by Hakok, R. A.
A couple more trips and all the tins I threw out of the airlock have been relocated to the place I’ve found for them in the woods. When I’ve disposed of the last of them I collect the container with the virus from behind the guard shack and carry it out there too. I bury it in a drift a little way off to one side then I go back to the airlock and start over, opening cans from the boxes I brought up last night. I come up with a system: I puncture each tin on the bottom, in the crevice between rim and base, where it’s harder to spot. For those handful of cans in each box that haven’t spoiled a drop of candlewax seals the hole. I get pretty good at it. By the time I’ve done a dozen of them I doubt anyone would notice, unless they were told where to look.
When I get to the bottom of the first box I go outside, collect the spoiled cans from in front of the airlock and ferry them off into the woods. I’m about to turn around and head back but then I stop, pick one of the cans from the pile and set it in the crook of a tree. The clearing’s mostly sheltered from the wind, so I don’t need to spend much time digging it in. I turn around and measure out ten paces. That’s not very far in snowshoes, but I reckon it makes sense to start with a realistic goal.
I slip off my mittens and unzip my parka. The gun belt sits low across my hips, the old pistol snug in its holster. I take a deep breath, let it out slow, watching it turn white before it’s carried away. I picture how Hicks was, in the hospital in Blacksburg, when the fury attacked Ortiz. I was looking right at him, but it happened so fast all I have now are a series of disconnected images. One second his hand had been empty, the next there’d been a pistol there. A burst of shots in rapid succession, his off hand little more than a blur as it worked the hammer, his other pumping the trigger, just like one of those gunslingers from the movies.
I flex my fingers against the cold, then reach down and practice sliding it out. The pistol feels heavy, awkward in my hand. I bring it up slow, keeping the hammer down and my finger away from the trigger until I’ve got the barrel pointed roughly where I think I need it to be. I doubt I’ll get the drop on anybody that way, but at least I’ll stand a chance of walking away with all my toes accounted for afterwards.
I reach for the hammer with my thumb. The mechanism’s stiff and it takes some effort to cock it. I settle the sight back on the can and squint down the barrel, lining the blade at the end with the groove at the back so that both rest on the target. A random gust of wind picks up the snow, swirling the flakes in little eddies around the tree, but I have no thoughts of correcting for it. I just hold the grip steady as I can and slowly squeeze the trigger. The hammer snaps forward before I’m ready for it. There’s a loud bang and the pistol bucks, jumping skyward with the recoil.
When the smoke clears the can’s where it was, undisturbed, just like the tree it was resting in, and as far as I can tell, all the others that surround it. I have no idea where the bullet went.
I return the pistol to its holster. I tell myself it’ll be alright; I’ll have more time to practice with it on the road.
Besides, my plan doesn’t depend on me being a sharpshooter.
The stack of cans inside the airlock grows steadily. By mid-morning the passageway that leads to the shaft is once again clear of boxes, but I reckon I’m done. There’s enough rations there now to last the Juvies while I’ll be gone.
I gather up the last of the spoiled cans and set off across the compound. If there was any doubt before, there can be none now; most boxes had no more than a handful of cans that could be saved. I have no reason to think what’s down in the stores will be any different. I don’t need to check the card in my pocket to know that’s nowhere near enough to see the twenty-four of us through the winter.
A gust of wind picks the windsock up, sets it clanking against its pole as I pass.
What’s there should stretch for three, though.
When I return from The Greenbrier I’ll send the Juvies back to Mount Weather. Mags, the kid and me will stay here for the winter. I doubt there’ll be too many objections to that, not after they find out where I’ve been, and why I went there.
I reach the security barrier, rest the box on top of it.
When the storms clear I’ll find Mags, the kid and me somewhere else to go.
That’s months from now. You’re certain Gilbey’s medicine will see them through till then?
I have no answer for that, so instead I clamber over and set off into the woods on the other side.
