Silo saga silo 7 the c.., p.1
Silo Saga: Silo 7 - The Complete Collection (Kindle Worlds Novella), page 1
Text copyright ©2013 by the Author.
This work was made possible by a special license through the Kindle Worlds publishing program and has not necessarily been reviewed by Hugh Howey. All characters, scenes, events, plots and related elements of Silo Saga remain the exclusive copyrighted and/or trademarked property of Hugh Howey, or their affiliates or licensors.
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Silo 7
The Complete Collection
By
Daniel Gage
This is a work of fiction. Names, places, businesses, characters and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, actual events or locales is purely coincidental.
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Part 1
1
Brandon rolled over and looked at his alarm.
6:59 a.m.
Exactly one minute before it was set to go off.
Smiling, he reached over and flipped the switch, preventing it from going off for yet another morning.
It had been 597 proud days that Brandon woke up before his alarm had gone off. 597 days of perfect timing: eating dinner at the same time, exercising at the same time, taking his daily vitamin, going to bed each night at 10:32 p.m.
For Brandon, this was the most exciting thing to happen to him each day. And that was the way he liked it.
He pushed himself out of bed and methodically cleaned and dressed, in the same fashion as he always had. He spent exactly nine minutes in the shower and two minutes brushing his teeth. He tugged on his socks, always starting with the right foot. His pants he put on left leg first, then his shirt. Finally his shoes, then his belt, with his holster last.
Brandon was a creature of habit and routine. And, like everyone else, he fit into his Silo perfectly.
****
He emerged from his domicile and stretched his arms, taking in the view along the railing, looking up, then down. Down was a much further distance than up, but this was Brandon’s domain. It was his job to protect and oversee it all, so looking into the massive pit was part of his day.
One slow step in front of the other, he made his way up the spiral staircase, his fingers drumming a pattern along the rail. He hummed softly, his voice a chorus to the percussion from his footsteps.
He took his time. There was never a rush, not in the Silo.
“Morning, deputy,” Smithers greeted him when he and Brandon passed each other.
“Morning, doctor,” Brandon replied, nodding in acknowledgement.
And that was that. The two never had any more interaction than a friendly greeting, despite passing each other on the same staircase every day.
Brandon made his way to the upper level and took in the view of the outside world that the sensors provided. The sun was cresting over the hill, the golden light penetrating the dust in the air, and dancing upon the inhospitable land. It was simultaneously beautiful and desolate, mysterious and forbidden. Brandon allowed himself to smile at the sight, as he always did. It meant another day was starting.
That was the second most exciting part of his day.
“Deputy,” a man said as Brandon finished his climb.
“Sheriff,” he said in response.
“How are you this morning?”
“Well, as always. And you, Sheriff Parker?”
The sheriff managed a half smile, past his white handlebar mustache. “Oh, feeling my knee just a little more today. I reckon I’ll need to retire soon. Stairs are a young man’s game.”
Brandon laughed. The sheriff always said things like this, when he knew just as well he could take one of the elevators to any one of the top levels he needed to visit.
“Anything to report?” he asked, certain that nothing had happened overnight. Nothing ever did.
And Parker confirmed it. “Nope. All quiet. We’re up to… how many days without incident?”
“974,” Brandon answered.
Parker laughed, as the pair made their way across the cafeteria. “Think when they reach a thousand, they may have to reassign us.”
“Naw, they need us.”
Parker stopped, and his face turned serious. “Why?”
The question threw Brandon off, and he about tripped over his own feet. He never pondered that, and his brain scrambled for an answer. “Ummm, well, in case someone loses it again. Like the last incident.”
Parker shrugged, and kept going. “I suppose, though the last incident was someone who lost it and threw himself off the railing, not really work for lawmen.”
Remembering the incident cut him deep, but Brandon refused to show it. “See? We had to do the paperwork for it.”
“Right…” Parker said, drawing out the vowel. “Need us to do the paperwork.”
“Exactly,” Brandon said, eager to change the subject. “Now, shall we start our patrol? I think today we…“
A loud, blaring siren interrupted Brandon, sending him diving to the ground. He had never heard such a noise before. For a moment he feared it was in his head, but the noise came and went again, and he saw several others panic in confusion.
“What is that?” Brandon yelled over the sound. He could barely hear his own voice, but Parker clearly got the message.
“I don’t know, let’s get to the office and call the--hold on, look!”
Parker pointed to the monitor that presented the video feed of outside the door. Brandon slowly came to his feet, unable to believe what he was seeing. His hands shook, but his right drifted to the handle of his revolver.
Someone in a polishing suit stood there, waving at the sensor. He looked to have trouble standing as he leaned against the wall, pressing the buzzer repeatedly to be granted admittance to the Silo.
“Who is that?” Brandon asked. “It isn’t polishing day, is it?”
