Silo 49: Going Dark

by Ann Christy

  Gary fumbled the keyboard and started flipping through the available views of IT. The lobby camera had failed at some point long ago but he could and did show the other cameras in a slow procession. Everything was fairly quiet but also completely average for a silo with such a low workforce. He finished and kept a finger hovering above the key, waiting for further instructions.

  “And now the cafeteria on Level 1,” the director instructed.

  He quickly pounded out the command on the keyboard, tapped the touchpad and the view shifted once again. The room was completely empty. Most of the tables were stacked neatly to the side of the room. In any other silo they would be lined up in rows throughout the room, ready to be filled at every meal time. Instead, only a few tables were scattered about, each with a good view of the screen that showed only darkness at this late hour. He turned toward the director and waited.

  Gary saw a line form between the man’s eyebrows and then deepen. Whether it was confusion or concern, he couldn’t determine. He was just glad the man in charge was here and the responsibility wasn’t Gary’s anymore. He could just push buttons and let the other man do the thinking.

  “Go back to the smoke,” he ordered curtly. His lips, already thin and a shade of pink so dark they were almost purple, disappeared as he pursed them further. Gary looked away from that disturbing mouth and clicked his keys and his touchpad.

  As the original view returned, the director got up and stepped close to the screen, looking into the smoke as if he could somehow see through it to the cause of the anomaly. He eventually shook his head and turned to the assorted men that had come in and stood waiting silently around the consoles.

  “Gentlemen,” he said and his tone suggested something between a question and a command.

  “We should terminate,” one of the men said and others nodded. Gary kept his eyes on his screen and his keyboard, but he could see the bobbing heads behind him reflected in his screen. He didn’t want anything to do with this sort of thinking. He would do as he was told but these decisions were far above his pay grade, thank goodness.

  The ‘Old Man’, his voice quavering and his authority unquestioned, spoke quietly from outside the ring of bobbing heads, “I think they are going to do that to themselves. Let’s see what happens.” He waved a veined hand at the monitor and added, “We can watch to see if anyone comes to the airlock and terminate then, if needed. This is an interesting development.”

  The director returned that finger to his lips again, as if to order silence, and kept his gaze on the screen for a long moment. He abruptly dropped his finger and a look of surprise crossed his face. Gary looked back at the screen, the now black screen.

  “Get that view back,” the director said and stood, as if leaning over the keyboard could make Gary work faster or better.

  Gary punched keys, changed screens to be sure it wasn’t the monitor going out and basically did all that he could to bring up a view, any view, in Silo 49. Nothing happened except more black on the screen.

  “Sir, this is a no input situation. I’m not getting a ping back at all. The silo is gone,” Gary reported.

  “Terminate. Terminate right now,” the director said, his tone one of urgency.

  Gary got up and went to the panel that hid the rows of red buttons and key slots that could be used to shut down a silo for good. He slipped in his key next to the button marked 49 and waited. The director slotted in his key a moment later and nodded.

  They both turned their keys and then the director ordered, “Confirm for 49.”

  Gary carefully looked at the button and then ensured the two keys were slotted into the holes for that silo and no other before answering, “I confirm 49, sir.”

  The director said nothing more. He just reached up and firmly pressed the oversized button until a loud click sounded in the silent room that indicated it was fully depressed and the deadly contact made. The director looked at Gary and he could see a thin and glistening film of sweat on the director’s brow and over his upper lip. Gary was really glad he was going off shift if what was going on was making this ice-veined man sweat.

  After nodding once more toward Gary, they both turned and un-slotted their keys. Gary tucked his back inside his coverall with extra care just so he could avoid the director’s strange, cold eyes. When he looked back up the director was staring at him with a queer, almost amused, expression on his face. Gary thought the director was looking at him the same way he had been looking at that screen and Gary fought down the shivers that wanted to take him over.

  “Any further follow on instructions, sir?” Gary asked and hoped he sounded as unaffected as he was trying to.

  The director cocked his head to the side the slightest bit, an evaluating look on his face, but it passed and he smiled. It was a terrible smile, blood red gums peeking out from between those thin dark lips as they stretched wide. Gary gritted his own teeth a little and tried not to look away.

  The director’s smile broadened a little further, as if he could see the revulsion in Gary’s mind, but all he said was, “Good work, Gary. Just monitor the situation and let me know if anything else happens with 40. As for the other, well, 49 is history now. Just forget about it.”

  Gary nodded and hoped that he would be able to do just that. He really couldn’t wait to go off shift.

  Epilogue- Silo 49

  The old man released the newborn babe into the Medic Shadow’s arms and felt the palsy in his hands return with the lifting of the weight. The new mother’s eyes showed no concern with this as she placed the second of her twins into his shaking arms, only delight at her good fortune. Her face still glowed from the pregnancy just ended and her shape was plump after her delivery just days before.

