Silo

by Jay J Falconer

  “See, that’s the thing. All of a sudden, she trusts you. Completely out of the blue. Don’t you find that the least bit suspicious?”

  “In all honesty, it never really crossed my mind. I was just happy to be included for once. She and I didn’t exactly get off on the right foot earlier.”

  “No you didn’t. And that was my fault.”

  “What do you mean, sir?”

  “I mean it was my idea to have Krista send you in originally. Undercover like.”

  Simms shook his head, unable to find a single word that sounded like the proper response.

  Zimmer leaned back in his chair. “We needed someone we trusted to keep an eye on that girl the next time she went out on a Seeker Mission.”

  “Okay, Krista never told me that. I thought I was just supposed to keep Summer safe and pick up a bit of training while I was out there.”

  “So Krista didn’t tell you that you were being sent in as a spy?”

  “A spy? No. She just said to keep an eye on things and report back when we returned. Of course, we never went on a mission, not after everything went sideways at the Trading Post.”

  “Interesting,” Zimmer said, spinning to the side in his office chair. “She told me something quite different.”

  Simms tried to hold back the words on his tongue, but they set themselves free before he could stop them. “Maybe you just misunderstood her, sir?”

  Zimmer pounded his fist on the top of the desk, making a loud crack in the process. “I never misunderstand.”

  Simms flinched in his seat, straightening his posture after his body settled down.

  “It’s about paying attention, Simms. Like right now, to every detail.”

  “Okay, my mistake. Got it.”

  Zimmer got up from his chair again, this time walking to the wall and back before he turned and spoke. “Let me ask you this: How many boxes are in this room? Right now, without looking.”

  Simms wanted to swing his eyes and take a count, but he managed to keep them on Zimmer. He shrugged. “Never even noticed them. Sorry.”

  “There are twenty-seven. Four of them have black marker ink along the top and the others don’t.”

  “Excuse me for asking, sir, but should I have counted them when I came in? Because I wasn’t aware that was expected.”

  “No. Nobody ever counts. They just keep their blinders on and go about their day. You see, Simms, that’s the problem. With everyone. Especially out there, in the hallway. Nobody is paying attention. To anything.”

  “But you are, right, sir?”

  “Exactly. That’s why I can see what’s coming and it’s not good.”

  A wave of ideas tore into Simms’ mind, filling his thoughts with what he hoped were the answers. Something to rid Zimmer of his total and complete disappointment in him. “With Nomad? And the others?”

  “Yes, and the broadcast we made.”

  “Is there something you need me to do?”

  “You catch on fast, my young friend.”

  Simms smiled, letting out a breath he’d been holding. “I try, sir. Sometimes, though, I miss things. I don’t do it on purpose; I’m just new at this.”

  “And I wouldn’t expect you to, either. But I do need your loyalty and your attention. Can I count on both?”

  “Of course. Whatever you need, I’ll take care of it.”

  Zimmer pointed at the dog. “First up, I want you to kill that thing. Right now. This instant.”

  Sergeant Barkley must have understood what the man had just said. He shot to all fours and lurched ahead, barking and snapping at Zimmer like a wild animal.

  Simms yanked back on the leash, struggling to keep the dog from climbing onto the desk and taking a chomp out of the Zimmer’s face. “Down boy! Down!”

  Zimmer never moved, his expression holding numb. It was almost as if he knew the animal would be held in check and never get loose.

  It took every ounce of strength, but Simms managed to keep Barkley back, though it wasn’t easy. The dog was strong, far stronger than he ever imagined, yanking on his arms with each lunge at Zimmer. “Easy now. Down boy. Sit.”

  Simms continued to wrestle with the leash, eventually pulling Barkley back from the desk by about a foot.

  When he felt the tension in the leather lessen for a moment, Simms dropped to a knee and wrapped his arms around the dog’s neck, bringing him in close in a tight hug. “It’s okay, buddy. Calm down.”

  Zimmer folded his hands on the desk. “Let me know when you’re done fucking around with that mutt.”