Parker shook his head. “No, that’s not for another week. I’m going to call the mayor. You head up to the door.”
Instinctively, Brandon glanced at the view the sensors provided. They didn’t look recently polished. And polishing was a big event, drawing crowds as the team of polishers went about their work. And since everyone would be watching, the polishers never had to wait to get back inside. They never had to signal that they wanted to come in, though the buzzer was installed at the polisher’s request.
Everyone instinctively feared the outside. Ancient Greek myths were the favorite stories to tell children before bed, their tales warning of what happens when humans fly too high. The most popular was that of Icarus, the tale of the boy who flew too close to the sun; his wings got too hot and melted, and he fell to his death.
That was what many believed to be the downfall of mankind on the surface. Humans tried to achieve too much, and they were burned by the sun. So they were forced to live below, underneath the surface in the Silo. The sensors were polished to remind everyone of what happens when you fly too high, and to crest the hill was to be burned alive.
So as Brandon ran up the stairs, a single question burned in his brain, the same question that every Silo dweller currently had.
Just who the hell was ringing the Silo’s doorbell?
2
Brandon maintained a perimeter around the Silo’s door, his right hand refusing to come free from the handle of his gun. He never drew it; he’s never had to actually draw it in the course of his duties. He couldn’t recall the last time he fired it in the range provided to him and the other lawmen for practice.
There was never any need to use his revolver. But now, now he wished he had kept up with the skill.
His heart raced as he encouraged onlookers to keep a safe distance, though they looked just as shocked by this as he felt. The mere thought kept his adrenaline pumping, especially as he realized that this would no longer be another typical day within the Silo.
Maybe, just maybe it can be salvaged, he thought. Maybe, if this would turn out to be nothing but a drill, or some sort of false alarm. Maybe someone had to do an emergency polish or suit test. Then we can go about the day, as we have all done before.
But even Brandon didn’t believe that.
It felt like hours, but after twenty minutes Sheriff Parker came running up the stairs, with Mayor Heath right behind him. She was followed by Carol Greer, whom Brandon knew to be one of the medics working under Doctor Smithers.
Good thinking, Brandon thought. This person may need medical attention, whoever it is.
“Anything to report, deputy?” the mayor asked as she, the sheriff, and the medic made their way through the crowd. The people all parted with relative ease, the only obstacle being that there were so many.
Brandon suspected she already knew the answer, but his job was to answer to her and Parker. “No, ma’am. He’s still outside, ringing the doorbell.”
The mayor paused, frowning. “Doorbell?”
Brandon shrugged. “It seemed appropriate. It’s just a bigger buzzer for a bigger door.”
She reg
He disagreed on the term “friend” but wasn’t about to tell her that.
Brandon yelled for everyone to back up further, but it wasn’t much use. The mayor and Carol stepped back, and the sheriff stepped to the door. He placed himself off to the side, between the mayor and the door, but not in her line of site.
His hand tightened even more on his revolver’s grip. He hoped today wouldn’t be the day he had to draw it.
Sheriff Parker worked at the panel, and the external airlock door groaned as it slowly slid open. The monitors, now all pointed to right outside the Silo, showed the visitor stumble from the wall and fall inside the airlock.
The sheriff quickly pressed the button to seal the door. Once it shut with a room-shaking thud, he pressed the next button.
A new alarm sounded, which caused the onlookers to retreat further than Brandon had been able to achieve. The room was decontaminated to remove anything lingering on the visitor’s suit. From what he understood the decontamination was a recent addition, with the old way of bringing someone back inside including a barbaric ritual of flames and water and scrubbing.
A green light illuminated the console, and the sheriff pressed yet another button, which pressurized the room to match that of the Silo.
Parker looked over his shoulder to the mayor, who nodded her approval.
The sheriff took a deep breath and slowly released it before pressing the final button on the panel.
A klaxon blared and a beacon flashed, signaling the giant yellow door was opening.
Parker took his place beside Brandon, and he noticed the older man, too, had his hand resting on his sidearm.
As soon as the opening was large enough, the visitor stumbled through the opening and again fell to the ground. His hands tried to work the metal clasp holding his helmet on, but he seemed too weak to work the mechanism.
Everyone stared, but no one moved.
Except Brandon.
He almost yelled for somebody to help this person, when he realized it should be him. It was his job. He was the deputy, not as important as the sheriff, not as vital as Mayor Heath, and not as vulnerable as the rest of the onlookers.
This was his job. His task.
The visitor was unconscious when Brandon removed his helmet. The man was gaunt and pale, barely able to breathe. Carol was immediately at his side, checking vitals, or whatever medics did. After maybe thirty seconds Carol declared he was in need of more medical care than she could provide, and requested Brandon help her move the man down to twelfth floor, where Doctor Smithers was waiting.
