Silo

by Jay J Falconer

  “Sure, let’s start with that number, though you’re way off.”

  “Then how do the numbers work?” Nomad asked.

  “What do you mean?”

  “How many times a week did you have real meat?”

  “Couple. Edison always made sure we had plenty of protein. It was one of his promises when we joined his little crusade.”

  “For just you or the masses?”

  “Everyone, I think,” Wicks said, “though I didn’t usually stick around and see who ate what when we were done. We were always first.”

  “Have your numbers been increasing, decreasing, or staying the same?”

  “Careful, boss, he’s trying to pry information,” Watson said.

  “I know what he’s trying to do,” Wicks said to Watson.

  “So which is it, Wicks?” Nomad asked.

  “They’re not decreasing, that’s for sure.”

  “So do the math. The population is growing and the meat supply never dwindles. How does that happen, exactly?”

  “Simple, really. Rabbits and goats and whatever. They multiply like, ah, rabbits. Edison was a genius. He had it covered.”

  “Believe what you want, but trust me, Craven is the one supplying meat to your little enclave.”

  “And if he is, so what?”

  “Ah, therein lies the question. And the problem.”

  “Whatever, dude,” Wicks said, giving Nomad a shove. “You’re giving me a headache.”

  “Think what you want, but you have no idea who Craven is or what he’s capable of. Frost had his demons, but nothing like Craven and his crew.”

  “Just keep walking. I’m about done talking to you.”

  Nomad continued, his tone full of vigor. “I’m pretty sure Edison convinced himself Craven had a team of master hunters. Otherwise, he had to know something was off.”

  “Edison was way smarter than you. Or this imaginary Craven guy. Count on it.”

  “Book-smart, yes, but not street-smart. Sometimes, people see and hear what they want to, leading them to ignore the obvious. Especially when they are desperate and searching for answers.”

  “The only thing I’m ignoring right now is you. I know what you’re trying to do and it won’t work. That little bitch Summer tried the same thing after I decked her for disobeying.”

  “And he grabbed a couple of handfuls,” Watson said, seeming to enjoy the conversation.

  Wicks continued, ignoring Watson’s remark. “My loyalty isn’t changing, so just give it up already.”

  “Not my point. You asked about me living with the women.”

  “Actually, that was me,” Watson said.

  “I’m only trying to enlighten you. Both of you.”

  “Well, it ain’t working,” Wicks replied. “In fact, it’s just pissing me off. And that, my ugly friend, is the last thing you want to do. Trust me when I say that.”

  CHAPTER 15

  Krista took the lead in the hallway that would soon end at the door to the brig. Frost’s former dog was on a leash, pulling ahead of her with determination.

  The pattering click of the mutt’s nails on the cement reminded her of a perfectly timed countdown to detonation. And by detonation, she knew it meant Summer’s impending meltdown that was about to blow into the brig with her.

  “Can’t we talk about this?” Summer asked, pawing at Krista’s arm.

  Krista shrugged it off. “You know the rules as well as I do.”

  “But he’s a dog. Not a person. Do we really have to do this?”

  “You lost the vote two to one. That’s the way it works now, Summer. The new Ruling Triad has reached a verdict.”

  “Yeah, and I’m starting to regret that whole triad thing.”

  “Well, you wanted help. A deal is a deal.”

  “I get that, but it’s not like the dog is going to learn some kind of lesson. Besides, Simms said it was all his fault. Not Sergeant Barkley’s.”

  “That doesn’t matter. We can’t have violent animals running lose around here.”

  “That’s what you said about the Scab women. And Helena.”

  “And it applies to a dog who attacked a person,” Krista said as she reached for the handle on the door to the brig. “People will get nervous and who knows what might happen. This is the safest bet for everyone, including your dog.”