  Simms didn’t have a response. Not yet, not with the dog continuing the rabid barking through the hug. “Shhhh. It’s okay, boy. Everything is going to be fine.”

  Barkley snapped and growled a few more times before sending three more ear-ringing barks at Zimmer. Seconds later, Barkley finally stopped, giving Simms a chance to catch his breath and reset his arms. “That’s better. Good boy.”

  “Well, I’m waiting,” Zimmer said.

  “You want me to do it now. Really?” Simms asked, choosing words he hoped would not set off the dog again.

  “Yes, with your hands. Look him in the eye when you do. It’s more personal that way. I want you to look deep inside and see what’s going on in there when you do.”

  Simms shook his head. “I don’t know if I can do that, sir. This is Summer’s dog. She’ll be pissed.”

  “Which is exactly why I want you to do it. Right now. I need to know where your allegiance stands.”

  “My allegiance is with you. And her. And this complex. I just can’t do what you’re asking to a defenseless animal.”

  Zimmer looked at Barkley, then back at Simms. “I’d hardly say that thing is defenseless, would you?”

  Simms shook his head, unable to form any words in response.

  “Fine,” Zimmer said, opening a drawer on his desk. He put his hand inside, then pulled out a semi-automatic handgun with a wide bore.

  Zimmer pointed it a Simms. “Perhaps this will help clarify things a bit. Call it motivation from someone who is a whole lot more observant than you. And far more vested in what happens around here.”

  “Why are you doing this?”

  “Because it needs to be done,” Zimmer said, bringing his free hand up to the weapon. He grabbed the slide and racked it, injecting a round into the chamber. “So get to it, or I put a bullet in that pretty face of yours.”

  CHAPTER 9

  Stanley Fletcher awoke with a start, coughing from a burn in his lungs. His body was twisted on its side, like a piece of licorice, and there was something hard pressing against his back. He went to open his eyes, but his eyelids didn’t respond, holding tight as if something had caked them shut.

  When he brought his hands up and wiped his eyelids, he felt what he could only describe as loose, fine-grained material. Mounds of it, flaking off with the touch of his fingertips.

  He straightened his legs and turned over from his side to sit up, working his hands faster to free his vision. It took a bit of effort, but he managed to clean off enough gunk to open his eyes, realizing he’d been lying against a wall.

  Fletcher coughed again, seeing the air around him filled with billowing clouds of gray. Concrete gray. There was also a hint of burnt hair in the air. Since he ran bald, it meant the odor was most likely coming from his second in command. “Hey, Dice. You still with me?”

  A grunt came from a few feet away, somewhere beyond the veil of dust. Then a rustling sound reached his ears before a weak voice penetrated the cloud in the room. “Yeah, sort of. What the hell happened?”

  “Not exactly sure. What’s the last thing you remember?”

  “Running for my life.”

  “Down a hallway.”

  “Roger that.”

  “And that explosion,” Fletcher said, pressing to his feet. His mind wasn’t working properly, but his hands were, waving at the air in front of him. He continued to cough, as did Dice. “The Scabs—”

  �
��—were right behind us.”

  “Like a stampede.”

  “Damn, they’re fast.”

  Fletched nodded, turning his head to the side and letting a wad of spit fly. He could taste the concrete on his tongue. “They must have found something. That’s why they were high-tailing it.”

  “Explosives, obviously.”

  “A tripwire?”

  “That’s my guess, boss. Stipple trained them well but I’m sure he never taught them how to watch for tripwires.”

  “That damn Edison. He must’ve taught his crew how to boobytrap. Knew we’d walk right into it, too.”

  Dice coughed twice before he responded. “Edison? Not so sure about that. Krista, maybe.”

  “Actually, you’re right. This is more Krista’s style,” Fletcher said, twisting a lip before he spoke again. “How’s your hair?”

  “What?”

  “I smell burnt hair. It obviously can’t be mine.”

  There was a long pause. “Seems fine to me.”

