Silo 49: Going Dark

Ghosts in the Wall

They drew attention the whole way down and Graham reconsidered his idea as soon as he saw the first whispering and pointing groups on a landing. The silo may be losing population at a rapid rate, but people still needed to get around as they lived their lives. It was early, the dimming time just ending. The sharp clacks of lights switching from red to white sounded throughout the central column of the silo stairs and people were moving about as shifts changed.

Plenty of small groups saw them as they lowered each other past the landings. Worse, there were cameras everywhere on the landings. If anyone was watching from Silo One, this would be a certain cause for alarm and could get them all blasted to ruin before he could make it right. Graham took his hat out of his pack and squashed the misshapen thing onto his head, pulling it low to shield his face from the view of any cameras above him.

Most of the silo was still recovering from the dosed water and even though Graham could see that particular dullness in their eyes and that certain something in their posture, they perked up, smiled and waved as they caught sight of the pair. It made the people look more alive than they had since he had turned on the dosing system. He couldn’t wait to see them again when it had cleared from their systems. Without the hat and without having to hide a single thing from any of them, he relished the idea of speaking to people truthfully, face to face.

People were more than curious as to why the two men were using the lifts on themselves. It was forbidden and declared unsafe by the very men who were now being seen using them. Wallis found an effortless solution to their obvious dilemma when he announced, enthusiastically, to the first crowd and to every one thereafter, that he was bringing happy news of a new mother in the down deep. Scattered applause met his announcement but also a few sad cries. The diversion worked though, and they passed each level with ease, often gaining assistance on the rope from people who happened to be nearby.

Not every level included a lift ride, which Graham found surprisingly fun to do. Lifts that only went a floor or two weren’t worth the effort two entire trips in the cloth bucket would require. For those they walked the stairs. Those lifts that went three or more floors provided a surprising amount of rest for the two journeyers. Even though they worked with their arms on the ropes and pulleys, one person could lift hundreds of pounds with relative ease so the comparatively meager weight of one old man in a bucket was almost too easy.

Another benefit to the lifts was that they provided a bit of distraction and made the placement of the tiny repeaters under the ledges of the landings much easier to accomplish. Every five landings the repeaters, part of the radio modification instructions Silo 40 had passed along, had to be stuck where they could do their work yet remain undisturbed.

The sticky paste he smeared on each one held it tight within the shelf of metal on the underside of the chosen landings, but it was an awkward business to get them securely fit. He would have had to lie down and reach around the edge to place them had he walked the stairs, but inside a lift bucket, he just reached up and slammed it home as he passed his target landing. The movement was utterly unnoticed as one needed to place a hand on landings as they passed to be sure not to swing into it by accident anyway.

The descent wasn’t perfect, however, and they experienced a few hair raising moments. On the first leg of his ride, Wallis had leaned over the rigid edge of his bucket so that he could wave to people calling to him from a lower landing. It was just enough movement to unbalance the load and send the bucket swinging. He screeched and laughed as he bumped into another bucket, luckily an empty one, and then looked falsely chagrined when Graham yelled down at him to be still, for silo’s sake.

That had sent waves of laughter rolling through the small crowd on the landing Wallis was passing. He was heard to say that this was a test of the system and should not be used by anyone else until they worked out all the obvious kinks. That had earned another surge of laughter from the little crowd. Wallis was in his element, of that Graham was sure.

It took just hours for them to reach the landing on Level 72. Graham was amazed at how little time it took two old men to do the trip. A young porter on fresh strong legs might be able to do that, but old men? With more than forty feet for each level, most of that taken up by the thick concrete between levels, it was not a short distance.

He thought it was amazing and he said so. Wallis agreed with him that these lifts were something they should seriously look into once they could do so. He wiggled his eyebrows when he said it and Graham almost burst out laughing again at the sight of such an unsubtle signal.

They collected themselves and had a bite to eat and a drink of water as cover for their stop. It would be logical for them to take a rest, perhaps even stay the night, before moving on. There were no people looking at their folly on this level, and the few people remaining above them at the next level wandered away after a few more waves and jokes.

