Silo

by Jay J Falconer

  “So you have been listening?”

  “Every word, Ash. Just don’t preach so much. Otherwise, we all have a tendency to stop listening.”

  “Like I did with my old man back in the day.”

  She nodded, letting her mind drift onto a new subject. “You know, you could always just resume your old job. So I don’t have to. Make things a lot easier.”

  “Not a chance. You’re way better at all this political stuff than I am. Plus, some of your people still don’t trust me, even after all we’ve been through together.”

  “Some wounds take forever to heal, my friend.”

  “Which is why we must move forward—”

  “—until the past is the past,” she added, knowing what he was going to say.

  “The distant past.”

  “And that can’t happen unless we solve the current problem, which is why I’ve agreed to meet with Nirvana.”

  He paused again, flashing her a twisted look. “Is that what they’re called, or the scientist?”

  “It’s the name of their group.”

  “Figures. More tree-huggers. I should’ve known.”

  “Except they have what we need.”

  Asher pushed to his feet again, this time with seemingly less trouble than before. “I’ll go with you. Check this new guy out. See if he actually knows anything or is just a pretender.”

  “You’ve done enough, Ash.”

  “What, because I’ve lost some hair?”

  “That and you’re old. As in really old,” she said, unable to hold back a smile.

  “Yeah, Moses had nothing on me. Got a lot of mileage on these old legs.”

  “Seriously, though. It’s obvious your body can’t take any more. So let me lighten the load a bit. For your sake and everyone else’s. Okay?”

  “Sure, but I’m going to need that towel over there,” he said, pointing at a white cloth dangling from the edge of the worktable.

  She grabbed it and gave it to him.

  He leaned forward and coughed three times, each round louder than the one before. When he was done, he sat back, letting the towel drop to the ground.

  Destiny bent down to pick it up. That’s when she saw it—a splotch of blood taking up most of its middle. It was bright red with bits of white mucus mixed in—all stringy and oozing in a run.

  She gasped, feeling a wave of nausea swell inside her belly.

  CHAPTER 27

  “Open it up,” Liz Blackwell said to the jailer in the brig, motioning to the cell door on the left.

  “Yes, ma’am,” he said, zipping ahead of her and readying a key.

  She didn’t know the guard’s name and half-expected him to make her show ID, but he didn’t. It meant only one thing—he knew who she was, a fact she found both comforting and disconcerting at the same time.

  Perhaps she had a reputation she didn’t know about and it had preceded her somehow, or maybe it was something else?

  Then again, it was possible she was simply overthinking it, using her misplaced focus as an excuse not to dwell on the plight of the women still under guard.

  Physicians have to do what physicians do, regardless of the status of the patient. Injured, imprisoned, friend, or foe—she had to treat them. Human or otherwise. At least there was only one cell with occupants to treat—the other one was now empty.

  She took a moment to study the kid playing guard. He looked to be about thirty, his auburn-colored goatee catching her eye first. His next most prominent features were his wide nose and deep-set dimples hanging above the corners of his mouth.

  The guard unlocked the door but didn’t open it. Instead, he stepped back and stood to her right with his hands on his hips, not far from the weapon he carried in a holster.

  “Thanks,” Liz said, realizing he expected her to open the door when she was ready and step in with her clipboard in one hand and a pencil in the other.

  She could feel his eyes watching her so she brought her feet to a halt, then spun on her heels to speak to him. “I can take it from here.”

  “Yes, ma’am. I’m right here if you need me.”

  “What’s your name, son?”

  “Bishop, ma’am.”

  “I meant your first name.”

  “Kyle.”

  “I take it you know who I am, right Kyle?”

  “Yes. You’re the head doc,” he answered.

  “Technically, I’m the only doc.”

  “You’re right. My mistake. But please, call me Bishop. Never really liked my first name all that much.”

  “Okay. Bishop. Got it,” she said. “Am I correct in assuming you’re new around here?”

