Silo

by Jay J Falconer

  Wicks rolled in the dirt and then grunted a sentence, his words indecipherable. It was clear the pain was controlling every thought in his brain, leaving him nothing more than a mumbling idiot.

  Nomad could have attacked again, but he wanted Wicks to get to his feet before inflicting even more pain.

  It took another twenty seconds before Wicks recovered enough to crawl to his knees, then he worked himself into a stance. The man looked only half-conscious when he turned to face Nomad, his eyes as thin as toothpicks.

  Wicks held for a moment, probably letting the blobs in his vision clear a bit. Then he snorted like an angry bull about to charge a target, snot shooting out of his nose.

  He came forward, walking erratically and in what Nomad could only describe as slow motion, most likely due to his balls still being on fire.

  Nomad waited until Wicks was close, then reached out and grabbed the man’s hands, holding them at arm’s length in a feat of strength. Despite his injuries, Wicks still had his grip, pushing back with both arms.

  When Wicks leaned in to say something, Nomad brought his head back and snapped it forward, ramming his forehead into Wick’s nose in a loud crack.

  Wicks let go and stumbled backwards like a drunken sailor, flopping over and landing on the ground, face up.

  Nomad walked to the man’s position and stood next to him, wondering how much more Wicks could take. His eyes looked weak, no doubt due to the pain he’d suffered and the amount of blood he’d lost so far.

  “Now you’re as ugly as me,” Nomad said, looking down and admiring all the hurt he’d delivered.

  Wicks rolled to his side and spat out a mouthful of blood, making Nomad step back in amazement.

  How the hell can Wicks keep going?

  Nomad had never seen anything like it. Most men would have passed out long ago, their eyes closing and minds drifting off into dreamland. It must have been the man’s stubbornness fueling his will to continue, despite the endless beating.

  Wicks got to his feet once again, only this time he remained bent over at the waist, wobbling from left to right.

  Nomad spotted something crawling on the wall, not far from the entrance to this section. He ran and snatched it, feeling its hairy legs filling his grip. He circled to the front of Wicks and jammed the spider into the man’s mouth.

  Wicks stood more erect, gagging from the creature filling his throat.

  Nomad punched at Wicks’ mouth, hitting it with a jab over and over until an ooze of spider guts leaked out and ran down his chin.

  Right then, a vision appeared in his mind, showing Wicks molesting Summer, based on what Watson had said earlier about grabbing a few handfuls. “A real man never lays hands on a woman.”

  Wicks tore at the spider in his mouth, ripping it out and tossing it away.

  “It’s judgment time,” Nomad said, grabbing Wicks’ arm and swinging him around like the sack of shit he was.

  When Nomad let go, Wicks stumbled backwards and out of control in the direction of The Hedge. The backs of his legs caught the base of the stone formation, sending the top half of his body over the edge. The inertia from the throw took over, sending Wicks flipping over the wall and into the space beyond it.

  Nomad watched Wicks disappear from view as gravity grabbed hold of him and plummeted him into the depths below. A few seconds later, Nomad heard Wicks hit bottom in a thud.

  Nomad went to The Hedge and leaned forward to peer down at Wicks.

  The man was twisted around in a heap, partially face-up, with one of his legs bent at an impossible angle behind his back. His arms were out wide and a huge pool of blood had formed around his head.

  Watson ran to Nomad’s position and stood next to him, looking down into the cavern below. “Jesus Christ, you didn’t have to do that. You’d already won.”

  Nomad looked at Watson. “Am I going to have a problem with you, too?”

  Watson backed up with the pistol still in his hand, though it was aimed out to the side and not at Nomad. He raised his arms in a flash. “I’m just the cook. Don’t hurt me.”

  “Choose a side. Now.”

  Watson tossed the gun away, then fell in a plop to his knees. He began to bow as if he were paying homage to some would-be god. “I won’t say anything, I swear to God.”

