23
• Silo 18 •
“What happened? Why aren’t they responding?” Courtnee looked from Walker to Shirly, as if either of them could know.
“Is it broken?” Shirly picked up the small dial with the painted marks and tried to tell if it had accidentally moved. “Walk, did we break it?”
“No, it’s still on,” he said. He held the headphones up by his cheek, his eyes drifting over the various components.
“Guys, I don’t know how much longer we have.” Courtnee was watching the scene in the generator room through the observation window. Shirly stood up and peered out over the control panel toward the main entrance. Jenks and some of his men were inside, rifles pinned against their shoulders, yelling at the others. The soundproofing made it impossible to hear what was going on.
“Hello?”
A voice crackled from Walker’s hands. The words seemed to tumble through his fingers.
“Who’s there?” he called, flicking the switch. “Who is this?”
Shirly rushed to Walker’s side. She wrapped her hands around his arm, disbelieving. “Juliette!” she screamed.
Walker held up his hand, tried to quiet her and Courtnee both. His hands were trembling as he fumbled with the detonator and finally clicked the red switch.
“Jules?” His old voice cracked. Shirly squeezed his arm. “Is that you?”
There was a pause, and then a cry from the speakers, a sob. “Walk? Walk, is that you? What’s going on? Where are you? I thought—”
“Where is she?” Shirly whispered.
Courtnee watched them both, her cheeks in her palms, mouth open.
Walker hit the switch. “Jules, where are you?”
A deep sigh hissed through the tiny speakers. Her voice was tiny and far away. “Walk, I’m in another silo. There’s more of them. You wouldn’t believe—”
Her voice drifted off to static. Shirly leaned against Walker while Courtnee paced in front of them, looking from the radio to the window.
“We know about the others,” Walker said, holding the mic below his beard. “We can hear them, Jules. All of them.”
He let go of the switch. Juliette’s voice returned.
“How are you—? Mechanical— I heard about the fighting. Are you in the middle of that?” Before she signed off, Juliette said something to someone else, her voice barely audible.
Walker raised his eyebrows at the mention of the fighting.
“How would she have heard?” Shirly asked.
“I wish she were here,” Courtnee said. “Jules would know what to do.”
“Tell her about the exhaust. About the plan.” Shirly waved for the microphone. “Here, let me.”
Walker nodded. He handed Shirly the headset and the detonator.
Shirly worked the switch. It was stiffer than she thought it’d be. “Jules? Can you hear me? It’s Shirly.”
“Shirly—” Juliette’s voice wavered. “Hey you. You hanging in there?”
The emotion in her friend’s voice brought tears to Shirly’s eyes. “Yeah—” She bobbed her head and swallowed. “Hey, listen, some of the others are routing the exhaust feed to IT’s cooling vents. But remember that time we lost back pressure? I’m worried the motor might—”
“No.” Juliette cut her off. “You have to stop them. Shirly, can you hear me? You have to stop them. It won’t do anything. The cooling is for the servers. The only people up there who—” She cleared her throat. “Listen to me. Make them stop—”
Shirly fumbled with the red switch. Walker reached over as if to help, but she finally got the device under control. “Wait,” she transmitted. “How do you know where the vents lead—?”
“I just do. This place is laid out the same. Goddammit, let me talk to them. You can’t let them—”
Shirly hit the switch again. There was a blast of sound from the generator room as Courtnee threw open the door and ran outside. “Courtnee’s going,” she said. “She’s going right now. Jules— How did you—? Who are you with? Can they help us? It’s not looking good over here.”
The tiny speakers crackled again. Shirly could hear Juliette take a deep breath, could hear other voices in the background, heard her give commands or orders to some other person. Shirly thought her friend sounded exhausted. Weary. Sad.
“There’s nothing I can do,” Juliette said. “There’s no one here. One man. Some kids. Everyone’s gone. The people who lived here, they couldn’t even help themselves.” The line went silent, and then she clicked through again. “You have to stop the fighting,” she said. “Whatever it takes. Please— Don’t let it be because of me. Please stop—”
The door opened again, Courtnee returning. Shirly heard shouts in the generator room. Gunfire.
“What is that?” Juliette asked. “Where are you guys?”
“In the control room.” Shirly looked up at Courtnee, whose eyes were wide with fear. “Jules, I don’t think we have much time. I—” There was so much she wanted to say. She wanted to tell her about Marck. She needed more time. “They’re coming for us,” was all she could think to relate. “I’m glad you’re okay.”
The radio crackled. “Oh God, make them stop. No more fighting! Shirly, listen to me—”
“It doesn’t matter,” Shirly said, holding the button and wiping at her cheeks. “They won’t stop.” The gunfire was getting closer, the pops audible through the thick door. Her people were dying while she cowered in the control room, talking to a ghost. Her people were dying.
“You take care of yourself,” Shirly said.
“Wait!”
Shirly handed the headset to Walker. She joined Courtnee by the window and watched the crush of people cower on the other side of the generator, the flash and shudder of barrels leaning against the railing, someone in Mechanical blue lying still on the ground. More faded pops. More distant and muted rattles.
“Jules!” Walker fumbled with the radio. He shouted her name, was still trying to talk to her.
“Let me talk to them!” Juliette yelled, her voice impossibly far away. “Walk, why can I hear you and not them? I need to talk to the deputies, to Peter and Hank. Walk, how did you call me? I need to talk to them!”
Walker blubbered about soldering irons, about his magnifiers. The old man was crying, cradling his boards and wires and electrics as if they were a broken child, whispering to them and rocking back and forth, saltwater dripping dangerously onto this thing he’d built.
He babbled to Juliette while more men in blue fell, arms draped over railings, inadequate rifles dropping noiselessly to the ground. The men they had lived in terror of for a month were inside. It was over. Shirly groped for Courtnee, their arms entangling, while they watched, helpless. Behind them, the sobs and mad ravings of Old Walk mixed with the jitter of deadened gunfire, a popping noise like the grumble of a machine losing its balance, sliding out of control—