  “They are in good health?” the old man, whose name had once been Wallis, asked in a voice so aged and slight that it sometimes surprised him to hear it.

  “They are perfect,” the new mother gushed, her voice liquid with joy.

  William, once Wallis, gazed down into the sleeping baby’s small face and smiled. She was beautiful, her pink bud of a mouth even now suckling in her sleep. The dark dashes of her eyebrows drew together within some baby dream and then her brow smoothed again. One little fist was raised up, the tiny nails edged with perfect crescents of white. She would be a beauty, of this he was sure. Would she be healthy was his question. He hoped so with all his heart, as he did for her equally small and beautiful brother.

  He looked back to the mother, her face intent on the one of her daughter and asked, “And the name? Shall I guess?”

  Her laugh came out like the tinkling of bells, so musical and filled with happiness it was. She said, “I would like to call her Grace-Ann. If he is Graham-Michael then she should be a Grace, don’t you think?”

  William, once Wallis, shook his head, bemused at how many Graces and Grahams, and even Wallises, he had held in his arms in the past decades. But when he answered her, he said, “I think those are fine names.”

  She smiled in relief then and William reminded himself that it was very important for him to be genuine when he gave his blessings. The people had come to believe that placing a newborn into the arms of the oldest of them passed on some of the elder’s good fortune and increased their child’s chance at long life. As the oldest person in the silo, he should take it seriously.

  This little drama was vitally important to the new parents and he would do nothing to disturb their tranquility so he added, “They are twins and that makes it an even more perfect choice.”

  “It would have been perfect had they been triplets,” the woman said, but added quickly, “but I wouldn’t have liked that at all.” She patted her stomach, still bulged from the effects of her pregnancy. “I’m already going to have to work very hard to get back into shape.”

  William nodded at the sleeping babe and told her, “And it will be worth every moment.”

  She sighed as only a new mother, successfully delivered of a healthy child, can sigh. “Oh, yes. Ev
ery moment and more besides.”

  William looked up at the Medic Shadow that stood behind his chair and she immediately reached down to take the baby from his arms. She lowered her into the cradle that always stayed in William’s room in readiness for these visits. The child snuffled a little at being disturbed but only for half a moment and then went silent, returning to whatever dreams the newly born dreamed and comforted by the presence of her twin next to her.

  His hands and arms were shaking even more now that they were unburdened and he gripped his arms, hand to wrist, in his lap. It helped some, but he could feel their tremors even now. He took another look at the new mother and then at her mate, a good looking young man wearing the yellow coveralls of Supply. His wavy dark hair would look good on the children.

  He knew their names and, even more, knew the names they carried before he and Grace had created one final forgetting for the silo, re-writing history just once more before they smashed the machines that brought controlling drugs to the population in their water. These two had been small, so small that they had been important. Her name had been Jewel and he remembered the day she was born. He had given her the name Livy because it meant life.

  That was then and this was now, though, and Wallis gave them their good words of wisdom, one parent to another, and his hopes for their long and happy lives. They each kissed him on his cheek, another tradition that had sprung up without him or Grace having anything to do with it, as they took their leave. Each carried a child and William thought it interesting that they each carried the child of opposite sex to their own. He smiled as the door closed behind him.

  The room felt empty once they were gone even though the Shadow still stood nearby. She stepped forward, anticipating that he might wish to return to bed, but he patted her hand with his own shaky one and told her he wanted to sit for a while. The look she gave him was one of concern but she complied and left with the near silent footsteps of those who attended the ill as their profession.

  She had reason to be concerned and William, once Wallis, knew that his time was nearing an end. He could feel the vague emptiness in his body as things began to slowly shut down. The swelling in his feet and the trembling of his limbs was getting much worse of late. He could take only a few steps on his own and then only if strong arms and shoulders braced him. He used a chair with little wheels bolted to the legs for most of his getting around and he had not been on the stairs for years.

  He was glad of it though. He was too old and he worried that his wits might begin to wander. If that happened, he might spill his secrets to someone and that would not do at all. He missed Graham and he missed Grace. He missed his wife and his son and all those now long gone and he wanted to join them wherever it was they went when they died.

  They had done a good thing, he and Grace, all those years ago. They had made some mistakes but they had been making their decisions blindly, with only a few diaries and a poisoned Legacy of things they could never have to guide them. For a little while they asked those distant friends in Silo 40 for advice, but they had dropped of the line suddenly and without warning and never returned another call. In the end, he thought, they had done well enough.

  He chuckled to himself when he thought of all the Graces and Grahams and little baby Wallises running around the silo. That had been a mistake. He had wanted to honor Graham and Grace. They had set aside a little corner of Level 72 to act as a memorial to the bravery of Graham. It told the story of his combatting the Others who came to destroy Humanity inside the silo that provided their last resort and place of safety.

