Charlotte opened the cylinder she'd been carrying and rolled out a paper scroll larger than anything Susan had ever seen in her life. The sheer size of the map unfolding before her was bewildering. You couldn't earn enough chits to buy this, she thought, not recognizing any of the markings and seeing the paper only in terms of its value within the silo, not realizing the true value of what was being laid before her.
“This is the layout of all the silos,” Charlotte said, leaning across the table. Jules smoothed out a few wrinkles, while the sheriff held back the curling edge of the map, preventing it from rolling back on itself.
The silos were evenly spaced, being laid out in a pattern that wasn't immediately apparent. Red crosses lay over some of the silos. Their meaning was clear, and Susan swallowed the lump in her throat at the thought of an entire silo being destroyed along with thousands of people just like her, her parents, and her friends.
Looking at the map, Susan suddenly realized she’d seen this layout before, just moments ago. The silos were spread out in the same pattern as the stars on the flag set so proudly on Charlotte’s shoulder. Susan had never purposely thought about the creators of the silos before. She knew someone had made these concrete bunkers reaching well over a thousand feet beneath the ground, but now she was looking at a field of fifty of them, now that she could see the silos laid out in a shape that was deliberately reminiscent of a flag from a dead country, she got a glimpse into the mind of the architects that had devised her lifestyle. These United States, as Charlotte had described them, were physically united in their survival of this poisoned world, and yet they were isolated and alone, treated as though they were children.
Susan was vaguely aware her perspective failed to appreciate the sheer magnitude of the effort required to build these silos, but she understood the work must have been both complex and colossal. She may not have known how these massive structures could be carved out of the rock, but she recognized the misplaced pride apparent in their layout like the stars on a flag. She'd seen this hubris before in the way the porters wore their 'kerchiefs as a badge of pride, in the way the mechanics lauded their deep blue coveralls as a mark of superiority over the yellow of supply or the white of IT. As a porter, Susan had a glimpse into life as it spanned the levels, a view that exposed the petty prejudices and ego of one class commending itself over another. Had an actor on a stage ever applauded his own performance? Wouldn't that seem incongruous, she thought, and yet that was the hallmark of tribalism. Sometimes, it seemed as though the various classes would congratulate themselves for nothing more than breathing. Sure, there was some impressive work done in engineering, but that did not negate the work of supply, in the same way, the intelligence of those in IT did not diminish the porters or cooks, the weavers or the farmers. Here, in these fifty silos set like stars on a flag, she got a glimpse into the same poisonous mindset, one that had led to the destruction of the world. For the creators of the silos, this arrangement had been one borne of pride in accomplishment, but for her looking back hundreds of years later, these stars had lost their meaning: the stars had fallen to the ground.
Charlotte kept talking, breaking her train of thought.
“You're here,” Charlotte said, reaching across and tapping a circle with the number two in the middle of it.
“That,” she added, pointing at the smoke billowing from an unseen hole on the wall-screen. “That's all that's left of Silo One.”
Susan could see Silo One was at the heart of the diagram, in the center of the field of silos. She was fascinated. There were so many of them. Lines crisscrossed the map, most of the fine lines leading back to Silo One and were marked with terms such as em-power, purge-gas and volatiles.
“What happened?” the mayor asked, looking at the smoke driving high into the sky in thick, acrid blooms.
“Silo One was the control room,” Charlotte said. “All the silos reported in to a man whose name will not be dignified with a memory.”
She paused, looking at the screen and the haze of smoke and debris still being flung into the sky from some unseen furnace below.
“My brother died destroying that silo,” she said, her eyes glazed.
“Do you see these dotted lines?,” Jules asked, snapping them all back to the moment. “Look at how they lead from each of the silos to this distant point on the edge of the map marking the seed silo, the one silo built outside the poisonous dust storm.”
Mayor Johns leaned over the broad diagram, taking a close look.