  “Six weeks tomorrow.”

  “Then you’ve had a chance to study the NCC.”

  He nodded. “Krista expects us to recite every rule and regulation by the end of the first week.”

  “Excellent. That means you know I have full, overriding authority when it comes to the prisoners.”

  He shot her a pinched face. “Ma’am?”

  “In case I need to take one to the infirmary.”

  “Roger that. The infirmary. I can call for an escort if you’d like, since I can’t leave my post. Wicks would have my a—”

  “—wouldn’t expect you to, Bishop,” she said, interrupting his response. She knew he was only doing his job. As was she. However, she was certain their two jobs had differing rules of engagement, as Krista liked to say. “Just want to make sure we’re on the same page.”

  “That we are, ma’am.”

  “Good,” Liz said before returning her attention to the occupants inside the jail cell.

  When she opened the door and took a step forward, the Scabs reacted, scattering backwards against the rear of the cell, their faces on alert.

  Liz held the clipboard up and turned it around to face the women. “It’s okay, ladies. Just here to check your vitals. No need to be afraid. It’ll only take a minute.”

  When she ran a quick head count, she realized there was one fewer Scab than before. She’d hadn’t memorized their faces yet, so she wasn’t sure which one wasn’t there. Plus, they all looked alike, except for their ages. She peered back to Bishop. “We’re missing one.”

  “Krista had the youngest one brought to the surface, along with the two guys,” he said, motioning to the cell on the right. “And that dog. Do you want me to send a messenger up and see if they’re still here? I can do so, ma’am. Won’t take but a few minutes.”

  “No, that won’t be necessary. I’m sure Krista and Summer have everything under control. Just needed to be sure, that’s all,” she replied, remembering her conversation with Summer earlier.

  Liz couldn’t help but let out a thin smile, realizing Summer must have gotten her way about who was joining her on the Blackstone mission and who wasn’t.

  A moment after she lowered her clipboard and took another step inside, all the Scab women clumped together in one of the corners, huddling in a cluster. Their eyes looked to be on fire and so did their chests, pumping air in and out in a fury.

  “Whoa, easy there, ladies,” Liz said, stopping her advance. She turned and checked on the guard, just in case he was cause of their sudden panic.

  The man hadn’t moved. Neither had his hands, still resting on his duty belt, his fingers only inches from his service weapon.

  “Whatever you do, Bishop, don’t move. Let me handle this.”

  He flashed her a head nod, his eyes tight and focused.

  Liz brought her head around and told the women, “Look, I know you’re afraid, but don’t be. I’m a friend and I’m here to make sure you’re all okay. That’s all.”

  Silence hung in the air for a few beats before she continued. “May I come a little closer?”

  While she waited for a response, an ear-blasting siren went off, whooping and screaming at the top of its lungs.

  The Scab women dropped to the floor, with their hands over their ears.

  Liz covered hers as well, though the
clipboard in her hand didn’t allow her to do an effective job. Neither did the pencil. “Really? Now? Again?”

  Bishop came up behind her and pulled on her shoulder, speaking in a loud tone. “Ma’am. We have a breech. Please exit the cell. I need to secure the prisoners.”

  Liz shook her head, wishing that damn alarm would stop. “It’s just Nomad returning from his mission with Wicks. Like before. They really need to turn that damn thing off.”

  “Ma’am. Step back. Please,” he said in an even firmer tone, moving his right hand to his holster. He wrapped his fingers around the gun’s stock, lifting the weapon an inch or so from its seated position. “We have procedure that must be followed.”

  Liz let her eyes linger on his pistol before responding to his demand. “There’s no need for any of that. Security is just overreacting like they did before when Nomad first showed up with these women.”

  He waved at her with his free hand. “Step back or I’ll have to detain you, ma’am, and I don’t want to do that.”

  Before she could move, the siren stopped, the high-pitched whine dulling into an ever- decreasing echo off the walls.