  Krista opened the door and went inside with Summer hot on her six. When Krista’s eyes met Lipton’s in the cell on the right, she told Summer, “Speaking of animals that need to be caged—”

  “I should have known,” Lipton said after sitting up in the only bunk in the cell. His eyes went down to the dog. So did Horton’s, who was standing to the left, talking with Helena in the cell next door.

  “What’s that thing doing here?” Lipton asked.

  “He’s coming for an extended visit,” Krista said, unable to keep her pleasure at bay.

  “Ah, not in here,” Lipton said, pulling his feet up from the floor.

  Horton never moved, though he did take his hands down from the bars.

  Krista waited for her jailer to unlock the cell door on the right and open it, then she moved ahead and stood in the threshold, directly behind the dog drooling on the floor.

  Barkley hunched a bit, his attention aimed at Lipton. Not that she could blame the furball. Lipton was her sole focus as well, wondering what it would feel like to give Barkley the command to tear loose and go after Lipton’s neck.

  Probably wouldn’t take much to get the animal to attack, she figured. Not since he already had a taste for human flesh.

  Hell, she’d thought about sinking her teeth into the man’s veins, too, if she wasn’t afraid of contracting God-knew-what from his pompous, old man blood.

  “Keep that thing away from me,” Lipton said, his tone full of inflections and extra breaths. “I’m warning you.”

  “Sit boy,” Krista said, finding the man’s rhetoric a little ridiculous.

  The dog did as it was told, planting its hind end on the concrete, never taking its gaze from the scientist perched on the bed.

  Lipton looked like a frightened schoolgirl who’d just seen her first snake.

  Krista smiled as she went to unhook the leash from the dog’s collar.

  That’s when Horton stopped her with hand wave. “Maybe I should hang on to him?”

  Krista held for a beat, then looked back at Summer, whose face appeared calmer than before.

  Summer nodded. “Good idea. Let’s give him a chance to acclimate first.”

  “Acclimate?” Lipton snapped. “That’s what you call it?”

  “It’s as good a word as any,” Summer replied.

  Lipton pointed to the gaggle of Scab women in the cell next door. “Why don’t you put that mangy animal in with those mangy animals?”

  Krista gave Horton the leash. “Because it wouldn’t be nearly as entertaining.”

  “You really are a bitch, aren’t you?”

  “And then some.”

  “Remember, what goes around comes around.”

  “Ditto, my obnoxious friend.”

  Summer walked into the cell and knelt down next to the dog. She rubbed his back, then gave him one of her patented cooing hugs. “It’ll be okay, boy. I promise. We’ll be back soon.”

  Krista backed up and stood outside the bars, while Summer continued to shower the canine with hand rubs and neck scratches.

  When Summer was done, she pressed to her feet, turned, and marched to the door, stopping just outside the door. “I hope you’re happy now.”

  “It’s a start,” Krista said, closing the cell door with a clang.

  The guard came forward and locked it, then stood back with his spine against the wall.

  Krista and Summer walked into the hallway together before the guard closed the door behind them.

  “You know we’re going to need Lipton later,” Summer said.

  “What do you mean?”

  “I mean, whenever we go meet with those p
eople from Blackstone, he’ll need to be in one piece.”

  “Speaking of which, we probably need to make another call. Get things moving. I’m sure they’re wondering if we’re still here.”

  “That’s what I was saying,” Summer said before she stopped her feet and grabbed Krista’s elbow. She pointed at the door behind her. “Sorry to keep pressing the issue, but do you think it’s really necessary to antagonize the man like that?”

  “Oh yeah, I absolutely do.”

  “I hope you know what you’re doing.”

  “Relax. Someone just needs to bring that dickhead down a few notches. He’ll eventually get the message.”

  “And you want to use Sergeant Barkley to do it?”

  Krista shrugged, then laughed. “Sure, why not? It’s the least we can do.”

  “You just can’t help yourself, can you?”

  “Not today. Not with him.”

  “Remind me to never get on your bad side.”

  “Always a good idea, my friend.”

  CHAPTER 16

  Nomad waited in the cave with Watson as Wicks cruised ahead and into the recessed chamber on the right.