*
I’M HALFWAY DOWN THE SHAFT from the airlock when I hear something like a cough from way down deep in the silo. I stop to listen. For a long moment there’s silence and then I hear it again. On the third go it catches, sputters, almost dies, and then settles into a lumpy rattle. A few seconds later the bulkhead lamp closest to me flickers to life. I look over the railing, just in time to see others coming on beneath me.
I hurry down, taking the steps as quickly as I can. The noise grows louder as I drop out of the shaft into the silo’s upper levels. I continue round the spiral stair. All around me bulkhead lamps are lit. Here and there a bulb has blown, and more than a few falter like they’re on the verge of it. But enough are burning to bathe the ancient workstations, the dusty server stacks, in their soft yellow glow.
When I reach the farms the Juvies are gathered around the guardrail. They lean over, eyes fixed on the source of the sound, but none seem keen to investigate. I continue past them, round and round the spiral stair. Jake’s waiting for me at the bottom. He stands by the open hatch, like he wants to go down, but something’s giving him pause. I peer into the plant room’s depths and now I see what’s troubling him. Above me the silo’s lit up like Christmas, but below there’s only inky blackness.
‘Why would the lights not be on down there?’
He says it without looking up, like maybe the question’s not meant for me. Whether it is or not there’s a voice inside my head that’s ready with an answer.
I don’t wait to hear it. I unzip my parka and lower myself through the hatch, searching for the rung of the ladder with the toe of my boot. When my feet touch the grating I step off and reach into my pocket for the flashlight. I hesitate. Now that I’m down here Jake’s question’s got me thinking too. Mags might not need the lights, but that’s no reason to turn them off.
Unless they bother her.
I look up through the hatch, but Jake shows no sign of following me, so I rejoin the stair and start making my way down. I go more slowly now, probing the gangways I pass with the beam. I find the kid in his usual spot, sitting by the guardrail, his legs dangling over the edge. He looks up as the flashlight finds him, then goes back to staring down into the darkness.
I continue on, calling out to her as I go. The harsh clatter from the generator grows louder; soon I have to raise my voice above it. I can feel the reverberations in the handrail now, too. I keep sweeping the darkness with the flashlight until finally I spot her, halfway out along one of the gangways, right on the edge of the beam. The top of her overalls are tied around her waist and she’s working a pipe wrench almost as long as her arm, tightening the mounting bolts at the base of one of the ancient machines. The muscles across her narrow shoulders cord with the effort as she leans into it.
I call her name one more time and she stops what she’s doing, hoists the wrench onto one shoulder. The air is thick now, humid. Her skin gleams with sweat; the thin cotton of the vest she’s wearing clings to it.
She waits till I’ve lowered the flashlight, then turns to look at me. The beanie she’s been wearing ever since we quit Mount Weather is gone, but the mohawk’s back. It looks like it’s been done recently, too; there’s a nick just above her ear where she’s pressed too hard with the razor.
I wonder what that means.
‘What do you want, Gabriel?’
The long form of my name again, but there’s no trace of the anger I heard in her voice last night. Mostly she just sounds weary, like she might not care any more. I can’t decide if that’s w
orse.
‘I dunno, I…’ I glance around, searching for something to say. ‘Why is it dark down here? The lights are on in the rest of the silo.’
It’s her turn to look away.
‘I stripped the bulbs from the bulkhead lamps. Jake’ll need them for his growing benches.’
I want to tell her that no, he won’t. The Juvies won’t be here to see a single crop from the farms; they’ll be gone long before he has a chance to plant the first chits. But she can’t know those things, not yet, so instead I just shrug.
‘Well, you did it.’
She inclines her head. Maybe.
‘What’s wrong?’