Once they felt relatively unobserved, they walked away as casually as two honest people in the midst of wrongdoing could manage and secreted themselves into the tiny space they were to meet Grace in. Dank, empty and smelling a bit like a dirty urinal, Graham really didn’t want to see anything he might be touching in this unused room and they leaned on the walls instead of sitting.

The only real duty Graham had while they waited was to check the radio and ensure the repeaters did their job. He checked in with Nella and got a strong voice in response, which eased one fear of failure at least. After that he had nothing more to do save dwell on all the other things that could go wrong.

Graham had never been a naturally nervous person, otherwise he would have never been selected for his job, but over the past seven-day he had almost grown used to the constant surges of panic and the feeling that his stomach was trying to climb up and escape through his nostrils.

After a wait long enough that the men opened the door to let in a sliver of light and search for things to sit on, Grace peeked in and wrinkled her nose at the smell. Graham had no clock but he did have a timer on the radio and he had set it, more or less accurately, before he left his rooms. He took a quick glance at it in the light of the open door and saw they had plenty of time to get into place and prepared. He tugged on Grace’s sleeve to pull her into the space and shut the door before speaking.

Graham whispered into the dark where he last saw Grace, “I’m so glad you’re here. I was a little worried you might not get my message.”

“I’m good. When are we doing this? Now? Why are you whispering?” Grace asked, peppering him with questions and not waiting for answers. Her voice sounded strong and not at all like a dying woman who just climbed a bunch of levels. And now he felt like an idiot because he was whispering on top of sounding out of breath from just sitting around.

“We’ve got a little while yet but, yes, it is today. Did you bring the tools?” Graham asked at a more normal volume.

It didn’t feel right to speak loudly and he had to resist the urge to come back down to a whisper again. He was getting more nervous and worried that something would go wrong as each moment of inaction passed. He was sure he could actually feel his hair going even grayer and his skin tightening up on his bones from the stress.

“Everything you’ll need is right here. I made a bag for each of us,” she replied. She sounded so calm that it made Graham want to grind his teeth or maybe just be envious.

A rustling sound came from her general direction and Graham flinched and squinted as light flared from a flashlight in Grace’s hand. She shoved the light toward him and when he took it, she untied the top of her own sack and withdrew three of the small green work bags seen everywhere in the silo. These three were worn and patched and stained from long years of use. The smell of grease and other chemicals, softened by ages of use, wafted up from the bags. Muffled clanks issued from within as she shifted them, one after the other, from her bag.

She handed Graham his and he was surprised at the weight of it. He wondered where she got the stamina to climb all those stairs with three of these strapped to her back, along with whatever else she might have brought. She was almost the same age as they were and sick on top of that, but there was much more to her than he had seen before. Her gaunt face and the lopsided swelling at her throat that signaled her particular affliction had pared her down until all that remained was this determined core. He wished he would have known her better before and he appreciated her unique strength now.

“What?” she asked Graham. He realized he had been staring at her and looked away.

“Nothing. I’m sorry. I just, well, I’m just amazed at you. At your strength, if you want to know the truth,” Graham answered and was glad the light from the flashlight was pointed toward a wall. He was pretty sure he was blushing if the heat in his cheeks and ears was any indicator.

In reply, both Wallis and Grace let out snorts at almost the exact same instant and then laughed at having done so. It was a strange thing to be plotting in a dark room that stank of old pee with two other elderly people. It brought out the weird in them, he guessed. He coughed politely and pointed the flashlight at Wallis so he could pull out his contributions.

Wallis opened his own pack, brought out the radios and then carefully made sure that each was set to a channel not normally used in the silo. There were not enough deputies or administrative personnel to monitor multiple channels anymore and the radios themselves only monitored the band they were set to in order to conserve battery power unless specifically set to do otherwise. They would be safe to use on this off channel, Wallis had assured them.

They tested the radios there in the dark room, each pressing an ear to the speaker to be sure the test was coming from their radio and not someone else’s. Grace took the time to go over the tools and what they would do. She made a point of showing them how to grip the cutters only on the coated handles while cutting wires to avoid a shock if it was electrified.