Carol and Brandon worked the man into an elevator, while the mayor and sheriff waited for another. The elevators, another recent improvement sponsored by IT, served the top thirty floors. They were mostly for the aging hierarchy because of the difficulty they were having with the stairs. There was talk of the service being extended to the lower depths, but that seemed to be progressing much, much slower.
The mayor firmly requested that the onlookers stay put until they knew what the visitor was here for, and what, if anything, was wrong with him.
“Is he sick?” Brandon asked as the elevator continued its trip.
Carol shook her head. “Tough to tell. I think his tank was low on air, so he was probably close to suffocating.”
Brandon felt his heart skip a beat, and instantly broke into a cold sweat. He never, ever wanted to experience that again. Ever since that day he was a shadow, during one of the few incidents he and his deputy trainer responded to, having his air cut off was the most horrific thing to ever happen to him. Until now, he feared being choked again, but now an oxygen tank running out of air sat right next to it.
“You okay, deputy?”
He steadied himself against the wall of the elevator. He felt momentarily weak in his legs, and his face probably went pale. “I’m fine, thanks. Carol, right?”
She managed a smile. “That’s right. Didn’t think you remembered.”
A slight grin spread across his face. Of course he knew her name. He remembered it from the moment he met her. “How could I forget?“
Carol blushed slightly, lowering her face to hide her red cheeks. “It’s not like we ever got a chance to talk much, so--"
The man coughed, interrupting the already awkward moment. Flirting while there was a man half dead in their care. He felt embarrassed, but thankfully Carol was too busy tending to their visitor to notice that.
The elevator slowed, and a ding signaled their arrival on floor number twelve. They brought the man into the infirmary, where Smithers had already prepared a room for quarantine.
The quarantine was reserved for rare cases, and hadn’t been used in several years. At least, not as far as Brandon could recall. An airlock separated it from the rest of the infirmary, and a room that contained hazmat suits.
“Carol, suit up, you’re assisting,” the doctor ordered. “If he’s sick, you both may be exposed. Did anyone else come into contact with him?”
Brandon shook his head. “No, we were the only ones that touched him.”
Smithers frowned. “Touched? Were other people around?”
“Yes, doctor,” Carol answered. “Several people were there to see him enter, including the sheriff and mayor.”
Smithers threw the clipboard he had been holding and it crashed against the wall in an explosion of papers. He then proceeded to let lose a string of profanities unlike anything Brandon had ever heard.
For an older and smaller man, Brandon always found the doctor intimidating, but now it was even more so. He longed for the times where they just passed each other with a friendly greeting, even if it was only an hour ago.
“Alright… Carol, let’s get to work. Deputy, you’re on guard, no one else is to come in here.”
Brandon nodded and stepped into the foyer where he still had a view of the quarantine room. He watched as the doctor and medic methodically cut the visitor from his polishing suit, revealing a thin, frail man in greasy clothing. The clothes weren’t just filthy; they were almost worn away, with several tears and holes in them.
“Deputy, what’s the situation?” a voice asked behind him. Brandon turned with a gasp, having been so absorbed in their work that the mayor snuck up on him.
Mayor Heath had arrived in the infirmary with the sheriff, and a crowd had started to form outside.
“Mayor, they just got the visitor into quarantine. The doctor believes he may be sick, so he doesn’t want anyone else coming here.”
Mayor Heath regarded this and slowly nodded. “Thank you. Sheriff, if I’m needed, I’ll be in IT. If there’s any sort of explanation to be found, they’ll have it.”
Parker nodded as the mayor turned and left.
“So, how about it? Do you want the rounds first, or to stay here?”
Brandon looked in through the thick plastic window at Smithers and Carol working on the unconscious newcomer. Part of him wanted to stay, to find out who he was, and where he came from. And part of him was still in shock that someone from outside was here.
Outside the Silo.
He reached out with a hand and steadied himself against the plastic window, realizing, for the first time, that their world and their beliefs had just been shattered.
Someone from outside the Silo was here, wearing a suit similar to what their polishers wear.
Did that mean… did that mean there was life outside the Silo? Maybe even another Silo?
“I’ll stay,” he finally managed to say. “You’ll do better at keeping everyone calm, anyways. I assume that’s what you meant by rounds?”
Parker half smiled at his deputy. “Perhaps. I’ll come relieve you around dinner time.”
Once Parker left, Brandon secured the doors to the infirmary. And judging by how stiff the locking mechanism was, he wondered if this was the first time it had ever been closed.
3
Hours passed, and Brandon watched as the visitor was attached to various machines designed to monitor his vitals, as well as several other tests. Carol had trimmed some of his hair and took a swab inside his cheek. The doctor drew a few vials of blood, scraped something along his skin, and took samples of what looked to be assorted sores and rashes.