  “Then what the hell?”

  “The Scabs, sir. They have hair,” Dice replied. “Or at least they used to.”

  “That fireball—”

  Dice huffed, not waiting for Fletcher to finish his thought. “Damn near cooked my ass right before we dove in here.”

  Fletcher felt a hand on his arm. “Good thing that door was unlocked, or we’d be toast for sure.”

  Dice tugged him forward. “You think Stipple made it?”

  “With that heart?”

  “Only one way to know for sure,” Dice answered, leading them toward the outline of a door frame. “How long do you think we’ve been out?”

  “No way to know, but my stomach’s growling, so I’m guessing at least an hour. Maybe more.”

  “Holy fuck. My head’s pounding like crazy.”

  They made it to the hallway and stepped outside, finding the air in the corridor free of dust. There were bodies littering the floor, looking like a charbroiled sea of skin.

  “Talk about your impromptu barbeque,” Dice said with a hint of levity in his voice.

  Fletcher walked to the left. “Gotta react when the creatures attack.”

  “I’m sorry, boss, what?”

  “Just something that girl said.”

  “What girl?”

  “The one we saved from the Hunger Gang.”

  “Summer?” Dice asked, not waiting for a response. “What made you think of her?”

  “Not sure. Just flashed in my head for some reason.”

  “You must have taken a pretty good shot to the melon back there. I know getting blown against that wall didn’t do my back any good.”

  “Better than being out here like these poor fuckers,” Fletcher said, stepping over two bodies and around what was left of a third.

  “God, no wonder it stinks,” Dice said.

  “Reminds me of this old strip club in Payson, Arizona. They had this giant cow on top of their sign. Was a former steak house, I think. Run by a real peach of man, too, always telling people he was sixty-six years old. Like that mattered at all.”

  “Sorry, I don’t follow.”

  “Their bathrooms were outhouses. Actual outhouses.”

  “Seriously?”

  “Yep, had to walk through the mud to take a piss after shotgunning beers.”

  “I’m guessing it was a real dive.”

  “Yeah, and those shitters were biblical.”

  “What about the women?”

  “Same,” Fletcher answered, laughing before a sudden wave of dizziness took over. He dropped to a knee, leaning against the wall in the hallway.

  “You okay, Fletch?”

  “Damn, feels like a herd of angry buffalos dancing around in my head.”

  Dice hovered in close, putting a hand on Fletcher’s shoulder. “Maybe you need to take a break, sir. I’ll take point.”

  Fletcher shook off his friend’s touch and stood, blinking to clear the blobs in his vision. “Nah, I’ll be fine. Let’s keep moving.”

  A few minutes later, they had made it past a string of Scab bodies and around another corner. Maybe it was two corners, Fletcher wasn’t sure. His mind wasn’t focusing any better than his eyes, but at least they were forging ahead. “Should be up here somewhere.”

  “Wouldn’t surprise me if we find him still grabbing his chest.”

  “There he is,” Fletcher said, pointing. “At least, I think so.”

  “Damn, that answers that question,” Dice said, increasing his foot speed.

  When they arrived they found a scorched rifle lying on top of a pair of combat boots, with most of their soles melted off. They were sitting next to a knot of camo-colored clothing, though some of the edges were burnt black.

  Dice brought his rifle down and used the muzzle to peel apart the clothes. There was a mound of something gooey lying under it—about the size of a baseball hat. “Is that him?”

  “Doubt it. Needed a much hotter fireball to incinerate a man like this. Plus, where’re his teeth? There should be more of him left.”

  “Then what is it?”

  Fletcher thought for a few beats, letting an idea work itself free in his mind. He shrugged. “It’s possible a Scab survived.”

  Dice brought his rifle up into a firing position and aimed it down the corridor. “And ate him?”

  “If he was already dead from a heart attack—”

  “Then it was a free meal.”

  “A free, cooked meal.”

  Dice relaxed his rifle and raised a hand before extending his index finger, pretending to speak to someone a few feet away. “Excuse me waiter? I’ll have mine extra crispy, please.”