He didn’t need the instructions, given his life’s profession, but Wallis did and it calmed them both to listen to anything helpful said with such certainty and confidence. Graham felt his cheek twitch with nerves and he hoped very much that Wallis didn’t get electrocuted doing this.

When it was Graham’s turn, he carefully removed the folded papers from his pocket and gave them each one of the copies, retaining his and using it to remind them of their objectives. Grace’s job during their hiatus had been to get one of the panels off and confirm that the colors and tags in Silo 40’s wires were the same here in Silo 49. She had done so and Graham had carefully traced the diagram onto two more papers, fine pure sheets made in the heavy paper presses, and then transferred all the information from the original so that they would each have a complete diagram.

Grace’s eyes skipped over the diagram expertly in the scant light and she gave a brief nod of approval at his work. Wallis had studied the drawing with Graham more than once in the last few days but he still looked less sure of his ability. Graham patted him on the shoulder and reminded him it was just wires.

There was only so much time they could kill on this process and eventually the time came for them to go to their respective locations and make ready. Grace surprised Graham by kissing both men on the cheek. She wished them luck as she slipped out the door, her slender frame disappearing from their view around a corner almost immediately.

The look on Wallis’ face said he was as surprised as Graham was. But then he winked at Graham and told him he was sure Grace kissed him closer to the lips than she had Graham. He only responded by rolling his eyes at Wallis’ boyishness, but he thought that conveyed his meaning well enough.

They went their separate ways then and Graham watched his best friend’s back as he went around a corner and out of sight. He steps were jaunty and his hair was sticking up everywhere, which just added to the general impression of a boy engaged in some manner of delinquent behavior. He never looked back.

Once alone, Graham felt time pressing in on him like a weight. He rushed through the hallways and passages of this level until he reached the locked door that led, eventually, to the nondescript metal panel concealing wires leaving the silo.

He pulled out his master key and slipped it into the lock of the last door between him and the panel, holding his breath until he felt the lock give way. Inside, the large and hulking forms of machinery had to be navigated around. Finally, the metal plate, no more than three feet by three feet and unmarked by anything save for two handles, was in front of him. He checked the time, nodded to himself, and set to work.

There were a lot of deeply set screws of an odd sort holding the plate securely to the wall. They didn’t come out all the way but he could feel them letting go their hold on whatever was behind the plate. The scraping noise of metal on concrete was loud as the plate came loose and began to swing free. He froze for a moment, convinced some well-meaning technician or repair person would come strolling by and ask what he thought he was doing. That didn’t happen so he carefully laid the plate down on the floor.

Two fat drops of sweat fell and splattered onto the thin metal with tiny plinks of sound. He rose and wiped his face with a sleeve, leaving a smear of moisture to darken the cloth. He wasn’t working that hard, he didn’t think, so he attributed the sweating to stress and took a few deep breaths to steady his nerves.

He had just 14 minutes, more or less, until he expected to get the call from Silo 40 that he should cut the wires. He pulled out the small flashlight from the bag, glad that Grace had thought of that since he hadn’t, and looked at the thick and twisty bundle of wires that snaked back into a conduit bigger than his waist.

It came from the dark recesses beyond the wall and once inside, went to more conduits that ran along the walls of the silo. From there it went on to an infinity of locations beyond. He peered into the conduit and tried to see how far back it went but the flashlight illuminated only so much, leaving a gray that turned to an ominous black far down the conduit. He shivered at the thought that he was looking outside the silo. Not from a camera, which showed only an image, but with his own eyes.

He leaned inside the dark hole and turned his head to listen to anything that might be beyond. Could he hear the wind or the rasping sounds of blowing dust and dirt? Could he hear voices from another silo? If he leaned in far enough and cried out, would someone else in another silo hear him and answer?

Graham realized he was wasting time and entertaining ridiculous fantasies. He alone really understood how big these silos were and how well spaced they were. No amount of lung power would reach any other person in any other silo but might, if he were stupid enough to actually try it, get him noticed by someone in his own silo and wreck everything.

