Shift (silo)

by Hugh Howey

  Up or down? Up meant tomatoes, cucumbers and squash. Down meant berries, corn and digging for potatoes. Down required more cooking. Solo marched up.

  He counted the steps as he went. ‘Eight, nine, ten,’ he whispered. Each of the stairs was different. There were a lot of stairs. They had all kinds of company, all kinds of fellow stairs, like friends, to either side. More things just like them. ‘Hello, step,’ he said, forgetting to count. The step said nothing. He didn’t speak whatever they spoke, the ringing singing of lonely boots clanging up and down.

  A noise. Solo heard a noise. He stopped and listened, but usually the noises knew when he was doing that and they got shy. This was another of those noises. He heard things that weren’t there all the time. There were pumps and lights wired all over the place that turned on and off at their whim and choosing. One of these pumps had sprung a leak years ago, and Solo had fixed it himself. He needed a new Project. He was doing a lot of the same ones over and over, like chopping his beard when it got to his chest, and all of these Projects were boring.

  Only one break to drink and pee before he reached the farms. His legs were good. Stronger, even, than when he was younger. The hard things got easier the more you did them. It didn’t make it any more fun to do the hard things, though. Solo wished they would just be easy the first time.

  He rounded the last bend before the landing on thirty, was just about to start whistling a harvest tune, when he saw that he’d left the door open. He wasn’t sure how. Solo never left the door open. Any doors.

  There was something propped up in the corner against the rail. It looked like scrap material from one of his Projects. A broken piece of plastic pipe. He picked it up. There was water in it. Solo sniffed the tube. It smelled funny, and he started to dump the water over the rail when the pipe slipped from his fingers. He froze and waited for the distant clatter. It never came.

  Clumsy. He cursed himself for being forgetful and clumsy. Left a door open. He was headed inside when he saw what was holding it open. A black handle. He reached for it, saw that it was a knife plunged down through the grating.

  There was a noise inside, deep within the farms. Solo stood very still for a moment. This was not his knife. He was not this forgetful. He pulled the blade out and allowed the door to close as a thousand thoughts flitted through his waking mind. A rat couldn’t do something like this. Only a person could. Or a powerful ghost.

  He should do something. He should tie the handles together or wedge something under the doors, but he was too afraid. He turned and ran instead. He ran down the stairs, jugs clattering together, his empty pack flopping on his back, someone else’s knife clutched in his hand. When the jugs caught on the railing the rope snagged, and he tugged twice before giving up and letting them go. His hole. He had to get to his hole. Breathing heavily, he hurried on, the clangs and vibrations of some other disrupting his solitude. He didn’t have to stop to listen for them. This was a loud ghost. Loud and solid. Solo thought of his machete, which had snapped in half years ago. But he had this knife. This knife. Around and around the stairs he went, sorely afraid. Down to the landing. Wrong landing! Thirty-three. One more to go. Stopped counting, stopped counting. He nearly stumbled, he ran so fast. Sweating. Home.

  He slammed the doors behind him and took a deep breath, hands on his knees. Scooping the broom off the ground, he slid it through the handles on the door. It kept the quiet ghosts at bay. He hoped it would work on the noisy ones.

  Solo pushed through the busted security gate and hurried down the halls. One of the lights overhead was out. A Project. But no time. He reached the metal door and heaved. Ran inside. Stopped and ran back. He leaned on the door and pushed it closed. He got low and put his shoulder into the filing cabinet, slid that against the door, an awful screech. He thought he heard footsteps outside. Someone fast. Sweat dripped off his nose. He clutched the knife and ran, through the servers. There was a squeal behind him, metal on metal. Solo was not alone. They had come for him. They were coming, coming. He could taste the fear in his mouth like metal. He raced to the grate, wished he’d left it open. At least the locks were broken. Rusted. No, that wasn’t good. He needed the locks. Solo lowered himself down the ladder and grabbed the grating, began to pull it over his head. He would hide. Hide. Like the early years. And then someone was tugging the grate from his hand. He was swiping at them with the knife. There was a startled scream, a woman, breathing heavy and looking down at him, telling him to take it easy.