  Liz raised an eyebrow at him. “See, I told you. Nothing to be concerned about.”

  He pointed past her, at the prisoners. “Except for that.”

  She whirled and saw that the Scab women were no longer huddled together like frightened mice.

  Instead, they were scaling the metal struts of the cell and doing so in several directions at once, each one looking fierce, as if they were on the hunt.

  Liz took two steps in reverse, unsure what to do.

  Bishop tugged her the rest of the way out of the cell before he stepped forward and finished drawing his pistol. He wrapped the fingers on his free hand around the door frame and started to close it.

  That’s when it happened—the walls and floor began to quake violently, sending her to the deck.

  The shake was followed by a growing rumble that seemed to ripple through the concrete. If she had to describe it, she would have called it rolling thunder. Somewhere off in the distance.

  Bishop stumbled a bit but remained on his feet as he closed the cell door and locked it, then turned to Liz. “That does not sound like overreacting to me.”

  “What do you think that is?”

  “Explosives. Would need to be a lot, though, if we felt it way down here.”

  “That’s assuming it’s up top and not somewhere else.”

  “It’s the only way in or out, so that’s the most likely place for a breach, ma’am,” he said, helping her to her feet. “We need to get you somewhere secure until I can confirm.”

  Liz pointed at the Scab women, who were still clinging to the upper areas of the metal bars, like monkeys hanging in a tree. Their collective breaths were short, huffing like rhinos about to charge into battle. “What about them?”

  “They’re not my concern right now. If there’s been a breach, we need to establish a more defensible position.”

  “A defensible what?”

  “Security teams will rally around the armory, one level up. We need to head there now.”

  “Assuming the armory isn’t overrun already,” Liz said, waiting for the man to respond. When he didn’t, she continued, “Even if that’s the best place to be, which I don’t think it is, we’re not leaving these women. I’m in charge of medical, remember?”

  “Not anymore, ma’am. When there’s an emergency, the NCC is clear. Security assumes command,” he said, wrapping a powerful grip around her elbow and dragging her forward. “You’re with me, Doc.”

  “Let me go,” she cried out, struggling to resist. She tried pounding at his arm and his hand, but it didn’t seem to faze him. “We have to help our people. There are women and children out there.”

  “Our guys will do what they can. We’ve got to go, Doc. Now. There’s nothing we can do for them.”

  After one of her whacks hit him in the side of the head, he slid behind her and picked her up around the waist, using the strength in his body to carry her.

  She continued to fight, kicking at his legs and trying to land a few elbows to his head.

  “Don’t make me do it, Doc,” he said in determined tone, jostling her back and forth as he walked, his words filled with grunts and gasps.

  His threat didn’t stop her arms and legs from their assault, trying to wriggle herself free. “I said, let me go.”

  When his strength disappeared all at once and she felt her shoes hit the deck, she thought she’d done it.

  That’s when his arms came up and wrapped around her throat in a leveraging maneuver, clamping down on each side.

  She froze for a moment, not sure if she should surrender or continue the fight. “What are you doing?”

  “Sorry, Doc. You left me no choice,” he said, squeezing at her neck from both sides.

  A short minute later, her eyes closed and the blackness came.

  CHAPTER 28

  Zimmer snapped awake in his infirmary bed when he heard gunshots—dozens of them, reverberating down the hallway and into the room.

  “What the hell?” he said, blinking rapidly, trying to focus through the fog controlling his brain. Images and memories kept flickering in and out, like a short-circuit, as he attempted to cut through the scatter of thoughts.

  One idea kept popping up over and over, banging against the lid in his head—Nomad—he was back and shooting up the place.

  Then Zimmer remembered the man carried swords—not guns—which everyone assumed were his preferred weapons. At close range anyway.

  Zimmer shook his head and steeled his mind, managing to focus his thoughts long enough to look down and peel back the hospital sheet.

  He took a visual survey of the tubes impaling his body. Two of them hung from his chest and one from his neck, but there was another one—clear mostly—that had been slid up the pee hole of his Johnson.