“They're tunnels,” Jules said. “At first, I thought they were merely guidelines, indicating where we should go once outside the silo, but they're dead straight, they don't follow the topology of the ground, the hills and the gullies, and that was the clue that these lines revealed something subsurface.”
“We found a digger,” the mayor began. “Below the refinery.”
“So did we,” Jules replied. “But we didn't understand what the digger was for. We thought it was so we could dig to this distant point, but the far silo is over a mile away. It would take months, possibly years to tunnel so far. And if the digger failed, if something broke, we'd be stuck half-way, so we repaired the remaining cleaning suits and walked through the wasteland.”
“But?” Sheriff Cann asked.
“But the tunnels were already in place. All we needed to do was dig down through roughly twenty feet of rock and we would have broken into them.”
“And that's how you got in here,” the mayor exclaimed.
“Yes,” Jules replied. “We came from this one, lone, distant silo outside the dust cloud. It's stocked with tools and machines, food and supplies, but more than that, it's stocked with knowledge, with books and instruction manuals. It took us a week to explore all the levels. At its base, we found an airlock, which confused us. Airlocks are for the up top. We opened the airlock and found a network of tunnels leading back beneath the silos.”
Charlotte elaborated further, saying, “My brother designed Silo One, but he didn’t know they would take his design and build all this. He originally designed his silo to house workers dealing with a type of waste you wouldn’t understand. I’ve examined his old notes and he built an escape tunnel below the silo so workers could avoid being trapped in the event of a disaster that cut them off from up top. When they copied his design, they copied the tunnel concept as well.
“From what we’ve explored, no two tunnels connect, ensuring each silo remains completely isolated. Seems they wanted to contain any toxic spills while providing a means of escape. They sealed the tunnels as they only ever intended on letting one silo out beyond the dust. All the other silos were to be destroyed.”
“So there’s a tunnel to the outside?” the mayor cried, raising her eyebrows in surprise.
“Yes,” Jules replied, but her voice sounded weary, as if there was something more she had to say.
Charlotte spoke, saying, “When we found Charlie, he described the quake and the fire that wouldn't cease, that's when we realized you had to be in Silo Two. It took us a couple of days to tunnel through by hand.”
Mayor Johns shook her head, but not in a negative way. Susan could see she was astonished by all she was hearing.
“Then we're free to go,” she said.
“Almost,” Jules replied.
Sheriff Cann raised an eyebrow,guessing as he said, “Hammond?”
Jules nodded. Charlie must have told her about him.
“The Order?,” Mayor Johns asked, realizing something Susan didn't, but Jules seemed to know what she was referring to as she spoke next.
“He'll blow the silo if he knows.”
“He can do that?” the sheriff asked.
“There was only ever supposed to be one silo that survived,” Charlotte said. “The Order was established to shape society within the silos, to mold the character of those inside these concrete coffins, to weed out those they considered weak.”
“And now that Silo One is gone,” Jules continued, “The Order
is clear: nothing changes. If anything, your IT head is more dangerous now than he's ever been. Now, he's answerable to no one.”
“But if he knew,” the mayor said, pleading with Jules. “If he heard about the outside. If we took him to see the blue sky ...”
“You don't understand,” Charlotte said. “Hammond has been groomed over the course of his entire life, conditioned to believe a lie. In his mind, any deviation from The Order, no matter how well intended, would be disastrous. In his mind, he's the guardian of humanity's future. He won't let anything stand in the way of his mission. He'll kill us all if he gets the chance, convinced he's doing what's right for the greater good.”
“Well,” the sheriff said, looking across at Charlie and Susan. “We've seen that before. We've seen how even the smallest change will cause him to fly into a rage.”
So what do we do?” Susan asked, noting that Charlie was conspicuously quiet through this whole discussion. He was clearly already on board with what needed to be done.