  Not long before, they’d passed the rock formation Nomad liked to call The Witches’ Brew. It featured an outline of an old woman wearing a floppy hat, with her massive nose pointing the way out of the cave. Her snout was almost as big as the blocky shape in her hand, casting a wide shadow on the wall from Watson’s flashlight.

  Even though she didn’t appear to be holding a mug of beer, the moniker had a nice ring to it. So it stuck, not that the women living with him cared.

  They only grunted anyway, but they did seem to understand the reference to this landmark when he used it.

  The same was true for the Big Bird monolith and a few other natural statues he’d given a title, including The Hedge—a waist-high stone that marked the location of the deepest drop-off in the cave system. It was a towering shaft he figured measured at least two hundred feet in depth. He’d dropped a few rocks into the cavern beyond, counting several seconds before they hit bottom.

  So far, they’d descended about four stories in total, though each of the levels wasn’t the same in height.

  Natural trails and manmade steps didn’t make for precise measurements or equidistant waypoints, but the human brain still needed to classify them as such.

  It’s how we mark distance, depth, direction, and the passage of time—with classification and reference points, each one designed to assign meaning to the random.

  Nomad wondered if the men he traveled with could feel the weight and thickness of the air changing with every step they took.

  He could sense it, but they may have been oblivious with everything else going on. If he were right, it would provide him with a unique opportunity. One that his gut told him he might need soon.

  It was a strange sensation to be leading men he didn’t know into his hideout. Granted, he didn’t plan on returning anytime soon, but the entire process went against everything he’d been taught about securing a location and keeping it classified.

  The first rule is always about the ‘Need to Know.’ Whether Wicks and Watson actually needed to be brought here would be up to the historians to decide, assuming the events happening today warranted their attention.

  Either way, if a location is classified as top secret, the last thing you should do is bring unvetted, unproven newcomers to it. So he’d broken that rule already. A primary rule, one that grunts learn soon after going operational for the first time.

  Truth was, nearly everything you did in the field was on a need-to-know basis, sometimes with your CO not even knowing what the CO is supposed to know. Commanding Officer failures like that usually led to unexpected casualties, like what happened to him right before he was forced to retire from active duty on disability.

  Watson stood behind Nomad and to the left, guarding him with his gun, while Wicks inspected the contents of the barrels, crates, and totes inside the chamber, not far from a stack of tools leaning against the cave wall.

  The two men from Summer’s silo seemed to work well together, though the Nomad figured Watson really didn’t have a choice. Wicks wasn’t the sort of man anyone dared defy. At least, not a thinking man—one without a death wish, that is.

  The scar across Wicks’ forehead was certainly an indicator of serious trouble in his past, though Nomad had never seen such a gash before, even when he was deployed in active red zones filled with blood, body parts, and close quarter battles that never seemed to end.

  Right now, this very minute, may have been the first time since entering the silo that Nomad had a chance to think. Really think, the pause in activity giving him a few precious seconds to review his decisions.

  First, he didn’t have a choice about traveling to the silo with his women in need. He had a sick member of his team and she needed emergency medical attention. Couldn’t fault himself for that. It had to be done.

  Next, there was Seven and her status as a captive in Summer’s silo. He needed to make sure she was okay and reunite her with some of the family, so to speak. Again, no fault in the logic there. His clan and their welfare came first.

  Finally, there was the bat guano, lurking everywhere that gravity could take it, once it was released by the nocturnal rodents hiding above.

  It didn’t take a rocket scientist to figure out that they couldn’t return to the cave and live out their days in this subterranean wonderland. Not without the proper medicine and some form of sweeping removal of the non-human occupants and their shit. Literally.

  Even if the ‘Need to Know’ credo was not met with this cave incursion, the necessity of the situation warranted the presence of Wicks and Watson in his hideout. Therefore, after careful thought, Nomad decided to give himself a pass, but only on this one decision.

