9
• Silo 18 •
“—said Thursday that I’d get it to you in two days.”
“Well, dammit, it’s been two days, Carl. You do realize the cleaning’s tomorrow morning, right?”
“And you realize that today is still today, don’t you?”
“Don’t be a smartass. Get me that file and get it up here, pronto. I swear, if this shit falls through because you were—”
“I’ll bring it. C’mon, man. I’m busting your balls. Relax.”
“Relax. Screw you, I’ll relax tomorrow. I’m getting off the line. Now don’t dick around.”
“I’m coming right now—”
Shirly held the sides of her head, her fingers tangled in her hair, elbows digging into Walker’s workbench. “What in the depths is going on?” she asked him. “Walk, what is this? Who are these people?”
Walker peered through his magnifiers. He dipped the single bristle plucked from the cleaning brush into the white paint on the wet lid of primer. With utmost care, his other hand steadying his wrist, he dragged the bristle across the outside of the potentiometer directly opposite the fixed mark he’d painted on the knob itself. Satisfied, he counted the ticks he’d made so far, each one marking the position of another strong signal.
“Eleven,” he said. He turned to Shirly, who had been saying something, he wasn’t sure what. “And I don’t think we’ve found ours yet.”
“Ours? Walk, this is freaking me out. Where are these voices coming from?”
He shrugged. “The city? Over the hills? How should I know?” He started spinning the knob slowly, listening for more chatter. “Eleven besides us. What if there’s more? There has to be more, right? What’re the chances we’ve found them all already?”
“That last one was talking about a cleaning. Do you think they meant? Like—?”
Walker nodded, sending his magnifiers out of whack. He readjusted them, then went back to tuning the dial.
“So they’re in silos. Like us.”
He pointed to the tiny green board she’d helped him wire the potentiometer to. “It must be what this circuit does, modulates the wave frequency, maybe.” Shirly was freaking out over the voices; he was more fascinated in these other mysteries. There was a crackle of static; he paused in turning the knob, scrubbed back and forth across it, but found nothing. He moved on.
“You mean the little board with the number eighteen on it?”
Walker looked at her dumbly. His fingers stopped their searching. He nodded.
“So there’s at least that many,” she said, putting it together quicker than he had. “I’ve got to find Jenkins. We’ve got to tell him about this.” Shirly left her stool and headed for the door. Walker bobbed his head. The implications made him dizzy, the bench and walls seeming to slide sideways. The idea of people beyond these walls—
A violent roar rattled his teeth and shook the thought loose. His feet slipped out from underneath him as the ground trembled, decades of dust raining down from the tangle of pipes and wires crisscrossing overhead.
Walker rolled to his side, coughing, breathing the musky mildew drifting in the air. His ears were ringing from the blast. He patted his head, groped for his magnifiers, when he saw the frame lying on the steel decking before him, the lens broken into gravel-sized shards.
“Oh, no. I need—” He tried to get his hands underneath him, felt a twinge in his hip, a powerful ache where bone had smacked steel. He couldn’t think. He waved his hand, begging Scottie to come out of the shadows and help him.
A heavy boot crunched what remained of his magnifiers. Strong, young hands gripped his coveralls, pulling him to his feet. There was shouting everywhere. The pop and rattle of gunfire.
“Walk! You okay?”
Jenkins held him by his coveralls. Walker was pretty sure he would collapse if the boy let go.
“My magni—”
“Sir! We’ve gotta go! They’re inside!”
Walker turned toward the door, saw Harper helping Shirly to her feet. Her eyes were wide, stunned, a film of gray dust on her shoulders and in her dark hair. She was looking toward Walker, appearing as senseless as he felt.
“Get your things,” Jenkins said. “We’re falling back.” He scanned the room, his eyes drifting to the workbench.
“I fixed it,” Walker said, coughing into his fist. “It works.”
“A little too late, I think.”
Jenkins let go of his coveralls, and Walker had to catch himself on his stool to not go tumbling back to the ground. The gunfire outside drew nearer. Boots thundered by, more shouting, another loud blast that could be felt through the floor. Jenkins and Harper were at the doorway shouting orders and waving their arms at the people running past. Shirly joined Walker at his workbench. Her eyes were on the radio.
“We need this,” she said, breathing hard.
Walker looked down at the glittering jewels on the floor. Two month’s wages for those magnifiers—
“Walk! What do I grab? Help me.”
He turned to find Shirly gathering up the radio parts, the wires between the boards folded up, tangled. There was a single loud pop from one of the good guns right outside his door, causing him to cower, his mind to wander.
“Walk!”
“The antenna,” he whispered, pointing to where the dust was still drifting from the rafters. Shirly nodded and jumped up on his workbench. Walker looked around the room, a room he promised himself he would never leave again, a promise he really had meant to keep this time. What to grab? Stupid mementos. Junk. Dirty clothes. A pile of schematics. He grabbed his parts bin and dumped it out on the floor. The radio components were swept in, the transformer unplugged from its outlet and added. Shirly was yanking down the antenna, the wires and metal rods bundled against her chest. He snatched his soldering iron, a few tools; Harper yelled that it was now or never.
Shirly grabbed Walker by the arm and pulled him along, toward the door.
And Walker realized it wasn’t going to be never.