First Shift - Legacy (Part 6 of the Silo Series) (Wool) (5 page)

A smirk thinned her lips. Maturity had hardened Anna’s good looks, had refined her lean frame, but the fierceness from her youth remained. “You say that now,” she said, “but wait until your joints start to ache and your back goes out from something as simple as turning your head too fast. Then you’ll see.”

“Okay. Well.” He clapped his hands together. “This has been quite the day for catching up on old times.” Peeking again at the shiny new monitor, he gave his hair another minor adjustment.

“Yes, it has. Now, what day works best for you?” Anna interlocked the flaps on the large box and slid it toward the door with her foot. She walked around the back of the desk and stood beside him, a hand on his chair, the other reaching for his mouse.

“What
day
—?”

He watched while she changed some settings on his computer and the new monitor flashed to life. Donald could feel his pulse in his crotch, could smell a familiar perfume. The breeze she had caused by walking across the room seemed to stir all around him. Her body had pressed against air molecules that now pressed into him. This felt near enough to a caress, to a physical touch, that he wondered if he was cheating on Helen right at that very moment while Anna did little more than adjust sliders on his control panel.

“You know how to use this, right?” She slid the mouse from one screen to the other, dragging an old game of solitaire with it.

“Uh, yeah.” Donald squirmed in his seat. “Um...what do you mean about a day that works best for me?”

She let go of the mouse. It felt like she had taken her hand off his thigh. Stepping away from him, she peeled the plastic film off the monitor with a loud ripping sound and balled it up in her hands.

“Dad wants me to handle the mechanical spaces on the plans.” She gestured toward the folder as if she knew precisely what was inside. “I’m taking a sabbatical from the Institute until this Atlanta project is up and running. I thought we’d want to meet once a week to go over things.”

“Oh. Well. I’ll have to get back with you on that. My schedule here is crazy. It’s different every day.”

He imagined what Helen would say to he and Anna getting together once a week.

“We could, you know, set up a shared space in AutoCAD,” he suggested. “I can link you into my document—”

She nodded. “We could do that.”

“And email back and forth. Or video chat. You know?”

Anna frowned. Donald realized he was being too obvious. She scrunched the ball of plastic film in her hand, the material squeaking in complaint. “Yeah, let’s set up something like that,” she said.

There was a flash of disappointment on her face as she turned for the box, and Donald felt the urge to apologize, but doing so would spell out the problem in neon lights:
I don’t trust myself around you. We’re not going to be friends. What the fuck are you doing here?

“You really need to do something about the dust.” She glanced back at his desk. “Seriously, your computer is going to choke on it.”

“Okay. I will.” He stood and hurried around his desk to walk her out. Anna stooped for the box.

“I can get that.”

“Don’t be silly.” She stood with the large box pinned between one arm and her hip. She smiled and tucked her hair behind her ear. She could’ve been leaving his dorm room in college. There was that same awkward moment of a morning goodbye in last night’s clothes.

“Okay, so you have my email?” he asked.

“You’re in the blue pages now,” she reminded him.

“Yeah.”

“You look great, by the way.” And before he could step back or defend himself, she was fixing his hair, a smile on her lips.

Donald froze. His brain shut down completely.

When it came back online some time later, Anna was gone, leaving him standing there alone, soaked in guilt.

2110 • Silo 1

Troy was going to be late. The first day of his first shift, already a blubbering mess, and he was going to be late. In his rush to get away from the cafeteria, to be alone, he had taken the non-express by accident. Now, as he tried to compose himself and stop his nose from running, the lift seemed intent on stopping at every floor on the way down to load and unload passengers.

He stood in the corner as the lift stopped again and checked to see how bloodshot his eyes were in the elevator’s silvery wall. A man wrestled a cart full of heavy boxes onto the lift. A gentleman with a load of green onions crowded behind him and stood close to Troy for a few stops. Nobody spoke. When the man with the onions got off, the smell remained. Troy shivered, one violent quake that traveled up his back and into his arms, but he thought nothing of it. He got off on thirty-four and tried to remember why he had been upset earlier.

The central elevator shaft emptied onto a narrow hallway, which funneled him toward a security station. The floor plan was vaguely familiar and yet somehow alien. It was unnerving to note the signs of wear in the carpet and the patch of dull steel in the middle of the turnstile where thighs had rubbed against it over the years. These were years that didn’t exist for Troy. This wear and tear had shown up as if by magic.

The lone guard on duty looked up from something he was reading and nodded in greeting. Troy placed his palm on a screen that had grown hazy from use. There was no chit-chat, no small talk, no expectation of forming a lasting relationship. The light above the console flashed green, the pedestal gave a loud click, and a little more sheen was rubbed off the revolving bar as Troy pushed through.

The guard smiled at him before returning his attention to his small tablet, probably some smut or a detective novel. At the end of the hallway, Troy paused and pulled his orders out of his breast pocket. There was a note on the back from the doctor. He flipped it over and turned the little map around to face the right direction, was pretty sure he knew the way, but everything was going in and out of focus.

The red dash marks on the map reminded him of fire safety plans he’d seen on walls somewhere else. Following the route took him past a string of small offices. Clacking keyboards, people talking, phones ringing—the sounds of everyday work made him feel suddenly tired. It also ignited a burn of insecurity, of having taken on something far larger than himself, a job he surely couldn’t perform.

