65

　　• Silo 18 •

　　Walker found himself shoved down the square stairs, past a crew of mechanics working to weldanother set of steel plates across the narrow passage. He had most of the home-built radio in thespare-parts tub, which he desperately¹ clutched with two hands. He watched the electrical componentsrattle together as he jostled through the crowd of mechanics fleeing from the attack above. In front ofhim, Shirly carried the rest of the radio gear against her chest, the antenna³ wires trailing behind her.

　　Walker skipped and danced on his old legs so he wouldn’t get tangled⁴ up.

　　“Go! Go! Go!” someone yelled. Everyone was pushing and shoving. The rattle² of gunfire seemedto grow louder behind him, while a golden shower of fizzling sparks rained through the air andpeppered Walker’s face. He squinted⁵ and stormed through the glowing hail as a team of miners instriped overalls⁶ fought their way up from the next landing with another large sheet of steel.

　　“This way!” Shirly yelled, tugging⁷ him along. At the next level, she pulled him aside. His poorlegs struggled to keep up. A duffel bag was dropped; a young man with a gun spun⁸ and hurried backfor it.

　　“The generator⁹ room,” Shirly told him, pointing.

　　There was already a stream of people moving through the double doors. Jenkins was there,managing the traffic. Some of those with rifles took up position near an oil pump, thecounterweighted head sitting perfectly¹⁰ still like it had already succumbed¹¹ to the looming¹² battle.

　　“What is that?” Jenkins asked as they approached the door. He jerked his chin at the bundle ofwires in Shirly’s arms. “Is that … ?”

　　“The radio, sir.” She nodded.

　　“Fat lot of good it does us now.” Jenkins waved two other people inside. Shirly and Walkerpressed themselves out of the way.

　　“Sir—”

　　“Get him inside,” Jenkins barked, referring to Walker. “I don’t need him getting in the way.”

　　“But, sir, I think you’re gonna want to hear—”

　　“C’mon, go!” Jenkins yelled to the stragglers bringing up the rear. He twirled his arm at the elbowfor them to hurry. Only the mechanics who had traded their wrenches¹³ for guns remained. Theyformed up like they were used to this game, arms propped¹⁴ on railings, long steel barrels trained in thesame direction.

　　“In or out,” Jenkins told Shirly, starting to close the door.

　　“Go,” she told Walker, letting out a deep breath. “Let’s get inside.”

　　Walker numbly¹⁵ obeyed, thinking all the while of the parts and tools he should have grabbed,things a few levels overhead now that were lost to him, maybe for good.

　　????

　　“Hey, get those people out of the control room!”

　　Shirly ran across the generator room as soon as they were inside, wires trailing behind her, bits ofrigid aluminum¹⁷ antenna bouncing across the floor. “Out!”

　　A mixed group of mechanics and a few people wearing the yellow of Supply sheepishly filed outof the small control room. They joined the others around a railing cordoning¹⁸ off the mighty¹⁹ machinethat dominated the cavernous facility and gave the generator room its name. At least the noise wastolerable. Shirly imagined all these people being stuck down there in the days when the roar of therattling shaft²⁰ and loose engine mounts could deafen²¹ a person.

　　“All of you, out of my control room.” She waved the last few out. Shirly knew why Jenkins hadsealed off this floor. The only power they had left was the literal kind. She waved the last man out ofthe small room studded with sensitive knobs, dials, and readouts and immediately checked the fuellevels.

　　Both tanks were topped up, so at least they had planned that properly. They would have a fewweeks of power, if nothing else. She looked over all the other knobs and dials, the jumble²² of cordsstill held tightly against her chest.

　　“Where should I … ?”

　　Walker held his box out. The only flat surfaces in the room were covered with switches and thesorts of things one didn’t want to bump. He seemed to understand that.

　　“On the floor, I guess.” She set her load down and moved to shut the door. The people she’dhurried outside gazed longingly²³ through the window at the few tall stools in the climate-controlledspace. Shirly ignored them.

　　“Do we have everything? Is it all here?”

　　Walker pulled pieces of the radio out of the box, tsking at the twisted wires and jumbledcomponents. “Do we have power?” he asked, holding up the plug of a transformer.

　　Shirly laughed. “Walk, you do know where you are now, right? Of course we have power.” Shetook the cord and plugged it into one of the feeds on the main panel. “Do we have everything? Canwe get it up and running again? Walk, we need to let Jenkins hear what we heard.”