She hesitates a moment then sets the wrench down and walks toward me. I back up to let her by and then she sets off down the stair without saying another word. I assume she has something she wants to show me, so I follow her. When she reaches the bottom she makes her way out onto the last gangway. This close to the generator the racket is deafening, but I can just make out another sound, underneath it. I point the flashlight over the railing. Beneath me the steps disappear into water. Where it was still before the oily surface is agitated now, countless ripples splashing and lapping off the metal below.
Mags is waiting for me by the clattering machine, so I follow her out onto the catwalk. The thin mattress she took from our cell lies spread out on the grating. I have to step over it to join her.
This close to the machine it’s hot. I unzip my parka. Her eyes drop to the pistol at my waist. They linger there for a second then she looks up at me again. She says something, but it’s just moving lips. I bend down to hear what she’s saying. She hesitates a moment and then leans in. This close to the machine she has to shout to make herself heard.
‘This is the one I got working. The other’s beyond fixing.’
I feel her breath on my neck. I have to force myself to concentrate. My eyes just want to follow the chain from the crucifix as it disappears inside the neck of her vest.
‘Okay, but we can manage with just one generator, though, right? I mean without all that equipment up there to run?’
She nods.
‘Yeah, but that’s not the problem.’
She looks at me like I should understand, but I don’t. She hesitates again, then takes my arm by the cuff of my parka and directs my hand to the casing. I can feel the heat, now, radiating from the metal. And something else: a thrumming, heavy in my fingertips. When I lay my hand flat it travels up through my palm until my whole arm is vibrating.
‘Something in there’s not right.’
‘Can you fix it?’
She looks doubtfully at the shuddering machine.
‘I might be able to, if I took it to pieces. I’ve watched Scudder break down all sorts of things. But there’s no guarantee I could put it back together again, after. We’d need fresh seals, gaskets, lubricant. Is there anything like that in the stores?’
I shake my head, no. I’m not even sure where I’d start looking for some of that stuff on the outside.
‘So how long will it last?’
She returns her gaze to the generator.
‘I don’t know. As long as it doesn’t get any worse it might hold out for years. It could give up on us later today.’
I close my eyes while I digest this latest piece of bad news. It may not matter for the Juvies; in a couple of weeks they’ll be on their way back to Mount Weather. Mags, the kid and me, we won’t be making that journey with them, however; this will be our home for the winter. I hadn’t figured on spending those long months without heat, or light. I don’t care much to think about what that would be like.
She steps away from the machine, back into the shadows. When she returns she’s carrying a cardboard box.
‘I’ll need to run the generator for a while to clear the flooding. Those vibrations will work things loose pretty fast, so I’ll be staying down here to keep an eye on it. Okay?’
I nod, still a little distracted by what she’s just told me.
‘Good.’ She hands me the box. Inside are the bulbs she’s removed from the bulkhead lamps. ‘And Gabe, I’ll be busy, so maybe it’d be best if I wasn’t disturbed. Can you let the others know?’
I doubt they’ll need telling, but I nod again anyway.
‘Sure.’
Her eyes drop to the mattress for a second.
‘That means you too.’
She turns away before I have a chance to say anything.
‘You can leave rations for Johnny and me by the hatch. If you can see your way clear to swapping out his franks and beans for something else I’d appreciate it. Hard enough to get him to eat regular food in the first place.’
*
I MAKE MY WAY BACK up through the plant room.
I have to balance the box of light bulbs on my shoulder to climb the ladder. Jake’s waiting for me at the hatch. I hand it to him.
‘She thought you’d need these.’
I expect questions about that, but I don’t get any. He just stares at the box.
I swing the hatch closed, but the noise from the ailing machine is only slightly reduced. It travels up through the silo with little to stop it, like the walls had been designed to hold it in, to amplify it.
‘Is everything alright?’
‘There’s a problem with the generator. She doesn’t want to be disturbed.’
‘What does that mean?’
‘It means she doesn’t want anyone going down there, Jake.’