  “Goddamn it, Liz,” he mumbled as the gunshots continued, some of them growing in volume. “What does that have to do with a dog bite to the neck?”

  His hand went down and wrapped around the tube, then he took in a deep breath before he began to pull it out in a slow, methodical manner. He turned his head to the right and stared at the curtain separating his bed from the one next to it, not wanting to watch was he was doing.

  A burning pain came with every inch of plastic he liberated, but the adrenaline fueling his body kept his hand working, pulling more and more of the catheter free.

  Once it was out, he tossed it aside and let his head plop back to the pillow, needing to catch his breath as a headache replaced the dizziness in his head.

  Between the catheter removal, the thumping in his head, the screams outside, and the growing number and volume of gunshots, he wasn’t sure what to focus on or do next.

  Before he could decide, the noise outside was replaced with silence. All at once—not a single sound.

  Despite the quiet, he knew whatever was happening in the complex was getting closer. No doubt about it. He had to move. Now.

  Zimmer pushed through the pain and sat up, yanking the remaining tubes from his body. He expected more pain to come along with their removal, but he didn’t feel anything other than some wetness hitting the skin around their respective entry points.

  He swung his legs over the edge of the bed and let them dangle, unable to feel his toes. Yet the numbness wasn’t about to stop him. He used his hands to push his body forward, aiming his feet for the floor.

  “Come on legs, don’t fail me now,” he said in his Southern accent, just as the door to the infirmary flung open in an obvious swoosh of air.

  He heard boots next, somewhere beyond the curtain blocking his view. At least four pair, maybe more, scampering inside, the rubber soles of their boots clomping in a definite pattern.

  Then he heard the ear-pounding boom of another gunshot—this one only a few feet away.

  He flinched in a ducking maneuver as a spray of red shot across t
he curtain bisecting the beds.

  Two more shots rang out, each one sending more pain into his ears, with the last round making an even bigger mess on the hanging plastic. The redness ran in clumps and leaked downward, creating shadows from the other side.

  Zimmer froze on his wobbling legs, needing a moment to think. That’s when he heard it—a deep, baritone voice from a man in a commanding tone. “Find him, now.”

  The curtain pulled back to reveal a sleeveless brute holding an assault rifle, its barrel pointed at Zimmer’s head.

  He was of Native American descent, with a sweatband wrapped around his forehead. Behind him was another guy—also armed—older, with gray-speckled hair and a thick mustache that stuck out straight.

  Zimmer sent his hands up high, hoping he wasn’t about to feel a bullet tear into his body.

  Right then, he caught a glimpse of the bed next door. It was covered in blood, like the curtain, with the Scab girl’s head blown apart. There were obvious chunks of her face splayed open, with a gaping hole where her eyes used to be.

  “There you are,” the same deep tone said from the left.

  Zimmer moved his focus from the Scab carnage to the direction of the voice, seeing a pair of intense eyes attached to a face he recognized. “Fletcher?”

  “Hey Rod, long time, no see,” Fletcher said, taking a beat before he continued. “I was wondering where your old ass was hiding.”

  “What are you doing here? I thought we had a deal.”

  “Deals change,” Fletcher said, putting a hand on his man’s rifle and pushing it lower. “Stand down, Archer. He’s a friend.”

  Archer relaxed.

  So did the gray-haired man behind him.

  Fletcher came forward and extended a hand.

  Zimmer brought his arms down and latched onto Fletcher’s grip.

  After a quick shake, Fletcher let go and ran his eyes across Zimmer’s body. “Looks like you took one. From Krista, I bet.”

  “Actually, it was that damn dog. Frost’s dog.”

  “Sergeant Barkley?” Fletcher asked.

  “Yeah. All fifty pounds of fleas and ticks.”

  “I can’t believe that mutt is still alive,” another guy said, his flaming red hair pulled up into ponytail.