The Beachhead

For a time, it was the talk of the neighborhood. Jennifer used to take the other children on little tours, wearing a hat and jacket from her dress-up box.

“It’s the world’s largest anthill!” she’d proclaim proudly, gesturing with a flourish to the chest-high mound of sand that filled a corner of the empty lot, covered in wriggling motion. The house would probably never be built, now, though they’d broken earth for the foundation. Money troubles, supposedly.

It was a seven-day marvel, and then forgotten, becoming just another background detail. They never suspected just how far the tunnels were running…