  Nomad went to Watson and grabbed his chin, pulling it up to make eye contact. Nomad drew in a full breath and let it boil, then yelled, “Swear to me!”

  “Yes. Yes. Yes. I swear. I’ll do whatever you want. Just don’t kill me.”

  “And what about Summer and the rest of the silo?”

  “Okay. Okay, I’ll do whatever they want. You have my word. Just let me go, please.”

  Nomad released his grip on the man’s face. “Now we go deal with the other one up top. Any problem with that?”

  “No, just tell me what you want me to do.”

  CHAPTER 21

  Wilma Rice waited outside the men’s bathroom in the west wing of The Factory, wondering how long it was going to take her boss to finish his business.

  He’d been inside for almost half an hour, doing whatever men did when they disappeared into the inner sanctum of “The Head,” as Craven liked to call it, with a magazine in hand and a glint in their eye.

  In truth, she’d never stepped foot in a men’s restroom facility, but often wondered what it might be like in there. She’d heard all the horror stories and even knew some of the unwritten rules about procedure, but still wanted to see for herself.

  Not for any sexual reason, especially since her focus had always been women. It was more about baseline curiosity than anything else. A curiosity that was always seeking to fuel her scientific side and gather more information. Plus, it would check something off her to-do list.

  Sometimes, even a scientist has to be able to sit back and say, Been there, done that, as if they’d lived a more fulfilling life than they actually had. Wilma was no exception. More like the norm.

  Anyone who knew her would probably agree that data and facts were all she lived for. That logic and theory ruled her existence. Of course, that was mostly true, but deep down, she also knew there had to be more to life than just data collection and theory. Perhaps, a simple peek inside the door might quell her curiosity.

  Before her next thought arrived, her hand went out on its own, reaching for the handle. Her fingers were just about to make contact and swing the entrance open when she heard the sudden sound of a flush inside. The swoosh was powerful and swift, then the clank of metal came next, which was followed by a squeak and footsteps.

  She pulled her arm away in an instant, tucking it down by her side as she took two steps back. The door flung open in a rush of movement, bringing with it a stench that could only be classified as objectionable.

  “What are you doing here, Wilma?” Craven asked, his hands working the zipper on his fly.

  Wilma kept her nose in check, making sure her boss didn’t notice her detection of the scent trailing him outside. “Ah, well, sir, we just got a report back.”

  “And?” he asked, motioning for her to follow him down the hallway.

  “The runner said we suffered a few setbacks,” she replied, keeping pace with her boss.

  “What do you mean, said? They can’t talk.”

  “Well, grunted, sir, and used hand signals.”

  “I take it his plan backfired, as we expected?”

  “Whose, sir? Fletcher or Stipple?”

  “Well, I was thinking Fletcher, since he’s the one that cooked this up. But based on the way you just asked the question, I’m starting to wonder if Stipple hit a snag or two. His Scabs?”

  “Actually, both men ran into problems. Apparently, Edison’s group was prepared. Set charges.”

  “Edison’s group? That doesn’t fit their M. O.”

  “It does if you believe they’d do anything to protect their people. Plus, there’s been a change in leadership, so we have to factor that into our assessment.”

  �
�Okay, I’ll give you that. How many did we lose?”

  “A hundred percent. At least, that’s the report given.”

  “A hundred percent? Including Stipple?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Damn it. That’s not a setback, Wilma. That’s a Goddamn disaster. That’s not how this was supposed to play out.”

  “I wish I could tell you different, sir.”

  “How sure are we of this intel?”

  “Even though the runner was dispatched by Fletcher’s men, I believe the information is credible.”

  “Unless Fletcher is trying to double-cross us.”

  “It’s possible, but I don’t think so. Not based on the facts delivered by our runner. The explosion shook the surface and Fletcher’s men seemed genuinely concerned. At least that’s the impression the runner got and relayed to me.”

  “If this is true, then it changes things. I’m afraid we’re going to have to complete the balance of our plans on our own.”