　　“I know.” He bobbed his head and sorted the gear, twisting some loose wires together as he went.

　　“We need to string that out.” He jerked his head at the tangled antenna in her arms.

　　Shirly looked up. There were no rafters.

　　“Hang it from the railing out there,” he told her. “Straight line, make sure that end reaches back inhere.”

　　She moved toward the door, trailing the loops out behind her.

　　“Oh, and don’t let the metal bits touch the railing!” Walker called after her.

　　Shirly recruited a few mechanics from her work shift to help out. Once they saw what neededdoing, they took over, coordinating²⁴ as a team to undo²⁵ the knots while she went back to Walker.

　　“It’ll just be a minute,” she told him, shutting the door behind her, the wire fitting easily betweenit and the padded jamb.

　　“I think we’re good,” he said. He looked up at her, his eyes sagging²⁶, his hair a mess, sweatglistening in his white beard. “Shit,” he said. He slapped his forehead. “We don’t have speakers.”

　　Shirly felt her heart drop to hear Walker swear, thinking they’d forgotten something crucial.

　　“Wait here,” she told him, running back out and to the earmuff station. She picked one of the setswith a dangling²⁷ cord, the kind used to talk between the control room and anyone working on theprimary or secondary generators²⁸. She jogged past the curious and frightened-looking crowd to thecontrol room. It occurred to her that she should be more afraid, like they were, that a real war wasgrinding closer to them. But all she could think about were the voices that war had interrupted. Hercuriosity was much stronger than her fear. It was how she’d always been.

　　“How about these?”

　　She shut the door behind herself and showed him the headphones.

　　“Perfect,” he said, his eyes wide with surprise. Before she could complain, he snipped²⁹ the jack³⁰ offwith his multi-tool and began stripping wires. “Good thing it’s quiet in here,” he said, laughing.

　　Shirly laughed as well, and it made her wonder what the hell was going on. What were they goingto do, sit in there and fiddle³¹ with wires while the deputies and the security people from IT came anddragged them away?

　　Walker got the ear cones³² wired in, and a faint hiss³³ of static leaked out of them. Shirly hurried overto join him; she sat down and held his wrist to steady his hand. The headphones trembled in them.

　　“You might have to …” He showed her the knob with the white marks he’d painted on.

　　Shirly nodded and realized they’d forgotten to grab the paint. She held the dial and studied thevarious ticks. “Which one?” she asked.

　　“No.” He stopped her as she began dialing back toward one of the voices they’d found. “The otherway. I need to see how many—” He coughed into his fist. “We need to see how many there are.”

　　She nodded and turned the knob gradually toward the black unpainted portion. The two of themheld their breath, the hum of the main generator barely audible through the thick door and double-paned glass.

　　Shirly studied Walker while she spun the dial. She wondered what would become of him whenthey were rounded up. Would they all be put to cleaning? Or could he and a few of the others claimto be bystanders? It made her sad, thinking about the consequences of their anger, their thirst forrevenge. Her husband was gone, ripped from her, and for what? People were dying, and for what?

　　She thought how things could’ve gone so differently, how they’d had all these dreams, unrealisticperhaps, of a real change in power, an easy fix to impossible and intractable problems. Back thenshe’d been unfairly treated, but at least she’d been safe. There had been injustice³⁴, but she’d been inlove. Did that make it okay? Which sacrifice made more sense?

　　“A little faster,” Walker said, growing impatient with the silence. They’d heard a few hits ofcrackling static but no one talking. Shirly very slightly increased the rate she spun the knob.

　　“You think the antenna—?” she started to ask.

　　Walker raised his hand. The little speakers in his lap had popped. He jerked his thumb to the side,telling her to go back. Shirly did. She tried to remember how far she had gone since the sound, usinga lot of the same skills she’d learned in that very room to adjust the previously³⁵ noisy generator—“—Solo? This is Juliette. Can you hear me? What’s going on up there?”

　　Shirly dropped the knob. She watched it swing on its soldered³⁶ wire and crash to the floor.

　　Her hands felt numb¹⁶. Her fingertips tingled³⁷. She turned, gaped³⁸ at Walker’s lap where the ghostlyvoice had risen, and found him looking dumbly down at his own hands.

　　Neither of them moved. The voice, the name, they were unmistakable.

　　Tears of confused joy winked³⁹ past Walker’s beard and fell into his lap.

 

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