  Solo trembled. His boot slipped a little on the ladder. But he held. He held very still while this woman talked to him. Her eyes were wide and alive. Her lips moved. She was hurt, didn’t want to hurt him back. She just wanted his name. She was happy to see him. The wetness in her eyes was from being happy to see him. And Solo thought — maybe — that he himself was like a shovel or a can opener or any of those rusty things lying about. He was something that could be found. He could be found. And someone had.

  Epilogue

  2345

  • Silo 1 •

  DONALD SAT IN the otherwise empty comm room. He had every station to himself, had sent the others to lunch and ordered those who weren’t hungry to take a break. And they listened to him. They called him Shepherd, knew nothing else about him except that he was in charge. They came on and off shift, and they did as he ordered.

  A blinking light on the neighbouring comm station signalled silo six attempting to make a call. They would have to wait. Donald sat and listened to the ringing in his headset as he placed a call of his own.

  It rang and rang. He checked the cord, traced it to the jack, made sure it was plugged in correctly. Between two of the comm stations lay an unfinished game of cards, hands set aside from Donald ordering everyone out. There was a discard pile with a queen of spades on top. Finally, a click in his headset.

  ‘Hello?’ he said.

  He waited. He thought he could hear someone breathing on the other line.

  ‘Lukas?’

  ‘No,’ the voice said. It was a softer voice. And yet harder, somehow.

  ‘Who is this?’ he asked. He was used to talking to Lukas.

  ‘It doesn’t matter who this is,’ the woman said. And Donald knew perfectly well. He looked over his shoulders, made sure he was still alone, then leaned forward in his chair.

  ‘We’re not used to hearing from mayors,’ he said.

  ‘And I’m not used to being one.’

  Donald could practically hear the woman sneer at him. ‘I didn’t ask for my job,’ he confided.

  ‘And yet here we are.’

  ‘Here we are.’

  There was a pause.

  ‘You know,’ Donald said, ‘if I were any good at my job, I’d press a button right now and shut your silo down.’

  ‘Why don’t you?’

  The mayor’s voice was flat. Curious. It sounded like a real question rather than a dare.

  ‘I doubt you’d believe me if I told you.’

  ‘Try me,’ she said. And Donald wished he still had the folder on this woman. He had carried it everywhere his first weeks on shift. And now, when he needed it—

  ‘A long time ago,’ he told her, ‘I saved your silo. It would be a shame to end it now.’

  ‘You’re right. I don’t believe you.’

  There was a noise in the hallway. Donald removed one of the cups from his ears and glanced over his shoulder. His comm engineer stood outside the door with a Thermos in one hand, a slice of bread in the other. Donald raised his finger and asked him to wait.

  ‘I know where you’ve been,’ Donald told this mayor, this woman sent to clean. ‘I know what you’ve seen. And I—’

  ‘You don’t know the first thing about what I’ve seen,’ she spat, her words sharp as razors.

  Donald felt his temperature rise. This was not the conversation he wanted to have with this woman. He wasn’t prepared. He cupped his hand over the microphone, could sense that he was both running out of time and losing her.


  ‘Be careful,’ he said. ‘That’s all I’m saying—’

  ‘Listen to me,’ she told him. ‘I’m sitting over here in a roomful of truth. I’ve seen the books. I’m going to dig until I get to the heart of what you people have done.’

  Donald could hear her breathing.

  ‘I know the truth you’re looking for,’ he said quietly. ‘You may not like what you find.’

  ‘You may not like what I find, you mean.’

  ‘Just… be careful.’ Donald lowered his voice. ‘Be careful where you go digging.’

  There was a pause. Donald glanced over his shoulder at the engineer, who took a sip from his Thermos.

  ‘Oh, we’ll be careful where we dig,’ this Juliette finally answered. ‘I’d hate for you to hear us coming.’

