Silo 49: Deep Dark

by Ann Christy

"Oh, Taylor. Don't be sorry. No one blames you. No one!" Marina assured him, guiding him to his chair and getting him down into it. He was like a puppet. He bent and moved but only in response to another. He was a wreck. Blood speckled his coveralls from shallow gouges on one cheek. She saw more gouges, deeper ones, on his wrists and hands. He must have tried so hard to hold onto Piotr when he fell to be so wounded.

  She poured him a cup of water from the pitcher on his table and pressed it into his hands. "Drink," she said and guided the cup to his mouth until he drank.

  He swallowed once dutifully but a sob came and he spluttered water in the doing. She put that aside and washed his face with a cool cloth, re-wetting and wringing by turns at the small sink in the room. She kept her eyes on him at every moment. Eventually, he calmed and the sobs died down. It was a horrible replay of what she had just gone through with Greta. The difference was that Taylor wasn't just sad and in shock from the loss, he appeared shattered.

  Soon enough, he was calm but it was an eerie, absent calm. It was more like the collapse of someone who just can't process one thing more. Greta came a bit later and assured Marina that she had gotten a little rest. She would stay with Taylor for the time being.

  Marina hated to be an opportunist, but this was just too much of an opening to miss. She was upset about Piotr too, certainly, but there was something that needed doing. Piotr would probably have done the same thing had their positions been reversed.

  As she opened the door, she turned and said, "We won't be working so I'm going to take care of some things I've been putting off. I'd just rather not think about...this. I'll be back tonight. Is that okay?"

  She saw Taylor wince on the bed at her oblique mention of what had happened and Greta's eyes grew shiny, but she only nodded. As Marina closed the door behind her, she saw Greta sit on the bed and stroke Taylor's hair back just like a mother would for an upset child. It made her feel like less of a shit for sneaking away knowing they would comfort each other.

  She gathered her things and pressed her hand to the book again. The only comfort Marina wanted was to see if she was right. She told her husband she was going to do so some work elsewhere for the day and earned a confused look that she ignored. She took to the stairs.

  Her exercise had made a difference and the levels slipped past as she focused ever upward. She took breaks and did stretches, garnering a few curious looks as she crouched right on the landing to do them. She drank plenty of fluids and took a dose of the pills she had remaining just to be sure. This was a trip further than the one that had done her in not so long ago but she was going to get it done fast even if it killed her.

  When she crested the landing on Level 34 she was exhausted and she knew she was at her limit. They were used to seeing her now and knew she was engaged in some special, possibly IT related project, and so they simply let her go where she wanted. Piotr's office was off limits and that would be in poor taste anyway, but she borrowed an empty room and lay down for a nap. Her pack served as her pillow and she drew her knees up to her chest against the chill, but the short sleep was deep and satisfying. Her legs felt good so she took another dose of pills and spent time preparing for the next part of the climb.

  She was hungry, but wouldn't stop further. Her task was simply too urgent. Despite the fact that whatever was there, if anything was there, had been there for a very long time, she had the irrational feeling that she needed to hurry or it would be gone when she arrived.

  At Level 5 she took a moment before entering the double doors. Marina wanted to look exactly like she belonged and raise no curiosity from passersby. She squared her shoulders and swung the entry door wide. Her eyes went directly to the drop ceiling. Yes, it was exactly the same as the one on her level. Above those ragged tiles would be a busy runway of pipes and conduits, air ducts and electrical wire. And there would be relay boxes. Numbered relay boxes.

  Marina tore her eyes from the ceiling and pushed back her desire to loudly proclaim victory at being this close. She hurried to the section of Level 5 she needed. From the maintenance closet she extracted one ladder and one tool kit, not signing the log but hoping she’d have it back in place before anyone needed it. The next problem was that she had absolutely no idea where in all these ceilings it would be.

  Each section of the level was numbered, like a slice of pie. She was in fourteen like the clue in the book indicated. That was easy. But even in the correct section, there was a whole lot of hallway space and how they were numbered wasn't something Marina had ever picked up. Joseph probably knew but she hadn't seen any way to bring that up when she dashed away with barely a word. Oh, hey honey, I'm off to do something entirely legitimate but mysterious so can you tell me exactly how the relay boxes in the ceilings are numbered before I do? She gave a quiet little laugh. Yeah, that would have gone over like a dropped lift bag. Then she remembered Piotr and all the humor fell away.

  There was only one thing to do so she started right where she was and climbed up to peek in the ceiling. It was extraordinarily dusty and dirty up there. As she kept the foamy tile tilted up with her head, she was faced with at least an inch, maybe more, of dense grayish brown dust. It was even piled in little ridges all along the pipes. She immediately regretted letting out a deep sigh when it disturbed the surface and sent a cloud into the air. She popped her head back down to let it settle for a moment and gave an all-business nod to a resident that walked by eyeballing her. The gray coveralls with a patch that bespoke something to do with electronics and mechanical apparently gave her a pass.

  When she thought it was probably safe, she poked her head back up and flicked her light around in the dim space. She could see boxes set at regular intervals along the walls on both sides. Peeking back down and then up to try to marry their locations, she decided that each box marked the change from main lines to the compartments. There were more doors than boxes so the ratio looked to be about two to one. It made sense.

