“Huh?” Susan replied, somewhat perplexed.
“Think about Xavier. Think about how he reached down and grabbed at the dust. He was trying to touch something, but what? There was nothing there. What could he see that we couldn't see?
“Think about what he did after he cleaned. He stood there in front of the camera, blocking our view, but why? What could he see that he hadn't seen a thousand times before standing in the cafeteria?
“Think about when he died. He was in no rush, no hurry. He wasn't afraid. He should have been, but he wasn't. He was quite calm and content. He just walked along taking in the view around him. Why? What did he see? I think he saw what he wanted to see: blue skies and green meadows. I think he saw what Hammond wanted him to see. I think that's why the bastard doesn't even watch the cleanings anymore. He's so sure they're going to take the bait, so cocky he feels he doesn't need to watch. Well, I've got a surprise for that old git.”
“Oh, Charlie,” Susan said, feeling helpless. She could hear a key scraping against the inside of the metal lock on the door behind her.
Charlie rushed forward, thrusting his hands between the bars and holding her tight, kissing her passionately.
“Time’s up,” Deputy Michelson said. Another deputy followed him into the holding area and grabbed at Susan, pulling her away from Charlie.
“I love you,” she cried, trying to pull away from the deputy.
“I love you too,” he yelled back as the door slammed shut behind her.
The deputies were rough, much rougher than she'd ever known them to be under Sheriff Cann. They marched her out the door of the office and pushed her into the open area in front of the cafeteria.
Mayor Johns was already addressing the crowd.
“... not a popularity contest. Laws are to be upheld regardless of the individual involved, as without the rule of law society would collapse.”
“LIES,” Susan yelled, tears streaming from her eyes. She went to yell again, to unleash her fury on the mayor and Hammond when an arm grabbed her from behind, pulling her backwards.
“Don't you go anywhere, Hammond,” she cried as she was pulled away against her will. “Charlie won't do it. He won't clean.”
“Let it go,” the old sheriff said, pulling her close, not roughly, but with a degree of force that snapped her out of her rage. “You know he wouldn't want this. You know he's doing this to protect you. Don't follow him out of that airlock.”
Sheriff Cann had tears in his eyes. He let her go and she threw her arms around him, hugging him.
“I don't know what to do,” she said, sobbing. “I feel like I should do something to help him.”
“There's nothing you or I can do,” the old man said with a weary voice, unable to look her in the eyes.
Another hand rested on her shoulder. She turned and saw her mother and father standing beside her. They too had tears in their eyes. She hugged each of them. In the passion of the moment, she couldn't make out what the mayor was saying over the loud speaker system. The old lady's words were just a haze of noise and confusion.
Susan stood there just ten feet away as Deputy Michelson led Charlie out of his cell and into the airlock. Like Xavier, his hands were bound in front of him in handcuffs, but unlike Xavier, he didn't cry out at the last minute. Charlie carried himself with composed dignity. Their eyes met for a second and she knew what was going through his mind. The sheriff was right. She knew he loved her, and she knew he wanted her to remain silent, which made it all the more difficult for her as she sobbed.
Sheriff Cann had his arm around Susan's back, while her mother stood next to her with her hand over her shoulder. Her father stood behind her, resting his hand on her other shoulder. Touch, it seemed, conveyed more than words ever could.
After what seemed like an eternity, the deputies stepped out of the airlock along with the suit technician. The door to the lock closed with a loud metal clang that reverberated through her like thunder. Deputy Michelson spun the outer handle, sealing the airlock and the crowd went silent.
Over the speakers, the mayor repeated, “Everyone cleans.”
Susan stood wiping her tears as she looked up at the wall-screen. Somewhere deep inside the walls of the silo, pumps spun up to speed as pipes rattled. The automated process was underway. Minutes passed like hours, and then a helmet appeared, with the sun glistening off the slick, white surface.
