered in slick white material. The short machine spun a circle on squealing metal wheels and dashed after the spider-arms.
    “What was that?” asked Wilson.
    “A Zoomba,” said Jack.
    “A what?”
    “Uhhh ... it cleans things.”
    “Thank you,” said Mary.
    “My pleasure. Just don’t tap on the glass again. Or sing.”
    Wilson spread his arms. “Why do you hate that? When we came down here the speakers were blaring with some song about ‘land of the free, home of the brave.’ Over and over, until I almost yelled myself hoarse trying to wake you up.”
    “That’s not good,” said Jack. “Not one little bit.”
     
    REED LOOKED UP from the screen on his desk.
    “What are you talking about––she wants to stay where? In the Tombs?”
    Wilson rolled his eyes. “It’s not as bad as it sounds. I found rooms that used to be living quarters. I also gave her codes for the entrance.”
    “I’m glad you’re in such a sharing mood, but what’s she going to eat? Rats and silverfish?”
    “I moved food supplies down there. She’s also promised to come out for one meal a day.”
    “What if something happens? It’ll be impossible to contact her unless one of us goes down to the bottom of the Tombs.”
    Green lights flashed over the display on Reed’s desk and the air popped with static.
    “Wrong about that, padre,” said a hollow version of Jack’s voice.
    Wilson leaned over the screen. “You said you couldn’t reach us up here!”
    “Ever heard that old line: ‘That was then, this is now?’”
    “Don’t be flip with me,” said Reed. He moved his fingers over the display. “How are you transmitting a signal?”
    “I don’t know––flip this, swipe that. I asked Dreamer and she figured it out.”
    Reed pointed at a symbol on the display––a triangle with ‘42’ in the center. “This is new. Appears to be a type of power channel.”
    “There you go. That’s how I’m talking to you.”
    “My mother can use it, too?” asked Wilson.
    “Sure. Say hi to the nice folks, Mary.”
    “Hello, Cubbie,” said his mother. “‘Don’t worry––I’m