He shook his head to clear the thoughts away and examined the wires again. This wasn’t just a bundle of wires to Graham. To him they looked almost malevolent and represented all that was not to be done. Perhaps it was simply because he knew what the purposes of some of the wires were, but he couldn’t shake the feeling that there was badness coming from the source of these wires.

He thought about how they taught children to do things always above the rails. To be above the rails meant one was dealing honestly and with respect for those present and those absent. It was more than an allegory to how dishonest people might sneak a hand between the rails to snatch an apple from someone’s sack or filch the chits from the pocket of a passerby—though certainly that is where the saying must have come from—but also about how one approached life. This mass of wires in every color that went all the way back to who knew where represented the ultimate of below the rails behavior because it was built into this silo from the beginning. It represented a planned betrayal.

Graham slipped the diagram out of his pocket but found it more difficult than he had thought to locate any specific wire in that massive bundle. Most were large and black and carried yet more wires within. The black was just some sort of sleeve or coating to contain a like grouping. His people used them in IT too and his main target was one such. A slew of others were red, yellow or blue and that made the whole mass look angry or like it carried fire inside it.

All together, the bundle was thicker than his thigh and tightly bound by plastic ties. This was going to be harder than he thought but he took out the cutter and prepared to sever those binding ties when his radio crackled with Wallis’ voice. He jumped and nearly dropped the cutters.

“Grace! This thing is huge! I’m not going to be able to find anything in this. What should I do?” Wallis’ voice was shrill with the onset of an anxiety even the crackly radios couldn’t disguise. Graham could almost picture him raking his hair up in frustrated tufts.

“Wallis, calm down. Take out the big pair of cutters and snip those big grey ties that are holding the bundle together. Just like we talked about, okay,” Grace’s calm reply came through a bit louder and clearer than Wallis’. The mysteries of radio propagation within the concrete and metal of the silo gave her voice a better path to his radio somehow.

Graham was grateful for the instructions so he followed her voice and exchanged his tool for the larger cutters and snipped the tie. He half expected that it would spring apart, with wires going every which way, but they had been so long confined into one shape together that there was no movement at all other that a slight expansion, like an indrawn breath.

“Okay, got it. What now?” Wallis asked, his voice a bit calmer now that he had some confident direction.

“Wallis, Grace, this is Graham. I’m following along too. Just remember, don’t actually cut the wires until I give you the word. They haven’t called yet.”

Two voices came through the line and Graham took that moment to check, once again, that his other radio was receiving a signal. The little bars were standing proud and the numbers for the frequency were still what they should be so he tucked it carefully into the recess of the conduit even as both of the others confirmed they wouldn’t cut wires until signaled to.

“Next,” Grace continued, “you’ve got to separate the bunches a bit so you can see what you’re looking for. The one you’ll want is going to be one of the bigger black ones with more wires inside it. Look for the spiral stripe we discussed. Let me know when you find it.”

Graham tugged the wires apart to get more space and expose the ones that ran along the interior of the mass but it was much harder to do that than it looked. There were hundreds of individual wires and tough bundles of more wires and they made for a surprisingly resilient enemy.

He began to fear he wouldn’t see it at all when it finally caught his eye. The unique coloration of the spiral stripe that raced along that black wrapping was hard to miss and he thought that made sense since it was attached to something as important as a method for destroying the whole silo. One wouldn’t want to mix up those wires, after all.

As Graham craned his neck to read the fine white printing on the black sleeve to verify his find, the radio crackled with Wallis’ relieved voice. “Got it! It’s marked X-2-49.”

“Me, too,” Graham said as he keyed his radio.

“Perfect,” Grace replied, her voice smooth with relief, “I’ve got mine too. That’s the most important one, but now let’s locate the camera bundles. Bend that one, if you can, so you can grab it quickly again. If you can’t, then tie the cloth to it like I told you.”

Graham wasn’t able to bend his very far, but he was able to bend a good many others out of the way. He tied the cloth, long ends hanging down, around the target bundle and that way, even in the dark he would be able to grab those hanging ends and know exactly what to cut. It was an electrician’s trick Grace had taught them and he thought it a pretty brilliant one.

She patiently guided them in finding the two big bundles that held special types of lines that fed visual data. There were several others that were suspect according to Silo 40 that they would cut later, but they weren’t the priority right now, except to mark them.