Charlie walked out into view in his silver suit, moving slowly. Like Xavier, he reached down, trying to touch something near the ground. His hand swayed back and forth just inches from the dust as though he were running his fingers over something soft.
“No,” Susan whispered to herself. “Not you too, Charlie. Please, no.”
Charlie turned. Susan hadn't noticed much when Xavier had cleaned, but with Charlie out there she focused on the finer details. He was right. The black strip on the front of the visor wasn't tinted glass. If it had been, they should have been able to see at least the shadowy outline of his face beneath the black glass. Instead, the black strip looked like it was solid and impenetrable, as though it were painted on.
“Go,” she whispered to herself, willing him to hear her although she knew he couldn't. “The hill, run for the hill.”
Again, like Xavier, Charlie was looking for the camera. Susan had no idea what the outside of the silo looked like, or even what the camera looked like, but she mentally pictured the camera as something set on a small pole at waist height, set directly above the concrete bunker from which the cleaners emerged. She could glean this based on her recollection of Xavier's motion when he cleaned. Charlie must have seen the camera as he raised a hand, not so much as waving as acknowledging their presence inside.
“Run,” she whispered, fearing he too would walk around to the side and climb up to where the camera was set in order to clean the lens, but Charlie turned away, more interested in the decimated hillside and the plume of smoke constantly billowing out of the ground.
Then he ran. He must have decided he'd seen enough. He scrambled up the open slope to the right, away from the ruined ground on the other side of the silo.
No one said a word within the silo, they all watched with their eyes transfixed on the screen before them.
“Run,” Susan repeated, this time forgetting to whisper. People around her murmured in response, but she didn't care.
Charlie reached the halfway point, where the sides of the dust bowl became steep. He used his hands to climb. Loose rocks and dirt slipped away from beneath his boots, dragging him backwards, slowing his ascent.
“Run, Charlie. Run!” Susan cried out, past caring about what anyone thought.
Charlie scrambled upward, past the furthest body on the slope. It was only upon seeing him in motion that Susan realized how big the hill was and how steep the sides were.
“RUN!” she yelled, repeating herself with an untimed, rhythmic pulse.
Charlie was slowing. She wasn't sure if he'd make the crest of the hill. The ridge seemed so close, but his ascent had slowed to a crawl. Dirt and rocks slid from beneath his boots, dragging him back into the dust bowl.
“RUN!” she yelled again, only this time the whole crowd joined in with her, chanting at the screen, willing Charlie on.
He was on his hands and knees, pulling at the rocks as he fought his way up. One hand reached and grabbed at the edge of a large rocky outcrop and he pulled himself up, rolling over on one side in his clumsy silver suit. The black oxygen bottle on his back caught on the rocks and almost came loose.
“RUN!” Susan repeated, with the crowd echoing her sentiments. The noise within the open area surrounding the cafeteria was like nothing she'd ever heard within the silo before. Hundreds of people were chanting, “RUN, RUN, RUN!”
Charlie got to his feet.
He was there.
He was on top of the ridge.
He stood there for a moment with his back to the silo, staring out at a sight no one else from within the silo had ever see
n. He raised a clenched fist in triumph and held it above his head for a second before dropping his arm to his side and stepping forward off the rock. He stepped down on the other side of the hill and walked away.
Charlie never looked back. Susan loved him for that. It would have been so easy to look back, to take one last glance at the silo, to see the airlock and the camera from up high, perhaps even to think about her watching from inside, somewhere deep underground, but Charlie was sending a message. As much as she'd have loved to see him turn, all she would have seen was that deathly black strip in the middle of his white, shiny helmet. Charlie knew, and she knew, and that was all that mattered. She liked his style. The last anyone saw of him was that of his helmet bobbing as he disappeared from sight on the other side of the hill.
“Get everyone out of here,” Hammond yelled over the unrest in the crowd.
Mayor Johns stood speechless in front of the microphone as hundreds of people cheered for Charlie.
