44

　　Death’s pale flag is not advanced there.

　　The dirt farm below filled the stairwell with the rich smell of fresh rot. Juliette was still waking up asshe descended another level and began noticing the scent. She had no idea how long she’d slept—ithad felt like days but could’ve been hours. She had woken with her face pressed to the grating, apattern of red lines marking her cheek, and had gotten under way immediately. Her stomach wasgnawing at her, the odor from the farm hurrying her along. By twenty-eight, the pungency hung inthe air so thick it felt like she was swimming through the scents. It was the smell of death, shedecided. Of funerals. Of loamy soil turned over, releasing all those tangy molecules into the air.

　　She stopped on thirty—the hydroponic farms—and tried the doors. It was dark inside. There was asound down the hallway, the whir of a fan or a motor. It was a strange encounter, this small noise.

　　For over a day, she had heard nothing but the sounds she made herself. The green glow of theemergency lights was no company; it was like the heat of a dying body, of batteries draining with theleak of photons. But this was something moving, some sound beyond her own breathing and footfalls,and it lurked deep in the dark corridors of the hydroponic farms.

　　Once again, she left her only tool and defense behind as a doorstop to allow in a trickle of light.

　　She stole inside, the smell of vegetation not as strong as in the stairwell, and padded down thehallway with one hand on the wall. The offices and reception area were dark and lifeless, the air dry.

　　There was no blinking light on the turnstile, and she had no card or chit to feed it. She placed herhands on the supports and vaulted over, this small act of defiance somehow powerful, as though shehad come to accept the lawlessness of this dead place, the complete lack of civilization, of rules.

　　The light spilling from the stairwell barely reached the first of the growing rooms. She waitedwhile her eyes adjusted, thankful for this ability honed by the down deep of Mechanical and the darkinteriors of broken machines. What she saw, barely, when she was finally able, did not inspire her.

　　The hydroponic gardens had rotted away. Thick stalks, like ropes, hung here and there from anetwork of suspended pipes. It gave her an idea of how long ago these farms had succumbed, if notthe silo. It hadn’t been hundreds of years, and it hadn’t been days. Even a window that wide felt likea treasure of information, the first clue toward an answer to this mysterious place.

　　She rapped one of the pipes with her knuckles and heard the solid thud of fullness.

　　No plants, but water! Her mouth seemed to dry out with just the prospect. Juliette leaned over therailing and into the growing room. She pressed her mouth to one of the holes in the top of a pipewhere the stalk of a plant should have been growing. She created a tight seal and sucked. The fluidthat met her tongue was brackish and foul—but wet. And the taste was not of anything chemical ortoxic, but stale organics. Dirt. It was only slightly more distasteful than the grease and oil she hadpractically been drenched in for two decades.

　　So she drank until she was full. And she realized, now that she had water, that if there were morecrumbs to find, more clues, she might just live long enough to gather them.

　　Before she left, Juliette snapped a section of pipe off the end of a run, keeping the cap intact onone side. It was only a little over an inch in diameter and no more than two feet long, but it wouldwork as a flask. She gently bent the broken pipe that remained down, allowing water to flow from theremaining loop. While she topped up her pipe, she splashed some water on her hands and arms, stillfearful of contamination from the outside.

　　Once her pipe was full, Juliette stole back toward the lit doorway at the end of the hall. Therewere three hydroponic farms, all with closed loops that wound through long and twisting corridors.

　　She tried to do a rough calculation in her head, but all she could come up with was enough to drinkfor a very long time. The aftertaste was awful, and she wouldn’t be surprised if her stomach crampedfrom the contents, but if she could get a fire going, find enough fabric or leftover paper to burn, eventhat could be helped with a good boil.

　　Back in the stairwell, she returned to the rich odors she had left behind. She retrieved her knifeand hurried down another thick slice of the silo, almost two times around the stairwell to the nextlanding, and checked the door.

　　The smell was definitely coming from the dirt farms. And Juliette could hear that whirring motoragain, louder now. She stopped the door, propped her flask against the railing, and checked inside.

　　The smell of vegetation was overpowering. Ahead, in the dim green glow, she could see bushyarms reaching over the railings and into the pathway. She vaulted the security gate and explored theedge, one hand on the wall while her eyes adjusted again. There was definitely a pump runningsomewhere. She could also hear water dripping, either from a leak or a functioning tap. Juliette feltchills from the leaves brushing her arms. The smell of rot was distinguishable now: it was the odor offruit and vegetables decaying in the soil and withering on the vine. She heard the buzz of flies, thesounds of life.

　　She reached into a thick stand of green and felt around until her hand hit something smooth.

　　Juliette gave it a tug and held a plump tomato up to the light. Her timeline estimate suddenly shrank.

　　How long could the dirt farms sustain themselves? Did tomatoes require seeding, or did they comeback every year like the weeds? She couldn’t remember. She took a bite, the tomato not yet fullyripe, and heard a noise behind her. Another pump clicking on?

　　She turned just in time to see the door to the stairwell slamming closed, plunging the dirt farm intoabsolute darkness.

　　Juliette froze. She waited for the sound of her knife rattling down through the staircase. She triedto imagine that it could’ve slipped and fallen on its own. With the light extinguished, her ears seemedto hijack the unused portion of her brain. Her breathing, even her pulse, seemed audible, the whirringof the pump louder now. Tomato in hand, she crouched down and moved toward the other wall, armsstretched out to feel her way. She slid toward the exit, staying low to avoid the plants, trying to calmherself. There were no ghosts here, nothing to be spooked about. She repeated this to herself as sheslowly crept forward.

　　And then an arm was on her, reaching over her shoulder. Juliette cried out and dropped thetomato. The arm pinned her, holding her in a crouch as she tried to stand. She slapped at this intruder,tried to pull away from it, the tablecloth bonnet yanked from her head—until finally she felt the hardsteel of the turnstile, one of the waist bars jutting out in the hallway, and felt the fool.

　　“You ’bout gave me a heart attack,” she told the machine. She reached for its sides and liftedherself over. She would come back for more food once she had light. Leaving the turnstile andheading for the exit, one hand on the wall and another groping ahead of herself, Juliette wondered ifshe would start talking to objects now. Start going crazy. As the darkness absorbed her, she realizedher mind- set was changing by the minute. Resigned to her death the day before, now she wasfrightened of mere insanity.

　　It was an improvement.

　　Her hand finally bumped into the door, and Juliette pushed it open. She cursed the loss of theknife; it was certainly missing from the grating. She wondered how far it might have fallen, if she’dever find it again, or maybe a replacement. She turned to grab her flask—And saw that it was missing as well.

　　Juliette felt her vision narrow, her heart quicken. She wondered if the closing of the door couldhave toppled her flask. She wondered how the knife had slipped through a gap in the gratingnarrower than its handle. And as the pounding in her temples receded, she heard something else.

　　Footsteps.

　　Ringing out on the stairwell below her.

　　Running.