For today, they just wanted to stop any possibility of destruction. It was the people of Silo 40 taking all the risk with their fake uprising and going offline. If nothing happened to them, well, then Graham supposed the three of them would be making another trip down here in the near future to finish the job.

He was tying the last of the marker fabric, shorter strips for these future cuts, to the wires and bundles when Graham heard the timer beep on his radio. His stomach fairly leapt up into his chest and he felt a painful constriction in his throat accompanied by a soggy thudding sound in his ears as his heart kicked into high gear. He pulled the knot tight and reached for the radio, silencing the alarm.

He wasn’t really worried about the time since the timer had been set based on an estimate and who knew if Silo 40 would be able to pull off their own complicated scheme with exact timing. He was concerned about enough things to more than take up the slack on the worry line. He would do more than worry if he didn’t get a call soon, he would probably completely lose it and start screaming or else faint.

He was about to radio the other two and let them know the order would come at any time when the radio blared with noise and Nella’s excited voice came through to him, “All Silos, this is 40. Do it! Do it! Confirm!”

Graham grabbed the other radio and mashed the talk button so hard his fingernails turned white. He yelled, “Do it! Cut the lines! Now!”

He shoved the radio into the recess of the conduit to hold it secure and plucked up the large wire cutters from the floor, almost flinging himself back toward the dark opening in the concrete filled with that monster made of wire. He yanked the fabric tails to the side, bending the bundle of wires a little and baring it to the blades of the cutters like an animal’s neck being bared for the cleaver.

He squeezed the cutters with as much power as he could but was forced to almost saw the wires apart, opening and closing the blades on the thick bundle as more and more of the wires within began to part. By the time the cutter blades finally slammed together with a loud clack, he was spewing equal parts curses and spittle from between clenched teeth and he could feel the painful release of the cords in his neck as he stopped squeezing the tool.

He dropped the cutters to the floor and was reaching for both radios when both Grace and Wallis tried to come through, one stomping on the other. Grace bowed out apparently because Wallis came through clearly with the single word, “Done!”, and Grace followed directly after with the same. Graham smiled.

His sweat soaked hair and coveralls felt heavy on him and he was terribly tired all of the sudden. He pressed the talk button on the radio to his two conspirators and also pressed the one on the radio to Silo 40 so that his message would be heard by all parties.

“This is Silo 49. We have cut the lines. I repeat, the lines are cut,” Graham said, enunciating as clearly as he could because he wanted no mistakes. But it was strangely difficult to do so. He wasn’t sure why but he was having so much trouble thinking of the right thing to say. His finger slipped from the button on the radio to Silo 40. He tried to set it down gently but it started falling from his hand without him wanting it to. For some reason he couldn’t fathom, his left hand wasn’t working properly and the bright pain in his neck was moving down his arm.

He heard the voices of other silos coming through the radio on the floor, a chorus of “Done!” or “Complete!” coming through in foggy blobs of sound. He still had a grip on the radio in his right hand and he concentrated with all his might as he pressed the button once more and said, “Wallis, Grace, thank you. We’re safe. I… I…”

Grace was the first to reach him, her path easier through to him than the circuitous one Wallis had to take. She dropped to her knees and lifted Graham’s head so that she might cradle it on her folded legs. She smoothed the sweat soaked hair from his brow and tried to make him answer but his half lidded eyes were gazing off toward some other place she wasn’t able to see. She didn’t cry for him then, that came later, but she talked to him and told him how much he would be loved and missed in case there was some part of him that could still hear her.

When Wallis came sliding around that last corner and saw them there, he uttered a cry like a kicked dog and then began screaming profanities so profoundly original that Grace thought perhaps he was also suffering some sort of attack. It wasn’t until she lay Graham’s head gently back on the floor, his pack for a pillow, and approached Wallis cautiously that he stopped spewing his stream of filth.

He looked at her with such pain in his expression that she said nothing, merely opened her arms so he could take comfort from her hug if he chose to. He went into her embrace like a child. He cried and sobbed and repeated the same words over and over, “We were going to fix this shit.”