  The rest of his past was still up to the jury, as they say. A jury made up of small patches of humans clinging to life, after almost a hundred volcanoes had erupted across the planet. And not by accident, either—one of them was his fault. He knew something was off at the time, but kept his trap shut and just carried out his duties like a mindless automaton. It’s what had been driving him ever since The Event, arriving at this exact moment in time.

  Wicks popped open one of the crates with the tip of his long-handled knife and reached inside. He pulled out a grenade, holding it up with eyes wide. “Where the hell did you get this?”

  “A little donation from your friend Frost,” Nomad answered.

  “He just gave it to you?”

  “No, it was liberated from his stockpile.”

  “Liberated? As in stolen?”

  “It depends on your definition of the term. Once the attack at the Trading Post was launched, there was an entire truck available for acquisition.”

  “Finders keepers,” Watson said.

  “That’s one way to look at it,” Nomad said.

  “I hope you know that was our stuff. Not Frost’s. At least until the exchange happened,” Wicks said. “And we all know how that turned out.”

  “I know what you’re thinking, but that attack was Craven’s doing, not mine.”

  “Your guy Craven did that?”

  “Roger that, though he’s not my guy. He’s Fletcher’s and Edison’s. Like I explained to you, they have no idea who they’re in business with. Oh, and by the way, that’s not meat Craven’s been selling. Not in the traditional sense.”

  “Then what is it?”

  “Do I really need to spell it out for you?”

  Wicks paused, his eyes drifting off to the right before he brought them back again. “Nah, I suppose not. I like it too much. Probably better not to know.”

  Nomad snickered. “For once, we agree on something.”

  “Yeah, well, don’t start to think we’re going to be friends and start taking long showers together.”

  “That would never happen. Count on it.”

  “You got that right,” Wicks said, continuing hi
s reconnoiter, calling out the contents of what he found in the various containers. “TNT, det cord, Tannerite, C4, blasting caps, ammonium nitrate, six barrels of gunpowder, and three old car batteries. Nice haul.”

  “The medical supplies are in the cubbyhole behind you, though they’re lacking I’m afraid. Mostly gauze and disinfectant. Stuff you probably already have.”

  “We’ll take it all,” Wicks said, walking out from the chamber. He looked up, scanning the ceiling and the walls for a few beats. “Is there a shortcut out of here? Hate to have to carry all this stuff out the hard way.”

  Nomad thought about explaining how he’d gotten everything down here, but decided these lunkheads didn’t need to be told about the hand-truck sitting with the pick and shovel in the shadows beyond the supplies.

  They’d make him tote it all out by hand. He had a better idea. One that would conserve his energy for what he was sure would transpire once the supplies were loaded onto their truck.

  Often, the order in which you reveal information can control the outcome that follows. Or at least govern the direction of thinking by your captors.

  He brought his eyes around and angled his head in a direction beyond Watson. “Actually, there’s an old shaft leading down from the surface. It’s how they used to lower supplies when this was an active mine a century ago. It’s not far from the extra diesel I’ve been stockpiling. Just need some rope.”

  “Got plenty in the truck,” Watson said. “I can get it.”

  “That’ll work,” Wicks replied. “While you’re up there, explain the plan to Allison.”

  Watson motioned to Nomad. “What about him?”

  “I’ve got him covered. Just double-time it,” Wicks said, flinching his shoulders and arms as if he was just hit with a chill. He looked up, beaming his eyes at the ceiling, almost as if he expected something to swoop down and attack him. “The less time we spend in this hellhole, the better.”

  CHAPTER 17

  “You want to take the lead this time?” Krista asked Summer, extending a hand to the desk where the transmitter sat. Its microphone was ready, waiting for whoever was going to send the next broadcast.

  “No, I think it’s best if we keep things status quo. They know your voice and will be expecting it. If we change now, who knows what they might think. Can’t take the chance that this goes haywire. We need those plants and seeds. And chemicals.”