54
• Silo 18 •
MISSION FELT BURIED alive. He fell into an uncomfortable trance, the bag growing hot and slick as it trapped his heat and exhalations. Part of him feared he would pass out in there and Joel and Lyn would discover him dead. Part of him hoped.
The two porters were stopped for questioning on one-seventeen, the landing below the blast that took Cam. Those working to repair the stairwell were on the lookout for a certain porter. Their description was part Cam, part Mission. Mission held deathly still while Joel complained of being stopped with so sensitive and heavy a load. It seemed that they might ask for the bag to be opened, but there were some things nearly as taboo as talk of the outside. And so they were sent on their way with a warning that the rail was out above and that one person had already fallen to their death.
Mission fought off a coughing fit as the voices receded below. He wiggled his shoulders and struggled to cover his mouth to muffle the sound. Lyn hissed at him to be quiet. In the distance, Mission could hear a woman wailing. They passed through the wreckage from hours earlier, and Joel and Lyn gasped at the sight of an entire landing torn free from the stairwell.
Above Supply, on one-zero-seven, they carried Mission into a bathroom, opened the bag and let him work the blood back into his arms. Mission used one of the stalls, took a few sips of water and assured Joel and Lyn that he was fine in there. All three of them were damp with sweat, and there were still thirty-odd levels to go to Central Dispatch. Joel especially seemed weary from the climb, or perhaps from seeing the damage wrought by the blast. Lyn was holding up better but was anxious to get going again. She fretted for Rodny and seemed as eager as Mission to get to the Nest.
Mission caught a glance of himself in the mirror with his white overalls and his porter’s knife strapped to his waist. He was the one they were looking for. He drew his knife, held a handful of his hair and cut through a clump close to his scalp. Lyn saw what he was doing and helped with her own knife. Joel grabbed the trash can from the corner to collect the hair.
It was a rough job, but he looked less like the one they wanted. Before putting his knife away, he cut a few slits in the black bag, right by the zipper. He peeled off his undershirt and wiped the inside of the bag dry before throwing the shirt in the trash can. It reeked of smoke and sweat anyway. Crawling back inside, helping with the straps, they zipped him up and carried him back to the stairway to resume their ascent. Mission was powerless to do anything but worry.
He ran over the events of a very long day. That morning, he had watched the clouds brighten over breakfast, had visited the Crow and delivered her note to Rodny. And then Cam – he had lost a friend. The exhaustion of it all caught up with him and Mission found himself sliding into unconsciousness.
When he started awake, it felt but a moment later. His overalls were damp, the inside of the bag slick with condensation. Joel must have felt him jerk, as he quickly shushed Mission and told him they were coming up on Central.
Mission’s heart pounded as he came to and remembered where he was, what they were doing. It felt difficult to breathe. The slits he had cut were lost in the folds of the plastic. He wanted the zipper cracked, just a slice of light, a whisper of fresh air. His arms were pinned and numb from the straps around his shoulders. His ankles were sore from where Lyn was hoisting him from below.
‘Can’t breathe,’ he gasped.
Lyn told him to be quiet. But there was a pause, an end to the swaying. Someone fumbled with the bag over his head, a series of tiny clicks from the zipper being lowered a dozen notches.
Mission sucked in cool gasps. The world resumed its swaying, boots striking the stairs in the distance – a commotion somewhere above or below, he couldn’t tell. More fighting. More dying. He pictured bodies spinning through the air. He saw Cam leaving the farm sublevels just the day before, a bonus in his pocket, no thought of how little time he had left for spending it.
They rested at Central Dispatch. Mission was let out in the main hallway, which was frighteningly empty. ‘What the hell happened here?’ Lyn asked. She dug her finger into a hole in the wall surrounded by a spiderweb of cracks. There were hundreds of holes like them. Boots rang on the landing and continued past.
‘What time is it?’ Mission asked, keeping his voice down.
‘It’s after dinner,’ Joel said. It meant they were making good time.
Down the hall, Lyn studied a dark patch of what looked to be rust. ‘Is this blood?’ she hissed.
‘Robbie said he couldn’t reach anyone down here,’ Mission said. ‘Maybe they scattered.’
Joel took a sip from his canteen. ‘Or were driven off.’ He wiped his mouth with his sleeve.
‘Should we stay here for the night? You two look beat.’
Joel shook his head. He offered Mission his canteen. ‘I think we need to get past the thirties. Security is everywhere. Hell, you could probably dash up with what you’ve got on the way they’re running about. Might need to clean up your hair a bit.’
Mission rubbed his scalp and thought about that. ‘Maybe I should,’ he said. ‘I could be up there before the dim-time.’ He watched as Lyn disappeared into one of the bunk rooms down the hall. She emerged almost immediately with her hand over her mouth, her eyes wide.
‘What is it?’ Mission asked, pushing up from a crouch and joining her.
She threw her arms around him and held him away from the door, buried her face into his shoulder. Joel risked a look.
‘No,’ he whispered.
Mission pulled away from Lyn and joined his fellow porter by the door.
The bunks were full. Some lay sprawled on the floor, but it was obvious by the tangle of their limbs – the way arms hung useless from bunks or were twisted beneath them – that these porters weren’t sleeping.
They discovered Katelyn among them. Lyn shook with silent sobs as Joel and Mission retrieved Katelyn’s body and loaded her into the bag. Mission felt a pang of guilt that she’d been chosen as much for her size as how well loved she’d been. While they were securing the straps and zipping her up, the power in the hallway went out, leaving them in the pitch black.
‘What the hell?’ Joel hissed.
A moment later, the lights returned but flickered as though an unsteady flame burned in each bulb. Mission wiped the sweat from his forehead and wished he still had his ’chief.
‘If you can’t make it all the way to the Nest tonight,’ he said to the others, ‘stop and stay at the way station and check on Robbie.’
‘We’ll be fine,’ Joel assured him.
Lyn squeezed his arm before he went. ‘Watch your steps,’ she said.
‘And you,’ Mission told them.
He hurried towards the landing and the great stairway beyond. Overhead, the lights flickered like little flames. A sign that something, somewhere, was burning.