  There was no box near her, perched as she was at the start of the hallway near a closet, so she reset the tile and moved the ladder. It was perfect. Her head was no more than a foot from the box. It was much bigger than it had looked to be from her initial position. She thought about how much she could stuff into one of those and her excitement rose.

  This box was covered with a thick layer of obscuring dust like everything else and she couldn't even make out the engraving on it. She smoothed it away and read the designation. She had no idea if that meant she was close or not. She was in the right area, though, and that was something.

  She repeated the procedure about halfway up this main rear hallway. Ahead of her, the curve of the silo wall obscured what lay beyond. She considered and counted the number of boxes she must have passed in her head. The numbers were decreasing and if she was right about the pervasive logic of the silo, the smallest ones should be where the next lower numbered section met this one.

  At the last hallway junction to this section, the dividing line was denoted by a strip of very old black paint with a 14 on one side and a 13 on the other. She turned down the hallway and selected a spot. One more peek and she realized she was very close. Shining the flashlight, she tried to count down the boxes and saw there was an extra. After seeing them in their ordered lines, an extra stood out. It was like a banner hanging up to proclaim a winner. She grinned into the dim space, leaving cracks in the dust that covered her face.

  It was the end of a shift and the hallways had more traffic, this one a lot more. Given that almost this entire level was residences, it made sense but it also made her work awkward. Anyone might decide to stop and see what she was doing. If there was a lot in the box, then it would be obvious. She shook her head and decided there was nothing to be done about it as she resettled the ladder at the spot she would need. A few more nods to residents and one explanation that there was a short that needed tracking down and she was ready.

  The box was sealed with a loop of wire and a plastic tab like all the others. It was covered in t
he same thick layer of dust and bore the same engraved plate. The difference was that it was marked, 'Spare', in bold letters on a second plate and there was no tube of metal containing wires coming in or going out of it. It was on its own. She wondered that no one had ever noticed before. Perhaps such spares were common. Based on the dust, she thought it was just that nothing had broken up here in a very long time.

  She positioned her pack on the ladder's hook, close to hand but not obviously so, and propped up her tool bag on the ladder's shelf. When she clipped the wire she felt like she was entering a new territory. It was like she has found some unseen and untrodden new level that suddenly appeared in front of her. It was equal parts thrill and anticipation and fear. She hoped it wasn't empty and feared it might be full.

  The lid opened with the loud creak of unused hinges. Particles of rust broke free and rained down, creating little divots in the blanket of dust. Marina closed her eyes and opened the lid wide. One small breath later she opened her eyes.

  It was full. Oh, so very full.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Her trip back to the maintenance closet seemed to take forever and the pack on her back seemed to weigh as much as a person, maybe as much as the silo itself. It almost burned through her clothes and crisped her skin as it silently called for her to look. It whispered for her to just peek once. She shut herself into the closet and realized there was no lock. She cursed and wondered if she should risk it, but her anticipation was only trumped by her desire not to get caught. She settled for a peek inside her pack and a quick reassuring touch that it was all real.

  She almost flew down the stairs. She needed privacy and she discarded each level she passed with increasing frustration. She stopped at the infirmary but was thwarted by the presence of a man resting up from the same holiday malady she had suffered. It was an excruciating twenty-nine levels to 34 that she finally went and asked again for a room to rest in. There was a window there, just like before, but a flap in front of the window on the outside let people know it was occupied. Only the rudest of people would lift that flap and look in so she felt relatively secure.

  She nestled into the corner nearest the door, pulling all but her extended legs out of view, and opened the pack. She started to withdraw the contents, stacking them after examination right next to her.

  The book was huge and it reminded her of the burned remains she had seen not too far from here. The title was 'Legacy' and the spine had the letters, 'Sh-St', on it. That was tempting but she put it aside. There were three other books, small ones with faded black fabric covers and curled edges. Many pages were missing from them and she knew, even from the second that she opened one to glance inside, that the pages were the exact ones that were hung in the Memoriam to explain the Tenets. It was only with the greatest reluctance that she put them aside.

  The rest was all paper. A sheaf of papers held together with a metal clip. A bundle of letters tied with a faded purple ribbon. Many other individual items, a few in envelopes made of other sheets of paper, had also been stuffed inside. She selected one of these at random, a thick one with no hint of the contents, and opened it. It seemed to just keep unfolding until it was the largest piece of paper she had ever seen. It was like the whole version of the partial one Greta showed her in the archives. But what was depicted was not the same.

  In a beautifully precise arrangement there were circles and inside each was a number. The title of the piece was machine printed in bold letters across the top. It read, 'Silo Field Diagram'. The edges were torn in a precise match to the remains she had seen down below in the burned room. It wasn't immediately clear what the diagram meant until she spotted the circle labeled '49' with the single word, 'Us', next to it. Then her eyes took in all the other circles, all the other numbers. All the other silos.

  Marina felt her face grow hot and her vision pinpoint down until all she could see was that 49 and that word - us. Us. We. The jacks down below, the communications destroyed that went to unknown places. The fifty slots with one of them just a space and not a jack. The next to the last one. The 49th one.