Deputy Michelson stepped up on the dais and grabbed the microphone, saying, “Clear the floor. Everybody move out. Please clear the area.”
Sheriff Cann turned to Susan saying, “He did it. If anyone could, I knew he would.”
Somehow, Susan smiled. Even though she knew Charlie would die out there, probably before she made it back to her level, not seeing him die left her with a small victory.
Charlie had beaten the silo.
He'd beaten Hammond.
Chapter 12: Revolution
The rest of the day was a blur. Somehow, Susan made it down the stairs without throwing herself into the Great Fall. Her mother had held her, keeping her arm around her as they walked down the outside of the stairs, near the concrete. They were in the slow lane, with porters and workers taking the faster, inside stairs. Her mother brought her home and she collapsed on her bed.
Although she'd slept the night before, her sleep had been tortured with visions of Charlie dying. Now he was dead, her mind felt a sense of release, not one of relief but of resignation.
The smell of grits wafted through the air.
Susan pulled back the curtain covering her sleeping berth and saw her Dad standing in the tiny kitchenette cooking breakfast. Her mother was seated at the small, square table looking at him, sipping a cup of herbal tea. Susan was surprised to realize it was morning already.
Lying there, she understood how deeply her parents loved each other. Perhaps it was the loss of Charlie that made her so sensitive to the dynamics of her parent's marriage, but for the first time she saw the love they shared in the things that surrounded them. It wasn't the rusting stove or the rickety chairs, the thin legs of the aging veneer table or the homemade shelves on the wall that spoke of their love, it was the absence of all the glamorous items they could have had. Susan saw how they'd stuck by each other despite adversity. They didn't have much, but much never counted for love. Susan's mother didn't have to stick by her Dad after he broke the ordinance of The Order and dug beneath the silo. She could have jumped landings, as the porters would say. She could have looked out for herself, but she didn't. And Dad loved her all the more for that love.
They'd never have a two-room apartment. They'd never have enough chits for colorful curtains and fresh flowers, for shiny copper pots or glistening sculptures, she had always known that, but what she hadn't realized before that moment was that they didn't need them. The way her father looked at her mother, the tender way they spoke with each other, it was more than chits could buy. For Susan, this was heartbreaking to see because it was a glimpse into a life she would never have with Charlie.
“Morning, Sunshine,” her Dad said somewhat predictably, and yet she found comfort in the predictability of that familiar phrase. Reassurance is what she needed, that life would go on.
“How long was I asleep?” she asked.
“You've been out for eighteen hours,” her mother said. “You must have been exhausted.”
Susan sat up. Her body ached. She felt as if she'd just come back from another blistering run Down Deep. Her head throbbed. She raised a hand, rubbing at her temples.
“You're probably a little dehydrated,” her mother said, getting her a glass of water.
“Thanks,” she replied, taking the water from her and drinking it in a few gulps.
“Just take it easy today,” her father said. “You don't need to go running back to work.”
Susan nodded.
“Grits?” he asked. Susan waved him off. Although she was hungry, she couldn't stomach a plate full of grits and figured she'd have some fruit, perhaps a piece of dry toast.
“Go back to sleep,” her mother said, taking the empty glass from her.
Susan rolled over, closed her eyes and went back to sleep. She wasn't sure how long she'd slept, but she was woken by a knock at the door. Her parents were long gone. There were no lights on in the apartment, so the only light seeped in from under the crack of the door. Grabbing her robe, Susan opened the door and saw Lisa standing there wearing a porting pack.
“Morning, sleepy head.”
“Hey,” Susan said, opening the door for Lisa and flicking on the light.
“I was being sarcastic,” Lisa replied. “It's two in the afternoon.”
“Really?”
“Really,” Lisa said, sitting at the table and making herself at home. “Small place.”
“Yeah,” Susan replied, not feeling like conversation. Lisa clearly wanted to talk. Susan wanted to go back to sleep. Her lethargy, though, was more than physical. Any fight she'd had was gone, having staggered over the hill with Charlie. Life seemed pointless.
