She waited, a rush of adrenaline and a flood of nerves from broadcasting her name, for being so bold. She had very likely just poked the hornets’ nest in which she hid. But she had truths to tell. She had been woken up by her brother into a nightmare, and yet she remembered the world from before, a world of blue skies and green grass. She had glimpsed that world with her drone. If she had been born into this, had never known anything else, would she want to be told? To be awoken? Would she want someone to tell her the truth? For a moment, the pain in her shoulder was forgotten. The throbbing was pushed aside by this mix of fear and excitement—
“I’m picking you up nice and clear,” someone answered, a man’s voice. “You’re looking for someone on eighteen? I don’t think anyone’s up there. Who did you say this was?”
Charlotte squeezed the mic. “My name is Charlotte Keene. Who is this?”
“This is Tom Higgins, head of the Planning Committee. We’re up here at the deputy station on seventy-five. We’re hearing there’s been some kind of collapse, that we shouldn’t head back down. What’s going on below?”
“I’m not below you,” Charlotte said. “I’m in another silo.”
“Say again. Who is this? Keene, you say? I don’t recognize your name from the census.”
“Yes, Charlotte Keene. Is your mayor there? Juliette?”
“You say you’re in our silo? Is this someone from the Mids?”
Charlotte started to say something, realized how difficult this was going to be, but another voice cut in. A familiar voice.
“This is Juliette.”
Charlotte leaned forward and adjusted the volume. She squeezed the mic. “Juliette, my name is Charlotte Keene. You’ve been speaking with my brother, Donny. Donald, I mean.” She was nervous. She paused to wipe her palms on the leg of her coveralls. When she let go of the mic, the man from earlier could be heard talking on the same frequency:
“—heard our silo is gone. Can you confirm? Where are you?”
“I’m in Mechanical, Tom. I’ll come see you when I can. Yes, our silo is gone. Yes, you should stay where you are. Now let me see what this person wants.”
“What do you mean, ‘gone’? I don’t understand.”
“Dead, Tom. Everyone is dead. You can tear up your fucking census. Now please stay off the air. In fact, can we change channels?”
Charlotte waited to hear what the man would say. And then she realized the mayor was speaking to her. She hurriedly squeezed the mic before the other voice could step on her transmission.
“I … uh, yes. I can transmit on all frequencies.”
Again, the head of the planning committee, or whatever he’d called himself, stepped in: “Did you say dead? Was this your doing?”
“Channel eighteen,” Juliette said.
“Eighteen,” Charlotte repeated. She reached for the knob as a burst of questions spilled from the radio. The man’s voice was silenced by a twist of Charlotte’s fingers.
“This is Charlotte Keene on channel eighteen, over.”
She waited. It felt as though a door had just been pulled tight, a confidant pulled inside.
“This is Juliette. What’s this about me knowing your brother? What level are you on?”
Charlotte couldn’t believe how difficult this was to get across. She took a deep breath. “Not level. Silo. I’m in Silo 1. You’ve spoken with my brother a few times.”
“You’re in Silo 1. Donald is your brother.”
“That’s right.” And finally, it sounded as if this was established. It was a relief.
“Have you called to gloat?” Juliette asked. There was a sudden spark of life in her voice, a flash of violence. “Do you have any idea what you’ve done? How many people you’ve killed? Your brother told me he was capable of this, but I didn’t believe him. I never believed him. Is he there?”
“No.”
“Well, tell him this. And I hope he believes me when I say it: My every thought right now is how best to kill him, to make sure this never happens again. You tell him that.”
A chill spread through Charlotte. This woman thought her brother had brought doom on them. Her palms felt clammy as she cradled the mic. She pressed the button, found it sticking, knocked it against the table until it clicked properly.
“Donny didn’t … He may already be dead,” Charlotte said, fighting back the tears.
“That’s a shame. I guess I’ll be coming for whoever’s next in line.”
“No, listen to me. Donny … it wasn’t him who did this. I swear to you. Some people took him. He wasn’t supposed to be talking to you at all. He wanted to tell you something and didn’t know how.” Charlotte released the mic and prayed that this was getting through, that this stranger would believe her.
“Your brother warned me he could press a button and end us all. Well, that button has been pressed, and my home has been destroyed. People I care about are now dead. If I wasn’t coming after you bastards before, I sure as hell am now.”
“Wait,” Charlotte said. “Listen. My brother is in trouble. He’s in trouble because he was talking to you. The two of us … we aren’t involved in this.”