  How long she was frozen like that, those numbers running through her mind and her breathing making a ragged racket in the silent room, she had no idea. It seemed impossible that she could simply return to normal but that is what happened. Her vision stopped dancing and her breathing slowed down and the jitters that made her boots clack together in front of her slowed and then stopped. There are other silos but I am okay. There are forty-nine other silos but I am awake and alive and will not die from knowing it. It was a strange feeling.

  She laid the paper on the floor and looked at the details. Faded red X's marked a few of the circles. No, a few silos, she mentally corrected. Numbers that didn't mean anything to Marina ran along those X's. A large grayish-blue blob with uneven edges encroached on the paper from the end closest to the one marked 49 and the one marked 50. There was a notation inside that was difficult to decipher but it appeared to read, 'Catchment Lake'. She didn't know what that was. Lake?

  There was so much more to see but she became keenly aware of how much time had passed when the lights beyond the privacy flap blinked to half-dim. That meant she had two hours until the dimming and she was far from the Memoriam. It was with sharp reluctance that she packed her finds back up and secured her pack. She took another dose of pills after she stood and her legs screamed with the effort of the day. Her pale and sweaty face, her shaky voice and her hurried gait earned her a few looks as she thanked the IT reception worker and made her way out.

  On the stairs she misjudged the steps or caught a toe more than once. She had to stop and pull herself together on Level 36 before continuing on. They had just lost Piotr and she could easily wind up the same way if she kept being so clumsy. It hit her as she passed Level 40 that Piotr would not see this. He wouldn't get to know. He missed it by just a single day. Less than that, really.

  It was heartbreaking and the tears she hadn't shed earlier threatened to come when she most needed them to stay away. Her grip tightened on the central post and she hugged the center until she felt more in control. A curious look or two was cast her way from others climbing the stairs but no one said anything and she was able to pick up her pace once more.

  On Level 70 she stopped at the deputy station. Joseph and Sela were long off duty by then so she made her greetings, secretly amazed that she was able to do so, and left him a note. She wrote that she had made it back late and would probably sleep in. He had made a habit of stopping by, having a chat and stealing a kiss on his way to work each morning. Tomorrow she knew she wouldn't be capable of such. She might not ever sleep again until all of this had been gone through and the secrets revealed. The cadence of her steps had been consistent the whole way down. There - step - are - step - other – step - silos.

  She made her way to her room inside the Memoriam and stuffed her pack under her bed. She was almost faint with fatigue and she knew a big part of that was lack of food. She had eaten nothing since that morning and expended a great deal of energy since. She checked the hallway clock and thought that she might be able to go and grab something without meeting anyone given the late hour.

  The last person she wanted to see was sitting in the near darkness of the kitchen and dining hall when she entered. Greta cradled a cup in her hands and was bent over it like it was the last warmth in the silo. She turned dull and glazed eyes toward Marina as she entered. She gave her a weak attempt at a smile but it was sadder than if she hadn't tried at all.

  Marina joined her and rested a hand on her arm. “How are you holding up?"

  Greta tried that smile again but it came off as a grimace. Her voice was ragged when she answered, "I'm better. Taylor is bad, though."

  There was no helpful reply to give to that so Marina just nodded in understanding.

  "I don't know why I'm taking it this bad," Greta said. "I mean, aside from this project, we just sort of were," she paused and searched for the words. "I guess you could say we
were friendly strangers."

  Again Marina nodded. She understood this well. Everyone had people like that in their lives. This time she added, "But we aren't anymore. You were his friend and he yours. We all shared something special, right?"

  Greta looked up at Marina, her eyes grateful at the understanding. "Exactly," she said. "And the way it happened."

  "Don't think about that, Greta. Just don't," Marina said firmly. "I don't know what you've been told, but Joseph told me it would have been so fast he wouldn't have felt pain or known what was happening. That is more than many can hope for in this life."

  Greta's expression said she did know that but she was not getting past the graphic after-effects of the death. Those were hard things to get past and sometimes, like this time, they were too hard to put aside. After a few minutes, Greta took her leave and Marina was left alone, her stomach growling and the memory of that unfolded sheet of circles flying around in her head. She grabbed some handy leftovers, refilled her flask and hurried back to her room. She knew she should go and see Taylor and that she was being a very bad friend. She rationalized that he was probably asleep by now and it would be worse to disturb him.

  She gobbled the food as fast as her mouth would let her chew and her stomach would accept it. She was a bundle of nerves and her suddenly loaded stomach actually felt worse than the fluttery emptiness of before. She belched and giggled, entirely inappropriately considering the day just past, but there had been too much and she wasn't reacting right. Other silos. Other people. Others?

  In her room, she emptied her pack and sorted the contents on her bed. She was careful with the fragile papers but the pack hadn't been so kind. Crumbles of paper drifted out along with the contents. The chart, back in its envelope, she left alone. There was so much more. She selected a few others and found a diagram she immediately recognized as something a Fabber would use for reconstruction or repair. She examined it, read the notations and understood it was for a radio.