“Troy?”

He stopped and looked back at the man standing in the doorway he had just passed. A glance at his map and a twinge of recollection showed him he’d almost missed his office.

“That’s me.”

“Merriman.” The gentleman didn’t offer his hand. “You’re late. Step inside.”

Merriman turned and disappeared into the office. Troy followed, his legs sore from so much walking. He recognized the man, or thought he did. Couldn’t remember if it was from the orientation or somewhen else. The dreams faded with each moment he was awake. It was like those nightmares that washed away in the morning shower, spiraling down and out of reach.

“Sorry I’m late,” Troy started to explain. “I got on the wrong elevator—”

Merriman raised a hand. “That’s fine. Do you need a drink?”

“They fed me.”

“Of course.” Merriman grabbed a clear thermos off his desk, the contents a bright blue. Troy remembered the foul taste. His tongue flinched as if he were suffering the same swig that Merriman took. The older man smacked his lips and let out a breath as he lowered the thermos.

“That stuff’s awful,” he said.

“Yeah.” Troy looked around the office, his post for the next six months. The place, he figured, had aged quite a bit. Merriman, too. If he was a little grayer from the past six months, it was hard to tell, but he had kept the place in order. Troy resolved to extend the same courtesy to the next guy.

“You remember your briefing?” Merriman shuffled some folders on his desk.

“Like it was yesterday.”

Merriman glanced up, a smirk on his face. “Right. Well, there hasn’t been anything exciting the last few months. We had some mechanical issues when I started my shift but worked through those. There’s a guy named Jones you’ll want to use. He’s been out a few weeks and is a lot sharper than the last guy. Been a lifesaver for me. He works down on sixty-eight with the power plant, but he’s good just about anywhere, can fix pretty much anything.”

Troy nodded. “Jones. Got it.”

“Okay. Well, I left you some notes in these folders. There have been a few workers we had to deep-freeze.” He looked up, a serious expression on his face. “Don’t take that lightly, okay? Plenty of guys here would love to nap through their shifts instead of work. Don’t pull that trigger unless you have to.”

“I won’t.”

“Good.” Merriman nodded. “I hope you have an uneventful shift. I’ve got to run before this stuff kicks in.” He took another fierce swig, and Troy’s cheeks sucked in with empathy. “Man, that shit’s awful.”

He walked past Troy, slapped him on the shoulder, and started to reach for the light switch. He stopped himself at the last minute and looked back guiltily, nodded, then was gone.

And just like that, Troy was in charge. His bladder nearly emptied at the thought.

“Hey, wait!” He glanced around the office, hurried out, and caught up with Merriman, who was already turning down the main hall toward the security gate. Troy jogged to catch up.

“You leave the light on?” Merriman asked.

Troy glanced over his shoulder. “Yeah, but—”

“Good habits,” Merriman said. He shook his thermos. “Form them.”

A heavyset man hurried out of one of the offices and labored to catch up with them. “Merriman! You done with your shift?”

The two men shared a warm handshake. Merriman smiled and nodded. “I am. Troy here will be taking my place.”

The man shrugged, didn’t introduce himself. “I’m off in two weeks,” he said, as if that explained his indifference.

“Look, I’m running late,” Merriman said, his eyes darting toward Troy with a trace of blame. He pushed the thermos into his friend’s palm. “Here. You can have what’s left.” He slapped the man on the arm and turned to go. Troy followed along.

“No freakin’ thanks!” the man called out, waving the thermos and laughing.

Merriman glanced at Troy. “I’m sorry, did you have a question?” He passed through the turnstile with a click and a metallic thunk. Troy followed. The guard never looked up from his tablet.

“A few, yeah. You mind if I ride down with you? I was a little...late with my orientation. Sudden promotion. Would love to clarify a few things—”

“Hey, I can’t stop you. You’re in charge.” Merriman jabbed the call button on the express.

“So, basically, I’m just here in case something goes wrong?”

The elevator dinged open. Merriman turned and squinted at Troy almost as if to gauge if he was being serious.

“Your job is to
make sure
nothing goes wrong.” He stepped into the elevator. Troy followed. Gravity loosened its grip as the car raced downward.

“Right. Of course. That’s what I meant.”

“You’ve read the Order, right?”

Troy nodded.
For a different job
, he wanted to say.

“Just follow the script. You’ll get questions from the other silos now and then. I found it wise to say as little as possible. Just be quiet and listen. Keep in mind that these are mostly second and third generation survivors, so their vocabulary is already a little different. There’s a list of forbidden words in your folder.”

Troy felt his head spin. When the elevator slowed and put some weight on his feet, he felt another bout of dizziness and nearly sagged to the ground. He was still incredibly weak.

The door dinged open. He followed Merriman down a short hallway, the same hallway he had emerged from hours earlier. The doctor and his assistant waited in the room beyond, preparing an IV. The doctor looked curiously at Troy as if he hadn’t planned on seeing him again so soon, if ever.

“You finish your last meal?” the doctor asked, waving Merriman toward a stool.

“Every vile drop of it.” Merriman unclasped the tops of his coveralls and let them flop down around his waist. He sat and held out his arm, palm up. His back was bent with apparent exhaustion, the hair on his chest grayer than on his head. Troy saw how pale Merriman’s skin was, the loose tangle of purple lines weaving past his elbow. He tried not to watch the needle go in.