“We take him out,” Charlotte said, with a sense of ruthlessness that belied her dainty features and soft complexion. “If he gets to the kill switch in the server room he can take down the entire silo, killing everyone.”
“You're talking about a revolution?” the sheriff said.
“Not a revolution,” Charlotte replied coldly. “An assassination.”
“But they've fortified IT,” the sheriff replied. “You'll never get in there.”
“We have to,” Jules said. “If Hammond gets even the slightest hint that outsiders have breached the silo he'll blow this place, and there'll be another smoking hole in the ground. From what we could see passing by IT at night, his fortifications are more than just a few barricades around the entrance. He's dug in deep.”
“I can get you in,” the mayor offered. “My pass is good for all levels. I'll be able to get you through the turnstile.”
“Then what?” Susan asked.
“Then you leave him to me,” Charlotte replied.
The mayor turned to Sheriff Cann, asking, “What about your boys? Can they help us?”
“I wouldn't want to risk someone squealing,” he replied, rubbing the stubble on his chin. “Michelson is by the book. He'll feel conflicted about where his loyalties should lie. And the others are going to look to him as sheriff. Nah, if we include them, someone will alert Hammond. And besides, they're spread throughout the silo. The only way to get their help would be to talk with them over the radio and that would tip our hand to Hammond. He doesn't miss anything over the airwaves.”
The sheriff paused. No one else spoke, not wanting to break his train of thought.
“Your pass will get us into the sheriff's office,” he said, looking at the mayor. “We can pick up a couple of service revolvers from there, give ourselves a bit more firepower.”
“You'll have to be quick,” the mayor said, handing him the pass. “Michelson's like you, an early riser.”
The sheriff got up and hurried to the office. Although he was wearing coveralls, Susan could make out the bulky outline of the knee brace Charlie had made for him beneath the thick material.
“After we secure IT, then what?” the mayor asked.
“We start an orderly evacuation,” Jules replied. “There's not a lot of room in that tunnel, so it's single-file, taking only what you can carry. We start with the Uppers and move down floor by floor, using Supply as a staging area. We'll need mechanical to keep the lights on and everything running smoothly until we've cleared the silo.”
Susan could see something in the mayor's eyes, the realization that what had seemed so robust, almost eternal, was coming to a brisk end. The silo had dominated their lives. The silo was all they'd ever known. The thought of leaving the silo had to be scary for her.
What waited for them out there? They all dreamed of blue skies and green grass, but life demanded more than lying in a meadow watching clouds float by. There had to be systems and structures, ways and means of working together for a common good. The silo was a machine, Susan understood that. Each class within the levels represented a division of labor as crucial as the leavers within a loom. Outside, they’d need the same kind of structures. Specialization was the hallmark of civilization. By abandoning the silo they were walking away from the social alliances and support mechanisms that made life possible. What would they do without a generator? How would they survive without water flowing through pipes? Where would they sleep? What would they eat? It would take considerable time to build similar communal infrastructure beyond the silo, and Susan could see that terrified the mayor. Jules must have sensed it too as she spoke softly.
“We can do this,” she said, and Susan noted how although Jules was an outsider she was including herself in support of them. That had to be reassuring, she thought.
The mayor had a blank stare on her face.
Jules reached across and touched gently at her fingers, saying, “They've schooled us to see change as evil, telling us certainty comes from doing the same things the same way, over and over, but it's a lie. Change is nothing to fear. We can learn from the past, but we cannot take the past with us into the future. Humanity has thrived on change for thousands of years. Change brings new opportunities.
“I know it's scary to see everything you've worked for, everything you've invested your time and energy in abandoned, but you've got to remember, you're embracing something greater: Freedom.”
The mayor nodded.
“It's going to take a lot of work,” the mayor said.
Jules laughed, adding, “Yes. It is.”
The sheriff came back to the table carrying a bag. He pulled out several revolvers. Brass bullet casings were visible in the round cylinders. He placed a gun in front of the mayor, slid another over to Jules and handed one to Charlie, but Charlie's right hand was bandaged so he offered it to Susan.