“You can't do this, you know?” Lisa said.
“Do what?”
“Pretend life has stopped. Life never stops.”
Susan sat on the edge of her sleeping berth facing Lisa.
“Come on,” Lisa said. “I've got a run down to forty. You don't have to haul, but it would be good for you to come with me. Let's get you out of here into some fresh air, get you back on the stairs, where you belong.”
“Lisa, I don't—”
Lisa cut her off, saying, “I'm not here as a caster, I'm here as a friend. I'm not telling you that you have to come, I'm asking you to come.”
Susan appreciated her concern.
“Give me a second,” she said, grabbing her coveralls and disappearing into the bathroom. She went to the bathroom and got dressed. Staring at herself in the mirror she realized she looked awful. It was no wonder Lisa was concerned about her. She ran water from the taps and splashed her face several times, running the cold water up through her hair. Water dripped down her neck but she didn't care. She dried her hair and brushed out a few knots before pulling her hair back into a ponytail. Sniffing, she opened the door and walked back into the apartment.
“See,” Lisa said. “I bet you're feeling better already.”
Susan didn't say anything. She sat on the edge of her sleeping berth again and put on her boots. They felt inordinately heavy, as though they were made from lead weights.
“You'll feel better on the stairs,” Lisa said, as they stepped out of the apartment.
The main hallway leading back to the staircase was unusually quiet. Normally, this would only occur on a holiday, such as Saint Chrysler day or the two day holiday for Saint Ford of Detroit. Susan didn't know too much about these saints, but legend said they had ushered in a time of prosperity such as had never been known before or since. As far as she was concerned, they were only good for a break from humping up and down the stairs, but both days had already passed this year.
“What's up?” Susan asked innocently as they approached the stairs. She wrapped her ‘kerchief around her wrist. Ordinarily, the ruddy square piece of cloth would have gone around her neck, but she didn’t feel up to porting any load. She was only along for the ride.
“I'm sorry,” Lisa said. “I haven't been entirely honest with you. I need your help.”
“You need my help?” Susan replied in genuine surprise.
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“I've seen this before. It's the same way the riots began, with brooding dissent.”
“An uprising?”
“I hope not, but yes. There's already talk in the Mids of dragging you into this.”
“Me?” Susan replied, again feeling caught off guard. “Why me?”
“Because you and Charlie stood up to Hammond.”
“But I ... we didn't,” Susan spluttered.
“Facts don't matter much at a time like this,” Lisa replied, walking out on the landing.
The Great Fall opened out above and below them. The spiral staircase wrapped around the inside of the gigantic concrete cylinder, but it looked fragile in her mind. Once, Susan had thought of the silo as immovable, to her those concrete walls had seemed eternal. Now, twisted, bent railings marked where falling debris had struck the edge of the stairs.
The smell of smoke hung in the air. Burning rags floated down through the open air, some on fire, others smoldering.
“I don't understand,” Susan said, gesturing to the rags.
“They're sending a message Down Deep. They're an act of defiance, signaling intent.”
“But we need to rebuild,” Susan said with alarm.
“I know,” Lisa replied, turning and starting down the stairs. “At the moment, the silo is on the verge of tearing itself apart.”
Susan noted a distinct lack of traffic on the stairs in either direction. Neither of them said much for the first few levels, but on each landing, suspicious eyes watched through the cracks of closed, darkened doors, doors Susan had never seen shut before.
Those few that were on the stairs were runners, taking messages just a couple of floors at a time, jogging up and down the stairs at a pace that couldn't be sustained for more than a few hours at best. They might be able to race back and forth for five or six floors, but they'd be spent by nightfall, and Susan knew that runners meant upper floors were desperate to share information, no matter how spurious.
“It's the calm before the storm,” Lisa said as they approached level fifteen. “You feeling nervous?”
Shadows Page 13