  “Can you handle them, sir?”

  “I don’t have much of a choice, now do I? Luckily, I’ve been observing some of the training sessions, so I believe I have a decent grasp of the command sequences. Might need to run a few drills, though, if that’s what we are going to call them.”

  “Makes sense, sir, but I have to ask. Do we have the time? May have to reassess.”

  “That’s a good point. Let me chew on it for a bit. Either way, I want that tech.”

  “That’s a given, sir,” Wilma said. “May I remind you, we still have our source in place. At least, I think we do. It might be time to reach out and see if we can glean any new details.”

  “Good idea, Wilma. Go ahead and get that in the works. Information will be the key going forward. See if you can find out how Edison’s crew knew they were coming.”

  “I’ll do my best, sir,” Wilma said. “Oh, and by the way, I still have enough material to cook up another batch. If you need me to?”

  Craven stopped his feet and held a blank stare, his eyes darting left and right. After a few seconds, he brought his focus back to Wilma. “Let’s hold off for now. I think there might be a different play here. One that won’t require us to get quite so involved.”

  “That would mitigate our risk.”

  “Exactly what I was thinking. We need to take this one step at a time. More so now that adjustments are needed.”

  CHAPTER 22

  Destiny stood at the head of the Blackstone conference table as the balance of her leadership team filed in and split off into two paths. One group went left and the other one right, filling the seats around the rectangular seating area.

  She made eye contact with several of her constituents, nodding in appreciation of their attendance. Not that they wouldn’t have joined the conversation anyway, but it still seemed like the right thing to do.

  Team leadership, especially with a squad of former nobodies, required a delicate touch in order to focus the ranks and accomplish the day’s goals.

  At the moment, she was almost sure she had their support. However, after this meeting, that backing might vanish if her ability to guide the conversation failed.

  It was all about controlling her detractors and keeping them at bay. Or at least, holding them off long enough to get her points across.

  If she could lay it all out in just the right way, they’d have to agree with her. They were running out of options. And time, with the situation down in the shaft.

  She fired down a sip of water from the glass in front of her, then took an extra gulp of air. “I want to thank you all for coming. I know this meeting was called last-minute, but it’s important that we address a few things right away.”

  “This isn’t another bug hunt, is it?” the black-haired man seated to her immediate left asked. “Because the last one left my legs fucked up for weeks.”

  “No, nothing that mundane, Sawtooth,” Destiny answered to the gruffest male on her team. “But I’ll get to that in a moment.”

  “Please don’t tell me we’re bringing in more outsiders?” Blender asked, her blue eyes energized with a hypnotizing aqua color. The thirty-three-year-old blonde occupied the seat opposite Destiny’s, which seemed appropriate since the former CDC receptionist rarely took her side on anything. Then again, the others usually didn’t either.

  “Just give me a minute, please,” Destiny said. “I need to lay this all out for you. I know you’re all busy with your projects, but there have been some new developments.”

  “How long will this take?” Flipside asked from his seat to Blender’s left, the puffy bags under his eyes indicating the senior citizen hadn’t slept well in recent days. “I’ve got some new code to write and it’s rather complicated.”

  “Please, just relax and hear me out,” Destiny said, pausing for a few beats to see if anyone else had anything to say. When only silence answered, she continued. “We’ve made contact with a new group out there. They call themselves Nirvana—”

  “Nirvana?” Flipside asked, his tone more condescending than inquisitive.

  “Seriously?” Sawtooth asked, giving her an open-lip smile, highlighting two missing teeth along the front.

  “Great, another pie-in-the-sky agrarian group. Just what we need,” Blender added.

  “We don’t know that for sure,” Destiny said, wishing they’d just let her talk. The meeting would go a lot smoother if they did.

  Blender nodded, pointing a finger at Destiny and shaking it. “Yes, we do, because no self-respecting research group would ever pick that name.”