“You've got six shots,” the sheriff said. “Just pull back on the hammer and the gun is cocked, ready to fire. I couldn't find any spare ammo, so this is going to have to do.”
Susan picked up the revolver, surprised by how heavy it was. The barrel dragged across the map as she handled the gun awkwardly, slowly raising it up.
“I think I'm more likely to shoot myself than anyone else,” she said, finally taking all the weight of the gun. Her wrist felt distinctly unsuited to such a weight at the end of her fingers.
The sheriff continued, saying, “The primary value of a gun isn't found in killing someone, it's in wresting control from them, exercising authority over them. Even when fired, a gun's value is found in intimidation. Down on the levels, a gunshot will sound like a thunderclap.”
Charlotte reinforced his point, saying, “Leave the accurate fire to us. Even if you miss, just having a gun and firing it into the air will multiply our force in the eyes of the defenders, and that's what we want. We need to overwhelm them as quickly as possible.”
She looked at Susan as she drew her black gun, holding it out in front of her with both hands outstretched before her.
“Use two hands,” she said, and Susan felt obliged to copy her. She held the gun with both arms out straight.
“Don't lock your elbows," Charlotte barked. Susan hadn't even realized she had. Meekly, she relaxed her arms as Charlotte continued, saying, "Keep a firm grip on the gun with both hands, but not too tight.”
Susan copied her, as best she could, pointing her gun to one side and squinting as she tried to look down the barrel.
"Keep your finger off the trigger," Charlotte said, and again Susan had no idea her finger was on the trigger until Charlotte had spoken. "Don't put your finger on the trigger until you're ready to fire. Until then, rest your finger along the side of the gun, just like I am."
Susan nodded, trying to catalog the advice she was being given, wondering how much of it would stick in the heat of the moment.
“Don't worry about aiming,” Charlotte said. “If you think about aiming too much, you'll miss the opportunity to fire,
just point your gun at the chest and squeeze the trigger gently. Try not to jerk at the trigger. The gun will kick up after each shot, but don't worry about that, just bring it down again and hold it on target.”
Susan couldn't think of a person as a target. Somehow, Charlotte could think in such detached terms but Susan couldn't. The idea that life could be snuffed out like a candle was alarming for her. She had protested against the idea of a revolution within the silo because she knew hundreds would die, and she couldn't bring herself to glamorize death. To ignore the heartache and loss that would have resulted seemed calloused to her, and yet here she was holding a gun, knowing that if it came to it, she'd have to use it.
"Remember what the sheriff said," Charlotte added. "You've only got six shots so count them down. Six. Bang, five. Bang, four. Bang, three. It's easier to count down than it is to try to remember how many times you've fired your weapon."
Susan nodded, although she wasn't convinced she'd remember any of this, let alone whether she'd have the fortitude to go through with shooting someone.
"I know this is scary," Charlotte said, and for the first time, her voice sounded compassionate. "Try to stay relaxed. Remember, if it comes to a firefight, it's us or them. If anyone's going to die for their beliefs, let's make sure it's them, OK?"
Susan nodded, putting the gun down on the table, relieved to get the ugly weight out of her hands. That was enough training, as far as she was concerned. Could she do it? Could she shoot someone? She knew the stakes were high, demanding decisive action. If Hammond felt threatened, if he thought he was losing control of the silo, he'd kill them all. She had to be strong. If it came to it, she had to pull that trigger.
“Once we're on that level,” Charlotte said, gesturing to Charlie and Susan, “you guys look to break left and hang back, we don't want Hammond seeing Charlie. Jules and I will break right, leaving the mayor and the sheriff in the middle to negotiate.”
Jules added, “My boys, Jimmy and Daniel, will act as reinforcements, remaining fluid and going wherever needed.”
Shadows Page 16