  Reading Group Questions on Shift

  • Thurman truly believes that he is doing what is right for his country by building the silos and forcing people inside them. Do you agree with him based on the information of the possible threat to his country? Or is acting on anything but a certainty of a threat too much of a risk to take?

  • Mick is obviously aware of the last-minute switch between himself and Donald when they go down into the silo just before the rally. Of their two roles, Donald’s is the more powerful, with much more responsibility, leading to him living for hundreds of years, but he is envious of Mick’s relatively normal life in a silo with Helen. Whose position would you rather be in?

  • The members of silo one are given medication that causes them to forget traumatic events. If you were offered this medication freely, would you take it? Or would you want to remember the truth about your past?

  • Donald discovers that Anna is the reason he is in silo one, and not with Helen in a different silo, and is furious. Do you think she put him there for purely selfish reasons? Or do you think she thought he would be the best man for the job? In either case, do you believe she had the right to make that decision for him?

  • The Crow is seen as a threat to the stability of the silo for generating a feeling of dissatisfaction among her pupils. Do you agree she is a threat? Would this feeling of there being something more out there be realised without her help? Consider the other silos. Does there always have to be a ‘Crow’ figure for an uprising?

  • Mission is willing to go to any lengths to help Rodny as soon as he believes he is in danger. Would you agree that ultimately it is his own bravery at trying to save his friend that causes his reset? Are you happy that Mission can now start a new life, forgetting the troubles of his past? Or do you feel angry that such a decision was made for him without his knowledge?

  • How did you feel when Thurman ‘shepherds’ Donald back in from the outside? Were you happy that he saved his life? Or were you behind Donald, wanting him to die a free man?

  • Donald realises that it was Anna who swapped him and Thurman for the start of his third shift. Did you always suspect it was her? Was there anyone else who thought that Donald would be better than Thurman in that role? Do you agree that Donald is the best man for the job?

  • Jimmy’s father leaves safety behind to go in search of his wife, resulting in both of their deaths, and Jimmy being alone. Do you think he should have stayed to be with Jimmy? Could he have ever lived with the knowledge that he didn’t try to save his wife?

  • Donald wakes up his sister, Charlotte, because he needs her help, and as soon as she is with him, he feels happier. Would you wake your loved ones if you were in Donald’s position? Or would you want to protect them from the horrors of their new existence?

  • Jimmy ceases to be Solo and reclaims his identity when he meets another living thing in his silo — a cat. What gives you your identity? Is it something deep within yourself or is it about the people surrounding you? Consider yourself at Jimmy’s age. Does this change how you would feel?

  • When Juliette comes into contact with Donald at the end of Shift, she threatens him, as she sees him as a keeper of lies and secrets, and the reason for the state of her world. Was this how you felt towards those in authority as you read Wool? Has your opinion changed since hearing Donald’s side of the story? Why?

  Copyright

  This ebook is copyright material and must not be copied, reproduced, transferred, distributed, leased, licensed or publicly performed or used in any way except as specifically permitted inwriting by the publishers, as allowed under the terms and conditions under which it was purchased or as strictly permitted by applicable copyright law. Any unauthorised distribution or use of this text may be a direct infringement of the author’s and publisher’s rights and those responsible may be liable in law accordingly.

  Epub ISBN: 9781448150199

  Version 1.0

  www.randomhouse.co.uk

  Published by Century 2013

  2 4 6 8 10 9 7 5 3 1

  Copyright © 2013 by Hugh Howey

  Hugh Howey has asserted his right under the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988 to be identified as the author of this work

  This novel is a work of fiction. Names and characters are the product of the author’s imagination and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental

  First published in Great Britain in 2013 by Century

  Random House, 20 Vauxhall Bridge Road,

  London SW1V 2SA

  www.randomhouse.co.uk

  Addresses for companies within The Random House Group Limited can be found at: www.randomhouse.co.uk

  The Random House Group Limited Reg. No. 954009

  A CIP catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library

  ISBN 9781780891217

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