  “You mean like Blackstone,” Flipside added, flashing his hands in air quotes

  “Yeah, but that wasn’t our choice,” Blender said.

  Flipside rolled his eyes. “Doesn’t change the fact, Blender.”

  Blender snorted a quick breath. “Sure it does. We could have changed it anytime after the government types left, yet we didn’t. So that speaks volumes.”

  “Left? That’s what you call it?” Flipside said, shaking his head.

  “People, please. Let’s stay on topic,” Destiny said, interrupting their banter. She looked at the open seat at the table, deciding to use it to change the subject. “Anyone seen Asher?”

  “He said he’s too busy for another one of your useless meetings,” Sawtooth said, the man’s voice barbed with intent. “Not that I disagree.”

  “Useless?”

  “Yeah, useless. You know how Asher feels about these things. He told me to just give him a summary later. He’s busy studying the caldera. Says there are some more readings he needs to investigate.”

  “Problems?”

  Sawtooth paused with a frozen look before he responded. “Apparently, but you know him—he’s always finding something new to be concerned about. In reality, I think he’s just saying all that to get out of another one of your emergency meetings.”

  “Not that any of us can blame him,” Flipside said.

  Sawtooth continued, “Oh, and if you’re thinking of asking me to go back down there with him, think again. Pick someone else. I’ve more than done my part for this project of yours. Maybe one of the new guys. They haven’t had their share of rads yet.”

  “We don’t know that for sure.”

  “Yes, we do. It’s obvious. Just take a moment and remember what happened to some of those government types that ‘left,’ as Blender so eloquently said.”

  Blender looked at Flipside and pointed at Sawtooth. “See, even he agrees.”

  Flipside laughed, leaning forward in his chair and bringing his hands together. “But that’s not what he said. Quit spinning, Blender. You were wrong, so just admit it for once.”

  “Asher and the new readings?” Sawtooth shot out, taking control of the conversation once again.

  “I’ll look into it.”

  “So what about these Nirvana people?” Blender asked, tucking a knot of hair behind her ear. “Did we contact them or the other way around?”

  “They reached out, looking fo
r help.”

  “Who are they?” Sawtooth asked.

  “Just regular folk, I think.”

  “How can you be sure?”

  “Can’t. But that’s what my gut tells me. I have a sense for these things.”

  “That’s all fine and well, Destiny, but your gut has been wrong before.”

  Before Destiny could answer Sawtooth, Blender fired a question. “Are they close?”

  “I think so. At least relatively.”

  “Wow, another nondescript response,” Sawtooth said. “You really don’t know jack, do you?”

  Destiny understood their frustration, but it didn’t lessen her desire to be candid. “I wish I knew more, but in truth, they never did answer that question.”

  “But you did ask it, right?” Flipside asked.

  “I did. They’re probably just being careful.”

  “I hope you didn’t tell them where we are,” Blender said.

  “No, of course not. I’m not an idiot.”

  “Did they ignore the question or straight up refuse?” Sawtooth asked.

  Destiny knew her job just got harder. “No, at first the radio signal just went dead. Then, when they came back on air, we talked about other things.”

  “So that means you really don’t know,” Blender said.

  “No, but I plan to. And soon. We have another call scheduled. I’ll see if I can find out.”

  “Sounds like a huge red flag to me,” Flipside said. “Are they looking to trade or hoping to buy their way in here?”

  “Trade.”

  “Do they have what we need?” Blender asked.

  “Mostly. Though we still have to be careful.”

  Blender shook her head. “Of course. Wouldn’t be the first time we got our hopes up, so to speak.”

  “What do they want, exactly?” Flipside asked.

  “Nothing much. Some plants, chemicals, and some specific equipment.”

  “Like what?”

  “Microscope and a centrifuge.”

  “Do we have that?”

  “No, but they don’t know that.”

  “So you’re just going to screw them over?” Sawtooth interjected, his voice sharp. Then his tone turned cynical. “Yeah, that’ll go over well.”