  “Man, you are one sick dude.”

  “That’s because I’ve been hanging around you too much,” Dice said, wearing a huge grin. Then his mug turned serious once again as he pointed at the blob on the floor. “Still doesn’t explain what that is.”

  “I’m thinking Scab puke.”

  “Now that’s just wrong on so many levels.”

  “Seen worse back in Afghanistan.”

  “I’ll bet. Glad I missed it.”

  Fletcher waved him forward. “Let’s move. We need to get up top and check in with the men.”

  “I don’t know about you, but I’m looking forward to some fresh air. I think I’ve had enough of this gopher shit.”

  “Once I’ve briefed everyone, I’m going to want this place searched from top to bottom. If someone’s here, I want them found.”

  CHAPTER 10

  Krista stood to the side as Liz Blackwell sat down on the bench seat in the locker room next to a now fully-dressed, masked prisoner, whose head hung low.

  Wicks hovered nearby, standing guard like the warrior he was.

  Summer was in attendance, too, her eyes focused on what should be an important interrogation of the man known as Nomad.

  Summer may not have thought of this meet–and-greet as an interrogation, but that’s exactly what it was.

  Even though Liz had taken the lead, Krista had her share of questions, each of which she planned to fire at the scarred man the moment Liz was done.

  Timing is everything, even in the Frozen World. More so when you’re attempting to break down a captive and establish control. A captive who carried the legendary status of this man. He was part vigilante and part hoodlum, depending on which rumor she chose to believe.

  Krista knew of a few in Nirvana who claimed to have been on the receiving end of one of his rescues, so the term savior might fit the man as well. It depended on perspective, letting emotions and expectations fuel one’s vantage point.

  For Krista, right now, this prisoner was only that—a prisoner. Nothing more. A detainee who had brought a group of Scabs into their secure facility and did so unannounced.

  Somehow he’d found their secret hideout. Whether he’d been tracking someone, possibly Summer, or he’d discovered their location on his own, she needed to figure out how he’d done it. And why, of course
.

  If Edison had still been alive, she wondered how this day might have gone—different or the same? She wasn’t sure. Too many variables and unexpected twists.

  Regardless, Krista’s job was the same—get to the bottom of everything that was happening and do so without elevating the risk any more than it already was. And keep Summer and Liz in check. Oh, and Wicks.

  “When did that girl first develop her symptoms?” Liz asked Nomad.

  He kept his eyes low and shook his head, not responding.

  “It wasn’t a yes or no question,” Krista said.

  Again he held his silence, his eyes trained on the floor around his feet.

  Wicks took a step forward with his open palm extended, but Krista waved him back. She knew what he wanted to do, but his brand of intimidation would only set Liz off. And Summer.

  Krista made eye contact with the brute, flashing a look that told him to stand down. He returned to his post after a crisp step back, keeping his weapon at the ready.

  “Listen up, Nomad,” Krista said, needing to control the air a bit more. “Unless you want more of the same, I’d suggest you answer Liz’s questions. Fully and truthfully. She’s just trying to help. It’s in your best interest to cooperate.”

  Nomad turned his head toward Krista and held her gaze, peering through the cutouts in the balaclava. Once again, he held his tongue as if his life depended on it.

  “Come on, please, talk to us,” Summer said. “Liz can help your friend, but she needs more information.”

  Liz swung her head around to Krista, then looked at Summer. “I got this, ladies. Please.”

  “Fine, go ahead. Do your thing, Doc,” Krista replied. “But the clock is ticking. We need to get back to business with Blackstone and some other things burning a hole into our to-do list. This man can’t take up all our time.”

  “Agreed,” Liz said. “But I need to do this my way.”

  “The floor is yours,” Krista said, letting her voice trail off.

  Liz waited until Nomad brought his eyes to her before she spoke again. “That black substance around her lips—it that from something she ate? Or did she come in contact with something new? I need to know how it originated and where. Can you tell me?”