I don’t have time to explain it further, even if I had a mind to. Things are worse than I thought. Mags knows something’s wrong with her; that’s why the lights are off, why she’s shutting herself down there, making sure everyone stays away. I’m not sure how much time I have, but it’s probably a lot less time than I counted on.
I set off up the stair, taking the steps two at a time. At the dorms I step off and run across the gangway to my cell. I never really got around to unpacking, so it takes only seconds to stuff what I’ll need into my backpack. I return to the stair and continue on up.
When I reach the farms the Juvies are still gathered around the guardrail. Jake’s with them, still carrying the box I gave him. He calls out to me from the gangway.
‘Hey, where are you going?’
Their eyes settle on me, waiting for an explanation. I glance behind them. Growing benches in various stages of completion stretch back into shadow; it won’t be long until the first of them are ready. Too bad they’re wasting their time; those benches will never see a harvest. They give me the excuse I need, however.
‘Outside.’ I nod in the direction of the benches. ‘Those look almost done, and now Mags has the power back on.’ I point to the box of bulbs he’s carrying. ‘You’re going to need more than what’s there to get the farms up and running.’
He hesitates a moment, then sets the box down. He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a scrap of paper, holds it out to me.
‘Here. I made this.’
I take it from him and unfold it, pretending to study his large, careful handwriting while he stares at me, waiting for questions. Some of his spellings are pretty out there, but there’s nothing I can’t make out or guess at; I know as well as he does what he needs. Most of the important stuff – garbage bags for the skirts; aluminum foil to wrap the lights; containers he can use as drip trays – I could probably pick up right there in Fearrington Village. But I have no more intention of telling him that than I do of actually looking for anything on his list. I stuff the scrap of paper into my pocket.
‘I’ll be gone a while.’ Nobody seems interested in asking why, but I have an explanation ready so I deliver it anyway. ‘Now that Durham’s off limits I’ll need to go further afield to find everything. Mags is having problems with the generator so she’s going to stay down there till it’s fixed. She said it’d be better if she wasn’t disturbed.’
A few of the Juvies exchange glances at that, like they already suspect there’s more to it than I’m telling t
hem. It doesn’t matter; all that matters is that they stay away. I search the faces for the one I’m looking for.
‘Lauren, are you mostly done sorting out the stores?’
She nods.
‘Good, because I’ll need Tyler and Eric to stand watch outside again.’ I find the two Guardians. ‘Get your coats and follow me up. I’ll see you in the airlock.’
I return to the stair before any of them have a chance to ask questions. I make my way past the mess and the upper levels, into the concrete shaft. When I reach the airlock I shuck off my backpack and count in two weeks’ worth of supplies. Soon as that’s done I grab an empty cardboard box and set it on the ground. I dig out the list Jake gave me, flip it over and start scribbling a note for Mags. It explains everything: what I saw at Starkly, what I think that means for her and the kid, what I intend to do about it. When I’m done I place it at the bottom of the box and then start stacking tins of Meat Stew and Ham and Eggs on top. As long as she doesn’t think to empty the box it’ll be a week before she finds it. By then it’ll be too late to stop me, even with the pace I know she’s capable of.
I’m transferring the last can when I hear Tyler and Eric on the stair. A few moments later they step into the airlock, rifles already slung over their shoulders.
I get to my feet.
‘I’ll be relying on you guys to bring food down for the Juvies while I’m gone. You need to check each tin up here before you bring any down. Make sure the fans are running first. Most seem to be good, but every now and then you’ll hit a bad one.’
I’ve left a few tins I haven’t checked among the stacks, to make sure that they will. Word will soon spread that it’s not safe to test rations outside the airlock. I don’t want the Juvies thinking they can just wander into the stores for a box whenever they feel like it.
‘No worries Gabe, we got it.’
I bend down and pick up the box I’ve filled with cans for Mags and the kid.
‘Can one of you bring this to the plant room? Don’t worry - you don’t need to go down there. Just leave it by the hatch and she’ll come get it.’