  It was Wallis who had added Grace. On the memorial plaque there had been just a single circle with an X across it as a sign of honor to their fallen hero. Wallis had switched it for one that added a second circle and her name to the plaque. When he returned on the day it came time to open the memorial—during the great forgetting—he had found that the plaque now held three circles linked together like a triangle with the X weaving through and binding them all together. His name had been added to the other two.

  Grace, who had decided to be called Lila after the forgetting, had merely laughed her throaty laugh at his outraged expression and told him that he should have to be just as embarrassed as she. He had grabbed her hand and kissed her for the first time then. He had far too few kisses from her after that. She had gone much too soon and left him here, with a stupid name like William, all alone in his memories.

  He dashed away a tear and wondered if they could have done any better than they did with this new world in the silo. They had created a new mythology, and it was no less a lie in words than the other, but it was closer to the truth in its meaning and intent.

  To the people of the silo, this world was their Haven. It was the safe place created so that at least some of humanity could survive the destruction of the world that the Others had brought on in their hatred of humans. It was a simple mythology but it had taken on a life of its own almost immediately. Instead of just a small corner of level 72 where people might go and see the conduit, read the story of the “battle” and brush their fingers against the symbol of honor it had spread and become a warren of rooms.

  On the walls were uncounted sheets of precious paper with drawings ranging in skill from childish stick figures to finely sketched and brushed inks depicting a world that no longer existed. Their forms taken from the children’s books, they had been elaborated upon and make more detailed with each passing year. There was a world of wonders down there now with the human imagination as its only limit. Grace would have been delighted to see it, he knew.

  In other ways that new mythology had grown. With no sense of when the battle had occurred, it morphed on its own to some distant past, with Graham the leader of a small group of heroes, Wallis and Grace his best and most reliable friends. The silo, instead of a structure built, had begun to change for the people to mean something more. It became almost a living thing, a thing that protected them from the Others that still searched for them outside and waited for the day when the Outside would be restored to them.

  It was said that a watch had been organized and that one person always remained on Level 1, vigilant eyes searching the screen for any sign of an Other or the promised green and blue that would appear in the sky and over the land when the Others were finally dead and gone. Grace and he had nothing to do with any of these new beliefs. They sprang, as if from some hidden source, from the people. He rather liked the story though and enjoyed hearing it from those who visited him and kept him company.

  The attendant broke his reverie as she knocked and entered, a tray of food balanced in one hand. She helped him into bed, no easy task since his tremors made it almost impossible for him to control the jerking of his arms and feet. Once ensconced in his bed, the down stuffed mattress pad cushioning his frail form, he waved away the food and told her he just wanted to nap first.

  She kissed his cheek and smoothed his brow like she would a child and he rewarded her with a smile. He knew that it was considered an honor to serve the oldest of the people, but one that had its challenges, and he wanted her to know how very much he valued her care.

  In the dim light of just one lamp William, once called Wallis, listened to the sounds of the silo around him. He heard the sounds of footsteps in the hallways and a burst of children’s laughter as they raced home after school. He heard the sound of water in the pipes and the hiss of air from the vents. What he heard most was life. Good, strong life.

  He felt something go warm and loose in his head, as if something were finally giving way. There was no real pain, just a twinge where his head met his neck and he was grateful for that. He sighed and knew he wouldn’t have to wait any longer.

  Thank You

  You have my sincerest thanks for reading my work and I sure hope you enjoyed it. If you did, please take the time to write a review. Without such reviews, those who publish direct to the reader would never have even the slimmest hope of reaching others that might be interested. Plus, y
ou can believe me when I tell you that without those nice words, there is no way I’d be able to force myself to muddle through the next block and keep writing.

  I love to hear from readers, even the ones who didn’t like something I did or chose for a character. Readers do change the way I write and what you say might even impact a future character. You never know. You can reach me via email at Ann.ChristyAuthor@gmail.com.

  You can also give me a shout out and find cool stuff on the series webpage at http://Silo49.blogspot.com. On Facebook and Google+, I’m listed under Ann Christy. And on The Twitter, I’m AnnChristyZ.

  As for the progress on next works in the series? They are out! They take place generations after the preceding story and each features a story of its own as well as being a cog in the wheel of the greater story. Books two and three are full length novels. A fourth addition, a novelette, is also out. In reading order, the books in the Silo 49 series are:

  Silo 49: Going Dark

  Silo 49: Deep Dark

  Silo 49: Dark Till Dawn

  Silo 49: Flying Season for the Mis-Recorded

  Table of Contents

  Lying Can Be A Good Thing

  Eavesdropping on Death

  Any Normal Day

  Conspiracy for Dinner

  You Might Want to Sit Down

  What Would Wallis Do?

  Radios and Bread Crumbs

  Waiting is the Hardest Part

  Old Men and Baskets

  Ghosts in the Wall

  Goodbye, Friend

  Buried Treasures

  Epilogue – Silo One

  Epilogue- Silo 49

  Thank You